#clone trooper swoop

[ct-cactus]

I would like to introduce one of my many clone trooper OCs:

This is CT-4782 “SwoopDeWoop”

Everyone calls him Swoop though because his they think his full name is fucking stupid.

Here’s some fun facts!

A member of the 501st

He’s a jet trooper

He’s petty and always knocking things over like a cat

He steals and pulls pranks for attention

He’s aroace

Quotes (used from a random quote generator):

Swoop: If you don't stop talking, I'm going to jump out of that window.

Rex: ...We're on the ground floor.

Swoop: I know but I want a dramatic exit.

——————

Rex: We need a plan to beat them.

Swoop: Okay, listen up. First, we fill their shoes with wet cat food.

Rex:

Swoop: Judge me all you want, I get results.

I used a clone creator website to make the armor; I can post the link if anyone wants it

[blade-liger-4ever]

You're welcome

(Also I wrote a TBB x Rebels crossover where Tech lives. If you're interested.)

[dukeoftheblackstar]

P I L O T S ♥

Sauce. Sauce.

[stormygopher]

So I had the realization recently that transformer names and clone trooper names have like… the exact same vibe. So now I’m on a quest to find transformers and clones with the same name. Here is who I’ve found so far.

Hound

Kickback

Crasher

Kosmos/Cosmos

Swoop

I’m willing to bet there’s more than this so I will continue my search

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Armor for the Skin”

501st x Reader

The overhead lumens slam on like artillery. Groans ripple through the barracks, but you roll out of your bunk already gathering your contraband caddy—a slim duraplast kit labeled “Mk‑III MedPatch”

Fives, half‑dressed and wholly curious, nods at the kit. “Alright, mystery box—you packing bacta or blasters in there?”

You flick the latch. Bottles, tubes, and sachets unfold like a miniature armory—just shinier and pastel‑colored.

“Moisturizer,” you say, dotting cream onto your cheeks. “SPF 50. Sun in space still finds a way.”

Fives blinks. “You’re lotion‑plating your face before breakfast?”

You smile. “Armor for the skin.”

As you pat the sunscreen in, Fives watches, fascinated. “How long does all that take? We get, like, sixty seconds to hit the refresher.”

“Practice,” you reply, capping the tube. “And a bit of multitasking.”

Across the aisle, Jesse mutters, “She’s waxing her cheeks?”—which earns him a smack from Kix.

The medic tilts his head, curious. “Actually, hydrating the epidermis reduces micro‑tears that form when helmets chafe. Fewer micro‑tears, fewer infections.”

Fives groans. “Kix, not you too!”

Tup perks up. “Will it stop my forehead from peeling on desert drops?”

“Only if you commit,” you reply, tossing him a travel‑size tube.

Tup bobbles it. “Commit to… face goop?”

“Commit to self‑care, shiny,” Jesse teases, but he secretly dabs a fingertip of cream on the scar running over his temple when he thinks no one’s watching.

Hardcase flips down from the top bunk, dangling upside‑down. “What about night routine? Can we weaponize it?”

You laugh. “Weaponize hydration?”

You begin to rattle off the list for your routines while shoving items back into the caddy.

Jesse whistles. “That’s more steps than disassembling a DC‑17.”

“It’s upkeep,” you say, snapping the kit shut. “Blasters, armor, skin. Treat them right and they won’t fail mid‑mission.”

Kix, ever the medic, hums thoughtfully. “Prevention over cure—sound protocol.”

Rex marches past the doorway, barking for PT. He notices the cluster around your bunk, eyes the lotions, then decides he’s not paid enough to investigate at 0500. “Five minutes to muster. Whatever you’re doing—do it faster.”

The squad scrambles. You close your caddy with a click, satisfied. Step one: curiosity planted.

As you pass Fives he murmurs, “Armor for the skin, huh?”

“Exactly, vod,” you grin, tapping his chest plate. “And just like yours—it’s personal issue.”

He barks a laugh, then jogs after the others—already plotting how to requisition micellar water under “optical clarity supplies.”

Curiosity piqued, routine revealed. Now the real fun begins.

⸻

An hour later, after PT and standard mess rations, the 501st files toward the strategy room. You’re meant to present local intel, but you duck into the refresher first to rinse sweat and slap on a leave‑in hair mask.

Inside, Tup stares at his reflection, damp curls drooping. “How tight is the towel supposed to be?”

“Snug, not suffocating.” You demonstrate the twist‑and‑tuck, shaping his towel into a tidy turban. He looks like a spa holo‑ad—if spa ads featured wide‑eyed clone troopers in duty blacks.

Rex storms in mid‑lesson. The captain’s expression cycles through confusion, exasperation, acceptance in under a second. “Explain.”

“Deep‑conditioning,” you answer. “Helmet hair’s a war crime.”

Dogma, arms folded behind Rex, scowls. “Regulation headgear only.”

You pat the towel. “Technically, still a head covering.”

Hardcase bursts from a stall, face covered in neon‑green clay. “I CAN’T MOVE MY MOUTH! THIS STUFF SETS LIKE DURASTEEL!”

Kix swoops in with a damp cloth. “That’s the detox mask, vod. Rinse at four minutes, not forty.”

Fives leans in the doorway, filming everything. “Historical documentation, Rex. Posterity.”

Rex pinches the bridge of his nose. “You have two minutes to look like soldiers before General Skywalker arrives.”

Tup whispers, “Uh… do I rinse or…?”

You yank the towel free with a flourish; his curls bounce, glossy. “Ready for battle,” you declare.

Rex sighs. “One minute forty‑five.”

⸻

The 501st rolls in after an endless maintenance drill, expecting lights‑out. Instead, you’ve transformed the common room into a makeshift spa: footlockers draped in clean towels, maintenance lamps angled like vanity lights, and rows of mysterious packets labeled hydrating, brightening, volcanic detox…

Rex stops dead in the doorway, helmet under his arm.

“Vod, why does it smell like a med‑bay and a flower‑shop had a firefight?”

You beam. “Team‑building. Captain’s orders.”

Rex narrows his eyes—he definitely did not give those orders—but one look at the exhausted squad convinces him to play along. You pass out microfiber headbands—Tup’s bun peeks through adorably—then cue soft lo‑fi on a datapad.

⸻

The 501st rolls in after an endless maintenance drill, expecting lights‑out. Instead, you’ve transformed the common room into a makeshift spa: footlockers draped in clean towels, maintenance lamps angled like vanity lights, and rows of mysterious packets labeled hydrating, brightening, volcanic detox…

Rex stops dead in the doorway, helmet under his arm.

“Vod, why does it smell like a med‑bay and a flower‑shop had a firefight?”

You beam. “Team‑building. Captain’s orders.”

Rex narrows his eyes—he definitely did not give those orders—but one look at the exhausted squad convinces him to play along.

You pass out microfiber headbands—Tup’s bun peeks through adorably—then cue soft lo‑fi on a datapad.

Fives foams cleanser like he’s icing a ration cake, flicks bubbles at Jesse.

Hardcase grabs an industrial solvent bottle. You snatch it away. “Wrong kind of chemical peel, blaster‑brain.”

Kix demonstrates gentle circular motions; the squad copies, mumbling mock mantras.

Faces disappear beneath colors and cartoons.

Fives foams cleanser like he’s icing a ration cake, flicks bubbles at Jesse.

Hardcase grabs an industrial solvent bottle. You snatch it away. “Wrong kind of chemical peel, blaster‑brain.”

Kix demonstrates gentle circular motions; the squad copies, mumbling mock mantras.

Faces disappear beneath colors and cartoons.

Jesse paints Dogma’s clay mask into perfect camo stripes; Dogma tries to protest, fails, secretly loves it.

Rex sighs as you smooth the sheet onto his face. “If this vid leaks, I’m demoting everyone.”

Tup giggles when the nerf‑printed mask squeaks. Fives records the sound bite for future memes.

Everyone reclines on mesh webbing strung between crates.

The timer pings. Masks come off—revealing eight glowing, ridiculously refreshed faces.

Hardcase flexes. “Feel like I could head‑butt a super tactical droid and leave an imprint.”

Fives snaps a holo of Rex’s newfound radiance. “Captain, you’re shining.”

Rex grumbles, but his skin does glow under the fluorescents. “Get some rack time, troopers. 0600 briefing. And… keep the extra packets. Field supply, understood?”

A chorus of cheerful “Yes, sir!”

You watch them file out, each tucking a sheet‑mask packet into utility belts like contraband. Mission accomplished: the 501st is combat‑ready—and complexion‑ready—for whatever tomorrow throws at them.

⸻

Obi‑Wan strolls through the hangar, robe billowing. He pauses mid‑conversation with Cody, eyes widening at the radiant 501st lined up for deployment.

“My word, gentlemen, you’re positively effulgent.”

Jesse grins—dazzling. “Training and discipline, General.”

Cody side‑eyes Rex. “Whatever you’re doing, send the regimen to the 212th.”

Anakin trots up, spying a stash of leftover masks tucked behind Rex’s pauldron. He plucks one. “Charcoal detox? Padmé swears by these.” He pockets it with a conspiratorial wink.

Rex mutters, “Necessary field supplies, General.”

You walk by, sling a go‑cup of caf into Rex’s free hand. “Don’t forget SPF,” you remind, tapping his helmet.

Rex looked over to Cody, Deadpan “Non‑negotiable, apparently.”

⸻

Blaster fire and powdered sand fill the air. Jesse dives behind a ridge. “Double‑cleanse tonight—this dust is murder on my pores!”

Fives snorts through the comms. “Copy, gorgeous. Bring the aloe.”

Hardcase detonates a bunker, cheers, then yelps, “Mask first, explosions later—got it!”

Rex stands, sand sifting off armor, skin protected under a sheer layer of sunscreen that miraculously survived the firefight. He shakes his head but can’t hide the small smile.

“Alright, 501st,” he calls. “Let’s finish this op—tonight we rehydrate, tomorrow we conquer.”

You chuckle, loading a fresh power‑cell. The war may rage on, but for this legion, victory now comes with a healthy glow.

⸻

A/N

This was a request, however I accidentally deleted the request in my inbox.

[mae-lou-ron]

For Granted

Summary: Your beloved Gregor returns from a weeks-long mission for the clone underground, and after a long night filled with debriefings, he can’t wait to show you just how much he missed you while he was gone.

Pairing: Captain Gregor x f!reader

Warnings: 🚨 NSFW - SMUT AHEAD 🚨, 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content and language, established relationship, mutual pining, cockwarming, unprotected PiV, edging, delayed orgasm, praise, soft!Dom Gregor, pleasure!dom Gregor?, oodles of fluff, Gregor can't keep his eyes (or hands) off you, color system safe words (only green used), aftercare, this is what I call a plot/smut/plot sandwich.

Word Count: 4,700

A/N: GOBBLE GOBBLE GREGOR GIRLIES. Happy to report I am posting this way earlier than I thought would be possible. (I finally did it @jetii, @captn-trex @lonewolflupe— again thank you for your constant inspiration and encouragement) This is the first smut I’ve ever posted and I guess decided to just go for it. I don’t know what to tell you, I just feel like Gregor would be such a soft and needy little pleasure dom. Okay, bone apple tea my fellow feral goblins. DO NOT PERCEIVE ME.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late—very late.

The away team shuttle had touched down hours ago, but before you could greet Gregor properly, Rex had swooped in and intercepted him before he even made it down the gangplank. Their mission to the ruins of Tipoca City had proven successful, and Rex wanted to know everything.

For nearly two weeks, they dove beneath the old cloning facility's wreckage, searching the depths for anything that survived the orbital bombardment—especially for anything that could help them better understand the inhibitor chips. As you observed him from across the holotable, you noted the exhaustion that marked your beloved's features. His bloodshot eyes had dark circles beneath them, and though he tried his best to stay alert and focused, the weariness was clearly setting in. Yet, despite his current state, Gregor's gaze kept finding its way back to you, his lips curving into a small smile whenever your eyes met.

You listened and updated the data banks while Rex thoroughly questioned Gregor and his team about their operation. When Rex was finally satisfied with what was recovered, the meeting adjourned. As you gathered your things, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Gregor, hoping this was finally the moment for your long-awaited reunion—but he remained deep in conversation with Rex, their heads bent together. You sighed inwardly but couldn't help glowing with admiration for him.

He was probably the most lighthearted of his brothers, but Gregor showed unwavering dedication to his work—particularly when it involved Rex. After all, Rex had orchestrated Gregor's rescue from the Empire by sending the Bad Batch to extract him, saving Gregor from the Empire's grim plans for clone troopers like himself.

Rex's relentless pursuit to understand and neutralize the inhibitor chips strengthened Gregor's dedication to the mission. For Gregor, helping Rex wasn't just about loyalty—it was about preventing other clones from enduring the same fate. This devotion extended to everyone Gregor held dear, including you. He had become not only your lover but your best friend and closest ally in the growing clone rebellion. You had become one of the few anchors in each other’s lives that had been plagued with uncertainty.

From your first meeting, you were irresistibly drawn to him—and he made no effort to hide his magnetic attraction to you. Even now, his keen eyes would seek you out first whenever he entered a room. True to form, Gregor's gaze shifted to you over Rex's shoulder again, silently expressing his longing to be near you after so many days apart. You caught his eye and flashed a playful smirk, pressing a fingertip to your lips before extending it toward him. He would always wink in return. Though your relationship was no longer a secret, you both treasured this little ritual—a wordless exchange of adoration between the two of you.

Back in your quarters, you changed into your sleep clothes and settled into bed. Propped against pillows with your data pad in hand, you intended to review the new data decryptions while waiting for Gregor's return, hoping he might have more enticing ways to keep you awake. But the warmth of your bed and the quiet hum of recycled air lulled you to sleep with surprising swiftness. Your eyes grew heavy, thoughts of him blurred behind your lids until you drifted off.

A short while later, you stirred from a light sleep when you felt the bed dip. With gentle hands, Gregor retrieved your fallen data pad and slid under the covers behind you. His strong arms enveloped you, drawing you against his chest.

"Stars, I've missed you, my darling," Gregor sighed into the space between you. Your eyes fluttered open as his lips pressed into the back of your shoulder, sending a thrill down your spine.

The familiar spicy scent of him filled your nose—he must have hit the fresher before coming to bed. You hummed contentedly and turned within his arms to face him, your lips curling into a sleepy smile. "Missed you too," you murmured.

Gregor's tired eyes were filled with warmth and adoration in the dim light. His hand gently cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. "Sorry I'm late..."

"S'okay," you leaned into his touch. "You're here now, and at least I know you're not just another dream," you said into his chest as you yawned.

Gregor's heart thrummed at your words. The thought of you dreaming about him stoked the ever-present desire he seemed to hold for you. "How's the burn?" he asked instead, softly moving his hand down, fingertips skimming over the fresh scars on your hip.

"All healed now. Rex was right, of course," you grumbled. The former captain had benched you from field work due to the blaster fire that grazed you on your last mission. Though you'd insisted it was healed enough, Rex wouldn't budge. You knew he was right, but being sidelined grated your nerves— especially since it was your intel they were operating on.

"You really scared me for a minute there, you know," Gregor whispered, his voice lilted with emotion as his fingers traced the newly healed scar.

You kissed the tip of his nose and gave him a knowing smile. "You should know better than anyone, love. It takes more than that to keep someone down," you murmured, covering his hand with your fingertips. A pitchy chuckle escaped him as he pressed his forehead to yours, recognizing the echo of his own resilient spirit in your words. But his face fell incrementally as he found his next words.

"I still wish you could have been there, on Kamino," he confessed, his voice solemn. He didn’t have to say anything, but you knew how strange returning to Kamino was going to be for him. He had his brothers with him, but you’d hoped to be there for him too.

"You just wanted a chance to see me in my swimming gear," you quipped instead.

Gregor's eyes sparkled as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth with a quiet rumble. "Can you blame me? Thinking of you in any state of undress was all I had to keep me sane out there," his words and lips danced against your cheek.

You squirmed in his embrace as his hand trailed up and down your body, fingertips once again sweeping over the swell of your hip. "But I always love seeing my cyare like this…" he added, his warm hand giving you a playful squeeze, referring to the teeny tiny shorts you often wore around your shared quarters, just for him.

“Oh? And why is that?” You said with a raised eyebrow, feigning ignorance at how his eyes would habitually follow you around whenever you wore them. Not to mention the mischief he would promise when he saw you wearing any of his clothing, and tonight you had grabbed one of his shirts to sleep in.

“Because it’s what you’re comfortable in,” he sighed contentedly as his fingers slipped under the hem, grazing the soft skin at the small of your back.

Being under his focus with such reverence made your heart pound in your ears, his magnetic touch constantly drawing you in. Your fingers traced the line of his jaw. "Will you just kiss me, already?" you whispered, forgetting your teasing.

Gregor hummed as his lips met yours, sweet and gentle, his hands rediscovering every curve and contour. You melted into his radiating warmth, the steady rhythm of his heart. When you nibbled his bottom lip, it earned you a deep moan and a roll of his body against yours. Your fingers wove through his damp hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, his tongue moving softly against yours.

Your lips danced together in a sensual rhythm, exploring and tasting with unhurried devotion as his fingers threaded through your hair, cradling the back of your head. Each sweep of his tongue against yours sent shivers down your spine, the kiss deepening with an intensity that made your toes curl and your heart race. Through every tender touch, he conveyed how deeply he'd missed you, and a familiar heat had bloomed between you fueled by days of delayed desire. The warmth of it coursed through your veins, spurring you on.

Eager to feel his skin against yours, you tugged off your shirt and pushed at his. Gregor chuckled softly and obliged, pulling off his shirt with deliberate slowness before tossing it aside. Under your fingertips, his body felt electric as you traced the familiar scars adorning his soft, golden skin. A shiver ran through him at your touch, and he groaned when your lips found his shoulder.

"Darling, I need you…" he purred, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts. His voice dropped lower, thick with desire. He paused, eyes intense and yearning as they locked with yours. "I've thought of you every night. Your kiss, your smile, the sounds you make for me." His fingers gripped your hips possessively, sure to leave marks. "Tell me, meshla," he breathed. "Did you think of me too?"

You let out a soft whine, your head falling against his chest as a breathy "Yes," escaped your swollen lips.

"Tell me..." he implored, his body rolling into yours once more. "Did I hear you say you dreamt of me?"

"Of course I did," you confessed softly, leaning close. Your lips brushed against the shell of his ear as intimate desires and details of your self-indulgent dreams tumbled from your lips. Gregor shivered, your warm breath tickling his skin. His fingers flexed as he strained to catch every hushed syllable. These whispered words were for him alone.

His chest rumbled with a deep, guttural sound. "Cyare," he whispered, the word dripping with honey.

You lifted your hips as he slid your shorts down your legs. Once free, he swooped in to kiss you again, this time with more fervor as his hands roamed your newly exposed skin. He swallowed the soft gasp that escaped your lips when his fingers dipped between your legs, growling appreciatively at how ready you were for him.

You whined at his touch, your fingertips curling around the base of his neck. Gregor sighed, his breath hot against your shoulder as he trailed kisses down to your collarbone. You heard him chuckling quietly as his fingers teased your sensitive flesh. "…and I’ve barely touched you yet,” he teased.

You huffed in response and started pushing his shorts over his hips, firmly grasping a handful of his taught backside in the process causing him to hoot and giggle softly. "I told you what I’ve been thinking about… come here…" you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. Once free of his own clothing, you hooked your leg around his waist, drawing him to you. Gregor hissed at the contact, his hips instinctively rocking against yours. You felt the head of his length glide along your entrance and up to your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

Gregor let out a deep hum, gathering his self control. "I can't say no to you," he grunted, slowly sliding his length back up and down a few times before notching at your entrance. His lips met your forehead as he eased into you. You bit your lip as your body welcomed him, eyebrows furrowing at the sudden fullness. Despite the delicious sting of him at first, you craved him—eager for more, for all of him. But Gregor picked up on your body’s signal and paused. His head came back to regard you, eyes filled with concern and love.

"Cyar'ika," he whispered tenderly. His thumb traced your cheek and trailed down to your lips. You smirked, drawing the digit into your mouth with a soft moan, swirling your tongue around it. Gregor's eyes locked onto yours, awestruck at the sensation. "That's it…good girl," he purred, the wolfish smile that followed his praise sent a shiver down your spine. He withdrew his thumb from your mouth with a quiet pop, and brought it between your bodies, using the wetness to circle your clit.

Your body quivered, soft moans and whimpers escaping your lips as he continued his feather light touches, sending more of that delicious heat coursing through you. Your walls fluttered with pleasure, silently urging him to fully sheath himself within you. As his hips finally met yours, you both exhaled deeply, savoring the intense connection of being completely joined together.

"Let’s stay like this for a little while, hm?," he murmured against your hairline between soft kisses. "I just want you close," he breathed, his hand trailing tenderly along your spine.

You hummed in confirmation, melting into his affection. "I love you," you sighed, fingers combing through his hair. Your bodies fit together perfectly, hearts beating as one, breaths mingling in gentle pants. Being with Gregor, it never felt like enough—you both craved an impossible closeness. These tender moments were precious, when he held you like this, driven by his pure need to feel you around him, to eliminate any space between you.

"And I love you." Gregor's kiss was so tender it made your head swim. His lips traced reverently across your skin, each caress a silent vow, his heart full at how perfectly you melded together. When the kisses and touches naturally grew more heated, you felt him stir within you as your bodies instinctively began to move. With gentle purpose, Gregor rolled you, pressing your back into the mattress and caging you in with his large frame. His lips found that spot on your neck as he began a slow, intense rhythm that drew a litany of soft moans and whimpers from you. Your nails trailed down Gregor's back as he pressed against that sweet spot deep inside you. He dragged his length almost completely out before thrusting back in, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Stars… cyar’ika, you…" he panted, his movements becoming more deliberate. You wrapped your legs around him fully, urging him deeper, whimpering in is ear to do it again. The tension between you reached its peak all too quickly, weeks of anticipation setting your every nerve ending on fire. Gregor murmured sweet praises against your skin, intent on bringing you there together. You teetered on the edge, your body trembling with each slow thrust. "Gregor," you breathed in a desperate plea. "I'm..."

“I know,” he grunted. “I’ve got you…” He gentled his movements to a pace he knew would send you over. He felt your entire body tense, arching into him as your climax struck you with a sudden intensity. A shuddering moan escaped you as your hand in his hair tightened, tugging at the strands. He couldn't hold back any longer—the way your walls fluttered around him, squeezing him so tightly, your grip in his hair, the sounds you were making—it was all too much, and he gladly fell over the edge with you.

His hips jerked as he moaned your name, pressing flush against yours as he found his release inside you. You held him close while you both trembled and panted through waves of pleasure. His hips rolled gently against yours through the aftershocks. As the hazy bliss settled over you both, Gregor began dotting your face and neck with tender kisses.

“Gregor…” you protested lazily, lips curling in a fond smile. He always melted into his softest self in the afterglow.

He chuckled quietly, nuzzling your neck. "What? You know I can’t ever get enough of you…" His lips brushed against your skin, making you tremble slightly. You were grinning ear to ear now, despite your half-hearted protest.

“That makes two of us,” you said huskily, floating down from your high.

You lay tangled together in peaceful silence, your breathing and heartbeats gradually returning to normal. The gentle rise and fall of his chest against yours created a soothing rhythm that made you feel completely at ease. A while later, when your combined arousal began to slip down your thigh, Gregor shifted, preparing to retrieve something to clean you both up.

“Don't you dare," you warned teasingly, tightening your entire body around him, making his breath hitch.

“Cyar’ika…” he said in a low, playful voice, twitching inside you. “Careful now…”

You smirked, loving the way his voice dropped an octave. "Or what?" you challenged, your eyes gleaming with mischief.

Gregor chuckled, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "Oh, my darling," he chuckled lightly, his hand sliding down your body and gripping your ass, making you burst into giggles, "You love playing with fire, don’t you,"

"Mmm, I do when it encourages you to ravish me all night, love," you said with a dramatic flair, unable to hide the mirth from your voice, reminding you of the intimacy you’ve built with Gregor. It was fiery and magnetic, but always fun. You loved to push each other’s buttons to see how far you could go. After all, you cherished these quiet moments together when there was no need to rush.

Gregor groaned at your words, his grip on you intensifying. "Oh, you're in for it now," he rasped as he swiftly rolled onto his back, pulling you over with him to straddle his hips. He sat upright and curled his hand around the base of your neck, pulling you into a searing kiss. The sound that escaped you at this new angle was absolutely sinful, making him twitch inside you once again. He immediately began a gentle pace, guiding your hips into his shallow thrusts. You gripped his shoulders tightly, seeking an anchor amid the electricity firing deep within you. Your oversensitive bundle of nerves dragged against the base of his length, making you grind down on him more desperately.

Sensing your growing urgency, Gregor gently slowed your movements. His hands caressed your sides soothingly as he looked up at you with adoration. "Shhh cyar'ika, look at me…" he murmured, his voice low and tender. Your eyes fluttered open to gaze into his, dark and warm and focused on you. "I know, it feels so good." His voice strained, thumbs traced circles on your hips as he guided you back into that slower, more deliberate rhythm Gregor loved to torture you with. You whimpered at the change of pace, but soon found yourself melting into the languid, sensual motion. Gregor's eyes never left your face, enjoying watching you give in. "That's it, just feel," he whispered. "There’s no rush. I’ve got you…"

Gregor's movements periodically slowed to a halt, prolonging the intense pleasure building between you. Each time, he held you close, guiding you both toward that long-awaited peak. His arm snaked beneath you, holding you to him with effortless strength, preventing you from taking him completely. He knew exactly how much to give, bringing you to the edge over and over. He savored the sounds you made during the slow, frustrating dance, careful not to overstimulate as he kept you balanced on the edge of a knife.

Your body trembled, every nerve ending alive and hypersensitive, your breaths came in short, desperate moans. You clung to him, nails digging into his back and his scalp as you fought against the overwhelming urge to let go, somewhere between savoring every exquisite moment of him inside you and every cell in your body screaming for release. Gregor felt your body go rigid and quiver, he glanced down noticing how tightly your toes were curled, then up to your eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

"Cyar'ika, what's your color?" he managed to say through the haze. He himself was hanging by a thread.

"Green," you groaned gently. "Please, I need..."

Gregor's eyes snapped open at your words, his grip on you stuttering. "Tell me what you need," he nearly growled. "I need to hear you say it, cyar'ika."

“Please...” you breathed. “I need to come."

With a low groan of approval, Gregor knew he’d pushed you to a new limit, and captured your lips in a soft kiss, slowly lowering you down fully onto his length once more. "Then come for me, my love, let go…" he murmured against your lips as he loosened his hold on you incrementally, encouraging you to writhe against him at your own pace. He swallowed the moans that escaped your throat as you did so, your fingers tangling in his hair again as you finally let yourself go.

He held you to him as your body shook, waves of ecstasy sweeping through you, your inner walls pulsing wildly around Gregor's length. He buried his face in your shoulder, his own climax following yours as he thrust himself deep inside with a low, guttural sound. You clung to each other, riding out the lingering tremors, your core gradually relaxing its grip on him. Hearts raced and chests heaved as you both savored the moment. With one more gentle rock of his hips, he pulled you down, creating a delicious pressure that sent one final, intense ripple of pleasure coursing through you, reducing whatever composure you had left and turning you into a whimpering mess.

“Thats it,” he soothed as you collapsed against him, head lolling forward as he secured you against his broad chest. You hummed contentedly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as your breathing slowly steadied. Gregor's fingers continued their gentle caress along your skin, calming your tense muscles and fluttering heart.

“You did so well,” he praised. “We haven’t gone that long before,” he grinned at you, giggling softly, a sheen of sweat on his skin.

You chuckled softly, feeling an ache in your hips and knees. "Mmm, I think we both needed that," you murmured, wincing slightly as you shifted your legs around his frame.

“Here, I’ve got you,” he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips as he helped you shift positions, knowing your joints sometimes didn’t love it as much as you did.

His strong arms cradled you as he maneuvered you off him, finally slipping out and eliciting a soft sigh from you. He bit his lip, barely suppressing a groan as he glanced at the evidence of your passion. Once you were settled, he quickly jumped out of bed and disappeared into the fresher, returning moments later with a warm cloth.

His fingertips trailed up the outside of your knee, reminding you he was still there. You smiled and opened up for him to gently clean you up. His touch was tender as he took care of both of you. Once finished, he tossed the towel aside and crawled back onto the bed and got to work on massaging the soreness from your legs.

You sighed contentedly as Gregor's skilled hands worked out the tension in your joints. "You're too good to me," you murmured sleepily. He responded with a soft chuckle, his touch gentle yet firm as he eased away any lingering discomfort. “Love, I know you’re exhausted, come here…”

He chuckled and planted tender kisses on each knee before settling beside you, drawing you close against his chest. You nestled into his warmth, savoring the lazy patterns he traced on your back with his fingertips.

You tilted your head up to press a gentle kiss beneath his chin, savoring the closeness. “I’m so happy you’re home…”

Gregor sighed contentedly. “Me too.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should bring up his time on Kamino. The topic always felt delicate, and you didn't want to stir up difficult memories. But his peaceful expression gave you courage.

“How was it being back there?" you asked softly.

“Well, the first few days were…strange, but not in the way I thought they would be,” he confessed quietly.

“How so?” You pressed a chaste kiss to the side of his neck, absentmindedly inhaling his scent.

“Some clones considered Kamino their home, but I’ve never really felt more at home than I do here. With the underground. With you.” His voice stuttered on the last few words.

You felt your heart swell, and you pulled him closer, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Good, because I feel the same way…”

Gregor's arm tightened around you, and you felt him release another contented sigh against your hair. In this moment, everything felt exactly as it should be - no missions, no war, just the two of you finding solace in each other's arms. You held one another close, happy to be back in one another’s orbit.

"Darling..." Gregor's voice took on a somber tone as he tightened his arms around you. "I received new orders from Rex tonight." He paused as you tilted your head back to look at him, his expression serious. You felt your body tense, preparing for the worst. "And, well, it’s not just that," he continued, his lips curving into a frown.

“What is it?” your hand brushed his disheveled hair out of his eyes, your heart clenching at the thought of him being gone again so soon, without you. Rex had yet to clear you for your injury, and you felt your stomach drop at the thought of being left behind on base again for another mission.

Gregor took a deep breath, as if to steady himself. "I know it's short notice, but... I told Rex you’d have no problem shipping out by midday tomorrow..." He gazed at you intently, his trademark mischievous smirk betraying his attempt at a somber expression. He was a terrible liar.

Your eyebrows shot up at the realization.

Now his face was in a full grin. "Mhm...you’re coming with." He quipped. “Though I’m sure Rex wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stay behi—”

“No!” you trilled, propping yourself up onto your elbow. “I’m ready,” you insisted.

“You don’t even know what the mission is yet, love,” he chuckled, it was hard to resist mirroring your excitement.

“I don’t care,” you sighed. “I’ve been cooped up…it’s boring when everyone is gone,” you groaned.

“Don’t you mean it’s boring when I’m gone?” Gregor teased.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hide your smile. "Maybe," you admitted, snuggling back into him. "But don't let it go to your head." Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest as you soaked up the warmth of his presence, grateful to soon be back to doing what you do best.

Gregor laughed softly, his chest rumbling beneath your fingertips. "Have we met?," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. As you lay there, wrapped in each other's embrace, a sleepy silence settled over you both. The anticipation of being briefed for tomorrow's mission hummed just beneath the surface, but for now, you were content to simply exist in this moment.

“You’re a terrible liar, by the way…” you said as you curled into him. He just chuckled softly as you let your eyes close, feeling the tendrils of sleep start to curl around you.

Soon, the familiar weight of Gregor's body and gentle rhythm of his breathing lulled you into a peaceful state. His fingers continued their soothing caress along your back, growing slower and more languid as sleep began to claim him too. The last thing you remembered before surrendering was the gentle press of Gregor's lips against your forehead and his whispered "Ner cyare..." You mumbled a sleepy response, already half-lost to dreams of tomorrow's adventures.

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkness on Umbara Chp.3 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 2. Chapter 4.

Marching on

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, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, Reader gets yelled at, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DNI, even if theres no smut

“Quicken that pace battalion, this isn't some training course on Kamino!” 

If you had to hear one more fucking command from Krell, you may just inject him with all the painkillers in your pack.

It’s been almost 4 hours of his self-importance. You were patient, but by all the gods in existence you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

Fives scoffed next to you, “The uh…new General has a way with words.” His tone was directed at Rex, who had wanted you at the front of the march with him. 

His reasoning for such a formation? ‘Keep an eye on the supplies’. In reality? ‘to protect you.’

The clone captain looked to the ARC trooper, “He's just trying to keep us on schedule.”

“By raising everyone’s ire?” You leaned forward slightly to look over at your lover. You didn’t mean to give him any grief, but it was a good question. Just what was Krell hoping to achieve by annoying everyone?

“Either way he's in charge, and we got a job to do.” Rex responded taking your question in stride, “Treat him with respect and we'll all get along fine.”

You sighed, “As long as that respect is mutual.”

“You know we don’t always get that luxury.” The captain looked at you. You could practically feel his disapproving gaze through his visor.

You backed down, not wanting to stress him out any more than he already was, “I know…I know…just…” With another sigh, you gave him a soft smile, “Just want to keep you and everyone else safe.”

“Especially me?” Fives chimed in, a smirk clear in his voice. 

You snorted, “Yes Fives, especially you.”

Rex let out a soft laugh, “That’s enough chatter. We need to focus.” 

“Speaking of.” The ARC trooper nudged the captain and pointed upward, “Do you see that?”

In the distance, two glowing…beasts were flying directly towards your battalion. They had impressive speed as they descended quickly. Their bodies were triangular, with bioluminescent under bellies and spiked tails.

“Yea, ready your weapons!” Rex commanded, pulling his pistols. The other troopers followed his lead. The barrage of blaster fire began as soon as one of them swooped, yanking an ARF trooper, Jock, from his AT-RT. It turned sharply and let go, slamming the clone downward into the ground.

You heard the crack through the blasters.

The second dove and grabbed a trooper behind you. He cried out in pain and fear as it flew upward again, taking him from the ground. The shots continued and you got up from the speeder to tend to the down ARF trooper. 

You didn’t make it far, as the first glowing beast made a second swoop aiming for you. Jesse, to his credit, did a wonderful job of protecting you by tackling you to the ground for the second time in a rotation, “Oh no you don’t!” He growled, aiming his gun upward and firing. 

The bioluminescent creature dodged every shot and made another turn, lifting upward to make another pass. 

“Thanks, second time you saved me.” You nodded to him, getting up and rushing to Jock. His leg was broken, fibula stabbing through broken plastoid. Immediately you administered painkillers. This poor man was probably in agony.

Krell had quickly disposed of the second. The Jedi had leapt upward and ripped the beast's claws open, dropping the other trooper. His size and weight worked to the advantage as the animal couldn’t lift. 

The two of them hit the ground where the besalisk stabbed both his lightsabers through its torso. It died with a high pitched screech before Krell sliced the last one as it tried to swoop, bringing it down as well. 

Rex and Fives kept their guns pointed at the beast, but the new General shouted, “anyone else want to stop and play with the animals!?” He punctuated his point by driving his foot down on the creature's body. It jerked before going still, “Didn’t think so. Now keep moving!”

You huffed, turning back to the soldier, “I got you.” Your voice was kind and soft, “I’m not going anywhere, OK?”

He nodded, gloved hands trembling and gripping his thigh. Even with the painkillers, you knew he must’ve been feeling like absolute hell. 

“Jesse,” You looked up at the senior trooper, “Can you get the speeder please?” The soldier needed surgery, but you couldn’t do it here. Not in the open. 

He saluted and quickly stepped away. 

“How bad?” Kix asked, pulling off his pack and kneeling next to you. He remained calm, despite the earlier excitement, “Damn, Jock. Don’t worry. We got you.”

“We are moving!” Krell shouted somewhere behind you. 

“Give us a few minutes!” you snapped, not looking up as you worked. “Help me stabilize the leg, I can't fix it here.”

“We have bacta and medication to deal with any infections later.” the medic beside you nodded, “Get a splint in place.”

“North, take his AT-RT,” You heard Fives’ command the ARF trooper you treated earlier. As soon as the ARC troopers words were spoken, North had gotten up from the stretcher as Jesse approached with the speeder. While you would have preferred him to rest, that currently wasn’t an option. Thankfully, he was at least conscious enough to operate a vehicle. 

Plus, leaving behind a perfectly functional and even devastating weapon in the hands of the enemy was a very bad idea.

Jock was trembling. Pain and shock from staring at his broken leg most likely. Even hardened soldiers would panic at the sight of one of their bones stabbing outside of their body, “Hey Jock, don’t worry. We got you, ok?” You shifted slightly, lowering your face so he’d pay attention to you and not his wound.

“Troopers!” 

“Can you not fucking see-!” a heavy hand yanked you back and to your feet. You stumbled, but kept upright. 

Krell was glaring at you, a fire of wrath in his eyes,“I told you, we. are. Moving! Do not ignore a direct order!” 

Now it was your turn to be enraged, “Respectfully, General, my priority is to the wellbeing of this army. It is my duty as a field doctor to help them when they’re injured. Surely as a jedi you understand the importance of duty.” You kept your eyes on him, refusing to look away. 

Arguing with your General normally wasn’t an option. However, in your training it was emphasized that your rank as a medic held special privileges, such as ignoring orders that may inhibit you from caring for the wounded.

But something told you that the Jedi in front of you didn’t really care.

You didn’t see how Hardcase held Rexs’ arm, doing his best to keep the captain from making a grave mistake. He was normally able to think clearly and not let his emotions dictate his decisions. Unless it came to you. The one he loved so dearly.

The new General huffed and straightened his back, “You have 60 seconds to get him stabilized and loaded on to the stretcher,” He clasped his arms behind him again and began to walk to the front, he turned his head back at you, “Next time, I will not stand for such insubordination, because it is my duty to lead these troops so the Republic can take the capital of this planet.” 

You swallowed and saluted, turning back to Jock. With the help of Kix and Jesse, the injured trooper was situated on the stretcher. You gave him another dose of painkillers and let him drift off to sleep. 

“You can tell the General we had 20 seconds to spare.” You grumbled to Fives, getting back on your speeder. Within minutes a formation was established again. Your pace was with the men, staying behind Rex, Fives and Krell. 

“Are you ok?” Kix asked as he walked next to you. 

“Yes.” You rubbed your face in your hand, ignoring the small sting of the blaster burn to your cheek. You still hadn’t dealt with it yet. 

Your medic friend patted your back in sympathy. He shared your frustrations. 

Anakin would never have pulled you away from tending to the injured. He would have knelt down and helped you, or had his lightsabers ready to protect you. His padawan would have done the same, perhaps even go after whoever injured the trooper to begin with. 

But Anakin wasn’t here. Neither was Ahsoka. Instead, you were stuck with Pong fucking Krell. 

About an hour later Rex had slowed his pace to walk next to you, “Mesh’la.” He spoke softly, making sure no one else could hear, “You haven’t dealt with the cut on your cheek.” 

Oh. Right, you keep forgetting about it. 

“It’s alright.” You gave him a small smile, “the men are going to need all the bacta they can get. A tiny scratch like this doesn’t matter.” 

He remained silent for a moment before shaking his head, “Please be careful, the men need you.” His words hid the true meaning, from everyone except you. 

I need you. 

“I am, Captain.” You answered, “You just promise me you’ll stay alive to lead us.” 

Please don’t become one of the injured I have to treat. 

“I promise.” His hand twitched. He wanted so badly to cup your injured cheek and kiss it better. But not right now. Not around others. Not in such a hostile place.

“Captain Rex.” Your voice became quieter, “Ner kar’ta.” 

“Ner narser.” He whispered back before straightening up. Your lover became the captain again, needing to focus on the mission at hand. Still, to hide your relationship, he spoke slightly louder, letting others hear, “you can’t disobey orders again, understood?” 

You nodded, “yes, Captain. It won’t happen again,” Subtly, you gave him a smile. 

He returned to his position closer to Krell after that. However, occasionally he’d cast a quick glance back at you. 

After about an hour, you heard some whispered chatter behind you. Looking back, you noticed a trooper, Oz, leaning against Tup and limping. You gave him a look of confusion and slowed the speeder to get next to them.

“It's nothing to worry about, Doc.” Oz informed you, “Just…probably twisted my ankle when that beast dropped me.” It was a clear lie. From your perspective it looked more like something had fractured in his knee.

Your gaze drifted to Jock, soundly knocked out on the stretcher. Why are so many soldiers getting leg injuries? 

“Regardless, we can’t know the true extent unless I get a proper look.” your gaze drifted to Krell. The bastard would flip out if he knew you stopped again. Still, Oz needed to get off that leg, “Take the speeder.”

“Doc?”

“You’ve used one right? It's easy.” You slipped off of the vehicle and pushed it along before Oz or anyone could argue, “Take it, at least to rest the ankle.” 

He paused but Tup pulled him slightly, “Come on, doctor's orders.” 

Without much more fuss, the injured trooper did as you directed. He sat down and let out a small sigh of relief, “Thank you.” clearly he hid his pain behind soldier bravado.

You nodded, deciding to walk next to Tup for now. Your eyes went to North, making sure he seemed alert and aware. For now, the ARF trooper was recovering from his wounds well, getting some weight off your shoulders. Still, everyone needed a breather. It's been about five hours since they started marching and while clones had stellar endurance, they would need a break at some point.

You kept your eyes ahead, focusing on the backs of those in front of you. It was a few hours later when your thoughts were interrupted.

“Are you ok, Doc?” Tup asked you quietly. 

You couldn’t hide the irritation in your voice, “You are the second person to ask me that within the last few hours. Do I not look ok?” He seemed startled at your response and you honestly felt bad. Poor Tup was barely a shiny, so you sighed and nodded, “Just thinking, Tup. I'm alright.” 

Before he could respond, Hardcase draped his arm over your shoulder, “Hey Doc, I got a cut on my lip. Can you kiss it to make it better?”

You snorted, repressing your laugh. Sometimes the soldiers would flirt and joke, all in good fun. Hardcase was especially friendly, knowing went to chime in to lift the mood. Honestly, you appreciated it. 

Tup looked downright offended on your behalf, “Hardcase!” 

Jesse looked back from his position. Even under the helmet you knew he was looking confused. 

“Whatever happens next, I am not a part of it.” you responded with a shrug, looking ahead. 

“See? The doc doesn’t care, ease up.” Now the hyperactive trooper moved on to leaning against Tup. the two bickered quietly as you continued to walk. However, over time their voices died down.

It was around the 12th hour when you realized the silence was from exhaustion. Everyone, including you, was barely hanging on by a thread. The clone endurance you praised earlier had finally hit its limit.

“Kix,” You stepped up next to him, “Tell Captain Rex that we need a break.” your voice was a hushed whisper. You feared if Krell heard you make the request, he’d push the men even harder out of spite. 

The medic agreed with you and sped up his pace to speak to Rex. You, however, fell back next to the medical speeder and checked on the injured. Oz had been doing a good job at controlling the thing, though you could tell his leg was still bothering him. Jock was still out cold, you and Kix periodically checked to make sure he didn’t wake up in agony. North remained coherent and aware as well, he piloted the AT-RT as if he had never been injured, indicating the bacta you’d given him was working well. 

Your observations came to a halt as Krell’s voice pierced the air, “CT-7567 are you reading me?”

“Excuse me, sir?” Your secret lover sounded as confused as everyone was feeling. 

The jedi continued, “I ask you a question, CT-7567 do you understand the need to adhere to my strategy?” Blessedly, he stopped to continue to yell at Rex. Despite how you felt at your lover being targeted so viciously, at least the men had something of a breather. And Rex was a man, he could take an angry General. 

The clone captain shook his head, trying to reason, “Sir, the terrain is extremely hostile, despite the difficulty of the conditions the battalion is making good time. These men just need a little break.” It was a desperate attempt to get some kind of humanity out of the besalisk. 

The General practically snarled and continued his verbal assault, “Captain, do I need to remind you of this battalion’s strategic mission in conquering this planet?” He motioned over all the soldiers behind him, “Look back, see those platoons? Their mission is to take this city and take it swiftly, time and rest are luxuries the Republic cannot afford!” Krell didn’t give up just yet, leaning forward an inch away from the captain's face, “The other battalions are counting on our support, if we fail everyone fails. Do you understand this? Does everyone understand this?!” His yelling was now directed at everyone around him. His critical gaze roamed over the battalion practically challenging anyone to speak up.

When there was only silence, he scoffed and turned, continuing his steps, “Now move on!”

Rex’s shoulders slumped slightly, but quickly, he returned to his stiff and professional posture. With a glance back and a nod, the 501st began to march again.

You shared a look with Hardcase and continued. It was going to be another long few hours of exhausted silence before you stopped again.

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Comgratulations!!! Thats a interesting celebration!!! I can not put my mind around what are you going to birth with this 😚🙀 (sorry if sound weird english is not my thing but your writing are beautiful creations so the metaphor is alright)

Can this jedi (or medic) reader travel with Crosshair (It's a shame it can't be the twins or Maker bless us, all force 99) with soulmate as luggage to either Naboo or Alderaan? 😖

Thank you for booking with Soaring's Tours. We're now ready to board your flight. Please mind the gap between the transport and the platform. We wish you a pleasant journey!

Through Your Eyes

In a galaxy consumed by war, you find solace away from the medbay and injured troopers by painting your dreams. But a chance encounter reveals those dreams are more than they seem...

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: brief reference to surgery, good ol' soulmates trope, breaking and entering, Cross can never give a straight answer, softness, romance, first kiss, lil' innuendo.

Your brush swooped across the canvas, and green paint dragged across its surface to form a tree. There was no reference holo, just the memory from last night’s dream in your mind.

Over the last year, your dreams have taken a turn. Once focused on your life, they’d now switched to landscapes - deserts, snowy mountains, swamps - they were endless. But they all had one thing in common. They were all from great heights, as if you were a bird soaring through the sky.

As a child, you found peace in painting, locking yourself away for days at a time. As you grew up and left for medical school, it helped ease your frazzled nerves after hectic days. And now, with the war raging across the galaxy and the Kaminoans relying on your expertise in trauma surgery, it was how you chased away the images of injured troopers.

As you dipped your brush into the pot of water on your desk, your gaze lingered on the small mark on your wrist - your soulmate mark. It had appeared five years ago - late by society’s standards, given that most received them before puberty. That was until a literal army of men had been revealed to the galaxy a year ago. The forums you’d frequented on the holonet had exploded, thousands of people connecting the dots that their soulmates were part of the GAR.

It was why you’d jumped at the opportunity to work for the Kaminoans when they’d been recruiting at the Grand Medical Facility. You figured it would be easier this way to find your soulmate. Some people on the forums had been able to find their soulmates through their bonds – picking up on their thoughts, sensing their feelings, or knowing they were nearby. Unfortunately, you had no idea what your connection with your soulmate was.

And you were no closer to figuring it out a year and a half into the war.

As you were about to dip your clean paintbrush into the soft brown on your palette, your datapad beeped urgently. Spurred into action, you abandoned your painting, snagging your scrubs. You dashed out of your quarters, the sterile corridor a blur as you sprinted towards the medbay. What was the emergency this time? Another trooper injured on the front lines, or perhaps an existing patient who’d turned critical?

You burst through the medbay doors, adrenaline coursing through your veins, only to be met with a scene that halted you in your tracks. A trooper lay motionless on a stretcher, surrounded by a flurry of activity as medics tended to his extensive injuries. The damage to one side of his face was the worst you’d ever seen, blood coating everything in the vicinity, and what you could see of his eye under the swelling wasn’t promising – all evidence of an explosion he’d been too close to.

Three other troopers hovered nearby, worry etched onto their faces, armour dirty and caked in blood. You didn’t even register that they looked nothing like the other clones, but you could feel a heavy gaze from their direction lingering on you.

Without hesitation, you joined the team of medics, your training kicking in as you assessed the trooper’s condition. The severity of his injuries was apparent, and you knew that every second counted. As you worked alongside the other medical personnel, your mind raced, trying to determine the best course of action to save this soldier’s life.

The medbay hummed with urgency, the air thick with tension as everyone focused on their tasks. As you worked tirelessly to stabilise the trooper, Lyndsy - a trainee medic on placement from Bespin - pressed a datapad into your hands. It was filled with notes from the team that’d intercepted the squad’s arrival, including details of the trooper.

CT-9903.

You bit your tongue. They hadn’t thought to get his name.

“Name?” You directed the question towards the three nearby troopers, gesturing to your injured patient.

“Wrecker, ma’am.” The shortest of the three spoke up, his face half-shaded by a tattoo. With a nod of thanks, you updated the information on the datapad.

“Theatre. Now.” You barked the order, stepping back to let the other medics release the brakes on the stretcher and hurriedly push Wrecker towards the operating room. A bacta bath could cure many things, but in the few moments you’d been focused on stabilising him, you’d concluded it would take far more than that for him to survive.

“I’ll do everything I can.” You assured Wrecker’s brothers quickly, wishing you had more time to explain what would happen next but knowing every second counted. With a determined focus, you led the medical team into the operating room. As the doors swung shut behind you, you blocked out the outside world, immersing yourself in the controlled chaos of the operating theatre.

Time seemed to blur as you worked, your hands moving with precision as you repaired the extensive damage inflicted upon Wrecker’s body. Each incision, each piece of shrapnel pried free, each suture, was a calculated effort to save his life, and you refused to let fatigue or doubt get in the way. The beeping of monitors and the hushed voices of your colleagues faded into the background.

Finally, you completed the last suture. As you stepped back from the operating table, your heart pounded in your chest, and you let out a deep breath, shoulders dropping with relief. You’d done all you could; now it was the Bacta’s turn. He’d likely have some prominent scars for the rest of his life, and his hearing would forever be affected, but you’d been able to replace his damaged eye with a cybernetic one and give him a blood transfusion. He’d pull through to fight another day.

Leaving the operating room, you peeled off your gloves, gown, and mask, your mind still buzzing with the intensity of the surgery as you deposited them into the biohazard chute.

“I’ll tell his squad.” Lyndsy offered, noting the tiredness in your body.

As Lyndsy’s words washed over you, a wave of gratitude swept over you. Her offer granted you some reprieve. With a nod of appreciation, you managed a faint smile before trudging back to your quarters, the tiredness starting to creep in.

Entering your cabin, you let out a long exhale, feeling the tension slowly ebb away as you sank onto the edge of your bed. The familiar surroundings offered a semblance of comfort amidst the chaos of war.

Scrubs off and buried under the comfort of your blankets, you found yourself drifting into a restless sleep. Gone were the beautiful landscapes you’d come to appreciate, replaced with images of Kamino, particularly the view from a large window. Even in sleep, your mind was working to place it, and judging by the perspective, you could pinpoint which structure it was from.

The barracks.

In the quiet corners of your mind, a realisation dawned. You hadn’t been having dreams of random landscapes; they were glimpses into someone else’s life, someone intimately connected to you. It explained the shift in your dreams, the sudden focus on places far removed from your reality. They were the places your soulmate had been seeing, the moments they had been living.

As you awakened to the soft light filtering through your window, the remnants of your dreams lingered in your mind. The realisation hit you like a ton of duracrete, settling heavily in your chest. Your soulmate was here on Kamino. The change in your dreams now made sense, and you couldn’t shake the excitement and apprehension coursing through you.

Before you could dwell too much on the revelation, there was a knock at your door. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before pushing yourself off the bed and crossing the room to answer it. As the door slid open, you were met with the unexpected sight of Wrecker’s brothers standing in the corridor.

After brief introductions, Hunter spoke up. “We just wanted to swing by and thank you for what you did last night. Wrecker’s gonna pull through, and we owe that to you.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was just doing my job. I’m glad I could help.” You answered, tucking yourself a little behind the door to hide the fact that you were still in sleepwear.

Crosshair’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, his sharp eyes taking in the details of your quarters. You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the messiness of your living space.

“You paint.” Crosshair commented casually, his tone betraying none of the thoughts swirling in his mind as he looked over the landscapes you’d committed to canvas.

You reached up to play with the neckline of your sleep shirt, a nervous habit that had developed over the years. “Yeah. When inspiration strikes.”

Crosshair’s lips quirked up in a subtle smirk as he leaned against the doorframe, his eyes flicking to the painting on the easel beside you. “You been there?”

“No. I paint what I dream about.” You admitted, trying to keep your voice steady despite your gut’s strange flicker of anxiousness.

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you as if he were piecing together a puzzle. “Funny thing about dreams,” he mused, “sometimes they’re more than just figments of imagination.”

His words hung in the air, but before you could respond, Hunter cleared his throat, breaking the momentary tension. “Well, we should get going to the debriefing. Thanks again, doc.”

You nodded, thrown off-centre by Crosshair’s comment. “Of course. Take care, and I’ll check in on Wrecker later.”

As they turned to leave, Crosshair glanced at the painting you were currently working on before leaning toward you. “When you get around to painting it, the third tree from the right was missing the bottom five branches.” He murmured, a spark of amusement in his eyes. Then he followed his brothers down the corridor, leaving you mouth agape at the door.

For days, you couldn’t shake Crosshair’s comment from your mind. It added complexity to your interactions with him and his brothers, leaving you grappling with emotions you hadn’t anticipated.

Despite your best efforts to focus on your duties in the medbay, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. Every time you passed him in the corridors or caught his gaze across the mess hall, you felt a strange pull, as if invisible threads were tying you together.

It wasn’t just you, either. There were moments when you caught Crosshair watching you, his sharp eyes giving nothing away. It left you wondering what was happening beneath the surface and what thoughts were running through his mind as he looked at you.

Returning one evening to your quarters after another exhausting shift in the medbay, you found something amiss. The door to your cabin was slightly ajar, and a sliver of dim light spilt into the corridor. Your heart skipped a beat as a rush of adrenaline coursed through you. You cautiously pushed the door open, expecting the worst, only to be met with an unexpected sight.

Crosshair was inside your quarters, standing by the easel where your latest painting was. His attention was fixated on the canvas as if examining every brushstroke with precision. His presence in your private space sent a jolt of alarm through you, but you couldn’t deny the intrigue that accompanied it.

“Crosshair?” you ventured cautiously, stepping into the room with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. “What are you doing here?” you asked, unable to suppress the hint of accusation in your voice.

Crosshair turned to face you, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with those piercing eyes. “Admiring your work.” He replied casually, though there was a hint of something else in his voice.

You felt a surge of irritation at his nonchalant response. “It’s not polite to enter someone’s quarters without permission.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

He shrugged, unfazed by your admonishment. “Noted.” He commented, his gaze drifting back to the paintings. “Figured I’d see if you were around.”

You felt a flutter of excitement mixed with apprehension at his words. “Well, here I am.” You said, gesturing to the room around you. “Not much to see, I’m afraid.”

Crosshair’s smirk widened into a grin, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that.” He replied cryptically, his gaze lingering on you in a way that sent a strange sense of heat curling through you.

“How did you know about the branches?” You steered the conversation in what you hoped was a safer direction, shutting the door behind you before you crossed over to him, glancing at the painting.

Crosshair tilted his head slightly, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “I’m familiar with that species of tree.” He lied.

You narrowed your eyes sceptically, not convinced by his explanation. “It was more than that.” You countered, gesturing towards the canvas. “You pointed out a specific detail you wouldn’t know unless you’d been there or inside my head.”

He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Let’s just say I have an eye for detail.” He said cryptically, his tone teasing.

You couldn’t help but feel frustrated at his evasive response. “You’re not going to give me a straight answer, are you?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest once more as you regarded him with curiosity and exasperation.

Crosshair turned to face you fully, a smirk tugging at his lips, his gaze intense. “Where’s the fun in that?” He replied, his tone playful.

You refused to back down. Holding his gaze, your lips pressed into a thin line.

The silence hung heavy in the air, and anxiousness clawed at Crosshair. He’d thought he could play dumb. He should’ve known better. With a heavy sigh, he gestured to your painting on the easel. “Myrkr. The coordinates for that spot are 42.3814° N, 80.0889° E. I was there eight rotations ago. It’s where Wrecker had his accident,” he confessed.

“Bormus.” He stated, gesturing to one of your other paintings leaning against the wall. “51.5074° N, -0.1278° W.” He rattled off the coordinates before moving on to another painting, and another, and another…

You’d seen glimpses of his life.

“Does this mean...?” You began, the words catching in your throat as you searched for the right way to express the flood of emotions coursing through you.

Before you could finish your sentence, Crosshair took a step closer, closing the distance between you until barely a breath of space separated you. His gaze bore into yours with an intensity that stole your breath away, sending a jolt of electricity dancing along your skin. “I think it means we have a lot to talk about.” He murmured, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.

A thousand thoughts and emotions swirled through your mind, but in that moment, you could only focus on the undeniable pull drawing you towards him.

Crosshair’s hand gently cupped your cheek, sending a shockwave of warmth through you. His gaze softened. “I’ve been dreaming too.” He admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile spell that had enveloped the two of you.

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession. “What do you dream of?” You managed to ask, although you already knew the answer.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Crosshair’s lips, his thumb tracing a gentle path along your cheekbone. “Surgeries. Sterile medbays.” He answered. “While you get the landscapes I see, I get the shot regs and operations that you see.”

“Our link is sharing what we see.” You whispered, the realisation washing over you like a gentle wave. “Through our dreams.”

Crosshair nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Seems that way.” He agreed, his voice soft with a tenderness you hadn’t expected from him. “I never imagined my soulmate would be a hot doctor.” He confessed, sliding an arm around your waist to hold you close, his fingers that had been against your cheek now pushing errant strands of your hair out of your face.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as warmth swept through you. One hand moved to rest against his chest. “And I never thought mine would be a handsome soldier.” You admitted, reaching up with your free hand to ghost your fingers across his sharp jawline, relishing the feeling of his closeness.

Lost in each other’s eyes, the world outside your quarters faded into insignificance. “What do we do now?” You asked quietly, entirely at a loss.

“I’d like to explore this further.” He confessed, his voice rough with emotion as his gaze dipped to your lips for a fraction of a second. “If you’re willing.”

You nodded, a smile playing across your face. “I’d like that.”

Pleased, Crosshair spared no time before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

The galaxy ceased to exist. His lips were warm against yours, firm and demanding. You responded eagerly, your fingers dragging through his silver hair as you deepened the kiss, your heart pounding.

Crosshair pulled back, and you found yourself breathless and dizzy, your senses reeling from the intensity of the moment as his hands snaked towards your ass. Holding his gaze, you gasped quietly as his slender fingers grabbed at the curvature of your rear.

A smirk crossed his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Not bad for a first kiss,” he remarked, his tone teasing, “but I think we can do better.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite the heat rising to your cheeks. “Yeah?” You challenged.

He leaned in closer, the scent of regulation soap and blaster cleaner filling your senses. His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “These hands don’t just make perfect shots.” He whispered.

With a playful swat to his chest, you chuckled, feeling a surge of excitement and a healthy dose of nervousness. “You better be prepared to back that up.”

Crosshair grinned as he pulled back, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Oh you can count on it.”

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf @isaidonyourknees @padawancat97 @dangraccoon @jedi-hawkins @dreamie411 @sverdgeir

Sign up to be tagged in my future fics.

[artist-kreating-stuff]

A Family Once Whole

(No Order 66 AU)

TW: description of injury, major character death

—————

The war was over.

General Grievous had been slain, with his droid army already in the process of being dismantled.

Count Dooku had been captured and was awaiting trial while under constant surveillance in the Jedi Temple.

With the two major heads of the Confederacy of Independent Systems either dead or in custody, volatile Separatist groups were laying down their arms across the galaxy; the more peaceful groups were already reaching out to members of the Senate with peace treaty drafts.

The Supreme Chancellor had been found out as a Sith Lord by the name of Darth Sidious, who had been playing the war from both sides for years.

A plot to kill off the remaining members of the Jedi Order in one massive attack was discovered, with the GAR’s very own clone troopers intended to be used as the Sith Lord’s deadly weapon.

Clone troopers immediately started lining up in the waiting rooms of med bays after they heard the news, with the intent of having the biochip that would have made such a devastating attack possible removed from their heads.

The war that lasted three long, costly years was finally over.

But the relieved Republic had yet to learn the true details of the victory.

The Jedi Council had found out about Sheev Palpatine’s Sith identity and had sent a team of four Jedi to his office to arrest him. Unsurprisingly, he had not gone down without a fight, and had managed to take down three of the four Jedi with deadly ease. Master Mace Windu was left to deal with the Sith Lord by himself, and he managed to drive Sidious into a corner.

Anakin Skywalker showed up then, having been the one who had alerted the Council to Palpatine’s true identity. The Sith Lord had tried to appeal to him, claiming that only his power and that of the Dark Side could save his wife, Padmé Amidala. It was no secret that the Senator was Anakin’s entire world, and the reason why she had taken to wearing large gowns in public recently was not hard to guess, either. His hesitance was plain to see for all those present.

But in the end, Anakin put his faith in the Light and the Jedi. While Master Windu held his lightsaber to Sidious’s throat, Anakin apologized to the former Chancellor and raised his own to finish the job.

Yet even backed into a corner and without a weapon, Sidious was far from powerless. Furious at having been denied, he had stretched out his hand and blasted Anakin with a fierce barrage of Force Lightning, sending the screaming young man to the ground. It was a small deviation in the Sith Lord’s attention, but it was enough for Master Windu to swoop in and deliver the final blow.

When it was over, a total of five smoking bodies littered the office floor.

Unlike the others, Anakin was still conscious, though in critical condition. Master Windu had him rushed to the med bay, where he was soon joined by Obi Wan Kenobi, his master and closest friend, and Senator Amidala. Both of them hoped against hope that Anakin would pull through, but when the med droid finally approached them, it was with dire news: Skywalker’s wounds were too severe even for bacta. He would probably survive another hour or two at most.

He had fulfilled the prophecy he was meant to, but it had ultimately cost him his life.

Once the news was delivered, a devastated Senator Amidala started to experience severe abdomen pains. A quick diagnostic scan revealed that the sudden onslaught of stress had caused her to go into preterm labor.

If that wasn’t shocking enough, the scan revealed that she was pregnant with twins.

The med droids and Obi Wan tried to usher the Senator into another room to prepare for the birth, yet she violently pushed all of them away. “Anakin and I have been waiting for this for so long,” She argued through gritted teeth, one hand placed protectively on her swollen stomach while the other was a sharp arrow pointing in the direction of her husband’s room. “If he has no choice except to die within the next few hours, he may as well go after seeing his children!”

The Senator’s status and stubbornness meant that none that were present in the med bay could refuse her. The med droids promised that they would move both her and her husband into a room that would accommodate both of them while Obi Wan went to inform Anakin of the situation. Whatever precious minutes the Jedi Knight had left were quickly dwindled when he learned that his wife was in labor, with twins of all things, but he was excited at the prospect of getting to meet his children nonetheless. He was moved into the larger room along with Padmé, who immediately reached out to grab his charred prosthetic hand, which had thankfully been left attached to his arm. “Please, Ani… don’t go until you see them,” She whispered fearfully.

As fatally injured as he was, Anakin mustered the strength to manage a flimsi-thin laugh. “I’ll certainly try my best, my love,” He promised weakly.

So the chrono started to count down until the twins’ birth. Padmé dilated rather quickly; it seemed that even the twins were anxious to meet their father before he left. As Padmé panted and screamed while her body stretched to accommodate her impatient children, Anakin acted as her steady pillar, muttering whatever compliments and reassurances he could think of in order to soothe her nerves. He was looking paler and paler by the second, but he refused to let go just yet. His wife was in pain and his children were on the way - Maker damn him if he left before he saw this through until the end.

Throughout it all, Obi Wan stood at the edge, his fingers tight against the fabric of his robes and his expression drawn in with worry. It probably wasn’t his place to still be present in the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave, and the loving couple didn’t speak up to inquire about his presence one way or another. The sight of two people he cared for being distraught and in pain unsettled him more than he cared to admit, with the knowledge of Anakin’s imminent fate striking his core deeply. With the distressed emotions warring with the calm Jedi persona inside of him, he could do nothing except stand silently in the corner and wait for the twins to arrive.

Then finally, finally, finally, a strong wail split the air. The med droid that had been attending to Padmé straightened up, revealing a small bundle wrapped in a white blanket. “It’s a boy,” The droid announced in a monotone voice.

Padmé gasped as she took in the tiny, pinched face of their son barely peaking through the folds of the blanket, a warm smile offsetting the sweat and flush on her face. Anakin, however, didn’t seem to have as good of a view, as he attempted to weakly lift his head from the gurney he was lying on and failed miserably. Obi Wan took that moment to step forward and gently take the baby from the droid, moving to Anakin’s side and lowering the bundle slightly so that his former padawan could see his son.

“Luke,” Anakin said as soon as he saw his baby boy, the name leaving him as easily as a breath. His flesh and blood hand lifted from the gurney and reached towards his son’s face, but dropped before it was halfway there. Obi Wan took pity on him and reached out with the Force to assist him, guiding his hand until his scarred knuckles brushed against his son’s soft cheek.

“Luke,” Padmé repeated from her own gurney, her voice already straining with the stress of delivering their second baby. “I love it.”

“…I love him,” Anakin agreed in a hushed tone, sounding slightly surprised at his own admission. He had yet to take his eyes away from his son, his knuckles still stroking the bright red skin of his son’s face. His gaze was open in an expression that Obi Wan had only ever seen him use in the vicinity of Padmé.

It was the expression only one filled with unconditional love could muster.

Luke’s wailing was soon joined by the wailing of a new arrival. All three pairs of eyes swiveled to find the med droid straightening once again, a new bundle in its spindly arms. “It’s a girl,” It announced.

“We… have one of each?” Anakin asked in disbelief. His gaze was on his baby girl, but his hand still had yet to leave his son’s face.

“Is it alright if I name this one?” Padmé asked breathlessly, her tired gaze meeting that of her husband. At his answering nod, she turned her attention back to her daughter. “Leia,” She declared as easily as Anakin had.

The droid moved around the gurneys until it was hovering next to Obi Wan, allowing Anakin to see both of his children at once. “Luke… and Leia,” He said wistfully, slowly swiveling his gaze from his first to his second born; Obi Wan assisted him once more in moving his hand from his son’s cheek to that of his daughter. “Maker, they’re so perfect… you did so well, Padmé.” He’d addressed his wife, but he’d seemed to have lost the energy to turn his head. His eyes were starting to flutter and it was getting harder for Obi Wan to keep his wrist afloat with how heavy his limbs were becoming.

“Ani…?” Padmé asked worriedly from her gurney, trying to lift herself onto shaky elbows so that she could see her husband’s face.

“He held on for as long as he could, Padmé, as he promised,” Obi Wan told her sadly. “The children are here now… it’s time.” The fact was no easier for him to admit than it was for her to hear.

Anakin’s breathing was becoming more and more shallow, and his eyes were more closed than open. “I love you… all… four of you,” He said quietly; Padmé looked alarmed while Obi Wan held an expression of solemn acceptance.

“Obi Wan,” Anakin spoke up suddenly, gathering his master’s attention and causing him to lean down even further in order to catch his final words. “Promise me… that you’ll look after them… as well as… you looked after me…”

A memory of his own master saying something along those lines while in a similar situation crossed Obi Wan’s mind, and he almost dropped to his knees and started sobbing right then and there. He caught himself at the last second, though, and only nodded. “I promise, Anakin,” He declared softly.

“And Padmé…” Anakin called next, gathering his wife’s attention next. “Don’t… be sad… for too long… You have to… live… for them…”

Unlike Obi Wan, Padmé’s tears were freely streaming down her cheeks. “I… I promise, Ani,” She managed to croak out through her rapidly closing throat. “I promise!”

Anakin managed a weak smile and an even weaker laugh as his eyes closed and refused to open again. “I’m… so lucky… I got to… meet you… all…” He admitted; more of a soft series of breaths than actual words. He didn’t say anything else after that as his chest stuttered before it stilled entirely. Obi Wan closed his eyes for a long moment before opening them and turning to Padmé, who had managed to push herself onto her side. His sorrowful expression said it all as he slowly lowered his friend’s wrist to the gurney.

And so, as others celebrated across the galaxy, in a cold med bay on Coruscant, a mother’s wails mixed with that of her children. A friend of her husband’s stood at her side, offering what little comfort he could while holding himself together by the skin of his teeth. Together, they mourned the man lying between them, whose cooling body was still turned towards the children he had only just met and now would never get to see grow up. The children who wailed even harder, as if they knew that they would now grow up without ever truly knowing their father.

A family once whole, if only for a moment.

A family once whole, now irrevocably broken.

—————

I’ve had the idea for this fic for a day or two, and my mind immediately said “Write it. Right now.” I think my thought process at the time was “How can I make Revenge of the Sith even more traumatic?”

I don’t know, I’m not as confident with this one as I am with my other fics, so feel free to tell me how you guys feel about it!

(I accidentally pushed the poll icon, and Tumblr refuses to let me to remove a poll from a draft once it’s been added, and it won’t let me publish a blank poll. I’m too tired to open a new draft, so just ignore the poll at the bottom.)

[feralferrule]

Choy and Una’s GAR Goth Night Out, part 2 (part 1) part 3

CW: alcohol consumption and drunkenness, some bodily functions, jealousy and undressing

Word count ≈2970 ( it kinda got away from me)

Main pairings: clone trooper Veetch/OC Choy/tbb Echo (and a lil bit Kix)

@skellymom’s OC Mad/tbb Hunter, @lonewolflupe’s OC General Lupe / ARC trooper Fives @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf’s OC Tahny/Crosshair

More cameos from across the GGN au including Jedi padawan Eo and Owl Squad

I hope no one minds my fic intrusion into their doings🫣☺️

This also includes an interaction as requested by the lovely @skellymom

Some background setup

The scene opens on the dance floor with this song

Listen on YouTube

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

“Mind if I cut in? *hic.”

Choy’s ears pricked and her heart skipped at the familiar, gravelly voice. Veetch stopped swaying and circled his arms possessively around Choy’s back. He scowled over her shoulder, as a driving beat with a darker edge played out the previous song. Choy turned to peek and caught her breath.

“Meshla,” Echo slurred, “you, you’re ver pretty t’night.” He had filled out more since she last saw him and his physique was accentuated by the mesh shirt stretched over him. He swayed back catching himself and overcompensated forward. Choy spun around out of Veetch’s embrace, caught him and held him up. He reeked of booze and his ports were sticky. He nuzzled her ear, “I missed you.” Choy staggered in her high heels and felt her dress slipping down under his weight.

“Echo,” Choy squeaked, straightening him up and looking into his unfocused golden eyes.

“Hey,” Veetch elbowed in front of Choy, pushing her back, “she’s with me, pal, borg bar’s 200 levels down.”

Choy bristled at the slur.

Echo summoned enough focus to draw himself up. “I’m not your pal, ya wook.”

Choy swooped back in between them, they both grabbed at her waist, she slid them apart with some force use, a hand on each of their chests, “It’s ok Veetch he’s a friend I’ve got this,” she said, feeling his temper settle down as she focused soothing energy toward him. He backed down a little and she rounded on Echo. “How many drinks have you had?”

“What are you doing with him?” Echo leaned around her to scowl at Veetch. “We just, *hic, friends?” he asked with hurt as Choy swam in his vision.

“You left, Echo, there’s no we.” Choy blinked back tears and Echo’s eyes softened as he cast them down. Choy felt a jumble of emotion off him.

“Hey, Echo, don’t run off on me like that, the boys wanted another round.” A cheerful teasing voice said behind them. “Why’d you take off-ohhh.”

“Fives?” Choy’s temper flared, figuring who he must be by his tattoo and exactly who he meant by ‘the boys.’

“Oh heyyyy, you’re Choy, yeah, Echo talks about you all the time. Wow how’d you land one like that, brother?” He flashed her his most charming smile realizing she was mad.

“Did you tap that keg- with Echo??”

“Yeah, they’re down a bartender so we took control of the situation.”

“Control?? You call this control?” She caught Echo again and pushed him up and towards Fives. “His blood volume is half of yours, you could have killed him.”

Fives looked stricken and swallowed, considering what Choy just yelled at him over the music and finally noticing how impaired Echo was. “Help me get him over to the couches,” Choy barked.

“Geeze if I didn’t know better I’d ask if you were related to Kix.” Fives hooked Echo’s arm over his shoulders and Choy supported his other side. She looked around, Veetch was gone. Just as well she figured, didn’t have to deal with all of them at once. They half dragged Echo to the side room which was outfitted with several seating areas, soft lighting and soothing instrumental music. There were couples cuddling in various corners around and a few people just chilling and scrolling on holopads. Choy pointed to a larger couch and Fives guided them over to it. They plopped Echo down and Choy sat next to him. “Honey, let me see you,” she cooed, taking his hand as he laid his head back.

“Uhhhg, ‘s all sssssspinning,” he said weakly, looking ashen with a thin sweat breaking across his brow. Choy clasped his hand in hers, it felt clammy. She felt his pulse, it was rapid and weak. His breathing was shallow and he was starting to shiver.

“Fives go get water and bring Kix back with you,” Choy said while resting her hand on Echo’s forehead.

“Oh yeah sure be right back,” Fives said and dashed away. A silver haired woman in black cargo pants intercepted him just outside the room. Choy recognized her, a Jedi, Plo Koon’s pupil? she tried to remember. A woman with an impressive head of dark hair with an undercut appeared at her side. They spoke together as Fives left and looked in at Choy and Echo.

Choy refocused on Echo, “Hey I’m going to try something and I don’t know if it will feel weird for you.” She squeezed his hand and rubbed circles on it with her thumb. He groaned weakly in response. Choy had no way to actually filter his blood of the alcohol metabolites that were turning his blood into a toxic soup so she figured she’d try to speed up the process of breaking them down. She brought his head to her shoulder and wrapped her arms around him, focusing her mind in on his remaining bioengineered implants. She knew they were capable of producing enzymes to break down toxins like a network of livers throughout his body. She just had to turn that on. As she sent her mind through him with the force she tuned the rest of the world out and didn’t notice Fives come back with water, a large backpack and Kix, trailed by the women Fives spoke to. She felt her way through Echo’s system, willing the remaining implants to ramp up this function. Finally satisfied that she had done all she could, she withdrew her mind and came back to herself.

Echo took some deeper breaths against her, “That tickled.” He sat up and regretted it, the room still spun and he flopped back against the couch.

Choy looked up, noticing Fives and others standing looking at her with a mix of curiousity and astonishment. “How are you glowing?” Fives asked.

“She does that, it’s the force,” said Kix beside him.

“Oh kark it, I’ve been keeping that under control so well,” Choy grumbled looking at her hands. They glowed like a red tide at night except gold and green. She closed her eyes, willing the glow to fade, then held her hand out for the glass of water Fives had. She held Echo’s head up, softly saying, “Echo drink this and keep drinking water, you can rest as soon as you get two glasses down.” She looked up at Kix and narrowed her eyes, “Did this one explain,” she asked, flicking her eyes at the sheepish looking Fives.

“Yeah, all up to speed on the questionable decision making,” he leveled a gaze at Fives. “So how’s the patient?” he asked, dropping to a knee and feeling Echo’s pulse, pressing his eyelids open and opening his mouth in a rough field once-over.

“I activated his internal implants to speed up his metabolism of the alcohol, but he’ll need to drink alot of water if he doesn’t get an infusion. He will need to be kept awake and hydrated and helped to the ‘fresher frequently to flush his system.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Good work, and I have just the man for the job,” Kix said as he stood and clapped Fives on the back. Fives looked back at the women he’d spoken to before and then back at Echo and sighed, slumping his shoulders, “Yeah of course I’ll stay with him, it’s my fault.”

Choy held the glass to Echo’s lips again and helped him drain the rest of the water. She met his eyes, they were better focused now and she felt herself melt a little. “Yaiyai’ika,” he slurred. She looked away quickly, blushing. Fives and Kix glanced at each other, wondering if the other knew why he called her that. The dark haired woman also caught it and gave them a knowing look. She leaned over to a confused Lupe and whispered something to her. Lupe mouthed an ‘oh’ and glanced at Choy an Echo quickly, noting his loopy gaze at her as she regained composure.

Choy cleared her throat, “Fives go ahead and take him back to the ‘fresher now, I’ll get more water from the bar.”

“Come on brother, let’s get you right,” Fives said, hauling Echo up by his forearm and scomp. They staggered towards the refreshers. Choy watched them go with a sigh.

“You ok?” Kix asked, kneeling down, his stern expression gone and his eyes warm and gentle.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Choy said, casting her eyes down at the glass in her hand.

“Oh no, that bad, huh?”

“I just feel-“ she sighed, “it’s complicated.” She swallowed her emotions and took a deep breath. “I’m going to go get more water from the bar, be right back.”

“I’ll go with you, if you don’t mind?” Kix asked, regarding her with concern and helping her up.

“Thank you,” Choy smiled, and hooked her hand around his offered arm. “I do want to stop by the fresher myself. I’ve got Echo port booze on me.” She touched the sticky spots on her dress and Kix made a face.

They left the quieter chill out room and passed the women who had been curiously eyeing the whole ordeal and were back out in the main bar room with some others. Choy nodded to the Jedi who’s name she didn’t know. [[sorry to be mean to Fives, but he had it coming]] she said through the force. The Jedi raised an eyebrow and looked across the room at Fives and Echo as they disappeared into the men’s ‘fresher. Choy smiled at the woman with dark hair who was being pulled onto the dance floor by a woman of a species she’d never seen before. Choy craned her neck to watch them disappear, mesmerized by her gravity-defying head of colorful tendrils.

Kix smirked, “That’s Commander Eo, she’s a Mikkan. These fellas over here are her squad.” He nodded to their other side. Choy looked over in time to see Crosshair throw the woman who was attacking Hunter earlier over his shoulder and stalk off as she fumed at him. She’d been on the table the squad stood around. Choy watched as they reacted to her tantrum over Cross’s shoulder. Then felt a little shimmer off of a couple of them. They seemed to feel her eyes and looked over at her, their force signatures strengthening. Yep force sensitive clones, she mused, well waddayaknow? She smiled and gave them a [[Hey]] before catching some curiously familiar energy off the bald one. She looked away with a blush after noticing just how handsome they were.

They reached the fresher. It had a poster stuck over the gender sign that said “GOULS” with a vampy woman silhouette. Choy handed Kix the water glass and went inside. It had a large lounge and vanity area. It was the cleanest Choy had ever seen and was decorated with large backdrops of gothy styled interiors and swags of cloth and more of those silly paper bats. Choy was surprised to see an attendant droid with a tray of toiletries. “Do you have anything to get sticky booze out of my dress?” Choy asked her.

“Oh yes there is a customized laundry droid for just this reason that the event planners brought in for the evening. Step over here and we will get you sorted out.” She brought Choy over to the back of the lounge where the cylindrical droid with several spindly cantilevered arms was cleaning the flowy floor-length skirt of a woman with a crown of silver and black hair, black tattoos and bra. She looked over at Choy who was watching whatever substance was on her skirt disappear as the droid passed its steamer extractor arm over it. Their eyes met.

“You don’t want to know,” the woman said, shaking her head. “Whoever hired this droid in for the night was a genius. Gotta say they really went all out. How about you? Standard party foul?”

“Not exactly,” Choy said, “some of the 501st tapped a keg with one of their own.” The woman looked confused. “One of the troopers is basically a cyborg and had the right augmentation to be a keg tap apparently.”

The woman looked taken aback then it dawned on her, “Do you mean Echo?”

“Yes exactly, they tapped him in and ran half the keg through his ports before he-“

“They were drinking booze that ran through his, his body??”

“Yeaaaahhhh,” Choy responded, sharing an icky grimace with the woman as the droid announced it was done cleaning her skirt. Choy took her place and the droid gave her dress a quick scan.

“Could you please remove your clothing so that I may do a thorough cleaning?”

Choy sighed and asked the woman if she could help with her zipper in the back.

“That, that doesn’t really surprise me about those boys.” She considered, “So how did you get involved?”

Choy stepped out of her dress and handed it to the droid, catching her reflection in the mirror. She was in her one set of pretty underwear. Her Twilek-made balconette bra and the lacey panties that exposed her belly stretch marks. She ran her fingers along those sadly reminiscing her old life. “Well, long story short he came over to me and was about to collapse from alcohol poisoning so I helped him out and he’s recovering now, but his ports leaked whatever that booze was all over me.”

“Helped him out, how?” the woman asked, eyeing her curiously already suspecting she knew the answer.

Choy smirked and decided to try something. [[My name’s Choy by the way]] she said through the force. The woman’s eyes widened so Choy held out her hand.

[[Mad]] she grasped her hand firmly and looked Choy square in the eye. [[He came to you for force healing?]]

[[Oh no, no he was jealous]] Choy huffed a laugh, and took a deep breath. Mad quirked an eyebrow.

“Ma’am your dress is clean,” the droid beeped.

Choy stepped into and pulled the dress back on. Mad helped her with the zipper again. “Thank you, Mad,” she said and checked her hair in the mirror nearby, fixing her bangs and coaxing the length smoother with the force. Mad adjusted a few things on herself and they left the fresher together, plunking some credits in the attendant droid’s tip jar.

Kix’s face lit up at seeing Choy emerge. Just off to the side Hunter appeared, wearing an outfit everyone either tried not to stare at too much or couldn’t take their eyes off of. Choy gawked. “WOW Hunter, I never thought I’d see you in something like that!

“Choy! Hey, good to see you.” He looked at Kix, “Kix,” they nodded heads to each other and shuffled in place as Kix tried to not stare openly at Hunter. Mad looked between them all curiously.

[[These two have a little awkward history]] Choy told her, then aloud, “Mad, it was so nice to meet you, thank you for your help.”

“Of course” [[and I can see why Echo was jealous]] she added winking.

[[Wellll he was jealous of someone else]] Choy bit her lip and looked aside.

Mad raised an eyebrow and Choy smirked a sad little half smile before walking away with Kix. She wondered what had happened to Veetch. And wasn’t sure how she felt about him after all. She chided herself for letting her heart get carried away.

As they wove their way closer to the bar they noticed some commotion on the dance floor. A crowd had gathered around some dancers. The Mikkan and human ladies were showing off some flirty roadhouse type moves, And, yes, yes that was Una and Tech coordinating something like a lockin and poppin robot robot dance. Their arms undulating in a wave together. They looked so happy. The music changed and so did the dancers. Mad and Hunter swirled and flowed around, her skirt sprouting wings she held high as she belly danced around Hunter. Tup reappeared. Again the music changed and a whole row of rather large commando troopers performed something that reminded Choy of a haka. They were shirtless, which seemed to be inspiring more patrons to shed shirts and more as the room became warmer.

“We need some more water, please,” Kix asked the bartender.

“Oh yeah sure, doc,” said the man in a finely meshed black shirt and pants that were barely hanging onto his hips, “anything else?” he added, looking between them.

Kix looked down at Choy who seemed a little down from her ordeal with his brothers. “This one could definitely use a pick me up. If you catch my drift.”

The bartender looked at Choy who turned to Kix to protest. “I don’t need a drink, it’ll just make me sleepy.”

He gave Kix the slightest hint of a wink. He went down the bar and deftly started mixing up juices in a silver shaker. He opened a drawer with several decanters of various colored liquids and selected a couple gold and hot pink ones and set them on the counter. With a flourish he pulled out a fluted stemmed glass, poured the contents of the shaker in and a few drops each of the pink and yellow elixirs. Gave it a stir, popped in a straw and added some kind of exotic looking flower. He brought it over setting it on a little cocktail napkin in front of Choy. “On the house.”

“You're stealing my thunder, man,” Kix joked, passing him a couple credits.

Choy sat on a barstool and eyed the drink which was a brilliant orange and sparkled and swirled with iridescence as she stirred the straw. “What did you put in this?” Choy asked.

“You’ll like it, trust me,” was all he said and went down the bar to help another couple.

“I’m going to take this back to Echo and make sure Fives is following orders,” Kix said, indicating the glass of water.

Choy was taking a tentative sip on her drink. It tasted like sunshine and fresh flowers.

“Good, right?” the bartender was back and startled Choy a bit. She swiveled to face him.

“Yeah, I already feel better, thank you for whatever this is.”

He nodded and disappeared again. She slid off the stool to go with Kix who picked her up by her waist and set her back on it. Her skirts fluffed up in front of her and around Kix’s arms. He kept his hands on her waist as he leaned in, “I’ve got this, meshla,” he murmured in her ear, “I know it’s hard for you. Besides,” he squeezed her a little and kissed her temple while looking behind her, “I think someone wants to talk to you.”

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

So, who do you think wants to talk to Choy? Who’d you like it to be?

A stolen tag list is being stolen @ghostymarni @lonewolflupe @wings-and-beskargam @eclec-tech @eobe @foxwithadarkside @fiveminutetrash @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf @feral-ferrule @ladylucksrogue @nika6q @skellymom @vimse @gargothnightzine @sunshinesdaydream @noblelightfighter @returnofthepineapple @freesia-writes @covert1ntrovert @vikushat @nocturius8015ficore @mamuzzy @risavulpes @niobiumao3 @sazzujazzu @blackseafoam @thora-sniper @gars-weaponeer @leenathegreengirl @vodika-vibes @headphones-ct-09978 @thecoffeelorian @bad4amficideas

[bluegalaxygirl]

Undercover (Bad Batch X Reader) P1

Plot: Reader goes undercover at a prestigious event, her job is mainly to gather intel while the batch keeps watch.

Warning: Bad language, Drinking and Violence

Reader is female (sorry), Established relationship, Poly relationship between reader and each member of the batch. There's some brother moments and banter between the clones but no Clone X Clone stuff.

language list

P2 - P3 - P4 - P5 - P6 - P7

The mission seemed simple enough all you had to do was gather information for the the Jedi order who have suspensions that a neutral senator is actually working for the Separatist, along with a few of his friend. There isn't any solid proof, and they needed to be sneaky about it so, who better than a squad that no one knows enough about to do the job. The prestigious party the senator is hosting at one of his grand halls is the perfect place to get everything you all need, so your now in the fresher getting into a dress that was gifted to you from senator Chuchi. A one-shoulder strap Floor-length black dress with a heart neckline, the fabric is tight around your waist and a red silk sash is resting around your hips, there's a high split on one side but the fabric of the skirt is slight ruffled making it so you can only see your leg coming out of the gap when walking, your shoes are simple red heals not to high and easy to fight or run in if needed. Your job is to listen in on conversations, hopefully get talking to the senator himself and get him to spill at least something, Hunter, Wrecker and Crosshair have already set off to get themselves set up, Cross of course being high up and out-of-the-way enough to where he can see the main hall but also not be seen while the other two act as guards. A knock on the fresher door snaps you out of your thoughts getting you to turn towards it while making sure your hair is swooped over one side letting it rest over the single strap of your dress and covering your ear for an ear piece you'll be wearing later. "Y/n, we're heading out soon, you ready?" Echo's voice calls out from the other side of the door bringing a small smile to your face.

Echo's and Tech's job is to go in through the back and gain access to their system gathering any records and files they can and it seems they have the go ahead from Wrecker who's managed to clear a path for them by the back door. "One second" You call back grabbing your red clutch bag before taking one last look in the mirror, your surprised at how good you look, when the dress was first gifted to you it didn't seem like it would look good on you at all but you were so wrong. Walking to the fresher door you open it and step out almost bumping into Echo who's still waiting outside the door, his eyes look you over going slightly wide from amazement, taking a step back the cyborg gulps having never seen you in anything other than your armor and blacks before. Stunned he stands there almost motionless as his eyes continue to look you over, letting out a small laugh at his reaction you place a hand on his shoulder and call his name managing to snap the poor trooper out of his shock, Echo's eyes meet yours still looking like a deer in speeder lights, but he knows he has to get something out instead of just standing there staring at you "Y-you look n-.. Beautiful" Echo offers you a smile glad he managed to stop himself from saying you looked nice, you look beyond nice so why was that the first word that tried to leave his mouth? Biting your lip lightly you step closer running your hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck while placing a lingering kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Ner Ka'ra" You whisper always happy to see the clone so flustered and that slight pinkness on his pale cheeks, he's so cute, feeling his flesh hand wrap around your waist to hold you closer you let out a hum of contentment letting him hold you close "I mean it Ad'ika, you look … Kandosii'a" Echo whispers in your ear before placing a kiss on your neck.

Kissing his cheek one more time you pull away while taking his hand starting to walk into the cockpit ready to start the mission, with Echo following closely you make your way over to Tech who's waiting by the open door of the marauder his eyes only focused on the data-pad in his hands. So lost in his own world he doesn't notice you or Echo walking over, letting go of your hand Echo clears his throat to get his brother attention which finally make him look up from the data-pad. Tech goes to say something as he looks up only to stop when seeing you, a strange feeling he hasn't felt before rushes through him making his body tense up. "We ready?" You ask after a while of silence, managing to push the strange feeling aside Tech nods relaxing a little and managing focus on the task at hand "Ah, yes, here put this in, and we'll get going" He adjusts his goggles before handing you an ear piece which you happily place in your ear making sure your hair is covering it from sight, Echo stares at his brother flicking his eyes at you then back to Tech secretly telling his brother to say something. Getting the hint Tech quickly offers you his hand and helps you down the steps of the ship, you can walk perfectly fine but your not about to pass up his offer so take his hand and walk down the steps "That dress, it's the one Senator Chuchi gifted you, correct?" The goggles wearing clone asks unsure of exactly what to say as that feeling from before bubbles up again.

Letting out a hum you give him a nod while starting walking with the two down the back streets that lead to the grand hall, your hand still in Tech's while Echo places a hand on your lower back "She made a good choice, the fabric shows off your natural curves, the exposed shoulder makes you look confident and the peek of skin is most differently an attraction. As for the bottom half of the dress-" Tech watches your leg peek out of the slit in the shirt as you walk gulping slightly to try and regain his nerves "It hides a lot but also gives those who are interested a look at your fair skin and toned leg when you walk away… The mix of red and black is quite symbolically, perfect for this mission" Tech finishes stopping at the spot where there supposed to split up and turns to you pulling his hand out of yours forgetting that he hadn't let you go. Echo holds back a laugh at his brothers attempt to compliment you but at the same time felt outdone since all he could muster was a simple compliment. Turning to Tech you run your hand over his cheek while leaning in placing a light kiss on his lips, as much as he struggles with emotions and compliments you know he tries, it may not be a normal compliment and you may not have understood some of it but at the end of it all you could see what he really means. "Thanks Can'gal, thats very sweet" You whisper against his lips earning a smile off the clone who runs a hand over your waist feeling more relaxed as that feeling goes away being replaced by that familiar warmness in his chest that only you can provide.

Pulling away you turn to Echo who has that soft look on his face, wrapping an arm around his neck you pull the cyborg in for a hug placing a kiss on his cheek "Be safe" You tell him before pulling away slightly to peck his lips "We will. Be careful Cyare, if you need help or a break just call out" Nodding you give both of them one last kiss before head off in one direction while the two head off in the other, walking out into the street you follow it down to the large brick building with white marble stairs and people gathered all around. Red velvet rope stops crowds and news reporters from getting any closer, guards and robots are stations all around keeping guard and helping people out of vehicles that pull up to the walk way, taking a breath to calm yourself you hold your head high and walk up to a short line of people who are showing off their golden invites to a service droid who's wearing a black tux. Handing your invite over the droid scans it before gesturing you through onto the red carpet lining the way up and into the building, the sound of people yelling, camera's flashing and screaming soon dies down as you make it past the wide open golden doors and into the building, calming instrumental music fills the halls along with light talking and laughing, a completely different environment to the chaos outside. After making it up yet another set of stairs you make it to the last guard point, people shuffle through the metal detectors as the guards on either side watch, waiting to jump in the moment an alarm goes off, taking a breath you step though knowing it's not going to go off but you know what to do next which is what actually make you nervous.

Deliberately flexing your foot in your shoe loosening the already loose strap, it comes off making you stumble a little and drop your clutch bag. Bending down to pick up your bag your hand is met by a black gloved hand causing a smile to form on your face as you look up to meet eyes with Hunter. He easily slips a knife into your bag before handing it to you without anyone noticing, taking your free hand he guides you to stand up straight letting his eyes look you over in the posses. "Ma'am, please allow me" A smirk appears on the leaders face while kneeling down and taking a hold of your exposed leg, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance you watch as his gloves hands brush against your skin and lift your leg up, so he can place your shoe back on and tighten the strap. "Perfect" Hunter whispers gently placing your food down but keeping it out of the slit in your dress, while standing he lets his hand run up your leg to your knee before letting it go to take your hand off his shoulder, bringing your hand to his lips Hunter kiss over your knuckles making you cruse him in your head at how flustered he's making you. At this moment you want nothing more than for him to kiss you and hold you right now but it would give the mission away so you have to hold back, your'll make a mental note to get him back for this later though. "Have a nice night, Ma'am" Hunter lets go of your hand and bows slightly before walking away still with that smirk on his face, composing yourself for a moment you grip onto your bag while making your way into the main hall seeing it packed with people, the stage right at the back has several aliens playing instruments but there's no singer with is a good thing since there's already a lot of talking and laughing almost drowning out the light and beautiful music.

The hall is exactly how Tech described, white marble pillars line the sides of room holding up baloney's that people use when a play or consort is on, the room is walled in white and red floral wall paper and gold specks, the large stage is made out of a dark wood with strange lights hanging around and heavy red curtains pulled back to the sides. The floor is all red carpet and flat perfect for all the round tables with white cloth and pots of flowers to cover the area, most of the white wooden chairs are unused most guest preferring to stand and mingle, a make shift bar is off to the left with two bar tenders but no one is ordering drinks from it since there are staff walking around with trays of small food and glasses of wine. The area for the staff is just behind the make shift bar but you know it only leads to a prep room and not an actual kitchen which is on the other side of the room behind sealed doors, walking into the room your eyes scan the crowd trying to find your target. "Pretty girl, look at you all dressed up" A snake like voice comes over the com in your ear making you smile, taking a wine glass of a waiter you thank them but are mainly aiming it at Crosshair who is somewhere up above you. "Been holding out on us Ad'ika… He's on your 4, surrounded by blue suits. Go strut your sexy ass over there" You can hear the smirk in his voice making you blush with a wide smile, turning to where he mentioned you notice your target with several business men around him engrossed in conversation and laughter, it's going to be hard to get him away without looking suspicious so for now you'll just have to ease drop. Sipping on your wine you walk around looking over the decor, feeling flowers on the table and looking at art work on the walls portending to ponder in order not look like your listening.

Their conversation is boring at best mainly talking about gossip from their homes but nothing that would indicate that he's working for the separatists. "We're in the control room" Tech's voice comes over the coms along with the sound of clicking and turning which is most likely Echo working his magic. "Good, our pretty girls inside mingling with the locals" Cross chuckles making it hard for you to resit rolling your eyes "Y/n's here? Where? I wanna see" Wrecker's voice comes though making you hold back a laugh at the clear pout he has on. "You can see her later, just keep focused" Echo groans through the same line as the big man which means there all in the same room together, that wasn't part of the plan which makes you worry a bit. "Wrecker.. Stick to the plan" Hunter whispers in slight anger making the big guy groan, walking over to another painting you have to hold back another laugh at Wrecker's pouty voice "But Tech's won't show me the recording, come on, you've all seen her why can't i? … I'm not aloud up front only in the back where she isn't going to be so just show me and then I'll go" A drawn out sigh is heard behind him clearly coming from Tech "Fine, here you go" The goggles wearing close gives in showing the big guy a recording of you in the dress, there's a loud gasp followed by Wrecker's much cheery voice "You look amazing Cyar'ika, like an angel but in black" his heartfelt compliment makes your heart swell almost making you tear up but you manage to control yourself and move to the next painting as to not seem weird just standing in one place for so long.

Echo sighs through the com clearly annoyed by what Wrecker just said "I know what your going for but its not the compliment you think it is… a black angel is mostly seen as the devil or death" Before the big guy can apologise or retract his compliment Tech clears his throat indicating he's about to spill some interesting facts which makes your chest grow warm again "In some cultures yes, but in mythology and other cultures black angels or angels in black represent a more complex or morally ambiguous character and symbolize a sense of power, rebellion, or a departure from conventional norms." After he's finished there's a short silence before Wrecker lets out a confused "huh?" while Crosshair chuckles finding all this quite amusing "I actually like it, i think it suits her. Miss angel in black" Taking a long sip from your glass of wine you hold back your need to answer wanting to tell the snickering sniper to shut up and focus but luckily Hunter does that for you. "Focus, all of you" Hunter whispers through the com again managing to stop the chatter and get everything back to doing their jobs and hopefully Wrecker has headed off to be where he was meant to be. Through the conversation you've been listening in on the senator and his pals who are still just gossiping about their lives at home, clearly not going to get anywhere you walk away finishing off your wine and setting the empty glass down on a table full of empty glasses tapping it before walking away. "Nothing… really?" Cross asks after seeing you tap the empty glass letting him know what you found, with all their talking he's surprised you got nothing at all.

Heading over to the bar area you have a look around for any of the lesser targets but none of them are in sight, its strange since there should be at least one or two. Its still early so hopefully they will show up but if their not here then where are they? Leaning on the bar you get a surprised look from the man behind it since no one has ordered a drink and the bar is mostly here just to block the unsightly view of the back room from guests "Can i get a blue moon please" You ask with a sweet smile making the man nod and start to make you a drink, you feel sorry for the two men behind the bar both just having to sand here all night and do nothing, your sure some people would love it but you could never. When the small blue drink is placed down you gladly take it thanking the young man before taking a sip, a thought crosses your mind as you do, these bar tenders have been here the whole time just listening so maybe you can sweet talk your way into some kind of useful information "Slow night?" You ask with a small laugh asking the two of them trying to lighten their mood, both seem board and hopefully that will make them willing to talk "Yes ma'am" They both answer in unison as if they were addressing a superior officer, it makes you laugh being reminded of Reg's on their first day "We'll since no one is taking advantage of the free bar, i was hoping i could ask you about this place, its history and architecture i was going to ask the owner but…" Looking over at your target you watch him laugh with the other men, another round of wine in their hands "I don't want to interrupt his much-needed down time"

Turning back to the two men they both eye you with suspicion while glancing at each other having a silent conversation, holding out your hand for them to shake you bring them back to you hoping to stop their worrying "Sorry i should introduce myself, I'm F/N F/LN I'm a Anthropologist at Yavin Prime, i hear this place has a rich history so i hope i can write about it" You smile seeming to ease their worries, it doesn't take long for them to talk about its history, who owned it before your target and what it was used for, the information wasn't fully useful until they got to its more resent events, the basement area has recently been commended due to structure issues, the only problem is there's no basement on any floor plans. Portending to think for a second you tap your half empty glass in short bursts almost like mores code so Crosshair knows your on to something "That's very unusual, basements are very rare for a building of this size that was built centenaries ago, no wonder it must be falling apart" You tap your chin hoping to draw out more information while not asking directly and giving yourself away "Oh no it was built a few years ago, There was some kind of sink-hole bellow the building, it seems they decided to put a basement down there instead of covering it up" One of the bartenders says only to get nudged by the other one who leans on the bar to be a bit closer to you.

A part of you wants to pull away mainly because of the slight growl in your ear from Crosshair but you know this is something you have to hear so leaning closer you let the man whisper to you after making sure no one is looking your way "I heard they put it down there since the more square foot you have on a building the more you can sell it for. On a building like this you can't add on without a reason… Between you and me i think the sink-hole was made up so the owner can sell this place for more money and pay back his debt" The man whispers to you making your eyebrow rise, the other bartender is quick to grab his mates shoulder and pull him away from you giving him a hard glare "Dude, the hell" They whisper to each other starting to bicker and fight about what you had just heard, your target has no records of being in debt, that only means he's dealing under the table so to speak. "The schismatics show no basement levels or any work or money transfers related to it" Tech's voice comes over your com, the sound of clicking is still heard in the background indicating there still in that room trying to get the data they need "There is a report of a sink-hole but its actually two buildings away" Echo states with a curious hum "Wrecker and i will check it out, the rest of you stick to your jobs and keep an eye out" Hunter orders his voice no longer a whisper meaning he's already away from his station "Y/n, see if you can talk to our target, get his attention somehow"

[hellfiresky]

Private Parts (Uncensored)

Contribution to @clonexocweek | Theme: What if?

What if the 79's hosts a comedy night?

Summary: When 79’s hosts a drag-themed comedy night, a surprise guest throws the whole night into dangerous territory. With a fucking non-clone brass lurking in the audience, Parts and his MCs (Fives and Hardcase) must walk the thin line between comedy and insubordination.

Pairing: Parts (Clone OC) x Several Clone Troopers (Hardcase & Fives & Bacara & Wolffe & Howzer & Rex - platonic, sibling dynamics, no clonecest/ship) Word count: 10,7k Warnings: Way too many real life swear words, Republic being shitty towards clones, clone rights, very sarcastic and critical towards the Republic, self-deprecating jokes.

Taglist: @orangez3st @msmeredithrose

79’s had always been a conventional bar, albeit clone-friendly. Well, very clone-friendly. Clone troopers practically got to drink their cheapest beer for free (pale ale, some troopers swore it was just repackaged pisswater). But when you’re officially considered property of the Republic, given the bare minimum BAS, and expected to die young and obedient, you take whatever you can get.

The bar, like any other on Coruscant, ran special nights to keep things interesting. Mostly ARC Night, officially named “Shock & Shots” - a testosterone-fueled event where Advanced Recon Commandos got up to some of the wildest shit known to the Republic. That included drinking contests that had led to at least one ARC getting medevaced out after chugging Mandalorian Tihaar straight from the bottle. Another one was Brass & Glass, where captains and commanders got their overpriced whiskey and Corellian brandy at half price, turning 79’s into an impromptu officer’s lounge whilst the shinies watched in awe (or boredom, if Cody was getting preachy). It was fun. Always had been. But for Parts? Still boring as hell.

Parts was a marine. A hard-charging, fungal-cloud-in-your-goddamn-armour-and-freeze-your-tits-off-on-Rhen-Var-surviving marine of the 21st Nova Corps. He didn’t get the cushy life of a Coruscant Guard trooper - those fuckers spent their days chasing pickpockets and breaking up the occasional bounty hunter attempt on some senator’s overly botoxed face. Big whoop. Out in the field, entertainment was a joke. Sure, some of the boys smuggled old HoloNet games. Some ran illegal sabacc rings. Parts once saw a trooper get genuinely emotional over a five-year-old issue of Swoophead Monthly because it had a full spread of a custom-modified swoop bike. If you were lucky, you got the GAR Broadcast - a looping HoloNet program hosted by Bettie-Bot VJ, a BD-3000 luxury droid with proportions that made even the straightest, most regulation-abiding shinies start questioning shit. Not Parts, though. He didn’t give a fuck about Bettie-Bot. Why didn’t they make luxury droids look like Pebrito Paksal? That Corellian actor? Now that was a man worth watching.

Stand-up nights. That was what saved Parts from dying of sheer fucking boredom. It had started small - Commander Bacara, surprisingly, had a dry and dark sense of humour, and he actually encouraged the boys to blow off steam by roasting the absolute shit out of each other. Rhen Var. Middle of a fucking snowstorm, nothing to do but huddle in a tent with some questionable “hot caf” (which was just ground up date seeds, filtered, and mixed with water). Someone set up a crate, a couple of glow rods for dramatic effect, and boom, stand-up night was born.

Parts killed. He had the best material. He was observational. He was sharp. He had a big fucking mouth, and people loved it. It spread. The Nova Corps started broadcasting it on the GAR intranet. Soon, other legions caught on. 501st had Fives and Hardcase, a duo so chaotic they needed a stage. 212th had Boil and Waxer, whose material somehow always involved the obvious tension between their marshal commander and general. Coruscant Guard had Hound, whose entire routine was just roasting Commander Fox, and the troopers fucking loved it. Ryloth’s sweetheart, Howzer? Shockingly hilarious. Who knew good hair came with good comedic timing?

For months, they plotted in a group chat that never fucking shut up. A nightmare of meme spam, drunken voice messages, and Fives insisting they needed a fucking theme song. Then it happened. They hacked into 79’s schedule. It was time. Not just for the officers, not just for the ARCs. This was for everyone.

Grand Clowns of the Republic Parts: So it’s settled???? Hound: Yup, all hail Hound and my boy Grizzer. Thorn: Bro brought the massif to the establishment, they had no choice but to say yes. Fives: Everyone align your calendars and schedule. I'll be back from Ossus in three days. Waxer: That means we only have 72 hours to make this shit legendary. Dogma: Can someone explain to me why we are doing this? Echo: Because the Republic pays us like shit, and morale is important Fives: AND because representation matters, you repressed bastard Cody: No Cody: No, I am not doing this. Wolffe: Neither am I Fives: Lies. Both of you are performing Fox: Wolffe, you owe me for that time I covered your ass back on Kamino Wolffe: … I fucking hate you. Hardcase: I ALREADY PICKED OUT YOUR NAME WOLFFE. Wolffe: I am going to start a war crime Howzer: Wait, why do we need a name again? Hardcase: PRETTY BOY WASN’T BRIEFED? Parts: BECAUSE WE WILL PERFORM IN DRAG

It started, like all great disasters, as a joke. One drunken night in the group chat, Parts and Fives got philosophical. “We have karaoke nights. We have stand-up nights. But you know what’s missing?” Parts had said, probably slurring from whatever substance the medic gave him after he got shot - straight to his chest, barely holding his comm up. “A government that respects us as individuals?” Fives bit back. 

“Well, yeah, but also drag.”

Fives went silent for a second. “Holy fuck.”

"Holy fuck, indeed."

"You know what this means?"

"We are going to corrupt the entire GAR?"

"We are going to corrupt the entire GAR."

And that’s how it began. The next morning, Parts woke up to 200 unread messages in the group chat, half of them Fives screaming in all caps, and the other half Hardcase trying to convince everyone that there should be pyrotechnics involved. At first, it was just them. Just Fives, Hardcase, and Parts talking shit, bouncing ideas back and forth, coming up with the campiest, most chaotic possible versions of this. Then the boys from the 212th found out. Then Hound got involved, which meant Thorn got involved, which meant everything got ten times more unhinged. And then, in a twist of fate, Bacara saw the chat and, instead of shutting it down, just sighed and muttered to Parts in person, “This got out of control.”

That was basically approval.

Shore leave couldn’t come fast enough. And when it finally came, Parts was fucking happy to see his brothers. Not all of them made it back, of course, that was just the price of war. A price he had slowly, begrudgingly, learned to accept, because what the fuck else could he do? Was it sad? Obviously. It was devastating every damn time. But when half your employers saw you as expendable meat in armour and the other half didn’t even think you were worth paying properly, well. Shit. Parts could either cry about it or laugh, and laughing hurt less. It was like that for all of them, a whole army of men cracking jokes and being absolute fucking menaces just to cope. Life was short. Fuck, their lives were shorter - might as well fucking laugh in the process.

This was one of those rare occasions where a lot of the legions ended up on shore leave at the same time. 212th. 501st. 21st Nova Corps. Even some of the shinies (freshly arrived from Kamino and spent their time doing caf runs for the Corries) had managed to sneak their way into Coruscant’s lower levels instead of wasting time at the military barracks. It was electric when this happened, all these troopers - brothers, bastards, absolute dumbasses - spilling out into the city looking for entertainment, alcohol, and questionable choices. The Corries always loved it when the off-world units came in, because Coruscant duty was half shit, half fun. The entertainment scene was unmatched - clubs, bars, swoop races, gambling dens - but at the same time, they were fucking glorified cops with no Jedi oversight and no real combat. Worse, most of the good clubs were too damn expensive unless you went underground.

But the underworld. Now that was a different story. Parts had seen a lot in the underworld - had seen things that made battlefields look boring, had done things that weren’t in any Republic training manual - but what changed his fucking life? Drag night.

And it wasn’t even his idea to go. He never would’ve gone on his own. He was too busy running around hidden gems in the surface levels with his very secret, very confidential boyfriend, a boyish, disgustingly handsome Chiss named Arok. Arok worked as an info broker for the Pykes, which made him fun as hell and also a walking liability, so obviously, Parts was stupidly into him. There were rules about this sort of thing. Republic loyalty, military integrity, blah blah blah - but if Captain Rex from the 501st could date a fucking Mandalorian bounty hunter, why did he have to care about rules he never agreed to in the first place? And Arok was beautiful and dangerous, with cheekbones sharp enough to gut someone and a mouth that could talk his way out of anything except the times Parts shut him up with a kiss. One night, during their usual night out, Arok had literally fucking dragged him into an underground club deep in the Core’s underbelly.

And that was the night that changed everything. Because drag night was a fucking revelation. Parts hadn’t participated - he didn’t even know what the fuck was happening at first, thrown into the middle of it with no context, surrounded by a storm of glitter, synth music, and people dressed better than anyone in the Senate. There was something otherworldly about it. Regal, like a battlefield but with more glitter and less death. The sheer confidence, the power of the performers - they commanded the room like generals, but instead of armour, they wore velvet and silk and sequins, and instead of war, they demanded joy. It wasn’t just a performance. It was a declaration of presence. I exist, I am here, I am magnificent, and you are going to watch.

And Parts watched. And something in him clicked. It wasn’t even about gender, or identity, or whatever deep philosophical shit some Republic senator would’ve made it about. It was about owning the space you took up, and making damn sure no one could take it from you. It was about looking society in the face, spitting on its rules, and then making yourself so loud and beautiful they had no choice but to respect you. After that, it was only a matter of time before the idea for Drag Night at 79’s was born.

He already had the perfect fucking name for it. 

As a marine, Parts was cold as hell. First in, last out. He had earned his name in his first mission, a legend in the 21st Nova Corps for surviving a horrifically bad landing during a high-altitude insertion. His gunship had malfunctioned mid-drop, smashing into the ground so hard it nearly cracked his fucking spine, but instead of dying, he had crawled out of the wreckage, dazed as shit, and still shot three droids in the face before passing out. From that moment on, he was Parts. Private Parts if he wanted to pull ranks (or the lack of it). Because half his fucking armour had shattered into spare parts, and because clones were assholes who thought names like that were hilarious.

The joke wrote itself. Private Parts had a new meaning. Impeccable drag name. Impeccable Army of the Republic. It was destiny. And it was going to be the greatest fucking thing 79’s had ever seen.

“Ya got everything checked, Case?” Fives elbowed the tattooed trooper next to him, the two of them crammed into the back room of 79’s that they’d definitely not been given official permission to use as a dressing room. The place reeked of cheap cologne, sweat, and whatever the fuck Hardcase had used to style his synthetic wig (it was probably some kind of engine lubricant, knowing him). In front of them, hunched over a cracked mirror, Parts was butchering his own damn face. He had no makeup skills. None. But that had never stopped him before, and it sure as shit wasn’t going to stop him now. He dragged a streak of eyeblack. Yes, actual eyeblack, the one used to reduce glare in battle, across his eyelid - smudging it like some tragic battlefield makeup tutorial gone wrong.

"Yep," Hardcase said, distracted, flipping a glow-in-the-dark wig over in his hands like it was a grenade he was about to throw. “But since we have no money, we gotta make do. None of us are gonna be as pretty as the queens in Uscru.”

“Uscru?” Parts scoffed, still wrestling with his war crime of an eyeliner attempt. “Please, those queens have budgets. We’re over here making ball gowns out of blankets and tarps.”

Hardcase shrugged. "Might as well just throw the wigs on and call it a day. As long as we’re funny, right?"

"And as long as we have fun." Parts threw his eyeblack across the table, missing Fives by half a centimetre. “Besides, drag ain’t mandatory. We just need these dumbasses to show up and perform.” He grinned. “Especially the commanders.”

“Oh, speaking of.” Fives cackled so hard he nearly dropped his drink. “You know we forced Rex to perform?” Parts paused mid-swipe, turning to squint at him. “Your captain?”

Hardcase barked out a laugh. “There’s only one Rex.”

“Nah, nah, you don’t get it—” Fives wheezed, bracing a hand on the cluttered table. “We tricked him into it. We said it was just a public speaking exercise.’”

Parts let out a horrified gasp. “You fucking maniacs. Rex is gonna murder all of you.”

Hardcase wiped a tear from his eye. “Worth it.”

Parts, feeling emboldened by their collective commitment to clownery, yanked a brunette wig onto his head, fluffing it with the kind of grace one might use when shooting a droid. “Well?” he tossed the wig’s synthetic curls over his shoulder. “Do I look like Senator Amidala yet?”

Fives lost it. Hardcase was doubled over, choking. “Amidala - Amidala in armour. Armourdala!”

“Yeah, battlefield chic.” Parts smirked, adjusting the wig. 

“You’re a fucking menace.” Fives absolutely lost it.

"Correction," Parts grinned, tilting his head just enough for the neon bar lights to catch the absurd shimmer of his highlighter. “I’m Private Parts. And tonight, boys—” He turned to the mirror, inspecting the look he had assembled. “Tonight, I’m gonna be a fucking queen.”

Parts did not expect the turnout to be that… good. Like, what the actual fuck. He peeked from behind the curtain, half-expecting the audience to be just his usual batch of idiots and some drunk shinies, but no - this was a full-blown GAR gathering. Commanders, captains, even the stiffest, most regulation-abiding bastards in the whole damn army had shown up. He swore under his breath, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing keeping him from fucking ascending.

Bacara was there, of course, his own goddamn CO, sitting with Commander Blackout, looking every bit like the two most dangerous fuckers in the galaxy had somehow ended up at the worst possible talent show. Fox and Cody shared a table, both looking like they were already regretting being there. Rex sat with his men, and - was that Jesse? With a girl? What the fuck? Parts squinted. He wasn’t sure if she was real or if Jesse had just coerced some poor soul into this. 

The private took a breath, turned away from the audience, and looked back into the absolute war zone that was the dressing room. The performers were hyping each other up in various states of questionable preparedness. None of them was in drag. Well, Howzer had glitters in his fades. Wolffe was wearing some kind of silky material shirt. Fives had replaced his kama with silk scarves, and Hardcase had thrown on glow-in-the-dark wigs. So, technically they were also in “drag” if you looked at it sideways and with the lights off.

And then there was Parts himself. The only one actually in full drag.

He adjusted his dress, ignored the existential crisis forming at the base of his spine, and - oh. His eyes caught on someone in the crowd. Front row. Arok. The stupidly good-looking Chiss info broker who had dragged him into this world in the first place, sitting there smug as hell, sipping something that looked way too expensive for this establishment. Parts swallowed. He looked cute as fuck. Shit.

Parts shook it off, straightened his back, and turned to the poor souls he was about to wrangle into MC duty.

“Ayo, vod, who’s gonna MC?” he raised a brow at Wolffe, who was standing there with the expression of a man enduring divine punishment. Wolffe did not move. Did not blink. Did not fucking breathe. Parts could practically hear the calculations running through his brain, weighing the cost of his dignity against whatever debts he owed Fox for covering his ass back on Kamino.

Then, Parts turned to Howzer. “Or maybe you, sir?” Howzer, who had up until this point been unbothered, leaning against the makeshift vanity with the stance of a man who had never known a bad hair day, suddenly looked very, very interested in the exit.

“I’LL DO IT!” Two voices, in perfect fucking unison.

Parts barely had time to turn his head before Fives and Hardcase shoved past him, their glow-in-the-dark wigs bouncing, looking like two men who had been waiting for this exact moment their entire goddamn lives. Okay. Not bad. Not bad at all. If there were two people in the GAR who could command a room, it was these chaotic dumbasses. Fives and Hardcase weren’t just entertainers - they were fucking legends.

The entire Torrent Company was like that. Popular as shit. Serving under Anakin Skywalker did that to you - he was the Republic’s golden boy, the Hero with No Fear, and probably the reason none of his men had a proper grasp of military professionalism. Fives and Hardcase had spent years absorbing Skywalker’s unhinged energy, plus whatever teenager slang their thirteen-year-old general Ahsoka had drilled into them.

"This drip deserves a stage!" Fives shouted, doing an absolutely unnecessary spin in his silk kama.

"Let’s fucking go!" Hardcase smacked Parts in the back. And Parts could only grin back. If anyone could hype up a bunch of battle-hardened, traumatised, and heavily drunk clone troopers, it was these two. He stepped back, letting them take center stage, and turned to look at the audience again. The room was packed. Commanders, captains, even a few officers who were absolutely going to pretend they were never here. Parts exhaled slowly, adjusted his wig, and braced himself. This was it. The greatest fucking disaster the GAR had ever seen was about to begin.

The second the lights hit the stage - which was just tables pushed together - Fives and Hardcase exploded onto it like they were born for this shit. “LADIES! GENTLEMEN! AND NON-CONFORMING BADASSES OF THE GRAND ARMY!” Fives’ silk kama was lopsided, but he didn’t give a shit. “AND THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE HERE BECAUSE YOU WERE BLACKMAILED, COERCED, OR OTHERWISE FUCKING FORCED INTO ATTENDING!” Hardcase added, his glow-in-the-dark wig was pushed a bit too much to the back of his head. 

The crowd erupted. Parts, watching from the sidelines, was biting back a laugh. These two were good. Fives adjusted his mic. “Welcome to the first - AND ABSOLUTELY NOT LAST - GAR DRAG NIGHT!” Hardcase leaned in, his grin was so wide it could have split his face in half. “That’s right, ladies, we are gathered here today to celebrate, to entertain, and most importantly - to watch a bunch of grown-ass clone troopers have a complete and total breakdown in real-time.”

Raucous cheering from the back tables. Parts peeked out again - yep, Rex had his head in his hands. Cody looked like he was considering making a run for it. Fox was sitting so stiffly he looked like he was about to implode into a dust. Fives clocked it immediately.

“Oh, what’s the matter, boys?” He grinned directly at their table. “You look tense! You’re telling me the finest, most elite, most battle-hardened leaders of the Republic can survive an entire war but can’t handle a little heels and hairspray?”

Hardcase gasped, “Unbelievable. These are our commanders? These are our protectors? These are the men leading us into battle?” He violently shook his head. “Honestly, boys, I think we deserve a raise.”

Someone in the back yelled, “FUCKING SAY IT AGAIN.”

The bar fucking erupted. Troopers pounded their fists on the tables, boots slamming against the floor. Parts could barely hear himself think over the absolute roar of it.

Fives raised both hands, commanding silence. “A raise?” he said innocently. “Oh, boys, don’t be ridiculous. The Republic already gives us so much.” Hardcase gasped again, putting his hand over his chest. “You’re right, vod. We already get so many benefits.”

“Oh yeah. Like the privilege of being government property.” Fives nodded solemnly. Hardcase pretended to wipe away a tear. “I mean, you’re telling me we get to risk our lives for a system that doesn’t even think we deserve citizenship? What a fucking honour.”

The cheering turned wilder. Shouts and yells clouded the room. “Oh, and don’t forget the wages, vod,” Fives continued, pacing the stage now, fully in his element. “I mean, what else could we possibly need? We get… what? Three credits a week? A meal plan?” He paused. “That sometimes we have to pay for if you want extra protein cubes?”

Hardcase nodded sagely. “And the best part? The longer you live, the more of a financial burden you become!” Fives turned to the crowd. “Because let’s be real, boys. What happens if you get too injured to fight?” The laughter turned bitter almost immediately. Silence. Until someone yelled from the back, slurred and angry, “They fucking kill you.” Fives simply spread his arms wide. “Exactly! And you wanna know the best part? The Senate call us heroes.” He put a hand over his heart. “They say they care. But last I checked, none of them are fighting to get us paid.”

The bar fucking howled. And Fives, a fucking menace, just kept going. “I mean, honestly! We could have been anything! We could’ve been doctors, we could’ve been musicians, we could’ve been…”

“STRIPPERS!” someone from the 104th shouted, and the room nearly fucking collapsed.

Fives grinned. He had been waiting for that exact moment. “Well, good news, vod! Tonight, we finally get to choose what we wanna be! We got a spectacular lineup for you tonight. Some of the GAR’s most talented, most charismatic, and most absolutely-fucking-blackmailed troopers are gonna be taking this stage”

“AND SPEAKING OF CHOOSING YOUR DESTINY!” Hardcase cut in. “Our next performer. Nay, our first fucking performer of the night - is living proof that YOU CAN HAVE IT ALL!”

“That’s right, folks! He’s got talent! He’s got beauty! He’s got a complete and utter refusal to get fucking promoted!”

The crowd lost its shit. Parts grinned from backstage, fixing his wig in the mirror, already bracing himself for whatever the fuck these two were about to say. Fives continued, barely holding back laughter. “Ladies, gentlemen, and all distinguished guests - allow me to introduce the only marine in the entire GAR who has served under Commander Bacara, survived some of the worst shitholes in the galaxy, dropped from high-atmosphere insertions straight into hell, and still said, ‘No thanks, I’d like to stay a Private because it makes my drag name fucking perfect.’”

Hardcase threw a fist in the air. “Because why the fuck would you ever mess with perfection?!”

“Because what is a marine without his rank?!” Fives turned to the crowd.

“WHAT IS A NAME WITHOUT MEANING?!” Hardcase screamed.

A pause. And then, in perfect fucking unison:

“INTRODUCING… PRIVATE PARTS!”

The audience went feral. And Parts strutted onto the stage like a goddamn queen. The cheap, makeshift dress swishing around his thighs, showing off calves sculpted from months of dropping straight into warzones with nothing but a rifle and armour. His makeup was done with a powder borrowed from a bartender, a red lipstick, and the earlier eyeblack. His wig was styled just enough that it had the illusion of looking like Amidala’s hair. And when he stepped out, tossing his wig over one shoulder, placing a perfectly manicured (okay, definitely armour-paint-stained) hand on his hip, he oozed confidence. “Well,” he purred. “If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s serve.”

Parts barely had time to brace himself before the cheers hit him like a seismic charge. Even his own CO, Bacara, was clapping. Commander Blackout raised his glass in his direction. This was why he did it. 

The clones had always accepted each other. They had to be. They were all they had. That was just how it worked. Your sibling was your sibling, no matter what. He remembered a few months back, when one of the troopers had come out as a woman - Sister. And it was her own brothers from the 7th Sky Corps who gave her that name, who made sure the whole GAR knew exactly who she was. Because in a system that didn’t let them choose anything, they chose each other.

“Thank you, thank you! It’s your favourite trooper with the best ass-ets - Private Parts, reporting for duty!” He let the mic linger at his lips, waiting for the next wave of applause. “And by ‘duty,’ I mean the duty of keeping my fine ass alive long enough to collect all three credits they owe me for a full week’s work.”

Another burst of laughter from the crowd.

“I serve under Commander Bacara, and let me tell you… that man is cold. I once told him I was sick, and he just said, ‘Don’t.’” From the side of the stage, Fives and Hardcase were full-on wheezing. Both of them trying their best not to knock over the sound system beside them.

“You ever met someone who was SO committed to violence that even the Jedi looked at them and went, ‘Damn, maybe chill a little?’ BRO, THAT’S BACARA.”

That cracked up the room, troopers pointing at Bacara who was sitting at the front row like they had witnessed his war crimes firsthand. “You know it!” someone, definitely a fellow marine from the 21st, shouted. From the stage, Parts noticed that the bar was getting even more packed. Civilians and clones alike, elbow to elbow, drawn in by the sheer force of the show. Parts smirked before he continued his read. “Maybe if you just got railed properly, you wouldn’t be out here trying to fight the entire climate system of Hoth.”

Troopers were pounding their fists on the tables. None of them dared to read the marshal commander like that. And Bacara. To his credit, the man didn’t even try to defend himself. He simply sipped his brown drink, completely unbothered by the fact that he had just been publicly diagnosed with untreated rage issues and a chronic need to get dicked down, or just generally get laid, whatever his preference was.

“Bacara is by the book. Perfect soldier. Follows orders to the T.” Parts adjusted his wig, tilted his head just enough for the lights to catch the shimmer of his plastic earrings. “I’m just saying, vod. You tell Bacara ‘jump,’ he jumps. You tell him ‘execute,’ he executes. You tell him ‘Order 69,’… and that kama and codpiece are gone.”

That was it. Bacara, Marshal Commander Bacara, the man who had personally led the marines through some of the most inhospitable hellholes in the galaxy, who had fought through avalanches, blizzards, and enemy fire without flinching, choked on his drink. This personification of war machine was fucking wheezing, coughing into his fist, eyes watering as he shook with laughter. Soon after, the entire table of commanders fucking lost it. Cody, who had been sitting there stiff as a goddamn cadet on inspection, slammed his fist on the table, laughing so hard he had to physically turn away. Rex had his face buried in his hand, shoulders shaking. Fox, the most stressed man in the Republic, was openly cackling - violently smacking Cody’s shoulders.

It felt like winning the war. Parts basked in it, hands on his hips, watching men who had spent their entire lives fighting, bleeding, dying - finally just fucking laugh. This was why it mattered. Because it wasn’t just about war. It wasn’t just about the next deployment, the next battle, the next fucking mission. There was more than the war. And for the first time in a long time, Parts felt like he’d found something real.

“But enough about Bacara - tonight, we’re on Coruscant!” Parts paced the stage. “The city of lights! The shining heart of the Republic! Where everything is so clean, so polished, so perfect. Why? It’s almost like there’s an entire force dedicated to keeping it that way!” He paused. “Oh, look! The Coruscant Guard is here! Give it up for the guards, everyone!” From their respective seats, Fox, Thorn, Stone, Hound, and a handful of other Coruscant Guard troopers stood up immediately, all at once. “No, no. Not just clapping!” He shook his head, eyes wide with mock disappointment. “Tip them. Come on, be generous! They need the extra credits for the emotional damage of serving under the Chancellor alone!”

Was there a tiny, nagging anxiety in the back of all their heads that somehow 79’s was bugged and the Chancellor himself was about to hear a bunch of clone troopers shit-talking his crusty, ancient ass? Absolutely. Did they care? At this point, even Fox was probably ready to roast the old raisin himself. Stone, unexpectedly the most unhinged one out of all the Coruscant Guard commanders, which was saying something considering the company he kept, actually walked into the crowd, bucket in hand. “Help a trooper in need!” he called out. “Every credit goes directly to my therapy fund!”

Parts leaned into the mic, voice solemn. “Just one credit a day can provide a Coruscant Guard trooper with the emotional stability he so desperately lacks.” Before he began again, Parts whispered into the mic in a conspiratorial tone. “I actually met a Coruscant Guard trooper earlier,” The crowd quieted just enough to listen. “Told him I was on my way here to perform, and you know what he did?” Parts placed a hand on his hip, smirking. “The bastard tried to fine me.”

There were some cackles in the crowd. All of them knew - it was probably done as a joke, or some stiff shiny did that without knowing. Parts raised a finger, pointing skyward. “You wanna know what my offence was?”

“My bedazzled codpiece.”

Parts saw how that single line that he made last minute - that he thought was not funny - was enough to set the bar on fire. It was either because he was actually funny, or they were all under-entertained (and was a bit tipsy). “Sir, my name is Private Parts. That’s a birthright, not a felony!” He wasn’t done. “If anything, the only crime here is Fox’s caffeine addiction.”

The marshal commander barked out a laugh.

“Someone check on that man! Fox is the most overworked clone in the Republic!” The private turned towards him. “Commander, be honest. When was the last time you got a full eight hours of sleep?”

Fox shouted from his seat, “Kamino.” Beside him, Cody’s face turned red from laughter. He reached over and tousled his younger brother’s hair. And that was a sight - the commanders acting like shinies, like they weren’t the hardened warriors of the Republic, like they weren’t the men carrying an entire galaxy’s weight on their backs.

“And you know what’s wild?” Parts pointed back at Fox. “Fox hasn’t slept in years, but he still looks better than half of y’all civilians.”

One civilian audience actually clutched his chest like he’d been personally victimised. “Tragic!” Parts declared. He took a slow step back, gesturing towards the wings. “We also have other performers lining up here tonight! But seriously, some of these performers are like our Phase 1 armour, completely fucking basic.”

A unified, horrified gasp from the audience.

“Donate more?”

Surprisingly, some troopers were throwing small changes onto the stage. Someone tossed a ration bar, which was caught mid-air by Hardcase. He looked at it, ripped it, and ate it. “Now, before you all start throwing your entire fucking paychecks at these boys, let’s keep the show moving!” Parts flipped his wig over his shoulder. “Because trust me, the next performer is just as fucking broke as the rest of us! Everyone, give it up to the one and only. Here because he owed Fox something. Commander Wolffe!” 

Wolffe was one of those commanders. Famous. Not the fun kind of famous. Not Jesse accidentally got himself latrine duty for a month because someone caught him running an illegal moonshine distillery in the barracks. Not Fives and Hardcase are banned from three cantinas famous. Not Parts resisting to get promoted to retain his name famous. No, Wolffe was famous for being terrifying. If Bacara was the most feared, Wolffe was the most intimidating. Strict. No-nonsense. The man could silence a room just by existing in it. Most troopers had only ever seen him on the battlefield. 

Seeing Wolffe reluctantly drag himself onto the stage, looking like a man who had just been drafted into public execution, was a sight to behold. No one knew how he was around his fellow commanders. How he acted when he wasn’t surrounded by his men and battle tactics and casualties. And right now, Fox and Cody were yelling at him like he was their annoying little brother who had just embarrassed himself in front of their entire extended family. It was strange. Refreshing. A rare fucking moment of life in the middle of a war that didn’t let them have any. And then Wolffe grabbed the mic. And just stood there. With his arms crossed and blank expression. Staring out at the wild, drunk, screaming audience. Slowly averting his gaze to his men, the vicious Wolfpack, who were literally howling like maniacs just because they could. 

“I don’t know why I’m here either.” Wolffe hummed to the microphone.

“Apparently, when you work in the Grand Army of the Republic, you don’t just fight a never-ending war - you are also forced into public humiliation.” That successfully broke the audience again. Most of the shinies who were usually standing at attention whenever they breathe the same air as the commander laughed their ass off - losing all sense of decorum.

"Don’t look at me. This is Plo Koon’s fault. He said I needed to 'loosen up.' Said I needed to 'connect with my brothers.' Like I don’t already spend every fucking waking moment surrounded by them. Like I don’t already have to share rations, bunks, battlefield trenches, and the occasional near-death experience. ‘Connect with my brothers,’ he says, as if I haven’t spent years side-eyeing every dumbass decision made by the fine, upstanding members of the 104th." Wolffe let out a long pause before deadpanning, "Commander, please. I barely tolerate them on the battlefield."

The audience went wild at that. From his corner of the stage, Parts exhaled. Okay, everything worked out so far. 

"So, of course, the moment I walk in, the entire bar already knows I’m only here because I owe Fox a favour. Yeah. I don’t wanna be here. I don’t wanna be in this situation. I don’t wanna be in this itchy outfit—" Wolffe pulled on the silky grey shirt that Hardcase procured from maker-knows-where. "And the worst part? The reason I even owe Fox is because he covered my shebs back when we were shinies on Kamino. And that was… I shit you not… because I lost a bet and had to steal one of the instructors’ binocs. You know, those training binocs they used to train you at recon classes? Thought I was being real clever, sneaking up like some commando. Got it off the guy, felt like an ARC - until I immediately tripped over my own boots and knocked myself out. Fox had to haul my unconscious ass back to the bunks before anyone noticed, because if the instructors found out I was out there committing petty theft, I’d still be doing push-ups in Tipoca City to this day."

The crowd chuckled - more out of shared nostalgia than anything else. The type of reaction that says, Yeah, I did some dumb shit too. Because, let’s be real, every single one of them had been in his shoes - stuck on that grey, eternally damp, depressing excuse for a planet, where the only form of entertainment was either starting fights, breaking rules, or seeing how much you could get away with before an instructor made you regret existing. They all knew exactly what he meant. The endless drills, the constant discipline, the same fucking corridors over and over again. You had to make your own fun or you’d lose your mind.

"And for that one singular act of brotherly kindness - Fox has been holding this over my head like some debt collector. Years later, I’m out here, fully grown, with an eye scar and an existential crisis, and that smug bastard just goes, ‘Wolffe, remember Kamino?’ And next thing I know, I’m standing in a fucking drag show in the middle of 79’s, questioning every decision that’s led me here." The reaction was… lukewarm. A few chuckles, but no real pop. They basically said - Alright, that was kinda funny, what else you got?

Wolffe exhaled, scratching the back of his head. "Oookay. That didn’t work. Tough crowd. Fine, here’s a little extra for you—" he lowered his voice. "The instructor was Alpha-17, if any of you actually care." Now that got a reaction. A ripple of groans and winces swept through the audience before they turned into laughter.

"Yeah," Wolffe nodded, satisfied. "Now you get it."

"You think war’s bad? Try dealing with a squad who believes in team-building activities."

Wolffe let the words hang in the air before turning his head slowly towards the Wolfpack’s table. "Boost. Sinker. Comet." He let their names drop. A ripple of laughter finally moved again through the crowd. "You don’t understand," Wolffe continued, still staring at them. "These idiots tried to make trust falls a thing. Trust falls. In the middle of a warzone. I’ve got battle droids shooting at me, artillery fire raining down, and Boost is behind me going, ‘C’mon, Commander! Fall back, I’ll catch you!’ Like I’m about to let my entire life depend on a man who once walked straight into a parked LAAT/i because he was too busy arguing about limmie scores."

That got a louder laugh. Wolffe sighed and massaged his temple. "And don’t even get me started on the time they tried to implement ‘mandatory morning affirmations.’ Nothing wakes you up for war like hearing, ‘You are strong. You are capable. You are valued,’ while you’re trying to eat your ration and contemplate the meaninglessness of existence."

The laughter swelled, and the commander himself laughed. It was good seeing him in that light. It was good seeing everyone in that light. "You know," Wolffe switched gears, "I actually had a few jokes prepared about the Galactic Senate." He let that sit for a moment, then added dryly, "But I’m trying to keep my job."

In the front row, Cody - smacked the table, he was wheezing so hard like he wasn’t about to be deployed in the next 48 hours. "But before I leave," Wolffe continued, sweeping his eyes across the room, "I wanna give a shoutout to the real survivors of this war." That got their attention, and a hush fell over the room.

"Anyone who’s ever worked under Commander Fox."

Silence before the room erupted. It was almost tradition at this point, if you were in someone’s house, you roasted them. And they were on Coruscant, in Fox’s jurisdiction. It was only right. Besides, Wolffe had earned this moment. He was up there because Fox had threatened him into it. The room knew it. Fox knew it. And, judging by the smirk on his face, Fox expected it. What Parts didn’t know was how the hell this entire lineup got cobbled together. He had been given a list of the night’s lineup, assuming it was the usual crowd. Then, out of nowhere, the Grand Clowns of the Republic group chat got hijacked by a bunch of commanding officers, and to this day, no one knew who had invited them.

Was it a prank? A glitch? A sign from the galaxy? Didn’t matter. What did matter was that suddenly, high-ranking officers - people who regularly made life-or-death decisions - were now here, on the same list as his usual batch of amateur stand-ups, about to tell jokes. Wolffe, meanwhile, had had enough as he stepped off the stage, looking equal parts relieved and done with the entire ordeal.

Parts barely had time to acknowledge him before checking the next name on the list. Howzer. Huh. Okay. That wasn’t bad. Howzer was surprisingly charming. Funny, even. At least during their online sessions. He had that effortless charisma that made people like him, made them listen when he talked. Parts could work with that. Was he still hoping for Gregor? Absolutely. But too bad, Gregor had an immediate distress call on the frontlines, and there was nothing funnier than war completely ruining your plans at the last second.

"Alright, alright," he raised his hands for silence. "Try to get yourselves together, yeah? We got a long night ahead of us. Next up…" He gave the audience a moment. "Captain Howzer. Get your charming ass up here."

Howzer had the kind of charm that made every other officer - clones and organically ejected people alike - furious. Like, how can someone be this naturally charismatic? How dare he walk into a room and make people like him without trying? And now he was walking up to the stage like he was about to give an inspiring CORTalk speech instead of telling jokes in the middle of a packed bar full of drunk, emotionally stunted soldiers who’d probably just spent the last sixty minutes trying to decide whether it was worth using their one (1) approved monthly therapy session or just set up the simulation room to let off steam. 

"Good to see you all," Howzer started, smiling so wide it crinkled the sides of his eyes - making the heartthrob of the GAR looking even more charming. "I gotta say, I love this whole thing we got going on - clones getting together, sharing laughs, not getting shot at for once. It’s nice. It’s…" he considered his words carefully. "a refreshing change of pace. But let’s be honest, we’re all still on edge. I swear, every time someone opens a door too fast in here, at least one of you reaches for a blaster you don’t carry." A solid wave of laughter swept across the room. One of the shinies at the front let out a full-bellied laugh, and Howzer pointed at him. "See? That guy knows what I’m talking about. That’s years of trauma, my man."

He let the crowd settle before starting again. "You know, I was gonna do a whole thing about how we never get to relax, because let’s be real, no one here knows how to do that properly. What do we do with our ‘leave’? Do we rest? Do we recover? No. We find increasingly reckless ways to almost die for fun. We got guys joining swoop races in the Underworld, guys drinking homemade jet juice that tastes like ass, we got Hardcase.” The audience howled at the mere mention of the famously hyperactive trooper. “But the worst? The absolute worst?"

The captain in turquoise-marked armour looked at the crowd. "The guys who go straight back into combat simulations." Immediate cackles came from the audience. Someone from the 212th shouted, "It’s for training!" to which Howzer, without missing a beat, responded, "Brother, you already do that every day. What are you training for? A second death?" And another successful jab that earned a solid laugh. 

"Speaking of self-destructive tendencies, let’s talk about the Coruscant Guard for a second." Of course, The Guard let out a collective groan. Parts, who definitely did not approve of playing favourites but was also not about to shut down the funniest thing happening tonight, just chugged his watered-down ale from the side of the stage. "I gotta give it up for them," Howzer cocked his chin towards the cluster of red-armoured troopers in the back. "You lot live a thankless existence. You wake up every day and immediately have to deal with the absolute worst non-clones the galaxy has to offer. Senators.”

The bar immediately rumbled with laughter. There it was again, another punch at the people who were supposed to protect them, supposed to represent them, supposed to treat them like actual sentient beings - but let’s be real, that wasn’t the case. Oh, sure, there were some that cared. Some that fought for them. Some that looked at them and saw people. And then there was Orn Free Taa. At this point, Parts was making a mental note to treat Hound to a full week of proper lunches, just so he and Grizzer could do a full sweep of the bar for bugs. Because if a single word of this got out, the Senate would be filing complaints before sunrise.

"The Senate gets real passionate when the Holonet cameras are rolling. ‘Clones deserve fair treatment! Clones should be valued! Clones are the backbone of the Republic!’ But the moment you ask about pay, benefits, literally any legal protections whatsoever, suddenly it’s all—” Howzer adopted a high-pitched, overly concerned voice, tilting his head like a confused bureaucrat, “Ah, well, the logistics of that are quite complicated…”

The audience barked out another bitter laugh. Because, yeah, you had to laugh. You had to. The alternative was sitting with the realisation that your entire existence was a fucking clerical error away from being erased. “And I know some of you are thinking, ‘Well, Howzer, it’s not that bad.’” He held up a hand, nodding. “Bro. If we die and don’t get recovered from the battlefield, the Republic charges our battalion for lost equipment.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Because some of them knew it was true, had heard the whispers, had seen the reports, and then the audience exploded. Howzer just stood there with his arms crossed, nodding along, waiting for the noise to settle. “Now,” he dryly said, “I really hope that’s just a rumour.” Howzer paused for a second. “Because that would be insane. That would be criminal. That would mean the Republic literally sees us as, oh wait, what’s that word again?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, eyes sweeping the room before snapping his fingers. “Oh, right. PROPERTY.’”

Another howl of laughter, this time it was tinged with that comforting self-deprecation, because fuck, he was right. Howzer let the sound roll over him before delivering another blow. “You ever try to return a piece of Republic property? The paperwork works just fine. If I steal a speeder, that shit is tracked, located, repossessed within hours. But you ask where the fuck our healthcare went? ‘Oh noooo, the budget disappeared, guess we’ll never find it, too bad, so sad. Wha whaaa.’”

Directly in front of the stage, Fox slammed his head against the table, laughing his ass off. “Funny how that works,” Howzer muttered, taking a sip of a drink that was handed to him by cackling Hardcase. "Anyway, thanks for coming to comedy night, drag night, or whatever you want to call this insanity. Tip your bartenders, hydrate, and, uh… someone make sure Fox doesn’t quit his job before the night’s over. Goodnight!" And with that, he strolled off the stage, leaving behind absolute wreckage.

From across the room, Boil and Waxer, dedicated clowns in Parts’ comedy club but, more importantly, the unofficial bouncers for the night - caught Parts’ eyes and did the cutthroat hand across their necks. That was all it took. The three MCs up front - Parts, Fives, and Hardcase - immediately straightened. Because whilst this was supposed to be their space, their night, Coruscant was still Coruscant. There was always a line you didn’t cross. And if someone important was in the room now, well, best to tread carefully. 

Parts let out an exasperated sigh. It wasn’t unusual for 79’s to pull a crowd. What was unusual was the silent warning from Boil and Waxer, two men who had spent the better part of the war making jokes, shutting them down. He and the others had learned a long time ago that there was a fine line between blowing off steam and saying too much. This was not the place to have an actual heart-to-heart about clone rights, about war, about what it really felt like to be treated as property. But comedy was a loophole. You could say anything, so long as it came with a punchline, so long as the laughter kept coming. But that only worked if no one in power really started paying attention.

"Who came?" Parts whispered to Hardcase. The blue-tattooed man was on his comlink with Boil, pressing a finger on his left ear to get better clarity amidst the rowdy bar. "High-ranking," Hardcase answered loud enough only for Parts and Fives to hear. "Brass."

“How high?” Fives, scarves wrapped around his hips in lieu of his usual kama, broke character in an instant. His ARC training kicked in like a second skin, scanning the room with new eyes, every exit, every blind spot suddenly tactical considerations rather than just part of the bar’s familiar layout.

Hardcase pressed his comlink closer to his ear to hear Boil’s voice amidst the noise before he let out a nervous chuckle. Then, through gritted teeth, he dropped the name. "Tarkin."

This was bad. Really bad. They still had plausible deniability, no one had said anything explicitly treasonous yet. But that didn’t matter. The wrong person in the audience changed everything. It turned harmless jokes into lawsuits. And Tarkin wasn’t just any brass. Tarkin remembered things, and filed shit under “to be handled later.” You didn’t just brush past someone like that. You didn’t get two chances with Tarkin. Parts clenched his fists, itching to rip off the makeshift dress and wig, fun as the bit was. He could be kitted up in under a minute, armed and ready, if it meant keeping his siblings safe.

"What’s the strategy?" Parts kept his hushed voice. Fives scratched his goatee. "I mean, we could move to safer ground? Shut it down early, act like the whole thing was a joke that got out of hand…"

"Not an option," Hardcase firmly cut in. "Shutting it down fast looks suspicious. We bail now, and whoever’s watching us starts asking why."

He wasn’t wrong. The second they looked too careful, that’s when the real problems would start. Tarkin wasn’t here for fun - he was watching. And if they gave him anything that smelled like an organised effort, the next thing they knew, there’d be investigations, reassignments, a sudden crackdown on anything resembling clone autonomy. Fives nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. So, plan B, we lean in."

"Lean in how?" Parts narrowed his eyes. Before he could get an answer, Fives stole the microphone in his hands and strode back onto the stage, grin locked in place, the perfect picture of a man with absolutely no fear.

"Captain Tarkin is here, everyone!" Fives announced, voice bright, loud, completely unfazed. "Make some noise for him!"

The crowd’s reaction was instant. It wasn’t outright panic - these were clones, trained for war, not easily rattled - but there was a noticeable shift, just like how they would in the battlefields when an unexpected threat had just walked into the perimeter. And at the front table, the commanders - Bacara, Fox, Cody, Wolffe - all straightened immediately. Parts hated this. Hated that their one rare moment of peace, their one night to actually be something outside of soldiers, was now under scrutiny. Hated that even here, even in this space, they had to be careful. Had to adjust. Had to dance around the fact that they weren’t citizens, weren’t people, at least not in the eyes of men like Tarkin.

And yet, as much as he hated it, Parts knew exactly what Fives was doing. The ARC trooper knew how to control a room.

"Speaking of captains," Fives continued smoothly as if he wasn’t actively trying to keep an entire room from panicking, "there’s another captain in this room, a very special captain, who had no idea he was about to be dragged into a drag show!"

A more relaxed laughter started rippling through the bar. "And why is that, you ask?" Fives placed a hand to his chest. "Because, my dear brothers and sisters and siblings alike, this man - our fearless leader, our role model, never reads the group chat!"

Parts couldn’t even pretend to be mad at the execution, Fives was doing exactly what was needed. He was shifting attention. He was forcing Tarkin’s presence into the background by bringing in a new target, someone everyone in the room could focus on. "And wouldn’t it be a blast," Fives fed off the energy, "if we dragged him onto this stage right now?"

The crowd was frothing. Everyone knew exactly where this was going, and they were all in. "Everyone, please welcome…" Fives milked the pause for maximum theatrics. "Captain Rex!!"

The roar from the 501st troopers was instantaneous. Some were already getting up like they were about to physically haul him up there. Rex groaned and slouched himself in the booth he was sitting at. "No."

A firm, clear rejection from the captain, but it didn’t matter. His own traitorous men were hyping him up, and to make it worse, he felt the familiar weight of judgmental stares from his fellow commanders at the front. None of them was going to help him. They were enjoying this. Rex scowled, flipping his men the bird. Then, for good measure, he flipped his ori’vod the bird, which should have been the end of it - except Wolffe immediately smacked him upside the head, followed by Cody backhanding his shoulders.

Rex sighed, long-suffering, before dragging his feet towards the stage. As soon as he grabbed the mic, he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Are you fucking me?"

"Nah, sir, you’re our saviour. Now joke about something, I don’t know. Whatever brainrot jokes you picked up from Anakin and Ahsoka." Fives grinned.

Rex looked out at the expectant, gleeful faces of his men. Looked past them to where Tarkin sat, impassive, watching, assessing. Yeah. He had to sell this. Fine. He tapped the mic twice, and sighed.

"Alright," Rex deadpanned. "I’m Captain Rex of the 501st Legion. I work with Anakin Skywalker… uh… yeah. Pray for me."

That was all it took. The room erupted again, because everyone knew. Anakin Skywalker was a lot. "You think I’m joking," Rex paced the makeshift stage with his dry tone. "I don’t even try to give him a battle plan anymore. I start to explain strategy, and then he gives Ahsoka the look, and poof, suddenly I’m flying."

Laughter filled the room. No one had suffered under the absolute chaos that was General Anakin Skywalker more than Rex. "I’ve given up trying to understand the general. Don’t get me wrong, he’s amazing, I’d go to hell and back for him. But if you ever see me standing there, completely still, staring off into the void? That’s me buffering. That’s me trying to process why I’m alive after another one of his manoeuvres."

Another wave of laughter cracked through the room. Rex let the noise die down before inhaling deeply, then exhaling, rubbing a hand over his face before he started again. "...Also," he dropped his tone dangerously close to sincerity, "I’d like to formally apologise to my boys for all the stress, trauma, and irresponsible shit we’ve been through." The blond paused to let the entire audience coos at the unexpected softness. "It will happen again."

Tup - sweet, unfortunate Private Tup from Torrent Company was gasping for air. His face was red, shoulders shaking, and every time he tried to inhale, another wheeze slipped out, sending the 501st into another round of hysterics. The entire 501st troopers present at 79’s had been losing their minds the whole time Rex was on stage, making the most noise out of anyone in the bar, like a bunch of rowdy cadets who had just watched their instructor trip and eat shit during drills. It wasn’t every day their beloved hardass of a Captain got publicly dragged into something ridiculous, and they were relishing it. 

And sure, Rex was one of the better ones. He wasn’t as rigid as some of the other commanders. At least he didn’t have Bacara’s terrifying tendency to drill his men like how Alpha-17 made him do it before he was made marshal commander - but on the field? He was still fucking strict. 

"There is no escape. I have tried." Rex clicked his tongue. Rex turned his feet towards the MCs, then back at the crowd. "Before we end this wonderful night of completely regulated, very Republic-approved bonding…" He pointed his palm at Parts. "Private Parts, you look fantastic."

Scattered hoots, cheers, and whistles came from the marines. Parts twirled in his dress dramatically. Rex just held up a hand. "...And Fives and Hardcase?"

"Yeah, Cap?"

"Enjoy it while you can. Because tomorrow, you’re on freshers duty." That successfully drew another round of claps from the crowd. Another day another save by none other than–

"CAPTAIN REX, EVERYONE!" Private Parts threw his arms up, soaking in the applause. "Thank you for coming. Listen to Howzer and tip your bartenders, don’t start a fight you can’t finish, and for non-clones, if you wake up hungover next to a commander, congratulations, you’re officially a Jedi general!”

The crowd was still electric, the final cheers for Rex rolling through the air like the last embers of a fire, but the energy was slowly changing. The second Private Parts dropped the mic back onto the stand, the DJ took the cue, lights dimmed, the atmosphere returned back to normal. The music came back just loud enough to remind everyone that this was still just a bar, that this was still 79’s, still their home, and that whatever had just happened? Whatever almost happened? It was over. Done. It had to be. It better be.

Parts let out a long relieved sigh, feeling the weight of it settle in his bones. The close call. The way they had to dance that line so fucking carefully and now they had to act like none of it ever happened. He elbowed Boil as the man returned from his unofficial duty, almost knocking back Boil’s drink like he’d been physically holding back the urge to swing on someone all night. "Is he gone?"

Boil wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Yeah, left twenty minutes ago. Probably on his way to some emergency meeting, clutching his pearls about how Captain Rex was making fun of his Jedi at 79’s."

"Joke’s on him," Hardcase smirked, "Anakin is in our group chat."

"Yeah, we invited him, but, you know… husband duty." Fives cackled, violently clapping Parts on the shoulder. "Congrats on the drag night, vod! Even though, technically, you’re the only one in drag." Parts rolled his eyes, still shaking out the last of the tension from earlier, but before he could respond, Fives threw an arm around his shoulders, turning back towards the bar and raising his voice. "Officially the most badass private in the fucking GAR! WHOOP WHOOP!!"

The entire bar erupted in agreement. "PRIVATE PARTS, GALACTIC ICON!" A fellow marine yelled from the bar. Hardcase cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "GET THIS MAN A MEDAL! OR AT LEAST A BETTER WIG!" That earned a wide grin from Parts. He was fucking stressed out and exhausted but grinning, riding the lingering adrenaline as the cheers swelled around him. And then… Bacara. 

Parts saw him before he got close, because Bacara wasn’t exactly subtle.

"Private."

Bacara’s tone was neutral. No amusement, no judgment, no edge. "Commander." Parts snapped into attention immediately - because even though Bacara had been crying laughing an hour ago, even though he had clutched his ribs when Howzer delivered the Senate joke, this was still Marshal Commander fucking Bacara. The same man who could juggernaut through a battlefield in a fucking second and maybe faster. The same man who could, and would, command him to do one hundred burpees for less than five minutes.

For a moment, Bacara just studied him, his muddy brown eyes, mirroring his own - only older, and more exhausted. Then he finally opened his mouth. "You handled that well."

That was not what Parts had expected to hear. Sure, Bacara had a sense of humour. After all, he let Parts run these stand-up nights, let his men have their moments of relief, but this was still Bacara. Marshal Commander Bacara. The guy who took everything seriously.

"At ease."

Parts hesitated before forcing himself to relax, at least, as much as someone could relax while standing in front of a literal war machine in human form. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. "Yeah, well," he muttered, "not exactly what we had in mind for the night."

"You kept it under control." Bacara patted his shoulder. "That’s not easy to do."

And for a second, Parts didn’t know what to do with that. Because his commander got it. He knew what it took to keep that balance - to take something dangerous and make it palatable. To hold a room full of soldiers in the palm of your hand, to guide them somewhere just edgy enough without letting them fall off the ledge. To let them think without making it look like thinking. That wasn’t easy. And Bacara, of all fucking people, had noticed.

“…Thanks,” Parts finally answered, still a little thrown off by the sincerity but absolutely not about to turn down a rare, fucking impossible compliment from a Commander. Bacara gave one last appreciative nod before stepping back into the crowd, rejoining the other commanders. Private Parts rolled his shoulders, letting the last of the tension finally bleed out of him.

"You’re fucking insane, you know that?"

The voice came from behind him, a familiar posh accent. Warm as it was amused. Before he could even turn, arms wrapped around his waist, tight, solid, pulling him in like the last anchor in a chaotic night. And Parts melted. Because fuck yes, finally.

Arok smelled like smoke, spice, and a data terminal running too hot. "You love it," Parts murmured, leaning back into the embrace, letting the towering Chiss tuck his chin over his shoulder. The Chiss huffed, pressing a quick kiss against the side of his head, and Parts closed his eyes, letting himself breathe. Because yeah they had barely pulled that off. This whole night could have ended in disaster. But it hadn’t. So Parts let himself relax into Arok’s warmth, to feel his hands splay over his ribs, to feel the bass vibrating through the floor, to listen to his brothers drinking, talking, laughing. The night wasn’t over. And for this moment, they were okay.

[queen-of-mandalore]

Em’s Star Wars Rewatch part 50:

The Siege of Mandalore

This arc is essentially a movie split into four parts and I love it so much. I would love to see the whole thing as a movie in the cinema at some point - it would be epic. So many shows disappoint with their ending but clone wars truly peaked with this final arc. Honestly it’s perfect.

Part 1: Old Friends Not Forgotten

Obi-Wan swooping into save Cody with the most bad ass entrance ever.

‘What are you doing down there?’ 😏 - Anakin being a smug little shit. Dodging the blaster bolt like it was nothing.

The way Obi-Wan and Cody’s heads popped up together 😭

I love that we end the show with Anakin using the same tactic that Obi-Wan used in the TCW movie - using ‘surrender’ as a distraction.

‘Okay boys, hold on a little longer.’ Simultaneous groaning accompanied by the most unenthusiastic ‘sir yes sir’ ever 😂

Clones with jet packs will always be iconic and I wish we had seen more of them throughout the series.

The way Cody looked to Obi-Wan for permission to join the fight the same way an excited kid asks to play with his friends 🥹

The playful banter between Anakin and Obi-Wan both makes me very happy and very sad. We are so close to the end and it hurts knowing what’s about to happen.

Anakin’s face when he saw Ahsoka for the first time 🥺 he was so happy to see her.

Ahsoka has really grown up, even when you compare her to season 5. Going through what she did and having to survive in the real world changed her.

‘It would drag us into another war!’ ‘What’s one more?’ - if that exchange doesn’t show the difference in pov between Jedi and Mandalorians I don’t know what will.

Obi-Wan admitting that Satine meant a lot to him 😭😭😭

The helmet tribute 🥹😭 the men were so happy to see her and I love how they all still call her commander and salute her.

Rex is so happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile so much in an episode before.

Ahsoka really doesn’t pull her punches and honestly good for her. She is so done with the Council and she has every right to be.

I wonder why Rex wasn’t promoted before now 🤔

The fact this is the last time Ahsoka will see Anakin until they meet for the fight in Rebels 😭😭😭😭😭😭

‘Anakin, good luck’ 🥹

The action scenes in this arc are so good! The mandalorians and clones with backpacks fighting as they approach the surface is so cool. My only complaint is that the Mandalorians go down too easy - they have beskar armour after all.

The smirk 😭😭😭😭

‘Race you to the surface!’ The way Ahsoka was so mature with Anakin, even in their softer moments, but she’s so carefree around Rex and the men 🥹

The fact Rex laughs in the middle of a literal battle. As much as we know Rex can share a joke, he is always progressional and focused on the job at hand. And yet with Ahsoka he is laughing????? 🥹

Saxon is such a fanboy (his armour is very cool though)

RIP Vaughn - we only got you for one episode but I loved you dearly.

The way Ahsoka still mourns each trooper even though she must have watched hundreds if not thousands die 🥺

Maul revealing himself from the shadows like the drama queen he is.

Part 2: The Phantom Apprentice

It’s so chilling how Maul hesitates to say Sidious’s name. You can tell he genuinely fears him.

An interesting detail I noticed whilst rewatching is that Rex says ‘yes ma’am’ to Ahsoka. I know that she isn’t technically a commander anymore but all the other clones all still refer to her as ‘sir’.

I love Jesse. He’s so loyal and defiant.

‘The dark side has never been stronger’ - I got chills.

Love the sinister imperial march motif after Anakin’s name is mentioned.

I’m glad I read the Son of Dathomir so I now know how Maul ended up back on Mandalore. I wish they had been able to make that arc of clone wars.

Maul is giving ‘some of you may die, but that is a risk I’m willing to take’ from Shrek vibes 😂

Maul’s followers remind me of Vikings - dreaming to die in glorious battle.

Poor Jesse, he looks so distraught and guilty knowing he helped Maul against his will. He really feels like betrayed Ahsoka 😭

Ahsoka was so close to joining Maul. In the end, the one thing she couldn’t believe was that Anakin would join the dark side 🥺

The Maul/Ahsoka fight is incredible. It’s up there with duel of the fates and the Mustafar duel as the top 3 lightsaber battles in all of Star Wars. You can really see the benefit of the mo-cap - there is more detail in the footwork and everything feels a little more real. I love that they got Ray back to play Maul - he brings such a specific physicality to the role.

The cinematography!!!!! The lighting!!!!!! The atmospheric detail! The window smashing!!!!!!!!!!

‘You’re lucky Anakin didn’t show up. The way you’re fighting, you wouldn’t have lasted long’ 😏 Ahsoka my sassy queen

‘We’re all going to burn! We’re all going to die!’

Part 3: Shattered

I love the tie ins to RotS. It really puts into focus the timescale of the movie and makes you realise these events are happening at the same time. When we get the ‘I sense a plot to destroy the Jedi…’ scene it’s a real ‘oh shit it’s about to happen moment’.

‘Not as a Jedi?’ ‘No, not yet.’ - not yet, she was thinking of coming back, she just wasn’t ready 😭

I love that Yoda still calls her padawan.

It’s subtle but you can tell Rex isn’t happy when Mace basically tells her it’s none of her business.

‘You didn’t tell them about what Maul said about General Skywalker.’ ‘No, I didn’t.’ - First, Rex wasn’t in the room when Maul said this which means Ahsoka trusted him enough to tell him, she didn’t tell the council but she told him. Second, Ahsoka was trying to protect Anakin. Maybe if Obi-Wan had been there she could have told him. Honestly though, I think at this point it wouldn’t have made a difference. Even if Ahsoka had joined Maul, it was so close to the events of order 66 I doubt they would have made it in time.

The music in this whole arc but especially here is superb. It really gives a sense of dread and foreboding. Combined with just seeing Maul’s eyes watching was bone chilling.

You know what’s coming but you still hope that somehow it will end differently.

‘Gives us clones mixed feelings about the war’ - Rex has grown so much! Season 1 Rex would never of had ‘mixed feelings’. He’s been through so much and you can tell that it’s shaken a lot of his beliefs.

‘The Republic couldn’t have asked for better soldiers, nor I a better friend’ 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹😭😭😭

Not Rex crying and his hands shaking as he tried to disobey the order 😭😭😭😭💔

I also never noticed that Jesse comes in and starts shooting at her as well 😔

You can see how expressionless and emotionless Rex’s eyes are whilst he’s shooting at her. It’s truly like his mind has gone blank.

I love Ahsoka, but releasing Maul was not her brightest idea. Her ‘I’m not rooting for you 🤨’ was iconic though.

TCW has always empowered droids and made them heroes and I’m glad they got to help Ahsoka. They are true heroes here.

Oh Fives, if only people had listened 😔

Maul gets a hallway fight and it’s absolutely brutal!!!!! He decapitates two guys, slicing two more in half and cuts someone’s arm off without even having a weapon! He is so cool.

I’m not sure how the ‘I am one with the force and the force is with me’ thing works but it’s very cool. Also it’s totally normal to place your hands gently to cradle your friend’s head right?

I love that Rex doesn’t hesitate. Those are his brothers but in that moment he chooses to protect her, even if that means killing his brothers.

I am so normal about them I swear (I’m really not normal about them)

Part 4: Victory and Death

I’ve only noticed on this rewatch that it’s Jesse who is giving the orders to track down Ahsoka over the comm. He also refers to Rex by his CT number which truly shows how the chips take away their individuality.

‘He didn’t escape, I let him go.’ ‘What?! Why?!!!’ - Rex with a very valid reaction.

Ahsoka and Rex fight so well together! They are so attune to what the other is doing.

Not Rex crying underneath his helmet. I can’t 😭😭😭😭

It hurts so much more that it’s Jesse fighting them. For a moment you can see he hesitates, as he struggles against the chip, but in the end there’s no fighting it.

Seeing all the orange helmets with Ahsoka’s markings 🥺 they were so happy she came back, so proud to be serving with her that they decorated the one thing they owned, the one thing that distinguished themselves from each other as a tribute to her. And here they are, forced to try and kill her. The story of the clones truly is a tragedy.

Ahsoka going for Maul’s throat and only just missing. The way he clutches at his neck afterwards like he can’t believe she almost did that.

The fact that Ahsoka let go of the shuttle, at that point what she believed was the only way off that crashing ship, to protect Rex 🥺

The droids were true heroes and I was so sad when they were killed.

Imagine not knowing that Ahsoka and Rex survived and were in Rebels. This would be so tense!!!! It was tense enough even though I knew they survived.

The music at the end makes me cry every time. The fact they spent time recovering the bodies and burying them, giving them one last act of respect 😭😭😭

Also only noticed this time watching that they recovered parts of one of the droids that helped them.

Ahsoka must have felt so guilty - even though order 66 was obviously not her fault, it had been her decision to free Maul which led to the ship crashing, if she hadn’t, the clones would still be controlled by the chips but they might have been alive. I feel like that’s something she’d never forgive herself for.

Seeing Jesse’s helmet at the end really hits in the feels, not just because we lost a trooper we knew, but because of the Republic symbol it also represents the death of the Republic.

Vader didn’t need to go to that moon to check that Ahsoka was dead, Anakin did though.

These four episodes are a masterpiece and I truly believe they are some of the best Star Wars we have ever gotten.

[whatdyk]

Chapter 4 - Thin Lines.

1.8k

Umbara's sky was a bruise of dark violet and smog, casting a dull, sickly glow over the battalion as they marched on.

Fog clung low to the ground, thick enough to swallow their boots, their footsteps, even their breath. The terrain twisted in unnatural ways—jagged rock formations jutted from the ground like broken teeth, and every tree seemed to lean inward, as if watching them pass.

Zhara walked along the flank, her boots crunching in rhythm with the squad's advance. Her saber hilts knocked lightly against her thighs with each stride, but she made no move to draw them. Not yet. Her senses were stretched thin, tracing the edges of the Force like thread through a needle. It thrummed beneath her skin—wrong. The land itself felt poisoned.

Ahead of her, Rex moved with practiced ease, his silhouette unmistakable even beneath armor and shadow. The weight of command sat on his shoulders like a second cuirass.

The weight of Krell's plan sat heavier still.

Their orders were simple. Stupidly simple. March down the central route, smash through resistance, and take the artillery line by brute force. No recon. No cover. Just blind faith and heavy casualties.

It was madness.

And it showed.

Jesse murmured, eyes on his the surroundings. "Too quiet."

"Feels like they're waiting for us," Kix added.

"They are," said Fives. He didn't bother to lower his voice.

Zhara turned her head slightly, catching the flicker of frustration on his face.

"This is suicide," he continued, stalking a little closer to Rex. "We should've flanked the valley—circled in through the northern ridge, taken them by surprise."

"Not our call," Rex replied evenly, eyes forward.

Fives didn't back off. "No disrespect, sir, but Krell doesn't care if we all get vaped. You do. So why the hell are we following orders that make no sense?"

The tension in the squad thickened. Jesse glanced sidelong. Kix kept his hand near his blaster. Even Hardcase, unusually quiet, shifted uncomfortably behind them.

Zhara slowed her stride slightly, coming up beside the Captain. She didn't speak yet—but she wanted to hear his answer.

Rex stopped walking.

The column behind them halted with him.

"I know what it looks like," Rex said finally, turning toward Fives. "And I agree. It's not how I'd run this op."

Fives' jaw clenched.

"But I'm not in charge," Rex continued. "And if I start questioning orders now—if we do—we lose our footing. We lose control of the entire line. And then we're not just marching blind. We're marching divided."

There was a silence that stretched longer than comfort allowed.

Fives broke it. "And what does she think?"

All eyes turned toward Zhara.

Her expression didn't shift, but her gaze swept the line of troopers one by one before settling on Fives.

"I think this is the worst possible plan," she said coolly. "And I also think Krell knows that."

That made them shift.

"But he's not stupid," she continued. "He's testing you. All of you. He wants to see who breaks rank first. Who falters. And when that happens, he'll use it to justify whatever losses come next."

Fives blinked. "So what—you're saying we just keep walking?"

"No," she said. "I'm saying we watch. Listen. And when the moment comes, we make the call. Not Krell."

She let that sit.

Then added, "I trust Captain Rex. So should you."

Rex said nothing, but she felt his glance, sharp as a blade, slide her way. Something unreadable in his eyes, but before he could respond, blaster fire erupted from the sideline.

"Contact?" Jesse barked, pivoting with his weapon raised.

Something winged shot overhead, a creature with bioluminescent veins and a shrieking cry. Blaster bolts missed, but the reaction was immediate—clones scrambling into cover, shouting conflicting orders, fingers tightening on triggers.

"Hold your fire!" Rex snapped.

The creature swooped lower, wings slicing the mist. Zhara's hand snapped up, purple blade igniting in a hiss. She stepped forward, already calculating—when, without warning, something blurred past her.

A second lightsaber ignited.

The creature shrieked once, then fell silent, cleaved in two midair by a green arc of plasma.

General Krell landed heavily beside her, breath harsh through his nostrils, arms spread in a wide, imposing stance. His grimace twisted downward into something crueler than disgust—mockery.

"Anyone else wanna stop and play with the animals?" he growled, voice booming across the clearing.

No one answered.

"Didn't think so." His eyes flicked across the ranks. "Now keep moving."

There was a moment of charged silence. Then, reluctantly, the march resumed.

Zhara deactivated her saber, jaw tight. She didn't look at Krell. She didn't have to. He was still standing too close, as if daring her to challenge him.

She thought about what would happen if she did.

And then she turned her back, and followed her men into the mist.

They moved in silence for hours, boots crunching softly over the thick soil, each man growing heavier with exhaustion. It was always night here, always cloaked in mist and dim starlight. It pressed down on them like a weight.

Zhara could feel it too.

She dropped back slightly as she noticed Rex drifting toward the center of the formation, scanning his men. Their movements were slower now—shoulders sagging, heads dipping. Even Hardcase had stopped humming.

Then Fives spoke again, more than a mutter this time.

"Sir, we've been keeping this pace for twelve hours now."

Rex didn't respond at first, but the words caught Zhara's attention.

"The men are getting worn down," Fives continued, voice edged with frustration. "We should rest."

They stopped walking. A low murmur rippled through the ranks. Several troopers looked to Rex, then to her, uncertainty clear, even from behind their visors.

Zhara moved closer, brow furrowed. "He's right. We've been marching in silence, through enemy territory, with no intel or pause. This isn't sustainable."

Rex exhaled, hands resting on his hips as he glanced behind him.

Then Krell's voice cut through the mist, "The men don't need rest." He said sharply, "They need the resolve to complete the task at hand."

Rex stepped forward. "But, sir—"

"CT-7567, are you reading me?"

Zhara stiffened beside him. Even now, Krell wouldn't say his name.

Rex straightened. "Excuse me, sir?"

"I asked you a question, CT-7567. Do you understand the need to adhere to my strategy?"

Zhara watched the muscles in Rex's jaw twitch before he answered.

"Sir, the terrain is extremely hostile. Despite the difficulty of the conditions, the battalion is making good time."

Fives muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Zhara to hear, "And dropping like flies."

"These men just need a little break," Rex said, the edge of steel finally creeping into his voice.

Krell's reply came like a lash.

"Captain, do I need to remind you of this battalion's strategic mission in conquering this planet? Look back. See those platoons?"

Krell gestured toward the stretch of weary troops behind them, their outlines barely visible through the darkness.

"Their mission is to take this city and take it swiftly. Time and rest are luxuries the Republic cannot afford."

His voice rose, towering over them all like the blade of his saber.

"We are the key to this invasion. The other battalions are counting on our support."

Silence.

"If we fail, everyone fails! Do you understand this?"

He stepped forward.

"Do all of you understand this?"

Zhara stepped forward before she realized it—anger quickly flashing behind her eyes. Her voice was already halfway up her throat—

But a gloved hand caught her wrist.

Rex.

He didn't look at her, didn't say a word—but the pressure of his touch, just firm enough to hold her back, said everything.

Krell either didn't notice, or didn't care. His gaze swept over the battalion, unreadable and unmoved.

"Do all of you understand this?"

"Now, move on!"

He turned and strode into the fog, his silhouette vanishing once more.

Silence hung for a moment, thick and bitter. Zhara yanked her arm free from Rex's grasp.

"What was that?" she hissed, keeping her voice low but sharp.

Rex turned to her, jaw set. "Calling him out in front of the men? You've already done that in front of me."

"I don't care" she snapped. "I -"

"You should." His voice was still even, but harder now. "Because every clone in this battalion is watching him. And watching you."

Zhara glanced around—dozens of helmets had turned subtly their way. Jesse, Fives, Kix... all pretending not to listen. But she could feel the tension in the air like a live wire.

Her face darkened.

"I don't need you protecting me, Captain."

Rex stiffened. "It's not about protection. It's about keeping command intact. If we fall apart in front of them, Krell wins."

She stared at him for a long second. Her green eyes flashed, the frustration and fire in her barely contained.

"Then maybe he already has."

And with that, she turned sharply and moved back toward the flank, the mist swallowing her before Rex could reply.

——————-

The battalion had reached its position at last, crouched just beneath the slope leading to the main defensive perimeter. Zhara stood beside Rex, her eyes scanning the terrain, noting the exposed approach.

Krell's voice boomed from behind them, sharp and without pause.

"All platoons will execute a forward assault along the main route to the city."

Rex turned to meet him, expression taut. "But, sir—General Skywalker's plan was to surprise them with multiple attacks. If we come in from the main route, they're likely to engage us in a full frontal assault."

Zhara narrowed her eyes. "He's right. There's too much open ground—we'll be cut down before we breach the perimeter."

Krell didn't even glance at her.

"Change of plans, Captain. I'm in command now."

"With all due respect, General," Rex said, voice tight but controlled, "we don't know what we're up against. It might be wiser to think first—"

"Are you questioning my order?"

Zhara tensed beside Rex, but this time she said nothing—though the glare she fixed on Krell was laced with venom.

"This battalion will take the main road straight to the capital," Krell continued, his tone growing more aggressive with every word. "You will not stop, and you will not turn back, regardless of the resistance you meet."

"We will attack them with all our troops—not some sneak attack with a few men. That is my order. And you will follow it implicitly."

He took a step closer, towering over them both.

"Do I make myself clear, CT-7567?"

Rex's jaw locked. "Yes, General."

A beat of silence passed, cold and weighted.

"Now, engage!"

Krell swept away toward the command line, leaving behind the crackling tension of two minds at odds with blind obedience. Zhara turned to Rex, barely keeping her voice steady.

"This is suicide."

"I know," he muttered. "But we don't have a choice."

Zhara's gaze drifted to the men, already forming ranks and preparing to advance.

"We always have a choice."

Then she pulled her hood up and moved to flank the line—just as the march began again.

(Chapter 5 - coming soon)

[aceinhyperspace]

SUN KILLER LULLABY

SUMMARY: In the final days of the Clone Wars, Ahsoka Tano struggles to protect the shattered remains of her family. Her brothers, the clones, are falling faster than she can save them, and each loss tears away at her. Anakin, too, is slipping away, their bond twisted by an unsettling darkness that threatens to consume them both. On Mandalore, with enemies pressing in and the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders, Ahsoka is forced to confront a harsh truth: some battles aren’t meant to be won—only survived.

RATING: M

PAIRINGS: GEN

WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Character Death, visit A03 for the full list of tags

CHAPTER I: TELL ME THE WAVES WON'T RISE SUMMARY: Old bonds are reforged, and visions are shared. CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 6.2 K

You’re not home, Ahsoka reminds herself, ignoring the swoop of emotions in her chest. She’s surrounded in the Force by the warmth of the soldiers around her, not the least Rex and Anakin. Rex glows with pride, the newly painted orange and white helmet held gently between his gloves as she trails her hands over it. Anakin wears a small smirk, mischievous and self-satisfied. He’s been projecting unease ever since she landed on the Negotiator, stepping around her cautiously, tripping over his words. Only by presenting her a company in her own colors do his turbulent emotions settle. Behind Ahsoka, twinned relief and excitement emanates from the small contingent of clone officers, but especially from the ones she knows well. Vaughn is at perfect attention, his energy calm and balanced, but incredibly pleased to see her. Kes and Lion are radiating delight, barely holding their salutes. Prim and Finch feel nearly as animated. Jesse stands over her right shoulder, the ARC Trooper an unshakably warm presence that settles in the back of her skull. She’s missed this, the easy comradery of her siblings, her vode. The last time she saw most of this group had been on the Resolute, well before the Temple bombing. She spent weeks wondering if they blamed her for leaving the Order without saying goodbye... Even if they had, any lingering resentment has been replaced with infectious joy at seeing her safe and back amongst them. You’re not back and you are not home, she chides, pulling herself back to the present. In Anakin’s hands there is a lightsaber box. Her lightsabers. Her throat closes, unruly emotions getting the best of her. She reaches out, long fingers coming to rest on the carved wood.

CONTINUE READING ON AO3

[mwolf0epsilon]

You said Fives got busy while on the run. What did he get up to?

Well, firstly he had to get himself some medical attention...

Which is easier said than done, since his face was plastered all over wanted posters (that show his very distinct tattoo), and because there's a lot of anti-clone hostility in certain levels of Coruscant (the upper-levels are generally safer because there's regular patrols keeping things in check, but the lower levels are nothing if not deadly for a lone clone that doesn't know where to go or hide).

Lucky for him, Fives DOES have allies willing to lend him a hand (even if he doesn't know it).

Some of the people and businesses that have established a mutually beneficial relationship with the Coruscant Guard have noticed their recent decline, and have taken it upon themselves to try to keep tabs on them and whatever they get up to (this support system has intervened in various incidents where patrolmen would have been easily killed if not for their help, but unfortunately they can't always get there on time). As soon as the bounty on Fives's head was placed, they (knowing the Guard would do anything to protect a brother) quickly realize something is extremely off about the situation and take matters into their own hands.

Fives barely has time to register being dragged off from the streets into an alley, before he's sedated and transported somewhere where he's looked after until he's able to think coherently again.

After getting medical attention, Fives decides to look further into the inhibitor chips and gather more evidence to present to the Jedi (unaware that Rex & Kix and Anakin & Obi-wan, are already looking into the matter as well and starting to connect the dots).

One thing leads to another, and Fives ends up back on Kamino (seeing as that's the more reliable source of solid proof he can think of, even if it is super risky) only to come across some unexpected surprises in the form of two and a half reconned troopers (the third having not been fully reconned yet).

The two troopers who were fully reconned still have their chips, while the one who's still undergoing the process doesn't have his. That's good enough evidence. So long as he can figure out how to decode them, he can finally hand in two pristine inhibitor chips to the Jedi and prove that the conspiracy is an actual ongoing plot.

Imagine Fives's surprise when he returns and shit has already hit the proverbial fan for Palpatine...

Fives Bean is more disappointed than he is about the two of them not being the ones to swoop in and finish what they started, but the disappointment doesn't last long because Echo returns not too long after and the reunion is very sweet!