#arf troopers

[alamogirl80]

Boil and the Force…

Too much Force!!

Boil is like catnip for Force butterflies and Waxer thinks it’s adorable. 😂

[tesalicious2]

Coruscant Guard headcanons-ish (mostly focusing on Hound):

There aren’t just massiffs

Coruscant has a lot of smuggling, including animals. Not only that but the Senators give them their pets to take care of (that is not a pet but a wild animal wtf)

But they end up with an assortment of baby animals that CAN be domesticated and do something with them

Quinlan started it when he handed a baby Nexu to Fox and said they were trainable and loyal. Fox passed this on to Hohnd and nugget was a part of the family since

Ever since then they got two more Nexu, both sticking with new shinies under Hounds command

Surprisingly they have one Narglatch, though Blizzard (dubbed by Stone) is rarely used. Often used for chases in the lower levels, able to chase and weave easier through crowds than a speeder (think Horses in police forces)

At one point, some 501st and 212th troopers found what they thought to be a massiff and happily dropped it with the Guard,

It was not a massiff and Hound broke many laws to get it to the Jedi temple and out of his hands fast

See they had found an Albek, a force sensitive creature that looks like a massif but is VERY aggressive and BERY untrainable, last Hound heard was that it was set free and is very happy

Another of the larger creatures that is used far more often than the narglatch is the Varactyl

Somehow a shipment of young had been smuggled onto Coruscant and were taken in by the Guard

Their ability to climb vertical surfaces and calm nature and silliness to listen to their rider made them perfect in the club districts; the tall buildings were close enough to jump between and had many platforms for people to walk and dance

They could weave above crowds and act almost like helicopters when chasing criminals, but we’re able to go into the crowds; only problem is that people had to get out of the way or be trampled

Hound and his infinite luck ran across a hurt Rancor with a shiny one night. Though they could not take the Rancor in, they sent it to the Jedi temple where it receives lots of love and treats from the younglings and troopers who visit

The Rancor serves as a guardian of the wing dedicated to dangerous artifacts and texts, and is watched over by the Temple Guard

AND AND AND

Spark dragons

ARF troopers ride them but due to fear, they are used to guard the prisons. Occasionally, they are lent out to other battalions with their riders

They are dragons native to Kiffu and can easily get their charge from the static electricity created by genorators

They were found as young babies and trained by the ARF

Quinlan was absolutely ecstatic and adores them, they’ve made a special attachment with him but prefer their troopers

On one occasion two were sent out with the Marine Corps, who were afraid as hell. Those troopers had a lovely time and many stores of scaring the ‘homosexual hardcore’ troopers

[retiosanti]

Finished up three more Support units for Shatterpoint. All the non-named Clone Troopers who crave to get in close

Finished/Purchased: 59/183, buying into The Old World is hella killing my count

[mrsfeiix]

Fox on the run by sweet and Scooby-doo were my greatest inspiration for such a masterpiece

Question is what are they running from ?

Is it corridor ghouls? Cthons? Or worse…fan girls

[anstarwar]

After Rishi Rex and Cody had a talk. They needed to decide who got which Domino since all of them showed such courage and initiative…oh and they all survived

Rex got Fives, Echo, and Cutup

Cody got Hevy and Droidbait

Droidbait went on to become one of his best ARF scouts, living up to his name time and time again

+++

Rare clone request: Droidbate from @eclec-tech

Thanks for sending this in!

[vodika-vibes]

Do It For Me

Summary: You are a Forensic Scientist who has been put in charge of the lab for Coruscant in spite of your youth and your relative inexperience. Due to budget cuts and the fact that there's so much crime on Coruscant, you are severely overworked. Hound takes an issue with that.

Pairing: Pre-ARF Trooper Hound x F!Reader

Word Count: 1837

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I was writing a Fives fic and it was turning into hot garbage, so I wrote something else instead. And I'm in a Hound mood for some reason. AND I made a new divider for this story specifically.

You are severely overworked. 

You know this. You’ve known this for years. And yet no one seems all that interested in making it better.

You thought, hoped, prayed, that the creation of the Coruscant Guard was going to lessen your workload.

It didn’t. In fact, it just made you busier.

Now there are a lot more men out there investigating crimes, and sending their evidence to your lab, and the same number of techs trying to analyze the evidence.

The turnover rate at your lab is, frankly, embarrassing. 

You’re the employee who’s been here the longest, and you’ve only been here for two years. The fact that you’re now in charge of the lab, at barely 24 years old, is horrifying.

But none of the people who trained you were willing to stay.

And you can’t even keep new hires around for longer than a couple of months.

In fact, you once had a recent graduate that you interviewed and hired, who took one look at her to-do stack, and resigned. She worked less than an hour. You hadn’t even had time to finish filing her paperwork before she resigned.

It was impressive. 

But as impressive as it was, it didn’t help with the fact that you’re one person doing the job of five.

You haven’t seen your apartment in a week.

You haven’t had a vacation since you were hired.

You haven’t slept more than 6 hours a night in over six months.

And still, still, the work keeps piling up.

At this point, every time you close your eyes, you see blood splatter and blaster round trajectory and dead bodies. Every night for the last week, you’ve had nightmares about the morgue-

You need a break.

Desperately. 

But, in the end, it doesn’t matter what you need. Because crimes keep happening, people keep dying, and the evidence keeps piling up, and there aren’t enough employees for anyone to even take a day off, let alone a vacation.

You push your fingers through your hair, pulling it out of the tail only long enough to use your fingers as a brush, and then you pull your hair into a messy knot, and focus your exhausted eyes back on the file in front of you.

30 year old Nautolan Male, found murdered in the lower level. Coroner's report indicates that he was executed, two bolts to the back of the head. Victim was a known member of the Justic-

The words start blurring on the page, and you sigh and press the palms of your hands over your eyes.

You are so kriffing tired.

There’s a sharp knock on your door, and you lift your head as someone clad in gray and white armor walks in. The locations of the colors indicate that he’s a member of the Coruscant Guard, and the colors themselves indicate that he’s an ARF Trooper.

Not for the first time, you curse the fact that the Guard doesn’t allow for more unique body armor paint.

You squint at him for a moment, waiting for your eyes to agree with you so you can focus better on the man standing in front of you. “What’s wrong, Sen’ika, can’t recognize me?”

You recognize the light tone, and familiar nickname, before you recognize the man, and you send up a silent prayer of thanks that the clones only have identical faces, and not identical personalities.

“Hound,” You even sound tired to your own ears, and as he comes closer to you, you see a concerned expression on his face, “Ah, sorry. Sergeant.” You correct hastily.

“You don’t have to use my rank, Sen’ika.” He crouches next to your desk, his sharp eyes taking in the bags under your eyes, the way your hands are trembling, and the blanket and pillow on your couch. “When was the last time you went home and slept?” He asks, his voice gentle.

“Does it look like I have time for that?” You ask as you rub your tired eyes, “I dunno, it’s been a week, I think.”

“Sen’ika,” Hound frowns at you, “This isn’t healthy.”

“It’s not like crime stops because I need to sleep,” You grouch, “And the evidence keeps piling up, and I can’t get anyone to stay longer than a few months and-” You trail off, “And you have another case for me, don’t you?” Your voice becomes dull and almost lifeless.

Hound stares at you for a moment, and then he flashes a small smile. “I don’t, actually. I just wanted to come and see you.”

You squint at him, “Come and see me? Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“...I guess not?” You ask, bewildered.

“Exactly!” Hound smoothly slides something onto your desk while you watching him, bewildered, and then he takes your hands and lightly pulls you to your feet, “We’re taking a trip.”

“I can’t! I have-”

“You have a legal requirement to take an hour break every 6 hours.” Hound interrupts, “How many hours have you been working? More than 6 I’m guessing.”

“...Yeah, maybe.” You don’t fight him as he draps an arm over your shoulder and he guides you out of your office, and down the hall, and then outside, to where Grizzer is waiting.

The large massiff immediately bounces around your feet, and you duck slightly to give her a scratch. You’re a familiar person to her, likely because of how often you bump into Hound at various crime scenes.

“You never did tell me where we’re going.” You say to Hound once you straighten back up.

“Trust me.” Hound offers as he takes Grizzer’s leash and then tugs you against his side.

You’re a little confused at the way he’s being so comfortable with touching you, but you’re also not too bothered. Hound is Hound, after all. He’s always been safe.

So, as he leads you down the street, you don’t offer any complaint outside of a very weak argument that you needed your purse and your comm. And, with a laugh, Hound disagrees.

Hound doesn’t have an office, per se, but he does have his own space where he’s able to do his own paperwork, and where he can take Grizzer when she gets overwhelmed.

And apparently, where he brings overworked and underpaid civil servants who are working themselves to death.

His sen’ika is sitting on the old, worn couch he got from somewhere, her arms draped over Grizzer who is asleep on her lap. She looks exhausted. The kind of exhausted that he’s only seen on Fox before.

In a word, he’s worried.

“Sen’ika,” He coos the familiar nickname, and she lifts her gaze to look at him through hazy and exhausted eyes, and even then she’s the most stunning woman he’s ever met, “You can lay down and take a nap, I won’t judge you.”

She’s already shaking her head, “I have to get back eventually.”

“But if you get up, you’ll disturb Grizzer.” Hound points out.

She looks down at Grizzer, and she must be more tired than he thought because she just looks puzzled, like she can’t quite figure out the best way to get free. His worry increases.

“Just a short nap, sen’ika.” Hound encourages, “You’re not going to be able to finish your work with how fuzzy you are right now.”

For a moment she looks like she’s about to agree, but then she presses her lips into a thin line, “I have to get back, Hound.”

Hound leans back in his seat, his mind racing. He can’t let her go back. Not in this state. And using Grizzer as an excuse isn’t going to work anymore, he already knows.

“Alright,” He says slowly, thoughtfully. 

He gets to his feet and carefully moves Grizzer, and then helps his sen’ika to her feet. Hound isn’t the least bit surprised when she stumbles into him, though he is glad that he thought ahead and removed the majority of his armor.

“...m’sorry.” She says quietly.

Hound closes his eyes for a moment and then, very gently presses his hand against the back of her neck, holding her against him. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” His voice is soft, soothing.

Her hands come up to press against his chest, and for a moment, Hound thinks she’s going to push away, worries that he pushed too hard. But, instead, she curls her fingers into the thin material of his blacks. “I’m so tired,” She whispers, and her voice cracks.

And that’s what Hound was waiting for.

His free arm wraps firmly around her, holding her tight, “You don’t have to go back to work. You need to take a break.”

He feels her tears soaking into his top and Hound turns his head to press a light kiss to the side of her head, “Someone has to do it-” She whispers, her voice thick with tears.

“That someone doesn’t have to be you.” Hound murmurs in reply as he slowly, and carefully, walks her back towards the couch. He readjusts her, and then sits on the couch, while holding her close. “We can reach out to the Jedi, they can help you.”

“The Senate-”

“Kriff the senate,” Hound’s voice holds no heat as he gently offers what comfort he can, “You’re working yourself to death, and I’m not going to tolerate it anymore.”

She pulls away from his shoulder and looks up at him through miserable, watery eyes, “Why do you care?”

“Because you’re my friend. Because I care about you.” Hound brushes his fingers against her cheek, “because I love you more than anything in this galaxy. Take your pick.”

She blinks at him, and then drops her head on his shoulder. She doesn’t say anything positive, but she also doesn’t say anything negative, which is good enough for now.

It’s not fair to spring love on her when she’s so exhausted. The fact that she’s not running away is good enough for now.

“Will you stay here and take a nap?” Hound asks as he strokes her back lovingly, “For me?”

“Every time I try to sleep, I have nightmares,” She admits quietly.

“Then you can sleep on me. I’ll wake you if you look like you’re having a nightmare. I promise.” Hound offers. “What do you think?”

She sighs, soft and quiet, “I suppose I can agree to that.” His sen’ika’s eyes drift shut, and Hound carefully adjusts her so that she’s leaning against him comfortably. 

Fox is going to blow a gasket, but if he words his request properly, maybe then the Guard and the Forensics unit can get Jedi oversight. That can only help with his poor Sen’ika’s problem, and it’ll keep Fox from working himself to death.

Hound glances at the woman in his lap, and his gaze softens, before he presses a light kiss to the top of her head. That’s a problem for later, for now, he has the love of his life asleep in his arms, and he’s going to just enjoy it while he can.

[imarvelatthestars]

Fireworks

Pairings: Sergeant Hound x f!Reader

Warnings: none! just 4.9k words of tension & cuteness

Notes: Hound's appearance was inspired by some very cool art by heidiss on twitter. I also dropped a quick reference to @samspenandsword Fox series, The Coffee House, which truly sold me on being a Fox girlie.

You feel borderline sick. Thirty solid minutes of chasing down your sweet, stupid, panicked massiff from the local park to, well, wherever in the Sith hells you are now and not only do you feel close to collapsing, but your chest is tight and aching from adrenaline and anxiety. He’s a good boy, really, he’s such a sweetheart and he can be so fun and friendly once he gets to know someone, but Jaxjo’s also easily startled. The two of you have been working long and hard on soothing strategies for when he’s overwhelmed, for warming up to and trusting well-meaning strangers, but this day has gone from bad to worse in a matter of hours. 

Some blocks down the (mercifully) mostly deserted walkway, you can see Jaxjo’s rump as he darts under a bench after a speeder zooms too close for his comfort. It hurts your heart to see him so worked up, but it’s also sending you into a spiral. What if he gets really scared and gets lost? What if he lashes out at someone and you have to put him down? What if another speeder comes by and he jumps out and everything goes horribly wrong and he gets hit? What if what if what if what if? Maker, you don’t want to lose your little boy. He makes your life so much brighter and happier. What if- 

Another firework goes off, another problem to add to the already substantial list, and you feel your eyes start to pinprick along the waterline. Why not add a grounded explosion? A Separatist attack, maybe? A mugging? Just make a night of it! And then, as if you weren’t already at your wit’s end, you catch a flash of plastoid armor, white and red and gray, and your stomach plummets to your feet. 

Jaxjo doesn’t see the Corrie at first, he’s too distracted by the remnants of fireworks sparking out overhead, but the Corrie sees you. Of course he does. Him and the other trooper doing rounds with him. You notice their helmets tilt and twist a bit, probably to allow for a conversation as they consider why you’re out in a back alley all by yourself at dusk. 

You ignore the troopers. You whistle as loud as you can in that specific way that only Jax could recognize and start jingling his leash, and thank the Maker, it works! His head jerks to the side, tongue lolling out, and his body language softens for a moment. Sweet boy, he’s still so scared, but he knows his mom, he knows you mean safety. 

“C’mere, boy!” you call as encouragingly as you can despite your throat threatening to close up on you. “Jax, c’mere!” 

The Corries have stopped their patrolling and are now fully watching you. One of them, the one on the right with the strange looking helmet, has his arms crossed over his chest. This probably means they’ve decided you’re their evening entertainment or they’re lingering to see if you need help. Maybe? You haven’t interacted with enough troopers to accurately gauge what’s going on under those helmets. 

“Sorry!” you shout across the street, a hand pointed in his direction. “He’s just scared of the fireworks!” 

As if on cue, another one lights up the steadily darkening sky and the resulting boom is loud enough to rattle you down to your bones. Jaxjo whines loud and low. Then another firework goes off and your massiff goes bolting out from under the bench. He scrambles into the middle of the street, throws his head back and forth with the whites of his eyes on full display, and for a moment you think that he’ll come running right to you and you can finally take your boy home, but he barks, shivers like a leaf in a storm, and takes off at full speed, fangs bared. He’s zeroed in on the Corries. Oh Maker, no. 

“Jaxjo! Jaxjo, no!” All logic goes flying out the window. Every special cue and direction you’ve learned to keep both him and yourself calm, it’s gone in an instant because it’s like your worst nightmare come to life. He’s going to attack one of the troopers and then you’ll have to put him down, probably even get fined on top of it and put on some ‘incompetent massiff owner’ list that’ll ban you for life, and and- 

The trooper in the strange helmet steps forward. He’s not afraid of Jax’s growling, even though he really should be. You’re sprinting forward as fast you can, heart in your throat, whistling and shouting, and the trooper just holds out his hand and speaks. You don’t know what he says, but it’s like a switch flips in Jax’s brain. He stops mid-stride and just stares. Another firework goes off and Jax starts rather violently, but he doesn’t run. 

It’s like you’re watching some kind of nature holo and this Corrie trooper is the reincarnation of Stirwin Eve. Within a matter of minutes, Jaxjo has crawled his way to the trooper’s feet and is cowering into his shin guards while the trooper gently pats his back. It’s magic, plain and simple. 

You’re so stunned that you don’t even know what to say. You know something comes out of your mouth, some vague approximation of awestruck thanks, but you’re hardly aware of it. All you can think about is the fact that your boy didn’t go wild and bite a member of the Coruscant Guard and that he’s not going to get transported to the pound and put down because of your own stupidity. 

The other trooper, the one whose armor looks more like what you’d expect, clears his throat. “You really should keep him on a leash, ma’am, especially during a fireworks display. It’s not safe to have massiffs off-leash in the city.” 

A streak of irritation flares up behind your eyes, but you manage to swallow it with a smile, albeit a forced one. “Unfortunately, he broke out of the park earlier and I’ve been trying to catch him for the last half hour.” I’m not usually inclined to letting my anxious wreck of a massiff free when the mood strikes, is what you want to say. You opt for biting your tongue instead. “It won’t happen again, sir.” 

The first trooper finally looks up at you. It’s quite the sight – a big anxious massiff, a Corrie squatting down next to him and offering treats and pets, and that strange helmet that keeps throwing you for a loop. He doesn’t say anything. He’s definitely looking at you; you can feel the weight of his gaze even through the visor. It’s compelling enough that when he extends his hand and wordlessly asks for your leash, you hand it over without a fight. 

Jaxjo is quickly clipped on by his harness and the leash is returned to you loop first. The trooper pats him once more, then stands, and it hits you then just how intimidating a figure he cuts in the lowlight. The kama, the broad shoulders that bear his dark gray armor, the blaster rifle hanging from his free hand, the jagged triangles carved into his helmet flaps that look oddly reminiscent of massiff fangs, and the streaks of red over the crown of his head, it’s all a reminder that before you stands a soldier and officer of the Chancellor’s forces. 

For kriff’s sake, he answers to the fucking Chancellor. You’re so damn lucky right now, you ought to get down on your hands and knees and thank every star in the sky that Jax didn’t completely lose his mind! 

“Thank you.” The words sound strangled and foreign. “Sir. Uh, s-sorry, sir. It was an accident, it won’t happen again.” You vaguely recall already saying this, but it doesn’t hurt to reiterate. “Thank you.” 

Five minutes later, you’re left standing under a streetlamp with a citation and leash in one hand and a serving of treats in the other. Jaxjo tilts his head back to look at you properly and whines. 

“I know, buddy, I know.” Your head is starting to spin and the fireworks are only going to get worse. “Let’s go home.”

The knock that shatters the comfortable silence of your mid-levels apartment the next day sends Jaxjo into a barking frenzy. “Just a second!” you shout, although if you’re even audible is doubtful. You manage to get him into your bedroom after a bit of finagling and the barking only continues, but this way it’s at least manageable. 

“Maker, I’m sorry,” you start as you press the door controls by the entry, “he gets all worked up with strangers and-” 

You’re met with an eyeful of gray chest armor and massiff fangs painted on to a helmet, a hint of a vision screen under the red and white visor. Oh. 

The two of you size each other up for a long moment until the trooper finally speaks and you feel some kind of dread curl up in the pit of your stomach. “I’m here for a follow up on your citation last night, ma’am.” 

“I... wasn’t aware I needed one.” 

The helmet tilts ever so slightly to one side. “It’s standard procedure for massiff incidents.” 

At the risk of sounding repetitive - “I wasn’t aware there was an incident, sir.” 

It’s one thing to be given a citation for having a massiff off-leash. You can understand that, even if it sucks. But to basically be insulted in your own home? That’s an entirely different story. 

There’s a huff in between Jaxjo’s barking that accompanies the Corrie’s shifting body language. One of his hands settles on his right hip and he dips his chin a bit, perhaps to look at you more directly? “If I could come inside, ma’am, I’d be able to explain better.” 

“I’m not under arrest or something, am I?” 

And you could almost swear you hear him laugh, but that would be ridiculous. And rude. Impertinent, even. “No, ma’am. Now may I come inside?” 

He’s tall. You noticed it last night, but you notice it again when he’s able to stand in comparison to your furniture and appliances. And he’s fucking built, too. I mean, it’s ridiculous. His thighs alone are enough to make you do a double take. Not that you’re intentionally looking, of course, but you do have eyes. They almost bug out of your head when the helmet comes off. 

It strikes you then that you’ve never seen a clone without their helmet on, not up close. You’ve always been aware of a flash of brown skin and usually dark hair from what you’ve caught on the news or when you happen to pass by the barracks, but Maker, you never thought they looked this good. Angular brows above kaf-colored eyes, a long, broad nose, pursed lips, and a beautifully rounded jaw and chin decorated with greyish black tattoos that echo the massiff design on his helmet. Between that, his dark hair that’s grown just long enough along the top to start coiling, and the thick trunk of his neck, and it’s a wonder you’re still standing. He’s gorgeous. 

You’re spared the embarrassment of getting caught oggling him, though (for which you send a prayer of thanks to anyone listening), because he’s busy studying your front room. “Where’s Jaxjo?” he asks. Right. Back to business. 

Your head turns in the direction of the alarmed barking that’s slowly morphing into a restless whine. “Uh, he’s in my room. I didn’t want him getting too riled up and slipping out. Why-” 

“I’m a specially trained massiff handler. I run the CG’s K-9 unit.” He pauses for a moment to peel off his gloves and toss them onto the back of your sofa where he’s balanced his helmet. You make an effort not to look. “Which means I’m also in charge of handling massiff incidents with the public.” 

“But there wasn’t an incident,” you sigh. “He didn’t bite anyone, or hurt anyone, he was just scared. You even managed to calm him down.” 

The trooper raises an eyebrow. “As his handler, you should be able to control him yourself.” 

And there’s that spark of irritation again, quickly blossoming into a full flame as heat spreads across your face and chest. “I can. I didn’t realize there was going to be an unplanned fireworks display or I would’ve kept him home yesterday. But there was. He got out, I chased him down, and I would’ve been able to calm him down eventually, but you just happened to beat me to it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the entire truth either. You’d been worried sick last night about Jax’s behavior. You just don’t want this guy to know that and it’s making you angry. 

The trooper’s hands move to settle on his hips as his ribcage steadily expands and deflates. His head is tilted toward the floor as he listens to Jaxjo whine. He thinks for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally glancing in your direction once more. 

“I’m sure your boy's a good one, ma’am, and I can tell he means something t’ you. But you’re also concerned about his behavior and that means I’m concerned, too.” Can he see right through you? Surely you’re not that transparent. “Why don’t you let him out and I’ll see what we’re working with?” 

Woah. There’s no we. There’s you and Jaxjo, and that’s it! However this man is able to see through your frustration and pinpoint exactly what’s bothering you, you’ll probably never know, but just because he’s wearing Corrie red doesn’t mean that he can just waltz in here and claim concern over your massiff’s behavior! You have half a mind to give this trooper a piece of it when his hand reaches into your line of vision and settles on the back of the sofa, just inches away from where your elbow brushes the fabric, and you still. You swallow. You look up. 

His voice is gentle when he speaks, thoughtful. “I’ve been working with K-9s for years now. I can tell when something’s off and respectfully, ma’am, I picked up on it from you.” 

It’s like the entire planet comes to a screeching halt. You almost can’t find it in you to be mad when he’s speaking so softly. Instead, you feel dazed and more than a little helpless. 

“He’s a shelter rescue, isn’t he?” 

Kriff, is this guy psychic or something? Maybe he has Jedi mind powers. 

“Yeah, uh, I got him from the shelter about a year ago.” Your voice is all congested from the effort of holding back your tears, but the Corrie is polite enough not to mention it. “He’s just scared, that’s all. He was a stray before I got him.” 

He smiles a bit, it’s little more than a quirk in the corners of his mouth, but the way his cheeks dimple causes the light to catch on a scar you hadn’t noticed at first. It’s a grouping of three faint, jagged lines that run from just below his eye to his jaw. Massiff claws. 

“I’ve worked with ones like him before and they’re not lost causes. I might be able to help,” he prompts. His brows have angled upward and it gives his entire face a softer look. “May I?” 

Jaxjo whines again and starts scratching at the door. He’s a good boy, really. He tries his best. He just has some issues you haven’t been able to figure out yet. It hurts that all the work you’ve put in over the past year hasn’t fixed it all like you thought it would, but now there’s an opportunity to make things better. Someone who knows more about massiffs than you do and is willing to help. 

In the end, though, is there really any question? You’d do anything for your little guy. 

You nod and offer the trooper a half-hearted smile. “Sure. Thank you.”

He’s amazing. They’re both amazing. Hound works hard and Jaxjo works even harder, and you’re truly proud of them both. It’s been nearly three weeks now of retraining and reinforcement. Jax has learned that some people are safe, people like Hound and his fellow troopers in the Guard, he’s remembered that even when he’s afraid, you’re there to protect him, and most important of all, you’ve learned that the Coruscant Guard isn’t as bad as you always thought it was. Even if they technically work for the Chancellor. 

It’s also been three weeks of seeing Hound in a new light. He charmed the pants off Jaxjo and without even meaning to, he’s nearly charmed yours off into another dimension. Maker, he’s funny and smart and incredibly patient. He has this specific way of smiling that’s reserved and comforting, and it never fails to make your heart race, even if he’s just smiling at another massiff. And despite all his strength and the intimidating aura his armor, tattoos, and scars give off, he’s really one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. 

So of course, you had to go and fall for him. Of all the inconvenient, idiotic, irritating things you could’ve done, you just had to catch a glimpse of the man beneath the persona and decide that he was the one you wanted. Stupid. In what world would he ever fall for you, the woman who was a nervous wreck upon your first meeting, the woman who couldn’t properly train her own massiff, the woman that he only met because his buddy had to give you a citation? Not to mention, the man is so handsome that he’s painfully out of your league. He ought to be arm candy for some rich holo star or a beautiful senator, not, well, you. It’s a lost cause. Totally doomed. 

You want to ask him out for kaf. There’s a place about five minutes from your apartment that makes the best kaf on the planet and the owner’s known for being friendly with the clones. (You’re pretty sure her name is Beanie, but that could be just a rumor.) Hound’s bound to be the most comfortable there, it’s in a public area so he doesn’t feel trapped in your place and you don’t have to track him down by the senate or the barracks. It’s a great idea and you know if he says yes that it’ll be a nice time. You hope, at least. You really, truly hope it will be. You’re just not sure that he’ll say yes. 

It takes the entire training session for you to work up the courage to ask, which only serves to distract you when you should be paying attention. Your mind keeps wandering to every possible ‘what-if’. What if he says no? It’ll be embarrassing and he might not help with Jax’s training for much longer, but you’d be okay in the end. It wouldn’t kill you. What if he says yes? Well, you’ll probably forget how to speak and make a fool out of yourself, but it’s nothing he hasn’t seen already. What if he ditches you at the café? What if he shows up? What if he enjoys himself? What if you enjoy yourself? What if your hands touch when you reach for the napkins and he looks into your eyes and then he leans in and- 

“...ink your buir’s stopped paying attention, eh boy?” 

Jaxjo wiggles his rump and snuffs in Hound’s direction, which is enough to properly pull you back to the present. You blink the romantic haze from your eyes and give your best apologetic smile; Hound simply laughs. 

“Sorry, just thinking. I’m paying attention, I promise.” 

You receive a disbelieving eyebrow arch in response. “Must be serious. You’re not usually this distracted.” 

You take a moment to compose yourself before you blurt out a goofy response. The last thing you need is to spill the beans before you’re even sure if he notices you’re a woman. So you watch the way Jaxjo forces his snout under Hound’s palm, how his tongue lolls out over his fangs and his eyes perk up when Hound gives him a good scratch by his ear hole. He’s so good with him. You’d even go so far as to say - 

“You’re good for each other.” 

That sends both of his eyebrows rocketing up. “Yeah?” 

Your heart goes all warm and fuzzy. Dumb. Stupid. Embarrassing. Crush. Dammit. “Yeah. He responds really well to you and I can tell you’re really good with him. He trusts you.” I trust you, is what you leave unspoken. 

“Well, he’s got a good role model,” he says after a moment. “I hope you’re not trying t’ give him to me because-” 

“No! Kriff, no, of course not. I just... I dunno, I noticed.” 

Hound smiles and his dimples go straight to your heart. “He’s a good boy.” 

“He is.” 

The room goes quiet apart from Jaxjo’s panting and the wild thumping of your heartbeat. He probably can’t hear it. Probably. Sure would be embarrassing if he could. Or if he could see it jumping out at your throat. You lay your palm flat against it just in case. 

“Is that what you were thinking so hard about?” 

“Yes” is what you mean to say. “No” is what comes out. 

“Then what?” 

You gesture vaguely. “Oh, just...” Anything, literally pick anything! The flexing of the muscles in the back of his hand catches your eye. For kriff’s sake, anything but that! “You’re probably gonna be leaving soon, once he’s properly trained.” Okay, okay, that’s good. Viable excuse. Good job. And then your mouth runs away with you again. “And I’ll miss having you around.” 

Death would be a less painful option than whatever fresh hell your current reality is. You make a frantic attempt at backpedaling by clarifying that you and Jax would both miss him and all the very professional advice and help he’s given you, but the more you speak the more your ears start to burn and you start to fold in on yourself. This is quickly turning into a transport wreck and there’s seemingly nothing you can do to stop it. 

Normally Hound’s laugh would be enough to make your cheeks burn and your stomach go all fluttery, but right now it only makes you feel like an idiot. You squeeze your eyes shut, focus on being a totally normal person who knows how to have a totally normal conversation. 

“Heh. Sorry about that.” Like you just bumped into him in the lift or you accidentally cut him in line. You can’t look him in the eyes. Totally normal. “My tongue got all twisted up. That was silly.” 

Jaxjo whines when Hound steps around him. You’re close to whining yourself, you’re so embarrassed. You want to go hide in the bathroom for ten minutes and simply never speak to another soul ever again. Surely that will solve everything. 

“What d’you think, Jax? D’you think your buir’s being silly?” 

Hound’s smiling that terribly fond smile of his and you know he’s looking at you, trying to catch your eye, but you refuse to glance any higher than his nose. That beautiful nose. You’re not sure why it does something for you, but it certainly does. You can’t help wondering what it would feel like pressed into your cheek if he kissed you. 

He takes another step and now he’s standing right in front of you, towering over you, the breadth of his shoulders taking up your entire field of vision. He’s so close that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. Except you’re not looking at him. There’s a spot on his cheek where one of his scars meets his tattoo that has your attention. 

“What does that mean?” you ask. “Buir?” It’s a poor replication of the way he says it. 

“Parent. Mom for you, cyar’ika.” 

Maker, why is his voice so soft all of a sudden? And he’s so close! You can smell his cologne, musky and masculine, and it’s so intoxicating that you have to fight to keep your eyes from rolling back. What is this man doing to you? 

“Do you think about that often?” 

When did your throat get so dry? “About what?” 

The lump in his throat bobs when he swallows. “Me leaving.” 

Danger! Danger! There’s a siren going off in the back of your head. All that bravado you’d been saving up since the start of the session is oozing out of your ears. He’s getting way too close to the truth of the matter and now that he’s there, you’re not sure you want him to know. You’re sure he’s just playing with you now and it should make you mad, it does, but then... he smells so good and his skin looks so soft and you really, really like him, and won’t he just give you a chance? Would that be so bad? 

“No.” 

“Are you sure?” Hound’s exhale hits your cheeks. “Because I’ve thought about it.” 

He doesn’t mean it the way you do. He can’t. You want him to. Does he? 

A surge of adrenaline gives you enough courage to look up through your lashes and properly gauge his expression, and you swear your knees go weak at the sight of his pupils blown out and his brows knit together in the softest expression he’s ever made. You might even venture out to say he looks nervous. 

“I’ve been dreading the day he doesn’t need me anymore.” His voice is trembling a bit, but its timbre is low and rough and that stunning accent of his seems thicker now. “Then I won’t have an excuse t’ come see you anymore.” 

Oh. The realization hits you so hard that you have to take a step back, lean into your sofa to keep from toppling over. He wants to be here, he comes to see you on purpose. He... likes you? The way you like him? 

Your hand settles at the hollow of your throat as you attempt to find the words to express yourself. “Hound, I... I hope I’m reading you correctly. I mean, I hope-” 

“Do you need me t' spell it out for you?” he breathes. 

Fuck, maybe you do. You nod. “Maybe?” 

He smiles, his cheeks dimple, your stomach devolves into flutter-bys as he rests a hand on the sofa backing right by your waist. He’s caging you in, slowly but surely. You’ll let him. His scent and his chest fill your senses as he crowds around you until you’re completely pinned to the furniture and the only other place to go is into him. Your mind starts racing because he’s so impossibly close and he’s even more beautiful, and what if he can feel your stomach against his, what if he can see your every pore and stray hair, and what if he likes you and what if he doesn’t? 

“I’d like t' kiss you.” 

Finally, blessedly, you smile. “I’d like that, too.” 

His touch is feather-light on your cheek, but you can still make out the callouses lining the palm of his hand, the scent of leather and sweat and blaster residue. Jaxjo huffs. And then Hound kisses you. He’s warm and soft, just like you imagined he would be, and the taste of him is pleasant. There’s a hint of kaf lingering on his lips that you absently chase after with your tongue, but he takes it as a cue to open up for you. Your tongue stutters for a moment and he starts to pull back once he senses it, but you can’t let him pull away, not when this is everything you want, when he’s here and willing and so, so sweet. 

Your hand cups the back of his neck as you surge forward and sweep your tongue into his mouth, up and over his teeth until it rubs against his and he sighs against you. It’s all a blur after that. His fingers wind up fisted in your clothes and your hands are pressing into his chest, smoothing over his shoulders, rubbing over the shaved section of his hair, and you can’t stop a single one of the happy, contented little sounds that he manages to pull from you. 

Until Hound suddenly lurches into you and you both go toppling over the back of the sofa. Hound winds up going literal head over heels and lands in a very undignified pile at the base of the sofa while you end up half on, half off the cushions with your feet dangling over the top. Jaxjo’s happy little face pops up between your ankles. He’s all eyes and tongue and drool, and the very picture of feigned innocence. 

You finally find your courage between bouts of laughter when you tilt your head so it’s hanging off the sofa and dare to nuzzle Hound’s shoulder with your nose. His eyes are twinkling when he looks at you. 

“Hey,” you chuckle. 

“Hey.” 

“You wanna know what I was really thinking about?” He nods and you think you feel one of those fireworks go off in your chest. “I was thinking maybe we could go get kaf sometime, just the two of us.” 

There’s a spark of mischief in the look he gives you. “What, no Jaxjo?” 

You roll your eyes. “Jaxjo, Shmaxjo. I’m not interested in him.” 

His hand settles along your jawline, gentle and sensual and blush inducing. “But you’re interested in me, huh?” 

“Shut up, maybe I am.” 

Hound smirks, probably the first true smirk you’ve ever seen on him. “Good,” he says before granting you another kiss. “I’m interested in you too, cyar’ika.” 

“And what does that mean?” 

He noses at your forehead and huffs a laugh just substantial enough to stir your eyelashes. “I’ll tell you over kaf sometime.”

prompt: fireworks 🎆✔️

@clonexreaderbingo

taglist: @dystopicjumpsuit

[ratcready]

BREAKING: an ARF trooper and a medcorps jedi have been arrested in coco town on suspicion of Silly Goofy Activity. more at 10

[rare-clone-fic-exchange]

The Sweetest Constant

Pairing: ARF Trooper Hound x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sergeant Hound comes to your pet store needing supplies for his new K9. Fluff ensues.

Warnings: None. Hound is a perfectly sweet cinnamon roll who does no wrong and I am taking no questions.

Word Count: 2260

A/N: Written for the amazing @the-bad-batch-baroness! Hope you enjoy it lovely!

A few notes/translations before we start:

Centaxday - second day of the Galactic Standard Calendar week

Zhellday - fourth day of the Galactic Standard Calendar week

Besom - ill-mannered lout, unhygienic person, someone with no manners

It was Centaxday the first time you met. The gentle jingle of the bell as the door of your humble shop opened brought you back from your daydream. You rose from your seat to greet the Coruscant Guard ARF trooper who strolled him. His armor was shiny and unblemished. The kit paint looked freshly applied. His kama possessed no blaster burns yet.

“‘Mornin’.” His warm baritone crackled through the vocoder of his helmet. You couldn’t see his face but you could hear a tinge of excitement in his greeting.

“Good morning! What can I do for you, sir?”

“Ahh no sir, please.” He waved a dismissive hand before it came to rest on the back of his neck. “Sergeant Hound. But just Hound is fine. Gettin’ my K9 tomorrow and I want to make sure she’s set.”

“You came to the right place, Hound! Have a look around and let me know if you have any questions.”

He bounced on the balls of his feet before he stepped away from you, his elation palpable. He had the energy of a child receiving their first pet and you loved watching this grown man trying to reel in the abundance of joy bubbling through the shiny white and red armor.

He tried to appear casual as he meandered through your shop eyeing various pet accessories, treats, and food. You watched him curiously as he ran his hands over a fluffy pink puppy sweater, with all the ardor of an expectant father. You’d only ever seen the Corries from a distance and you were slightly awestruck by his presence. Respectful yet commanding, he walked with a confidence that made him incredibly attractive even having not seen his face. And his obvious excitement about his new K9 may have been the most attractive thing you’d seen ever.

You cleared your throat. “I don’t mean to pry but what will your K9 be?”

He glanced over from the shelves of treats. “Massiff. She’s still a pup. We start training tomorrow.”

You circled around the counter, coming to stand to his right. Even through the armor he smelled wonderful, woodsy and fresh.

“These.” You pointed at a large blue box with a cartoon massif on the front. “These are my best selling massiff treats. Everyone who buys them raves about how much their pooches love them!”

He tilted his helmet toward you before taking the box from the shelf. “Thanks. Any other suggestions?” The lightness to his tone betrayed the smile hidden under the helmet.

You nodded and guided him around the store. Soon his arms were stacked high with collars, leashes, dishes, a training clicker, food, a bed, and the pink sweater, just the right size for a wee massiff.

You packed everything for him in a box and he informed you the GAR would be picking up the bill.

You slumped in your chair once he’d left, overwhelmed by how quickly you’d taken to a man whose face you’d never seen. A face, you’d assumed you’d never see.

It was Zhellday when you saw him again.

The park near your shop was the ideal place for you to take your kima pup; minimal crowds, quiet, and slow paced. It allowed for a slow transition into socializing for your excessively anxious puppy. At least that was the case on most days.

“Grizzer! Grizzer! Stop! Heel! Grizzer, you besom!!”

You spun around, hearing the frantic voice accompanied by enthusiastic yelps quickly approaching you. You snatched up your bitty kima as he trembled like a leaf in the wind. The grinning massiff pup donning a familiar pink sweater came skidding to a halt at your feet. Not far behind was the slobbery pup's handler.

“I am so sorry about her! We just started training and she’s still excitable!” He huffed, catching his breath as he bent over to pick up the leash.

You blinked in disbelief at first. You hadn’t seen his face when he’d come to your store a few days prior. He’d been decked out in his entire kit last time. Today he only had on armor from the waist down and his kama. His broad shoulders and chest were accentuated by the skin tight black body glove with the Galactic Roundel emblazoned on it. Behind the warmth of his brown eyes was a spark that threatened to outshine the galaxy. Those same mesmerizing eyes studied you intently while a bashful blush darkened his ears.

His hair was shaved into a tidy undercut with the extra length tied into a bun in the back. He puffed, pushing the dark curls from his sweaty forehead.

“It’s okay. I get it. Puggle is still pretty excitable too. But…” you held up your own pup. “He’s a little smaller than…Grizzer was it?”

He looked away sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, Grizzer.”

“And you’re Hound, right?”

He chuckled. “You remember me.”

“I couldn’t forget a Corrie who bought his massiff a pink sweater. Looks great on her by the way.”

Grizzer danced around your feet with happy tippy taps and impatient whines. She looked from you to Hound and gave her butt an excited wiggle.

Hound grinned proudly. “Yeah she’s pretty cute. Pink is definitely her color. She loves those treats by the way.”

You beamed at his praise, delving into a hundred questions about how training was coming along and if he needed more supplies. Eventually you bid each other farewell for the second time and you prayed to the Force it wouldn’t be the last.

Days turned into weeks. Whether it was the Force or something more intentional, you and Hound encountered each other with increasing frequency. Sometimes you’d see him on duty patrolling the park where you walked Puggle. Sometimes he was training Grizzer there, half clad in armor, often drenched in sweat under the exertion of handling his enthusiastic massif. If you managed to catch his attention he always gave you a friendly wave. And sometimes he showed up at your shop unannounced. It was always under the guise of making a purchase (always charged to the GAR). But his visits were becoming more frequent and accompanied by fewer purchases. Not that you were bothered. He was divinely handsome, charming, and sweet as chocolate covered camby berries. To say you were enraptured by him was an understatement.

He’d often spend hours leaning against the counter, his bucket casually resting next to him as he chatted with you about anything and everything under the Coruscant sun. He loved telling you about his brothers. Fox and his caf addiction and inability to decompress. Thorn and his penchant for chaos. Thire and his smart mouth that always got him into trouble. Stone’s endless patience and his refusal to engage in small talk of any kind. You loved seeing his face animate as he talked about them, his love and adoration for his brothers was apparent.

He was funny. You often found yourself laughing until you had tears streaming down your cheeks and both of you were gasping to catch your breath through fits of giggles. He was thoughtful as well, volunteering to help with heavy orders or reaching the top shelves. It was those times that your heart fluttered as if it were a butterfly trying to escape captivity. Especially when your hands would brush in passing or he would press into your back, caging you in as he lifted boxes over your head.

However, it was his love for animals that had bewitched you entirely. You’d watched him carefully tend frighted song sparrows and tookas in the park with no hesitation. He’d rescue cornered pikobis so they wouldn’t shed their tails. He even told you about the time he snuck an injured crown finch back to the Corrie Guard barracks and nursed it back to health during his off-duty time with the help of his brother, Stone.

He’d talk for hours about his precious Grizzer. His animated hands gesticulating wildly as he shared story after story about the trouble his “sweet Grizzy girl”- as he called her - would get into. Including the time the rambunctious pup invaded his brother Fox’s footlocker and chewed a hole in the rear end of his body glove. A hole that was only noticed when Thire made a snarky shebs joke at Fox’s expense when he’d taken his kit off for the evening. He laughed as he recalled Fox putting him on ‘fresher duty as payback.

The more he visited you, the more your conversations flowed, and the more you realized you may be falling for him. And then one evening Hound stayed a little longer than usual. You both had been so consumed in each other’s company that it wasn’t until the beeping of him commlink that you both realized how late it was.

“Stang! It’s 1130! Fox is gonna kill me!”

“Kriff! I’m sorry Hound!”

“S’alright! Any punishment I get will be worth it.” The impish wink he shot you nearly melted you faster than the lava flows of Mustafar. “I’ll escort you home. A pretty lady shouldn’t be walking home in the middle of the night.”

He pulled his helmet on and waited patiently as you completed all of the closing tasks before guiding you out the door with a hand that only just ghosted the small of your back. The late night breeze cooled your cheeks that burned hot by just his presence. You found yourself glancing at him and staring just seconds too long. Long enough for him to catch you. You couldn’t see his expression behind the visor of his helmet but the light bounce to his shoulders had you assuming he was chuckling. The conversation in the shop was easy but now you were the only two walking through the little Coruscant neighborhood. The intimacy of walking so close that your hands brushed each other left you wanting for words. You wanted him to know. To know how you felt. You were dying to paint a masterpiece of your feelings on his very soul. And that thought terrified you.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts you almost missed your apartment, stumbling clumsily to a stop. “This is me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, disappointed that you’d wasted your time with him.

“Hmm.” He shifted his weight from leg to leg, tapping the toes of his boots on the ferrocrete.

“I’ll…see you around I guess? Thank you for walking with me. And spending the evening with me. I hope you don’t get in trouble for it.”

He pulled his helmet off, shaking his unkempt curls loose. He pressed a hand to the wall behind you, partially caging you in. His eyes locked on yours, holding your gaze with a cocked eyebrow and a smile that was far too alluring. Your eyes flicked from his eyes to his lips, swallowing thickly.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, princess. I’m the baby brother. Pretty sure I could shoot the chancellor himself and my brothers would cover for me.”

You giggled, instinctively pressing a hand to his chest plate.

Glancing down at your hand and then back at your lips, he smirked, leaning in and stopping just short of your mouth, allowing his breath to fan across your lips. “There is one more thing though, before I get back to patrol duty. Been on my mind all evening.”

“What’s that?” Your breath was shaky as you instinctively leaned closer.

He closed the space between you, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was soft and chaste while his hand remained anchored to the wall behind you. As he pulled back he allowed his eyes to travel along every inch of you, unable to conceptualize the euphoria he was wading through. You pulled him back, firmly this time. Your tongue teased his bottom lip, seeking entrance which he happily permitted. You swallowed his moan as his hand drifted to your cheek in soft caressing strokes.

When you finally separated, both awash in the glow of the evening and chests heaving heavy breaths, he spoke again. “I get off duty at 0600. I’ll be back and I’m taking you for caf.”

“Charged to the GAR?”

“If we talk about training Grizzer, I can write it off as a work expense.” He gave a cheeky grin.

“And what if I want to talk about you?” You cooed softly, tracing the outline of his chest plate.

“I can still tell Fox it was a work expense. Like I said, I’m the favorite. I’ll see you in the morning, mesh’la.” He slipped his helmet back on and started to leave.

He paused and spun back on his heel, lifting his helmet once more. He grabbed your hand and pressed one final kiss to it before jogging back toward his patrol route.

You’d never gotten ready for bed so quickly. But the sooner you fell asleep, the sooner you’d be seeing Hound again; an event that couldn’t happen soon enough. He was, after all, the sweetest constant you’d ever known.

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Greetings and grats on 300+!!!

May I request:

• Hound (special appearance Grizz?)

• romantic

• gn!reader

• sfw

• 300

• prompt: 9 - "Help me."

• optional: said by reader; maybe desperate could be inspiration; blue neon lights?

tysm, feel free to ignore if not vibing with it <3 grats again

Kiss Me

Hound x GN!Reader

Pairing: Hound x GN!Reader

Tags & Warnings: fluff, stalker-ish, light angst

Word Count: 300

Author's Note: Moon, sweetie, thank you so much for sending in a request for my event 🥺 I love Hound and was so excited when I saw that you asked for him! I really wanted to go a little further with this one, but that darn 300 word limit stopped me 😒Who knows though, maybe I'll make it into a full-length fic someday! As always, please enjoy 💚

Your pace quickens as you walk down the neon lit street. You take a few random turns, periodically peeking over your shoulder at the man walking your same path. Your unease begins to turn into anxiety as you believe he must be following you. You’ve been trying to lose him, but you're running out of ideas and places to go.

You steal another look behind you and make a sharp turn down the next street. However, your escape is interrupted when you crash into something hard. You gasp and fall backwards onto your butt. When you open your eyes, you’re greeted by a massif sniffing your feet. You startle, but let your eyes follow its leash up to the Coruscant Guardsman holding it.

“Are you alright?” Hound asks, stretching his hand out to help you up. “That was quite a hard hit.” 

You stare at the ARF trooper blankly before getting an idea. "Pretend to be my boyfriend," you say.

"I'm sorry?" Hound questions, wondering if he heard you wrong.

"Kiss me," you insist as you step closer to him.

"What?" Hound takes a nervous step back.

You take a step forward. "Please," you whisper. "Help me. He’s been following me since I left the bar."

Hound can hear the desperation in your voice, and looks behind you to see a man coming around the corner. Without further thought, Hound places his hand on the small of your back and pulls you against him. He lifts up his bucket and presses his lips against yours. After a moment, he breaks the kiss, plants another on your forehead, and watches as the man turns.

“He’s leaving,” Hound says as he lets you go.

“Thank you,” you sigh in relief, before looking at him and smiling. “Can I buy you a caf?”

Event Masterlist

Masterlist

A03

Tag List: @nahoney22 @kixs-husband @commander-sunshine @sunshinesdaydream @padawancat97 @verndusk @starrrgazingbunny @coraex @lickylickylicky @homemade-clones @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @starrylothcat @moon-wrecked @mooncommlink @ladyzirkonia @stunkbiggu @cdblake1565

Join my taglist HERE

Tip me a tea on Ko-fi HERE

[guard-crane]

With the help of Bite and the element of surprise, with Crane jumping down from the rafters, Their able to get the jump on the guards quickly and quietly.

Crane gestures to Bite to retreat to where the rest of the squad was. Crane was going to cause a distraction, and needed no other vode to get involved.

“Trust me.” Is all Crane signalled, ‘force I should have thought of something better,’ before opening the door. 

“Hey! Sorry I was looking for the fresher, could you point me in it’s detection?”

Cranes then books it down the opposite side of the hallway, being chased by 3 of the Rattataki that were in the room, hopefully leaving Tumbler unguarded or at least less guarded.

Force if this doesn’t kill him, Forge sure as hells will.

(go get him!! @corrie-bite @squad380 also @corrie-guard-tumbler 👀)

[uwingdispatch]

New clone troopers dropped! Finally got Razor in, so if you’re a Lightning Squadron girlie, come get your man! Shop is here.

[matookahitaki]

Hey me again 🤣🤣

I just simply L O V E your artwork and I hope you know this!🙌🏻🙌🏻

I have a little request for you no rush but would you be able to draw me Hound please , I know alot of people don’t know what he looks like & I have seen a couple art works about him but I would love to see your take on him🖤🩷🖤🩷

Keep up the amazing work!xx

First time for hound, and ofc Grizzer the lil gal!

[anstarwar]

New boi! His name is Arrow and he’s very confused but also very good at what he does

[vodika-vibes]

Happy Follower Celebration!

May I request: Hound, angst/fluff?, white clover & anemone - perhaps Hound has done something wrong (or, quite wrong) to f!reader, and is trying to make up for it. I imagine perhaps somehow a romantic fubar, but could be anything. I'm mainly going for hurt/comfort here!

Thank you so much, and grats again! 🌑

I Promise

Summary: After Hound forgets your Name Day, just like everyone else in your life, you're feeling down. Luckily, your boyfriend can be a sweetheart when he wants.

Pairing: ARF Trooper Hound x F!Reader

Word Count: 1447

Warnings: Angsty but there's a happy ending

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted. But so you know, I got sad and teary while I was writing it. So...uh...sorry? Also, I tried to switch to Hound's POV for the second half, but I'm not sure how I did.

You’re mad.

Well. No. Not mad. Mad you could deal with. Disappointed, maybe, is the better word.

You’ve been dating Hound for about three months at this point, and up until now, it’s been perfect. He’s kind and loving, and whenever he plans dates he always makes sure that the both of you have so much fun. And sure, none of his dates are exactly high end dates like your friends go on, but you’ve never minded because the dates have always been geared towards having fun.

And you think it might be love, because you’re at the point where you can’t picture your life without him in it.

But this hurts.

You don’t have any family. And your friends are always so busy.

And you thought that Hound would be here to celebrate with you. But he’s not and you kind of feel like crying.

You shouldn’t have to spend your Name day alone.

And yet, that’s exactly what you’re doing.

Hound hasn’t even sent a message wishing you a happy name day.

And you should probably be mad about it, because you know he saw the date on the calendar and he even asked about it, but you don’t have the energy for mad. Just sad. And disappointed.

And starting to think that maybe, just maybe, you’re more invested in the relationship than he is.

Slowly you rest your chin on your folded arms, and you stare at the cupcake you bought yourself. It’s beautiful. Tastefully decorated with frosting that looks like flowers and with a candle neatly arranged on the top, and just looking at it makes the lump in your throat harder to ignore and burning in your eyes all that more obvious.

Your gaze flickers to your comm, as you check it one more time, and your shoulders slump. Not a single message. From anyone. Not from Hound, not from your friends-

“It’s a stupid thing to celebrate, really.” You say to your empty apartment, as you sit up and push your chair back and get to your feet to shove the cupcake somewhere else.

Maybe it’ll hurt less tomorrow.

Spoiler, it never does.

You carefully put the cupcake in the fridge, after pulling the candle out and tossing it in the trash, and then you grab the bag of take out menus. You feel awful enough that you’re not going to make it worse by forcing yourself to cook.

You dig through the menus, until you find the one you’re looking for. Greasy, salty, horribly unhealthy comfort food. You’re going to regret it in the morning, but you can’t bring yourself to care now.

After all, you did just find out that you’re apparently not important enough to anyone you care about for them to even send you a name day message. 

You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt, and then you place your order, enough food that you’re not going to be able to finish it, before shoving the menus back into the bag, and pinning the bag back onto the fridge. 

For a moment, you trail your fingers over your comm, your gaze lingering on Hound’s contact information. Maybe you should call him…just to make sure he’s okay. You hesitate for a moment, and then you sigh and drop your comm back on the table.

No. He probably won’t answer the call anyway.

You wipe your leaking eyes one more time, and then vanish into your bedroom to change into something more comforting. No point in wearing nice clothes now, after all.

“Kriff, kriff, kriff-” Hound curses under his breath as he dodges through the crowded streets to get home. “I’m so late! Damn it, Fox, why’d I have to stay?” He bitches at the memory of his older brother.

He slows to a walk as he reaches the apartment complex, and he digs through his pockets for his fob to unlock the main door. Only to pause when a delivery speeder pulls up, “Hold the door!” The young man shouts.

“Ah, sure-” Hound holds the door open for the young man. His gaze drops to the clearly labeled bag of food and he arches a brow, “D’you need the lift?”

“I do, yes. I’m heading to apartment 306.” The young man says, and Hound jolts. 

“How about I take that for you. 306 is my apartment.” He explains to the young man. Hound takes the bag of food, and offers a tip, before he summons the lift himself. 

He eyes the bag of food curiously.

His cyare only orders Manacetti’s when she’s had a bad day. But she normally also complains to him about bad days. Hound quickly digs his comm out of his pocket and scans through his messages, just in case.

No. Nothing.

No warnings about you having a bad day. No messages at all.

He stops in front of theapartment and keys in the door code while balancing the bag of food and his comm, and he heaves a sigh of relief when the door opens.

It’s been a long day.

“Cyare! I caught the delivery kid in the lobby, and have dinner!” He calls into the house. The quiet house. The radio isn’t even on. Hound’s lips turn down as he sets the food on the hallway table and quickly pulls his armor off, “Cyare?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” His perfect cyare says as she steps into the hallway, a ghost of a smile on her pretty lips.

Though Hound isn’t paying attention to that. He’s looking at her red rimmed eyes, and the tear stained cheeks. “Cyare? What-” He stops as a memory from several days earlier slams into him. “I forgot that today’s your Name Day.” He says.

Her lips waver for a moment and she blink rapidly, “It’s okay-”

“No. No it really isn’t. I’m…so sorry.”

“You were probably busy-”

“That’s not an excuse,” Hound interrupts, “Kriff, cyare, I made you cry-”

She hastily wipe her eyes, “You…it’s okay, no one remembered-”

Hound’s heart sinks, “…not a single person remembered?”

Her shoulders hunch as she shrinks in on herself, “...it’s a stupid thing to celebrate, really.” She says softly, though her voice is shaking, and Hound knows that the only reason she’s not crying is because of sheer stubbornness.

Carefully, he guides her into the house properly, and sets the bag of food on the kitchen table, before he slowly pulls her into his arms. “I’m so, so sorry, cyare.” Hound whispers in her ear.

“It’s okay.” She replies automatically.

“No. No it isn’t. We, my brothers and I, don't have Name Days. But I know today was important to you, so it should have been important to me.” Hound lightly strokes her hair, “I’m so, so sorry.”

She sniffles, and he rests his cheek against the top of her head as he feels tears soak through his blacks, “I thought that maybe you didn’t…” She hesitates, “That maybe this relationship meant less to you than…-” she seems unable to finish the sentence, and Hound tightens his arms around her.

He presses a light kiss against the top of her head, and then slowly pulls back, his hands coming up to cup her face. Slowly, he wipes the tears off of her cheeks, “Can I let you in on a little secret?” He asks.

She sniffles, but nods.

Hound leans in and bumps his forehead against hers, “I love you.” He whispers, and her eyes widen as she looks up at him in astonishment. “In fact, my love for you is undying. Forever and eternal.”

She drops her gaze, shyly, but there’s a small, genuine, smile on her lips, “You love me?”

“Undying love.” Hound corrects with a small grin, though it fades, “I’m sorry I forgot your name day. I’ll do better.”

Her gaze lifts to meet his gaze, “Promise?”

“I promise,” Hound drops a hand from her cheek, and he holds out a pinky, “Pinky promise, even.”

A muffled giggle falls from her lips, and she hooks her finger with his, “Alright.” She sniffles one more time, but favors him with a slightly watery smile, “I bought enough food for the both of us. And I have a cupcake we can share-”

“Oh no you dont,” Hound leans in and kisses her nose, “After dinner, you can eat your cupcake, and I’m going to dig through all of our stuff and make you a proper cake.”

“...you know how to bake?”

“How hard can it be?” Hound asks with a grin, before he ducks his head and kisses her, “Happy Name Day, Mesh’la.”

And she finally flashes a proper smile, “Thank you.”

[anxiouspineapple99]

Greetings! May I request Wrecker, Hound, and/or Hunter, whichever of my guys inspires for emoji things! ty <3

How about all three? 😊 🥰

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