#fox/wolffe

[petrifiedforests]

*rushes in so fast that nearly falls over* 🎲 + Fox/Wolffe? Please? :3c

Hi! Maybe you still remember prompting me in *checks calendar* May? Thank you for the prompt!

The dice have spoken and chosen 'A firm kiss' from this list.

"What," Fox glared at his vod who had the audacity to roll his eyes at him.

"I'm just saying, fancy food and drinks,  music, dancing, there's worse jobs out there." Wolffe pushed off the wall of the Corries' mess and gave him a slow, long look, his eyes wandering across his exposed body.

Fox suppressed a shudder. "Don't," he said shortly. There was nothing good about the natborn war effort galas and being shown around like the best piece of life stock at the auction. Their greys did fuck all to stop the subtle and not so subtle touches, no bucket to stop the air kisses and no filters for the cloying perfumes. Duty was duty and these things gave them bacta, rations and the occasional treat for the front liners. That didn't mean they were enjoyable.

To his credit, Wolffe shortly looked contrite. Fox let out a long breath and pinched his forehead, grimacing slightly. He really didn't want to spend Wolffe's shore leave fighting about this shit again, the precious few hours he managed to wrangle between his shifts too valuable to waste them on petty fighting.

He didn't ask to get this post, none of them had a say in it and yeah, it sucked to be grounded but there was nothing anyone could do about it and to think differently was delusion. The natborns wanted the clone with the best scores here instead on the front where he'd be the most useful, the natborns got him right here.

"I didn't come here at ass o'clock in the morning to argue, Fox," Wolffe echoed his thoughts a moment later.

"What did you come here for then?" Fox couldn't help but challenge, tipping his chin up.

He knew damn well what Wolffe was after, why he had cornered him on his caf run instead of waiting for him in his quarters. But he just had to take a dig at his Corries, didn't he. So Fox had absolutely no qualms in making him spell out that he was hoping for some time together in the bunk. Or the closet. Or his office. 

Wolffe's eye twitched in a way that said that he knew exactly what Fox was playing at and he gained a lovely twist around his mouth when Fox smirked at him.

"I am here," Wolffe enunciated carefully, taking measured steps towards Fox, "because Thorn called me."

"That little bastard is on cleaning duty until the war ends," Fox replied caustically, eyeing Wolffe's approach. That prowl promised very good things but now he really couldn't give in easily since Thorn sicced Wolffe on him specifically. 

Wolffe stopped in front of him, broad shoulders looming over Fox. Fox reminded himself that they were the same height and pulled himself up. Snorting, Wolffe rolled his eyes and reached out, grabbing Fox by the hair and reeling him in. He crushed their lips together hard enough to leave bruises, the pull of his hands forcing a whimper out of Fox as he fell into the sensation. His arms came up to scrabble futilely at Wolffe's shoulders as he slumped into his hold.

Force be damned, this was so much better than the air kisses. 

Fuck Thorn for selling him out though.

[firewoodwander]

🍭 : festivals + Wolffe/Fox ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Trick or treat prompts

Fox does not like festivals. Not strictly because he’s a killjoy like Cody claims*, or because he doesn’t want to participate. Usually he can’t participate, so instead has to deal with all the security issues they pose. The very many of them.

*Cody also doesn’t like festivals, and that’s one-hundred per cent because he is a killjoy, not that anyone but his batch believes it.

That was always how it was, until now, so all of his malcontent is displaced and adrift in the rising spirits of the Galactic City.

All of Fox’s research says the celebration of this festival on Coruscant is the result of popular trends on the holonet. The planet hasn’t had any remarkable reasons to celebrate seasonal cycles in centuries, so the pointlessness of it confuses him, but the other guardsmen tend to get sad whenever he points it out.

Thorn is wandering through the streets in front of him happy as anything. His head is held high, and he and Captain Finch are excitedly pointing out all the lights and decorations and stalls as if afraid to miss any of the bustling activities.

Fox is happy for them, even if he doesn’t get it.

Footsteps fall in with him while his men are distracted looking at a large art piece strung between two street lamps. Fox had known other brothers would be here—the 104th is on leave and this is exactly why he’d scheduled his own time off for tonight, but…

“You look like a gundark who wandered into a greenhouse and doesn’t know how to get out,” Wolffe says.

Fox takes a moment to construct that image in his mind and lets his brows rise, sardonic. “Can you ever come up with an insult that doesn’t sound ridiculous?”

Wolffe checks him, armour plates cracking loudly but still lost under the busy buzz of celebration. “There’s nothing wrong with my insults. They’re accurate.”

“They’re something,” Fox mutters. Predictably, Wolffe ignores him.

“Come on, I know you have enough creds for food. We should try something.”

Fox feels his lip curl—less with disdain than with what he would consider healthy concern. He’s been eying the food stalls. All of it seems overly-sugary and somewhat suspect.

“Come on,” Wolffe complains, “you can’t be this miserable even if you hate it, you’ll upset the shinies.”

Fox doesn’t bother arguing that he upsets all of the shinies anyway. “I don’t hate it,” is what he says instead. “It’s… pretty. And the atmosphere feels…” good, for once.

Wolffe knocks their plates together again, much more gently. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look over, but Fox knows he agrees—he understands. Fox appreciates that about him.

Still, “C’mon,” Wolffe says, grinning and hooking a hand through Fox’s elbow and tugging him off towards one of the dodgy street food stands. “I’m not leaving without getting something outta you. Favourite brother privileges.”

“Lieutenant Max in processing is my favourite,” Fox retorts without hesitation. Wolffe scoffs. It doesn’t matter; Fox is already stifling a smile, it’s nothing but an ever-losing battle.

He’s not telling Wolffe that.

[cabbagege]

[frostbitebakery]

“Dear Force,” he prays. Threatens. He’s arriving at the bargaining stage from left to catch it off guard. “Have I not suffered enough?”

“Mrrrrp!”

“Quiet over there, I’m trying to reach a mystical entity.”

“Myam!”

“Thanks, Ponds. Knew I could count on you.”

Sitrep. Cody’s currently trying to take a nap. It is not going well.

“Why didn’t you turn into shrimp or something easy,” he mutters, shoving the pillow up with his shoulder.

He’s had an incredibly long night in the Jedi Archives trying to help find texts that might help his batchmates turn back into the humanoid assholes they are.

“Mrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

“Watch the hair, Wolffe.”

Wolffe chooses to ignore him, naturally. He continues impersonating a broken speeder and kneading Cody’s head.

Bly is— “Meep!” - still stuck behind Cody’s back.

Right. Nap.

His head kind of slumps back with the sigh, the stress flowing out of his shoulders like water down a stream—

There’s a rustling. One of them jumps on the couch, it seems.

Silence.

Cody deigns to open one eye and watches as Ponds drags a Jedi robe onto the backrest before nesting in it in quick, efficient moves.

“Is that General Windu’s,” he asks as if he actually wants to know.

As an answer he gets a stuck up tail and a frankly unnecessary view of his brother’s butthole before limbs, tail, and head are tugged into the fluffy ball of fur.

Alright. Time to close his eyes again.

Crossing his arms, he wriggles around until he’s - “Meep?!” - comfortable. Wolffe is still kneading, Bly is fighting a cushion, Ponds is living Cody’s dreams by being asleep and snoring—

“If you stick your tongue into my ear again, I’ll shoot you into orbit, Fox.”

“Rrya?”

“Yeah yeah, come here, you fool.”

[boggsart]

audio seemed fitting

[kokosnusslos]

cxntyyyy

[moriaarts]

CC-if i give a fuck or the Bombastic-Side-eye Batch

This is a psa for the buckets working overtime to conceal the scathing looks that would be thrown in their absence.

[legobenkenobi]

clone commanders are really the strongest beings out there because imagine not only having the responsibility of managing all your little brothers as soldiers and making sure they Dont Die but also your boss is some guy with No armor that has mythical being powers and relies solely on “vibes” only they can feel for 90% of their decisions. also they’re allergic to guns and their absolutely insane decisions turn out to be Correct a good majority of the time. id be on the news

[lilatreus]

[avianii]

i have been informed that fox's caffeine addiction rivals mine... I'd like to see him try.

@sevdidntdie @w3rd0-artist

[immagods]

Sometimes I sit down and realise how little we actually know about the clones in Canon and how much we just made up and decided was cannon.

Like the clone have never actually spoke Mando'a, Fives and Echo aren't really twins, Torrent never officially adopted Ahsoka into their aliit, Kote isn't really Cody's name, we know next to nothing about Fox and the Corries. I mean there isn't even a command batch, we don't actually know if Ponds, Cody, Wolffe, Bly and Fox were batchers that adopted Rex on Komino to save him from the long necks and Alpha-17 just had to live with it.

It's wild how much of what most people consider cannon was made up by fans, and it's amazing.

[chiliger]

See what Fox doesn’t remember is that it was his idea.

[threebea]

Plo: whoops, how clumsy of me I have dropped some inappropriate (wink) literature in the workplace, but zounds! I am needed in the next room. I hope no one accidentally picks it up and reads it! (Hurries off leaving suspicious pamphlet on the ground)

Fox: is your General trying to sneak you porn? (Takes nonplussed sip of caf)

Wolffe: no he's trying to get us to unionize.

Fox: (spits out caf)

[st4r-t3ars]

[tattycoram]

Cody: Look, you don't want Fox to die and I don't want Fox to die. So let's work together to make sure Fox doesn't want to die Wolffe: Fantastic plan but have you ever fucking met Fox

[ominouspuff]

Kote’s House

Kote’s first house is a pathetic thing, and he is incurably proud of it. The twi’lek he purchased it from very evidently could not make up his mind what to do with a man that grinned while he haggled, but it was the first time Kote had haggled over a purchase of his very own. He had thoroughly enjoyed it.

The house is built for one being, and a compact being at that, but Kote doesn’t have much. Moving in is quick, and most of his efforts during the next few days after go into attempting ambitious repairs for things he doesn’t know the first thing about. 

His plumbing is an issue, he knows. Something is getting blocked up. Somehow while trying to fix the kitchen tumbler, his fresher spout explodes.

He hadn’t kept his new house a secret from anyone by any means, but it is still surprising when Fox barges in through his jamming front door. He finds Kote on the floor in his cramped kitchen while the fresher rains water in the adjacent room, laughing so hard and so crippled with delight that he can’t get up.

He tries to explain how wonderful it is —

“I-I have to fix my plumbing on my own, vod—”

—but judging by Fox’s single raised eyebrow he knows it doesn’t translate.

Fox, it turns out, is moving into the neighborhood. Kote doesn’t ask about the house Fox already has — the house he has visited, which is very nice and fancy — or point out that Fox’s contract there cannot possibly be up, which begs the question of why he’s here in Kote’s neighborhood — except that Kote already knows the answer to that question. So he doesn’t ask.

Fox doesn’t show him any grace or forbearance, though.

“Don’t even know how to fix a damn pipe, front lining show-off—” His brother snarls, but it is muffled; his top half had to go down beneath the floor they’d pried up to get at the plumbing issue.

“So that’s what they had you doing all these years.” Kote says, because he really is in a criminally good mood. He barely ducks the foot-long pipe Fox throws at his head, feeling giddy.

He makes dinner that night in thanks. Fox stays, ostensibly because now that he’s fixed the fresher he intends to use it, because his new house isn’t hooked up properly yet to all the supply lines and power grids. 

They choke on homemade tiingilar (vode-style; Kote can’t pretend at the real thing yet) so heavily spiced it’s got grit to it that sticks between the teeth. It’s disgusting, but Cody had bought fifteen different spices and while usually he likes to keep his approach to the unknown more cautious, more methodical, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than use them all at once for the first time. 

Wolffe joins them not long after; brings a few others along by recommending the apartment he picks out, so that soon most of the complex is taken up by vode, Kote hears, but he doesn’t visit yet. Everyone’s too busy coming over to his house, it seems; filling up his kitchen and asking why he hasn’t fixed the trash disposal yet, why he doesn’t have a couch, doesn’t he know they’re all the rage among civilized folk?

Kote fixes the trash disposal with Rex, who is better at it than he is but says it’s only due to Skywalker’s influence on managing all things mechanical. 

“How is Skywalker?” Kote asks, and gets more than he bargained for over the next hour. At first he’s a bit off-put, because he’s trying to get dinner sorted again and he’s not been very fond of Skywalker at the best of times, but Rex is snorting out a story and laughing and it’s contagious, so Kote just resigns himself and settles in to enjoy.

Skywalker has little ones, now. Obi-Wan is the only one that can get them to sleep. Ahsoka is distressed; she knows better, but every instinct in her is apparently in agony over the little ones’ inability to eat meat yet. She obsesses over nutrients in their diet — which, given what tiny natborn humans primarily ingest in the early stages, makes for some slightly awkward conversations.

Rex helps with dinner afterward, and they take turns being incredulous over natborn baby facts, shoving around one another in the tiny, uncomfortable kitchen.

“What’s your next project?” Rex asks at one point, glancing sidelong with a cheeky look, and Kote levels his vegetable knife at him (he’s got a vegetable knife. Specifically for vegetables. It’s a very new concept). 

“I make everyone’s dinner on Tuangsdays.” He says. “I’m productive.”

Rex’s sharp-toothed grin turns thoughtful. “Yeah” He says. “Everyone loves coming here, you know. You could be the new 79’s.”

Kote knows. He plans and plots, and puts more work into researching recipes than he’s put into any research whatsoever in months. It feels a bit like coming out of a shore leave; his thoughts quicken and his excitement grows. He hunts down a market. He brings a bag. He shops, bargains, and returns victorious.

He sends out a few comms., and can’t help but shake his head and grin at how different the responses are. 

What a marvelous idea, Cody. His general — ex-general — says.

Yus pls, Ahsoka sends back, with some sort of strange tooka vidclip that dances with wiggly gyrations Kote can only assume indicate excitement.

Where is your house, Anakin says, blunt and to the point, and Kote can appreciate that. 

He sends the address. He cooks all day. The sun sets, and Fox and Wolffe arrive, already bickering, Rex trailing behind with a long-suffering look sent to Kote, begging commiseration.

“Ugh, don’t you ever stop smiling, now?” He gripes when Kote just grins at him. 

“Nope,” Kote says, unrepentantly.

He leaves the soup on the stove, simmering, and takes his cup of caf to the window. He leans on it, breathing in cool air, and just listens — listens to the squabbling as Wolffe gets on Fox’s case for not washing Kote’s dishes correctly the last time they visited. Hears the soft thumps of Rex sneaking into the cramped room Kote has set aside for plants and the sole pet he has; a pastel goullian, fins swaying ever so gently, permanent scowl in place. Thinks he catches, distantly, the sound of his remaining three guests (Padme couldn’t attend, and had made him feel very awkward by how thoughtfully she apologized for it) plodding up the hill. 

“Cody!” Ahsoka cries, coming into view and waving. 

Kote’s cheeks have stopped aching from all the smiling he’s gotten used to, so it’s easy to let another through.