#waxer x boil

[bilbosmom-belladonna]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clone Trooper Boil/Clone Trooper Waxer (Star Wars) Characters: Clone Trooper Boil (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Waxer (Star Wars) Additional Tags: Hobbies, Photography, Fluff, Waxer Lives (Star Wars), Umbara Fix-It, as a bonus, Sappy, Waxer Boil Month, Waxer Boil Month 2024, Developing Relationship, Flirting, Planet Coruscant (Star Wars), Planet Umbara (Star Wars), Planet Ryloth | Twi'lek (Star Wars) Summary:

Waxer could never say, later on, what exactly compelled him about the image. Maybe it was the unique, candy-colored sky. Maybe it was the way the harsh lights of the mine, softened by distance and the rising sun, illuminated Boil’s face from below. Maybe it was just the casual, endearing way Boil was biting his thumbnail, his thoughts somewhere else entirely.

Whatever it was, Waxer chose to save that moment for himself. He called up the holo-capture function and collected it all: the lights, the hills, the sky, and Boil. Preserved forever, or at least so long as Waxer’s bucket lasted.

 Five times Waxer took a good picture and one time he didn't.

🕯️♨️📸

My first entry for @waxerboilmonth 2024! This fic is for the Week 1 prompt “hobbies” and also a little bit “Umbara what-if.” I had a lot of fun trying to translate images into words. It turned out really sappy 😆

Just an FYI, if cloneshipping is not your thing, I recommend you filter the tag #cloneshipping as that is how I always tag these types of fics. I’m a chronic multishipper so I know not everything is to everyone’s taste.

#my writing #waxer/boil #clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #waxer x boil #cloneshipping

[proship-jedi]

The jedi love their clones who are in relationships with each other!

Obi-Wan puts Waxer and Boil on the same shifts whenever he can, so they can take their rest time together!

Anakin covers for Jesse and Kix like Rex does for him and Padmè, and he’s just as awkward about it.

Plo is going to officiate Sinker, Boost, and Comet’s wedding as soon as the war ends

#cloneshipping #waxer x boil #jessix #comet x sinker x boost #proship #antis dni

[marbled-polecat]

For @waxerboilmonth !!! Week 1

I misread the prompt and just went with it! XD Maybe Boil was staring at the mess?

Check out the whole collection here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/waxerboilmonth

#waxerboilmonth #waxerboilmonth2023 #clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #waxer x boil #cloneship #tcw #the clone wars #my art

[to-a-merrier-world]

so simple but so clear

Art by the lovely @cacodaemonia (click image for better resolution)

Rated T | Waxer/Boil | 4,959 words

Tags: Canon Compliant; Kid Fic; Fluff; Romantic Fluff; Established Relationship; Plans For The Future; Alien Character(s); Baby Toydarians; Babysitting; Feel-good

Summary: The 212th is on its way back to Coruscant with a ship full of refugees, and General Kenobi has a special assignment for Sergeants Waxer and Boil: babysitting duty.

Or, Waxer and Boil watch over two young Toydarian girls and contemplate their futures.

#tcw waxer #tcw boil #waxer/boil #waxer x boil #boil x waxer #clone ship #clone shipping #so excited to share! #please give caco lots of love for this gorgeous and adorable art!!! #the babies are so cuuute #fanfic #fanart #not my art #caco gave me permission to post tho #you should also check out all the other art and fics in the collection!

[insertmeaningfulusername]

Waxer visits Boil to make him promise him something.

*hands you this one (1) fic I wrote for @clonefandomevents' Haunted Clone Week 2023* It ain't much but it's honest work. Written for the day 5 prompt "Mistaking a Ghost for a Living Person".

#haunted clone week 2023 #clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #waxer x boil #my writing #the clone wars #waxerboil #cloneshipping

[kbirbpods]

A collaboration by @kbirbpods (writer) & @flowerparrish (podficcer) for @waxerboilmonth week 3.

Rating: General Audiences

Relationship: Waxer/Boil

Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Waxer Lives (Star Wars), Order 66 Didn’t Happen (Star Wars), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clone Troopers Speak Mando’a, Planet Naboo (Star Wars), Post-Canon, Survivor Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, (in the most basic terms)

Length: 1,753 words | 11 minutes and 40 seconds

Summary: Waxer had held a secret close to his chest for the entirety of the war, shared only with one other person. A brilliant red line, coursing down his right palm, mirrored perfectly on the palm of his secret-keeper. They simply didn’t know what the line meant, not for the longest time, and after discovering… well, it just hadn’t been something they’d felt the need to share.

text + podfic

#waxer and boil #waxerboilmonth #clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #waxer x boil #boil x waxer #waxerboil #boilwaxer #this is what i'm living for #flowerparrish pods #kaje writes #soulmate au

[rivulet027]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clone Trooper Boil/Clone Trooper Waxer (Star Wars), Numa & Clone Trooper Waxer (Star Wars) Characters: Clone Trooper Boil (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Waxer (Star Wars), Numa (Star Wars) Additional Tags: POV Clone Trooper Boil, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Flower Crowns, Domestic Fluff, Curtain Fic, Friends to Lovers Summary:

Boil and Waxer's first kiss.

#rivulet027 #waxerboilmonth2023 #waxer x boil

[cloneshipping7567]

Romantic Confessions Part 5

Part 5/30

5. "It's you. It's always been you."

Pairing: Waxer/Boil

Rating/WC: M/2322

Warnings: Umbara Arc, major injuries, background character deaths, deviation from canon.

~~~

Boil can't breathe. He just can't breathe. He has to shove he kriffing bucket off and let it fall to the force-forsaken ground of this hell planet, because his lungs refuse to cooperate and bring in air like they're supposed to.

He killed his brothers. Boil shot at and killed his own brothers, his blasts are what snubbed out the life of who knows how many 501st troopers.

He feels his knees give out as someone yells "This can't be happening. What have we done?" He vaguely recognizes that he isn't the only clone to crumble under the weight of what they've done.

Boil gasps violently, repeatedly, as his body fights to take in air. Who did Boil kill? Did he know them? Did he take out a friend? Friends?

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he almost fights back on instinct alone. But then he looks up and sees a trooper with blue paint and a red medic symbol on his gear. The bucket comes off, and an interesting lightening pattern shaved into the side of the medic's head distracts Boil long enough to get a breath in. "What's your name, trooper?" The medic asks softly.

"Boil," he manages to get out, choking on the single syllable. "I'm sorry," he gets out before the trooper can say something stupid, like how it wasn't Boil's fault. Wasn't his fault this medic lost members of his team, his brothers and friends.

"I'm Kix," the medic says, his expression grim. "Are you hurt?"

Yes. But, not in a way this medic can fix. Boil takes in another gasping breath, assessing himself quickly. "Not lethally," he finally answers.

Kix nods at him, patting his shoulder again. "Good man," he starts. Boil opens his mouth to argue, but the medic shakes his head once. "Think you can help me look for survivors? My COs are trying to figure out what happened, they usually help."

Boil nods quickly, and accepts the hand to help stand. He's surprised by how efficiently Kix was able to help Boil calm down enough to breathe. A simple task is all it took for the 212th scout to get refocused, how strange.

Boil goes after the clones who aren't moving first. A quick check of fingers to their neck, a hand on their chest to check for breathing. Nothing; he places their hands over their still chests to keep track of who he's already checked.

So many. There are so many. He loses count; doesn’t want to keep track. Can’t conceptualize how many clones were lost to bad intel leading to friendly fire.

"Captain," he hears Kix call, and looks up from the poor brother he was checking to watch. "I found the platoon leader. It's Waxer." Boil's heart stops, and he doesn't remember standing but he's already walking towards Kix. "He's still alive."

Rex nods gravely, and Kix starts to lead the way. Boil follows them, almost in a trance, to where they go.

He sees Waxer, being tended to by a 212th trooper as he lays against some tree-plant thing. His head is hung, and Boil worries for a second if Kix was wrong, if Waxer is dead, and-and-

His knees almost give out again at just the thought.

"Waxer..." Rex says, kneeling in front of the clone and removing his helmet. Boil does fall to his knees; he falls heavily, hand gripping at Waxer's arm tightly. Kix gives him a sad grimace, but everyone else ignores him.

Waxer lets out a groan of pain, and Boil subconsciously tightens his hold.

"Tell me who gave you the orders to attack us," Rex instructs.

Waxer fights for his breath even harder than Boil was earlier, and the thought of a blaster wound or broken ribs under Waxer's armor makes Boil want to scream. "It-" he cuts himself off with a pained gasp, head moving jerkily. "It was General Krell." He puts a hand on Rex's shoulder, the one not in Boil's death grip. "He sent us to these coordinates to stop the enemy..." He takes another gasping breath, and Boil looks frantically over to Kix.

Why isn't he doing anything? Why are they grilling Waxer about what happened; it doesn't matter who ordered this betrayal! Waxer is dying, and they only care about who's orders they were following!

"We thought they were wearing our armor," Waxer gets out, coughing once. Boil makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat, and Kix takes off his medic pack. "But...it was..." he gasps for air, and a tear falls down his cheek. Boil's own breathing starts to speed up, and he looks between Kix and Waxer desperately. "You."

Waxer hangs his head, his breath hitching in pain and horror both.

"Waxer," Boil whispers, face contorted in fear and pain. "Waxer!" He yells.

Rex steps back, a death glare set in stone. Kix takes his place, jamming a needle into Waxer's neck.

Waxer gasps in pain, eyes wide and jaw slack. But he's breathing and he's alert and alive.

"C'mon, Lieutenant, let's get you to the medical tent, yeah?" Kix says. "I can assess you better there."

Boil swallows thickly, finally allowing his shaking hands to release their death grip on Waxer's forearm. He moves his shoulder under Waxer's armpit, and nods at Kix once. Together they haul Waxer to his feet, Boil's hand coming to gently rest on Waxer's chest as the officer half-screams in pain.

"We have you, sir, we have you," Kix says, his right arm winding around Waxer's shoulder blades to help carry-drag him.

Boil uses his left arm to do the same thing, holding up around his waist but lower, under his ribs. "You'll be okay," Boil whispers, taking a small step forward and taking the others with him.

Waxer is practically heaving with the pain and effort of moving, jaw clenched so tightly that Boil is almost worried about his teeth breaking.

"You got this, Lieutenant, you can do it. The tent isn't that far away. One foot in front of the other." Kix keeps mumbling phrases like that as they march towards the tent, allowing Boil to set the pace.

"I'm fine," Waxer finally snaps through gritted teeth, practically seething. He hisses in air through his teeth, cheeks puffing out with each hasty exhale.

"You are," Boil agrees, increasing their pace just that much faster. He just wants Waxer to stop moving, wants him safe in a medical cot being looked over. He can't stand seeing him in so much pain, so close to dying. "So shut up and keep marching."

Kix raises a brow at the insubordination, but doesn't comment.

Waxer groans, leaning more heavily on Boil and Kix. "How much farther?" he barks some time later, and Boil notices that his breathing is growing more ragged and inconsistent.

"Not far," Kix says, his own breathing becoming heavier with exertion. "And when we get there I can give you a pain stim, and check you over. You'll be just fine. Just a bit longer, sir, you can make it."

"You will make it," Boil agrees, forcing himself to relax his grip so he doesn't crush Waxer. "It's just over there, can you see it?" Waxer looks up from where his chin was on his chest, eyes unfocused but dilated with adrenaline. "Just over there. Just a little longer."

Waxer grunts, and his own steps speed up. An end goal always motivates them; the last stretch is always easier.

They burst through the tent flaps, and Waxer practically gives up on helping them. Boil catches him heavily, and Kix leads them to an empty cot. Together, they're able to gently lower Waxer to the cot instead of letting him drop.

Boil kneels on the floor next to the cot, grabbing Waxer's forearm again and watching his face. Kix scurries off towards the back, barking orders to the other medics in the tent as he goes.

Waxer turns his head to look at Boil, panting shallowly. "Boil," he chokes out.

Boil squeezes gently. "You're fine," Boil says, his voice breaking. "Let me get you out of your armor, Kix will need to see."

Waxer nods once, clenching his jaw and closing his eyes to brace for the coming pain. "Make it quick," he breathes.

Boil unclasps the chest plate, pulling away the plastoid carefully. It still makes Waxer grunt in pain, but he ignores it. Boil carefully slides the piece off, leaving the back piece under Waxer. He doesn't see the point in putting Waxer through that just yet.

Boil's breath hitches at the sight; his chest is littered with blaster burns, his blacks scorched. "Where all does it hurt?" Boil manages to ask, voice shaking.

Waxer huffs an annoyed sound. "Everywhere."

Boil swallows thickly, unable to even roll his eyes. "Don't bite your tongue off," is his only warning, before he grabs the upper blacks and rips at it. He tears it in two, trying to jostle Waxer as little as he can.

Waxer still cries out once at a particularly long rip, eyes flying open in pain and shock.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Boil murmurs, pushing aside the tattered pieces. He almost stops breathing when he takes in the damage.

Waxer has one blast that went right through his chest, mere centimeters from his heart. Another blast scraped across his chest over his ribs, leaving burn marks. There are bruises everywhere, and Boil is almost curious where they came from; they aren't blaster shots.

"That bad?" Waxer asks, a pained smile attempting to overtake the grimace. Boil realizes his face is morphed in horror, and he tries to school it back into a neutral expression.

"No," Boil lies. "You'll be fine. It's-it's not even that bad."

Waxer huffs a laugh, and the movement makes the blaster wound jostle so he follows it with a whimper of pain. "You're...you're such a bad liar," Waxer manages to grit out.

Boil opens his mouth to retort, but Kix shows up then. He immediately jabs needle in Waxer's neck again. Waxer hisses, but then his eye glaze over and he lets out a relieved sigh. "Pain stim," Kix tells him, before dropping the rest of the supplies and setting to work.

Boil doesn't know how long he sits there uselessly watching the medic work over Waxer, but eventually Kix pats Waxer's hip gently and smiles at them both. "There. You'll be just fine, sir. Rex has almost an identical wound. Just take it easy, don't try to move too much. I have to get back out there, see who else needs my help. You have him, Boil?"

Boil nods, giving Kix a shaky smile in thanks. He watches Kix leave the tent, before grabbing Waxer’s hand and clenching tightly.

“I’m okay,” Waxer says, eyes half lidded with exhaustion. Whatever is in those pain stims is a god damn miracle

Boil nods, swallowing thickly. He clears his throat, a shaky smile working on his face. “I don’t know why I do it. Trying to keep you alive is the hardest job I’ve ever had.”

Waxer grunts a laugh, his free hand resting over his bandaged chest. “Yeah, but you always will,” he says cockily.

Boil scoffs, clinging to the positive mood change. “Next time someone else can save your ass,” he jokes.

Waxer’s smile disappears, and Boil’s heart skips a beat. “No, it’ll always be you,” he whispers. He squeezes Boil’s hand, and takes a deep breath. “And I wouldn’t want anyone else to save me.”

Boil blinks, shocked. “What?” He whispers back.

“It’s you,” Waxer murmurs, just a bit louder than before. “It’s always been you.”

Boil’s breath hitches, and he scoots closer to the cot. “Waxer,” he says, his right hand lifting up to run his fingers over Waxer’s cheek.

Waxer leans into it, a soft smile finding its way on his lips. “I love you,” he says plainly, eyes flitting from Boil’s face to where his fingers are on his cheekbone.

Boil laughs once, cupping his cheek fully. Waxer turns his head to kiss the palm, before nuzzling it carefully. “You weren’t supposed to go and fall in love,” Boil chides, but he can’t keep the elation out of his voice.

“Neither were you,” Waxer retorts, grin growing and his sleepy eyes trained on Boil’s.

Boil laughs again, bringing Waxer’s hand up to his lips to gently kiss the knuckles. “You don’t know that I am,” he argues.

Waxer rolls his eyes, tiredly squeezing Boil’s hand. “Yeah, because people who aren’t in love act like you did when you thought I was dying.”

Boil winces at the memory, clearing his throat. “Shut up,” he says.

Waxer chuckles deeply, eyes fluttering in his fight to keep them open. “Make me,” he mumbles, probably not thinking about the implications.

Boil does, though. He wastes no time; he leans down, connecting their lips in a chaste kiss.

Waxer gasps for just a moment, before his free hand rises to cup the back of Boil’s neck.

Boil tightens his grip on Waxer’s fingers, his other hand still gently cupping his face. He pulls away just an inch, smirking down at the lieutenant. “That seemed to shut you up,” he whispers.

Waxer huffs an almost silent laugh, pulling Boil back down to kiss him again. He releases Boil after a few seconds, touching their foreheads together instead.

Boil smiles, eyes closed. “I love you too,” he finally whispers after some time, rubbing his thumb along Waxer’s cheekbone.

Waxer hums, his hand slipping from Boil’s neck and down his chest until it falls just below his chest. “Knew it,” Is all he manages to mumble.

Boil rolls his eyes, leaning back and continuing to pet his face. He watches Waxer fall asleep, and a content sigh escapes his lips.

Despite the horror of the day, he feels like everything will be okay as long as Waxer is here and his.

#cloneshipping #waxerboil #waxer x boil #my writing

[likethetrench]

[Podfic] Family Recipes

Author: @galateagalvanized Reader: @likethetrench Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars Pairing: Waxer/Boil Rating: Explicit Length: 5409 words | 31:42 Tags: Order 66 Didn't Happen (Star Wars), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff

Summary:

Waxer runs his sponge over a plate that’s already spotless. “So, you thought any more about what you want to do?”

“Oh, sure.” Out of the corner of his eye, Waxer sees Boil smirk at him. “I think I’ll be a food critic. I’ll eat all your cooking just to tell you it needs more rosemary or some shit—hey!”

Boil throws his hands up as Waxer sends a wave of dirty dishwater his way, and he snaps his dish towel at Waxer’s ass in retaliation. Waxer dances backwards, wet plate held up like a shield and laughing, wheezing, helpless to stop.

Recorded for @latticeframes <3

#podfic #podfic by marianas #clone wars #waxer #boil #waxer x boil

[kara-ct]

Obi-Wan: We're going to go east and Anakin's group is going to go west. Then...

Anakin : ...

Obi-Wan : I can't do that anymore, Anakin! I can't keep ignoring this!

Anakin : But...

Obi-Wan: Anakin, why do you have a fucking blaster ?!

Waxer : *Shocked* Cody! The general said the "f word" in front of the shinies !

Obi-Wan : I don't care! I can't believe Anakin is so uncivilized! Blasters are so uncivilized!

212th Battalion: ...

Cody : It's not...

Anakin: It was Rex's idea! He told Ahsoka and I that having blasters in addition to our lightsabers would give us an advantage on the battlefield and that it would be safer for us. And you know what? Rex is right!

Obi-Wan : Ahsoka too??? I can't believe Rex is such a bad influence on both of you! Anakin, Rex makes you act in such an uncivilized way!

Cody : Don't involve Rex in any of this! Skywalker does very well on his own to deprave himself!

Obi-Wan : You certainly don't mean that, my dear.

Cody : Don't "my dear" me! Skywalker is the one who has a terrible influence on Rex and the 501! Skywalker is a chaos demon!

Obi-Wan : Rex is evil incarnate! That stupid blonde head corrupted my little baby Padawan!

Cody : ... You're sleeping on the floor tonight.

Boil : Guys, our parents are fighting... Again.

Anakin : ... So that means I'm allowed to keep the blaster?

#star wars #star wars clone wars #anakin #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #obi wan #star wars the clone wars #obiwan kenobi #cody #incorrect star wars quotes #incorrect clone wars quotes #star wars incorrect quotes #incorrect star wars #incorrect quotes #rex tcw #rex star wars #clone captain rex #captain rex #rex #obi wan star wars #star wars fandom #star wars tcw #star wars prequels #Boil #clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #Waxer #cody x obi wan #obi wan x cody #codywan

[viablemess]

I am totally normal about the Star Wars - Criminal Minds AU occupying all of my head right now. Yup. Totally normal. Looking at all the upcoming Cody, Codywan, 212th appreciation etc for the muse.

Anyways. Here's my tentative team breakdown and I'd love folks thoughts. We got the Fett family (the Fett kids probably helped get Jango arrested and may or may not feel guilty about it), we got qui-gon Parenting obi-wan. Annakin and Padme hiding their not so secret romance. Mace and qui-gon butting heads about how to lead. Will deffo pop other characters in there (Aayla, Quinlan, Gregor, Xanatos, Luminara, all my favs). Anyways 🧡🧡🧡

Yoda - Section Chief. Ex-ATF Senior Agent, Fingerprint & Administration expert

Mace Windu - Unit Chief. Counterterrorism expert.

Qui-Gon Jinn - Senior Supervisory Special Agent. Geographical Profile Expert & Handwriting Analyst.

Cody Fett - (Senior on-call) Supervisory Special Agent. Forensic Psychology expert & Hand-to-Hand Instructor at Quantico.

Obi-Wan Kenobi - Supervisory Special Agent. Linguist, Interview & Hostage Negotiation expert.

Anakin Skywalker - Supervisory Special Agent. Ex-ATF Electrical and Fire Engineer & Bomb expert.

Waxer Fett - Supervisory Special Agent. Family Annihilater & Human Trafficking/Sex Crimes expert.

Boil Fett - Supervisory Special Agent. Ex- Violent Crimes Against Children Senior Agent & Child Advocacy expert.

Rex Fett - Tactical Intelligence Analyst & Violent Criminal Apprehension Program (ViCAP) expert.

Padme Amidala - Media Coordinator & Communication Liason

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #criminal minds au #criminal minds #212th battalion #212th attack battalion #obi wan kenobi #clone commander cody #qui gon jinn #mace windu #clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #padme amidala #anakin x padme #codywan #im totally normal about this #im totally fine #captain rex

[to-a-merrier-world]

for @cacodaemonia

Summary:

Written for the prompt: Waxer/Boil + “That wasn’t very subtle.”

—

Watching the firelight dance across Boil’s face makes that warmth in Waxer feel like it’s pouring out of him, rising and crashing over everything around him like one of the ocean swells on Kamino breaking against the domes of Tipoca City.

#waxerboil #boilwaxer #boil x waxer #waxer x boil #clone ship #drabble #mine

[hetalianskywalker]

Mermay 2024 Masterlist

Hello! Welcome to my Star Wars Clones (and their Prime) x Reader Mermaid AU!

So over the past few years, the clone troopers, in all shapes and forms, have meant a lot to me. I started writing on tumblr about half a year ago now and I just got into a graduate program. So I’m probably gonna drop off the face of the earth in a few months.

I wanted to take part in one of these month long fandom events before I left so Mermay seemed like a good fit to me. I went around tumblr and found prompts that inspired me and I thought went with each character.

Thank you for reading!

Day 1: The Courtyard - Mer Rex x Harpy Reader

Day 2: The Bakery - Mer Jesse x Reader

Day 3: Black Pearls - Siren Kix x Reader

Day 4: The Lobster- Mer Hardcase x Reader

Day 5: Two Siren Songs - Siren Fives x Siren Reader

Day 6: Sown Together - Selkie Echo x Mer Reader

Day 7: Scavenged - Mer Denal x Reader

Day 8: Choosing to Help- Mer Vaughn x Jedi Reader

Day 9: A Heart Fish- Mer Cody x Reader

Day 10: My Dream- Mer Gregor x Pirate Reader

Day 11: To Swim With A Siren- Siren Waxer x Pirate Reader

Day 12: Hold On- Mer Boil x Reader

Day 13: Hasn’t Changed - Mer Wolffe x Reader

Day 14: Trapped in the Lake - Mer Boost x Reader

Day 15: Stuck - Mer Sinker x Reader

Day 16: The Forgetful Selkie- Selkie Fox x Fae Queen Reader

Day 17: Here - Siren Thorn x Pirate Reader

Day 18: Just the Beginning - Selkie Thire x Reader

Day 19: Excitement - Mer Stone x Thief Reader

Day 20: Stargazing - Mer Hound x Nightsister Reader

Day 21: Get On With It - Siren Hunter x Doctor Reader

Day 22: Fishing for a Merman - Mer Howzer x Twi’lek Reader

Day 23: Understatement - Mer Mayday x Ice Dragon Reader

Day 24: Stories- Mer Slip x Mer Reader

Day 25: Sea Caves - Siren Fireball x Reader

Day 26: Sea Glass - Mer Nemec x Reader

Day 27: Actions- Selkie Samson x Jedi Reader

Day 28: The Sea Alor - Sea Alor Mer Jango x Harpy Reader

Day 29: The Heir - Mer Boba Fett x Kiffu Reader

Day 30 - Fordo

Day 31 - Alpha 17

#star wars #the bad batch #the clone wars #captain rex x reader #jesse x reader #clone troopers #mermay #kix x reader #hardcase x reader #fives x reader #tbb echo x reader #denal x reader #rare clone x reader #mermaid au #captain vaughn x reader #commander cody x reader #captain gregor x reader #clone trooper waxer x reader #boil x reader #commander wolffe x reader #clone trooper boost x reader #clone trooper sinker x reader #commander fox x reader #commander thorn x reader #commander thire x reader #commander stone x reader #sergeant hound x reader #tbb hunter x reader #captain howzer x reader #commander mayday x reader

[toska-writes]

padawan reader cuddling while watching holo video with waxer and boil?? wdyt? i love them sm ughh and maybe a little implied codywan would be make it more cute ig

Ahhhh omg I love this idea! Good job!

“Inconspicuous ”

Summary: You snuck away quietly into the night to try and do a fun activity with Waxer and Boil, well maybe it wasn’t as sneaky as you thought.

Pairing: Waxer and Boil x GN padawan Reader. (WE <3 PLATONIC FICS)

Warning: none! So much flufffff.

Word count: 900 exactly

Notes: it would have came out a lot sooner but The legends of Zelda: Breath of the Wild has consumed me

Read here on ao3! (✩)

Cody watched as you looked back once over your shoulder than again over the other. How you haven’t been shot yet was beyond him.

Once you thought no one was looking you continued to walk quietly down the darkened hall.

Sighing to himself Cody pushed off from the wall he was leaning from and excused himself from the shiny he was talking too.

If he could stop just one of his men from getting into trouble he would be doing his job well, and you were notorious for making trouble.

He gave you a head start of course. Quickly he brought his comms up to his mouth before he lightly spoke.

“Did you know your padawans out of the temple?”

A muffled laugh came from over the other end. “Well no dear, “Obi-wan paused for a second.

”but I do have to admit after dealing with Anakin I assumed the quiet was because of their absence.”

Cody shook his head slightly as he watched you turn another corner.

“At least I like them more than Anakin.”

•✩•

You couldn’t contain your smile as you turned another corner. The darkness of the night was in your favor masking your presence.

The hallways through the barracks seemed second nature now as you continued to twist and turn without batting an eye.

Securely under your arm was a holo-pad that you prayed to the maker above you wouldn’t drop.

The holo-pad in question buzzed as you continued to walk the deserted corridors.

Clearly Waxer couldn’t wait any longer.

Finally making a final turn you knocked at the door for a second before shuffling was heard from somewhere within.

“Nobody’s home.” Boil called through the cracks of the door.

“I guess I’ll just have to find someone else to watch this with then, I’m sure Cody or maybe Obi-wan would lov-“ the door flew open in a second and before you could blink a large arm ushered you inside.

“We’ve already got a full house commander.” The room was already dark enough. Pillow and blanket of all different sizes scattered the the floor.

Some hushed conversations were held throughout the room as you saw Woolley, Waxer, Crys, and a few others laid out around the floor.

“And we thought that if we hooked the holo-pad to a projector maybe we could get it on the wall.” Boil filled you in while he took the holo-pad and you made your way over to Waxer with his arms outstretched.

You snuggled in close to Waxer as you added. “That would be perfect if we could get it to work.”

It was trial and error for Boil as he stood trying to get the holo video up and running. Many curses and other things along that line later, and the projector worked.

A small group of cheers sounded from everyone around the room. Waxer sighed over dramatically and practically flopped on top of you.

“Maker commander Im so tired, maybe I’ll get rest my eyes here.” He leaned more of his weight onto you as you let out a laugh.

“No no no Boilllll!” You shouted for the other man next to you.

Boil tried to grab onto the blacks of his brother. “Come on ya big lug the videos starting.”

“Yea shhhh.” You added as Waxer found a spot to the other side of you.

In respond Waxer ruffled your hair a bit and stuck his tongue out at you. Finally everyone seemed to settle into the night and watch in peace.

Almost everyone.

A knock at the door sounded an quickly nervous glances shot through the room.

“It’s open.” Boil called from next to you.

With anticipation high the door seemed to move in slow motion and a moment later stepped in the marshal commander with his arms crossed.

“You need something Kotes?” Waxer asked not necessarily wanting to get up yet.

“The general was just looking for Y/N.” Cody’s gaze sweeper through the dark room as the holo video was paused. “Seen em?”

“Mmmmmmm no?” Waxer said more as a question rather than a statement as he tried to cover you with a blanketz

“Funny. Now if you don’t mind.”

Before he could finish another voice came from the hall. “Oh hey is that a holo video?” Obi-wan made his presence known in the room.

“Oh hey there Master.” You said, sleep laced your voice slightly. “Do you and Cody want to join for a little bit.”

Cody looked expectantly at Obi-wan before he answered. “I hope you didn’t forget about your training tomorrow morning.”

“I didn’t, I won’t be late for it I promise.”

“It’s not going to make a difference if both of you are late.” Cody spoke quieter to Obi-wan.

“Excellent point dear, I guess we’ll have to stay then just so no one gets in trouble.” Obi-wan smiled and grabbed Cody wrist before he could add anything else.

You let out a small laugh as Waxer and Boil did the same around you.

The video continued as the two men found a comfortable spot on the floor together.

Boil laid a head onto your shoulder and Waxer snuggled closer under your arm. Warmth sprang up all around you as you practically melted into you seat.

You felt your eyes getting heavier and heavier, the small snores of Boil filled your ears as you let your eyes shut fully

You could get use to falling asleep like this anytime.

_____________________________________

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @thereforepizza @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @floffytofu

#star wars clone wars #star wars #the clone boys #the clone wars #clone wars #my writing #toska-writes #clone boys #waxer and boil #waxer x reader #boil x reader #212th shenanigans #212th battalion #commander cody #codywan #reader insert

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 11: Alone (Part 1)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Angst, description of night terror, descriptions of person and animal injury :/, violence, fluff, canon character death, and description of near-death experience.

Summary: Soon after losing yourself within your own mind, you are deployed to the distant planet Lanos to aid Obi-Wan Kenobi in his secondary mission of delivering supplies to a Republic supply port amidst his coordination of the primary fleet rendevous. But as you begin to dip your toes into the responsibilities that accompany becoming a General in The Clone Wars, you are quick to discover that lightyears of travel will do nothing to shield you from the consequences of being The Guardian.

Song Inspo: Widow's Peak — Neil Finn

Words: 8.2K

A/n: I'M ALIVEEEE. Haha, sorry for the long hiatus, but I'm back with Chapter 1 of Part II (of many). We begin with events running tangentially to Rising Malevolence. Also, I have to thank each and every one of you for your continued support. I can't put into words how much it means to me to receive your Kudoses and read your comments. It's what has really driven me to make this story as entertaining for y'all as possible. So thank you ❤️ So excited to be back! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this one in the comments below :)

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Series Masterlist

Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead — Benjamin Franklin

Squinting against the icy gale as loose flakes snagged your eyelashes, you steadied into a stiff crouch atop the snowy plain. One that stretched out for endless miles across the hostile planet’s pallid surface, but still allowed for enough idle traction with the dig of your determined heels into its niveous layers.

It wasn’t the easiest feat, considering your small body of just five years felt like loose parchment against the billowing gusts that howled past your ears and ruffled the furs of your Wampan cloak. But, no matter, you still did well for your age, relying on the Force’s converging stability to focus your body and mind on the far more interesting sight that lay ahead.

Sharp claws scurrying and scraping into the chipping frost below, the long, floppy-eared Ice Scrabbler continued its desperate search for the day’s meal. Your eyes graced its soft, brown coat, taking note of the progressive ruggedness that characterized the ends of its tail, and tight curls which twisted its cheeks into a perpetual frown.

What tugged at the muscles cornering your lips, however, was neither of those benign features. It was, instead, that pointed beak— a quite bulbous thing that greatly contrasted against the equally confused set of tiny button eyes dotting either oblivious side of the animal’s head as it remained affixed toward the ground.

You giggled.

Floppy ears spun like propellers, slapping against the small creature’s pointed mouth while those same, searching eyes locked cautiously onto your figure.

Sucking in the winter’s teeth-rotting chill, you held your breath, hoping not to upset the being any more than you obviously already had. Instead, you took comfort, simply by watching the miniature thing while your shoulders relaxed into the imperceptible numbing sensation the weather cast onto your grinning lips.

But the Galaxy had other plans, as the Scrabbler seemed to derive permission from your stilled expression to commence a slow approach. In which, placing one carefully lowered paw in front of the other, it rigidly prowled toward your figure crouched only a few feet away.

Still, you watched on quite happily, permitting the critter to carry out its nature during one of those rare trips you and your friend took across the planet’s surface.

Until the Scrabbler’s suddenly coiled spine launched like a flash of light toward your arm, levying a hefty scratch with sharp claws that plunged your knees into the sleet.

You cried out, thrusting a reactive fist toward the defensive, four-legged animal as the Force carried out your whim, sending its surprised limbs tumbling into the unfeeling embrace of a nearby, blackened rock that jutted ruggedly from the ice.

“Are you alright?” Qui-Gon asked calmly while swiftly approaching your squatting figure, having left behind his light scavenging efforts some meters away in favor of the sudden commotion.

You wiped a loose, crystal tear from your cheek as the wise-eyed man kneeled before you, gently grasping your small arm to assess the damage prior to loosening a travel pack off his back and down his shoulder so to leisurely rummage through its varied contents.

“That dumb thing attacked me!” You spit, eyes narrowed on the Scrabbler’s semi-distant form that softly limped beyond its disturbed landing spot, silent whimpers trailing paw prints which denting the snow.

That’s when the old Jedi’s gaze locked with yours. And without sharing a hint of anything but lifted features of neutrality and acceptance, your Master blindly grasped onto whatever he was looking for from his pack.

Soon, he revealed the mystery by raising a white bandage roll from its rear compartment before, once more, motioning for your arm, all of which began the gradual process of wrapping its red-streaked, mangled body that stung from the dissolving mess of descending flakes.

“Do you think they were unwise in attacking you?” The man questioned, circling the itchy white ribbon firmly around the inking, crimson wound.

You stared at him straight. “Yeah!”

“Even if they saw you as a threat?”

“But I wasn’t doing anything!” You complained, scrunching your nose in annoyance. “I was just… watching it.”

After tightly sealing your arm from any risk of leakage, the Master Jedi tied off the bandage. Embracing the seconds following that last, knotted loop to face you with his whole self, completely, before he settled to speak.

“Sometimes, we can do nothing at all, and everything right, yet still face the consequences.”

He rose to his feet, offering you a warm hand to firmly grab as you lugged yourself upwards, catching your sprightly feet to stand beside his articulate incarnation.

“But it is our responsibility as Jedi to face such circumstances without fear.”

Your eyes raised toward the warm, hue-scattered horizon, scanning the icy expanse for the animal before that same, conflicted stare grounded on a small brown ball of fur, quivering a few meters beyond the rock like a fleck upon a pearly white blanket.

“I wasn’t scared,” you defended meekly, a subtle pull tugging at your chest. “I was just… upset.”

But no matter how much you tried to hide it, Qui-Gon seemed to take clear notice of your gaze as his own subtly curious expression traced it to the nearby cramped creature struggling through a noticeable limp.

“It is fear that leads us to become upset. Fear that guides us to take it out on others.”

With deliberate leisure, the Master Jedi approached the trembling, small Scrabbler, leading you to follow in step as you steadily trailed along through suffocating snow banks. Their spilling bodies gliding like hands with tightening fingers as if ready to clasp your ankles before yanking you down into their underground world.

He hummed lowly, taking careful measure not to panic the tiny animal with intimidating noises. “But we must act compassionately to all. Even those who frighten us.”

Before long, the two of you reached the whining Scrabbler. And, with each successive movement that Qui-Gon made, from kneeling down to even extending a sedated, innocuous arm toward its wet snout, the being could only shrink in place at what they perceived as coming doom. With its left, front leg dreadfully abraded and slowly bleeding into reddening fur at the bend, that was all it could feasibly do.

Until the back of Qui-Gon’s hand graced those drooping ears, the gentle, kneading strokes progressively plucking out the Scrabbler’s surreptitiously affectionate nature. Most evident when the smoothly tranquilizing critter leaned into the Master Jedi’s palm with pleasurably squinting eyes, as if his rough skin held the only warmth found for miles.

Which was probably true.

Still, as was his timeless essence, Qui-Gon sourced the infinite prowess to calm the creature a significant degree. Enough, apparently, for your dear friend to feel comfortable gradually transferring that same roll of bandaging tape into your pocket-size palms. Tiny fingers which impulsively clutched onto the ruggedly thin material as your confounded gaze communicated every baffling, skeptical thought that flitted through your mind.

But all that only compelled the Master Jedi to respond with was a subtle, lighthearted beckon of the brows toward the faintly preoccupied, wild animal.

So, with equal prudence, and a healthy bout of watchful nerves, you gently wrapped your tiny fingers around the creature's leg.

Yet as those chilled digits graced bloodied fur bordering the Scrabbler’s wound, you were quick to earn a flick of its bulbous skull toward your now stiffened form, followed by a quiet, meaningful growl that seemed to sting your freshly wrapped wound the most.

This time, however, you didn’t react so rashly.

With Qui-Gon’s silent encouragement acting in tandem with his subsisted, distracting ear scratches, you carefully began wrapping the abrasion.

“To be their friend?” You questioned, eyes locked into the twirling, pearly fabric.

Qui-Gon lifted his hand from the Scrabbler while he considered your words, allowing the latter to curiously observe your actions with a regularly tilting head and clicking beak as the Jedi Master’s eyes graced the blue sky’s boundless existence.

“A Jedi is a friend to all who are imbued with the living Force.”

Your brows furrowed at the old man whose gaze had traveled elsewhere, though your hands remained steady. “But that’s… everything.”

His serene stare skipped back toward your patient expression.

“You are correct,” he smiled softly.

With a securing knot at the upper leg, you finished bandaging the creature, leaving enough room for them to bend their knee during the next few weeks of healing until the fabric dissolved.

The Scrabbler, too, seemed to approve of your quick handiwork, as they swiftly leaned over to swipe their beak past your cheek, offering a sloppy, wet lick of appreciation. All the while their sandpaper-like tongue roped a feeble giggle to fall past your lips.

And it was enough, too, to reel you back into the reality of your actions, like an air bubble shooting to the surface of any deep ocean.

“I feel bad,” you faintly admitted, averting your gaze from the only honorable man you’d ever known.

Instead, you focused your guilt by repaying the presently comfortable creature with a few scratches on their unfairly soft, browned back.

“There is no need,” he declared nonchalantly. “You have made your amends and were forgiven.”

A gentle, thrumming purr oozed from the Scrabbler’s belly— a sound so foreign yet entirely relaxing that it drowned out the echoing howls of swelling gusts that whipped your hair and numbed your cheekbones.

Still, nothing could ever stifle the way Qui-Gon’s subtle wisdoms stimulated your inner thoughts. Whether it was hours or days prior, once the gravity of his words set in, it was like rushing water to the crops of your mind.

You couldn’t help but drink it in.

“So… when I’m The Guardian, I’ll have to protect everyone else too? Why can’t I just help The Chosen One to keep balance in the Force?”

A sudden warmth enveloping your shoulder drew your gaze, along with your once stooped body, upwards. Empowering you to wonder up at the soft-eyed Jedi whose comforting grasp always reminded you that as long as he was around, you’d always be safe.

“Because all life is sacred, Young One. It is as meaningful as it is fleeting. It is when we accept this truth that we may find peace in the Galaxy.”

You grinned.

Until the wisp of glazed disorientation consuming Qui-Gon’s once bright, blue eyes drew it to falter.

“Qui-Gon?” You questioned nervously with wrinkled brows.

His jaw plunged open, orbs swirling gray as a sharp, red glow reflecting off their gloss caught your attention against the world’s white sheen.

You snapped your heed down toward a new heat, settled in the form of a blaring, red saber that burned your watering eyes. Sucking the life from your breath once your gaze traced its body from the hilt lying neatly in your palm all the way into Qui-Gon’s marred gut.

“Qui-Gon!” You cried. “I didn’t mean to!”

A maniacal hiss from just behind fluttered past your tingling ear, catching your heart in your throat as two fierce hands with sharpened nails dug ruthlessly into your arms to wheel you around.

A blood face lined by black streaks, craggy horns threatening to scratch out your skin, and eyes as yellow as the darkest side of the most rotten star.

“General.”

He grabbed your throa—

“General, sir.”

Shimmering silver eyes shot open, subdued shock heaving your once-lying chest upwards like a pebble stuck to the end of a string as you disjointedly adjusted to the warped, muggy cavern’s dimmed surroundings. That very instant in which your shoulders graced a higher altitude, you unconsciously scooted, palms scrambling your back to touch the rear, cold rock face while your mind caught up to the blood rushing in from your tingling extremities.

It was a brief existence of disorientation as disorderly thoughts gradually adjusted for the contrasting present. Allowing your senses to hone in on the fact that you were still within that happenstance cave on Lanos. One that you, Obi-Wan, and his Ghost Company of the 212nd decided to take short respite in, you quickly recalled.

Through that brisk remembrance, you found the blurriness of odd shapes soon cleared like melting ice into the curved lines and sharper cuts of clone troopers’ white and black uniforms, which graciously dotted your surroundings.

Some, like you, were resting against the cavern’s walls in various states of lying, sitting, and leaning, across or beside scattered Republic-marked cargo containers. A couple for shut-eye, and one group for, what looked like, a quick game of Card Commander, which you’d heard a bit about these last few days.

Others moved through the makeshift corridor manufactured by sporadically lounging bodies. Either in straight dialogues with one another or to strictly coordinate the transport of supply-riddled repulsersleds back out into the valley that formed this cave at least a millennia ago.

Most noticeable, however, was the clone trooper stood just in front of your once dormant figure. Presenting a silent disposition which dedicated his helmed stare to an existence of patient observation. All while you attempted to conceal somewhat erratic breaths emerging from that strange dream’s persisting sensation of bottomless emptiness as it settled within your chest like a voracious parasite.

Because it all just felt a little too real.

Nevertheless, you rammed that feeling down.

“Apologies for waking you, sir, but General Kenobi requested I inform you that we will begin moving again in the next ten minutes.”

You nodded, adjusting your spine against the rather uncomfortable, bumpy crag before glancing up at the bulkily masked trooper. One of the many soldiers in this Company tasked with acting as a defensive escort to a ground supply convo headed for the Republic’s Lanos supply port that still stood a few clicks out.

You recalled how the atmospheric electrical storm dancing beyond the skies forced the three cargo shuttles to land at least five clicks out from the compound in order to ensure a safe landing. Which, of course, left a quick trek as the only guarantee of a punctual supply delivery. All in hopes that this secondary mission would be completed in time for Kenobi to return the Negotiator.

He did have to coordinate an entire fleet rendezvous to protect the main supply convoys, after all. So, haste prevailed as the most important factor; no matter if Obi-Wan’s primary mission remained in the same system.

Speed, yes. A constant rush. That would explain why you felt so jostled when awoken. Particularly if you’d only been out for a few minutes.

Well, that among other factors.

“Thank you,” you croaked, throat dry from sleeplessness until you cleared it with a gruff cough. “And your name?”

“Designation CT-7212, General,” he straightened. “But the boys call me Boil.”

“Boil,” you hummed, tasting the vowels. “I like that. But call me Silvey.”

You climbed to your feet, reaching for your knees to pat off the dirt that had accumulated in your unconscious state.

“Sir?” He asked perplexed.

You glanced up at the man, and, were it not for the helmet, you would’ve seen a sharp, bundle of nerves stitch together his brows right about now.

“Close, but you’re missing a couple letters,” you teased, throwing a light smile toward the speechless soldier undoubtedly drenched in discomfort, until you adopted a more practical, commanding tone.

“No General, no sir. Just Silvey.”

Boil offered a curt nod. “Understood sir—uh—Silvey.”

You opened your mouth, loosened tongue primed to inquire about the approximate arrival time to the Republic port, when a vivid, repeating flash erupted from your wrist. Followed by a high-pitched beep and vibrating buzz that, in equal intervals, tingled like tiny Endorian ants up and down your non-dominant arm.

Your new wrist comm seemed to be aptly functioning, you thought while glancing down at the device. It was one of the few upgrades the Republic Army supplied for your wears. Much like the other handful of Jedi you’d seen dressed for battle, you bore forearm-length granite gray gauntlets and shin guards that blended well with your long-sleeved charcoal tunic and trousers. Even the sage shoulder guard did an excellent job extending into your similarly tinted robe’s design.

Though, in hindsight, it wasn’t the most appropriate clothing for such a humid cavern, considering how the cloth stuck to your skin and pulled droplets from your forehead like a desert heat.

All in all, you couldn’t wait to step outside into unfettered air.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” you informed Boil, who simply nodded before retreating down the passageway while you comfortably folded your legs to answer the comm.

Only to hear a familiar groan of annoyance as Anakin seemed to, once again, request that Ahsoka leave from whichever room he was currently occupying on a ship lightyears away. From what you could make out, he was suggesting to his Padawan that she inform the Admiral of their split approach tactic. Still, you couldn’t gather much else from the exchange as it was swiftly followed by the clear whoosh of a sealing door that prompted you to speak.

“Glad to hear that you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Sorry,” he huffed into the comm, a tin film separating the essence of his voice from you. “My Padawan has yet to learn how to talk with the Council.”

“Struggling with tact? Sounds like someone else I know.”

And the brief silence that followed suggested all you needed to adequately imagine the thin, unimpressed line characterizing the Chosen One’s frustrated lips.

Which was certainly enough to yank a healthy chuckle out of you.

Until a concerned edge cut you off.

“Obi-Wan dodged my question when I asked how you were a few minutes ago.”

Your jaw subconsciously tightened.

This is exactly what you were hoping to avoid.

Anakin worrying about you when he had much more on his mind to deal with.

You knew particularly well what it was like to lose someone you were close to. Including the dangers of tying another string to one more rattling tree so soon after a mother’s death. Which is why you didn’t want to complicate his potential endeavors of relying on the Force to forge ahead with your own, peeling branches.

Nevertheless, while you were sure Obi-Wan did his best in redirecting Anakin’s questioning, you were now close enough with The Chosen One to know that he was quite capable of catching someone, especially his former Master, in a subtle act of deception.

Although there was perhaps still a way to salvage this, you considered.

So, you feigned ignorance.

“Oh?”

“Are you okay?” He questioned without a lick of hesitation.

“I’m fine, Ana—“

“I know something is going on. That it has been for a while. But no one is tellin—“

“Anakin, drop it,” you stated tersely.

A perpetual silence seemed to cloud the comm line, interrupted by only the occasional pop of static that merely acted as proof of life.

Still, it supplied enough of a buffer for you to hopefully steer the conversation to something more… productive? Harmonious?

No matter the uncomfortable sheen that draped across your figure, that needed to happen.

He couldn’t have any distractions.

“Um,” you breathed deeply before releasing a noisy exhale. “If you heard from Obi-Wan, I assume it was during the Council meeting on that new Separatist weapon I’ve been hearing so much about,” you inquired somewhat smoothly. “Any news on your end?”

Another beat of complicated stillness crossed the communique before Anakin’s firm, business-oriented tone echoed through the line.

“Master Plo Koon’s fleet was in the Abregado System when we lost contact. Sensors say that this weapon may be why. But the Council ordered we redirect to protect the supply convoys.”

“Sounds like I’ll be seeing you soon,” you commented while your chest distended at the loss of life. “Who’s been tasked with rescuing the survivors?”

“Technically, no one,” he straightly remarked. “But… you also probably won’t be seeing me as soon as you thought.”

Well, that certainly tugged at the corner of your mouth.

“Bring support,” you advised.

“Don’t worry,” Anakin relayed, a slight unsettlement underlying his tone. “The Master Insubordinate herself is tagging along. Ahsoka was the one who wanted to go in the first place.”

“Like Master, like Padawan,” you remarked lightheartedly, hoping to relieve the Jedi’s mood.

“At least she’s learning something, I guess.”

Though, despite the levity of his words, you could still hear the steady unease buffering his voice like a decaying foundation, fracturing all the way up to its highest spires.

A nervous trill swirled in your gut.

He seemed to be in better spirits before. So then…

Was this your doing?

Did your earlier deflection infect him with this gradual rot of apprehension?

“I won’t tell Obi-Wan,” you revealed, hoping to seize some sense that perhaps his tense articulations were primarily rooted in that particular worry. “But please update him when he starts coordinating the rendezvous. Otherwise, he’s gonna turn gray because of us. Well, if he doesn’t figure it out by then.”

Silence spoke for your groundless optimism instead.

And, against every warring cell of your being that despairingly endeavored to justify the past month’s clandestine behavior, it suddenly forced you to consider:

Were you making things worse?

No. No.

The alternative of sharing these strange afflictions was sure to confuse your role as his protector. His Guardian.

Not the other way around.

… but

Hiding it? When he already knew something was going on?

And it was that very justification that seemed to lift some invisible veil from your radiantly, silver eyes.

You’d driven this secret to its farthest bounds, when scooping at its crumbling remains proved to just pour sand into unwanted places.

And the result?

Keeping such a lid sealed only allowed for the pressure to rise.

And if there was any hope of ensuring that Anakin would be able to focus on his mission, on himself, without undeniable questions regarding your being bouncing about his brain, it meant that it was time to crack it a sliver.

Lest it explode into a million, tiny shards.

You exhaled, quite desultorily.

He believed in you. At least, somewhat.

And you him.

Though you still couldn’t help but shake your head at yourself as this decision haphazardly knitted its way across your synapses.

It was time to rely on that trusting notion.

And although, given the tightly wrapped string already knotted around your branches, there was little other choice, you could only hope that this was, in fact, the right one.

No matter how compromising it felt to share.

“I don’t know what it was,” you lowly breathed with mindless abandon.

Another beat.

“Huh?” His tired voice crackled through.

“What happened to me,” you angled your head to watch a handful of clones secure the last two, red and white cargo containers lining the cavern’s walls on a large, gray repulsorsled for travel. “I don’t know what it was.”

Anakin could’ve yelled until his throat turned raw and it still would’ve sounded like a distant squeak in comparison to the rumble of his quickening heart. A beat you could sense from his uncontrollably stilled breath thousands of planets away.

“What happened, Silvey?”

“I’m not sure how much Obi-Wan has told you—“

“Nothing,” he tightly reminded.

“He’s not to blame, Anakin,” you assured, eyes lifting to the cave’s rugged ceiling. “I asked him to keep this private.”

You sighed, closing your eyes momentarily as you gathered your thoughts surrounding the peculiarity of recent events while the Jedi on the other side of the Galaxy lingered in quiet anticipation.

“Pretty soon after arriving on Coruscant, I started having these strange headaches. They weren’t great, but manageable. Until it got worse. One of those times being in the fighter cockpit, if you recall. Eventually, I found some kind of solution. Well, a few. It’s hard to put into words. But, that’s not important. I—“

You swallowed thickly.

“There was an… incident. I was meditating and then, I don’t know, the headaches came back and my mind went… somewhere else? A different land, I suppose. A deadly one.”

You exhaled through your nostrils, taking Anakin’s perpetual silence as permission to continue.

“Obi-Wan was nearby so he helped bring me back before… before it was too late. But whatever happened in there… it changed something. I don’t know. I just don’t feel like myself, I suppose.”

You shrugged, forgetting temporarily that this was, in fact, not a holocomm call.

“From what I was told by Master Windu, I passed out. Spent the rest of the day in the Infirmary before being declared fit for duty and shipping out the next morning. Nothing has happened since then so hopefully it’s all in the past.”

“What do you mean another land?” Anakin questioned, crossed brows and tensed teeth traveling as clearly as his voice through the gravely comm.

“Just that,” you admitted honestly. “Another land. Lots of black rocks, rough waters...”

You bit your lip.

“Well, Obi-Wan did say he sensed a darkness there.”

“Not in you?” Anakin nearly pleaded.

“No, no,” you confirmed quickly, shaking your head for no one in particular. “Just in this ‘place.’” Uneasily, you rubbed your moist forehead with the back of your chilled hand. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“No kidding,” Anakin huffed, before his voice softened into a realm that nearly made you question whether he believed someone was eavesdropping from the other end of that far-off door.

“But, you’re okay?”

You smiled gently to yourself, chin dipping into your chest as you sensed a waxing alleviation flood his side of the comm before you even had the chance to respond.

“I’m alright,” you verbalized, releasing that last bit of trouble pervading your mind.

Well, other than that strange imagery your brain concocted earlier.

That was no dream, you soon surmised once you allowed such thoughts to finally coalesce into a more, credulous form since awakening.

It was something else.

A corrupted memory, perhaps.

You recalled that particular scouting day on Hoth. How the Scrabbler mistook you for a credible threat. And how Qui-Gon, as always, used the experience for a teaching moment.

But that red lightsaber... laid in your hands…

Piercing your Master’s life force.

A trickle of guilt crawled down your spine.

That devil face…

You shuddered.

No.

This was something entirely new.

And, still, nothing with enough substance to be quite concerned about just yet.

Nothing worth sharing.

“You better get going,” you counseled, focusing your mind on the present. “People need you, Anakin.”

“That they do,” he chuckled, leading you to subconsciously shake your head at his oddly charming ego.

Until he abated to relay one last item.

“Thanks, Silvey.”

You cocked your head curiously at his sudden warmth. “For what?”

Another crackle of the comm.

“For trusting me.”

Your shoulders relaxed.

“I’ve always trusted you Anakin,” you breathed. “Just needed a little reminder.”

“Then keep a calendar, yeah?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Shut it, Smarty.”

And, somehow, you knew that even hundreds of parsecs away, The Chosen One and his Guardian were, in equal measure, smiling at their respective comms with an expression only either would recognize.

“Bring as many of those boys home as you can, Anakin. You hear me? I’ve heard countless stories about Master Plo over the years. And no Separatist ploy can cut him down.”

“I’ll be sure to share your praises when I find him.”

You could taste his grin as your teeth parted.

“You better.”

—

If Master Kenobi appreciated anything during this secondary mission, it was Lanos’s proclivity for far-reaching, grassy plains and vivaciously deep gales. An environment that, in some ways, reflected Naboo’s natural monuments, which the bearded Jedi had opportune time to take note of during its battle ten years ago. Though, while Lanos carried less staggering plateaus, its rolling hills had the power to eclipse the sight of any mortal being, effortlessly putting Theed to shame.

Still, his enjoyment of these notable planetary characteristics stretched far beyond aesthetic pleasures. They acted as a strategic advantage for the task at hand: delivering necessary cargo while remaining hidden from the visual sensors of Separatist ships dedicated to broad-band sector scans only parsecs away.

It was why the General chose this pathway in particular. A profound valley whose towering, dense rock walls and thick vegetation would do wonders in concealing about 36 armed clones, 27 repulsorsleds of cargo, and two Jedi from periodic sweeps. Especially during an electrical storm.

Maybe it was that self-assured sense of security, that peace of mind imbued by the presence of a large Republic fleet in the sector above, that beckoned Kenobi’s mind to wander beyond those scattered, nine clusters of steadily marching clones and hovering supplies.

He was instead drawn toward the far more compelling presence trekking about ten meters ahead. Locked in friendly conversation with a convo-guarding solider who carried a green, circular mark on his helm’s rear.

You.

You. You. You. That’s all that consumed the General’s mind.

And, for quite a logical reason, of course.

It had only been a few days prior when the two of you narrowly escaped the brink of death at the hands of your own mind. An experience that flooded the Jedi’s thoughts with seemingly unanswerable questions and unsettling speculations. All rooted in one, unmistakable conclusion.

Obi-Wan sensed a great darkness there.

Never before the incident, not since after, and, frankly, never within you.

Never a part of you.

Just, there.

It was such a nebulous, unfamiliar sensation that no Basic words existed to support its nature— a conception which bloomed childlike echoes of uncertainty within Obi-Wan’s very being.

But even that wasn’t a fair assessment. Kenobi felt immeasurably more well-versed while a young Padawan in the intricacies of the Force and their purport than he had in the previous days.

Much like your headaches, those murky energies were there for as long as your mind was trapped. Until freeing you compelled them to disappear, preferably for good.

But what occurred in order for you to rediscover your connection to the light, so to escape that nightmarish realm, he did not know. All he knew was that in some peculiar way, he felt it affect him as well.

In a process that compelled him to momentarily misplace his being within the Force while he rushed to find it again.

Though it was nothing compared to what Obi-Wan experienced when he nearly lost you too.

Your spirit-paled face. Those cold fingers that rivaled even the temperatures of your home planet.

Your once vibrantly silver eyes faded into a distant, stiff gray.

Thank the Maker he hadn’t waited for the Healer.

Against the stony judgment of Windu’s agitated brows and thinned lips, Obi-Wan decided that he couldn’t just kneel there. He couldn’t simply linger. Doing nothing to aid you besides propping up your slacked spine before it slammed against the rigid balcony amidst that sudden fall.

The Galaxy, the Order, and Anakin needed The Guardian. And the Master Jedi was going to carry out his Council-given duty to ensure that exigency was fulfilled.

So, with a firm verbal commitment to his fellow Master that Kenobi would be getting help, he scooped up your nearly lifeless body into contrastingly scorching arms before taking off sprinting.

He zigzagged around corners, down winding staircases, and through twisting hallways. Dashing all the way, and ignoring every inquisitive glance and curiously dragging foot until he reached the Temple Infirmary.

“Just in time too, Master Kenobi. I believe we would have lost them had you arrived a moment later.”

Master Nema’s words reverberated against his inner skull like the ticking of a bomb. One he’d only nearly prevented from shattering everything in its path. It rang the loudest amidst those timeless seconds in which the uneasy Jedi, powerlessly staring from a distant corner, followed the platoon of medical droids swirling around your body that drifted in and out of critical condition.

It was not until the Master Healer deemed you well on the way to recovery that Obi-Wan found greater ease in dulling those eery tolls. Chiming bells signaling a now distant reaper of peace and light that trailed him all the way to Master Yoda and Windu’s emergency meeting called to be held on one of the high spire’s windy private balconies after the fact.

“Darkness in them or not. There is no gray."

A concept every Jedi was taught from a very young age, the bearded man knew. So he certainly didn’t need a reminder from the Grand Master himself. Especially when the fact of Obi-Wan’s analysis still held true:

“Yet, I sense it no longer.”

“Still, that argument remains immaterial, Master Kenobi. As you may recall, I have engaged with Silvey in deep meditation to access her mind for the past month and have had little success. Perhaps, in their momentary weakness, you were able to sense what was present all along.”

“Coincidence, it is not, their headaches and loss of mind. More, there is to this story. But in the light, Young Silvey resides.”

And Obi-Wan wholeheartedly agreed.

Not just because he was now beginning to understand the Jedi you were, but also due to another salient development that sprouted with a subtlety akin to the budding petals of a Jade rose.

That, while uncomfortably idling in the doorway of your infirmary cubicle for news, only a few hours after the droids recorded a steadily strengthening heartbeat, did Kenobi discover with boggled irises the faintest sensation of your mind’s presence for the very first time.

A distinct vicissitude that only he himself seemed to perceive.

The auburn-haired man thought he’d have a moment to explore this development too. He needed time to understand, to discover, what it was that could’ve possibly initiated this change. Maybe meditation during the temporary separation from your being, which was bound to occur with your recovery taking place amidst Kenobi’s next-day deployment, would provide some answers.

Yet, come the following morning, as the General ambled down the Temple’s outer hall, he instead sensed a familiarizing presence. It wasn’t until he turned into the hangar bay to greet one of his platoons did he come to realize why the impression felt so novel, as he clocked a fully mended Silvey chatting amongst the clones.

Undeniably, he had an obligation to pull you aside.

“You should be recovering.”

“I’m as healthy as I’m gonna be, Obi-Wan. I’m cleared for duty, and Master Windu said that I’ve been assigned to your deployment. So you’re stuck with me.”

And he certainly was.

He was stuck with you, and he was stuck with these new perceptions that, even just a few hours ago, drove his mind into backflips after summersaults as he endeavored to decipher them.

It was a strange sensation. He barely felt it. A blip from your presence during the Company’s brief recess at one of the valley’s cave entrances a click back.

A weight. A brief pressure leaning on his chest.

But, just as quickly as it came, it was gone.

And what all that meant was that Obi-Wan Kenobi was also stuck with himself. Throughout this supply port journey, while he paced those same ten meters behind your conversational figure, the bearded man felt trapped within that gnawing, clawing realization that he was simply following in the footsteps of that same dreadful mistake he’d committed during the prior month.

Leaving you to your own when he knew that something was wrong. Observing from afar when he had the power to say something. All ignored in favor of his omnipresent trepidation that was primarily fueled by your history of swift withdrawals whenever faced with internal inklings of distress.

Well, no longer.

Master Kenobi nodded to the black-and-white helmeted clone sergeant leading the gradually hovering group of repulsorsleds beside him, signaling that there was no need to follow before picking up his stride through the caravan’s strict formation.

A Jedi learned from the past.

And this particular Jedi was quickly inferring that if he wished to certify that you were, in fact, ‘as healthy as you were gonna be,’ he had to personally confirm it:

At least, that’s what he told himself while he promptly neared your ambling figure still enraptured by deep conversation with a Corporal.

There was no more polite waiting until the last minute.

The Master Jedi recalled the impression of holding your icy, limp body. How it felt like a shutter from a sudden coil of wind chill.

And he didn’t like it at all.

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan projected, causing you to pause mid-discussion in favor of angling your neck back toward him with expectant brows.

The bearded Jedi continued. “A moment?”

Offering a faint smile toward his resolved gaze, Kenobi observed as you briefly turned back to the clone.

“Nice talking with you, Getter. Let’s catch up later.”

And with that, you eased your heels back to walk beside the older Jedi. An action additionally facilitated by a sudden gust that tugged equally at both your fluttering robes like a raised sail.

“Getter?” Kenobi questioned light-heartedly as a faint smile graced his lips. “I believe he’s a new addition to the Company, so I’ve yet to learn the root of that moniker.”

Obi-Wan watched your knowing eyes pass onto him an aura of sweet appreciation that sprawled out to every inch of your body before leaving glowing remnants atop the receding grass.

“Your new recruit was labeled as quite the ‘go-getter’ during his Kamino days,” you expressed, nodding your chin toward the named clone marching ahead as your gaze focused in the same direction. “Which equals having an olive painted on your helmet. Green means go,” you chuckled.

Kenobi hummed appreciatively, allowing another whistle of wind to whip by your bodies as it challenged both strides with equal resistance.

Until it calmed enough, dissipating into a gentle blow, for his facial muscles to relax into the real reason he called you back.

“How are you feeling?”

“You know,” you began with a teasing lilt. “That’s the second time I’ve been asked that today.”

Obi-Wan cocked his head with interest, brows slightly furrowing with hands trailing to meet each other behind his back while he hung for you to resume.

“A friendly warning,” you smirked. “Anakin can read you better than you think.”

And then it clicked.

“Anakin had inquired following this morning’s holocomm meeting,” Obi-Wan soberly relayed, eyes glued to the verdant blades of grass traveling past his strolling brown boots. “But I assure you, Silvey, I hadn’t revealed anything about your condition.”

“It’s okay, Obi-Wan,” you calmed, moderately bobbing your head side to side in thought as you considered your words. “I’m choosing to look at it as a blessing in disguise. I think I made a mistake it not telling him earlier.”

Kenobi silently nodded before peering up at you inquisitively. “So, he knows?”

You offered him a distinct look.

“He knows,” you acknowledged, the General noticing as your silver eyes snagged onto some pointed sight beyond his other flank that brightened their gleam. “And he seems to be taking it well.”

Collarbone following your gaze, Obi-Wan glanced to his right when a whipping movement among the bordering foliage centered his own vision.

Streaks of fiery orange lined the back of some fox-like creature that darted from one bush to another. Its fur blending into a pale yellow, soft underbelly and hind legs that flared brightly below Lanos’s equally glaring sun.

It continued its frantic trek of sprightly bounds while skittering into thickets of obscurity. Though soon, the animal’s narrowed skull and gold-ringed irises found rationale to peak out from the opposite end of a latent bush, snout drawing a pure line of curiosity toward both your figures five meters away.

“And regarding my inquiry?” Kenobi gently pressed with a nonchalant regard centered on the timid creature as you and the bearded Jedi naturally reigned your steps into a brief pause.

Though, instead of distantly observing, the General felt through the Force’s most sensitive intricacies the subtle brush of your arm floating past his as you carefully approached the furry onlooker.

With one airy foot after another, all while ignoring the rear battalion’s continual trudge onwards, you reached a free hand to your robe’s pocket. Meticulous fingers searching for some loose item as you quietly spoke,

“Master Kenobi,” you hummed factitiously, digits grasping onto some cylindrical, crackling object that you swiftly tugged from its enclosure to reveal as a pearly white ration bar. “I admit, the preceding, mind-altering incident was not ideal.”

Smoothly, you snapped off a piece of the food item, the resulting crack catching the doe-eyed fox’s twitching nose. Drawing its creeping figure a step or two out from the concealing foliage as your voice evenly lowered in response.

“But I’ve had my fair share of fainting spells from exhaustive circumstances before. And I’ve recovered all the same.”

Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed perplexedly.

“Fainting spells?” He questioned under his breath, looking onwards with now crossed arms as your final paces and kneeling figure landed you before the creature's nervously narrowing eyes and prying spine.

Is that why you were acting so careless about this incident? Did you not know how close to death you nearly came? The Healer on duty or your Master would’ve fully explained what truly occurred, Kenobi assured himself. Yet, you appeared unaware. Oblivious to Obi-Wan’s efforts to save your life that oh so nearly fell short.

If so, he had a responsibility to inform you.

Perhaps it was this sudden conviction which dragged his once stilled feet to stroll toward your bowed figure. To approach the same generous being that fed each broken ration bar piece to a greedily licking fox whose snout relaxed into your warm, outstretched palm.

“We only have a finite count of those,” Kenobi expressed as he reached your side, eyeing the raised, gingered fur of a creature equal parts absorbed and oblivious. “It was intended to last you the day.”

You angled your outspoken head and raised brows back toward him. “I think we can both agree that he’s enjoying it way more than I ever could’ve,” you grinned glowingly, nose crinkling with each lick that clearly tickled your fingertips as the animal lapped up every last crumb of ‘flavor.’

A sight that caused a soreness to shoot by Obi-Wan’s sternum, disappearing just as quickly as it arrived.

The loss of innocence in this new world, he surmised. From this war, and the years preceding it. Seeing an act as simple and kind as this certainly did numbers to remind him of the peace that marked most of his Padawan days.

And he disfavored that he’d have to slice into it like a saber through bark.

“Silvey, do you know what happened after we exited your mind?”

Again, you twisted toward Obi-Wan, sharing an equally amused yet questioning expression that lifted you from your squat to shake off foreign slobber with a sliding clap or two.

“Um, yeah,” you shrugged your shoulders, pivoting to face the battalion’s forward movement before leaning into another hiking pace that led Obi-Wan’s white shin-guarded legs to traipse in tandem. “Master Windu said I passed out. Nothing a day’s rest in the infirmary couldn’t heal.”

Kenobi paused.

In fact, your words stopped him in his tracks altogether, the weight of which yanked down his leading foot like Coruscant’s gravitational pull on an incoming shuttle.

Obi-Wan’s probing eyes raked over your expression in search of any inkling of understatement. A fixed scan that would prod every image you reflected onto him until it satiated his urge with absolute satisfaction. A burning desire to learn of what truly happened when you left his carrying arms that day in the infirmary. And an aspiration that radiated from his orbs so fiercely, it snatched your noticing figure to halt alongside his as a concerned glow etched across your countenance.

“You were nearly killed, Silvey,” Obi-Wan hushed, hoping to keep his promise of discretion by ensuring that any nearby clone was out of earshot. “I felt your Life Force weaken in my arms. Master Nema said as much.”

Obi-Wan watched while your parted teeth tensed to chew the inside of your lip. Uneasy cheeks shifting as you raked a backhand across your lowered head in thought, wiping away a few, loose strands of sticking hair.

“I had no idea…” you uttered mindlessly.

Until your flitting eyes shot up to meet his. All while antsy feet, budged by rote, drew you both to lean into another march forward, toward the faraway Republic supply port.

“Why wouldn’t Master Windu tell me this?” You expressed, lips parted in thought as your eyes raked the traveling blades of grass for answers. “He’s known of my concerns for weeks.“

Another swiping ripple unfurled through the Force, driving Kenobi’s focus to tilt toward a familiar, fury blob dashing from verdant cover-to-cover as those recognizable golden eyes kept watch in its perpetual, ensuing creep. One whose curiosity apparently devolved into desire for another tasty treat.

Although not by any other Jedi’s standards.

“It appears you’ve acquired a new friend,” Kenobi commented, casually motioning toward the unceasing orange fox with a few fingers.

His words drew your lifted brows toward the endearing sight, with the critter’s smart golden eyes and sharp, conniving ears appearing to play a titular role in poking a restrained smile through once-drained features.

“During a time in which friends are most sought after,” you breathed before offering him a thin lip tug.

Another beat sprinkled by the resounding crunch of grass.

You roughly exhaled through your nose, eyes sheepishly drifting toward the carefully observing man before you stiffly articulated churning thoughts.

“I’m really starting to realize I owe Anakin a big apology.”

“Coincidence, it is not.”

Yoda’s eerily judicious words echoed against Obi-Wan’s skull like the instant that follows a visceral nightmare as his feet continued their steady tread across lusciously viridescent turf.

He couldn’t deny the Grand Master’s infallible logic. So much so, that his eyes pierced through your frame, passing by any deeper meaning of your long-forgotten words as his thoughts tumbled through logic spells.

This incident’s severity proved it to be no fluke.

It was something to do with your mind. And while Kenobi couldn’t grasp an ounce of clarity from the Force on the matter, he knew from recent history that any indications of what this was or where it was headed could be discerned from those peculiar, cerebral manifestations.

A thought that grew all the more concerning when a Jedi like Mace Windu failed to address it seriously.

A Jedi like him, as he blindly assumed that stress was the rationale behind your initial symptoms, despite your vehement dissent.

But, this time, Obi-Wan refused to let you keep it all inside. He wouldn’t disregard your perceptions again.

Luckily, on the former, it appeared that you were starting to agree.

“Silvey, in the nature of commensurate openness, I must ask, have you experienced any more symptoms since the incident? Specifically, in relation to your mind?”

Another gust of winding valley breeze swiped Kenobi’s robe against his legs, tugging his senses to canvas the vale. The perpetual brigade and whirring repulsorsleds’s even procession and the sunned fox agilely and stealthily weaving through shrubs not far behind streamed prominently around his perception. Even the gentle sway of a distant leaf tied to its maker, or the churning hiss of waterways that streamed through the surrounding mountains flowed with even impressions throughout the Force.

All before his mind circled back to the being at the forefront of his mind.

One whose uncertain, downcast gaze and gently parted lips had yet to answer.

And that was always an unfortunate sign.

“Silv—“

“General.”

Kenobi stalled his gate almost instantly, swiveling neck facing Lieutenant Waxer as his spine lengthened into the military-grade armor encapsulating his limbs while you correspondingly braked beside him.

“Apologies for the interruption, Sir,” Waxer elucidated toward the bearded Jedi. “The electrical storm has mostly cleared for communications. The Council is requesting your presence on The Negotiator for final rendezvous preparations.”

Kenobi nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Though he spoke with a hint of indecision.

“Go,” you clearly adjured, swirling Obi-Wan’s attention back toward your brilliantly silver eyes that easily caught onto his hesitant tone. “I can finish this delivery on my own. I’ll have Boil work with me on leading the rest of the clones temporarily in Waxer’s place while you two are off-world.”

Your first mission alone. Or partial mission, he supposed.

But you would be leading. And with limited training in the area of wartime feats. Something which certainly pulsated his unease.

“Go,” you assured, adorning a knowing smile that relaxed Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

But only after a few more seconds of analytical consideration did the Jedi Master finally raise a plain brow, tilting his beard as he left you with one final reminder:

“I’m a comm ring away.”

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[cloneshipping7567]

Romantic Confessions Part 7

Part 7/30

7. "There isn't anything that I wouldn't do for you."

Pairing: Boil x Waxer (As requested by tealeyedbeing on Ao3)

Rating/WC: G/2050

Warnings: the second invasion of Geonosis, canon typical injuries/violence.

~~~

Boil holds his gun just a bit closer to his chest, keeping his stride alongside Waxer even and perfect.

It’s making his heart race, how close the shots from the Geonosians are getting to them. Waxer somehow sidesteps right out of the path of one of them, the debris from the impact flying around them and getting dust and dirt all over their armor.

“Only one more klick to go!” Waxer yells over the noise, jumping away from another explosion on his heels.

“Why do we always get the fun missions?!” Boil gripes, rolling away from a blast and jumping back onto his feet, resuming his run.

“Oh, this isn’t the fun part!” Waxer yells back, a slightly hysterical laugh ringing through their comm. “The fun part is getting them back to camp!”

Boil groans, for effect, but keeps his stride. They can barely keep out of harm's way while running full speed and able to jump at any moment. How the kriff are they going to drag any survivors along with them?

“Why was our intel on the enemy’s weapons and status so bad?” Boil complains, more just to take his mind off of the fact that he might watch Waxer blow up at any second.

Waxer chuckles, sidestepping another shot and keeping pace. “Seems to be happening a lot, lately.”

Boil grunts, and springs away from another green blast. “There!” He yells, pointing his gun at the ship. Only a couple more seconds.

Waxer speeds up his stride, and Boil knows he just wants to be there already. They duck behind the ship, and they give themselves a couple minutes to catch their breaths and enjoy the fleeting safety. “Alright,” Waxer starts, looking over his shoulder at the ship's doors. “Time for the fun part.”

Boil rests his gun against the ship, and wedges his fingers in between the slits in the door. Waxer does the same. “Ready?”

Waxer nods once. “One, two, three!” On three, they both pull apart as hard as they can, and they manage to get the doors open enough to fit two people at a time.

“Waxer, Boil. Boy am I glad to see you two.” Their general’s voice rings, and he sounds a bit weak. “Me and Trapper are the only survivors.”

Boil pointedly does not think about how many of their dead brothers are scattered around this ship, instead focusing on his general and Trapper. “Can you stand, sir? Trapper?”

“I can stand,” Trapper announces, doing so immediately. He sways a bit, and he’s favoring his left foot, but he’s standing.

Kenobi doesn’t say anything, so Boil leans down and reaches an arm around Kenobi’s waist under the man’s own arm. “Alright sir, let’s get you up.”

“Waxer reporting in, commander. We have the survivors. We’ll need cover to get them back alive.” Waxer is helping Trapper out of the gunship, but Trapper doesn’t seem to need very much help.

“Affirmative. How many survivors?”

“Just two, sir,” Waxer answers.

Boil hauls Kenobi to his feet, not missing the hissed intake of breath in pain. “Sir?” He asks softly, steadying his general.

“Fine,” Kenobi spits out, very unconvincingly.

“And the general?” Boil hears, and his commander sounds just a bit quieter.

Waxer looks over at Kenobi, giving him a once over. “Badly injured, but he’ll make it.”

“I’m fine,” their general protests, but it would be more believable if he was able to support his own weight. Boil tightens his grip to be more secure, and starts helping Kenobi towards the door.

“Acknowledged,” Cody answers, and if boil didn’t know any better, he would think their commander sounds relieved. “We’ll give you cover fire, get back here as soon as you can. Cody out.”

“Let’s go,” Waxer says, grabbing his gun and Boil’s both.

Trapper is limping just a bit, but he fits his arm under Kenobi’s as soon as he and Boil are out of the gunship. “How far is camp?” Trapper asks.

“Five klicks West,” Waxer answers, leading the other three and readying his gun.

Boil notices that a significantly less amount of explosions and fire rain down on them on their way back, and internally thanks Cody for the cover fire.

Kenobi makes a pained noise, and Boil turns his head to look at him. “Sir? Are we going too fast?”

Kenobi grits his teeth. “We don’t have time to take it easy,” he manages to grit out.

Waxer fires off a couple shots. “He’s right, we need to get to safety. The sooner the general is back at camp the sooner the medics can look him over.”

“Bugs!” Trapper suddenly yells, pointing with his free hand.

Waxer starts to shoot at them with one hand, and throws Boil’s gun behind him with the other.

Boil catches it, helping Trapper carefully lower their general before he starts to shoot as well.

“Commander!” He hears Trapper yelling. “We’re only a klick out, heavy fire!”

Boil hears Cody yell something, but he’s more focused on the shots raining down on them. “Left, Waxer,” Boil grunts out, shooting one bug down and letting Waxer get the other.

It’s Boil’s warning to look left that almost gets Waxer killed.

The shot comes out of no where; he doesn’t see where the shooter is. All he knows is a small yellow ball of whatever ammo the bugs use is heading straight for the back of Waxer’s head.

“Waxer!” Boil yells, but it’s already too late. He knows it’s too late before he screams. He’s already charging forward, already raising his arms to shove Waxer out of the way.

And then the entire world goes dark and quiet.

~

“…be just fine, Waxer, relax.”

Whose voice was that? And where is all the blaster fire, the explosions? How long has Boil been out?

Instead of asking any of these questions, he only manages to get out a groan.

A body falls heavily beside him, and a tight grip attempts to strangle his arm. “Boil?” He hears.

“See?” The other clone says, sounding impatient. “He’s fine. He’s not even going to need a bacta tank, unlike the generals.”

“What…gen…Kenobi?” Boil finally gets out, coughing once and groaning in pain. He blinks his eyes open, and feels more than relieved to find Waxer hovering over him.

“General Kenobi is perfectly fine, or will be,” the other clone says, and Boil turns his attention to him. Ah, Stitches. “You got banged up pretty good, trooper. Your ribs and shoulder are going to be bruised for a while, but you didn’t break anything. The armor took the brunt of it.”

Boil nods, and tries to sit up. “What-“

Waxer makes an affronted noise, pushing down on Boil’s good shoulder. “Don’t sit up!”

Boil huffs, looking to Waxer. “He said I’m fine, Waxer. It’s just a few bruises.”

“And you’re going to have a wicked scar,” Stitches adds, and when Boil looks he’s grinning. “A bit of your armor embedded itself into your side, and we had to pull it out and stitch you up. Not the best conditions out here, but we couldn’t leave it in.”

Ah, so that’s why it hurts so bad. “You could have led with that, that’s much more badass.”

Stitches grins wider, shooting Boil a wink. “It’s in a good spot, actually, just try not to reach above you. But you should be able to move pretty easily without risk of ripping your stitches. Keep changing the bacta patches over it once a day and I would even clear you for active duty.”

“But you aren’t,” Waxer interjects, glaring at his medic. “Yet. You’re ordering him on the ship heading for the med station with the generals.”

Stitches rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, yeah. Have to let the Kaminoans shoot you up with antibiotics and whatnot.” He looks over his shoulder and sighs. “Come on Waxer, let’s carry him to the ship.”

“Hey,” Boil argues. “You said I can function as long as I don’t reach above me. I can walk! Save room on the ship for clones who actually need stretchers.”

“Absolutely not,” Waxer says. “You’re staying on this stretcher until we’re at the station. There is no point in straining yourself.”

Boil huffs and rolls his eyes, using his good arm to pat Waxer’s shoulder. “I’m fine, Wax. You heard the doc, I’m good to go. Help me up.”

Stitches smirks at Waxer and starts to help Boil up, supporting the bad side. “Come on trooper, if I help him up alone on this side he’ll be in unnecessary pain.”

Waxer looks ready to murder, but he finally huffs and starts to pull Boil up. “You’re impossible,” he hisses to Boil.

Stitches snickers and the three of them make their way onto the gunship loaded up with injured troopers. He helps them get into the very back, before making his way back to camp. “Get back soon, or we aren’t going to save any Seppies for you!” He yells over his shoulder.

Waxer rolls his eyes and turns his body to Boil, blocking the rest of the gunship from view. "I can't believe you're standing right now. You walked directly in the path of a blast."

Boil grins, quirking a brow in a cocky challenge. "I'm perfectly fine. A little bruised around the ribs, a cool battle scar, but that's all.

Waxer rolls his eyes again, and the doors to the ship close. They start ascending, and Boil braces himself against the walls. "Why did you do it?" Waxer asks after a few moments in silence. He's looking down, eyes fixed on where Boil's chest is bandaged. Waxer probably saw the wound earlier, saw Boil being stitched up.

"To keep you alive," Boil answers easily, grin sharpening into a smirk. "I always try to keep you alive."

Waxer makes a displeased noise, looking over his shoulder at the other troopers before retraining his gaze on Boil's face. "I can't believe you took a bullet for me. An actual bullet. And for what? For me?" Waxer shakes his head, like the mere thought of Boil risking his own safety for Waxer is ludicrous.

Boil frowns, reaching out and cupping the back of Waxer's neck. It forces the other clone just a step closer, and Waxer's eyes widen just a bit. "Of course I would take a bullet for you. There isn't anything that I wouldn't do for you."

Waxer's breath hitches, and his eyes go just a fraction wider. "What?" Waxer whispers.

Boil rolls his eyes and a soft smile graces his lips. He steps away from the wall, so he's in Waxer's space even more. He leans in so his lips are right next to Waxer's ear, their cheeks brushing together just slightly. "You could ask me to desert, and I would," he whispers, barely loud enough to hear. He wouldn't want his other brothers or a Jedi to hear the treasonous words, after all.

Boil feels more than hears Waxer's gasp, and the way the other clone's breathing accelerates after. "Boil-you-you can't mean...Boil-"

Boil chuckles breathlessly, and enjoys the way it makes Waxer shiver. "You have no idea how gone I am on you, do you?" he murmurs, louder than his earlier admission. He leans away again, giving Waxer space to breathe.

Waxer's cheeks are flushed just slightly, his eyes are wide and dilated in the low light level of the ship. He opens his mouth to say something, but chokes on it. He swallows thickly, looking between Boil's eyes instead of trying to speak again.

Boil hums, letting his hand slide down Waxer's arm until he can intertwine their fingers together. "Wax?"

Waxer lets out another shaky breath, squeezing Boil's hand. He leans forward and connects their foreheads, eyes fluttering closed. "You're gone on me?" he repeats, a smile growing.

Boil hums, pressing their foreheads together with more pressure. "I love you, you idiot," he says softly.

Waxer laughs softly, his free hand coming up to run his fingers through Boil's hair. "I love you too."

The gunship stutters, and the doors slide open with a soft noise. They're on one of the main cruisers now; one step closer to the medical station. "Let's go," Boil says, squeezing Waxer's hand once before releasing it again.

#cloneshipping #waxerboil #waxer x boil #waxer/boil #my writing