#commanderfoxweek2021

[amikoroyaiart]

Commander Fox Week - Day 7: Brothers | Hug

group pic with Croissant bois <3 

[flybynite19]

Loyalty

[mandoposting]

“Come on, Sheev, get 'em!”

A quick thing for Day 4 of Commander Fox Week 2021 - Laughter. Inspired by the rewrite of Bezos I that @parkotedarasuum and I’s rotted brains came up with, which you can read under the cut :)

Nabooian senator

Born in BBY 84

Sheev

Sheev Palpatine

Nabooian senator

Born in BBY 84

Sheev

Sheev Palpatine

Come on, Sheevy, you can do it

Pave the way, put your back into it

Tell us why

Show us how

Look at where you came from

Look at you now

Or-gana and Mas and Padme

Amateurs can fucking suck it

Fuck their wives, drink their blood

Come on, Sheev, get 'em!

[*Sick synth solo*]

Reference:

Taglist: @ct-9904, @xviii-themoon, @twisted-falcon, @findhimfives, @the-dreamy-space, @fake-fullbuster, @parkotedarasuum, @beckettsmeckett, @icanbringyouincold, @limeyartspinningtales, @persaloodles, @puirell, @dagobahbound, @a-disaster-named-milo, @ahsoka1, @1-or-a-0 dm/send me an ask if you'd like to be added/removed (again im not sure who wants to be tagged in just oc stuff or other art so... lmk)

@loving-fox-hours

[stand-up-and-screamo]

Day 1 of Commander Fox Week 2021 - Exhaustion

@loving-fox-hours

Better late than never, right? Anyway, this is the first digital art I've done, also the first clone actually wearing armour, so I hope you guys like it <3

[poisonedyouth]

Commander Fox Week 2021, Day 1 - Exhaustion

@loving-fox-hours

He's just so fed up with snobby senators, and in desperate need of some caf

[shadowmaat]

Cmdr. Fox Week Day 6: Caring

Look, Fox deserves all the fluff and I am here to provide it. @loving-fox-hours

The Care and Feeding of Commander Fox

Fox was on a routine and thankfully uneventful patrol of the halls of the Senate when he noticed someone coming towards him. They were short, bipedal, covered in marbled grey fur, and had six arms, two sets of which were currently crossed over their chest. They were also wearing a purple tooka romper, so he hazarded a guess that they were a juvenile.

He stopped as the presumed juvenile stomped up to him, thrust all six arms in the air, and made a buzzing clicky sound. Fox didn't need a translator to figure out that command.

"Are you lost?" He bent to pick up the young harch- for that's what they had to be, especially with the six red eyes- and settled them against his hip.

A derisive clicking and a firm shake of the head. So either they weren't lost or refused to admit it. He sent a message off to Sergeant Rattle, letting her know what he'd found. If a frantic parent or guardian called in looking for a missing youngling, Rattle could reassure them and let him know where to go.

"I'm Commander Fox," he said, in case the armor wasn't enough indication he was a Safe Grownup. "Do you want me to take you back to your guardian?" he asked, checking the hallway just in case this turned out to be a short exercise.

Another headshake and the harch mashed their face against his chestplate, making a keening sound that made his teeth hurt.

"Right, no guardian, then," he said. What the frip was a harchling doing running around the Senate, anyway? Last he'd heard Secundus Ando was still firmly Separatist, so they wouldn't have a senator here.

"How about something to eat?"

This, at least, got a pleased warble, although they kept their face pressed into his chest. The upper set of arms hooked around his neck, the middle set had tiny claws hooked around the edge of his armor plate, and the last set clung to the arm that was holding them.

"I'm afraid the Guard mess isn't very exciting," he said as he made a turn to head in that direction. "Our rations are geared for humans, but they should be safe for you as well."

He was pulling up everything he could about harch dietary habits, which seemed to go heavy on liquid proteins and meat rather than live bugs as he'd been half afraid would be the case.

A bubbling hiss as the harch shook their head and pointed one three-fingered hand in the other direction. Towards the visitors cafe. Fox snorted.

"Sorry, kid, but if you're with me, it's the Guard mess or nothing. We aren't allowed in the places real people go. Might offend them with our stench."

He said it like a joke, but it was true enough. Rich folk like the Senators and their guests hated being confronted by commoners, and by their reckoning clones were a step down from that. Or several.

The harchling made a show of sniffing him, still pointing the way to the cafe. When it was clear Fox wasn't going to obey their simple instruction, they started to wriggle.

Fox had done his share of creche-work back on Kamino and had even volunteered a time or two at the Jedi Temple, but none of it compared struggling with an eight-limbed mini-tyrant intent on getting what they wanted. They started an oscillating whine and were starting to draw unwanted attention.

He flipped on his internal comm. "Rattle, what in the Storms-cursed hells is taking so long?"

"Oh! Commander!" Rattle sounded surprised. "Uh, is everything alright? I mean, no one's reported any missing children yet, but you'll be the first to know, sir!"

Fox grunted as he took a well-placed foot, or possibly fist, to the stomach.

"But there is, uh, news!"

Rattle sounded odd, but Fox was too busy struggling to hold on to figure it out. He'd stopped walking and was seriously debating how much trouble he'd be in if he just dropped the kid.

"Turns out there's a celebrity visiting today! You know Bivi? Silken queen of the pop charts? She's here to be thanked for-"

"Why the frip weren't we told?" Fox snarled. He turned and started heading in the direction the harchling demanded. Hells, for all he knew, they were saying that's where their caretaker was.

"Funny thing about that," Rattle started.

"Never mind! Just- see if we can get some of the Guard in her detail. Shadow 'em if you have to, but I don't want any reports to say we snubbed some fancy-damned superstar." He didn't quite sneer the last word, but it was close.

"Yessir," Rattle said. "If I hear anything more, I'll let you know!"

There was that weird note in her voice again, but before he could ask her about it, the comm disconnected. He glanced down at the harchling, who'd gone docile again once they saw he was heading in the right direction.

"Fine, kid," he said, switching to his outer comm again. "We'll do it your way, but I hope you're okay with eating alone."

He wasn't honestly sure either of them would be allowed in since he couldn't provide a name or sponsor for the harchling, but if their guardian or caretaker was indeed in there at least it'd solve half his problems. Then he could concentrate on the nightmare of some ditzy singer running loose without a Guard presence.

Sure enough, as they approached the entrance to the cafe a silvery protocol droid stepped into the doorway.

"I beg your pardon, Sir and Mx," it said, "but the Freedom Cafe is off limits to non-members."

Disdain dripped from its tone. If it had more of a nose it definitely would have been looking down it at them.

"Do you see who you're looking for?" Fox asked.

The harchling turned a bit to face the droid and began to talk. It was full of whistles and clicks, and when they finally stopped, the lights in the droid's eyes actually blinked as it took a step back, bowing.

"My most profound apologies, Your Ladyship! Of course you and your Noble Guardian are most welcome!"

It bowed again, moving aside and gesturing for them to enter.

"If there's anything Your Ladyship requires, please, don't hesitate to ask!"

Fox looked down at the harchling, who gave him a squinty-eyed look in return. How something with six eyes, fur, and mandibles could radiate smugness like that was beyond him, but there was no doubt that's exactly what they- what she- was doing.

"Your Ladyship, huh?" He moved past the droid, taking a quick look around the room as he made his way to the serving line. "Something you want to tell me?"

She chirped at him, her tone inquisitive, and all her eyes wide in an unconvincing display of innocence. He huffed.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

For a species that was supposed to prefer a liquid diet, the harchling seemed happy enough to stock up on steak and shellfish. After some argument he convinced her to take some vegetables as well, then she returned the favor by insisting he pick food for himself.

There were a few visiting dignitaries sitting on the far side of the room as well as a gaggle of aides making a mess and swapping horror stories about their senators. Nothing he hadn't heard before. He'd set the harchling down so he could carry both their trays and she strutted along behind him as if she owned the place. Knowing his luck, she probably did.

He picked a quiet table shielded by plants with a nice view of the air traffic outside and set the trays down. Her Ladyship climbed into a chair on her own and stared at him until he sat.

It was a good thing that there was no one here to see him being ordered around by a toddler. He'd been in far more humiliating situations and unlike other times he wasn't afraid to tell her "no," but, well, sometimes it was easier to just go along with whatever was happening and younglings were one of his biggest weaknesses. At least the ones who weren't malicious demonspawn like their parents.

Fox pulled his helmet off and set it on the empty chair beside him. He still had his wrist comm if there was an emergency and Rattle kept "dropping" his calls as if it wasn't blatant she was doing it. The squad channel was full of the usual chatter, so while he was suspicious, he wasn't worried something was wrong.

He ate his burger and "truffle fries," savoring every bite and trying not to think about how much worse rations were going to taste after this. He also did his best to ignore the unpleasant crunching sounds from his companion. Apparently harch could eat shellfish whole.

He accepted what pieces she offered him and caught every attempt she made to hide her vegetables, making sure she ate all of it.

It was the best meal he'd had in his entire life, and he hoped that whoever she was- or whoever her parent might be- that they wouldn't find a way to reverse the charge to his account instead.

While he was brooding over how to get her back where she belonged, she gabbled at a passing serving droid, who sped off only to return with a couple of plates sporting enormous slices of chocolate cake.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he said.

The harchling pointed her fork at him and whistle-clicked at him, waiting. He could refuse; he'd been more than reasonably accommodating and even a clone had to draw a line somewhere, but... it was chocolate cake. With at least two inches of chocolate frosting and a dollop of what was undoubtedly real whipped cream slowly melting over it.

He picked up his fork and took a bite. Flavor exploded in his mouth and he closed his eyes to savor the moment. He heard a chirp and the clatter of a fork on china that meant his tiny abductor had joined him.

"What is the point of all this?" He asked between bites. "You're clearly more capable than you pretend and if you really needed help it sounds like the droids here can actually understand you."

The harchling tilted her head, making an inquiring chirp. There was frosting smeared around her mandibles.

Fox gave her a level look. "Just because I'm a clone doesn't mean I'm an idiot, miss." He sent a silent prayer to the Great Seas that he wasn't setting himself up for a reprimand by talking back.

The harchling put down her fork and reached across the table toward him, taking his free hand in both of her upper ones and stroking it. She crooned softly, which wasn't much of an answer but did feel like an apology.

One of her middle hands came up, clutching a small stuffed toy, and pushed it across the table. He put down his own fork to pick up the toy, which looked like a well-loved yellow harch.

"I don't understand," he said, checking to see if it had a name or ID on it.

The harchling brought her middle hands together and tilted her head against them, closing her eyes.

Fox's mind reeled. "You... want me to take a nap?" He couldn't quite believe it. He'd had a lot of strange days in the Guard, but this was borderline surreal.

The harchling opened her eyes and nodded, but before he could respond there was a commotion at the door.

He was up and shielding the harchling before he'd made a conscious choice to move. Cam droids hovered in the air and he recognized a couple of reporters backing into the room, peppering someone with questions.

Then the "someone" stepped in and he felt his stomach drop.

It was another harch. They had ghostly white fur that glittered under the flashbulbs and startling blue eyes. They were wearing a shimmering black dress and carefully-fitted matching boots.

The harchling behind him gave a piercing whistle and hopped to his shoulder and he struggled to secure her, heart hammering wildly as all attention focused on him.

Several camdroids buzzed over and Kilsa Rumano, whom he'd had the misfortune to encounter several times already, looked like she'd just been handed a leading headline. She probably had. He could imagine the headline: Clone Commander Kidnaps Child.

The white harch, however, tossed two sets of arms theatrically in the air. "Ferra, my niblet! There you are!"

The crowd around them parted as the harch glided across the room in their direction, trailing reporters, attendants, and- yes- two guardsmen in her wake. It must be Bivi, the singer Rattle had warned him about. He was completely fripped.

"I see you found a dashing Guard Captain to watch over you," Bivi continued. "Well done!"

"Not just any Commander, mum," Ferra said in perfect Basic. "This is Commander Fox!"

Fox's neck wrenched painfully as he twisted his head to stare down at her. She grinned up at him, mandibles wagging.

"You..." He couldn't form words. At least not ones that were safe to say in current company.

She reached up to pat his cheek, leaving little smears of frosting.

"Commander Fox." The clicks in Bivi's voice almost sounded like purring. "Just the man I wanted to see!"

The next bit of time passed in a blur of praise from Bivi, questions from the reporters, and commentary from Ferra, who was acting as if he'd saved her from certain death.

It turned out that Bivi was in the Senate to accept a special thank you from the Chancellor for some charity fund she'd apparently organized for the clones. That really must have stuck in his craw, Fox thought. She'd wanted to meet whatever troopers she could find- including the Guard- but had been told they were all "too busy." Hence sending Ferra out to find one.

Ferra was the equivalent of around seven, but very mature for her age, and knew how to use that to her advantage. She decided he seemed overworked and endeavored to treat him the best way that she could.

The "plight" of the clones was mentioned to the eagerly listening reporters, and Bivi had some harsh criticisms of the Senate- and Palpatine in particular- that Fox knew would come back to bite him in the ass, but he was a little overwhelmed at that point.

The shaking shoulders of the two guardsmen in the back of the room and the flowery apology from Rattle told him that Ferra wasn't the only one who'd set him up for this.

Bivi had piles of merchandise for him to distribute among the Guard and any other interested brothers. She also handed him a stack of tickets for her show later that evening, and as she handed them to him one of her clawed fingers tapped against an off-colored card mixed in with the tickets.

Ferra gave him a chocolaty kiss on the cheek and thanked him for his help, mumbling an apology for tricking him. Her mother kissed him as well, thanked him, and whispered in his ear that more help was always available as long as he knew where to look.

It took awhile to get everyone herded back out into the hall and for once Fox was grateful for the snobbishness of the cafe droids, who were not above mildly electrocuting reporters to get them out of the way.

Since Bivi and her entourage were on their way out Fox corralled the two guardsmen, Divot and Banger, into helping him carry their gifted haul back to the office.

"Breathe one word and you're both on Sewer Inspection for a month," he growled.

They saluted, but he could tell they were still laughing behind their helmets. Good help was hard to find. Between them and the traitorous Rattle, the sewers were going to be safer than ever.

Once safely locked in his office, he inspected the concert tickets. In among the front-row tickets was a slip of paper with a string of numbers and a four digit code.

Just in case the Chancellor forgets to pass this along.

- Bivi

It was the Support Our Troops account she'd been raising money for. Fox didn't dare take a look, not yet.

In among the t-shirts, bags, branded glowsticks, and other Bivi-related paraphernalia were some encrypted comms, datapads, and some top-of-the-line jammers. Fox breathed out slowly, wondering exactly what he was getting into with this. Maybe it was time to comm Cody. Chances were he was the intended recipient anyway. After all, why would a famous pop star care about him in particular? He never made the holonews like Cody did.

He reached up to touch the spot where she'd kissed him and his fingers came away Corrie Crimson. Kriff. He checked his reflection in a datapad and saw two odd marks on his cheeks; one larger crimson one and a smaller black one. Kriff kriff kriff. Maybe he'd wind up on the holonews after all. Or at least, most definitely, the tabloids.

Sewer Inspection duty wasn't severe enough. He'd need to think up something worse.

[countessofbiscuit]

Commander Fox reviews footage of the Cold Spear Peace … for work, of course.

A few creative liberties taken, but I think Fox would be so enamoured of Senator Chuchi by this point, and very proud of her diplomacy. Five-foot-nothing and marched up singly to a mounted hostile force … she’d never make a pikeman, but she stood fast upon the snow.

For Commander Fox Week - Day 6: Victory | Caring

@loving-fox-hours

[kkrazy256]

“ i thought i lost you. ” with my fav bros Fox and Thorn? <3 (all the sentences are soooo good)

Hey Amiko <3 Hope you don't mind that I used this prompt for CommanderFoxWeek @loving-fox-hours

Title: Redemption Inside the Grave

Prompt(s): Day 2: Hope | Forgiveness, "I thought I lost you"

Warnings: None

Characters: Commander Fox and Commander Thorn

Additional Tags: Post- Scipio, Commander Fox Needs a Hug

Word Count: 1821

[On Ao3]

The amount of datawork that sits on Fox’s desk after a mission is usually a good indicator of how it went. 

Good missions start with stacks of blueprints, detailed strategies, and the files of his best troops. These missions end with minimal thanks (it’s expected, it’s what they’re made for. What need is there to show gratitude?), and most troopers on the file with their status update still green and labeled functioning. There isn't much datawork for these types of missions. 

Bad missions start hurried by time and Senators, with minimal preparation, and not enough vode (never enough vode). They end with everyone important mad. Mad at him (of course, who else? He deserves it. He deserves it all. He fucked up. He’s always fucking up). It ends with spitting insults about incompetence and hurling threats of decommissioning. But none of it hurts. At least it never hurts more than the blocks of red (deceased) on the files he has to read through and sign off on. These missions end with more vode coming back in bodybags than on their feet, and Fox can’t help but think, I did that to them.  

The worst missions? It’s the ones where he wakes up underwater, a weight heavier than an anvil over his chest, stealing every breath and pushing him deeper and deeper into the dark. Missions where he does things he doesn’t fully comprehend beyond I followed my orders, I am a good soldier. Only to look back and think, is he?  

It’s holding up his blaster with still hands and perfect calm. It’s taking deadly aim even when he sees the resignation in Rex’s eyes and feels nothing. Nothing until the body hits the floor and he can’t take his own helmet off to pay respects because what right does he have? Because his hands are finally starting to shake, the weight of his actions hitting all at once and dragging him to the bottom of the ocean floor. 

But this, 

Fox looks down at the stack of datapads on his desk. The room is dark, the desk lamp unplugged and on the ground. There are no windows. The air is stuffy and stagnant; he wonders if they are cleaning the vents again. 

The top datapad lights up when he lifts it. The halo of blue illuminates his immediate area. The helmet sitting at the corner looks purple, the visor staring back at him like a void. Every time he blinks, it burns from somewhere behind his eyes. Fox doesn’t remember the last time he truly slept. (Before the ARC trooper, before Scipio —) 

It’s a mission summary report, written hastily enough for there to be a few typos. It’s short, barely a few paragraphs long, and his eyes glide over the words without retaining anything. His focus is on the attached list of updated statuses.

It’s all red. Red Red Red Red.

He thinks these types of missions are even worse than the ones where he doesn’t have control. 

 Red Red Red.

These missions should not end like this. They go prepared, they go with their best. 

Red Red Red.

So why do they end like this?

Red Red Red —

Green. 

The stack of datapads shift slightly, and the desk trembles as a shadow settles on the edge.

“If it breaks, I’m stealing your desk.” He pinches the bridge of his nose hard, and the throbbing ebbs away into something dull. 

“Does that mean you’ll do my datawork too?” Thorn’s voice is light and teasing, but something’s off. He leans forward to pick up the helmet and the blue lights up his face. His eyes are tired, but the crinkling around the edges always betray his mirth. There’s no crinkling there right now; Thorn just looks exhausted. His hands turn the helmet around, fingers tracing over the painted wings on the temples. 

“I’ll do it for Scipio.” Fox blurts out, and the fingers pause. 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I do,” Fox doesn’t know why he does, but there’s something pressing in the back of his brain, telling him that he shouldn’t let Thorn do it, “you should get some rest. Remedy would kick your sheb if he finds out you came here instead of to medbay.” 

“Well, you don’t have to snitch.” Thorn sniffs and Fox shakes his head with a scoff. He picks up the stylus to start going over the report in detail.

A gloved hand lands on the corner of the datapad, and Fox looks up. Thorn’s eyes reflect the blue glow, flickering to read the upside-down words. 

“Hawk found me.” Thorn whispers.

Fox remembers the pilot during one of the 501st’s shore leaves. Thorn’s batchmate is slightly more serious than Thorn himself, but they share the same air of wild freedom, unable to be tied down. He remembers them taking off their helmets with matching grins, showing him their twin emblazoned wings. 

“How’d he look?”

“Horrified. Scared.” Thorn’s laugh is humorless, “I thought he was going to kill me himself if I wasn’t a—.....it wasn’t pretty, Fox.” he swallows hard, “there wasn’t much we could do.” 

“...You went with less than two platoons. None of us were expecting the level of activity you got.” 

The hand pulls back, leather creaking under the pressure of a clenched fist, “I lost them all, ori’vod.” 

“But you’re here.” Fox places his own hand over Thorn’s. Everything feels cold, “I...it’s not your fault.” 

“I think if any fingers are to be pointed, it would be towards the commanding officer during the mission, Fox. Which would be me.” 

“You weren’t supposed to be the one leading Scipio.” Fox snarls and the aftermath of his outburst echoes through the room. He takes a shuddering breath.

“I was.”

“Fox…”

The air gets stuck in his lungs, and he kneads his palms into his eyes hard enough to see sparks behind the lids. 

Scipio was supposed to be his mission. But he was—still is, a complete and utter wreck. After the incident with the ARC trooper, he hadn’t had a chance to stop. It became a blur of meetings. With the Chancellor, with Skywalker, with Rex, with his Guard. All with little variation. Everyone just wanted to know, what happened?  

And Fox didn’t have a good answer for any of them.  

He’s so tired.

And Thorn had found him in his office then, just as he did now. He had found Fox sitting at his desk with the stylus in a death grip, staring at plans and contingencies. Found him running on fumes that not even caf could fix at that point. Found Fox in his arms immediately to steady him when he stood and started careening to the side. 

I fucked up, Thorn. I fucked up so bad. 

I’ll go to Scipio. We’ll talk more when I get back, alright? Please get some rest, ori’vod. Please.

And Fox had agreed. Because he was tired.

Tired of seeing the ARC trooper’s bone-white armor out of the corner of his eye every time he started to slip. Tired of the Chancellor’s oily praise for a job well done in killing a vod for the Republic. Tired of Skywalker’s needling curiosity. Tired of Rex not blaming him. Tired of everyone telling him, it’s—

“Fox, it’s not your fault.” Thorn’s words from before the mission mesh with the words that Thorn’s repeating right now. 

“Well, who’s is it then?” Fox snaps, slamming his palms back down on the desk. His vision blurs with random patterns from the prolonged darkness, and Thorn’s image swims in front of him. He had gotten about an hour of unconsciousness before his comm beeped with urgent matters from the Chancellor. He’s been on his feet ever since. 

He should’ve just stole some stims and gone to Scipio. 

“Why aren’t you all angry?” He continues, the plastic of the datapad strains under his grip, “not you, not Stone, not Thire. Not—” He stutters, “not Rex. None of you are, and I don’t understand .” 

“Why do you want us to be, Fox?” 

He falters, heart stuck in his throat. It beats erratically and his stomach turns. 

If they’re mad, there’s something to work with. He can apologize (even if it means absolutely nothing). Amends can be made (how. You fucking bastard, how?) He can fix it. He has to fix it. 

How?

“You want us to be angry because you’re angry with yourself.” Thorn sets his helmet down, leaning forward to study Fox with dark eyes that see through his very core. 

His lips curl upwards.

“Oh, ori’vod. You want us to forgive you.” 

There are tears in Thorn’s eyes. (Or are they his own?) 

Thorn’s forehead presses against his, and Fox presses back with a sobbing exhale. 

“You already have it. We’re not the ones you’re looking for forgiveness from.” 

 A strand of long hair slips from Thorn’s ponytail and brushes against his cheek. It hits Fox with a sudden urge for how things used to be. Back when the war had only just started, and they were all shiny and thought things would get better. Back when he had enough time and energy to sit in the command lounge and braid Thorn’s hair clumsily. 

Hound’s better at this than I am, you know.

Mmm, yeah but I want my ori’vod to braid my hair.

Spoiled little kih’vod. 

“I thought I lost you.” He manages between hitched keening breaths ( when had he started to break down? Just now? Months ago? Two years ago?) 

“I’m never gone, ori’vod.” Thorn hums, reaching up to squeeze the back of his neck. It’s so cold, “Just marching—” 

Far away. 

The door to his office opens, and Fox jumps back. 

“...You alright, Fox?” Stone stands at the entrance, a datapad in his hand. 

Fox blinks, glancing down at the one in his own hands.

The list of troopers stares back, every name in red.

The Separatist Blockade was successfully broken through. Senator Padmé Amidala was safely extracted from Scipio under the command of Jedi General Anakin Skywalker and the 501st Legion. 

No other Republic survivors were extracted. Recovery efforts have been approved and engaged. 

 — CT-4991 (Hawk) 

“Fox?” 

“...What is it?” 

“The recovery mission on Scipio just returned. We’re heading to the crematorium right now.” Stone shifts on his feet, “you coming?” 

“...Yeah.” Fox reaches for the helmet on his desk, red and black without any wings. His eyes feel crusty and swollen. At this point, he has no idea if they’re even open and seeing the right things anymore. 

He’s so tired.

Fox slips the helmet on and stands. The world spins, and he bites his tongue hard enough to taste blood. He walks towards Stone. 

“You sure you’re alright? I could have Thire take the next shift. He’s—” Stone’s breath hitches, “he’s up for promotion now anyway.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Fox says as he passes his Second, stepping out into the hallway.

He’ll be fine.

/

<3

[ao3]  if you wish to drop a kudo/comment :) 

[loving-fox-hours]

Commander Fox Week 2021

Commander Fox Week is an Art and Writing Challenge that was created because Fox needs more love. It takes place in the week from the 9th to 15th August 2021.

You want to participate? The rules are simple:

1. Post your work on Tumblr and tag it with #CommanderFoxWeek2021 and @ me in the post. I will reblog it here. You can also post a link to your work if you posted it on another website.

2. Please tag your work! Use appropriate tags and warnings.

3.  If anyone wants to do clonecest, I ask you to put a warning (that counts for everything sensitive) before your work and then put a read-more link after that so anyone that doesn’t want to be exposed to that kind of content can easily skip it. If you don’t do this I can’t reblog it.

4. All general rules are stated in the pinned post on this blog and apply to this event. That post also includes a suggestion as to how to format your post for anyone who struggles with that. You do not need to use that format, but your post structure must be in order with the rules.

5. Choose one (or both, if you want to) of the prompts for every day and be creative. Ships or no ships, everything is welcome :)

If you have any questions you can send asks or DMs

 The Prompts:

Day 1- Loyal | Exhaustion

Day 2- Hope | Forgiveness

Day 3- Family | Time Travel

Day 4- Bonding | Laughter

Day 5- Recovery | Vode An

Day 6- Victory | Caring

Day 7- Brothers | Hug

[karlyanalora]

Prompt(s): Day 2 Hope

Warnings: N/A

Summary/Description:  Hope is a dangerous thing, but Fox finds it creeping in despite his efforts. He blames the kids. (A potential scene in Speak for the Silent)

Hope is a dangerous thing.

It makes you reckless and foolish, pursuing things the rest of reality says is pointless. It causes you to look to the future, to make plans, to expect something better than today. Hope makes the evil in the world all the more glaring and convinces you things can change, that maybe you can be that change.

Hope is a luxury Fox can’t afford. And yet…

As he sits in a room surrounded by Jedi younglings, a small bandage on the side of his head where his chip had been removed, he feels the stirrings of that dangerous feeling.

The words of kind Jedi and brave senators ring in his ears. We know the Chancellor is a Sith Lord, they say, and we’ll find the evidence to arrest him as the traitor he is. Just you wait and see. You and your brothers will be free.

There are a million mountains to cross between now and that promised arrest. If Palpatine has covered his tracks until now, why do they think they can catch him now? But Fox finds himself believing they will.

Damn hope, damn it to the Pit and back. He can’t afford to be caught in its trap.

Peals of laughter bring him out of his thoughts as he watches the Wookie youngling toss a smaller Nautolan above his head and a Tholothian girl catches him with the Force. A younger Dathormirain youngling watches from the sidelines, not quite ready to join the fun.

A few minutes later they’re sitting in a circle, answering the question “If I wasn’t a Jedi, I’d be…”

A Rodian girl looks to him and asks, “Commander, if you weren’t a soldier, what would you be?”

Fox blinks at her. He’s never thought about that. He just assumed he’d always be at war. Once this one ends, they’d freeze him and wake him up for the next.

The Dathomirian boy speaks up for the first time. “Fox will be a father, a grandfather, and a great-grandfather.”

Fox gapes at him. That...that was beyond his wildest dreams. Imagine him living long enough to have grandchildren, much less great-grandchildren! Could that really happen?

The Rodian girl beams. “Yes! Imagine lots of mini commanders running around.”

“A daughter” Fox blurts out, and he’s not sure what prompts him to say that. But now that it’s been said, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. “I’d have a daughter, and I’d name her Breha.”

The Wookie child growled something. “Gungi wants to know what she’d look like,” the Nautolan translates.

Fox shrugs. “I don’t care; she could be a Genoisan and it wouldn’t matter. She’d be mine and I’d love her.”

The kids nodded and launched back into their conversation. He watched them, confused by the funny warm feeling in his chest. Soon they started playing Lift the Feather where the children lifted a feather off a bench using the Force.

Fox smiled. “Hey, I think I could do that.”

They all gave him a funny look. He got up and walked to where the feather was resting on a pillar. He closed his eyes, held out his hands, and…

Popped his head under the edge of the feather and blew up. Sure enough, the feather floated off the pillar farther than anyone had managed yet.

“That’s cheating!” the human boy protested.

Fox grinned. “No, it isn't. The only rule was no touching it. I didn't touch it.”

The boy opened his mouth to protest but he was interrupted by another voice.

“Correct, Commander Fox is," Yoda said as he entered the room. "Named aptly he is. Learn from him how to think creatively, you should. Off to your lessons for now.”

Fox watched them go, the warmth in his chest growing, especially as the two girls stopped to wave at him. Perhaps hope wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

[gaeasun]

I’ll Rest When I’m Dead

Commander Fox Week 2021

Prompt(s): Forgiveness (out of order but whatever)

Warnings: Major Character death (don't worry its not really sad)

Relationships: Fox & Thorn, Fox & Fives

Characters: Fox, Vader, Fives, Thorn, tiny little bit of Dogma and Tup

Additional Tags: I’m pulling a Risk Riordan, Fox needs a hug, Fox needs a nap, and he gets BOTH. Fox gets closure. Clone Heaven, hurt comfort but more comfort than hurt for once

Summary/Description:  CC-1010 is killed by Vader. Fox wakes up and sees brothers he’d never thought he’d see again

@loving-fox-hours @amikoroyai cause it’s Fox related

“You have failed me for the last time, Commander.”

Vader reached out his hand, towards Fox, who never had a choice or a chance, who stood helpless while his neck jerked of his own accord.

A single crack sounded, and Commander Fox slumped to the ground, lifeless.

No one who was there mourned. No one could.

*****

Fox opened his eyes. Strange. He could have sworn he was dead.

Then everything came rushing in, more clear than in years. Fox shot up and began hyperventilating.

“Woah there vod. Easy.”

That voice… the slightest inflection that Fox was able to pick out from the rest. Something Fox had never though he’d hear again.

“Th-Thorn?”

“Yeah, vod. Come on, breathe. You’re safe.”

“I’m dead,” Fox choked out. “I, Vader, he-”

“Shhh,” Thorn said soothingly, and hugged Fox close. “Yeah, you marched on. But hey, nothing worse can happen now. You’re safe, vod, I promise.”

Fox panted into Thorn’s shoulder, until his breathing slowed and he’d stopped panicking. Which happened faster than usual.

“Thorn,” he said suddenly.

“Yeah?” “Thorn.”

Fox sprang up and tackled Thorn. “You slimy son of a shabuir, if you ever do anything like that again, I will having scrubbing the refreshers until-”

“Until what?” Thorn said all too cheekily.

Until the day you die, Fox was going to say. That didn’t exactly work here.

So he just tackled Thorn and pinned him to the ground, and draped himself over him.

“I missed you too,” Thorn said, from underneath Fox. Fox grunted.

After some time, Fox rolled to the side and allowed Thorn to breathe (did they need to breathe?). Thorn flopped an arm across Fox’s chest.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Thorn laughed. “Not that I wanted you to die, but you know how you’d always say, ‘I’ll rest when I’m dead’?”

“I’m dead, why do I need to sleep?” Fox pointed out.

Thorn groaned. “Because you can you di’kut. You finally can rest. No more paperwork, no more working yourself under the waves trying to help everyone around you.”

“No more Palpatine?” Fox said softly.

Thorn flinched, then shook himself. “No more Palpatine,” he promised. “Now come on. You’re taking a nap.”

Standing, Thorn offered a hand to Fox. He accepted, and let Thorn lead them deeper into the forest. Why were they in a forest? Fox had no idea. He’d never even seen a forest. It was nice.

Too nice. In all honesty, it didn’t feel real.

Fox froze.

“What’s wrong?” Thorn tilted his head.

“This can’t be real,” Fox whispered. “It’s too nice. I never get nice. This is all some crazy dream, isn’t it?”

Thorn sighed. “This is real Fox. I’m real. You’re here. Just please, sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

Fox had already let his mind wander. He numbly moved with Thorn to a large and gnarled tree, where Thorn sat down and pulled Fox down with him.

“Sleep, ori’vod. You’re safe now.”

It went against Fox’s instincts, but he so badly wanted to believe Thorn, he closed his eyes and let Thorns warm presence lull him into sleep.

*****

When Fox opened his eyes, he felt refreshed like he hadn’t in a long time. Night had fallen, but light from a large moon above gave enough visibility in their surroundings.

Thorn stirred underneath him. “How you doing?” he yawned.

“This is real,” Fox’s voice trembled. “This is too good to be a dream. I don’t have good dreams.”

“Aw vod.” Thorn sounded so sad. “Come on. Let’s go find the others. They’re probably at the fires now.” Others?

All the shinies he’d failed, all the brothers he’d watch march on. Here.

“I can’t do this.” Fox found himself hyperventilating again. “I can’t, can’t face them. I let them down, I let them die.”

“You did all you could, and more Fox. Please. Let them tell you that they don’t blame you.”

Fox wanted Wolffe or Cody so badly. But they weren’t here, were they? They were still fighting. Or still trapped in their own heads, more likely. Fox’s fault. He could have stopped it. If only he’d-

“Breathe, Fox.” Thorn pressed his forehead against Fox’s, and patiently waited until Fox had calmed.

Once again, Fox let himself be led, like a tooka kit. Soon Fox heard noises, happy noises. Laughing and banter and cheering. Sounds he hadn’t heard in a long time.

One vod stood above all the others, shouting out a story.

“And then, you know what Tup did? He taunted Krell, may he be dead in horrible agony, and the besalisk fell right into his trap.”

“Kriff Krell,” shouted a vod with a v-shaped tattoo, while a long haired brother laughed in delight next to him. The cry echoed around the vode with much gusto.

“Krell died on his knees, like, like…”

The orator trailed off as he made eye contact with Fox.

Kriff.

Fox tore himself away from Thorn and ignored his shouting as he ran deeper into the forest, further away from the reason he called himself vod’kyramud on the nights where self-pity and shame threatened to drown him.

Someone was chasing him, Fox could hear the rustling behind him.

Fox ran faster and harder, until all the trees blurred together and too fast for him to really dodge-

Fox ran face-first into a tree and collapsed to the ground.

“I don’t think that was your finest moment, vod,” panted someone behind him. Not Thorn.

Fives hoisted Fox up, but Fox let himself fall to his knees, too ashamed to look his, victim, in the eyes.

“Aw jeez,” Fives muttered. “Please, just, don’t.”

I’m sorry, Fox wanted to scream, but his throat was all closed up. I’m so sorry, you were just trying to do your job and I had to do mine-

“Stop,” Fives said firmly, and Fox realized he might have indeed said those words out loud. “It’s ok. You’re right, you know. You never did have a choice.” Fives pulled him up again and held him so he couldn’t fall. “Honestly, I don’t know if Palpatine told you to do it, or you were just trying to protect yourself and your men. But I don’t care. We each just were trying our best, you know?”

Fives chuckled, and pulled Fox so his forehead was against his own. “I’ve had a lot of time to think. To wonder what I was going to say to you, what I was going to do. And even though you don’t need it, you have my forgiveness anyways.”

“I, don’t, deserve it,” Fox sobbed out. If it wasn’t his fault, then why did he feel so painfully guilty?

“It doesn’t matter. I’m giving it to you. Here, take it.” Fives pretended to hand something to Fox, so ridiculous that it pulled a half sob, half chuckle from him.

“Palpatine messed with your head, vod. The more you keep trying to blame yourself, the more you let Palpatine stay there. We were both victims of something so much bigger than either of us.”

Fives turned and pulled him towards the distant fire. “Come one. Why don’t you meet my aliit? They’re a good bunch.”

Fox shuddered. “You’re a good man, Fives. You don’t even need to call me vod. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know. It’s ok. I forgive you.”

[stuffedeggplants]

A Thousand Desires Such

Prompt: Hug

Commander Fox/Riyo Chuchi

@loving-fox-hours

No warnings apply

The privacy screens outside Riyo’s garden veranda were operating only at partial power, letting the muffled sounds of the city slip in over the hum of the building’s backup oxygen generators. On another world Fox might’ve heard the quiet thrum of insect wings or the rustle of small avians in the plants around them, but this was Coruscant, and he couldn’t miss what he’d never known to expect.

He may not have even noticed them anyway, wrapped up as he was with someone he loved.

“And this one?” Fox asked, thumb brushing over the design worked into the brassy surface of Riyo’s ring.

He twisted his hand up with hers and brought it to his lips, her jewelry cool against his cheek where her fingers were cooler still.

“The younger sister of the moon goddess,” said Riyo. Her voice was soft as she pulled his hand back down, and Fox let her guide him, heeding the gentle tug that brought his arm across her chest, twin to the one wrapped about her waist. “The goddess of fortune and will… of desire.”

Fox kicked his foot out against the mossy stones of the veranda beneath them, impelling their swing backward with a light, swooping motion. Patches of night sky peeked through the leafy wineberry vines that criss-crossed the trellis over their heads, revealing the lights of Coruscant’s low-orbit traffic. They winked and fuzzed across layers of atmospheric interference, and to Fox they seemed like the gleam of distant stars. It all made him feel like they existed in a separate place, where Riyo was the bright point of light that had carried them away.

“Fortune?” asked Fox with a whisper. He adjusted himself over the cushions in the corner of the swing and pulled Riyo tighter, keeping her close so that he could feel the hum of speech beneath her ribs like it was beneath his own skin too. “Then I already have everything from her that I need," he said, turning his face into the side of hers.

[Read more - AO3]

[tiend]

frailty of the flesh

Prompt: Laughter | Bonding

Commander Fox Week

@loving-fox-hours

Fox’s favourite bit of the holo is when Senator Burtoni’s other hand claws through the lethris upholstery and starts shredding he stuffing inside.

Kaminoans have made a cultural virtue of self-restraint. Before Geonosis, many clones imagined the Jedi to be similar - after all, the Kaminoans appeared to be peaceful. Passionless.  Scientists who were respected galaxy-wide for their knowledge, the elite of a harmonious society. Just like the Jedi code that they’d memorised.

Although the Senator for Kamino has adapted to Coruscant high society, some things are too deeply ingrained. To a clone, used to evaluating every microexpression that crosses a wet-bone face, her fury and frustration is unmistakeable.  A KE-8 pilot shows less emotion when shocking a cadet into unconsciousness.

Halle Burtoni has the hiccups, and people are not giving her the privacy she so desperately wants.. A concerned semi-circle has trapped her on the settee, all offering water and sure-fire treatments.

To the Coruscant Guard’s eternal regret she doesn’t try the Koorivan Senator’s suggestion and hold onto her own tongue.

If Fox advances the holo frame by frame, he can watch the tremor move from her narrow shoulder, up her neck, and wobble her head for all that she tries to lock her jaw.  Kaminoans do not admire the squat, muscular bodies of their product, preferring the elegant curves of their own bodies. Unfortunately for her, and a morale boost for every Corrie, what should be a graceful sweep of the neck is instead swaying around like one of the novelty dolls that are supposed to be stuck on the dashboard of speeders. Her head is moving in irregular circuits. On larger hiccups, she’s in danger of headbutting some of her well-wishers. She’s reeling like a shiny so hungover he’s still drunk, late to morning parade and in danger of throwing up on his glossy boots.

At normal speed, he can enjoy the sound of the hiccup itself, the undignified squeaks that’re causing ripples of laughter around the ready room every time someone fresh turns up and is more-or-less forced to copy it to their helmet and watch it immediately. Then their shoulders start to shake with glee, and the cycle continues.

Her trapped anger is a glorious thing, those elegant fingers digging away at a hapless bit of expensive furniture, because she’s lost control of herself in public. There’s nothing she can do except sit and hiccup and suffer and hiccup, and she’s throwing the Kaminoan version of a tantrum as a result.

Even better, she knows that there are clones present. Knows that they’re recording her, because of course they’d’ve give her the helmet specs before she left. When her gaze flickers over one of his men she goes slightly cross-eyed with rage, and Fox’s smile grows under his helmet.

He’s humming under his breath as he begins to draft a careful memo to his fellow marshal commanders. Something about the classification level of holos taken inside the Senate, and awareness of certain contraband holos that may already have been passed to the GAR. They can’t miss this.

[one-real-imonkey]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & Jaster Mereel Characters: CC-1010 | Fox, Jaster Mereel, Myles the Mandalorian (Star Wars), Nexa Qest, CC-2224 | Cody, CC-3636 | Wolffe, CC-6454 | Ponds, CC-5052 | Bly, CT-7567 | Rex, Jango Fett Additional Tags: Nightmares, Time Travel, Past Abuse, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Age Regression/De-Aging, Trauma, Recovery, Hugs, CC-1010 | Fox Needs A Hug, mentioned dehumanization, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious Being an Asshole, Evil Sheev Palpatine, Mind Manipulation, Good Parent Jaster Mereel, Headaches & Migraines, Clone Trooper Inhibitor Chips (Star Wars), Family, Protective Family, CommanderFoxWeek2021 Series: Part 3 of Commander Fox Week 2021, Part 9 of Star Wars One-shots and unfinished WIPs. Summary:

Fox and his batch have been in the past for a month and a half, de-aged and living with their new Buir, Jaster, and vod'ika Jango. But Jaster is worried about his ad, and one nightmare brings Fox's horrors to the surface.

  Day 3- Family/time travel.

@loving-fox-hours

[shadowmaat]

Cmdr. Fox Week Day 7: Brothers

I went through so many ideas for this one. Ugh. Hopefully I picked the right one. @loving-fox-hours

Brothers

Fox sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as he entered his kitchen to find a figure in Mandalorian armor pointing a blaster at him.

"You're coming with me, clone!" snarled a familiar voice.

"Not before caf I'm not," Fox said, brushing past him to where the caf maker was already set up. He flipped the on switch and leaned against the counter, watching Boba.

"You don't get to decide anything, clone!" Boba snapped. "You're a fugitive from the Republic and I'm gonna collect your bounty! Then I'm gonna collect the bounties on all the other runaways, too!"

"That's quite a lot of runaways." Fox snagged a muffin off the nearby plate and took a bite. "You bringing them all in personally, big brother?"

Boba bristled. "I'm not your brother! I'm a Republic citizen with the papers to prove it! You're just- just stolen property!"

"Employee," Fox corrected, reaching back to grab the pot of caf as it finished brewing. "The Senate rebranded us as indentured servants after the war, so technically I'm a delinquent employee." He took a swig right from the pot, enjoying the burn as he swallowed.

"Whatever! It's the same thing!" Boba's helmet tilted and Fox could almost picture him rolling his eyes. “You’re also wanted for helping other sla- indentured servants- escape.” The sarcasm gushed from his self-correction. “Unless you have an excuse for that, too?”

So much attitude. Fox knew it was a rhetorical question, but answered it anyway. “The Underground was established during the war, as I’m sure you know,” he said. “I couldn’t help then because of plausible deniability, but I’m not as gullible as some of our sibs. I knew what was coming when Pally lost his head and yeah, I made sure to get as many of us out as I could.”

“Stop including me! I’m not a meat droid like the rest of you!”

That one hurt a little more, but again, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. Hells, Jango himself had been the first one to use it.

“I’m done talking,” Boba continued, shifting his stance. “Are you coming quietly or is this gonna be a fight?”

It was clear which outcome he’d prefer.

"I'm not coming at all," Fox said, placing the pot back on the burner. "But you're welcome to stay if you like."

Boba lunged. Fox caught his wrist, spun him around, and swept his legs out from under him. There was a crash of armor as he hit the floor. Fox casually stepped on his blaster, pinning it.

"You weren't the only one trained by Jango, kid," he said, sidestepping a swipe from a vibroknife and kicking Boba in the ribs as he attempted to stand.

Boba went down again, swearing loudly. Fox walked over to turn the water on in the sink.

"Well? Are you gonna sit and have breakfast or are you still throwing a tantrum?"

A drying saucepan deflected Boba's attempt to fire a grappling line at him. Fox snagged the sprayer attached to the sink and hosed him down, earning him another string of expletives.

"Tantrum it is, then," he said. He smacked the side of Boba's helmet with the saucepan and opened the cupboard to grab a couple of mugs. "Cream or sugar?"

He kicked back, catching Boba's shin, and added a heap of sugar in his own mug before adding caf to both. He stepped aside, taking an appreciative sip as Boba crawled his way up the drawers to clutch at the counter.

"Are you serious right now?" Boba demanded.

"My other vode would say I don't have a sense of humor," Fox said, adding a dollop of cream to his mug.

"I'm not your-" Boba paused, catching the creamer bottle Fox tossed. "Your vod or your brother or anything else! I'm a bounty hunter, just like my father." He turned, dumping half the bowl of sugar in his mug and pouring some of the caf into the sink to make more room for the cream.

Fox tried not to wince at the pale barely-caf concoction. Boba pulled his helmet off and pivoted to face him again.

The last time Fox had seen him he'd had that godsawful prison cut. Now his head was a mass of dark, wavy curls, quickly falling out of a bun on the back of his head. He had a few new scars, but the scowl was the same one he remembered. A little more honed, perhaps, now that he had to be pushing 18.

"Just because some longneck picked you out of a batch and handed you to Prime doesn't make you any better than the rest of us." He sipped his caf. "Doesn't make you any less, either."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand, clone." Boba gulped down half of his sugared cream with a splash of caf.

Fox snorted. "I've been called a lot worse than that by people a lot bigger than you, Bo'ika," he said. "And I am a clone. So are you."

He watched the rage rise in Boba's face only to fade again.

"Whatever. I'm still gonna bring you in." He reached over, eyes locked on Fox's as he grabbed a muffin off a plate and crammed half of it in his mouth.

"Sure you are." Fox wondered how thin he was under that armor. "Me and all the other vode, right?" He took another sip. "Not to give you a hint or anything, but not all of 'em go by he/him, you know."

"Like I care!" Boba rolled his eyes so hard Fox was surprised they didn't fall out of his head.

Shrugging, he pulled eggs, cheese, and bacon out of the conservator. "Want some omelettes to go with that muffin?"

"You can cook?"

"You can't?" He fired back.

Honestly, this encounter was going better than he'd expected when Cody had commed him to say he was sending Boba his way. The brat had gone for him first, of course, but had apparently had some kind of moral crisis upon finding Cody running a wildlife rehab center with his husband Stiv. It seemed Boba had a soft spot for animals.

"Silverware's in the drawer to your left," Fox said, carrying supplies over to the stove. "Set the table, please."

"You can't order me around!" Boba complained, but still opened the drawer to grab utensils.

Fox was dicing up peppers and sausage for the omelettes when he heard an imperious yowl behind him.

"What the crick is that?" Boba asked.

"Paperwork," Fox said, pouring the egg mixture into the pan. "She's already been fed, so don't fall for the starving cat act, vod."

"Paperwork. Really?"

There was a soft clank of armor and a trill of approval from Paperwork. When Fox glanced over, he saw Boba sat on the floor with the cat in his lap, scratching her behind the ears and murmuring endearments.

Smiling, he returned to his cooking. Boba hadn't corrected him on the use of vod this time. It might be a little step, but it was one he was glad to take.

[countessofbiscuit]

Commander Fox Week - Day 5: Recovery | Vode An

Commander Fox & Commander Thorn No Warnings Apply Teen, 500 words​

As far as Fox is concerned, Thorn came by his name naturally.  . . .

The noise reached Fox just as he was nodding off. Dulcet as an asthmatic gull, and as welcome as appendicitis. 

“Kandosii sa ka’rota, vode aaan, coruscanta a’den mhi, vode aaaaaaan … bal kote! Darasuum koteee …”

The corner of Fox’s sheeted bay was janked back. Commander Thorn grinned toothily down at him, ignoring the bobbling of the nearest longneck medtech — severe disapproval indeed. “And here he is. Wrath of Corrie himself.”

Fox glared. “You’ve just infected my sutures. And given Corporal Mash a flashback.” 

Corporal Mash had recently awoken from a Mandalorian-induced coma. Exiling extremists and dissidents had done wonders for Sundari, but it sucked shebse for everybody else. Fox would even let you quote him on that. 

“Very kind, sir, very kind of you. But I’m fine, sir. Mending well,” came Mash’s quick reply. Readiness was next to godliness after all. And Mash’s god had been parked directly opposite him for three hours. 

“Bah, bunch of lilies,” Thorn spat. 

He flopped onto Fox’s cot, where Fox was to remain and consent to be monitored until he could scram at 1900. Not that mandatory bedrest had been a trial. The zabrak nurse kept replacing his pudding, with apologies but the stock would go off tomorrow, else. 

“I thought you were on Chorin,” said Fox. 

“Was. We got Senator Guthry past the blockades and into his compound. The slide into popular separatism is his problem now. Actually the Mining Guild’s, if they keep propping up petty local tyrants. There was a ‘reorientation of mission’.”

“Oh, I do love one of those,” Fox said, deadpan. Families are fleeting, but bureaucracy lasts forever. Ensure continued profits, vote Republic. “But why’d you have to get reorientated in my direction.” 

“Because you were dying — that’s really embarrassing, by the way — and you couldn’t stop me.” Thorn lifted Fox’s tunic. His stupid, unkempt face became a picture of exaggeration. “They gonna give you another medal for that one?” 

“When they do, remind me to award it up your ass. I’m sure Nurse Basnet would be happy to retrieve it.” 

Thorn was the most brambly brotherfucker to ever be grown in a jar, but talk of Laika Basnet made him positively maiden. She was an aspiring Adept, on a journey of spiritual illumination by way of the Red Sigil. Hard to say where dating Thorn came into that, unless self-inflicted suffering was part of the journey. 

Thorn glanced ‘round. Laika was parsecs away; bored and nosy brothers were everywhere. “Say, keep it down, vod.” 

“Continue spreading that Mando cant in my presence. See what happens.” 

“See, Mash,” Thorn said, pitching and rasping for the whole room, “this is why you want to join the Diplomatic Escort Service. Broaden your horizons. Shed your prejudices.” 

“Shed your standards, more like,” Fox grunted. 

“Shed your clothes” came an anonymous opinion. 

Thorn wiggled his hand. “Been known to happen. Interns love some hyperspace hanky. How does that sound, Mash?”

The corporal grinned nervously. “Like glory, glory, eternal glory, sir.” 

“You’re transferred.” 

. . . . . 

@loving-fox-hours