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lbibliophile-sw · 10 months

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Guess Who

Also on AO3 [680 words] For @jedijune - week 5: tragedy averted Inspired by The Guessing Game by Kelpie_Mist

Master Vos shrugs at the assembled Council members.

“That’s all we’ve got. We know that the Sith has been playing a long game. We know that they have ties to the Separatists, if only through Dooku. We know that they have high-level influence or authority in the Senate and the GAR. We know that there is a growing Darkness centred on this hemisphere of Coruscant. But beyond that, we’re at a dead end. We’d have just as much luck throwing darts at a list of names. A list consisting, mind you, of half the Senate, two-thirds of the GAR admiralty, and most of the adults in the Order. I’ll keep looking, but at this point we need a miracle.”

Master Vos leaves, and there is a long moment of silence as the Council processes the situation. It is hard not to feel hopeless.

“Very well then, if we are all to be suspects, I accuse Ki-Adi of being the Sith Lord. You stole the last seaweed cookie in the refectory yesterday. Surely a sign of great evil.”

No.

Everyone jumps as the Force chimes in response to Kit’s joke, chuckles running around the room as the tension breaks.

“Really Master Fisto, what an accusation! How does the saying go, ‘you snooze, you lose’? If we are attempting wild guessing now, then we might as well start at the top. Master Yoda, just how long have you been hiding as a Sith in our midst?”

No.

“Offended, I am. Sith, I am not. Too much work, all that scheming is. Particularly when deployed, a certain someone is, and leave me with his flimiswork he does. Sith Lord, Master Windu is, hm?”

No.

“It was your turn and you know it. But if we’re talking about headaches, I’m calling out Skywalker as the Sith. I’m tired of the migraine I get any time that walking shatterpoint enters the room.”

…no.

Everyone straightens to attention.

“That… was a very tentative ‘no’.”

“Does that mean that Skywalker is involved?”

“Is the Sith Lord close to him?”

YES.

As the ringing dies away Obi-wan shifts uncomfortably, everyone in the room either looking at him or studiously avoiding doing so.

“Obi-wan?” It is Depa who breaks the awkward silence. “For the record’s sake, I have to ask. Are you the Sith Lord?”

No.

“See, I always told you I was incorruptible.” His smug smile can’t hide the worry in his eyes.

It is Saesee who speaks next.

“If not the Master, then perhaps the Padawan? I hesitate to re-open wounds, but with the timing of Ahsoka Tano’s leaving the Order, could she be…?”

No. “Little ‘Soka would never! And she is far too young besides.”

The Force and Plo object at the same time, prompting a ripple of guilt and regret through the group.

“Look outside the Order, we must. Married, Skywalker is. A different bond, that could hide. The Sith Lord, Amidala could be?”

No.

Obi-wan glares.

“Really. Are we just going to start listing everyone Anakin spends time with? Who’s next; Admiral Yularen, Captain Rex? Madame Nu, Master Drallig, the rest of this room? Dex? Are you going to start listing out every single one of his troopers? You might as well suspect the Chancellor of the Republic while you’re at it!”

Shaak Ti leans forward in her seat, blue hologram flickering as she frowns.

“Why haven’t we suggested him yet? He fits all the criteria Master Vos brought us. He has been mentoring Skywalker for years. And I know that we have repeatedly raised concerns at the increasing scope of his emergency powers. Is Chancellor Palpatine the Sith Lord?”

There is absolute and deafening silence in the Force.

With a growing sense of dread, they all focus their attention and Mace repeats the question.

“Is Sheev Palpatine, current Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, the Sith Lord and Master we have been searching for?”

Very faintly, as though straining to be heard through the empty void of space or thick clouds of choking darkness, the answer reaches them.

YES!

#jedijune2023 #jedi council #the force #the force as a lie detector #darth sidious revealed #bingo fill #fanfic

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bracketsoffear · 11 months

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Sheev Palpatine (Star Wars) "Darth Sidious led a double life as the kindly Senator Sheev Palpatine from Naboo, masterminded his rise to Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, the destruction of the Jedi Order, and the dissolution of the Galactic Republic after a millennium and the establishment of a new Galactic Empire, clandestinely ruled by the Sith, with himself as its tyrannical, fear-mongering ruler. His grand plan began with a proxy conflict on Naboo that he helped engineer, while also pulling the strings to develop a clone army for the Jedi in the conflict in the years to come. Over time, he would help initiate a secessionist crisis that would require the Jedi to go to war alongside this clone army, then use the clones to wipe out the Jedi and the Separatists to secure control of the galaxy. When Luke Skywalker destroyed the first Death Star, he began to seek to corrupt Darth Vader's son to be his new apprentice. From coordinating and eventually betraying the Trade Federation as they attack Naboo as an excuse to replace the incompetent Valorum as Chancellor, to setting up the various trade guilds in the Galaxy to take on the Republic as an excuse to access emergency powers, to getting Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader to kill Count Dooku to replace him as his apprentice, and then promising to save his wife from certain death with his knowledge of the Dark Side so he would turn his back on the Jedi, those are just a few of the manipulative things he's done. This guy was running both sides of a galactic war so he could make the Republic accept him as absolute ruler for life, all in the name of his thirst for UNLIMITED POWER."

Starlight Glimmer (My Little Pony) "Her first appearance in the show has her leading an anti-cutie mark cult in the desert, filled with ponies who had had their marks magically removed, dulling their talents and personalities. She was able to convince them that equality was for the best through a combination of rhetoric, intimidation, and some really brutal real-life brainwashing techniques. Y'know, for kids!

Her second appearance in the show saw her trying to use time travel magic to undo the dissolution of her desert compound by ensuring that the six mares who overthrew her never met, altering history itself to gain a more favorable outcome for herself.

Even during her reformation arc, she still maintained a habit of resorting to straight-up mind control when things got too out of hand, either of others -- or herself. At one point she literally removed the anger from her mind and stored it in a jar so she could better make friends with people."

#web poll #the magnus archives #the web #poll #star wars #my little pony

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purgetrooperfox · 2 years

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exhaustion

rating: T

summary: Fox has been running on fumes for days, counting down the time until he can drop onto the nearest horizontal surface and finally sleep.

characters: Commander Fox, Commander Thorn, Sheev Palpatine, Clone Medic Nocte, background characters

warnings: Palpatine being a bitch, mild language, referenced drug dependence

tags: sleep deprivation, canon-typical mistreatment of the clones, flawed coping mechanisms, way too much caffeine, slice of life (unfortunately)

edit: happy belated birthday to this fic apparently

Ten more hours.

Three more meetings.

One more shift.

Counting down the time remaining until he can collapse onto his bunk - or more realistically, onto his couch - doesn’t help Fox stay alert, but it does give him a light at the end of this tunnel of exhaustion. He’s in a security meeting with Thorn and a handful of the Senate Guard, and all he can think about is getting out and inhaling another thermos of caf. Nocte would have a fit.

Inhaling sharply, Fox narrowly manages to snap awake before he falls asleep on his feet. At his side, Thorn shifts just enough to brush their pauldrons against each other. It’s well-intended, but Fox’s balance isn’t what it should be.

He sways.

The Senate Guard captain notices. Finally. Fox had been concerned by his utter lack of situational awareness. “Are you well, Commander Fox?”

Still, he would rather not have to bullshit an answer. “Of course,” he says. “I’m waiting for the point of this conversation. We’re all aware of the potential ramifications of a leak in your division, and there are contingency plans in place for that very eventuality. My Guard is prepared to implement those plans. Is that what you’re asking of us? Is there some problem in the Senate Guard that would prevent your compliance with established security regulations?”

Thorn tenses. Fox doesn’t. He’s too tired, and he has enough of a reputation to talk down to lower ranking officers. Sometimes. As a treat. And he’s right. This entire meeting could have been dealt with via holo-message.

The captain doesn’t sputter, impressing Fox for the first time since this meeting began. “As I said, the Senate Guard is dealing with a staffing shortage—”

“And you want to supplement your ranks with my men?” Fox interrupts, well aware that he’s treading a fine line, but honestly. “Subcontracting is banned for clone troopers, per GAR Regulation 300.251.34.”

“Does this count as subcontracting?”

Fox’s eye flutters in the privacy of his bucket. “Yes. Per GAR Regulation 300.351.35, clone troopers are prohibited from seeking employment outside of their assigned battalions unless expressly reassigned by a commanding officer or the Supreme Chancellor. That includes unpaid employment and contract work.”

Now, the captain’s expression settles into a glare. Fox wishes he could remember this one’s name, but who can tell nat-born officers apart, anyway. “Then I can—”

“Before you attempt to give that order,” Fox says drily, careful not to yawn, “allow me to remind you that you are not part of my chain of command, and that as Rear Mashal Commander, I would outrank you if I was. Is there anything within the confines of the law that I can do for you, Captain?”

“Evidently not, Commander,” he snaps. Fortunately, this particular officer doesn’t have the pull to make a case to the Chancellor about this meeting. Nothing inspires like fear of ratting oneself out.

Rolling his shoulders, Fox shifts out of parade rest and swears he can hear his joints creak with the motion. “Then we can call this meeting adjourned. Best of luck populating your ranks, Captain. Don’t hesitate to contact me if your leak is not resolved within twelve hours.”

He should wait for the Senate Guards to leave before following suit, but he’s tired and irritated and under-caffeinated. So he goes first with Thorn on his heels.

Three more meetings.

Thorn is practically vibrating in his boots by the time they get to the mess. Fox makes a beeline for the caf machine and thanks all the gods that it’s working today, spitting unappealing sludge into his thermos.

“You’re going to either get yourself decommissioned or give yourself a heart attack,” Thorn informs him when he slides into the seat across from Fox at a table, all but slamming his tray down. “You look like shit. When was the last time you ate? How many of those have you had today?”

Fox shakes his head minutely and regrets it immediately when the motion sends the room around him into a tailspin. “I ate this morning.” He takes a gulp of his drink, ignoring the way it burns. “I need to stay awake and Nocte won’t give me stims anymore. So. Caf it is. Quit worrying.”

“Quit worrying,” Thorn mutters, clearly intending to keep worrying. “The crash will be as bad as the sleep-deprivation itself. Don’t say no one warned you.”

Unfortunately, Thorn isn’t wrong. Fortunately, Thorn’s shift is ending so he won’t be around to keep reminding him.

Nine hours and change.

Stone tentatively offers to trade his rotation in the Senate Dome for Fox’s next meeting. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to offer at all, but Fox can’t quite resist the temptation of being able to lean against a wall instead of standing upright. The CSF commanders aren't terrible, relatively speaking, so he doesn’t feel too guilty sending Stone in his place.

The Senate is debating pumping more money into the Republic war machine. Palpatine is in favor, so the debate itself is mostly about optics. Let the dissenters think they have a voice. Fox doesn’t know much about politics, but he’d figured that democracies would be less rigged than this.

(That’s not strictly true, he thinks, he probably knows more about politics than most civilians. And most of the GAR. And some politicians, for that matter. Proximity goes a long way.)

Crossing his arms and leaning into a back corner of the Dome, Fox lets his mind wander.

Nine more hours.

His vision swims if he’s not careful to blink the fog away. The caf both helped and hurt his situation. He’s more awake, but he’s jittery and anxious. It’s dampened by the heavy weight on his shoulders, in his bones, trying to drag him down to the floor, but his hands shake. His hands never shake.

Despite the churning of his stomach and the fine tremor in his fingers and the raucous shouting of Senators, Fox tilts his head sideways against the wall and drifts. It’s not sleep, but shutting his eyes helps slow the spinning of his head.

Every so often, the sensation of falling jerks his awareness back to his surroundings. It seems cruel. Like taunting. To edge so close to rest only to be yanked back to where he started. He wants to curl up on the floor and give up this fruitless battle against his body’s needs.

He drifts.

“Fox?” A hand wraps around his arm and squeezes, startling him. Fox jerks backwards, but there’s already a wall at his back. He blinks several times, trying to clear the blur from his vision. His eyelids are heavy. One of Thorn’s kids is hovering a hand over Fox’s shoulder. Gab. “You alright, boss?”

Fox grunts noncommittally and pushes fully upright. By some miracle, he doesn’t immediately collapse. The chrono in the corner of his HUD mocks him.

Seven more hours.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Two more meetings.

Palpatine’s voice melts into a droning monotone sometimes. Fox has picked up tensing and relaxing the muscles in his neck and shoulders to keep himself awake. Alert is a tall order at this point, but he’s really trying.

There’s an angsty electro-pop song that Thire’s been playing in the mess looping through his head.

Fortunately, this isn’t a one-on-one meeting. It’s more of an overblown security shift, since there are probably a dozen Senators lounging throughout Palpatine’s office. They're sipping on wine that’s worth more credits than Fox’s entire life and discussing how to best balance the budget for the new year.

All Fox can think about is the absurdity of this war entering its third year. These meetings never address the death toll, but why would they? It isn’t a death toll if the soldiers aren’t sentient. Just like the Seps, the Republic Senate talks about loss of units in terms of the financial risk of increasing or decreasing production.

Deliberately unclenching his jaw, Fox relaxes his shoulders.

Thorn keeps telling him that he should cut some of the ‘better’ Senators some slack. That it’s all relative. Still, even as Organa and Amidala and Chuchi sit in this meeting and argue against funnelling more credits into the GAR, they concede that the Republic can’t fall too far behind when the Separatists are building more battle droids every day. What good is publicly railing against the war when they fan the flames of conflict behind closed doors.

Something something, political pressure, blah blah, playing the long game.

The clones have no long game to play. Not when their life expectancy is thirteen years and dropping as shinies get deployed younger and younger. Surviving two years after leaving Kamino is an accomplishment. It makes them old by comparison. The youngest of Fox’s new batch of shinies is nine and probably won’t live to see eleven. Amidala came by and met them, which is more effort than most Senators make, but it’s still superficial. It’s not enough.

Fox doesn’t have the emotional space to cut slack to politicians who only do the bare minimum.

He flexes his jaw and it pops loudly, thankfully silenced by his helmet. Simmering frustration and helplessness wring him out, leaving his head and limbs aching. He needs another caf. Or a nap.

Four more hours.

That’s manageable. He’ll see the other side of this shift, if not the other side of this war.

His mind wanders.

A delicate hand wraps around his upper arm, squeezing ineffectually against plastoid. Fox lets out a breath and opens his eyes to see Amidala watching him with naked concern. In front of Palpatine and his Red Guard.

He switches his vocoder back on and very carefully doesn’t snap, “Can I help you, Senator?”

Amidala blinks, and Fox isn’t sure what she expected. “I just wanted to make sure you’re well, Commander. I can’t imagine these meetings are particularly interesting or easy to listen to.”

Fox hadn’t been listening. That’s the trick to not going absolutely insane when in proximity to the Senate. “I’m fine, ma’am, it’s part of the job.”

“Still, I was hoping you would join me for a caf in my office. I wanted to get your thoughts on a few potential reforms to procedural treatment of GAR troopers, and the Coruscant Guard in particular.”

It feels like bait. If any other Senator invited him back to their office for a private meeting– Fox shoves that thought away. He starts to politely decline and nearly chokes on the words. Frigid cold spikes up his spine.

No, he neither can nor wants to hear this potential reform.

“To my knowledge, there's no need to address the treatment of the troopers. We’re happy to serve and are treated fairly by the Senate and our superior officers.”

There’s no reason for anything to change. The clones are treated as what they are, weapons to be aimed and fired at the discretion of the Republic.

For a half-second, Fox wonders where that chain of thoughts came from.

“I see,” Amidala says and retracts her hand. For reasons unknown, the loss of contact makes pressure build behind Fox’s eyes. Has any nat-born ever touched him without intent to harm? “Feel free to contact me if you change your mind.” She turns to Palpatine and ducks her head. “Good evening, Chancellor.” And then she’s gone.

Fox ignores the discomfort that always coils around him when he’s left alone with Palpatine.

“I’m pleased to hear that you and your men are being treated fairly,” he says with a smile.

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope you’ll take care to bring any concerns directly to me, Commander.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

Fox snaps off a salute and lets his legs carry him from the office on autopilot.

Four more hours.

One more meeting.

He can do this.

“We can’t expect you clones to keep us safe!” some Core world Senator shouts, bare inches from Fox’s visor. Fox glances at the spittle flecked across his HUD with disaffected apathy. “If there is truly an information leak in the Senate Guard, the heart of the Republic is in jeopardy! We should issue a state of emergency!”

He’s been on this tirade for a while now and shows no signs of calming. This is really not in Fox’s purview. “I assure you, Senator, the Coruscant Guard is fully prepared for every eventuality. We're very thoroughly trained on the security protocols to be implemented if and when a leak is confirmed.”

That Senate Guard captain didn’t have the authority to complain to the Chancellor, but he did have enough to file one to the war council. Fox can acknowledge that he probably brought this on himself.

“Then why does Captain Braelig tell me that the Guard has been uncooperative with his attempts to bolster security?”

Thirty minutes. Then two hours on patrol.

He can do this. He has to do this.

“The captain’s request was in breach of GAR regulations, sir. I can’t legally rent my troops to the Senate Guard.”

The Senator scowls, rough and ugly. “And I’m to believe your word over his? Is it so incredible to worry that your programming has been tampered with?”

Another Senator, thankfully still seated, nods at that. “It’s not as if we know the details of the clones’ programming. For all his wisdom, the Chancellor is hardly an expert in these matters. Surely there's some risk of interference.”

Fox sighs quietly and it makes his head spin. He doesn’t know how to say that it doesn’t work that way without offending someone, and he can’t offer the Kaminoans’ expertise without risking an impromptu trip back to Tipoca. It’s hard to think through the near-suffocating weight of exhaustion.

Evidently, he takes too long to formulate a response. The spit-spewing Senator snarls and jerks a hand up to take Fox by the brim of his helmet, and it takes every scrap of his self-control not to snap the man’s arm. Programming, his ass.

“Listen, clone. I’m going to need some kind of insurance if the Senate will be relying on you in the case of this security breach.”

Fox goes to offer some empty reassurance, but the Senator is out of patience. Very abruptly, the safety of Fox’s helmet disappears, yanked harshly off his head and flung to the floor. Gone is the chrono he’d been watching for three shifts in a row, and the pending message notification from Thorn, and the noise muffling filter over his ears, and the live update feed from his upper ranks. He watches it roll toward the door and wishes he could follow it.

Clearing his throat against a rising lump, he raises his gaze back to the Senator and pointedly ignores the disgust on his face. He knows he looks like banthashit, thanks. “I’m sure I can get ahold of the Kaminoans’ product quality guarantee and the ongoing quality control measures that have been in place since the beginning of the war. Sir.”

“See to it that you do,” the Senator spits. Fox squeezes his left wrist until he swears he feels his bones creaking, but he doesn’t wipe his face. “I’ll need that by end-of-day.”

Kindly, Fox doesn’t point out that it’s past end-of-day because this meeting was scheduled for karking 2000 hours.

“Gods, are you all so poorly composed under those helmets?” a third Senator asks, probably rhetorically, given that there’s no right answer.

“Unprofessional is what it is,” the one in his face says. “I’ll be informing the Chancellor.”

Fox can’t sigh or squeeze the growing blur from his vision without the privacy of his bucket. He also can’t quite follow the rest of the conversation, sinking down and back into a corner of his head. It’s just about all he can manage to keep his knees locked so he doesn’t drop.

An indeterminate period of time later, the Senators file out of the meeting room. Fox makes the mistake of closing his eyes and nearly topples when his balance is upended. Bending to pick up his bucket adds a swell of nausea to the beaten down ache in his joints. He slots it back on his head and steps out into the halls. The sun has long since set.

Two hours on patrol.

His HUD is out of focus.

He can—

No.

No, he can’t.

His knees buckle underneath him and he collapses, lost to the world before he even hits the ground.

Fox wakes up slowly, feeling like a brand new man.

Nocte notices immediately, which is to be expected.

“Fox,” he says, utterly deadpan, “you’re a fucking idiot.”

Which is fair, but also isn’t really. “I didn’t ask for that many shifts back-to-back,” he tries to defend himself.

“Yeah, but you also didn’t ask literally anyone to cover literally any of it, idiot.” Without preamble, Nocte stabs a hypo into Fox’s thigh harder than seems necessary. “Do I even want to know how much caf you drank? The point of not giving you stims wasn’t for you to try to make up the difference with caffeine. If you come in here with substance-induced heart palpitations again, I swear to the Force I’ll just leave you out in the hall.”

Fox almost laughs out loud at that, feeling lighter than he has in days. “No, you won’t.”

“No,” Nocte agrees with a scowl, “I won’t. What were you thinking?”

He never considered passing his work onto anyone else, but that’s the wrong answer here. “Well, I have a whole rotation off now.” Unless any of the other commanders need a shift covered.

Nocte sighs. He probably knows that unspoken caveat better than most, given how often he steals shifts from his patients. “Do you need the lecture about stimulant use in conjunction with high anxiety and the risk of long-term heart problems? Again?”

“Nope,” Fox says. “You’ve scared me straight. No more stims.”

“Sure. Of course.” He doesn’t sound convinced. Despite feeling more rested than he has in recent memory, Fox’s awareness starts sliding away again. “Are you falling asleep again? Great, I’m putting you on medical leave for an extra rotation. So. Suck on that, Commander.”

#this is an oldie but i just went back and edited it a bit today so idk here you go #leo.writes #commander fox #how do you tag fic on this site #coruscant guard #waugh this is OLD old i'm scream. like a whole year #brb gotta have an existential crisis

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sw5w · 3 months

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Mourners

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 02:07:33

#Star Wars #Episode I #The Phantom Menace #Naboo #Theed #Funeral Temple #Saesee Tiin #Boss Rugor Nass #Plo Koon #Anakin Skywalker #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Queen Amidala #Captain Quarsh Panaka #Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine #Governor Sio Bibble #Jar Jar Binks

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wandering-writer-ha · 1 year

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Here is the sneak peak for squad 7! @cloneshippingbigbang

I’m excited to be presenting this to y’all! I hope you enjoy it :D

@reaalikaasu is the very talented artist!

Fic Title: Best Part

Rated: Teen

Word count: Over 25,000

Pairing: Fox x Thorn

Tags: cloneshipping, clonecest, CC-1010 | Fox, Clone Commander Thorn, CC-5869 | Stone, CC-4477 | Thire, CC-2224 | Cody, Clone ocs, jedi ocs, Sheev Palpatine, Mother Talzin, Canon-typical violence, palpatine dies, Mace Windu, Plo Koon, CC-6454 | Ponds, CC-3636 | Wolffe, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda, Satine Kryze, Mon Mothma, Padme Amidala, Bail Organa, Alpha-17, CC-1010 | Fox / Clone Commander Thorn, implied anirexdala,

Summary: Commanders Fox and Thorn are trying to survive the war together on Coruscant. Can they survive Palpatine’s machinations?

Snippet:

Stone’s voice was groggy and confused on the other end of the comm. "Fox? What's going on?"

"I overslept, somehow. I’m sure I set the alarms properly - some bastard must have turned them off," Fox explained in a rush. “Why didn't you comm me earlier? You know that Brink is going to be on your ass for pulling a third double in a row, even if I am grateful that you apparently decided to cover my shift without checking in with me. But I'm not injured, so you didn't need to do that.” He transferred the call to his bucket comm as he finished dressing in his armor, pausing for just a moment to snatch a breath and one of the emergency ration bars stashed in his bunk-side drawer.

"What? No, I'm not still on shift,” Stone answered, and he sounded increasingly bewildered. “Thorn took report a couple of hours ago. It's fine, Fox. Don't you - "

Fox cursed under his breath, tensing up further. He'd been unsure about whether or not the unnamed thing between himself and Thorn should continue - despite the warm-soft-fuzzy feelings, he didn't want to overstep, and here Thorn was covering for one of his missteps. "Force karking damn it. I still wish that one of you had woken me up! I'll be at headquarters in five. Hopefully he hasn't had to cover too many of the meetings I'm supposed to be in for security reasons today."

"FOX! You don't have any meetings scheduled today. You're also not scheduled for patrol!" Stone half-yelled. "Fox, don't you remember?"

Fox paused for a moment, trying to figure out what Stone was referring to. There was something niggling at the back of his mind, but in his not-panic over being so horribly late to his shift he couldn't quite remember what it was that he should be remembering. "Remember what? That I'm horribly, horribly late? And that if any of the nat-borns we deal with - outside of the Jetiise - realize this slip up, it's back to Kamino for recalibration if I'm lucky?"

"Force's sake, Fox! You have the day off. Your request for leave went through," Stone cut in, talking over more of Fox's babbling with fond exasperation. "None of us woke you up because you're on leave.”

Fox blinked in surprise, and the memories slowly filtered back in at Stone’s words. That’s right; he had five days off, all in a row. His request, submitted months ago, had finally been approved a couple of days previously, despite the Supreme Chancellor originally rejecting it.

Fox had Bulwark to thank for that; the Chief Medical Officer had petitioned the Jedi Council directly, citing that battlefield commanders regularly got leave after campaigns, but the four commanders of the Coruscant Guard had never been granted leave because they were permanently stationed on Coruscant. Apparently he’d also had some choice words about CorSec all but abandoning their duties to the Guard - none of which the vode were even trained for, much less had the resources to take on.

While Fox had been concerned to hear that one of his vode had criticized CorSec so blatantly to the Jedi, he had to admit that Bulwark got results. Each of the commanders would get a few days of leave off over the following months.

Fox, who knew well that the kindly old grandfather persona that the chancellor projected in public was a flimsi-thin mask hiding quite a bit of petty vindictiveness, was surprised that the Jedi had been able to strongarm him into agreeing to even that much, and he dreaded how Chancellor Palpatine would punish the Guard for it later. It was clear that the chancellor had grown very used to having an enormous amount of power and the privilege that came with it. Then again, maybe even he had finally admitted that the Guard was of no use to anyone if they burned out.

“...Right,” Fox replied belatedly. “I forgot. Sorry to have bothered you.” He winced. “I woke you up, didn’t I?”

#csbb22 #cc 1010 #commander fox #commander thorn #fox x thorn #star wars #the clone wars #cloneshipping #commander stone

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vodika-vibes · 9 months

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Midday Blooms - Lilacs and Daffodils

Years after the Sith took control of Coruscant, the Coruscanti Citizens live on a series of Space Stations surrounding the planet, waiting for the day when they're allowed to return home. When it's safe to return home. The Clones, elite soldiers born of the DNA of Lord Jango Fett, make up the large majority of the fighting force, though not the entirety. And after it comes out that Lord Fett had elected to side with Count Dooku, a fallen Jedi Master, and that both men were pawns of none other than Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine, the men are freed from the chips, and any compulsions that would have them turn on the jedi, and the civilians they protect so ably. But even now the war rages on. The soldiers, and their Jedi Generals, rotate three month deployments to Coruscant, in the hopes that one day, they will be able to live on the planet that glitters over their heads. This is very tangentially a war story. Because I cannot write action. But I will do my best. Tagging: @starrrgazingbunny Ships: Marshal Commander Neyo x OC, Marshal Commander Bacara x OC

Nebula Space Station

Bell Manor - 10:00 am

“It’s only a matter of time,” Doctor Dee Bell said excitedly to his daughter as he waved his morning toast around over his head. He either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, that some of the jam had fallen off the bread and landed on his white jacket. “You’ll see, Talia! Someday soon, we’ll be able to resettle Coruscant.”

Talia shook her head in amusement, “Father, you’ve been saying that for years, and the soldiers are no closer to retaking Coruscant from the Sith today then they were when I was six,”

“Bah! That’s only because Lord Fett decided to throw his weight behind Dooku.”

“We’re fortunate that the Jedi figured out his plan before Palpatine enacted it,” Talia pointed out as she took a sip of her tea, and then made a face. Cold, yuck. “Though it’s a shame that Knight Skywalker decided to throw his weight behind Palpatine.”

“He’s an idiot. And he’s on the losing side.” Her father countered, “Why, even Senator Amidala has been denouncing his actions since the day he defected, and she’s the mother to his children.”

He trailed off as he finally remembered that he was in the middle of eating, and he took a bite of his, now plain, toast. And then he paused and squinted at Talia, “Don’t you have a Salon you’re supposed to go to today?”

“...No.” Talia lied, badly. Damn it, she was hoping he had forgotten about the Cunningham Salon.

“Talia,”

Aw, man. The Disappointed Dad voice.

“You cannot skip Betty’s Salon, she’s always so happy when you go and visit.”

“Yeah, but she’s awful.”

“She’s lonely.”

“She insults Ophelia constantly.”

“Maybe Ophelia deserves it.”

“Dad!”

“What? I know she’s your friend, but she is a bit of a wild child!”

“She’s calmed down a lot since we were in Finishing School, dad. You know she’s working at her father’s company now, right?”

“Is she really?” Her father looks surprised, “Huh, well. Even so, you should go get dressed for the party. You should wear the purple dress your grandmother bought you.”

“I look awful in purple.” Talia whined, acting much younger than her 22 years.

“Nonsense, you love purple. It’s your favorite color! And you look beautiful in it!”

“That’s worse! Betty will just accuse me of showing her up at her own Salon.”

“Nonsense. Now go and get dressed.”

Talia rolled her eyes, but allowed her father to propel her out of her seat and to the stairs. She supposed there was no way out of it now. Stupid dad actually remembering shit at inconvenient moments.

Still, it wouldn’t take her longer than, maybe, half an hour to get herself dressed and her hair and make-up done. Maybe she would go all out and put fresh flowers in her hair, rather than pulling it up into a fancy updo.

She would have to send Ophelia a message. Her best friend always was good at coming up with ways to make Betty look like the hag she was.

*********

Marshal Commander Neyo was not happy.

In his defense, he was rarely happy. Being a Marshal Commander often came with more responsibilities than rights, and he had spent the last three months on rotation on the front lines.

He was exhausted.

Down to his bones.

All he wanted to do was retire to the apartment the Government gave him, and sleep for the next 9 months, until his next rotation to Coruscant started.

But no.

He couldn’t.

Because Fucking Faie agreed to a fucking Salon.

He didn’t even know what a Salon was. A party of some kind, based on the fact that he was required to wear his dress uniform.

He scowled at the pure white uniform. It was perfect, of course, and covered in medals and awards that meant jack-shit in any real world scenario. He hated it. He was much more comfortable in his armor. Hell, even his blacks would be preferable to wearing that get-up.

“Don’t be such a grouch,” Faie said with a roll of his eyes. He was already wearing his dress uniform. “We’re going to be rubbing shoulders with high class ladies.”

Neyo considered shoving him out the window. He would probably get another medal of service for it.

“Lovely,” Bacara said in monotone, “Just how I wanted to spend my first day decompressing from battles. Schmoozing with the rich and lazy.”

“It’ll be fun.” Faie insisted.

“Your idea of fun used to be reading Reg manuals,” Neyo pointed out snidely.

Faie gasped, “He talks!”

The urge to shove him out the window got stronger. “Wow. It’s sad that you think you’re funny.” Neyo said.

Faie rolled his eyes again. Neyo hoped his eyes got stuck that way. “Look, we finally have rights. We might as well take advantage of them. Besides, Bly is coming too.”

Bacara’s fingers slipped on one of his buttons, “You managed to convince him to step away from General Secura long enough to flirt with rich ladies?”

“Of course not. General Secura ordered him to come.”

Oh. That made sense.

Wait-

“I thought Bly was about to rotate to Coruscant,” Neyo said absently, as though he was commenting on the weather.

“He was supposed to, but General Secura was injured, so her battalion and the Wolfpack switched places.” Bacara replied as he finished buttoning his jacket and made sure that his ribbons were straight, “Hurry up, Neyo. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can make our escape.”

Neyo was pretty sure that was a damned lie, but it was a nice lie, so he finally pulled his jacket on and started buttoning it. Stupid brothers. Always getting him involved in stupid shit.

Maybe there would be good food at this party, if nothing else.

******

Talia stepped out of the speeder and thanked her father’s droid with a kind smile. She had been in luck, mother’s lilac bush was still in bloom, which meant she had been able to weave the delicate purple flowers through her braid.

And they matched her dress and sandals. One point for Talia and none for Harpy Betty.

She cast her gaze around, and a bright smile crossed her face when she saw Ophelia waiting for her. She looked annoyed, though no one else would think that, as her friend had mastered the art of hiding her emotions behind a fan.

Her entire face brightened, though, when she saw Talia. Ophelia snapped her fan shut, and stepped over to her. “Tali, darling, I thought you weren’t coming!” She hugged Talia tightly.

“Sorry, there was awful traffic by the spaceport.” Talia smiled warmly, her gaze lingering on the crown of daffodils that Ophelia had perched on top of her neat, platinum blonde, hair. “You decided on yellow, then?”

Ophelia stepped back and twirled for Talia, showing off her vibrant yellow dress, “Betty told me that yellow wasn’t my color due to my hair,” She said, “So I decided to be petty.”

Talia’s smile became so achingly fond as she regarded her best friend of twenty years, “You’re always petty.” She said, warmly.

“Pssh. You were the one who suggested real flowers, rather than ribbons.” Ophelia grinned, “I already got a comment about my daffodils, from Anne, of course.”

“Oh? What did she say?”

“That it was unbecoming of me to try and show up Betty at her own Salon.” Ophelia rolled her eyes, “I could wear a trash bag, and still show her up.” She hooked her arm with Talia’s and tugged her towards the garden entrance, “It’s because she has the personality of a sewer rat.”

The pair stepped into the garden, and were immediately overwhelmed by the scent of roses. “Ew.” Talia whispered, “Roses, really? And red ones?”

Ophelia leaned in, “I heard that she’s hunting for a husband.”

“At a Salon?”

“Mm. She invited some of the men who recently returned from Coruscant.” Ophelia replied, as she cast her gaze around the garden, “Though I doubt they’re here yet.”

“Oh, Talia you made it-” Betty hurried over and stopped, her gaze locked on the flowers in Talia’s hair, and then her gaze drifted to the flowers in Ophelia’s hair, “You made it.” She finished, sounding very annoyed.

“There was awful traffic, Betty,” Talia said sweetly, like she had no idea that Betty was annoyed with her, “I suppose it makes sense with so many men returning from Coruscant yesterday.”

Betty flushed, the unheard condemnation heard loud and clear. “Ophelia, I’m surprised at you. Did I forget to mention how washed out yellow makes you look at my last Salon?”

Ophelia smiled winsomely, her yellow fan coming out and snapping open in front of her mouth and nose, “Mother made this dress for me, Betty. Surely you don’t expect me to disrespect her?”

Ophelia’s mother was a fashion designer of some renown. Well, she designed the gowns that the ladies of the senate wore on a daily basis, so “some” renown was rather an understatement.

“Your mother should know better than to dress you in yellow,” Betty sniffed.

“I’ll be sure to mention it.” Ophelia replied. “Come along, Talia. I see Elizabeth over by the tea, and I’m sure that Betty has other people she needs to greet.”

Talia allowed Ophelia to direct her over to the tea table, where Elizabeth most assuredly wasn’t. The third part of their little trio from Finishing School stopped coming to these events as soon as she turned 18. With her mother’s blessing, of course.

Talia and Ophelia hadn’t been so lucky, tragically.

“Have you spoken to Elizabeth recently?” Talia asked as soon as Betty was out of earshot.

“I have, she’s met a man,” Ophelia grinned wickedly, “A soldier, named Gree. Apparently he’s as sweet as sugar and dotes on her.”

“I’m glad for her,” Talia said loyally.

“I think it’s boring.” Ophelia whispered as she handed a teacup to Talia, and then took one for herself.

“Hm. Have you heard from your gentleman lately?” Talia asked, innocently.

Ophelia looked disgruntled, “He returned yesterday, but he said that he had been roped into something today, so I’m not going to see him until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“You poor thing. How will you survive?” Talia teased.

Ophelia shot her a look, and then her shoulders slumped, “I haven’t seen him in three months, and I wasn’t even able to greet him yesterday because he has responsibilities. It’s not even fair.”

“As if your father would okay you going to meet a man, any man, on your own.” Talia points out as she snags one of the picnic tables for them to share, “You’re lucky your mother approves.”

“Mother loves him. She’s been designing my wedding dress since I was three, of course.” Ophelia said warmly, “Of course, the moment she finds out that I’m already married, all bets are off.”

Talia laughed. She opened her mouth to say something when there was a commotion from the entrance of the garden.

*******

Neyo decided immediately that he hated roses. He hated the look and the scent. And he really, really hated the woman who dressed herself to look like a rose. Who was simpering over Faie like he deserved anything more than being shoved out a window.

At least most everyone else was dressed in more pastel colors. He saw several pinks, quite a few blues and greens, and more than one pastel yellow. This woman was the only one wearing wine red.

She stood out. And not in a good way.

“Neyo, this is Miss Betty Cunningham. This is her party,” Faie said, his glare practically screaming at him to be nice.

“Nice to meet you.” Neyo replied in a flat voice, everything about his screaming I don’t want to be here.

He took it as a victory when the red woman faltered under his unimpressed stare, and she turned to focus her attention on Bacara and Bly…neither of whom were paying attention to her.

Bly was staring at his chrono, likely wondering how long he had to remain at the party to not be seen as rude when he left. Neyo was sure that General Secura told him he had to stay for at least an hour.

Bacara, though-

Huh. Bacara was staring at something across the garden.

Neyo followed his gaze, and landed on a young woman, dressed in vibrant yellow, with yellow flowers in her hair. A young woman who was well aware of Bacara’s stare, as her face was glowing red. Her companion, a young woman in pastel purple with purple flowers in her hair, looked like she was trying not to laugh.

Neyo glanced over at his brother, who was now playing with something around his neck. That something, Neyo knew, was a wedding band. Something Bacara had admitted to him late one night, after a particularly bad day on Coruscant.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Neyo hissed, “Go talk to your wife before she implodes.”

Bacara shot him a relieved look, and slipped away from the group of men, and across the garden. Laser focused on the yellow woman, who stood and greeted him with a tight hug.

Neyo was amused to note that the red woman flushed an angry shade of red when she saw that. He decided to take a note from his brother’s book in this case, and make a tactical retreat.

Neyo found himself near the back of the garden, by a rather large, and gaudy looking, fountain. A fountain that was covered in red roses. What was with that woman?

“It’s hideous, isn’t it?” Neyo turned and flickered his gaze slightly down to regard the young woman standing several feet behind him, she smiled at him apologetically, “The Fountain, I mean.”

She stepped up next to him, her gaze remained locked on the fountain. She smelled softer, like the purple flowers in her hair. It was nice, compared to the overpowering scent of roses. “What is her obsession with roses?” Neyo asked.

She laughed, a bubbly noise that made Neyo want to make her laugh again. “The roses are new,” She said, once her laughter calmed, “Generally you can tell what kind of mood Betty is in based on the flowers she decorates her garden with.”

“And what do red roses mean?” Neyo asked warily.

“That she’s looking for a husband,”

Fuck.

She laughs again, and Neyo’s panic fades a little. “I don’t think you need to worry,” She reassures, “I think you intimidate her.”

“Thank fuck for that.” He paused, “Do I intimidate you?”

She released a thoughtful hum, and then looked up at him with a bright smile, “I’ve never been intimidated by a man in my life.”

That was…unfairly attractive, actually, Neyo decided after a moment of thought.

“Marshal Commander Neyo, of the 91st Battalion.”

Her smile widened, “Talia Bell. It’s very nice to meet you, Commander.”

“Neyo.”

Delight flickered across her face, “Well then, it’s nice to meet you, Neyo.”

He decided, then and there, that he liked the way his name sounded on her tongue. Plans flickered through his mind, as his entire world shifted a little bit. “So, Talia,” He liked her name. It suited her, “What kind of flowers are these?” He brushed his fingers against one of the purple blossoms in her hair.

She considered him for a moment, and then she motioned for him to duck his head. Talia pulled a single blossom bunch from her hair, and lightly tucked it behind his ear, “They’re lilac blossoms,” She said, “And now we match.”

Well then.

A slow smile crossed his face, “If we match,” Neyo said slowly, his gaze locked on her face, “Then I suppose it’s okay for me to ask if you want to leave.”

She laughed, and leaned closer to him, the scent of lilacs swirled around them. “I know how to get to the back gate open,” Talia said brightly, “And there’s a nice little restaurant not far from here that has the best sandwiches on the station. If you’re interested?”

He was definitely interested. In more than just sandwiches. “It sounds like a good start,” He says instead, “Do you mind if I ditch the jacket at my barracks though?”

She shook her head, and then offered him her hand, her eyes sparkling in the midday sun. “Come on, Neyo. Let’s go have some real fun.”

Half made plans solidified into something solid. Something real.

Neyo smiled and took her hand, “Lead the way, Sarad.”

#star wars #star wars au #sorta regency au?#Midday Blooms #Neyo x oc

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