#clone trooper doc

[leol]

various wips and thingz...(looks around

[mrs2224]

I have two guns, one for each of you! 💙♠️♥️♣️♦️

[flashthescalesian-art]

Sometimes I randomly remember that my Corrie medic Doc becomes a singer eventually after the war because his wife encourages him to try singing publicly, and he has like a combination of Owl City and Jason Mraz vibes, and his wife is always on stage with him for emotional support because he’s a nervous wreck for a while, and then it just becomes expected for him to be singing and dancing with his wife during his concerts.

[jockbots]

Numa joining the resistance like mulan in the disney movie has me going feral

here me out

Ryloth has its devistating switch from republic protection to empire occupation

Nabat is remote, not remote enough to be out of its grip, but enough for Boil to defect there

Boil regains enough of himself to remember his promise to come back

it was supposed to be with waxer but he was also supposed to trust the jedi

He returns to Ryloth and for a brief happy time he lives with Numa and her family

then the empire starts to tighten its grip in Ryloth

its been 10 years and the empire are getting more demanding

Syndulla makes a request to all able bodied fighters to join the free ryloth movement

Boil tells his new family he has to go

Numa has other ideas

To her he has fought his war, hes given enough, hes 28 and he is an old man and he will not come back from this fight

they argue and Boil, who is always as gentle as Waxer had always been, who never gets angry at her only at the gravel that scrapped her knee or the pesky tookas that lay in his flower beds, tell her deadly serious

that it is his duty to go as a clone created for war and he will go bc it is what he was made for

Numa will say something fueled by sadness abt his survivers guilt at they will both part hurt and misty eyed

thats when she'll decide hes not going

when everyone is asleep she'll go into his room and take the datapad with the encrypted request

leave her tooka for him if she doesn't come back

find the armour stored away neatly but dusty

take the blacks, that the utility belt, take an arm of armour from pauldron to gauntlet. the one with his name so that he will be there with her without being in harms way

and catch the next cart to the capital before the night is up

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkness on Umbara Chp.1 (Rex x Reader)

Hey everyone! guess whose in too deep!? me! I've clung to these fictional copy-paste men so much, you can call me a fucking LEECH!

Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Chapter 11. Chapter 12. Chapter 13. Epilogue

Landing on Umbara

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, reader insert, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

This is very briefly proofread so I die like a man

Minors DNI, even if theres no smut

Umbara was dark. From what you gathered, it was extremely fucking dark. 

You prepared your supplies with Kix. As medics, you both needed to double and triple check every pack, case and box. 

Kix would be on the front. His expertise was more front line first-aid rather than your position behind the forces. He would keep the men alive long enough to get to your hands where you’d focus on the more intense medical care. While you would be armed to defend yourself, it was better if you stayed out of the line of direct fire.

Your safety and position were tied to the status you were given. As a natural born human in the GAR, your life was inherently seen as more important than the clones. This thought process was something you were vehemently against. You and your fellow soldiers were on equal ground. You’ve always tried to treat them with respect, kindness and patience.

On several occasions nat-borns would disrespect or belittle clones in your presence, which usually resulted in a verbal lashing from you. Much to the joy of your General Anakin and his padawan Ahsoka. 

And the affection of a certain Captain Rex.

You peered up from looking over the medical supplies you were supposed to carry. Currently your secret lover was across the hangar meeting with the Jedi generals, ARC troopers and commander of the 212th. 

Despite being in his helmet, you knew you caught his eye. Rex didn’t give anything away except a small movement of his hand. Something Fives didn’t miss, who gave you a small wave.

He knew of your relationship with Rex. So did Anakin. But other than those two, it was secret. All for his protection, as clones were forbidden from romantic partners.

There was a surge of energy in the hangar and you looked around. Your eyes met Kix’s before you nodded to him, “Showtime.” The first wave was loading up ready to get to Umbara’s surface. 

“I’ll keep Rex safe until you touch down.” Your medic friend winked at you before he stood, got his helmet on and got to his transport. 

Scratch that, Kix knew about you and the captain too. 

Several of the gunships lifted, flying from the hangar down to the planet below. The first wave of troops, including ARF troopers, were being sent down to clear the field. From there, a second wave of back-up, your wave, would join them. Your command was temporary. All you had to do was get them to the ground before they took orders from Rex and Anakin.

You adjusted your gauntlet with the communicator on it. T-minus 5 minutes. Your fingers danced over your supplies, double-checking everything you had. 

Bandages, tourniquets, laser cauterizers, laser scalpel, bacta, patches, emergency suture kits…

“Ready, doc?” A trooper, Ringo, took you out of your thoughts.

With a nod, you lifted your pack and stepped up onto the gunship, “Ready. Let’s load up.”

Others followed your orders and soon, you were in the sky above Umbara. 

Despite the first wave’s efforts, chaos still reigned. Almost immediately your gunship was assaulted by artillery fire. A shot exploded next to you, shaking the entire air vehicle. A ship to the west of yours burst into an explosion of flames.

In response, your second hand shot up for stability. A trooper had their hand on your shoulder to help keep you steady. After a moment, the transport stabilized and you let go, stepping to the back where a crate of supplies waited.

“Dare, how close are we?” You chimed on your communicator. Hopefully you didn’t startle the pilot.

“Landing in 30, I can’t get to the landing site, so you’ll have to walk some to the staging area,” he responded.

“Play it safe,” You commanded, “Land where you can. And try not to crash, I like living and I'm sure the other men do too.” A couple of clones snickers in their helmets. Your little quip helped ease the atmosphere it seemed.

You prepared a speeder. The small vehicle had been modified to carry a patient and allow you to transport extra medical supplies. It was outfitted with some extra armor and protection as well, so in an emergency you could activate a rayshield at the cost of the vehicle's speed.

“Doc, landing in 10.”

“Good job.” You spoke into your communicator before getting on the speeder. You counted down in your head, and just as you got to 1, the doors opened. 

The troopers unloaded, guns ready. Shots were fired, though it didn’t seem as concentrated. Explosions were going off, but at a relatively safe distance. Seemed the first wave did a better job than you originally thought. Your speeder got to the ground, and you made your way to the staging area with the rest of the men.

The battalion had established some trenches, allowing a brief moment of rest and preparation for everyone. You stopped right at the small medical area Kix had skillfully established. Already there were injured in the double digits. Without pause, you got to work.

“You nearly missed the party,” Kix snarked, handling a blaster burn on the thigh of a shiny.

“I’d call this fashionably late,” you quipped back, getting your hands on a different soldier. Blood was seeping from the bottom of his damaged helmet, staining his blue and white chestplate in red. Your mind kicked into training, “What's your name?” You asked, voicing a kinder tone. 

The poor clone was clearly in agony, responding with a tremor to his words, “S-Stag.” He swallowed, trying to control his mental state.

These damn soldiers liked to pretend everything was fine. 

“Alright Stag, I’m gonna remove your helmet.” 

He didn’t argue when you pulled it off revealing the extent of the damage. 

Severe blaster burn. Missing eye. Jaw visible. Shrapnel from the helmet had pierced his cheek and temple. Concussion possibly. 

His remaining brown eye looked wildly at you. You recognized fear. terror.

So, you gave him a reassuring soft smile, “Not too bad, I’ve dealt with worse.” Your fingers quickly wrapped around an injector filled with painkillers, “Here, I’m gonna give you something to help with the pain.” Your words seemed to have a positive effect because he nodded and let you treat him.

You worked quickly and efficiently, stemming the bleeding and getting him stabilized. When you were finished, he had calmed down considerably. Once Stag was stable, you moved on to the next trooper. 

By the fifth, you realized one of them couldn’t be saved.

He was a shiny. Barely off Kamino you guessed. The plastoid of his chest piece looked to be shattered and singed from a bolt to the chest. His breathing was shaky as he leaned against the dark trunk of a glowing tree. 

“I need a trooper.” you called taking the soldier’s hand in your own. You learned quickly into the war that the clones always wanted to die with a brother near them. A reminder that they weren’t alone.

“I hope I’m good enough.” 

That voice. 

“Rex,” Your head turned, looking up at him. You wished you could smile, but you had to keep your excitement under a mask. Plus, the situation didn’t call for it.

His warm eyes were on yours as he pulled off his helmet and knelt. There was clear sadness, knowing that this was the end for one of his men. So the only thing he could do was offer comfort.

“Fyre.” The captain spoke softly, “You did well.” He put one armored hand on the dying man's shoulder. 

Wordlessly, you gave Fyre a shot for the pain and held his hand, “Everything is alright now.” you whispered to him. This wasn’t uncommon, when you or Kix were too late to save someone. 

At the beginning you would burn through supplies trying to save everyone, only to fail and lose them anyway. Over the course of the war, you knew to recognize when all you could do was ease their pain and let them slip away. 

It was the grim reality of the war. You couldn’t save them all. 

Fyre coughed and squeezed your hand. His eyes closed and the clone took his last breath. 

“Damnit.” you swore, checking his pulse. You only felt stillness. He was gone.

Rex sighed, “You tried. So, thank you,” He stood and helped you stand. He couldn’t let his grief from the loss overwhelm him, “I wish you stayed on the ship.” The clone captain admitted, “I get the feeling Umbara is going to be brutal. More so than previous battles.”

“You can’t get rid of me so easily,” Your eyes quickly scanned around. No one seemed to be close enough or paying attention to the two of you, “My darling.” you added, interlocking your fingers.

Your lover looked around quickly before he responded quietly, “Mesh’la, be careful what you say.” Despite his warning, he made no move to pull away. In fact, he stepped closer, “For now, at least.”

Of course, you knew the two of you had to reign in your love and affection in front of others. On the battlefield he was the captain and you the field doctor. Trying to push those boundaries would stress him out. Afterall, if his romance with you got to Kamino, they’d call for a decommission. Something Anakin would never go for, but better safe than sorry.

However, he warmed to small touches and brief moments whenever the situation allowed. 

Your lips had a small smile, “I’m glad you're not hurt.” you raised one palm to stroke the side of his helmet. The battle wasn’t even an hour in and already his armor was dirty.

“Promise me you’ll be careful.” Rex murmured, keeping his voice down, “Please, ner kar’ta.” He was being protective again. Normally the captain was better at prioritizing. He was the leader of the battalion first and your lover second. But right now he seemed…spooked. Were things getting bad already? 

Umbara must be getting to him. After all this assault was much different than other battles.

“I’ll promise if you promise,” Your lips quickly pecked his visor. It was chaste and fast, so no one could see. Just a sweet kiss between the two of you.

He was about to respond when his communicator went off. 

“General Skywalker,” Your lover pulled back and raised his wrist up. 

“Come find me, I need the status of our men.” Anakin’s voice sounded on the other end, “and tell our good doctor I said hello.” 

You snorted.

“Right away, General.” the clone captain said, returning to his professionalism. He looked at you one more time before stepping away to find the jedi.

You sighed, “Back to work.” Without waiting a second, you found another injured soldier and began to treat him.

Your eyes glanced at the shadowy sky for a moment, unable to shake the pit in your stomach. It felt like something was deeply wrong.

The darkness on Umbara must already be getting to you too.

[artist-kreating-stuff]

Leave her, Johnny

Clone Trooper x GN!Medic Reader

Warnings: mentions of bodily injury and death

—————

You were only barely out of medic training when the summons came through for more medics on the front lines. You, along with other medics, some being fresh graduates like yourself, were sent to various outskirts of the war to provide support in the med bays.

You were barely there a day before things quickly fell by the wayside.

The Droid Army attacked in the middle of the night, catching everyone by surprise. The clone troopers were forced into the fight, and you and the other medics were forced right along with them to provide whatever backup you could.

As inexperienced in combat as you were, you tried to keep to the outskirts of the battle. So far you had only come across troopers that were already dead, smoking holes decorating their armor. Each sighting caused the guilt to weigh heavier and heavier on your shoulders, and you quickened your pace, praying to whichever deity that was listening that you would at least be able to save one trooper before the battle was over.

Finally, you spotted movement. The trooper was lying prone on the ground and wreathed in blaster fire smoke, but he was visibly twitching, which meant he was still alive. You thanked whatever deity had listened and asked them to keep the good luck going as you slid to your knees beside the trooper. “Don’t worry, trooper - I’ve got you!”

You whipped off the clone’s bucket, revealing the prominent cheekbones and sharp military haircut that all clones shared. His skin was pale and clammy, but he flashed a weak smile up at you. “D-dang, are you a s-sight for sore eyes…” He drawled, though the tone fell short on account of his constant wheezing.

You offered a tense smirk of your own as you went about checking the damage. “What’s your name, trooper?” You asked him, trying to keep him talking in case he had a concussion.

The trooper coughed harshly before answering, “D-don’t have one… I-I was released from Kamino about a week ago… I-I’m a Shiny, as the c-commanders call ‘em…” He flashed you another strained smile. “T-this was my f-first battle… and a-apparently my last…”

Panic shot through your system at his nonchalant words, but you tried to keep calm. “Don’t say that, trooper,” you told him as you attempted to pry off his damaged chest plate to assess the skin underneath. “You and I are going to get out of this hellhole together, you hear me?”

The trooper laughed again, but there was no mirth in it this time. “D-don’t lie to me, Doc,” He told you, though there was no heat behind it. “I-I can already t-tell it’s bad…”

You wanted to tell him otherwise, but you couldn’t deny what you were seeing. The droids had managed to clip him with a shot right to his abdomen, charring the skin around the injury and turning the exposed muscle black. From what you could see, you guessed they had hit one of his kidneys. A kill shot.

You thought back to the dead troopers you had seen on the battlefield and resigned yourself to the fact that this trooper would soon be joining them. “I-I’m sorry, trooper, but…”

“I-it’s okay…” He said gently, gently touching one of your hands, both of which were still clamped around his chest plate. “I-I knew this would happen eventually… we all did…” His voice was pained, but his deep brown eyes were full of acceptance. “I-if not our first b-battle, t-then later on… We d-didn’t expect to see the end of t-the war…”

Like his previous statement, you so desperately wanted to rebuke this one, but it was true. Even among the medics, it was a widely held belief that most of the clones wouldn’t live to see the end of the war. And where one clone fell, several more would soon take his place. This trooper was shiny and new, fresh off of Kamino, yet already living (or rather, dying) proof of that fact.

They were viewed as expendable, every last one of them. The unfairness of it cut you to your core.

“I’m so, so sorry…” you admitted redundantly, slowly lowering his chest plate as you tried in vain to fight off tears.

“I-it’s okay,” He repeated, moving his hand to gently grasp your forearm. “A-at least I w-won’t be alone… t-that’s more than most t-troopers can say.”

That statement was the only one you wanted to say was true, but you heard an anguished cry and were reminded of your job. There were other troopers fighting and dying, and you had already spent too much time on this one. You knew you had to get back in the field, but the thought of leaving this trooper alone while he was in pain twisted your stomach.

The trooper seemed to sense your inner turmoil, tightening his hold on your hand and causing you to look back down at him. The naked desperation in his eyes nearly broke the dam on your tears. “P-please… stay with me?” He asked tentatively, as if he was already fully aware that you had to leave.

After that small plea, there was no force in the galaxy that would make you vacate his side. Without speaking, you changed your hold on his hand to a more secure one and hoisted his body into your lap, mindful of the gaping hole in his abdomen. The trooper seemed to feel better now that he was sure that you weren’t about to leave him, smiling and relaxing into your hold. “Thank you,” He mumbled into the armor of your medic uniform.

You simply nodded and held him a fraction tighter, wanting to convey as much comfort as you could during his final moments. The conversation took an uncomfortable lull as you both waited for death to arrive, punctuated only by the distant sounds of battle and the trooper’s labored breathing. The silence was unbearable, so you were thinking of ways to fill the void when an idea struck you.

“You know,” you started softly, feeling the trooper’s hand shake in yours. “I came from a mostly ocean planet, like you. It had several landmasses, though - it wasn’t fully ocean, unlike Kamino.”

The trooper scoffed wetly, sounding like it was more from pain than amusement. “S-seeing is b-believing…” He said lightly.

Not that I’ll ever get to see it.

Both of you heard the unsaid words, but neither decided to comment on it. “Because there was so much ocean, most of our trade was seafood-based,” You continued. “I grew up next to the harbor, and everyday I would watch as fishing ships came and went on the water. Every time a crew came back from a particularly long trip on the water, they would sing a little song as they unloaded their ship. It was their own special way of ending a journey. I could sing it for you, if you’d like.”

To your surprise, the trooper nodded his head vigorously. “Y-yes… yes please,” He begged, clutching your hand with a new energy. “A-anything to fill the silence…”

You nodded in return and readjusted the trooper’s body against yours, keeping his ear close to your chest so he could at least feel a human heartbeat as he passed. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, pulling the verses of the song from memory. You were in no way a professional singer but you started to sing softly…

I thought I heard the Old Man say,

“Leave her, Johnny, leave her!

“Tomorrow you will get your pay,

“And it’s time for us to leave her.”

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!

For the voyage is long and the winds won’t blow,

And it’s time for us to leave her.

Oh, the wind was foul and the sea ran high.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

She shipped it green and none went by,

And it’s time for us to leave her.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!

For the voyage is long and the winds won’t blow,

And it’s time for us to leave her.

I hate to sail on this rotten tub.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

No grog allowed and rotten grub,

And it’s time for us to leave her.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!

For the voyage is long and the winds won’t blow,

And it’s time for us to leave her.

We swear by rote for want of more.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

But now we’re through, so we’ll go on shore,

And it’s time for us to leave her.

Sometime after the first verse, your eyes opened and you took in the sight of the trooper as he listened to your song.

His eyes closed after the second verse.

His lips curved upward into a smile after the third verse.

His breathing started to hitch after the fourth verse.

His grip went lax after the fifth verse.

He stopped moving altogether after the sixth verse.

By the time you finished the seventh verse, your fingers had wandered up to the pulse point beneath his ear, and you had confirmed that he had finally passed.

The dam bowed and shifted, yet you still refused to let it break just yet. You resolved to finish what you had started, for the trooper’s sake. You barreled forward and sang the last verse with something akin to a broken cry:

Leave her, Johnny, leave her!

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!

For the voyage is long and the winds won’t blow,

And it’s time for us to leave her!

With that, the dam finally shattered and your tears finally started to fall with an unbridled ferocity. You slumped forward, cradling the trooper’s body closer to your chest. You mourned the life you had just met and now would never get to know. You lamented the bright light the galaxy didn’t deserve yet was given anyway, only to snuff it out without a second thought.

He didn’t even have a name yet…

The sound of a throat clearing startled you out of your mournful reverie, and you whipped around to see the head medic standing behind you, hands on his hips. You were suddenly aware of the very compromising position you were in, with a dead trooper’s body in your lap and his limp hand in yours, his chest and abdomen exposed.

“I-I… h-he was…” You stuttered, attempting to save any face you had left. “H-he asked me to…”

“No need to apologize,” the head medic told you; it was only then that you realized he was smiling. “As a medic, your main job is to provide the troopers comfort in their darkest moments. And from what I can see, you provided whatever comfort you could during this trooper’s final darkest moment. Be proud of yourself for that.” His expression tightened as he pointedly glanced at the surrounding terrain. “The battle is over. Come - we must count the dead and treat the injured.”

You nodded decisively and looked down at the rapidly cooling trooper in your arms. You didn’t understand how anyone could appear so peaceful in death, yet he looked as if he was only sleeping. You took some solace in knowing that you were the reason for that peace, that you gave him a comforting memory to leave with. With trembling hands, you gently lowered his body to the ground and folded his hands above his blasted abdomen. You hoped with all of your heart that someone would come by and give him the burial he deserved. Well, you could get his serial designation number and find out for yourself later.

With one last sigh, you got to your feet and made to follow the head medic. At the last second, you glanced back over your shoulder at the deceased trooper and sang one last line under your breath:

It’s time for us to leave you.

—————

I want to believe that at least some troopers were comforted during their final moments. They deserve that much.

Here’s the song:

[keef-a-corn]

I wish to have less on off projects

4 Star Wars show ideas - don't think anyone will be on board with em but eh. 1. Clone Force 99 - bro I just wanna see more of the bad batch growing up, Sue me. 2. Commanders - A series exploring the shenanigans of our favourite commander boys, before and during the war 3. Coruscant - A show focusing primarily on the Coruscant Guard, it's the one I have the most fleshed out. It has 4 arcs - Troopers, Medics, Massiffs, and Commanders. 4. Shore Leave - I'm just going to Copy and paste what I have on the doc

"Reality show (highly dramatised) clones [and Jedi] on Coruscant

Can work in time with Coruscant show

Think a sort of Rescue bots, TFPrime energy, but if both were 18 plus for very different reasons"

[shu-of-the-wind]

happy holidays, my lovely secret santa @flyfreeskylark! ‘tis i, your holiday flower fairy @shu-of-the-wind, with the trouble with holiday mead (soon to be now coposted to ao3). your prompts included everybody lives/nobody dies, mission fic, undercover fic, first kiss, first time, kissing for the mission, and smut is great but not necessary. unfortunately the smut fairy did not visit me this year but i hope the rest is up to snuff!

slight cw for honeytraps (not fulfilled/no sex) and pushy men in bars.

---

She hates Nevarro.

Some childish, long-lost part of her might say it’s because her first memories are from a snowy prison world, and being stuck on a planet loaded with lava flows is roasting her alive. Some other parts of her, bits that sound like Saw, like Magva, say it’s because it’s a logistical nightmare. Nevarro is all open space when it’s not flowing lava, an incomprehensible smear of ash and ancient, cracking magma rivers. There’s nowhere to hide on Nevarro, no cover to take, no place to go that isn’t baked grey with soot that lingers in every footstep.

Jyn wipes out another glass, and sets it on the counter. They picked this place for its heavy bounty hunter population—any Imp-controlled planet is bound to be lousy with them, but Nevarro City’s famed for it, all over the Outer Rim—but she hadn’t expected it to be this intense. If she lets herself get nostalgic, tips her head and squints, it almost reminds her of days with the Partisans. Insurgents and criminal syndicates aren’t all that different in their mechanics, if you don’t look too hard.

“You don’t get paid to stare,” says Drek, and whacks her on the back of the shoulder with the end of his filthy towel. Jyn almost seizes the towel and snaps it back in his face, but she’s not Jyn, not right now. She’s Giba, and she needs to keep her shit together. “Deal with the ‘troopers before any of this lot.”

“Yessir.” She’s scraped the Coruscant out of her voice with a razor, and approximated something like Cassian’s accent in its place, though she’s not entirely sure she’s getting the vowels right. In the corner, a Houk smashes his glass into the floor and howls with laughter, and the ‘troopers in front of her don’t even flinch. Something rich and smug swells in her chest. Knew it. They’re so used to this place they don’t even think to check scan-docs anymore. “Right away.”

Drek scoffs, and hauls his eight-armed self away back to the other end of the bar. Jyn lifts her chin to a handful of new bounty hunters that have just come in—“Be right with you, lovelies”—and slips down between the other bartenders, all of them considerably less human-looking, to the ‘troopers. 

“Sirs,” she says, and curls her forefinger and thumb into her apron pocket. “What can I get for you?”

One of the ‘troopers—sergeant by his colors, helmet off completely against regs in a non-controlled zone, birth-born human and not a clone by the color of his eyes—gives her a toe-to-top look that lingers around her hips and shoulders. “Nevarro sunrise,” he says, after a minute, and Jyn slips on an old mask, a smile from six years and seventeen planets ago, tapping the order into the touchscreen on her side of the bar counter. “Alky, what do you want?”

“You got any ale?” says the second ‘trooper,  definitely not XO material, birth-born with hair way too long to meet Core regs. Jyn puts a hand on her hip, cocks her head, lets the smile settle in on her face.

“Nothing I would serve you. Though—” She considers, tapping her finger to her hip, and a few stools away, Cassian, who’s been nursing a drink of his own for the last five hours playing the jealous ex, pushes his glass back. “I think I could probably wrangle you a Riosan mead out of the back if you really want something different.”

The second ‘trooper, the one with long hair, leans a little across the counter. “Could you now?”

There’s a scoff from the side. Jyn ignores it, props her elbows on the counter to lean in a little herself. She isn’t Jyn, not right now. She’s Giba, and Giba is a flirt. “Depends on if you’re gonna be nice.”

He has teeth that have been surgically sharpened, like a predator’s. Sharptooth says, “I can be nice if you’d like.”

She bops a finger to the point of his chin, and says, “I’ll go get you those drinks, then.”

“Giba—”

“I’m busy,” she says to Cassian, and aims directly for the back room behind the bar, dragging bottles out of the wall, popping the little bottle of sedative out of her pocket to conceal in her hand. Her fingers are trembling. She draws in air, sends it out in a slow wave, and after a beat, the shaking isn’t visible, for all she can feel the reverberating adrenalin rattling around inside her ribs.

She hates honeytraps. She hates them with every fiber of her being, but the thing with stormtroopers is that there just aren’t many ‘troopers out there that will openly let themselves be seduced by non-female bartenders, and that means she has to put on masks that she hates and play roles that have her nails gouging into the meat of her palms. She has to flirt and play pretend and not do what she wants to do, which is find a baton and cave in their skulls with the end of it, to hell with the bar and the mission and the information they need. She has to do all of that, and she has to do it with Cassian watching, impassive, and she doesn’t know if the thing shredding itself in her chest is her heart or her guts or her nerve or all three.

Over the comm that’s tucked into her ear, Cassian makes a huffy little noise, and says, “Typical,” just loud enough for the ‘troopers to overhear. There’s a hum of sound, and then: “Giba’s predictable, is all.”

Focus. Come on. “Predictable, huh.” She tucks the bottle of mead under her arm. “Dial it up a little? One of them has to take the bait or the last week getting all this ash in our clothes will have been completely pointless.”

There’s a beat of silence, the echo of audio that she can hear fuzzily through the walls of the back room, before he clears his throat in an assent. “Nothing, just that she runs after anything in a uniform.”

A crackle of static, and then she catches a little bit from one of the ‘troopers, the sergeant this time. “—that make you?”

She can picture it perfectly, Cassian spreading his hands in a what can you do gesture understood all over the galaxy. “Sanitation worker.”

The guffaw of the ‘troopers makes her teeth itch. “Sanitation? You’ve got to be joking, this hellhole has a sanitation crew? I thought everyone threw their shit into the lava.”

“Most people can’t get close enough to the flows to try,” says Cassian, and she thinks he might be injecting a little of Luke Skywalker’s enthusiasm into it, because she’s never heard Cassian this excited to talk about magma. “Most civilians don’t have the proper shielding equipment to be able to—”

“No wonder she dumped you,” says Sharptooth.

“Careful she doesn’t bite anything off when she takes you home,” says Cassian. “Though looks like you like that sort of thing.��

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

That’s her cue. Jyn slips out of the back room again, the Riosan mead in one hand, three glasses in the other, pausing just long enough for the ‘troopers to see her face flicker with annoyance. “Riff, I told you—”

It’s in moments like these where she knows how good of a weapon she snatched out of Draven’s arsenal a year ago, when he went AWOL with her aiming for Scarif. Cassian puts a hand to his chest, all wounded lover, eyes wide and wet, lips parted. Even with the limp and the slight hitch to his shoulders from his sore back, he’s every part of him Riff the jilted sanitation worker. She knows it’s an act, but still; the shredded, blistering pile in her insides gives a horrible little wrench of pain. “Giba, can we just—” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, sanitation,” says Sharptooth. The sergeant has completely tuned out, nursing the Nevarro sunrise someone must have brought him while she was hiding in the back. “You need me to get him out of here, sweetheart?”

“Oh, would you?” Jyn turns to Sharptooth. “Just—don’t break him, there’s—”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Cassian skitters out of reach of Sharptooth, knocking over his drink in the process. Sharptooth bolts out of his stool so he doesn’t get caught with the splatter, knocks into the sergeant, a blaster goes off—she thinks that might have been the Houk in the back—and Jyn seizes the sergeant’s Nevarro sunrise off the counter in just such a way that when she tips her hand, the sedative dribbles into his drink without anyone the wiser.

“I’m so sorry,” Jyn says, and seizes the nearest towel. “Get out of here, Riff—”

“I’m going, I’m going—” Cassian backs up. “Um—my tab—”

“Get out of here!”

“Gone,” says Cassian, and vanishes into the crowd of bounty hunters while Jyn sets the Nevarro sunrise back onto the counter in front of the sergeant.

While she wipes up the counter, the sergeant drains half of it in one drag.  

“I’m so sorry,” she says again, and lets some of the frustration show. “He just—he’s a nuisance, I wish I’d never gone out with him—”

“You deserve so much more than a sanitation worker, lovely,” says Sharptooth, and reaches out to stroke the backs of his gauntleted fingers down her cheek and throat. Jyn stays very still, and lets him, for all that it makes her heart kick up to dangerous speeds. ‘trooper fingers near her throat have never meant anything other than danger danger danger. She’s hardwired. She can’t not have her heart race. “You need somebody to show you a good time.”

“Oh?” She tosses the rag aside, and leans an elbow onto the counter. “Is that what you’re showing me?”

There’s an odd little sound over the comms. She thinks Cassian might have bit his tongue.

“Depends.” Sharptooth smiles again, his fangs too-white in the dim light of the bar. “What’s a good time look like for you?”

The sergeant makes a disgusted noise, and goes back to nursing his drink.

It takes a good ninety minutes for the sergeant to go unconscious. It’s not meant to be a fast-acting sedative; fast-acting ones draw attention that they don’t want, not on an imperial stronghold like this one. On top of that, every single person in here is a bounty hunter or worse; she doesn’t need anyone recognizing the symptoms of a knock-out vial. So she waits, circling back to top up the mead and Nevarro sunrises, until the sergeant’s head begins to dip lower and lower, his eyelids drooping. After an hour, he’s practically laying his entire body against the bartop; another thirty minutes after that, and he’s snoring, and Sharptooth huffs. “Shit, I didn’t realize those things were that strong.”

“Every drink is strong for the ‘troopers that keep us safe,” she says, smiling at him. “And sometimes humanoids have a stronger reaction to the alcohols we have in our Nevarro sunrises.”

“No shit,” says Sharptooth.

“If you like,” says Jyn, “I could just put him in the back to sleep it off. We got a room for guests we like, so they’re not out on the streets past curfew.”

He sucks his teeth, and considers. “Where’s that leave you?”

“Off shift,” she says, smiling and pretending she hasn’t gnawed her cheek bloody. “So…we could keep spending time together, if you wanted.”

Sharptooth’s pupils flare, and Jyn almost breaks his nose. She curls a hand tight around the glass she’s cleaning out, and hopes she doesn’t crack it. “Where’s this back room?”

“Just through there.” She points towards a filmy, beaded curtain that’s the only thing that separates Drek’s bar from the brothel just upstairs. “If you go and let them know that Drek says the sergeant needs a place to sleep things off, they’ll come collect him. And I can meet you outside?”

Sharptooth leans across the counter, just close enough that his breath puffs across her face. She’s proud to say her smile doesn’t wobble, but her face hurts from keeping it in place. “Sounds like a plan, gorgeous.”

Jyn keeps the smile in place until Sharptooth’s gone through the filmy curtain. Once it’s rattled back into place, she spits on the floor, and takes off her apron. “Hey, Drek?”

Drek, down the bar, doesn’t look at her. “What?”

“I quit,” she says, and slips out from behind the bar to grab her coat.

She waits in the alley they decided on a week ago, when she and Cassian first touched down on Nevarro with the goal of finding a way into the ‘trooper garrison being set up in Nevarro City. It’s mangy, a dumpster overflowing with garbage and smeared paint on the walls, but Jyn drapes her jacket—not for warmth, but to protect her arms from any potential burns from passing magma flows—over her shoulders and leans against the wall of the bar, just inside the lip of the alley.

“Breathe,” says Cassian, soft into her ear. If everything’s gone according to plan, he’s been stuck crouched down behind the dumpster for the last hour and a half, listening to her outrageous flirting and waiting for her to come out with one or both of the targets. Their best option is an XO, and they have that in the sergeant, but now it’s a matter of dealing with Sharptooth in a way that doesn’t set alarm bells ringing for the garrison. In the brothel, Chirrut—who somehow in the last week has made fantastic friends with everyone working upstairs—will be cloning every scan-doc and identifying code that the sergeant has, and putting them back exactly where he found them. In a few hours, the sergeant will wake up in bed with a sex worker they’ve hired just for this purpose, and never tell anyone about the time he got drunk at Drek’s and propositioned an alien. You don’t bed aliens and keep your job as a stormtrooper, even on the Outer Rim. “Almost through.”

Jyn clears her throat—they’ve long-since decided that means yes, when one of them can’t speak; a sneeze means no—and curls her hands in and out of fists. Her fingernails, stubby as they are, have left bruises on the flesh of her palms. “Shit.”

“Breathe,” says Cassian again, and it reverberates into her body the way drumbeats do, echoing and vibrating against her ribs. Breathe. They’ve done this, or something like this, a thousand times, and will do it a thousand times more. On and on until we win or the chances are spent. She takes a deep breath, and then another, and so when Sharptooth comes out of the bar, she’s smiling again with teeth she’s sucked clean of blood.

“Hey, stranger.”

It’s easy, in the end. She takes three steps back; Sharptooth follows her into the alley, just past the dumpster; and in an instant Cassian’s lunged. The stun gun has long prongs, modified for dents and gaps in ‘trooper armor, and Cassian’s got a sniper’s aim; Sharptooth doesn’t even seem to realize what hit him before he’s on the floor, eyes rolling back into his head. This time, the sedative they put down his throat is fast-acting. He’ll be snoring in the alley for the rest of the night.

They dump him behind the dumpster, trash with trash. Jyn allows herself exactly one retaliatory kick in Sharptooth’s ribs. “Bastard.”

Cassian’s smile is the hooked edge of a crescent moon. “Quick, before someone sees—”

They snag the scan-docs—along with his credit chit, the plate armor, his blaster—a mugging; make them think it’s a mugging and no one will wonder about everything that’s missing—and Jyn’s just stowed what looks like a fairly pricy bit of flashy jewelry that’s also not standard Core World regs when there’s a scuffing at the head of the alley. It doesn’t matter who it is. They can’t be seen standing over an unconscious ‘trooper, even one like Sharptooth.

It's not a thought, or a question. It’s training and instinct, more than anything else. Jyn seizes Cassian by the wrist, and tugs him close to her, stepping back in the same moment so she’s pressed against the dumpster, so there’s a clang of body on body on metal, and whoever is at the head of the alley will see limbs and clothes and two figures hauled in close together in the dark. It’s only after she’s done it that she realizes her mistake; that in pulling him forward and in so fast she might have jostled his back; that now it’s Cassian drawn close into her, breath puffing against her face, the warmth of him too much on this stupid magma ball of a planet, smelling of skin and sharp smoke and capsaicin.

“Stay still,” he says, almost inaudible.

Jyn can’t speak. She looks up at him, at the line of his jaw, and swallows. Cassian must notice, because his eyes shift from the head of the alley down to her face. There’s no lighting in the alley, but one of the signs for the bar casts a dim red glow that reflects in his eyes. She can’t make out his expression. His face is spy-quiet.

“Hello?”

It’s Drek. Cassian doesn’t look away from her. He shifts, ever so slightly, and there’s a question on his mouth.

Jyn goes up on her toes, and kisses him.

It’s not an actual kiss. She tells herself this even as it happens, even as warmth blooms in her throat, down her limbs, too much in the wake of the magma flow beside Nevarro City, a thrum of something she can’t identify. It’s a mask. Another mask, like they’ve both been wearing all night. Cassian draws in air through his nose, and then tangles a hand in the hair at the back of her head, pulling her closer into him, and the second kiss isn’t a kiss either. There’s a star going supernova in her chest. Jyn pushes herself higher on her toes, hooks an arm around his neck, kisses him open-mouthed and messy, because it’s an alley, but it’s also not a kiss, but it’s Cassian, and there’s something tight in her throat that might be close to tears when he cups his other hand so gentle against the nape of her neck, petting against the thrum of her pulse with his blistered thumb.

“Horny idiots,” Drek mutters, and there’s a bang as he tosses something into the dumpster. Cassian doesn’t jerk away. If anything, he pulls her closer into him, a third kiss, and then a fourth, and Jyn can’t hear Drek walking away. Her heart is racing in her ears.

It’s only after a door has closed that Cassian pulls back, only enough to wet his lips, searching her face.

“He’s gone.”

Jyn grips the fabric of his shirt for a long moment. Then, carefully, she unclenches, one finger after the other, letting him go.

“Good,” she says, and looks away. ��Let’s get the hell off this mudball.”

She seizes the bag, and bolts down the alley, her mouth tattooed with something she can’t take back.

[dragonsandwolvesohmy]

Does anyone know of, or did someone make, a guide that includes the colors of each battalion? Such as Obi-Wan's men being orange/gold, Anakin's being blue, Plo's being gray, Mace's being purple, Coruscant red, etc.

Edit: I've started a guide!!!

Access it here on Docs and add your knowledge, please. It's over 300 clone trooper units and I don't know all of them. I'd love for this to be a fandom-wide project.

[flamingoprincess25]

Hello! Are your headcannon requests still open? Okay, so I was thinking about that Disney princess post you made and I was wondering if you could maybe write headcannons about the boxers going to Disney World for a week. :3

Thnx in advance 💖✨️

OHOHOOHO I LOVE THIS ONE

(Let's see if I remember anything from my Disney trip in 2019 AUGHHH)

LITTLE MAC

The first thing he and Doc bought were obviously Mickey ears (Doc got ones that look like chocolate)

Doc gave Little Mac money to spend but it all got spent in one gift shop.

He did go to every park. (His favorite is Magic Kingdom)

Got to meet all the characters and get their autographs

GLASS JOE

Got a bit of social anxiety by the sheer amount of people in the parks

Was too broke and couldn't afford much

Absolutely LOVES the sweets they got

Threw up after riding Space mountain with the big boys.

Got a snowglobe (he loves collecting snowglobes)

VON KAISER

Actually brought his students with them. They basically fucked around with Aran Ryan.

Surprisingly, his favorite park is Epcot. (Almost thought it was the world's biggest golf ball 😭)

Makes sure everyone sticks in a group (it didn't last not even for 10 seconds)

Loves the Snow White coaster and would ride it over and over if the lines weren't so long.

DISCO KID

Blasted a whole Disney playlist the whole way there

Nearly passed away on some rides (*cough* tower of terror *cough*) and definitely passed out on a majority of the rides.

Attracted a crowd in Hollywood Studios from break dancing

Was SO HAPPY to meet Stitch (He was one of his favorites)

Would NOT stop singing the songs on repeat (Sandman wanted to BEAT his ass)

Got so many souvenirs he had to get another bag.

KING HIPPO

Has absolutely no idea where he's going or what this place is.

Fell in love with Animal Kingdom (some places in the park reminded him of home)

He actually got to see Kevin and he was so happy the whole trip. (He even got a Kevin plushie for himself)

Hogged everyones dole whip on the hottest day of the trip

Had a fucking BLAST at the water parks (don't know the names bc I never went there 😭)

PISTON HONDO

Didn't really mind the trip (He's been to Disney World Japan god knows how many times)

Attempted to take some of the food back home, only for it all to get eaten by Hippo

Was "Harassed" by storm troopers in Hollywood Studios

Kept comparing everything in Disney World to the one in Japan like bitch stfu and enjoy the trip.

Was mostly chill and did join some shenanigans.

BEAR HUGGER

Loves both Animal and Magic Kingdom

Fucking cried when he met Mickey (bro sobbed for hours)

Actually snuck his squirrel into the parks

Got Mickey ears for both him and his animal friends (Some were too big bless)

Oversleeps back at the hotel and sometimes misses the trams to the parks

Got a shit ton of stuffed animals

GREAT TIGER

Didn't need the trams to get to the park dude just fucking teleports there

He let's his clones fuck around but NOT with Aran Ryan or Von Kaisers students

Like Hondo, he was chill

Got to meet princess Jasmine and got her autograph.

Got a few collectibles (mostly jewelry)

Recorded a rap song about his trip a week later

DON FLAMENCO

OBVIOUSLY brought Carmen with him

He and Carmen wore matching Mickey ears

When he rode tower of terror, he let out the most girly horror scream in existence and was constantly bullied for it

Loved all the sweets they had but almost overindulged with an upset stomach.

He took Carmen to see all the Disney princesses

Became a princess at one point bc of Carmen (girly pop got him a dress, tiara, everything)

ARAN RYAN

Dude was a fucking menace

Took Von Kaisers students wherever they wanted to go (don't trust him babysitting he's gonna let me do fuck around and find out)

Almost got arrested....twice

Had beef with Merida and would shortly befriend the actress behind Merida. (He thought she was cool)

Shoplifted a bunch of shit and somehow got away with it

SODA POPINSKI

Fucking chugged down every drink the park had to offer

His favorite ride is Expedition Everest

Was unfortunately too tall for most of the rides

He didn't do much besides buy some souvenirs and meet characters (Cried when he met Olaf lmao)

BALD BULL

It was a nice trip for him but not with all the people pissing him off

Chilled in the pools at the hotels most of the time.

Was the spy in that one interactive Star Wars ride and made the most flabbergasted face known to man

Enjoyed the food there but almost caused a food fight.

SUPER MACHO MAN

Posed with the characters while getting his picture

Wanted to be in the shows they play but couldn't

Was another victim to the storm troopers but played along horrifyingly good (get bro an Oscar)

"I'm on a diettt" is later caught eating sweet shit

Absolutely LOVES Hollywood studios

The rest of the gang are the whole fucking reason why he's in debt

MR. SANDMAN

Didn't want to come but was forced to

Actually SMILED?! when he met Mickey and Minnie (he was picked on unfortunately)

Loves the star wars areas

Didn't buy much. All he got was a t shirt and a keychain

This is all I got for now (I tried, might edit it soon 😭) but let me know what y'all think!

Bonus HC: They did the most DIABOLICAL photo shoots on Splash Mountain (this takes place in 2009 SHHHH) for example:

(Anyways that's all!)

[vodika-vibes]

Miscommunication

So, todays writing practice features Commander Wolffe. I'm not sure I got his personality down, but maybe I'm just over thinking it.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader

Word Count: 1303

Songs: None

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Commander Wolffe hates you.

Well. You think he hates you. He never talks to you, and when he does talk to you he sort of just…speaks in your general direction rather than speaking directly to you. Or even at you. At this point you’d take him talking at you.

For the love of everything holy, he even talks to General Koon’s astromech.

You let out a noise of frustration and allow your head to thump against your desk. A lot harder than you meant, as pain bloomed across your forehead. You groan and lift your head enough to rub the painful spot.

“Is everything alright, young one.”

“General Koon,” You greet with a small smile, carefully sitting up fully, “Is everything alright? Did you need medical attention?”

“I’m uninjured,” He reassures, “I could sense your frustration from the bridge, and came to check on you.”

Shame floods you, and you feel your face start to burn. “I’m so sorry, General. I never meant to distract-”

He holds up a hand, stalling your apologies, “There’s no need to apologize. But I am worried about you. What’s troubling you so much? Are the men giving you a hard time?”

“No, no. They’re wonderful. No one has given me a hard time, aside from the normal not wanting medical attention,” She reassures, “But I think it’s a pride thing.”

General Koon nods slowly, “The war, then? Are you feeling burned out?”

“I…no. Not yet, at least. But I’m sure it’ll come.” You reassure, “Really, General, it’s…it’s a stupid thing, honestly. Not something you should bother yourself with.”

“Tell me anyway,” He suggests, “A problem shared is a problem halved, after all.”

That’s…true, you admit to yourself. You worry your lower lip between your teeth. “It’s…” Your shoulders slump slightly, “I think Commander Wolffe hates me.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then General Koon releases a noise that you realize is a laugh, “I assure you, he doesn’t.”

You’re doubtful. “He doesn’t look at me, and whenever he needs to talk to me, he sort of just talks in my direction. He doesn’t even talk at me, General.” You’re more than a little frustrated at this point, “He talks to the medical equipment, and I’m eavesdropping!”

General Koon laughs a little more, “I promise, he doesn’t hate you.”

“If my presence on the ship is making him uncomfortable I can request a transfer-” You continue, only to stop when General Koon places his hand on your shoulder.

“He doesn’t hate you. And you don’t make him uncomfortable. Not in the sense you might be thinking.” General Koon repeats for the third time.

“What does that even mean?” You ask blankly.

General Koon hums thoughtfully, “You’re a very attractive young woman. Commander Wolffe isn’t sure how to talk to you.”

“What?” Your jaw drops, “Are you telling me that Commander Wolffe is shy?”

“When it comes to you, and only you.” General Koon agrees pleasantly. He lightly pats your shoulder as you stare at him in utter disbelief, “This was a good talk, I’m glad I was able to help.” He says cheerfully, before he turns and leaves your medbay.

You thought, well, hoped, that you would have a little more time to process that particular bombshell that General Koon sort of threw at you and then expected you to juggle with everything else.

But that isn’t what happened.

Instead, the Wolfpack was deployed to a planet that had been ravaged by the Separatists. It should have been a simple search and rescue mission. That’s what you were told, however that isn’t what happened.

You’re running from one side of the medical tent to the other, helping the clone medics stabilize injured troopers, and then moving on to the next trooper. There weren’t supposed to be any droids left on planet.

“Doc! The Commander was hit!”

You hurry to Wolffe’s side, and for the first time ever, he meets your eyes. “Go,” You call, “I have him.” The medics hurry to other patients as you shove Wolffe onto a gurney. “Commander, you have a pipe through your shoulder.”

He groans in pain, “I need to get back out there-” He tries to sit up.

You easily push him back down, “You need to shut up and let me do my job.”

“When did you get so strong?”

“You have a fucking pipe sticking in your body, Commander. An infant could overpower you right now.” You point out, and then you favor him with a small, reassuring smile, “Don’t worry Commander, I’ll get you sorted out.”

“Never worried about that,” He replies with a grimace crossing his face as the pain medicine kicks in, and he slowly drifts to sleep.

Later, much later, after the fighting was over, and after everyone was safely back on the ship, and after you finish the surgery to remove the pipe from the Commander’s body, you find yourself sitting next to his bed, monitoring his vitals.

He wakes quickly, the norm for him and his brother, and you’re careful to not lean over him. “Easy Commander, the fightings over. Everyone’s fine.” You say, your voice low and soothing.

He turns his head and stares at you, “Casualties?”

“None. There were a few close calls, but none this time.” And isn’t that a blessing.

“Good.” He slowly sits up and you let out a noise of displeasure, immediately jumping to your feet and placing your hands on his shoulders.

“Absolutely not,” You said, trying to push him back down, though you may as well be trying to push a brick wall for all the effect you’re having. “You’re recovering from surgery, you need rest.” 

“I’ve rested, and now I have work to do.”

“The work will still be there tomorrow, Commander. Please, just rest.” You try to plead with him, hoping that he would see sense.

“General Koon says you’re planning on asking to be reassigned.” He says suddenly, still sitting up, much to your immense displeasure.

“What? Commander, lay down!” You try to push his back, even a little bit. 

“Are you trying to be reassigned?” He asks, rather than giving into your simple request.

“Yeah, fine, I guess! If that’s what it takes to get you to lay down!” You say frantically, “You’re going to pull your stitches!”

“You can’t.” He reaches out and touches your cheek very gently, and there’s something frantic in his gaze, “You can’t leave the Wolfpack.”

“Then I won’t! Commander, lay down!”

“I need you here.” That simple phrase cuts through your growing panic, and your grip on his shoulders loosens a little.

“What?”

“I need you here.” He repeats.

“You’ve literally never spoken to me before today.”

“Yeah, well…I’m an idiot.” He replies, “You can’t leave me-us.”

“Okay…” You stare at him, “Okay, then I won’t.”

“Just like that?” He asks.

“Just like that.” You agree. “But, no more of this pretending I don’t exist bullshit. It’s rude. And it hurts.”

“I can do that,” He agrees.

“Great, fantastic. Lay. Down.”

“On one condition.” The Commander replies.

“What condition?” You ask, your frustration growing.

“Go on a date with me.” He replies. “As soon as we get back to Coruscant, go on a date with me. And then I’ll lay down.”

“...fine. One date. I’m not promising any more than that unless you wow me, Commander.”

He smirks and allows you to push him back down to the bed, “So all I have to do to get you to be my girlfriend is wow you? I can do that.”

You don’t doubt it. Not at all.

In fact, knowing the Commander, getting you to be his girlfriend just became a mission to him. And he’s never failed a mission before in his life. Good thing you don’t actually have a problem with becoming his girlfriend.

[awkward-tension-art]

Ruins of a Republic Chp. 1 (Rex x Reader)

Heyo! I wanted to have a little series with the 501st doctor and delve into their mental state after the rise of the Empire. Not entirely sure how long this specific fic will be, or what the real end goal is but I'll have fun with it! Minimally Proofread

Caduceus Series

Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10.

Haunted

Warnings: Flashbacks, Depression, grief, hallucinations, reader is medic/doctor, reader, fall of the Republic, death, PTSD, trauma, reader is genuinely in an unsafe headspace, Reader x Rex, ANGST

“Hey Doc…” 

You looked up from your desk in the medical bay. General Skywalker was in the doorway, looking somewhat sheepish and concerned. 

“General!” You shot to your feet and saluted, “Do you need something?” 

“Uh…Yea. Kind of…” He looked around, making sure no one was in the medical bay. Once cleared, he stepped forward, giving the two of you privacy, “I wanted to say I’m sorry, for splitting you and Rex up.” 

Ah…This was about the Siege of Mandalore. Your General thought it best that your medical expertise remain with the 501st instead of being split off to the 332nd Company. You wanted to remain by your cyare’s side, but Skywalker thought it best you return to Coruscant with him and his men to help the people here.

“It’s alright, I understood your reasoning,” You gave him an understanding smile, “I trust Rex. I know he’ll return to me.”

“Me too.” The Jedi, despite looking tired, returned a small smirk, “But…There’s one more thing. Can you…see Padme? Make sure she’s OK?” 

Was Senator Amidala sick?

You were in the military base, in the medical bay dealing with the wounds of those who survived the temple attack. Your emotions had shut down, leaving you numb. And based on the look of the Clone Troopers around you, they were too.

The only thing you felt was the ache and sting of your arm. The pain from Umbara would flare up when you’ve overworked yourself. With Rex somewhere unknown and General Skywalker gone…It was easy for you to swallow your pain and keep working.

“Doctor.” A familiar voice, Senator Organa, roused you from your thoughts enough to make you look up from giving Appo painkillers. The last you saw of the senator was his panicked fleeing from the Jedi Temple.

It’s been…how long?

Days? Days. How many days? Two at most. Has to be it.

It was hard to remember how many days since the Empire was formed on the bodies of the Jedi. Of Clones. Of those lost to the war.

He gave you a small bow, greeting you politely. He stood stiffly in the doorway, “I need to speak with you.” 

“Are you injured, Senator?” Your voice didn’t sound like yours. It was flat. Empty. Void. Since the news of the Jedi, your General included, becoming traitors and sentenced to death, your grief has been near overwhelming. Anakin and Obi-wan were your friends. As close to friends as your status allowed.

And now they’re gone, with the others. However, Ahsoka was still missing. As well as Rex. So you clung onto that hope desperately.

You approached him, holding a glass bottle of bacta in your hand. Your gaze roamed him up and down, trying to find out what ailed him.

His eyes, tired yet kind, looked you over, “Have…you slept?” 

“Are you OK, Saenator?” You bypassed his question about you, “What do you need?”

“Senator Amidala…is dead.” 

The bottle slipped from your fingers and shattered on the floor. 

Padme sobbed behind you. It seemed just a few hours ago you told her the news of twins. Two babies in her womb. There was joy. Happiness and laughter as she hugged you tightly. 

And now, the both of you stared, helpless as the Jedi Temple burned in the distance. 

“Padme,” You gasped her name, “I…I need to…”

“Go!” She nodded, hand rubbing her baby bump in stress, “Go…” Before you could leave, she grabbed your hand and squeezed, “Be safe, my friend. Please.” 

You nodded and rushed from her quarters to get a speeder to the temple. You had to find General Skywalker, he would know what was going on!

Haunted. 

That's what your friends and family called you now. 

Haunted. 

War would do that. Turn you into someone else. Someone you weren’t supposed to be.

Now that the war was over, what was left? 

Senator Amidala Funeral to be Held on Naboo in 3 Standard Days

She was gone. She and her babies…gone. 

With Obi-Wan…With Anakin…With the other Jedi you had known…

All gone.

You knew grief. Of course you knew grief. But this? This was….

It left you empty. Hollow. A shell of your former self.

The Empire was 5 days old now. The Republic, and your Jedi friends, have been dead for 5 days. Time had slowed down. Yet, it also sped up.

What have you done since Organa had ordered you home while the military transitioned to Imperial? 

You desperately clung to the hope that Rex would return to you.

The barracks were empty when Cody spoke those words to you. 

“I’m sorry…He’s gone.” 

His words didn’t form properly in your head. The shock refused to let them make sense to you.

He had returned to Coruscant from Utapau, looking as broken as you did. As haunted as you. As empty. Not only did he come confirming the news of General Kenobi’s death, he brought news on Rex, Jesse and Ahsoka.

Rex…went down with the Tribunal. 

Something inside of you broke in that instant. 

How…

How?

He survived worse. Countless battles. Countless near-death experiences. 

And he goes down with a ship…?

It didn’t make sense to you. Something was computing in your overwhelmed brain.

Rex, your soul, your heart, your love, was dead. 

Dead.

Dead. 

Dead. 

Something inside of you broke. 

What was left for you in this Empire? 

Among the death of those you loved and cherished. What remained?

An injured arm that would never properly heal, reminding you of Umbara.

Comrades you no longer recognize, who lost their names to numbers.

Through the Commander's words, you realized something about your surroundings.

Fives was sitting on the bed across from you, beside him was Tup. Hardcase was leaning against the wall, watching something down the hall. Kix was looking over one of the sleeping troopers, Ahsoka next to him. Padme was lying on an empty bed, with Anakin brushing her hair out of her face. 

Rex, your love, was beside Cody. His beautiful brown eyes looking over your sleepless form. 

Hallucinations. 

You recognized what broke. What can never be repaired.

Your mind had shattered. 

“She spoke of you, you know.” Senator Mothma informed you kindly as you stepped onto the ship to Naboo, “She considered you a friend, despite how infrequently you two spent time together.” 

You were invited to the funeral along with some of her friends. To watch Padme be put to rest. Along with her children. 

It's been 7 days since this Empire was born. And 2 days since your heart was ripped from your chest.

“She was a friend.” Was all you could say as you took a seat on the ship. Kix sat down to your left. Rex was at your right. Fives was across the deck, leaning against Hardcase. The two of them were getting comfortable, intending to sleep the entire trip. 

You watched them settle, breathing slow. Calm. 

Someone, Jar-Jar, Called your name, snapping you to attention. 

“Yousa lookee winkin.” The Gungan said, preparing to sit down on your left. Kix quickly stood, moving to sit back down next to Rex. 

“It’s been a long few days, Jar-jar.” You answered him, continuing to watch Fives and Tup, “Everyone is gone.”

“Me heard about Captain Rex. Me am sorry,” He put a kind hand on your shoulder, “Me could tell hesa liked yousa. Especially when yousa cured da blue shadow virus. Good palos, yousa and hesa.”

Hiding the relationship didn’t matter anymore. He was gone, and no one could hurt him.

“I loved him, Jar-Jar.” You finally spoke those words aloud, for all those on the ship to hear, “He and I were together.” 

Despite keeping your blank stare ahead, you knew the others, senators, admirals…they stared. 

You didn’t care. You didn’t have the strength.

Jar-Jar tilted his head slightly and nodded, “Did yousa wanten to marryen him?”

Did you?

Clone life-span was short. Half of yours. Would you have swore yourself to him? In love? In marriage? 

“Yes, Jar-Jar. I did.” you responded with no hesitation.

He squeezed your shoulder in sympathy, “Yous were his and hesa was yous?”

“Yes, Jar-Jar.” You still stared ahead, haunted by those you’ve lost. 

Rex squeezed your braced hand, and you swear you could feel it.

[wizardofrozz]

Eternal Embers

Dragon!Kix x reader, ARC Trooper Jesse, Captain Rex, Clone Trooper Hardcase

Word Count: ~ 3k

Warnings: canon typical violence, mention of war, angst

A/N: I just recently realized the link for this fic doesn't work anymore, so I figured I'd repost it 🥰 enjoy some fluffy dragon shifter Kix really hoping that I'll have some new fics to post soon, fingers crossed lol

The wind howled through Carida’s mountains, although they acted as a buffer around the Republic outpost. Troopers filtered through the camp, sleeping in shifts to give their brothers a break between Separatist attacks. The constant flow of boys in blue also had your medbay bustling, but, as the binary suns started to set, the stream of injuries started to ebb. You finished securing a bacta patch onto Sterling’s blaster burn, lightly patting his arm above the bandage with a smile.

“Thanks, Doc,” he sighed, a tired smile spreading across his face. 

“Get some rest,” you urged, lightly pushing him to lay back. Sterling’s eyelids seemed to grow heavy, the veil of exhaustion weighing him down until the snap of tent flaps had him bolting upright. You spun on your heels, blinking rapidly at the two troopers that came busting into your medtent. 

“Jesse! What the hell?” you scolded, sidestepping a cart as you hurried to where Jesse and Hardcase were still standing.

“Fierfek, he’s not in here,” Jesse hissed just loud enough for you to hear. 

“Hey,” you snapped, grabbing Hardcase’s arm to pull him to face you, “why are you bursting in here like your asses are on fire?”

“Have you seen Kix?” Hardcase asked, completely ignoring your question. Air caught in your throat as you picked up on the way his voice ticked up in concern, a rarity for a man like Hardcase. 

“No - no, I thought he was in one of the other tents,” you stammered, tightening your grip on his arm. Jesse and Hardcase turned to look at each other and even with their helmets on, you could tell there was something you were missing. 

“Come on,” Jesse murmured, nudging Hardcase’s shoulder. He tried to pull out of your grip but you held on, yanking Hardcase back toward you. 

“Doc, we need to go.”

“Not without telling me what the hell is going on,” you insisted, following Jesse outside and pulling Hardcase along. 

“Doc,” Hardcase whined, lightly shaking his arm to get your attention, “don’t do this.”

“I know you’re setting up a search party and I’m coming,” you stated, releasing Hardcase to cross your arms. Jesse’s hand clenched at his side and you were almost sure his jaw was doing the same thing under his helmet. There were maybe three people who were aware of the tense back and forth between you and Kix, Jesse being one of them. 

Ever since you had joined the 501st, you and Kix had been doing some version of this ridiculous dance. Kix would lean over your shoulder, his lips too close to your ear as he murmured instructions or praise, or him sitting close enough that his leg pressed against yours when inventory needed to be done. His feelings towards you felt just as obvious as yours but he always seemed to take a step back, putting space between you and him until the cycle started all over again. And yet, you couldn’t seem to keep him at arm’s length, falling back into his orbit without even trying. Maybe it was the longing in his eyes even when he pulled away that kept you coming back…like a moth to a flame. 

Maybe it was something in your expression or Jesse’s own bleeding heart that had him letting out a somewhat dramatic sigh. “Fine, fine. We’ll need a medic anyway.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, resting a hand on his arm. Jesse nodded once before herding you and Hardcase toward the command tent. 

Rex was already waiting, absently twirling one of his blasters as he scanned the rocky slopes surrounding the camp. By the time the small search party left the camp, it consisted of you, Hardcase, Jesse, Rex, Hawk, Fives, and Echo. You couldn’t hear what Hawk yelled over the drone of the gunship’s engines but based on the way the rest of the boys tensed, you assumed it was important and tightened your grip on the overhead strap you were holding. The gunship dropped into a canyon, kicking up dust as you jumped down, and you threw a grateful smile at Hardcase when he steadied you. 

“Fives, Echo, head north. Hawk is flying south. Hardcase, you’re with me heading east,” Rex ordered, glancing toward you and Jesse. You took a minute to glance around, trying to figure out where you even were. From what you could tell, you were in the middle of two mountain ranges and you tried to look for any signs of a battle but there was nothing. No scorch marks, no rubble, just smooth mountain faces that made no sense. You jumped when Jesse nudged you, snapping you back to reality just in time to see Fives, Echo, Hardcase, and Rex heading off in their respective directions. 

“Jesse, what are we doing out here?” you asked, hugging your rifle a little closer. The only response you got was the crunch of gravel under his boots but you continued to stare holes into the side of his head. Finally, his shoulders lifted in an exaggerated inhale and you almost smiled. 

“We, uh, got intel that the Seppies are traveling through pre-drilled tunnels in the mountains. That seems like the, uh, best way to move a prisoner, don’t ya think?” You almost wanted to call him out on the lie but you had a feeling it would get you nowhere. 

“Where do we start?” you asked instead, scanning the jagged rocks lining the wide passage. 

“I’ll take the left side. Just look for any tunnels,” Jesse replied, almost sounding relieved that you didn’t push him. You let out a soft sigh, falling back a step but keeping Jesse in your peripheral as you trudged along. You almost didn’t realize how much farther ahead Jesse was until your com beeped, dragging you out of your mindless wandering. 

“What’s up?” you huffed, searching for familiar blue armor. 

“I took a left down a tunnel so be careful out there by yourself,” Jesse warned, the frequency crackling slightly. 

“I’ll be fine,” you mumbled, following the gentle curve of the path. Your eyes followed the rocky slope upward, tracing the sharp peak of the mountains that stretched hundreds of feet over your head. The twin suns had almost set, making the chill in the air more prominent and you tucked your arms tighter against your side. You were so distracted by the environment around you that you almost walked right past a large opening in the mountain face. 

You squinted into the darkness, searching for any bit of movement only to freeze when you heard the echo of rocks hitting the ground from deeper in the tunnel. It wouldn’t take Jesse long to get back to you but something told you to take a step forward like an invisible string reeling you in. You glanced in the direction Jesse had gone before slipping your pack off, rummaging through it to find your glowrod and securing your rifle to the side of the pack. The warm, yellowish light illuminated the entryway and you chanced one last look over your shoulder before taking a few slow steps into the tunnel. 

The walls glistened faintly, drawing you closer but when your fingers brushed the rock they were dry. A thin layer of dusk stuck to your skin and you rubbed it between your fingers, mesmerized by the way it twinkled. The loud crunch of rock shifting behind you made you tense, your muscles locking up as you found the courage to turn around. At first, you didn’t see anything other than a few rocks settling, your glowrod carefully scanning the wall opposite you. The light seemed to bend around the dark boulders, casting shadows across the walls. 

You looked back down at your fingers, the faint shimmer of dust still coating your skin and you froze. 

The growl was faint, barely above a whisper, but the silence of the cavern made it sound deafening. Something scraped against the ground, making you jerk to your left, your mouth dropping open when the light reflected off a large, slitted eye. Then it blinked. Your gasp was almost silent as you scrambled back only to step on one of the dislodged rocks that sent you tumbling onto your ass. And all you could do was stare up at the beast as it lifted its head. 

Despite the adrenaline pumping through your veins, you couldn’t look away. Brilliant blue scales shimmered in the low light as it moved, seemingly shifting from navy to sky blue every time you blinked. The creature shook its head and you watched the black-tipped spines lining its neck shift. Its massive head turned slightly giving you a full view of its face. Two horns extended from either side of its head, black tips bleeding into a powdery blue and finally blending into the scales encircling its eyes. The creature’s nose curved into a sharp point, resembling a beak and your eyes lingered there for a moment. 

You jumped when it moved again but instead of a growl, this time it made a soft chirping noise as it lowered its head almost like it was…trying to look smaller. Some part of you was screaming to run, to get as far away as possible but there was something about the creature that had you shifting onto your knees. Dark eyes locked onto you, watching every move as you inched closer. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” you soothed, despite your voice shaking lightly. The…dragon…warbled softly, those sharp spines bristling as you reached out. You patiently inched closer, your eyes scanning its body, noting the large wings tucked up against its back. 

“Doc, you read me?” You stopped immediately, glancing down at the com on your wrist briefly before looking up at the dragon again. Although, it didn’t look frightened or even startled, no, instead it made another chirping sound, one that sounded almost…happy? 

“That’s Jesse,” you said, meeting the dragon’s dark eyes. It canted its head, blinking slowly before lowering its head to gently nudge your arm, nostrils flaring with a sharp exhale. You took that as a sign to reach over, opening the channel but not looking away from the creature’s face. “I’m here.”

“Maker, you scared the hell out of me,” Jesse sighed, his voice coming out a bit grainy and far away. “Where…you?”

“I, uh, found a…friend,” you replied, a nervous smile lifting the corner of your mouth. The dragon made a slightly different chittering noise, its beak snapping together quietly as it sniffed your arm again. Even through the rough connection, you could hear Jesse’s sharp inhale. 

“Oh you asshole,” Jesse hissed, making your brows knit together. “What did I tell you?” Before you could answer, the creature looming over you opened its mouth, a low rumbling sound coming from the back of its throat. When you looked back up at it, you could’ve sworn it was glaring based on the way its dark eyes narrowed. 

“What am I missing here?” you finally asked, mindlessly resting your hand on the dragon’s long snout. This time the noise that rumbled through its body was softer and if you didn’t know any better, you might’ve compared it to a purr.

“You found your partner,” Jesse grumbled and you went oddly still. It took a few seconds for your brain to comprehend what that meant as you turned your head, just watching the way the dragon pressed into your hand. It…he…seemed perfectly content but as if he could feel your stare, his eyes drifted open. 

“Kix?” Of course, he couldn’t verbally respond but the soft chirp that was followed by him nudging your hand with his nose was enough of an answer. Your eyes followed the slope of his head, admiring the way the colors shifted and you decided that even in this form, he was still breathtaking. Then it clicked. 

With the constant push and pull, Kix only giving so much before completely disengaging. It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with what was staring back at you with dark slitted eyes and pearlescent scales. A small part of you wanted to be angry, to demand why he couldn’t just tell you, but would you have even believed him? 

“Oh, Kix,” you whispered, leaning a bit closer. You jumped with a surprised laugh when he exhaled harshly, right in your face, almost like a warning about the direction your thoughts were going. 

“Well, I don’t hear any screaming so that’s a good sign,” Jesse commented, his voice echoing through your com. You looked over your shoulder, offering him a smile as he moved closer and lifted his helmet off to look directly at Kix. “Told you she could’ve handled it.” 

Kix huffed through his nose, ruffling your hair as he lifted his head away from your hand. 

“Come on, you can either shift back for a ride to camp or fly. Your choice,” Jesse said, arching a brow that made his tattoo stretch slightly. Kix grumbled in the back of his throat, shifting into the shadows again as Jesse pulled you to your feet. “Best give him some room.” 

“Why?” you murmured, letting Jesse pull you back a few steps. Although, you didn’t have to wait long. Kix rose to his feet, his scales rattling as he shook off the dust clinging to him. The ceiling of the cave was low, forcing him to keep his head down as he maneuvered around the boulders in his path. It wasn’t until you stepped into the cool evening air that you could truly admire his grandeur. Large, black wings stretched high over your head, his tail sweeping side to side, and your lips parted in awe at his sheer size. 

“Alright, quite showin’ off, asshole,” Jesse teased which earned him another grumpy huff. Kix finally shifted his attention to you, his head tilting slightly and for a moment, he almost looked smug before his wings extended again. It was incredible to watch him leap into the air so effortlessly, the moon's glow making his scales twinkle. “Come on, Doc.” 

The trip back to the rendezvous spot seemed like it took forever yet no time at all. Suddenly you were standing in front of Rex, Hardcase, Fives, and Echo, the faint whine of a gunship approaching filling the evening air. No one mentioned the bantha in the room, already preoccupied with other random conversations until Hawk came into view. The only acknowledgment of what you just discovered was a wink from Hardcase as he hopped into the gunship. 

The small outpost was quiet, most troopers getting a few hours of sleep where they could. Which meant you hadn’t expected to see General Skywalker waiting when you made it back. You joined the small squad in saluting the general, anxiously waiting to see if Skywalker pulled you aside but he seemed to be content with Rex filling him in on what happened. There was an awkward moment when you stood next to the quietly hissing gunship, debating your next move until movement from your medtent caught your eye. Someone knocked into your shoulder, sending you stumbling forward a step before you turned a glare in Jesse’s direction. He only winked, jerking his chin toward the tent before letting Hardcase drag him away. 

It took a few minutes and even more deep, calming breaths before you finally made it to the medtent, standing just outside the slightly parted flaps. 

“You can come in, you know,” Kix’s disembodied voice called and for some reason, it was a shock. Hearing his voice spurred you into pulling the flap back, curiosity getting the better of you. Kix’s back was to you and he was in the bottom half of his armor, such a stark contrast to how he looked not even a standard hour earlier. 

“I’m not having a crazy, vivid dream, right?” you asked, surprising yourself a bit. Kix’s shoulders jumped when he snorted, turning his head enough to see you out of the corner of his eye. 

“Sadly, no,” he replied, turning to face you and crossing his arms. He would’ve looked relaxed to anyone else but you noticed the set of his jaw, the tension in the muscles of his neck as he waited for whatever came next. “It’s very real.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“How was I supposed to tell the person I - I’m…falling in love with that I’m also a beast out of a fairy tale?” The bombshells seemed to keep coming and it had to be written all over your face. Kix stiffened when you closed the remaining distance, stopping within arm’s length of him but he didn’t pull away. 

“You mean that?” you whispered, searching his face for any signs. 

“Yes,” he mumbled, looking down at his boots, “so how was I supposed to ask you to accept that?”

“By simply asking.” You rested a hand on his arm, drawing his eyes off the floor, and your heart ached at the vulnerability in his endless brown eyes. “We’ve made it through some of the worst parts of war together and it’s not over yet. I think we can handle this if you’ll let me in.” Kix squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a harsh exhale through his nose and you tried to fight a smile at the similarities you could already see. You let your hand follow the swell of his bicep, moving across his shoulder to gently cradle his face, drawing his attention back to you. 

“Together, huh?” he whispered, leaning forward until there was barely any space between you and him.

“Together,” you agreed, meeting him the rest of the way to press your forehead against his. Kix finally uncrossed his arms to cup the back of your neck and you let out a long breath, relaxing into the touch you’d experienced hints of and had craved for so long. 

“If forever does exist, please let it be you,” Kix breathed, the words brushing against your lips. Words couldn’t express the way you felt or how much you hoped for the same thing, so instead you tilted your head just enough to find his lips. 

You hoped Kix was what forever tasted like. 

Tag list:

@a-single-tulip @wings-and-beskar @returnofthepineapple @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit

@msmeredithrose @starrylothcat @multi-fan-dom-madness @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator

@cw80831 @hetalianskywalker @capricornrabies @sev-on-kamino @dickarchivist

[rare-clone-fic-exchange]

Feverish Flirtations

Summary: You've been the lead medic for General Billaba's battalion for awhile now and you've had a crush on Captain Grey for almost as long. What happens when a fever and a trip to the med bay loosens the Captain's tongue? Pairing: Captain Grey x Reader Rating: Gen (but minors DNI) Word Count: 4,219 A.N: This is for the wonderful, beautiful, and lovely @imarvelatthestars ! While writing this I think I may have become a Grey fan lol. Also, I know there's some inconsistencies with him from the comics, like having the rank of Commander in the comics but Captain in TBB. I went ahead and went with Captain since TBB is more recent, but I included the characters Styles and Stance from the comics since they're the only other named clones from their battalion. Anyway, I really hope you like my interpretation of Grey's character and that you enjoy this little fics!

Warnings: Mentions of medical procedures and illness.

“I’m telling you I’m fine, Doc, you just said the bleeding is internal- that’s where the blood’s supposed to be!”

Your eyes flickered up from your datapad to meet the clone’s attempt at a charming grin. A part of you wanted to laugh, mostly at the expectant look he was giving you, and if you weren’t so tired you probably would have. Right now, though, all you could do was sign.

“Styles, you already told me that joke. You know, the last time you landed yourself in here with a traumatic injury.”

His face fell just a little, “Oh- I did?”

“Guess you should scan to see if his brain’s still there too, Doc,” called Stance from the next bed.

That one did manage to get a small smile out of you, and you saw Styles get some of his pep back at the sight. Then, in a light tone, you said, “Oh, I don’t think it’s that, I think his time with me is just that forgettable.”

Styles sat up as best he could in the med bed, “Come on now, mesh’la, you know you’re as unforgettable as they come.” He winked at you, and you also might have felt a little flustered at his term of endearment, again, if you weren’t so tired.

“I’m sure,” your tone was still light, and you gave him a small smile as you finished making the notes in his chart. Despite the nature of his injuries, he would be just fine. Thank the maker.

“Oooh, barely a polite brush off,” Stance crooned, “Better luck next time, brother. Now, Doc, when can this poor injured trooper get your undivided, tender care?”

“When you have a real injury,” Styles rolled his eyes, though even you could tell there was no real malice there, just brothers in arms giving each other a hard time.

“I do have one!” he lifted the arm the field medic had already temp-treated with a bacta wrap, “Look, I have a boo boo on my bicep. Kiss it better, Doc?”

You felt your eyebrows quirk up, but before you could think of a comeback a stern voice called out behind you.

“Stance, Styles!”

Both men were snapping to attention- or in Styles’ case, as best he could laying down. You turned to see none other than Captain Grey walking into the med bay with the medic who would be relieving you for the next shift. Grey’s eyes were firm as he looked between the two men, a look that, while not uncommon for the Captain, was rarely present when you were in the room.

“Make sure I never hear you speaking so disrespectfully to our staff again. Am I understood?”

A minor rush of panic flowed through you as both men said a loud “Sir, yes sir.” 

You held up your hand, instantly catching the officer’s attention. “Oh, please, Captain, there’s no need for all that, they weren’t being disrespectful.”

There, you saw it, the way his deep brown eyes softened when they were on you for more than a second. The way the lines at the corner of his mouth smoothed, his eyebrows lifting up a fraction, and his head tilting just a bit as if to lean closer to your presence. Maybe you imagined it every time, a hopeful fantasy, but he most definitely did ease up a little at your words.

He couldn’t backpedal on the order, though, which you respected, and settled for him asking how the boys were doing. You gave him and the other medic your reports, which were thankfully standard and very little cause for concern. It was a good day- or, as good as a day could be during a war.

Now that you were officially relieved, you wished the troopers a good night, reminding Styles to rest up, lest he have to spend more than a night cooped up here. You had just started to turn to the door when… 

“Let me walk you back to your quarters.”

Even your exhausted state couldn’t stop you from feeling the nervous excitement starting in your chest, given that it was Grey who offered. Outwardly, all you gave was a polite, thankful nod, before saying goodnight to the others and heading for the door.

There was a brief, comfortable silence for the first few moments you two walked together down the corridor, before he cleared his throat.

“I’m…sorry about them, sometimes they forget that comments like that can make civilians uncomfortable.”

You turned a smile on him and, again because it was him, it was easy to make it warm. “Don’t worry, Grey, I wasn’t uncomfortable.”

His mouth twisted a little as he looked at you from the corner of his eye, “You just seemed…a little stressed when I came in, I assumed it was because of their flirting.”

“Oh! Oh no, it wasn’t that,” you laughed lightly, hoping to put his mind at ease, “I’m just tired is all. You know I spend all my time here on the ship worrying about you boys, it was a long day of that when we lost contact with your recon team.”

Finally, it was his turn to grin and your heart did its typical pitter patter whenever he smiled at you. Unfortunately, the look vanished as suddenly, he stopped in his tracks and held back a grunt of some kind. Then he was turning his head away from you, fist shooting up to cover his mouth as he let out a string of deep coughs.

“Grey, are you alright?” you stepped a little closer to him as he tried to hold back another cough, then cleared his throat.

He nodded his head, trying for that small, lopsided smile again, “ ‘m fine, just a scratchy throat.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Should I be sending you back to the med bay?”

As if to usher you along, he started walking again, pointedly in the direction of the lifts. “No no, I’m fine. Promise. I think the plant-life around the old ‘sep base just got to me a little bit.”

Even though you had resumed walking beside him, you still kept your gaze concerned and a little suspicious. “If it gets any worse, you call me, or go to the medic on duty, understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir” he said as if you were his CO, though his tone was lighter this time and he was still smiling.

The two of you walked in silence for a few moments, then this time he cleared his throat in a way that might have had nothing to do with his cough. “So, what you said earlier…you really don’t mind the flirting?”

You let out a little huff of laughter, “Not really, it never goes too far after all. You and your men have always treated me with respect and I know they’d listen if I ever told them it wasn’t appropriate.”

Something in him seemed relieved as he nodded. “Good. I didn’t like the thought that they were crossing a line with you, I’m glad they weren’t. And I’ll…keep that in mind.”

You weren’t exactly sure what he was going to keep in mind, but, given how he suddenly looked like he was turning something over in his head, you decided not to ask.

Another comfortable silence fell over you both for a while, and it wasn’t until you were out of the lift and on the level for your quarters when he struck up some small talk. It wasn’t anything noteworthy, besides the fact that talking to Grey about anything was something you would always welcome. 

Though, he did seem a little different in his way of talking, halting at the end of sentences like he was holding back a question, or taking a breath to prepare for another comment, before closing his mouth silently. It was almost as if he was trying to find an opening to say something specific.

Or, maybe he was just trying to hide his cough from you, because a few steps before reaching your door, he burst into another short fit.

“Grey,” your tone was soft, but firm, “Please go have that checked out, we don’t want our captain getting sick.”

“It’s not bad,” he insisted again, “We have some antihistamines in our emergency med kits, I’ll take one of those and be fine.”

“Grey-”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Doc,” he insisted, not unkindly and with a soft expression that lightened the depth of the scar across his face. You knew that some of the boys liked your fussing, finding it endearing, and you wondered if Grey felt the same.

But it didn’t matter if he liked it or not, you would worry and fuss either way. “Yes, I do have to worry, Grey, it’s my job.”

“I promise if it gets worse, I’ll go straight to the med bay and raise you on the comms to let you say I told you so, how about that?”

Well, that was probably the best you were going to get out of him. “Alright, deal.”

Again, Grey opened his mouth, as though some sentiment or question was on the tip of his tongue. His eyes were even lit up a little, like an idea was sparking something behind them.

Alas, whatever it was, he hadn’t found time to broach the topic before you were at the door to your bunk and he closed his mouth yet again. Still, he shifted for a moment, tucking his helmet under his arm a little more securely as he looked to your door. He hadn’t said goodnight yet, either.

“Grey?”

His eyes finally met yours again and looked a little surprised, “Yeah?”

“Is there… something specific you wanted to talk about?”

For a moment, all he did was stare back at you, again, seeming to think something over in his mind. Finally, though, he closed his eyes and let out a small breath, then looked at you again with a polite smile.

“Maybe another time. For now, you need your rest, can’t have our favorite medic this tired.”

You nodded, maybe feeling a little disappointed, but respected whatever decision it was he had come to. “Sir, yes sir,” you said with a little salute. “Goodnight, Grey.”

“Goodnight, Doc.”

The next morning, you had just gotten your hands on your first cup of caf in the mess hall when your commlink beeped. The code was Styles’ and your brow furrowed in confusion as you answered.

“Um, hey, Doc, the Captain told me to call you and say ‘you told him so’?”

Well, kriff.

You were down in the med bay in record time, even leaving your drink behind, a testament to just how much this particular man meant to you. There was the on-duty medic and Styles, flanking a very dizzy looking Grey who was dressed in nothing but his blacks. Though he was sitting upright on the bed, he looked half ready to tip over with the way he was swaying.

“He insisted that you be the one to look him over,” said the other medic, stepping aside as you approached.

“ ‘Course I did,” Grey mumbled, eyes barely staying open, “I promised Doc could say told you so…so-” he waved his hand at you, as if presenting a valid point with the gesture.

“As you can tell, he’s a bit delirious,” your colleague huffed.

Grey opened his mouth to say something to the other medic, but when your hands reached up to press against his forehead, he let out a long breath instead. “Ooh, your hands are niiice.”

It was no wonder he thought so, he was burning up badly, the fever coating his face in a sheen of sweat. He burst into a horrendous fit of coughs then, worse than last night and sounding full of phlegm.

“I was on my way back to my bunk when I found him slumped against the walls of the corridor near his quarters,” Styles informed as you took Grey’s pulse the moment the coughing died down, “said he was trying to get to the med bay so he wouldn’t make you mad.” Then he actually huffed out a chuckle. “Or at least, that’s what I gathered from his babbling.”

“Alright, Captain,” you started, gently guiding him, “lay back, let’s run some tests and find out what’s going on.”

“-don’t have to call me Captain, good-lookin’,” Grey mumbled with an attempt at a smile while he did as you asked.

Figuring that keeping him talking was good, you quirked an eyebrow as you grabbed the scanner, “Good-looking, huh? And here you were scolding Styles for flirting just last night- No no, lay on your back, Grey, keep still,” you insisted when he tried to roll over on his side towards you.

The action caused another bout of choked hacking to ensue but Grey obeyed, staying flat on his back, even as he kept slurring nonsense when he could speak again. “Want to flirt… Wanted last night… chickened out. You’re too sweet when you fuss over me.”

You tried to ignore the heat creeping across your face, this was no time to feel flattered or embarrassed by his words, ones that you barely caught as you read the data scrolling across the screen of your scanner. Styles was silent as you worked and Grey rambled on, a sign of just how worried he was about his brother. Hopefully your tests would bear good news, and Styles could tease his Captain’s hypocrisy in no time.

“Haven’t said told you so yet.” Grey said it just barely above a hum, eyes fluttering shut as more sweat beaded on his forehead.

“I’ll say it later, for now you just-”

You were interrupted by a third round of retching and your heart ached at the little groan of pain that rolled out of his mouth at the end of it. Thankfully, your scans were finally done and a little bit of relief filled you.

“Alright, Grey, looks like you have a mild pulmonary infection, nothing too serious,” you smiled down at him then, “though it would have been better if you came here last night, you know, like I told you so.”

The smile he gave back was worn and tired, but no less genuine, “There it is, ’ll listen next time, mesh’la.” More coughs ended his bleary promise, but they were shallow and short this time.

You turned to the other medic, who was already going to the cabinet with the antibiotics in it, and told him exactly what you needed and in what doses. At the moment, you were mostly worried about breaking his fever, while it wasn’t life threateningly high, it was still on the dangerous side.

Then you turned to Styles, “Can you get a patient smock out of the wardrobe? I think he’ll be more comfortable in it than these sweaty blacks.”

Grey hummed loudly, drawing your attention back to him, “Doc, if ya wanted to get m’ clothes off, just had-” another cough, “-ask.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes a little, “Oh, Captain, you’re going to be very upset with your babbling once your fever’s broken.”

He shook his head just as his brother came back with the red two piece outfit. “I won't. Told you, wanted to say all this last night,” his mumbling was a little more clear this time, as if trying to make a point and you weren’t sure how to respond.

Thankfully, the younger medic came back with the needed fluids for the IV and said he would help Grey into the smock while you readied the medication. As the privacy curtain was pulled closed, you could have sworn you heard Styles whisper something about Gray wanting you to undress him instead, but you chose to ignore that as well.

They worked quickly, and the Captain’s treatment was ready by the time the curtain was pulled back. Grey was sitting up again and he stayed like that while you administered the IV. He took it like a champ, though he still looked quite dizzy the whole time he was sitting up.

“Alright, Grey, these fluids will help bring your fever down, and the antibiotics will start clearing up your lungs, I even put in a little something for the pain. We’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

“Hmm,” he cocked his head, “I feel better already,” he hummed as he watched you work, big brown eyes still looking tired. Then, he echoed a sentiment from earlier, “You’re too sweet when you fuss.” 

Again you had to ignore the fact that the flirting, coming from him, made your face heat up. Grey kept his tired eyes on you, even as you motioned for him to lay down again.

“He’s going to be okay, right?” Styles asked in a quiet tone.

You smiled at him reassuringly, “It’ll take some time to clear up the infection, but he should be just fine, nothing our resources can’t handle. Though, I think you should send his helmet down to equipment maintenance, make sure the filters are working right.”

“On it!” He cast a look at his captain, “If you keep flirting with our favorite medic here, make sure you go all out, Cap,” he ended the statement with a wink before heading out of the room.

That made you laugh a little, feeling much more at ease now that your worry had calmed down. A quick look at the time told you that your shift had officially started, so you relieved your colleague, leaving you and Grey as the only ones left in the med center. You had thought that maybe he would fall asleep, but you still felt his eyes on you as you kept working. 

Then, while you were typing up his medical chart, he whispered, “You wanna hear a secret, Doc?”

“What’s that, Grey?”

“If I wasn’t sick, I’d ask if it’s okay to kiss you.”

That made your eyes go wide and your fingers halted their tying on the datapad. You weren’t sure if it was his fever, the pain medicine, or a mixture of both making him even bolder than before, but this time, his comment was hard- or rather, impossible, to ignore. When you looked down at him over the pad, his eyes were fluttering again, the exhaustion of his fever and relief of the medicine kicking in making it harder to stay awake.

“Wanted…” he hummed, coughed once, then tried to look up at you only to close his eyes again. “...Have to get better at…flirting first…Then I’ll ask…”

Despite how easy it would be to pretend you didn’t hear or understand him, you found yourself answering him. 

“Ask me when you’re healed up, Grey.” 

You said it quietly, but there was an undeniable lift to the corner of his mouth before he finally drifted off to sleep.

Overall, you deeply disliked the way the troops were treated by the overseers of the GAR, but, one thing that you would give credit for, was that they actually provided their medical division with good supplies. Thanks to that, Grey was cleared of his illness quickly and didn't have any signs of lasting symptoms. 

You wish you had been the one to give him his final check up and clear him for duty, but you weren’t. Instead you were stuck in a meeting that all head medics employed by the GAR had to sign into via holocomms. 

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for him to seek you out.

Grey caught you late in the evening, a few hours after your meeting, standing in the hallway conversing with some of your newest staff. Respectful as always, he waited patiently for you to finish your talk, though your skin felt warm knowing his eyes were trained on you the whole time. Had he come to see you because of what you said about that kiss he seemed to want? No, no, he was half asleep, surely he was just there because he knew you wanted to see him all healed up.

Once the nurses finished with their last question and took their leave, you turned to the captain with a warm look. He looked as healthy as ever, skin his usual tanned  tone, eyes bright, mind seeming alert and present.

“I see you’re back on your feet.”

“Thanks to you,” he said lightly as he took a few steps closer to you. He must have noted the late hour, because he asked, “Are you heading back to your quarters?” and when you nodded he seemed to straighten just a little, as if reading himself. “I’ll walk with you.”

“Alright,” you found your own tone a little teasing as you two started walking, “but if you start coughing again, you better listen to me when I tell you to go get it checked this time.”

He chuckled, “Don’t worry, cyare, I’ll make sure to listen to you next time.”

Again, he seemed to make your heart skip a beat with nothing but a simple endearment. At least you were able to compose yourself. “Good, I’m glad someone’s learning to listen to me around here.” Your tone had no bite to it, and you could tell Grey knew it with the way he flashed you a smirk.

Unlike the last time he had walked you to your door, you were much closer to your quarters this time and any conversation you two would have had couldn’t last long. You asked how he was feeling like any good friend would, and he told you he was fine, that you didn’t have to worry. He asked what your plans were when the ship landed on Coruscant and you were only half joking when you said “sleep”.

Then, just like the other night, when you two reached your door, he seemed to hesitate, something weighing on his mind. Except this time, he actually spoke up.

“So, I wanted to talk to you about something.” He looked over at you from the corners of his eyes and when you only looked back at him patiently, he went on. “I know I was feverish that first day in the med bay but…” he rolled his shoulders, “I heard what you said after I made that comment about wanting to kiss you.”

Your heart was suddenly acting as if it was competing in the galactic gymnastic championship, somersaulting in your chest and leaving a nervous heat to creep across your skin.

This time it was you who cleared your throat, “O-oh, you did?”

Finally, he turned his body to face you fully, his face set in determination. “Yeah, I did. And you should know that I might have rambled those things because I was sick, but I still meant every word of it.”

That caused your breath to hitch and you found yourself taking a step closer to him. “You did?”

At the soft, hopeful sound of your voice, his determined expression softened and now he was giving that cute, lopsided smile again. “I did. I really, really like you, have since the day you first stepped on board.” He let out a little laugh then, “I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve wanted to tell you that, or how many times I’ve wanted to ask to kiss you, but I’m not the best at flirting.”

“Oh I don’t know, you did alright the other day.”

That earned another small chuckle. You realized then that you were holding your breath, waiting for him to make good on what you said that day when you thought he was falling asleep. 

It must have clicked for him too.

Grey’s eyes somehow softened more as he took another step closer and reached out his hand. Your breath hitched when his fingers gently brushed your cheek, then you held your breath altogether when his thumb ran over your bottom lip.

“Can I kiss you?”

The air held in your chest pushed out with a breathy, “Yes!”

And you saw his eye shining for only a moment before he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. It was light at first, a nearly feather-light touch that nevertheless took your breath away again. Then, he was tilting his head and slipping the hand at your cheek to cup the back of your neck instead. It was all too gentle, even when he started moving his lips against yours in a way that told you just how much he had been craving this moment.

Who knew how long the kiss went on, all that mattered was that your head was spinning by the time you two finally parted.

“Wow.” Both of you said it at the same time, which made you both laugh together too.

“If it leads to moments like this, maybe I should land myself in the med bay more often,” he winked.

You groaned at the thought, “Oh, please don’t, my heart couldn’t take it!”

Grey was chuckling again and this time, he slipped his hand to your waist and pulled you even closer to him. When he spoke again, his tone was deep, yet playfully intimate. “Then I guess I’ll have to find other ways to make your heart race.”

And you knew he would make good on that promise too.

[kartaylirnaak]

Might I be able to ask about Match the 212th ARC. Why the name? Do they like to match things? Or is it like matchstick and fire is their friend?

You most certainly can! I will very happily ramble on about him.

Match is my 212th ARC Trooper OC. He's a Sergeant and is in an ARC pair with Wooley, who is also an ARC in this AU. Match is quiet, reserved, and doesn't same much, if at all. There's a quiet, shuttered sadness to him and he can be a little intense sometimes. He cares and worries deeply but isn't always the best at expressing it. Match is an expert in wilderness survival, especially jungle survival, for Reasons (I put him through The Horrors). He's fairly lean and wiry for a clone and, when fighting, has a viciousness and brutality to him, along with a keen eye, sharp intelligence, and heightened situational awareness. But he wasn't always this way.

I have no idea where the name came from. It just sort of morphed out of thin air when I started coming up with him. Initially, I wasn't that keen on the name but it kind of stuck and now he's Match. I haven't come up with any in-universe reasoning behind his name yet but I have come up with plenty more backstory and information about him. I was organising my OC's in a spreadsheet to try and keep track of all of them and decided to open a new doc to collate my thoughts about Match. It wasn't going to be much, just a little more than what I could fit into a spreadsheet.

16k+ words later

I now have a lot more backstory and detail about Match and I'm still nowhere even close to finished. It also evolved from ramblings into actual chunks of fic. I'd love to be able to write a whole fic and more about him but that's be a mammoth undertaking that I'm not sure I'll ever manage. So now I have all these sections of fic about him that I wish I could share but there's no context to them so they don't make a great deal of sense in isolation.

Below the cut is the condensed version of Match's backstory, which is still over 2.2k words 😂 It's very rough so there's definitely some clunky writing in there.

I've also included a section of fic I wrote about Match's backstory, where I introduce a different OC, mention another, and the 212th's fandom CMO (Helix) also makes an appearance.

Match's backstory

Match starts off as a shiny in the 212th fairly early on in the war. He’s very loud, brash, cocky, arrogant and egotistical. Thinks he’s top shit and knows everything. He’s constantly getting disciplined and being dressed down by his CO’s for doing stupid shit that endangers his brothers, but it never seems to get through to him. During a battle, his squad is ambushed by droids and he and the commando droid he’s fighting are thrown off the path and down a cliff by an explosion. Match is badly injured but manages to survive and shoot the commando droid, who ended up wedged in a tree. He collapses and is then stunned and captured by Trandoshans, has his wounds perfunctorily treated while he’s out, and wakes up in a cage on a ship, dressed in civies, and with a bunch of other caged natborns. They’re all dumped out onto a beach near a jungle and then shot at, so Match and the natborns that survive all bolt for the jungle. (If this sounds like that episode from TCW, yes that’s where I pinched it from). Match then has to survive in the jungle all by himself while being hunted by the Trandoshans for sport. It’s brutal and terrifying and he has to do some truly fucked up things in order to survive. It’s a constant fight for survival, everything is life or death, and he’s constantly being hunted by the Trandoshans or creatures in the jungle. Match is forced to adapt in order to survive and stay alive. The experience changes him and he becomes quiet and withdrawn, not talking for days at a time. He’s completely alone and isolated and he knows he’s never going to be found. Match survives for over a year and a half in the jungle. He crafts his own weapons, armour, camouflage, supplies, gear, shelters, traps, and everything else he needs to survive. 

The jungle forges him into something new. 

Something different. 

Over a year and a half after Match was captured, he’s watching the latest batch of natborns be dumped out onto the beach and spots that one of them is different, likely a Jedi. They drop down silently in front of him a day later and as very little gets the drop on Match in the jungle these days, he nearly puts a knife and axe through them. Turns out the Jedi is the 212th’s padawan (Jedi OC), who joined the 212th after Match was captured. Something something “will of the Force”, picture a bunch of Commanders rolling their eyes at their General’s here. Bit clichéd but let's be real, it’s not as bad as some of the nonsense that happened in TCW. Anyway, Match now has a baby Jedi. Accidental ad’ika acquisition has been foisted upon him. He teaches them how to survive in the jungle and looks after them, fiercely protecting them against everything. The baby Jedi looks after Match, helping with jungle survival but also helping him slowly remember a little of what it’s like to be around others again. He has someone to talk to now and he relearns, in a way, how to talk again (rocks don’t talk back to you). He has to learn to deal with touch and human interaction again, for when they have to hand things to each other or help each other through the forest or huddle for warmth when the wind picks up and the storms rage and the temperature drops. This lasts for about a month to six weeks until they enact the padawans' plan to escape. There’s a bit of angst around that because Match knows he’ll never be found but the baby Jedi keeps going on about hope and plans, which is all just futile to Match. They have a bit of a fight about it but reconcile and then go and steal the transponder and some electronics from the next Trandoshan ship that arrives. The padawan gets a message out to the 212th, who turn up and rescue them. Match gets shot protecting the baby Jedi during the rescue and nearly dies. 

He wakes up in the medbay on the Negotiator, having had surgery and spent over a week in bacta. He’s survived but his body and mind are fucked. He could never find enough food in the jungle so he’s skin and bone for a clone. The results from all the tests the medics ran on him are all over the shop. He’s covered in scars, has a bunch of old injuries that didn’t heal properly, and picked up all kinds of mystery jungle diseases and parasites. Match is also deeply traumatised from everything he’s been through. The jungle never leaves him and it’s always there in his mind. He still thinks in terms of relating everything to the jungle and has to actively remind himself that he’s not there anymore. 

But the jungle is always there. 

Waiting. 

There aren’t many clones left who remember Match from before he was captured. When Cody visits him in the medbay, Match apologises for how he behaved before and asks to be punished, to which Cody’s response is ‘absolutely the fuck not’. While Match is deeply fucked up, he’s still functional, so he has a long recovery as he heals and gets back into shape. He’s never able to fully return to the baseline body mass of a CT and he stays wiry and lean for a clone. The jungle also shaped him into a brutal fighter. He’s now fast, ruthless, and lethal, easily capable of putting down most clones quick and hard, even while recovering. He struggles to adjust though, still stuck in the mindset of the jungle where everything is a fight for survival. There is no room for practice or training in the jungle. There is only life or death. It causes some problems initially but Match was put in Waxer’s platoon for a reason (he often gets the tough cases) and everyone tries to help him adjust as best they can.

Match has changed. The arrogant little shit of a shiny from before is gone. Replaced by a quiet, reserved, and watchful clone who doesn’t say a great deal and often falls back on protocol because he doesn’t know what to do in social situations anymore. He’s a highly effective and efficient trooper now but outside of that, he struggles with a multitude of issues, including hypervigilance, dissociation, overtraining, and nightmares. He’s also filled with an immense amount of shame and guilt at how he acted and behaved as a shiny before he was captured. Match doesn’t paint his armour for quite a while because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it. That is until Boil basically shoves a can of armour paint at him and makes him turn up to an armour painting session. 

Match ends up having to be an acting Sergeant in the field during a battle because two squads both lose half of their members and he’s the oldest left and he has four shocked and injured vod’ika staring up at him. So he cobbles them together, gets them through the battle, makes his report on what happened to Waxer, and then goes to make sure they’re all as ok as possible and looks after them. It’s only when they won’t leave him alone that he realises he’s accidentally acquired vod’ika. He ends up being promoted straight to Sergeant of his cobbled together squad because they worked quite well together and bonded as a group, plus Match performed well under fire. Match doesn’t think he deserves it because he just did what he always did in the jungle. Survived. But the vod’ika keep looking at him like he’s hung the stars and there is no way in hell he’s behaving like he used to, so he takes on the responsibility and teaches them what he knows. 

Cody’s been keeping an eye on all of this and has been conveniently dropping by with various other experienced clones when Match is doing his own training. Match can last the longest out of the standard CT’s when sparring with commanders, ARCs, or commanders, like Cody, Wooley or Gregor. This is how Match meets Wooley, who will end up being his future ARC partner, even if Match doesn’t know it yet. He likes Wooley and has a healthy respect for him and his skills, even if he does think he’s too bright and cheery and talks too much. 

You can’t talk in the jungle. 

They’ll hear you. 

Match ends up having to be an acting Lieutenant during a later campaign when Waxer is injured and Match is the only Sergeant left because the rest are gone or too badly injured. At the time, Match does what he has to do. During a campaign or battle, the same mindset from the jungle returns. He does what he has to do to survive, just now it’s mixed with doing what he has to in order to keep as many other clones alive as well. Match has now somehow acquired more vod’ika but he absolutely does not want to be a Lieutenant. He still doesn’t think he deserves to be a Sergeant, let alone a Lieutenant. There isn’t a space for him to be promoted to anyway once Waxer recovers. Cody has been keeping an eye on all of this and decides now is the time to send Match to ARC training. Match has a massive internal crisis about this because he thinks he definitely does not deserve the honour of even being considered for ARC training, let alone being an actual ARC. Cody puts Match through his own preparation training for ARC training so Match spends his evenings being thrown around the mats by the Commander and Wooley, learning as much as he can, and getting to know both Cody and Wooley better. He still doesn’t think he deserves to be in this position but he doesn’t talk about it because that would involve Talking To People. Rocks never talked to him in the jungle. Both Cody and Wooley clock this and try to get through to Match that he does deserve this. Match still doesn’t entirely believe it but he can understand their more rational arguments that he now has the skills, ability, and potential to be an ARC. 

Seventeen is inspecting all of the ARC candidates who are lined up in the training room at the start of this round of ARC training. He stops in front of Match, who internally is freaking the fuck out, but outwardly does not even fucking blink. Match is very good at staying completely still now, especially in the presence of a threat. The jungle beat that lesson into him. Seventeen just looks at him before stating, “You saved the little Commander” (referring to the 212th’s padawan). Match, who is looking straight ahead with a dead stare, having reverted back to survival coping mechanisms that he developed to survive on the island, answers with an automatic “Yes, Sir.” Seventeen gives him a look, grunts, gives Match the tiniest of nods, and moves on, which for Seventeen is high praise. All the other ARC candidates in this round of ARC training are internally freaking out and wondering who the hell this vod is that already has Seventeen’s approval. Match just wants to be left alone and avoid any kind of attention and make it through ARC training. 

Match tops almost all of the categories in this round of ARC training and is top 3 or 5 in the rest. He sets a new record in jungle survival and is equal second of all time in wilderness survival. His main competition during training is a vod named Jesse from the 501st, who is far too friendly (idk what the timelines are doing at this point so we’re just rolling with it). At least the giant Republic cog tattooed on his head would help him camouflage in the jungle a little. 

The jungle is always there. 

Waiting. 

Match lasts the longest in their final no holds barred hand to hand spar assessment against Seventeen and is one of the few that doesn’t technically lose because the Alpha Medic supervising the spars (which are basically just fights) calls an end to it because Match refuses to stop. He must survive. Match joins Jesse and another vod in the medbay later who also had their fights stopped before they were turned into paste. Jesse was quite pleased with himself, even as he bemoaned the reception he was going to get from someone called Kix, who is apparently going to kick his ass even worse. The other vod is completely out cold. Match paints his kama in a camo pattern similar to the camo pattern on the ARFs armour in the 212th, with only the barest hint of gold paint lightly brushed through it. It’ll help blend into dappled light. The rest of his armour might be too damn bright but at least some of his legs will be camouflaged.  

Match and Wooley work as an ARC pair as part of the 212th and Ghost Company. They go where they’re needed and complement each other well. They’re also both part of the specialised squad that accompanies the 212th’s padawan on missions. There’s a pool of troopers in Ghost Company with various specialisations that are drawn on depending on the needs of the mission. This will pretty much always involve Match and Wooley because wherever their padawan goes, they go. The General has the Commander and their padawan has at least one ARC. They’re all very serious about keeping their jetii alive, Match especially so about keeping the baby Jedi alive. That’s been with him ever since the jungle and will never leave. 

Just like the jungle. 

It is always there. 

—

Section of fic about Match Context: This is after Match has been rescued and is recovering in the medbay of the Negotiator.

Waking is easier this time. 

Match comes to a slow awareness of his surroundings. The white walls and bright lights and beeping machines are still there. The mask on his face is gone, replaced by tubes that fill his nose and do not feel welcome at all. Match think’s he’d prefer the mask back. He gingerly shifts his jaw and it immediately cracks, making his eye twitch and drawing out a pained grunt. His side twinges at the noise but the slicing pain from before doesn’t return. He carefully shifts slightly and is relieved to find that it doesn’t feel like he’s being stabbed again. Instead, there’s a deep penetrating ache in his shoulder, thigh, and ribs. The rest of his body feels like one big bruise. Deciding to risk a little more movement, Match turns his head to the side to confirm that, yes, there are machines next to him. There’s also the door along with a wall with a window that gives a view out into what looks like a larger medbay.

Why is he in a room by himself?

Turning his head to the other side reveals more machines, cupboards, and a chair for some reason. Match is pondering the existence of the chair when a vod with eye searingly bright blue hair and a splash of patterns on the side of his face pokes his head around the door.

“Eeeyyyyy, he’s awake!”

Yes?

The vod hollers out to the medbay at large with a string of words and letters that make absolutely no sense to Match and then bounces over to him.

“How you doin’ bud? I’m Fluid, but everyone calls me Flu because they all think they’re sooooooo funny giving a medic the name of something we can’t catch. Fancy heightened genetically engineered immune systems and all that.”

This vod is far too loud, in every sense of the word.

“But you managed to pick up some very interesting mystery jungle flu down there. That produced some wild results in the battery of tests we had to run, let me tell you.”

The jungle gave Match a lot of things. 

It took away even more.

The vod keeps nattering away as he looks at a datapad and does things with the machines and rifles around in the cupboards like he’s trying to make every noise imaginable.

“So on a scale of being ripped apart by our friendly neighbourhood Force wielding Sith gremlin, to being thrown around the mats by the Commander for his sadistic pleasure, to stubbing your toe on that little lip of the door on the last training room that really shouldn’t be there because everything’s supposed to be standardised, what’s our pain like today?

What the fuck is a Sith gremlin?

“Are we gonna have to use numbers? Numbers are so boring. Utterly useless too, seeing as they don’t accurately convey pain and, despite us all being clones and all, we definitely process pain differently. But you try telling the longnecks that and just watch them get all pissy. That’s a recipe for being recon’d at the very least so let's keep that between you and me, pal.”

The loud, blue haired vod is looking at him expectantly so Match guesses this is where he’s supposed to respond.

“What’s a—”

His voice gives out, cracking into a rough croak and a hacking cough that makes his ribs really fucking hurt.

“Oop, one sec, here ya go, that should help.”

The straw from a hydro pack is brandished in his face and Match sucks down his first gulp of water that hasn’t come from somewhere dubious in the jungle.

It tastes plastic.

“Alrighty, howzat then? Bit better, yeah?”

“Thanks,” Match manages to croak out. Fuck, his voice sounds and feels rough. Flu seems to be of the same opinion and decides to make it known.

“Damn vod, that is some heavy gravel you’ve been garglin’. Don’t worry ‘bout talking too much at the moment, your voice is in about the same state as the rest of you, which is to say, pretty damn beat up.”

This vod has said more words in the past few minutes than Match has said in over a year and a half. 

Repeatedly honed instincts mean Match doesn’t miss the movement across the window and his eyes track a familiar clone as they hand a datapad off to another medic and then walk through the door. 

This is someone he remembers from before. And someone who remembers him.

“Flu, stop terrorising him.”

“Now, Sir, would I ever do something like that?” Flu answers, clutching at his chest and somehow managing to be even more dramatic. 

A deeply unimpressed look is all Flu gets in return.

Match would be more confused at whatever is going on but right now he’s more occupied with looking at Helix in trepidation. He can’t run from a threat. Isn’t even sure how well he can move, and there’s only one way out of this room.

“Go be a menace elsewhere.”

“But at least I’m your favourite menace,” Flu replies, as he cheerfully slaps the datapad against Helix’s chest.

“No, that’s Pinch.”

A scandalised gasp.

“Wounded. Deeply wounded, Sir. So deeply and fatally wounded. I am in the death throes and seeing the light.”

“No dying in my medbay.”

Flu leaves with an exuberant “Yessir” flung over his shoulder as the door closes on his exit and finally brings about some peace and quiet.

[oceansssblue]

Soooo about the weird kinks

It may sound weird (expected lol) but something about the trooper being a bit more pudgy than his buddies? Not like fat as they are still soldiers but yknow armor sitting more tighter and comforting/affectionally teasing them about it (while enjoying it)

All the freedom of which trooper goes to you!

Give me all the weirdness yes!! 🥳

I just have the doubt if u wanted some clone/clone in the mix or not though (y'all be as detailed and explicit as you can if u want to make sure I get it right, I always have doubts lmao) sooo i decided not to jump to a full smutt and just leave it as teasing/sensual kinda thing –just in case!

And since you let me pick the trooper... I decided to go with Kix. He's cute. Fullstop.

Enjoy and remember I'm still taking weird/unusual kinks and 1sentence smutt fic requests!

Xx,

Blue.

"SOFT" – KIX /& 501ST 💖🔥

WARNINGS: PHYSICAL INSECURITIES, SORT OF SOFT HUMILIATION KINK, TEASING, PLAYING JUSTT AROUND CLONECEST (THOUGH I THINK IT COULD BE INTERPRETED AS PLATONIC TEASING, IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO BACK UP), NO PROPER SEX SCENE, MENTIONS OF BLOOD&WOUNDS&MEDICALSHIT, PUBLIC SHOWERS.

Note: i think this turned out well, hope it's what you were looking for dear anon!

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Kix was having a hectic day in Kamino's medbay. The 501st had just returned from yet another complicated mision in the Outer Rim; and not unusual either, he had a mix of wounds and virical diseases to heal. Some troopers had broken bones, some deep gashes and blaster grazes, some had just catched a cold that he couldn't yet brush aside as irrelevant. While Kix always followed his brothers to battle, and he had a task there, in the middle of the field, it was here, in the post-mision –when they were tucked back into safety– were his main work begun.

After a quick mental triage and once all urgent medical conditions were resolved, he resorted to attend to those with minor, non-threatening wounds. He cleaned, applied the correspondent bacta or balm, and covered each one of them; leaving one or two unattended for now as they required a bit more of time and space. He took samples of those who appeared to be developing any sort of infection; and finally flopped down in the foot of Fives' bed.

Kix examined his wound carefully. While it was nothing worrying, the cut was too long and open –though superficial– to close on it's own; and the medic didn't want to risk leaving it open for all kinds of bacteria to find a home in anyways. Furthermore, soldiers needed to be healed as quick as possible; kaminoans didn't favor long stays at home when so many troopers where needed all around the galaxy to fight the war.

"I'm gonna' have to stich that up, Fives" he pointed out with a sort of finality that didn't left much room to argue.

The ARC-trooper, instead of rolling his eyes in resignment or growing irritated, just shot him a charming smile. Kix guessed that was one of the perks of treating Fives.

"Do as you must, dear doc" he answered in good humour.

Kix quickly prepared the small surgical field he was going to require for the minor intervention. Fives flinched with the first anestesia inyection; though after that he remained surprisingly put and quiet. Kix glanced up at him once or twice, forceps and needle holders in his hands, wondering what was going on in the man's head. In usual circumstances, Fives would have been chatting his ear off. He was unusually pensive.

The medic appreciated the silence, though, so he worked diligently through every stitch until the gash was perfectly closed. He abandoned his instruments and moved onto dressing the wound –first smoothing out a layer of bacta before covering it and protecting it from external agresions–. He sighed, feeling his tense shoulders starting to hurt from the hours of effort, and shot a tiny satisfied smile to Fives.

"All done".

Kix stood up and started to clean and put everything back into place without a minute to waste. Hopefully, it would only be one more extra hour before he'd be able to retire to rest. He was just halfway into the process of leaving the bacta on top of one of the shelves when Fives finally broke down his self-imposed silence; though it did nothing but shock Kix into embarassment.

"Have you gained weight?"

Kix turned around, stunned by the abrupt observation, and inmediately self-consciously pulling down the edge of his shirt when he realised it had ridden up and offered more skin to Fives' eyes than he had intended to.

"I'm perfectly capable of withstanding the physicalities of the battlefield" he snapped, a sharp contrast to Fives curious, almost innocent question.

Fives eyes flickered over his body, taking note of the medic's redenned cheeks and the obvious discomfort on his posture. He was the one who blinked in surprise this time.

"I wasn't questioning it" he inmediately reassured him, voice calm and soothing, ignoring the glances of the few other troopers of the 501st that had yet to abandon the medbay. "I'm perfectly aware you're the best medic on the field, Kix. I wasn't asking it like it's a bad thing".

Kix frowned, feet shuffling in place. All negative thoughts about the changes he had been noticing upon himself were put on hold.

"It's... not?"

For someone who was usually so direct and precise, Fives thought he sounded so unsure.

"No. Our bodies are so similar it just... shocked me, I guess" Fives answered, dare he say, gently. "I actually like it".

Kix huffed.

"Yeah, right, 'cause I'm so much more attractive being fat and all" he mumbled, evidently disagreeing.

Fives would have walked towards him if he didn't think Kix would have screamed at pulling at his stiches so soon after closing them.

"If you're fat Amidala is the ugliest senator in the galaxy" the sarcasm was heavy in his tongue. "Kix, come on... I mean it, really".

The medic wanted nothing more than to believe him; but the insecurities inside his head made that excruciatingly difficult.

"Why?" He plainly asked, just trying to understand the logic behind it, wanting to perhaps understand Fives' point of view so he could see himself that way too.

Fives shrugged, pasting a wide grin on his face. Kix knew that expression well; it was the one the ARC pulled when he was going to be terribly blunt or do something unexpected, almost like a foreseable victory.

"Makes for a better grip. That's all".

That's all. "That's all" is what Fives said when he had all but thrown a very obvious sexual innuendo at Kix after very pointedly taking a look at the changes of his body, grinning at him.

Kix scowled, though his cheeks did nothing but redden further; a sort of warm, tingly embarassment licking up his spine. He resolutely tried to shove the confusing emotions down.

"Get out of my medbay, Fives" he ordered, tone not really agressive anymore.

Fives arched an eyebrow.

"You want me to ruin your impecable work this early?" He asked, a falsely innocent tone colouring his voice.

Kix sighed.

"I'll send a droid for some crutches for you" he muttered, and did his best to completely ignore him while he moved onto the next and last patient.

He tried to ignore the rest of the troopers of the 501st too; and the shamefull tingles of excitement that danced inside of him.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Just a week after Fives' incident, Kix was uncomfortably tugging at his armour waiting in the line for the barrack's common showers. Where it had once been a tiny bit too big on him, it was a tight fit now; almost digging in at certain places after hours of extenuating misions. He wanted nothing more than to take it off; though he apparently still had a more or less long wait in front of him, judging by the number of troopers ahead of him –even when their water rations lasted barely five minutes at all–.

Finally, Kix made it onto the adyacent locker room; and he quickly divested himself of every plate and pauldron, stacking it up in a practiced way for him to pick it up on the way back to his bunk, bucket on top. As naked as a tubie, he walked towards an empty shower; scanning his wrist on the reader of the wall to start with his water ration. He washed the blood and grim of war methodically off his body; pressing his forehead against the cold tiles and allowing himself to close his eyes and just relax for the last minute or so.

"That's what I call a nice thick ass, Kix!" A voice shouted from one of the adyacent showers.

It was curious how they were all so similar and yet their voices could be so different.

"Shut up, Hardcase!" he bit back in between the 501st' chuckles, a small flush creeping up his neck at the comment.

His ration expired, and Kix wrapped a towel around his waist. He dressed up in his night blacks; gathered his armour, and walked back to the barracks. It felt like glory, laying down on his bunk; clean and tired, finally allowed to decompress and rest, to relax.

"Can I join you?" A low, cautious voice interrupted his half-asleep state a few minutes afterwards.

Kix opened a single eye to take a glance at the trooper; not to find out who he was –he already knew–, but to scan his expresion. His eyes. Kix had always thought Rex and Echo had one of the most expressive eyes of the GAR.

"Sure, vod'ika" he accepted, attempting to move in order to make some space for him.

To his surprise, Echo all but dropped himself on top of him; head inmediately finding a spot right below his ribs, in his abdomen, and feet precariously dangling off the matress. The ARC trooper's hands splayed on both sides of his hips. Kix chuckled in amusement and let him be.

"Comfortable?" He asked, just to make sure, relaxing onto the bed again.

Echo hummed, his lips almost brushing against his stomach.

"Mm. Yeah. Fives told me you were unsure about your shape" Echo quietly mumbled, voice turning sweet and honest. "But you look as good as always, and this just makes you the best person to cuddle with, Kix".

That same burning, exciting shame spread through the trooper's veins. Kix was just glad Echo couldn't see the smile on his reddening face.

THE END.