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crackedopen · 1 year

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𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓮𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭, 𝓸𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓼- a Foxiyo angst one-shot

Hello there,

As I’ve mentioned here, my mental health and university got caught on me and this led to me not posting anything both on my AO3, but also on my Tumblr. I’m sorry for that.

Have this sweet painful Foxiyo one-shot as an apology, you can read it also on AO3.

(Obligatory TW for: gaslighting, mentions of erotic themes, torture, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of an assassination attempt)

Enjoy!

The crimson red stilletos were now lazily propped up against the wall, leaving the souvenir from a 4 hour long meeting with The Council in the shape of tiny chaffs and scars on her ankles, dark blue against the cyan skin. The golden headband with two curved crescent moons at the front laying on the white and gold dressing table also left scars, in the form on the dull ache on both of her temples. She wished the traditional Pantoran garments weren't that heavy as she stood in front of the mirror and took of the nose stud linked to her earrings with a heavy chain.

Her royal purple shawl was looking at her from where it has been thrown across the chair, as if it was looking with annoyance.

You really fucked up as a Pantoran woman, Riyo.

The senator sighed.

Why am I not perfect, she asked herself before telling her faithful servant android to turn off for the night as it finished cleaning up.

There was a knock on the door. Riyo opened, tying a night robe around her waist in a hurry.

Her knees sank.

"Fox."

The bigger man in a civvie sherpa jacket scooped her up, kissing her without any tiny bit of patience.

Her eyes scorched his soul as they broke apart, gasping for air.

”Are you alright?”

"Yes. Very much so..." the guard purred low in his broad muscled chest visible from under a basic grey T-shirt "And you... Did you miss me?"

The Pantoran nodded eagerly.

"Yes. Yes, I did. I... I longed for you so badly. I thought my heart would break during that damned meeting. It took us four hours to finally decide what to do with The Chancellor. Four hours."

Fox's heart sank. The Commander was also on the brink of patience, sanity and consciousness. Everyone on Coruscant and in The Senate was.

And all of that because of one Sith Lord who was hiding all along under their noses, under the costly robes of The Chancellor of The Galactic Republic.

"Fox...." she mewled, her sky blue tattooed hand sliding across his chest, her own squeezing in pain and desire.

Her golden round eyes lined with smudged kohl meant only one thing.

The Pantoran almost squealed in an extremely non-senatorial way when the giant man picked her up like she weighted nothing to him (which was, frankly, quite probable), carrying her to her bedroom in a bridal carry.

Riyo purred, her hand caressing Fox's chest.

"I've missed you so much, Fox... I'm literally burning"

Fox chuckled, biting his lower lip not to hiss in pain. The boxing training was a pain in his ass today, so bad he could feel every singular thread of muscle under his skin taut with pain.

Just like that one time when a pale bony hand made his synapses scream, getting torn apart and shaken deep from the core by blue lightning creeping up and down his body. Forming spit and foam around his mouth, carving black and blue scars that could not be covered with exquisite ink he got to cover and adorn himself, to wrap his broken shell of a body in a cocoon of colors and shapes.

And the voices.

Oh, those were the worst.

"Well, I can say that too” he murmured, taking on a small smile, so small but yet so big it could hide all the anguish “I feel like my training routine mixed with daily work in the Senate is kicking my shebs right now..."

Her purple lips curved in a soft smile.

"I can help~"

The elderly man’s blue (no, they were yellow, Fox was sure he saw a glimpse of yellow in those crystal-like irises, sick putrid yellow) eyes were cold, glacial, even though they burned. His smile cut through his soul like a spear thrown into his body, even though it was warm. Friendly.

No. There was nothing friendly about this smile. Small smile, making his pale wrinkled face even more distorted. Deformed, as if it was done by a dull knife.

Just like the one given to this poor blue-haired shiny by drunk civilians during a lonely patrol in the depths of the dark, rotting Underworld. The Commander flinched under the thick plastoid shell of crimson armor.

The boy would never smile again.

Long bony fingers like the ones of an ancient mummy tapped the smooth surface of an expensive goblet crafted of fragile Pantoran glass. Fragile like Her skin.

May Manda protect my Lady, Fox prayed, clenching the burly gloved hand so hard and making the whiteness bloom on his knuckles under the rough fabric.

“Commander CC-1010. Are you unwell?”

Trooper’s body stiffened, taking on the position coded into his muscle memory. Arms behind the back. Straight posture. Helmet on.

And by Manda, don’t move.

Don’t show him anything.

He already knows.

“By any means no, Sir Chancellor. I feel alright”

A non-existent thin brow rose up nearly to the nobleman’s disappearing hairline as his face froze in shock. A perfect parody of concern.

“Oh? Just alright, Commander?”

Boots crafted from red Nabooian bull leather made a slow rhythmic sound, like a distant sound of Kyr knocking on the door of a dying man. The costly dark blue robes flowed down the wooly carpet, deep dark navy of the ocean against the crimson of drying blood.

Crooked yellow teeth appeared from between the Chancellor’s thin lips in a snarl, stinking breath filling the filters in Fox’s helmet.

“Aren’t you grateful by what I do for you and your people? Don’t you feel just…. Just a tiny amount of satisfaction, a feeling that you owe me everything? The caf you drink? The armor that protects you disgusting lab-made body from getting mauled and crushed and shot at? Your brothers and sisters?”

Lab-made body.

The shell of flesh, bone and thick strong muscle that hosted the organs and bones. The living tissue that tasted punches and cuts, got licked by flames and lightning, swallowed blades and bullets and shrapnel. For Fox it was weird how it could still carry on after two and a half years of being in the Coruscant Guard. The Guard Chief Medical Officer also didn’t bother to hide his shock. The crimson Commander remembered the time Pierce had to physically drag him to his private quarters.

Ah. A common occurrence.

Fox wasn’t a fearful man. A one not incapable of emotions, yes. But not fearful, and most certainly- not a coward. No one who spends their days and nights carrying the whole Triple Hellhole on their back is a coward. But a sound of frail Pantoran glass being smashed against the wall into tiny little shards by enraged Chancellor’s hand would make even them shudder.

“Kneel”

The warrior did so, feeling his heart speed up.

The elderly nobleman in long flowing dark blue robes started circling him, each step crunching the pieces of broken glass under his heels.

“I must admit” The Chancellor hissed through gritted teeth “I’ve been blind. I’ve been blind to all the signs, all those things that have been happening under my nose. Blind and deaf to this… Peculiar relationship of Miss Chuchi and yours."

Fox saw the tips of scarlet leather shoes as Chancellor Sheev Palpatine of Naboo stopped right in front of him, gazing down at his unmoving kneeling body.

“I’ve been in love as a young man, you know? A short-time relationship with my father’s secretary. But, alas, the poor girl lost her charm and beauty and wit as sickness struck her. Oh, how she begged, how those sweet golden eyes pleaded me for comfort, for understanding.”

The older man bowed down, his lips against Fox’s helmet.

“Just like your lover’s, Commander Fox. Do you want to know what happened? How I comforted her?”

The soldier’s whole body tensed like he’d been turned into a stone by whatever magick in the Universe.

“I came to her chambers at dusk, and slit her throat. One single cut was enough to comfort her. Don’t weep, though, trooper. She was getting boring after all”

Fox felt bile fill the back of his throat, stomach acid biting his esophagus.

“Now, clean up everything. Leave no piece not picked. Or else my dear Red Guard will do the same to the dame of your heart just like I did to my Fiona of Naboo”

Droplets of red soaked into the expensive thick rug as the trooper’s thick fingers caught each piece. Each shard.

It’s either my blood, or hers.

Dull ache and rising, circling pressure in her lower belly, the soft feeling of something hot and tight hugging him. Hot breath gathering in the crook of her neck like steam against the window glass. Ragged moans of pleasure, limbs tangled in messy silk sheets.

And then bliss. And soon, the sound of a snoring man filling the spacious bedroom they share in her apartment.

Riyo got up, wary of her movements as she stepped into the pile of forgotten pieces of clothing and underwear they scattered all over the room in a rush of longing and chemistry linking their bodies together.

Cold bathroom tiles stung the soles of her feet as she looked in the mirror.

The bacta Syntflax bandages were said to be the most recent and useful invention of Galactic science, at least that was what the medical droid said. Completely weightless, they healed even the harshest injuries of all kinds, then mending together with skin until they disappeared, invisible to the naked eye.

Thank Moon Goddess for that, the Pantoran senator thought as she laid the dressing on the edge of the porcelain sink.

The wide gash crossing her throat, now only a little bit darker than the light blue skin around it, should disappear in the matter of hours. Syntflax healed everything, even if it was caused by a Nabooian dagger.

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wantonlywindswept · 9 months

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consider:

the Coruscant Guard finally gets a Jedi

but:

it's Pong Krell

#tcw #fic ideas #coruscant guard #commander fox #pong krell #someone else should write that #so many angsty whump ideas so little energy to write #i haven't even gotten to the umbara arc yet i just know what happens #my tcw watching seems to have stalled at s2 due to the Drudgery

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pyromaniac4198 · 3 months

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Torturing Fox Hours

Palpatine used the Force to drain energy from the Coruscant Guard, which allowed him to power his Dark ventures.

The Corries, who are underfed, sleep deprived, and overworked, are physiologically incapable of handling the strain.

They die, one by one, accelerating as fewer corries means more strain on each person until, eventually, Fox dies alone.

Nobody notices the disappearance of the Guard for weeks after Fox dies.

#stars wars #the clone wars #coruscant guard #coruscant #star wars #commander fox #angst #whump #whump prompt

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fox-stan · 17 days

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wing whump for the wip game? wingfic is always such a fun concept and i love angst and whump so i figured i'd ask (((: (no pressure ofc)

I'm so sorry it's taken so long to reply to this, it's been a crazy couple months for me. I’m super excited about this one because I also love wingfics and whump and was like why not combine them.

Basically the Kaminoans spliced Jangos DNA with some sort of bird so they could have a flying army. I was thinking a lot about the ways this would affect clone culture and figured that main social things/ways to catch up and talk with each other would be flying together and preening each other’s wings.

Anyways, in this universe Palpatine makes Fox bind his wings so that he can’t use them because they’re unprofessional or some bs excuse like that. It’s really about control and suffering like it usually is of course. The result of always having his wings bound is that they’re too weak to hold his weight now.

His batchmates always invite him to go flying together whenever they’re on leave and he always makes excuses because he’s embarrassed that he can’t fly anymore and doesn’t want them to think he’s weak because he’s not on the front and his batchmates assume he thinks he’s too good to fly with them now.

Then his batchmates decide to surprise him and force him to fly with him only to discover what Palpatine has been doing to him and then there’s a bunch of comfort and maybe they murder Palpatine depending on my mood when I get there lol.

Little snippet under the cut

“It’s okay, Thire.” Fox mutters tiredly into his folded arms. Behind him, all the noise cuts off for a second, and Fox is tempted to look over his shoulder to see Thire’s face and get a better judge of his reaction, but then gentle hands are on his wings again, so he stays carefully still.

“It’s not okay, Fox. It’s-” Thire trails off even as his fingers begin to smooth over Fox’s rust colored feathers, arranging them back into a slightly more natural order as he tries to come up with words for the torture that the Chancellor subjects Fox to.

Fox knows what he means. The clones grew up soaring through the skies and helping each other maintain their wings in the barracks. To have to deny something so fundamental to their experience is unheard of, even on Kamino where individuality is crushed under the heel of obedience.

Fox sighs again. “I know. But look,” and this time Fox sits up and turns around, pulling his vod’ika’s forehead against his own, “if I deal with it, if I don’t complain, he won’t make it a regulation for the entire Guard. I’d have to do it either way, at least this way you guys don’t have to suffer too.” Thire lets out a small wounded sound. It’s so quiet Fox wouldn’t have heard it if they weren’t pressed together like this. “I would do far worse than this to protect you, and I’d do it with a smile on my face.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

Fox just grimaces and stays silent, drinking in the feeling of Thire safe in his arms. He doesn’t regret his choices to protect his vod’ike.

#commander fox #the clone wars #star wars #fswriting #coruscant guard #wump #wing whump

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whiskygoldwings · 16 days

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Petals Spill From Lips (Your Stain Upon my Heart)

Well, this post just took hold of me and wouldn't let go. - https://www.tumblr.com/wantonlywindswept/742887323554988032/fox-hanahaki-fic-idea-that-lives-in-my-head-rent?source=share

Original idea credit to @wantonlywindswept

Here, have nearly 4000 words of Fox angst and fix-it I wasn't expecting to write tonight. I hope it does the original concept justice and many thanksto Wantonlywindswept for sharing the brilliant idea in the first place.

Summary: Fox spills petals from his lips and wears the colours of his love across his chest. He can't let anyone know, even as the roots tangle in his lungs and steal his breath.

CW: graphic descriptions of choking/vomiting, implied rape, implied fanon-typical violence towards Corries, Fox-whump.

Starts under the cut because it gets right in there with the content warnings.

Fox vomits petals and blood. Horrible, clotted masses of delicate flowers and lung tissue. He splutters, choking, then coughs violently, forcing the last of it out of his throat.

He gets up, goes to the cupboard on shaky legs, and grabs a cloth. He’d managed to get the majority of it in the bin this time, but there’s still spatters of it that somehow managed to get on the floor. His breath rasps, and he’s pretty sure there’s still petals in his chest.

He cleans the mess tiredly, occassionally stopping to cough up a stray petal. Vormur, he notes absently. Of course it’d be Vormur. His mind hasn’t left Wolffe since the Malevolence incident.

What a small word for such a big thing.

He pulls together the bag he’d placed in the bin, and wipes over his mouth and chin before pulling his helmet on. With firmer steps, he walks out of his office and down to the chute for rubbish, disposing of the evidence of his weak heart.

He returns to the office after, pulling off his helmet and leaning back in his chair with a sigh. Then he gets back to work.

-------

It hadn’t started like this. When they were on Kamino, this had never happened. He’d held his brothers in the night, watched over them in the day. He’d shown his love in his actions, and they’d reached back for him with quiet joy in their eyes.

It began a month into Coruscant. Into being the Marshall Commander of the Guard. He’d been brutally, thoroughly introduced to the cruelty of the Senate and a city that saw them as nothing but meatdroids, and his brothers had been dying on the frontlines. He’d been reading a battle report from Bly’s battalion, Bly’s words frank and clinical, but Fox could feel the pain in the way he repeated the casualty numbers; the way he emphasised the lack of accurate intel. He’d curled over the datapad, shaking with his desperate desire to be there, to hold Bly’s head against his neck and keep him safe for a while.

The feeling had swelled in his chest, brushing against his lungs and heart, and then flowed up his throat and burst from his mouth.

Candlewicks. Beautiful, round flowers, glowing gently golden.

He had, in all honesty, freaked the kriff out. Had cough and spluttered, stuck fingers into his mouth trying to figure out where they’d come from, how he’d coughed up flowers. Of all things. They weren’t exactly something the Guard came into contact with very often. He only knew about them because Senator Organa, one of the few kind Senators thus far, had shown him some he kept in a small planter in his room. It’d been the middle of a night shift, the Senator working far later than most of the others would bother, and he’d spotted Fox on his way back from getting more caf. The man had excitedly told him to watch, and Fox had looked on in wonder as they bloomed, spreading wide with soft light.

He did not look on in wonder that time. Had quickly scooped up the blooms and shoved them in a drawer, then sat at his desk and, admittedly quite frantically, searched the holonet for anything like it.

It hadn’t actually taken as long as he’d expected to find out. Hanahaki syndrome. Developed in very emotional people. Began as simple petals and flowers, but if allowed to take root, could strangle the lungs and cause bleeding, shortness of breath, and eventually, death.

He’d scoffed at first, thinking it was impossible. How ridiculous, flowers growing in a person’s chest! It made no sense! Reportedly the petals and flower changed based on what emotions the sufferer was having for which person, but all usually symbolised some form of love or care. It simply made no sense!

Even if he was determinedly avoiding the evidence sat in his desk.

He’d set it aside. Told himself it was a one-time, freak event. That it’d never happen again.

It did, of course, happen again.

The second time had been when Rex had left Cody’s battalion to captain the 501st under General Skywalker. Fine grey hairs had already started threading their way through the sides of Fox’s hair by then. He lived on a diet of caffeine and stress, eating only when the other commanders thrust ration bars into his hands, sleeping only when he knew every one of his Guard were safe.

Or, when he passed out face down in a pile of datapads.

He’d been on the comm with Rex and Cody, Rex looking determined, if a little nervous. He’d been holding a helmet that had previously born the 212th’s gold paint, and now was decorated in blue. Fordo had bestowed him with Jaig eyes after his actions in the battle that had gotten him promoted, and they were proudly displayed on his helm. Fox had swallowed down pride and fear, so, so, pleased for Rex.

But he’d seen the reports on Skywalker’s actions and behaviour. The man was reckless, dangerous. It worked out, usually, but Skywalker had the Force, and a clear lack of concern for his own safety.

Rex was too similar to him at times. Too willing to throw himself at the enemy in order to win. He was an excellent strategist, but he enjoyed the thrill of adrenaline a little too much.

Fox came off the comm call and tried to breath deep, the image of Rex’s broken body insribing itself behind his eyelids. That blonde hair stained dark red with blood.

He bent over as the urge to scream no, to call him back clambered up his throat, and suddenly blue blossoms were swirling from his lips.

He coughed and they flew forth, gentle and delicate and oh so bright against the dreary grey of his office walls. They spilled from his chest, the painful feeling near his heart easing as they fluttered to the ground.

At first he’d just stared. The galaxy had betrayed him. It’d happened again. Once was a coincidence. Twice was...

Was.

Shaking, he’d gathered them up in his hands. Hadn’t been able to hold them all at once. How they’d fit in his chest he had no idea; they seemed to just keep going. These beautiful, 501st blue petals that danced between his fingers.

He’d thrown them out the window in a fit of pique. Watched them flutter and twirl down, bright spots of colour in the smog.

The datapad had come back out. Apparently, the disease was linked to the Force. Sufferers usually had a degree of Force sensitivity, even if they weren’t actually aware of it. There was a lot of mysticism to it, but there were recorded cases, with holos and medical reports to support them.

Fox couldn’t be Force-sensitive. The Kaminoans had ensured that. There was no way it could have been missed, with all the blood tests and checks.

He needed to keep this to himself. If the Kaminoans found out, he’d be decommissioned. They all knew tubies who’d been found to exhibit the Force had had their tubes turned off.

Fox was the line of defence between the Senators and his siblings. He could not be found out and removed. It’d fall to Thorn after him, and he would not do that to them.

So Fox had carried on. When he’d choked up Gargrell flowers in the fresher on Cody’s visit he��d flushed them away. When Gree had been denied shore leave again, too cembroiled in a siege to be pulled away, he’d spluttered through entire Duran feather-lilies, catching against his teeth and forcing him to pull them from between his lips.

He’d potted those. Had one at his window. The others he’d gifted to Gree, who’d smiled delightedly and pulled him in with one arm for a hug.

He’d had to make a quick dive for a discrete corner after Gree had left. The new lilies had joined the one in his window, carefully nurtured and whispered to when Coruscant felt particularly cruel.

All the while, his body showed other signs of his love.

Purple, blue and black painted their way across his ribs in riotous splotches of colour. Red, red blood decorated his legs. Ashen grey spread over his cheeks. Silver white at the crown of his head.

He choked up Hai-ka flowers near daily. Beautiful, soft, orange blooms that whispered of death and pain. He took them into himself so his siblings didn’t suffer too. When he failed, when one his Guard returned broken and scarred, or simply didn’t return at all, he wept with flurries of Uneti blossoms, their sweet scent turning cloying and rotten in his despair.

Somehow, somehow he kept them all to himself. He learned the signs. When his chest tightened, and his heart beat louder, wisps of something brushing against his insides, he found an excuse to leave the room. He learned the placement of all the rubbish chutes, discovered which windows opened and which didn’t. He learned the best way to crush them between his fingers, mushing petals into sticky masses he could dispose of more easily, or squeeze into a pouch on his belt to hide.

He got a reputation for always smelling lovely. Stone had teased him a few times, then asked where he even managed to get the fragrance from. It certainly wasn’t standard issue.

Fox had blithely told him he had no idea what Stone was talking about, and refused to respond to any of his following prods. Eventually, they’d stopped asking, accepted it was just one more of those mysteries of Fox.

It helped that they loved him in return.

Sometimes he shattered under the pressure, bent under the strain. Thorn always knew. To this day, Fox doesn’t know how. But when it was at it’s worst, Thorn would be there. Would take Fox’s face into his hands, would kiss his battered cheeks, the strange wrinkles already forming between his eyebrows, and pull him away. He’d find a pile of their siblings, who’d reach out to Fox with welcoming hands, guiding him into the middle and curling up around him.

They never spoke of him shaking between them, raging and crying in turn, cracking at the seams and bursting out of his skin. Every member of the guard had sat with Fox like this, held him until he could start putting himself back together again. They’d shelter him while he scraped himself raw, digging out all the anger and pain.

When he was empty, they’d whisper their gratitude, their admiration and love. He’d fill himself again with the support of his siblings. And when he was finally full again, when the seams started closing back up, Thorn would join him, and sing to him until he fell asleep.

He always spent the next day with petals falling from his lips.

------

The first time the Chancellor struck him with lightning was when it changed. He’d woken up on the floor of the Chancellor’s office, blackened ash spread across the ground beside his mouth. His lungs had burned, and he’d hoarsely rasped, hacking coughs bringing up fragments of burned petals and stems.

The Chancellor had been stood above him, watching with avaricious eyes. He’d taken Fox’s face into his hands, swept aside Fox’s arms as he tried to struggle, and pushed his fingers into his throat.

Fox had cried, choking and desperate, as something cold and agonising had curled inside his chest. The Chancellor had laughed, cruel joy on his face, and told Fox he was a miracle. Had wondered if there was any chance this defect could be found in his siblings. Had told him it spread by sharing those feelings and the depth of them with others.

Fox had promised himself then to never let them get close enough to find out. He’d sworn to himself to keep them from the Senate, away from this hell. Even as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, vision swimming with grey.

The Chancellor had chuckled, and pulled his fingers from his throat. Between them, he held a beautiful, delicate flame-rose.

He’d looked Fox in the eyes as fire consumed it.

-------

He stopped answering his batchmates comms. Only answered when he knew it was business rather than pleasure. Wouldn’t meet with them when they were on planet. They were confused, sending him gentle messages in the case of Bly, or demanding curses, in the case of Wolffe.

He didn’t open them. Left them unread on his comm, blinking notifications at him. He collected them to hold to his heart, when he felt the gaping loneliness. Read the previews over and over again in between bandaging his wounds and sliding to his knees for one more disgusting Senator.

He avoided Thorn as well. When he felt his skin getting too tight, the ever-present pain in his chest growing, would find somewhere to be, some work to do. He could feel Thorn watching him. Along with all the other Guard members. They reached for him in the hallways, turned to him in the offices, left him ration bars and small trinkets they’d managed to find at his door.

Cody tried to ambush him in the barracks, but by that time he’d already instituted the rules to prevent outsiders from getting in, trying to conceal the guard’s carefully painted walls and closely-kept individuality from those who’d use it against them. Thorn had berated the Guard who’d soundly refused to let Cody enter, made it clear that was intended for nat-borns, not siblings, but Fox had already been made aware.

He’d hidden himself within the Senate walls. In the end, it’d worked out. A Senator had been trying to bully a shiny into his office. Fox had happened upon them at the right time, offered himself up instead.

When the shiny got back to the barracks and reported to Thorn, Fox knew he’d realise what was happening. Would know straight away that Fox wouldn’t want Cody to see him in the aftermath.

Fox had stumbled back hours later, throat swollen shut and ringed with fingerprints, blood and fluids he refused to think about between his thighs. Cody was long gone.

Thorn was there though.

He’d lain in the medical bed that night, staring at the ceiling with blossoms restings on his chin. His breath had become wheezing rasps lately, blossoms joined with specks of blood. There never seemed to be enough air, even within the carefully controlled environs of his helmet. The flowers were more crumpled, and he had to force them out. Petals still slipped from between his lips sometimes, but he’d hacked up clumps of them with more and more regularity.

Fox was pretty sure he was dying. Didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t dare reach out, bring his brothers into the viper’s nest. The fear of leaving Thorn to take his place sent pangs through his ribs and tears to his eyes. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t risk spreading this to anyone else.

By morning, he’d swallowed the petals he’d coughed up back down. There was nothing left for the medics to find.

----

He sits alone in his office, eyes gritty and sore, chest heaving under laboured breaths. It’s taking twice as long as it should to get through his datawork. The words waver and fold, and he’s fairly certain he keeps blacking out. He coughs weakly, feeling a soggy clump stick in the back of his throat, and forces himself to cough hard to bring it fully up. With a sigh he dumps it in his desk drawer, too exhausted to deal with it right now.

If he can get this last stack of datapads dealt with, he can sleep. He’s so close. Just needs to keep pushing a little longer...

He wakes to fingers stroking through his hair, and a mask tightly pressed to his face. There’s voices murmuring softly around him, and a hand wrapped tightly round his right wrist. As he drags himself awake, forcing crusty eyes to open, the fingers in his hair pause, and the conversation is cut off abruptly.

Fox opens his bleary eyes to the sight of several similar faces surrounding him. Bly sits to his left, his hand still cupped around Fox’s head. Thorn is to the right, and it’s his hand around his wrist. Cody, Wolffe, Gree and Rex are all leaning forwards in chairs or stood around the rest of his bed.

He blinks up at them, horror freezing his heart.

“Wha..” he coughs, wet and raspy, but thankfully nothing comes up. “What are you doing here", he slurs.

Thorn’s hand tightens painfully round his wrist, before relaxing. Wolffe’s face twists with anger, and Bly resumes stroking his hair.

“You nearly died, Fox,” Cody says, tone tight with something Fox doesn’t want to recognise. “Thorn found you in your office, blood and vomit all over your desk, and you face down in the middle of it, not breathing.”

“I had to do CPR on you Fox,” Thorn whispers, and Fox can’t look at the tears on his face. “Your heart stopped. They’ve had to resucitate you twice.”

Fox wheezes, trying to think. He doesn’t remember. Everything feels like it sits at a distance, just out of reach. Even his emotions feel muted. The initial fear at seeing his brothers around him has smoothed out into a dull ache between his lungs.

“I don’t...” He begins, and Wolffe throws himself to his feet, chair clattering behind him.

“You nearly died, Fox!” he snarls, fists clenched and face broken. “I just lost nearly the entirety of my pack and... And I can’t lose you too you fucker!” He swipes angrily at his eyes, and Fox can’t breath. Has never seen Wolffe cry. “Why have you been hiding all this from us!?” Wolffe demands, and Fox is pretty sure his heart stops. “Did you think we wouldn’t help you?”

“Wolffe,” Rex murmurs beside him, one hand coming round to rest on his shoulder. “He’s not strong enough for this right now.”

Wolffe crumbles under the words, sinking down out of sight. Rex and Ponds go with him, and Fox can hear soft sobs being met with gentle words.

“You have Hanahaki disease,” Cody states. Fox jerks, eyes flying to meet Cody’s, which stare fiercely back at him. “The healers say it’s one of the worst cases they’ve ever seen.”

Thorn shakes his wrist, and Fox snaps his eyes to him. “There were roots piercing through your lungs and wrapped around your heart. You were suffocating in your own blood. And if that didn’t kill you first, your heart was being slowly constricted.”

Fox stares. Doesn’t know what to say. He thinks he should feel scared, or worried. The Chancellor had told him it’d spread if he shared the feelings. And now everyone knew.

“You were lied to,” comes a stern voice, and a Twi’lek steps into view, blue lekku agitated over her shoulders. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but it was getting difficult to keep your emotions eased from a distance.”

“General Che,” Cody salutes respectfully, and the Twi’lek snorts bruqsuely.

“I am no General, Commander, I am a healer,” they move behind Thorn and checks some readings on a machine next to him, continuing to talk all the while. “Hanahaki disease cannot be spread. It only develops under very special circumstances.” They turn to Fox, staring down at him with kind eyes. “Someone wanted you silent, Commander, and it is with the greatest apologies that I admit the Jedi didn’t notice your pain.”

Fox blinks, confused and struggling to make what she’s saying make sense in his head. “I... It doesn’t?” His voice is faint and hoarse, the mask making it difficult to hear, but the Twi’lek nods firmly.

“Who told you that, Fox?” Thorn asks urgently, leaning forwards. Cody’s intent too, while Bly shifts uneasily in his chair.

“I... I can’t...” Fox rasps, knowing they won’t believe him anyway.

“Was it the Chancellor?” Bly asks quietly, and Fox startles badly, wrenching round and dislodging Bly’s hand from his hair. He stares wide-eyed at Bly’s sad smile, before being surprised again as Wolffe suddenly roars to his feet, slamming a fist into the wall.

“That kriffing bastard!” Wolffe snarls, as Gree and Rex clamber up beside him. Wolffe whirls round and stares down at Fox, one eye brown, the other cybernetic. Both pierce through him.

“He’s a Sith,” Gree states, and Fox really can’t take all these shocks anymore.

“Whu-What?” He gasps, right arm twisting under Thorn’s hand and fingers grasping for theirs.

“The Chancellor’s a Sith,” Cody repeats, arms folded and face calmly furious. “The strange scars on your body are from Sith lightning.”

How the hell do they know about his scars?

Thorn quirks a strained grin at him, even though Fox knows he didn’t say that out loud. “I had to pull all your armour off to do CPR. And then they cut away your bodysuit to get your heart started.” Thorn squeezes his fingers, and Fox realises he’s trembling. “I didn’t...” Thorn swallows. “I didn’t realise just how many scars you had...”

Fox leans his head back, looking at the pale-cream ceiling. He can’t look at any of them. No one was ever meant to see his body, see the story of what he’d given up for them.

It hurts deep in his chest to realise they all know now anyway.

The Twi’lek leans around Thorn and places gentle fingers on the side of his face. “The Lichtenberg figures were saturated in darkness,” they speak calmly, while Thorn lifts his hand and presses it to their lips. “They could only have been caused by the Sith.” Fox closes his eyes, feeling tears roll down into his hairline. “Attacks like that leave whispers of themselves in the Force. They lead us back to the Chancellor.”

Fox blinks his eyes open, glancing over at the Twi’lek in sudden realisation. Their face is open and honest. They hold his eyes as they say, “We went and confronted him shortly after realising, Commander. The Sith has been defeated and is no more.”

There’s awful, grating sounds in his ears, and it takes Thorn reaching over and dragging him against their chest for Fox to realise they’re coming from him. He’s weeping loudly and openly, pain spilling from his lips for everyone to see. Crimson petals float down against the bed covers, and suddenly there’s hands and bodies pressing against him anywhere they can get to.

Wolffe has climbed onto the bed, sitting hunched over his legs and digging desperate fingers into his chest. Bly leans in from behind him, stretched awkwardly over the bed and pressing his face into the back of Fox’s head. Gree has squeezed between Thorn and Wolffe to lay his hands over Fox’s and hold on tight. Cody and Rex move together, as always, and weave arms between them all to curl fingers against him wherever they can reach.

Healer Che quietly leaves the room and closes the door. With a smile, she makes a note on Fox’s file that he’s recovered enough for the surgery that will remove the mass from his chest.

Fox cries for a long time, emotions releasing painfully. The petals fall sporadically at first, but as he holds on to Thorn and Wolffe, feels the warmth of his brothers spreading through his skin, they slow down, and eventually, stop.

Fox isn’t okay, but he’s not alone anymore.

#Marshall commander fox #commander fox #Coruscant guard #hanahaki disease #clone wars fanfiction #Fox-whump #Fox angst #Fox fanfiction #Inspired by Tumblr post #Crossposted to AO3

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mamuzzy-creates-stuff · 3 months

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FEBUWHUMP 2024 DAY 4 - OBEDIENCE @febuwhump

Devotion The Clone Wars fic Word count: 300 Characters: Commander Fox, Sheev Palpatine Relationship: SheevFox. It can be shippy, but it works as platonic too. I make a tag for it just in case. Warning: Toxic relationship

"Chancellor, I wish you could see into my heart. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you" "I know, Fox." The warmness in the Chancellor voice made Fox's breath quiver on the fragile, veiny hand, which the clone held so carefully as in fear of breaking him. Sheev smiled. This foolish clone. He doesn't even know how to kiss a hand properly, otherwise his lips wouldn't have touched his skin. But a regular clone from the Coruscant Guard wouldn't have dared to initiate such expression of devotion. It wasn't needed. The Guard, especially the shocktroopers were ruthless, smart, efficent. Programmed to be loyal to death even more so than other clones. They proved themselves with deeds, not promises. He would have been repusled if someone else did it. Those subjects of his will, hungry for power, for money, or were loyal to him by sheer cowardice. Fox being so theatrical was also completely unnessecary and yet it amused him. Flattered him even. This commander who wasn't the bred to be a shocktrooper came from the battlefield, straight from the trenches. Fox was a beast needed to be tamed to his will but the thing with foxes, the more you corner them, the more vicious they would become. He needed a different approach. There was fire in Fox. Fire in those amber eyes, rage in that heart. Wrath of Coruscant, the troopers called him like that behind his back. Fox's obedience wasn't due to some programming. It was born from the same fire, it was devotion. It was love. And it was dangerous. Unpredictable. Love, just like fire needs constant kindling otherwise they would burn out before time. "I see you, my dear commander." It would be shame just to extinguish his flames but he will have to get rid of Fox. Eventually.

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday4 #warning: toxic relationship #sheevfox #but it can work as platonic too #sheev palpatine #darth sidious #commander fox #the clone wars #star wars #tagging whump is tiresome because I have to figure it out what could possibly hurt or trigger people.#I can't even remember my own triggers when I'm not in that exact state of mind lol #also I just don't know how to phrase these feelings in two words #because human connections are fucking complicated

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spookypanda04 · 6 months

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It has taken me about a week and a half, but I have worked my way through the entirety (of the ones that interested me) of the Fox needs a hug tag on Ao3.

I am not okay.

#star wars #the clone wars #starwars the clone wars #commander fox #cc 1010 #whump #why did i do this to myself

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holdingonforheaven · 3 months

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Febuwhump Day 6

"You lied to me"

Featuring Commanders Wolffe and Fox

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday6 #star wars fanfiction #star wars #star wars the clone wars #sw tcw #clone commander fox #clone commander wolffe #fox whump #wolffe whump

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adhd-coyote · 2 days

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A little late in the day, but still on time! Next chapter of This House Don't Feel Like Home is up!!

This House Don't Feel Like Home - Chapter 16 - adhd_coyote, TheDarkRat - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

Chapter 16: The Rising Sun Authors: adhd_coyote (me) & TheDarkRat (@darknight-brightstar) Rating: E Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death (it's anakin) Pairings: Cody/Fox, Ace! Obi-Wan/Ace!Rex, background Thire/Stone, Waxer/Boil, Thorn/OC Clone/Feemor Chapter Summary: Fox, Cody, and the other Corries get to have their painting session.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #fanfiction #tcw #the clone wars #tcw fanfic #commander fox #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #codyfox #cody x fox #captain rex #rexobi #obi wan x rex #coruscant guard #angst #whump #fluff

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blackkatmagic · 1 year

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I'm going to have to cut like 2k of Fox/Quinlan/Thorn bits to make this fic work for the revamped plot, so I'm tossing it up here for posterity.

CW for mentions of drugs, weird Dark Side cults, and trauma around voice and memory loss

Tapping Jango's arm, he leans over to grab his hand, then drags a knuckle across his palm, writing out What did she have me doing?

“Don’t question the High Priestess,” Jango says flatly, making a turn towards a section of the citadel where his quarters are.

It would be more alarming if Quinlan could feel anything from him except vague concern, an edge of relief, and something sharper. Something Quinlan’s absolutely sure he hasn’t encountered in Jango's usual loyalty-bloodlust-drug haze sense before.

If he’s breaking free for the first time in almost twelve years, just as Quinlan is trying to make a plan to get him out, that would be a hell of a coincidence. Quinlan’s luck is never usually that good.

Not being able to speak is maddening. This is exactly the sort of moment when Quinlan should be pushing, prying, trying to dig out Jango's intentions and motivations. But instead, he’s being marched straight towards Jango's rooms in absolute silence, and he can't even sign, because Jango only knows how not to get his stupid head blown off in a firefight—

The door of the room next to Jango's opens at a touch of his hand, and Jango shoves Quinlan through the door. “I told you to lock that,” he says, and pushes, and Quinlan stumbles hard—

Runs right into a hard chest, fat tits he’d recognize absolutely anywhere, even covered with a jacket. Fox, far away from where he should be, grabs Quinlan by the arms, holding him up and right against his chest.

“What the hell is this, old man?” he asks, sharp, and his fingers dig hard into Quinlan’s biceps, the only outward tell of the relief that vibrates through him.

“On loan from the High Priestess,” Jango says. He pauses in the doorway, sweeping a look over Fox like he can't pull his eyes away, and then says, “He’s valuable. Don’t kill him.”

“Valuable?” A light hand settles on Quinlan’s shoulders, and Thorn tugs him around, then smiles, bright. Quinlan almost grins back before he remembers himself, ducks his head instead. He signs a greeting, then half-turns, gives Jango a questioning look.

Jango grimaces, but leans a shoulder against the closed door. “The Priestess is going to throw you straight into a grave if you don’t get your voice back and start being useful again,” he says gruffly. “My sons need someone who knows how not to get their head blown off in here. You keep them alive, they keep you alive. Whatever else happens, I don’t care.”

That sounds about like the Jango Quinlan is used to, making deals to get what he wants without care for the collateral, but—

It doesn’t tell him anything at all about why Fox and Thorn are here, deep in the Outer Rim and in a hell of a lot more danger than they would ever be on Coruscant.

“We’re not your sons,” Fox says, cold. “We’re your clones.”

“Fox,” Thorn says, exasperated, and Fox huffs. It makes Thorn grin, quick, and he says, “So is this a common thing around here? Just passing off—”

Jango's comm beeps, and he checks it, grimaces as he straightens. “Korto,” he orders. “Keep their heads attached and I won't kill you myself.”

Quinlan raises a brow at him, but tips his head in agreement, and Jango nods shortly, turns, and leaves the room, deliberately and pointedly engaging the lock before he lets the door slide shut behind him.

There's a long stretch of seconds that are perfectly, blisteringly silent. Then, light, Thorn’s fingers slide over the back of Quinlan’s hand, and he murmurs, “Quin. There you are.”

Quinlan closes his eyes. It shouldn’t be a relief to see Fox and Thorn here, because coming was stupid, no matter what the reason was, but—

He turns, leans in, and wraps Thorn up in a tight hug, unable to resist. Thorn laughs, warm, and hugs him back, and says, “Kriff, we were worried.”

“I guess this means we don’t have to worry about cameras,” Fox says a little sourly, but a hand slides up Quinlan’s back, curls around the back of his neck. He holds on, and Quinlan keeps his eyes closed, just—leaning into the warmth. It’s been a hell of a long three months since he last made it back to Coruscant.

“Microphones?” Thorn asks, but Quinlan shakes his head. There's a pause, and then a thread of wariness when Thorn asks, “Quin?”

The hand on the back of his neck tugs, and Quinlan obligingly moves with it, lets Fox pull him around and tip his head back. The stroke of callused fingers up and down his throat makes him shiver, but Fox’s frown is deep, concerned, and he doesn’t pay any attention to the reaction.

Not that he ever does, Quinlan thinks, somewhere between rueful and amused.

“You can't talk,” Fox says, flat, but there's a protective sort of rage in his eyes when he raises his head. “Did that bastard old man—”

Quinlan shakes his head, shifts back just enough to sign, Too much talking for the High Priestess, I think.

“You think?” Thorn echoes, frowning. And—he can read sign. He and Fox both can. Something shudders through Quinlan, relief wrapped up in the simple fact that he can talk to them. He finds Thorn’s hand, grips it, and nods.

No memory, he tells them, and Fox’s expression darkens.

“Kriff,” he says. “You get hit in the head, or is this Force osik?”

Quinlan snorts, and Fox takes that as an answer, because he huffs. His expression doesn’t lighten, though, and he says, “You’ve been out of contact for ten days. We thought—”

Ten days. It feels like a body-blow, a punch in the gut. Quinlan jerks back a step, breath catching painfully in his throat, and stares. Ten days. That’s—a hell of a long time. He hasn’t ever woken up missing that much time except for when he had his memories deliberately erased.

Light, Thorn slides a hand up his arm, grips his elbow. “Quin?” he asks quietly. “You didn’t know?”

The last full day I remember is comming Tholme, Quinlan signs, and then sinks down into a chair, dragging a hand through his hair. His voice is gone, he thinks, and closes his eyes. His voice is gone and his memory is gone, and he has absolutely no idea what happened in the ten days since. A day, two—that’s normal, given how many death sticks he’s being forced to take, all the people he’s being forced to touch. But ten days?

The blood he could explain, because Komari is just like that. But—Jango implied they were just a few days from something big, something that would let Quinlan be useful again. Between that and the missing time, Quinlan feels a curl of ice down his spine.

“We need to leave,” Fox says decisively, grim. “Thorn, you're playing nice with that bastard, can you get him to take us back to the hangar?”

“Probably not,” Thorn says, and he slides down to sit on his heels in front of Quinlan, careful as he watches him. “He said leaving was strictly controlled until we’d been here a few weeks. We’d need a distraction.”

Quinlan closes his eyes, reaches out to tangle his fingers with Thorn’s, and the relief of being able to touch someone and not have it reverberate death through him is—everything. Thorn’s determination and steady light, most of his memory taken up with other Guards and senators and Jedi, with small things that make it easier for Quinlan to breathe.

But—

Pulling his hand away, he looks up, meets Fox’s eyes. You have to take my information and go, he tells him. Immediately. I can stage a distraction.

Fox’s eyes narrow. “We’re here to get you out,” he says. “When you missed the first two extraction attempts, General Tholme asked us specifically, since we were at the 212th’s base. Get you out and get back to the Temple.”

Quinlan breathes out. Of course Tholme would, he thinks ruefully. Anyone else would have waited, tried again later. But—Tholme knows Quinlan wouldn’t ask for an extraction without reason. And so you came as yourselves? What the hell?

“We saw Jango in a port on Bogden,” Thorn says. “He thinks we’re deserters.” He hesitates, and for one of the first times since Quinlan’s known him, he hesitates. “I don’t—I don’t think he’s ever met any clones before.”

He hasn’t, Quinlan says, because he’s picked that up at the very least. Jango's been Komari’s right hand for years, but she keeps him on the shortest possible leash.

Fox’s breath is rough, disgusted. “Of course he hasn’t,” he says. “Quinlan—”

Quinlan knows what he’s going to say, and he looks up, holds Fox’s gaze. I found the Sith Lord. That’s the information you need to get back to the Temple.

Fox goes perfectly still, frozen, and Thorn’s grip on Quinlan’s knee tightens painfully.

Quinlan smiles crookedly, tips his head. It’s Palpatine, he tells them, and watches how Fox instantly bristles, every line of his body suddenly as tense as a tether straining against a storm.

“Quinlan,” Thorn says, quiet. “You're sure?”

Quinlan nods. He’s controlling the Bando Gora. I've seen him in meetings with Komari Vosa, the High Priestess. She’s a Sith too. He reaches out, tapping the center of Thorn’s chest, and tells him, You have to take that back to Mace. Now.

There's a moment of complete silence, and then Fox says quietly, “Not without you.”

That’s—not what Quinlan expected him to say. Startled, Quinlan draws back, because Fox is never sentimental, will always do the right thing for the Republic, never wavers. He’d expect that kind of refusal from Thorn, not Fox.

Fox doesn’t waver, though, just folds his arms across his chest. “You think two clones can accuse the Supreme Chancellor of being a Sith and survive that?” he demands. “Especially if it’s true.”

Take it to Tholme, Quinlan tells him. Tholme is respected, influential, and if he says it, the Council will believe him. He’ll believe Thorn and Fox, too, without hesitation. They just have to get word back—

“No,” Fox says. “You're the one with the information. This whole extraction is to get you out.”

When Quinlan shoots a look at Thorn, waiting for some form of sense, Thorn smiles crookedly at him, tips one shoulder in a shrug. “You need to get out, and so do we,” he says. “I think we can find a way to disappear, between the three of us. And—I don’t think we should leave you behind, even if we could.”

Sap, Quinlan tells him, even though his chest feels tight. It’s the wrong choice, and he knows that, but—

Fox has a point, too. Even Quinlan alone, throwing accusations around, isn't as believable as he’d like. That’s the reason he’d been planning to take it straight to the Council.

But. There’s one person who’s seen Palpatine’s face when he’s in his disguise as Sidious, and who now has a decent reason to bail on Komari.

Of course, the fact that Komari doesn’t let anyone off the moon without permission, and the fact that she’s building up to something that apparently took Quinlan out of his own mind for ten full days, makes all of this a little more complicated.

Jango, he signs, and raises a hand as Fox’s whole expression darkens. He’s been drugged and tortured into loyalty. That’s why he’s here. But he knows everything.

“Does he know what the Kaminoans did in his name?” Fox bites out, and doesn’t wait for Quinlan to answer. “He’s delusional. He thinks we’re his sons.”

Quinlan just shrugs, because as far as he’s aware, that’s news to him. Not that his memory is the most reliable right now, but—

He pushes down the thread of discomfort, the rising doubt, the dark, animal sort of fear that comes with it. It’s fine. He’ll figure out what happened over those ten days. It’s not like last time. This was just—drugs, and too many other memories.

Quinlan woke up covered in blood and smeared makeup, but—that can be explained. He just has to keep moving.

“He’s still useful,” Thorn says lightly, and when Fox gives him a dark look, he grins. “He’s clearly got power. If he tells the Council and the

#my writing #thornquinfox #commander thorn #commander fox #jango fett #quinlan vos #star wars #you get to see my wips rebel in real time with this whump month huh

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