#clone medic pace (oc)

[wizardofrozz]

hi, Rozz!!! from the kiss prompts, can I please request:

"i'm sorry, i had to." with Sawbones (simping uncontrollably for him tbh)

can’t wait to see how the mean one handles a first kiss 😅

Love It When You Hate Me

OC Sawbones x reader, Original Clone Troopers

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: mention of injury, Sawbones being an asshole. I think that's it lol

A/N: Thank you for the ask Sev 🖤 I get so unbelievably happy when anyone simps of Sawbones lmao I got a little carried away with this but I don't even care, it was worth it 😂

Before the war, you hadn’t traveled much, staying busy in the emergency wing of Coruscant General. Then Geonosis happened, millions of troopers materializing out of thin air to fight a war most people hadn’t even been expecting. That was how you ended up working for the GAR, traveling around the galaxy to lend your medical knowledge to the troops that needed it most. You had visited several medical centers and worked alongside combat medics across numerous battalions.  

The Ord Cestus Medical Center was your most recent assignment, offering an extra set of hands after a large influx of troopers came in. You smiled at the clone stretched out on the bed before you as you checked his vitals. You didn’t even know his name but it didn’t seem to matter to him. 

“Am I gonna make it, doc?” he asked, a smirk lifting the side of his mouth. The trooper’s arm was secured to his chest, his right shoulder still healing after being violently ripped from the socket. 

“Mm, I don’t know,” you teased, smiling when he laughed. It was a welcomed sound in a place so steeped in pain, meaning you noticed when it cut off abruptly. You checked for any sign that he was in pain but his expression gave nothing away; you followed his eyes across the room and held in a sigh. 

As a civilian, you hadn’t been sent into combat areas, making relief missions your most common assignment. Most of the time you spent with a battalion was fleeting but there was one that was an exception: the 104th battalion, the Wolfpack. General Plo Koon’s men still fought infantry battles but they also spent the most time rescuing other troops or offering aid to civilians. If it was by accident or due to a request from the general, you were called in, along with a few other civilians, to offer their medics a few extra hands. 

Now, seeing one of those medics, most notably the chief medical officer, wasn’t what you were expecting.

Sawbones looked just as stormy as ever despite the crutches he was hobbling around on. You had heard the stories, the things he’d done in the name of the Republic but your inner idealist wrote them off as exaggerations. Although, when he trooper beside you shifted uncomfortably, glancing at you, it made you wonder. You followed Sawbones’ journey across the room, letting your eyes linger when he stopped at another Wolfpack member’s bed. You huffed under your breath and turned back to the trooper you were treating, gently patting his arm. 

“Get some rest,” you ordered with a smile. The trooper flashed you a tense smile before shuffling down, stretching out on his bed. The next patient on your list was a few beds down, closer to where Sawbones was still lingering and you slowed your pace. You had your fair share of run-ins with the Wolfpack’s mean CMO and while his attitude made you want to steer clear of him, there was something about him that had your mind wandering back to him.

Sawbones was harsh on a good day but you had also witnessed a side to him that you’d almost consider...soft. He threw nasty comments around, scaring off anyone who dared get too close but he cared for his injured men with a gentle hand. You had a feeling his threats weren’t empty, but he wanted to help more than hurt, even if he had a funny way of showing it. 

Sawbones turned his head slightly as you neared your next patient. His beard was neatly trimmed and you could only remember seeing it long and unruly out on the field. Now that you thought about it, that was the first time you had seen him in anything but his armor; the starchy, gray scrubs made him look softer, less abrasive. You offered the trooper, Dodger, a smile as you approached his bed. It was hard to miss the anxiety lining his expression and you hoped the simple gesture helped a little bit. Dodger’s jaw flexed but he squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath in preparation. 

“How are you feeling, Dodger?” you asked, perching on the corner of his bed near his feet.

“Been better,” he mumbled, pointedly not looking at the hip-to-ankle cast he wore. You could feel eyes on your back and ignored the curious glances as you reached for his hand. Recovery was going to take some time but there was nothing unrepairable. 

“Enough babying them.” You jumped at the voice from over your shoulder, twisting around to find Sawbones leaning on his crutches, his face twisted in a scowl. “They’re soldiers, not children.” There was a tense silence as you just gaped at him, taken aback by the bitter edge to his voice. Endless, dark eyes bore into yours and it took you a second to shake off the shock.

“Excuse me?” Sawbones arched a brow before shifting his attention to Dodger over your shoulder.

“You live to fight another day. Congratulations,” Sawbones said, his tone flat and uninterested. Dodger blinked a few times before letting out a long, slow breath, and slumping down in his bed. 

“Uh, thank you, sir,” he murmured, nodding at the medic. Sawbones grunted before making a slow turn, heading back across the room and all you could do was stare after him. When you looked back at Dodger, there was a half-smile on his face that only grew when he caught the flabbergasted expression on your face. 

Then the anger started to build, swelling like an impending storm and you stood so fast you staggered. Dodger tried to get your attention but you were already stalking toward the door Sawbones disappeared through. Finding him was easy, seeing that he could only move so fast and you picked up your pace. You could only imagine the look on your face but it must’ve been ominous enough for any passing staff to step out of your way. 

You caught a glimpse of Sawbones disappearing into one of the smaller labs scattered around the medical center and hurried after him. There was one other clone sitting at one of the benches when you stepped inside, the pair turning to look at you. 

“Leave,” you ordered, stepping away from the door. The clone hesitated, glancing at Sawbones and it only made your anger spike. “Out.” Sawbones leaned against the workbench, taking some of the weight off his broken leg, his head turning to follow the other clone as he stomped out of the room.

“What?” he asked, arching a brow. 

“How dare you," you hissed, storming across the room, carelessly invading his personal space. “I am not one of your subordinates that you can talk down to. You had no right to step in like that.”

“And?” The unbothered air around him made you seethe; any crush you thought you might’ve had on him got shoved to the back of your mind. You ground your teeth together, taking another step closer.

“I don’t care what your problem is. I don’t care why you act like an asshole as if it’s your job but you will not treat me like some incompetent moof-milker.” You jabbed a finger into his chest, relishing in the quiet grunt he let out. “I’ve worked my ass off all my life and if you’re so emotionally constipated that my kindness bothers you, then I’d suggest sucking it the fuck up.” 

Sawbones blinked at you, his eyes flickering down to where your finger was still pressed into his chest; when his eyes lifted again they seemed shadowed and it sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. Suddenly, you felt your confidence withering as his expression darkened, his head tilting down, bringing your faces closer together. Just as you were about to take a step back, Sawbones surged forward, slanting his mouth against yours as he cradled the back of your head.

Your eyes widened comically but it didn’t deter him and before you knew it you were melting against him. His mustache tickled your skin and you found that you liked it, closing your fist, tugging him closer by his scrub top. Sawbones rumbled deep in his chest, parting your lips to slip his tongue into your mouth and you whined involuntarily.

It was just a kiss and yet it felt more erotic than any other kiss you’d shared with another person. The movement of his tongue was a mockery of what you desperately wished his hips were doing and it made you shiver. Sawbones broke the kiss so suddenly your head spun and you swayed closer, following his lips before you could catch yourself. 

“Sorry,” Sawbones panted, his hand sliding down to your neck, “I had to. I like it when you get mean.” 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you whispered, still trying to catch your breath. “You only speak one language: asshole.” It felt like a monumental accomplishment when Sawbones laughed; it was a sharp, harsh sound but it brought a smile to your face nonetheless.

“I speak another language too,” he murmured, bumping your noses together. 

“Yeah? What’s that?” You barely finished the sentence before he pulled you into another dizzying kiss. Yeah, you would happily speak this language too.

Ragu list:

@a-single-tulip @wings-and-beskar @anxiouspineapple99 @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @starrylothcat @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness @trixie2023 @wolffegirlsunite @clonemedickix @sev-on-kamino @commander-sunshine @dukeoftheblackstar

#clone oc x reader #sawbones x reader #original clone trooper x reader #OC: CT-2697 Sawbones #OC: Sawbones #star wars #the clone wars

[sunshinesdaydream]

Don't Go Breaking My Heart Part 1

Pairing: Rex x Female Reader Rating: General Audience for this part but minors DNI as future parts could be less G rated. Summary: Rex has been busy the whole war and has a wonderful group of people surrounding him. Fives, Echo, Jesse, and Kix conspire to talk him into signing up for the same matchmaking service they used Right to Love. Note: Greatheart(oc clone name)is a name I pulled from a Robin McKinley retelling of Beauty and the Beast. Content Warnings: Anxiety and symptoms of (based on author's personal experience) also other various "neurospicy" situations. Word Count: 1036

Link to Playlist I use for this AU

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4

Don't Go Breaking My Heart Part 1 of ?

Rex paced the length of his quarters. He should have known better when Echo and Fives approached him with Kix and Jesse.

Fives had a talent for making anything sound reasonable and was the master of the rousing speech. Combined with Echo's strategy, Kix's “you'll do what's good for you” energy, and Jesse's support ... they could have talked him into anything.

But they chose to talk him into signing up for a matchmaking service. It sounded good at the time, he'd already met all of the people the four of them were dating now. Everyone seemed happy, well suited to each other, they even were well suited to the group at large.

And he wanted a person like that himself. He was surrounded by his people, but it still felt like something was missing. Rex knew it was a good idea to do this. He hadn't the time to go out to meet people before and now he saw that while the others may have had fun, it's not what he wanted.

Knowing it was a better idea than trying to go out and meet someone on his own did nothing to stop the familiar roiling in his stomach like a Kaminoian storm, or the tense electric feeling that crawled under his skin and sent him fidgeting and then pacing. Usually he could tame the sensations, in situations he was familiar with. With familiar goals and objectives, things he had trained on for hundreds of hours.

But for Rex, this was completely uncharted territory. The only experience he had was being subjected to his brothers' escapades. He refused to ask the quartet that were going with him to the office for “moral support” and to do the optional questionnaires for friends. He wanted to ask if the friends were optional.

When they all arrived at his quarters wearing civis he immediately said, “Okay, let's go,” He hoped using his “command voice” would cover his anxiety.

But these four in particular knew him too well. Kix grabbed his arm, and pushed him further into his room. Helped immediately by Jesse, who would always follow the medic's lead.

“Something's wrong,”Kix said. “What is it?”

Of course Kix would notice. He could sniff out a distressed brother from the other side of a Venator, let alone the same room.

“Nothing, it's nothing.” Rex sighed. “Let's go,”

At Kix's frown the others moved into a circle around him, Fives stood directly in front of him, hands on his hips.

“If Kix says something's wrong, something's wrong,” Fives said.

“Nothing I am going to discuss,” Rex said, curtly. “Now, move out,”

“That's not going to work,” Fives told him, “We're here as your brothers, not your troopers,”

“Rex, tell us what's wrong,” Echo's hand was on Rex's shoulder.

Rex set his jaw and looked at the floor, fighting the heat rising to his cheeks, and the fidgeting his body reflexively wanted to do.

“I don't know what I'm doing,” he said, quietly.

Jesse barked a laugh, “Is that all? We barely did,”

“And you never took shore leave, always organizing the next deployment,” Kix pointed out.

“Had to fight you to get you to get some decent sleep,” Echo added.

“When you did have free time you spent it with this one,” Fives gestured to Echo, ”Drawing up MORE strategies,”

“Like you were doing anything productive, "Echo answered.

“We aren't arguing about that again,” Kix jumped in.

“The point,” Echo began.

“We figured that already,” Fives finished. “We're going to help you,”

“Maybe Kix and Echo, you...no,” Rex told Fives.

“We will ALL help him,” Echo said, before Fives could protest.

“Later, now we need to go,” Kix looked at his chrono.

“You got this!” Jesse patted his shoulder as they entered the hallway.

They chattered around him on the lift down and the transit to the office, while his stomach turned to full blown nausea. They were already planning a get together.

Rex clenched and unclenched his fist by his side. Civis didn't lend themselves to fidgeting the way his gear had. The ridge on his gloves or the hilt of his blasters he could run his thumb over and no one notice anything off. No one could tell if he didn't make direct eye contact when he wore his helmet.

Kix interrupted the other three, “Can we at least get him through the profile part first?”

The brother at the desk in the lobby of “Right to Love” introduced himself as Greatheart and shoved datapads into the other fours' hands and hurriedly waved them off towards an open conference room.

He picked up one more datapad and motioned to Rex, “Moral support can sometimes be too much. Come with me, there is a quieter space for you,”

Rex nodded and followed.

“They seem... excitable,” Greatheart commented.

Rex took a deep breath and released it, “They always are.”

“They definitely care about you a lot,” Greatheart gestured Rex into a room with a smaller table.

“Whether I need it or not,” Rex answered, a bit more relaxed as Greatheart handed the datapad to him.

“It's pretty long, but there is no rush. After you submit it, we'll send someone in to talk to you. Water cooler in the room,” he said. Then he hesitated, “The questions...just go with what you know. Some of them are open ended, and can feel vague. I know the higher the rank the less time you had for leisure at all, or even thought beyond the war. Take your other life experience and use it for your answers.”

Rex nodded and went into the room, sat down and took a look at the first question. Without the brother's advice his anxiety probably would have hit new heights.

'What are you looking for in a potential partner'

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. His first thought was wanting to feel steady, comfortable, safe. His people, that's what helped him keep everything in check. It's what he wanted, but closer. Rex thought about their traits, taking the stylus and beginning to answer the questions.

Thanks for reading! Check out more of this AU @tcwmatchmakingau

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4

❤️Love and Wrecker Hugs!❤️

Tag list (Send a message, ask or use this form to join)

@lightwise @captainbutterflynonsense @sleepycreativewriter @523rdrebel

#tcw matchmaking au #clone matchmaking au #star wars #the clone wars #captain rex #rex x reader #rex x you #order 66 post fix it #sunshine writes

[epic-and-kitty]

For the ask game Twist 10, 26, 28, 36

10. How is your oc about medical care? Do they avoid any form of healthcare that they can, do they seek it out over every little scrape? Do they treat their injuries/illness all by themselves?

So, considering Twist is terrified of the hospital, she tends to be very lax in her own medical care. Especially since her only other experience with medical professionals outside of the clone facility were the ex dome Octolings living in the Salmonid camp, who were wondering why the Salmonids were wasting resources on someone who was very clearly on deaths door. (That, and the only reason her corrosive wound started healing at all was after a new Octoling recruit stabbed her in the neck with a syringe of reverse engineered Sanitized ink, so again, she doesn't trust doctors) She faints on the field during turf and waves off teammates wanting to call a medic for her. She has been flattened by a bunch of heavy beams and RAN when people tried to get her into an ambulance. The only time she's ever gotten professional medical care for her wounds is when Xero's girlfriend Zee, an ex Octarian Field Medic, treated her, and that was only after she was pinned by the other three Agents AND ORCA (it literally strapped her feet to the ground and she still tried to run) Usually, Twist treats her own wounds, but because of her high durability, she tends to miscalculate just how much care she needs. Often going back out in public still visibly injured because she just can't feel the wound anymore. And then she has the gall to wonder why her friends are constantly worried about her.

26. How polite is your oc? Do they do everything with the utmost courtesy, or do they completely refuse to say please and thank you?

Twist is very polite, it's her table manners that are atrocious. Since she was raised with Salmonids, it's considered rude to the cook to not absolutely destroy whatever you're eating in the most messy way possible. And Twist is a very polite honorary Salmonid. She has scared people with how absolutely FERAL she goes over food.

However, she's very polite otherwise, holding doors open for older people, complimenting people regularly, pleases and thank yous, all of that.

Just give her some leeway if she looks like she literally murdered her tuna steak at the fancy restaurant; she's trying to learn table manners, honest!

28. What is your oc’s typical walking like? Do they speed-walk everywhere, do they take quick short steps or long paces? On their tiptoe, the sides or heels of their feet? How loud are their footsteps?

Twist is used to walking fast due to her salvaging job, and she tends to have long paces to keep up with people since she's so short. She's duck footed, but otherwise quiet. People don't tend to hear her coming unless they have trained their ears to listen in for soft noises (like Skull, no matter what, even if she tries, Twist can't sneak up on him)

She can also comfortably walk/run on all fours, and she's notably faster than on two legs

36. How stubborn is your oc? Are they easily convinced of the opposite opinion, do they not agree but let it happen anyways? Or do they cause conflicts with their inability to budge in their decisions

She tends to be stubborn, but will usually go with the flow for most things. There are things that are near impossible to change her opinion on, like ever working for Grizzco unless in absolutely dire need (Big Runs are an exception, considering that Twist's family does not participate in them and are probably the ones warning Splatsville about them to keep their trade agreement going with the city)

Most of the time though, her stubbornness is just petty and unimportant, like refusing to stop wearing socks and sandals or keeping all her charms on her Sploosh despite it definitely being past the regulated limit for battles

#Answered asks #Ask meme #Ask game #OC Twist #Itsmaddienow #Thanks for the ask! #Splatoon #Sorry this is so long I got into it

[kkrazy256]

26 and REMEDY

Oh man, Cal. You asked for this (like three months ago akjhfwlk im sorry it’s late). Please heed the content warnings. 

26- “I never wanted this. I never wanted any of this.” - Remedy

Remedy and Pharma, an AU (not the canon outpost route) 

Characters: Clone Medic Remedy, Clone Medic Pharma, Arc Trooper Drift (@calamity-aims 's oc) 

CW: Graphic character death (injury descriptions, decapitation, forcing someone to kill you, medical drug use) 

/

There are two brothers lying on the ground. 

One is on his stomach, limbs twitching while his cybernetic spine lies sprawled next to him on the blood-smeared floors. The other is a few paces away, on his side in a growing pool of red from both his chest and missing hand. 

And somehow, both their conditions are Remedy’s fault.

Because Pharma wouldn’t have cared to hurt Drift if Remedy hadn’t been here. 

Because Remedy had shot Pharma. 

None of them say anything. He can hear Drift’s shallow breaths, Pharma’s labored ones, and his own shaky attempts to remind himself that he still lives. 

There’s no time to dwell on that. He needs to move.

He pushes himself up on his elbows with a wince, looking around. The metal slab of a table he had been tied down to is littered with tools and medical equipment. There has to be something. 

The throbbing spreads from his knee to his hip with each small jostle. Just like when he had first attached the prosthetic over a year ago, Pharma hadn’t been gentle in its removal. He pushes through the growing burn until he finds what he’s looking for. He reads the label, and the familiar chemicals spark recognition. Something that would numb the pain, but not his mind. 

Remedy presses the hypo against his thigh and hits the plunger without a single tremor in his hands. The relief is immediate, and he pilfers around for enough scrap metal to make a splint. He’d never been too familiar with prosthetics, and the last thing he wants right now is to puncture something and bleed out. Then they would all be in trouble. 

He ties the pieces together with some tubing, pulling it tight and taut. As long as he can get off the table, it would do.  

The breath is completely knocked out of him when he crashes to the floor with a grunt. That had seemed a lot easier in his brain. The blaster clatters onto the ground next to him, and he doesn’t like the way he flinches away from it. 

There are two brothers lying on the ground. 

Both bleeding out.

Because of him.

He pulls himself up using the table edge, grabbing as many medical supplies as he can carry before hobbling over. 

“Ohhh doctor doctorrr, I think I’m hurt.” The words cling to him as he staggers closer. Pharma’s laugh is wet and dying, his words like a funeral tune. Remedy bites his lip and keeps moving. Each step becomes heavier, like hands clamped around his ankles to leave bloody prints.

“Kih’vod.” 

He does stop then.

It’s said so simply. Not a hint of taunting, even though it must’ve been like pulling teeth to say. The accent is slightly off. Because he’d never liked using their language. Never liked talking to them. To any of them. 

If Remedy dwells on it, if he really listens. He might even say, might even hope that there is a hint of sincerity in that single word Pharma spits out like bone dust on his tongue.

He stands between Pharma and Drift now. A shitty makeshift medkit in his hands. His leg trembles and he can hear the thigh plate of his armor clatter. 

Pharma coughs again, wet and dying. Drift lets out a barely audible whine, the torn attachments on his back give a dull spark. 

Remedy stands between Pharma and Drift. 

He thinks, maybe in another world, maybe in another timeline, hell maybe even just one year ago,

He would’ve chosen Pharma. 

Maybe that one word, no matter the circumstance, would’ve convinced his stupid stupid brain to turn his body around and sit himself down next to his ori’vod. It would’ve convinced him to pull out the medical supplies and save Pharma’s life. While Drift would’ve laid a few meters away and watched. And died. 

Remedy sits himself down next to his kih’vod. He sets the medkit on the floor.

He works on saving Drift’s life. 

“...Rem?” Drift murmurs, his cheek is pressed against the floor. It doesn’t look like he can move at all. 

“I’m here, kid.” He whispers softly, “I’m here. Does it hurt?” 

“I can’t feel anything.” His voice is steady, but Remedy can hear the fear in each syllable. 

“So much for saving everyone.” Pharma sneers from where he lies, eyes blown wide with pain and his blood-painted lips curl up at some hidden joke.

Remedy clenches his jaw, surveying the damage. The cybernetics had been forcibly ripped off, skin and flesh angrily torn with the sole intention to hurt. Exposed wires spark and cracked prosthetic bits form sharp edges. The smell of blood iron mix with the burnt metal to form something truly noxious. By all logic, Drift shouldn’t have been able to stand, much less have the strength to swing the blade down on Pharma’s other arm. 

“He doesn’t look so good.” Pharma coos, “maybe I could’ve helped. You know I can fix that, easily.” 

Remedy spots the hypo-syringe next to Drift’s hand. The glowing purple remnants on the needle tip make his stomach turn. He spares Tarn’s corpse a glance. Fucking Nuke. 

The frustration rolls deep in his core, and he works on stemming the blood flow while thoughts fly through his mind rapidly.

There’s not much information in any database on the effects and components of General Tarn’s special concoction of system boosters. The only note on file has always been: For Research Purposes Only. Do Not Use. 

Powerful, addictive, and capable of utterly terrible things. 

Such as making the user forget pain ever existed as an option, giving them an escape into a supercharged reality where anything is possible. 

Such as giving an already powerful Force user the ability to tear through an entire battalion by himself, leaving not a single survivor.

Such as giving a dying man without a spine the boost he needed to stand and fight. 

“Works wonders, doesn’t it?” Pharma is lying on his back now, staring at the ceiling, “the things that brute was able to do with it in his system. The research and data I was able to compile about it…they’re probably in the database here, right in that terminal.” He smiles again, “password protected though.”  

But the composition of the drug is intense, often too much for most biological organs. They had theorized the General’s numerous cybernetic modifications help offset the worse symptoms, concentrating the Nuke there as fuel rather than poison. 

Perhaps the boosters went straight to knitting Drift’s cybernetics back together instead of exploding his organs. That would be the optimistic route. Remedy doesn’t see any signs of organ failure so he will take any hint of good news at this point. 

He’s more worried about Drift’s heart. The adrenaline and power of the Nuke had kept him alive, but the strain of it all is taking its toll. He keeps one hand over Drift’s pulse, frowning at the way it keeps skipping, slowing, then speeding up all in the same thirty seconds. They’d have to keep an eye on that if—when they get home. 

He does what he can. He stops the bleeding, tapes off exposed wires, and solders some of the cracked metal back together so they wouldn’t stab accidentally. He doesn’t dare try to mess with the detached spine itself. Home. They have to get back to the medbay for backup.

“Okay…” He swipes the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing the gore and sweat, “you’re going to be okay.” 

“I’m sorry, Remedy. I,” Drift chokes on his words, “I didn’t want to take it. Fuck, it felt good and awful at the same time. I hate how it always feels good. I didn’t want—”

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” He cuts in, reaching out to press his palm into Drift’s slack hand, squeezing, “we can fix this when we get home. You didn’t fuck up, it’ll be okay.” 

Drift’s fingers twitch, which is all he could manage. It’s more than enough for Remedy. 

“I’m going to find a working communicator and contact the Guard. Just sit tight, kid.” He tells Drift, who snorts and mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “ain’t going anywhere.”

Then, he realizes it’s been quiet. 

Remedy turns towards Pharma. His chest aches with how fast his heart beats. 

But Pharma isn’t there, lying still and dead with eyes open and staring at the ceiling like he had expected.

He’s crawling away, leaving two wet trails of blood behind him. There is a single-minded determination in him, silent and completely focused on a single goal. 

His remaining mechanical hand is outstretched, metal fingers mere centimeters away from the fallen blaster. 

Remedy scrambles, dragging his injured leg in his frantic crawl to beat Pharma to it.

His hand wraps around the barrel just as Pharma tries to turn it towards himself. 

They fight over it in silence save for muted grunts and growls. Neither of them wish to lose focus with words. 

Pharma’s foot finds purchase and he slams it against the splint. Remedy feels the broken metal dig into his exposed knee and the spurt of slippery blood that follows. The cry that leaves his lips is wretched, and his leg slides against the blood. His glasses slip off and he hears them crack under their combined weight. 

“Remedy?” Drift’s voice rings out, alarmed. 

“Yeah, Remedy.” Pharma spits, yanking harder on the blaster, “save the day. You’re just so good at that, aren’t you?” 

Remedy tightens his grip, angling it towards the ground. Pharma’s hurt much worse, he just needs to hold out longer.

It pays off. He can feel the tremor in Pharma’s hand, the rasping wetness in his heaving breaths, the blood dripping down his chin. 

Remedy wrenches the blaster free, sliding it all the way across the room. 

The howl Pharma lets out goes beyond angry. The blurry mess before him moves quickly, and only the roar of blades gives him enough warning to lift his hands, grabbing at the wrist. The transformed arm is so close to his face that he thinks it’s sheared some locks of hair. He can’t tell, he can’t see osik. 

The desperate strength behind the chainsaw is immense. The blood beneath them soaks warm through the crevices of his armor. The blades press down heavily and Remedy’s arms shake to hold Pharma’s wrist at bay. The strength feels like a final stand. 

“Why?!” Pharma screams, voicing cracking in ways that Remedy’s never heard from him before. He’s glad he can’t see his face. “Why can’t you just let me have even this? Why can’t you ever let me win?” 

“Win?” He wishes his voice could be louder than a whisper to match Pharma’s cries. But everything just feels numb. He can barely hear the weapon’s scream. 

“Win?” He repeats, the far-away feeling enveloping him. His grip tightens and he can hear the bones in Pharma’s wrist creak through the nothingness.

“You think that’s what it’s been about for me?” He says, voice growing in volume with each surreal word he utters. 

“I don’t want to win, I never wanted this.” His vision blurs further with the help of the angry hot tears welling up. He looks around the room at each fuzzy outline of a person. At the dozens upon dozens of dead vode, collapsed like puppets with their strings cut. At General Tarn, who had been long dead before they had shown up. At Drift, who’s doing his best to keep all the pained whimpers in, and Remedy’s chest hurts, “I never wanted any of this.”

“The medical exam rankings on Kamino, the titles, the positions, you could’ve had it all, Pharma. I didn’t fucking care. I never did.” 

He pushes back harder, leaning until he finds Pharma’s frenzied eyes. 

They lock gazes.

“I just wanted an ori’vod.” The sentence breaks in his mouth like glass and he swallows every piece, feeling every cut deep within him. 

The blades continue to whir but Pharma is silent. 

Then he’s leaning his entire weight forward, pushing the blades closer. He’s near enough for Remedy to see his face from behind the weapon. 

He’s smiling, but different from before. The cruel lines run deep like grooves carved into rocks from the years of hate washing over them. That is something that will never smooth over. Yet right now, this is the closest he’s looked to serene. 

And Remedy thinks there has to still be a chance. There has to be a single ray of sunlight behind that never-ending eroding storm.

There has to be a way for him to still choose Pharma. 

“You will always be the one I hate most, little brother,” Pharma says warmly.

Then, Pharma lets go.

The pressure on the chainsaw disappears completely. 

The momentum of Remedy’s continuous push against the arm suddenly meets no opposition and the blades swing up and back towards Pharma.

It clicks with resistance for only a second before tearing through flesh muscle and bone like flimsi. 

The spray of blood hits Remedy’s face and he doesn’t close his eyes in time. It burns something terrible and all he can see is a blurry world tinted red when he opens them again.

The wrist still in his death grip goes slack with the entire weight of the body

Something falls onto his lap with a heavy thud. 

It bleeds through the crevices of his armor and he can feel it in his bones.

His hand twitches once and there’s a click. A metal latch opens up on the mechanical wrist and a commlink falls out into the pool of red.

He lets go of the arm.

He doesn’t look down at his lap.  

Blood drips off his nose, his chin, off every strand of his clumping hair. 

Plop plop plop

He reaches for the commlink, feeling around the warm liquid to find it. 

His fingers graze against a hypo-syringe and he sees the purple glow emanating from the barrel. 

For Research Purposes Only. Do Not Use. 

Powerful, addictive, and capable of utterly terrible things. 

Such as making an unstoppable Force user even more sadistic and horrible.

Such as saving the life of a vod, even though it will throw him back into the nightmare he has wanted to escape for so long. 

Such as making the user forget pain ever existed as an option. Making nothing matter at all. Because the burn of the chemicals will replace any and every emotion, even if just for an hour. 

Just for an hour. Not even an hour. He just needs a minute—

“Remedy?” 

Drift’s voice makes him gasp and he inhales sharply. 

The syringe is in his hand, hovering over the crook of his arm. His fingers are over the plunger.  

“I can’t see you…could you,” He hears Drift swallow roughly, “could you come and sit by me?”

Remedy doesn’t move his body or his hand. The weight on his lap is heavy, and he doesn’t think he can move to let it fall.

Plop plop plop

“No.” 

His fingers twitch.

No, you can’t see me like thi—

“—please don’t leave me here all alone, Rem.” Drift’s voice is small, “please.” 

I just wanted an ori’vod.

The syringe falls back into the blood with a splash, and Remedy presses his bloody hands against his bloody eyes with a sob. 

“I won’t, kih’vod. I’m sorry.” He grits his teeth until his trembling jaw hurts, “I’m so sorry.” 

“...I know. I know, ori’vod. I’m sorry too.” 

Remedy pulls his hands away, feeling the mix of blood and salt stain his face. He doesn’t think any amount of washing will make him feel clean again.

He fishes the commlink out of the blood, inputting the frequency he knows by heart. He doesn’t trust his voice enough to speak so he types the details and sends them to Fox. He drops the device back into the puddle after seeing a confirmation. He doesn’t read another word from the reply.

“Drift?” He listens to the way his voice echoes hollowly through the room. The enveloping numbness from before hadn’t left. 

“...hmm?” Drift answers, sounding equally exhausted.

Remedy reaches down, hesitating before letting his hand rest of the weight on his lap. He runs his fingers through the strands of red and white hair, blinking the blood from his eyes. 

Plop plop plop.

Goodbye, Pharma.

He pushes the head off his legs.

“We’re going home, kid.” 

/

Good fucking christ. 

#clone medic remedy #clone medic pharma #arc trooper drift #sw mine #tcw #star wars

[ninjadeathblade]

Night on Kamino (a one-shot)

Summary: Two clone cadets spend a night racing along the halls of Tipoca City

Word count: 525

Author Notes: Does link into Chapter 4 of "Compliance", Rose and Ghost are my clone OCs so congrats to them, appearing here before they appear in Clone Prom.

"Ghost! Hurry up!" Rose called quietly to his batchmate, the two of them running down the halls of Tipoca City, night having long consumed the outside. Ghost followed his brother a metre or so behind, quiet as he usually was. That quietness had earned him his name from his brothers, sometimes quiet enough that he seemed to disappear completely before being remembered. Rose slowed down, pausing and taking deep breaths as Ghost caught up.

"Rose, we shouldn't be out past curfew," Ghost whispered, running a hand through his brother's hair. Rose batted him away defensively before tangling his own band in his brown curls, its pink tips the reason for his name. The Kaminoans had been displeased but had begrudgingly allowed him to keep it, on the conditions that he didn't try and dye it again.

"It's not like we're gonna get caught," Rose said, a smirk playing on his lips. "What, are you scared of getting caught?" Ghost's cheeks puffed up slightly as he pouted, brows drawing together.

"No. If any of our batch would be scared about that, it would be Krayt or Endor," Ghost argued, a small smile on his face.

"Oh, don't do that. You're planning something, I don't like that," Rose replied. Ghost let it spread into a grin before pushing his brother into a nearby wall and taking off at a sprint down the hall. "Oi!"

"Stop being mean and I won't do it!" Ghost was quiet but the halls echoed his words as Rose pushed himself back up and took off after his brother. Where Rose had muscle mass and strength, Ghost was slight and had speed. The two were quite the match for one another, keeping about the same pace. But Ghost had a head start and that was all the cadet needed. Rose let out a laugh as he rounded the corner, chasing Ghost past medical.

There was a clone outside, leaning against the wall, a silver sheen to his hair. Rose could recognise the older cadet from that alone, even if the light hadn't slanted across his tattoo matching his name. The sniper of experimental unit 99 - Crosshair. The two clones locked eyes briefly as he ran past before diverting his attention back to Ghost. His brother was still ahead of him as they raced down the halls.

"Get back here Ghost!" Rose growled, digging into his strength and putting on a small burst of speed, just enough to catch up to him and tackle him onto the floor.

"Kriff Rose, how many rations have you been eating?" Ghost complained, rolling over so Rose was underneath him as he lay on top of him.

"Not enough to match any of the older cadets," Rose snickered, going quiet as Kaminoan voices drifted along the hallways. Ghost scrambled to his feet, eyes wide as he fidgeted on his feet.

"We need to go. I don't want you getting punished again." Ghost's voice dripped with fear, bottom lip wobbling. Rose pushed himself up too, wrapping an arm around his brother's shoulders and quickly striding both of them back the way they'd come, away from the voices. "Let's go."

#the clone wars #ghost and rose #rose and ghost #clone cadets #clone ocs #clone cadet ocs #one shot #my writing

[weyrwolfen]

Eidola: Chapter 14 - CT-227-913 Char

Rating: T

Characters: Gen, Clone Trooper OCs, Captain Rex, Ahsoka Tano, and other canon members of the 501st/332nd

Warnings: canon-typical violence; references to self-harm, injuries, and substance abuse; PTSD; it’s post-Order 66 and nobody is having a good time (but they’re all working on it)

Summary: The mission was never to bring down the Empire. Not really. The mission was to save every single one of their chipped brothers. But if doing do helped break the Empire’s stranglehold on the galaxy? Well, that was just a bonus.

“How’s your appetite?” Panz asked, looking down at the datapad he had balanced on the crook of his knee.

The question sounded casual, but Char was perfectly aware that it was anything but. He’d been on enough of the 501st’s more questionable missions that he knew a post-op psych eval when he saw one.

“Fine,” Char answered evenly. He wasn’t lying, but it was hard to get worked up about processed rations. “The fresh stuff is a nice change of pace.” Solid anything was a nice change of pace; apparently liquid rations were easier to store and cheaper to produce. Or at least that was the line of osik they’d been served when the Empire had changed their rations.

“Then why aren’t you taking your full share?” Panz asked in the same bland tone, but his gaze was sharp.

Char didn’t wince, he was better trained than that, but he wanted to. He should have known that somebody would rat him out to the medics. Might as well stick with the truth, for now at least. “Doesn’t seem right, taking more when I’m fine and everyone else is on short rations.”

The look Panz gave him was deeply unimpressed. “You’re underweight, and your bloodwork is still a mess. You’re on full rations until I say otherwise.”

When Panz only responded to Char’s admittedly sullen silence with a single raised eyebrow, Char just grunted, “Fine.”

Panz typed something into his datapad and asked, “Sleeping okay?”

“Mostly,” Char replied. He still woke up with nightmares half the time, but that was hardly worth mentioning. He barely remembered his dreams, once the initial surge of adrenaline passed. Hat Trick and Link had it worse, and everybody woke up when Feral had a bad night. Whelk was handling it within the squad, no need to give Panz all the sordid details.

Then again, Panz probably already knew, and Whelk was probably the one who’d told him. Same with knowing Char wasn’t eating all of his rations. Karking medics seemed to live by their own code.

“Had a chance to think about what you’d like to do, after you’re fully cleared?”

Char paused for a second, not because he didn’t have an answer, but because he wasn’t sure how it was going to be received. “I’d like to try out for the Reapers,” he finally said, because not answering truthfully was potentially worse.

Panz didn’t immediately respond, and the look he was giving Char was hard and unreadable. He met the medic’s gaze with every bit of calm his trainers had taught him to fake.

“You sure you’re ready to jump right back in like that?” Panz finally asked, still in that same easy tone of voice. Like Char didn’t already know he was dealing the hardest shabuir on the base’s med team. Just his luck.

Calm. Breathe through the nerves. He didn’t need to lie. He just needed to refrain from mentioning the entire truth. Slow breath in. Half breath out.

“I’m a sniper, it’s what I’m good at,” Char said evenly. “I would be useful on a Reaper team.”

He would, too. Sniper wasn’t the most common specialization in the G.A.R., and Char had been a karking good one.

“I’m sure you would be, but is that what you want?” Panz pressed, putting an odd emphasis on the last word.

What Char really wanted wasn’t something he was about to voice in front of a medic mid-psych eval. He wanted his armor and weapons back. Sitting here, in loose pants and a poorly fitting tunic, he felt naked, exposed. Vulnerable. He hated it. “I want to help get our brothers out,” he said instead, which was also true. It was. He’d left too many brothers behind, enslaved to that–

Calm. Breathe. Slow your heat rate. Slow breath in. Half breath out.

Char only just managed to keep his expression under control. He was so angry, but he needed to keep that under control too. Anger could be a useful tool, but rage made you stupid. Made you reckless. He couldn’t afford rage, no matter how much he might have earned it. Not when it would affect his decision making, and not where anyone else could see.

Panz just looked at him, obviously weighing something. Char met his gaze and held it, defective irises, a brown so dark it was nearly black, locked on the medic’s more clone-standard, dark amber. The Kaminoans had reviled that imperfection, but they’d also determined that the flawed color was partnered with above average vision. His brothers sometimes found his eyes a little disconcerting and hard to read, and natborns, at least according to one puffed-up major back on Coruscant, found them creepy. Char wasn’t above letting that fact work for him, from time to time.

Panz seemed wholly unmoved though.

“Nobody’s going to be joining the Reapers until the situation on Wadj stabilizes,” he finally said, apparently coming to some kind of decision. “But I’ll make you a deal. Prove to me you’re taking better care of yourself, and I’ll clear you for range practice.”

Char nodded. Those terms were acceptable.

Exhale.

“So, what were you doing all the way out on Hadros?” Panz asked, setting his datapad on the desk and resting his hand next to it. Even from this angle, Char could see the little, blinking icon that signified a recording in progress.

So it was going to be that kind of an interview. At least Panz wasn’t asking him about the color and texture of his literal osik again.

“The official request said they were having trouble with insurgents, but really, the Imperial governor just wanted rid of his Republic predecessor,” Char answered, turning slightly so that he was angled towards the datapad. Might as well make sure the Corries got the clearest audio possible. “He had gotten a platoon of natborns shot to ribbons in a botched attempt to arrest her and her whole family on some trumped up charges. We were just the replacements.”

“So, just some backwoods posting?” Panz asked, slowly tracing an abstract pattern on the desk with the tip of his middle finger. “Nothing more significant than that.”

“Haven’t you heard? Clones don’t get the good assignments anymore. We’re last gen tech.” Char said, and even if his tone was light, almost joking, something in it made Panz’s expression cloud.

There was a trip line here, a boundary Char couldn’t see but needed not to cross. If Panz was asking questions like this, then the medics had decided Char was stable enough to answer them without breaking. His brothers clearly needed this intel, so Char needed to deliver it without getting flagged as a liability again.

“Still,” the medic said, schooling his expression into bland neutrality. “Seems a little low profile for the 501st.”

Char couldn’t fully suppress a tiny, bitter smile. “We’re not 501st anymore. The Emperor likes to punish his pet by taking away his toys,” he answered, mostly managing to blunt the venom in his tone. “Some mission we weren’t even on went bad, and so the eight of us got unceremoniously shipped out to the shebs-end of the galaxy. At least none of us were just summarily executed. That’s happened a couple of times, too.”

Panz wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as some brothers. For a fraction of a second, the medic looked murderous.

That level of honesty had been a mistake. Char needed to keep his answers strictly professional if he ever wanted to get cleared to do anything except pick vegetables and report to medical every third day.

“And how many times has that happened?” Panz asked, sidestepping some of the more obvious follow-up questions.

Char was grateful for that. He was pretty certain the medics – kriff, probably the entire rest of the base – already knew who he really was. That betrayal cut deep, and Char probably wouldn’t have been able to keep a tight handle on himself if Panz had asked for more details.

“Two executions. Unless you mean the transfers, and then four that I remember,” Char finally said in a scrupulously even tone. “You should ask the others if they remember more.” Panz had grilled him on the state of his memories last week, in teeth-gritting detail. The truth was, Char’s head was shot through with holes, even more so than his other brothers, if their minimal efforts to compare notes could be trusted. There were so many missing brothers, present in one brief memory and gone the next, with no connective tissue to hold the series of events together.

He was… pretty certain Appo was still alive. At least, Char couldn’t remember calling anyone else Commander, so no one had been promoted into an empty position. But Toggle, Cuffs, and Venom were just gone, present in memories early on, when everyone had still had their old armor and paint, but notably absent once they’d all turned in their gear for stormtrooper white. Had they been transferred? Did they get…

And Baker was even more of a mystery, because Char remembered being deployed to Ryloth twice, and Baker was present in one set of memories, but not the other, and Char couldn’t remember which mission was which. Had the one during the planet’s brief rainy season come first? Baker had been there for that one, but maybe the other mission, the dry one when Char had somehow cracked his left cuisse, had come first? Char couldn’t remember.

It could be worse, he guessed. He could remember events like the Temple in the same, perfect clarity that haunted the others. What Char could remember was bad enough. This way, he could pretend that most of his missing brothers had been sent off on boring, comparatively safe postings, all around the Outer Rim.

It was a comforting lie.

Char wasn’t expecting Panz to be waiting for him in the hallway, outside of the room the medics used for… whatever these meetings were. Debriefings, mind healing sessions, and parole check-ins, all rolled into one.

The medic had been leaning next to the closed door, arms crossed over his chest. He pushed himself away from the wall, letting his hands drop casually to his sides when Char turned the corner and spotted him. “I’ve got a cadet trainee shadowing me today,” Panz said, by way of a greeting. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Kark yes, that was going to be a problem.

Captain Rex and Commander Tano were both missing, and there were Mandalorians in the mess hall.

Char was on edge, and he wasn’t alone. There was a grim kind of anxiety hanging over the whole base. Even the kids down in hydroponics had been subdued during Char’s morning shift. Normally that might have been a relief, but now it just sent constant prickles of unease down the back of his neck.

Captain Rex had been the brother they’d all looked up to in the 501st, beyond just being the highest-ranking clone in the battalion. And now he’d disappeared into some Force-cursed Jedi temple, and nobody had any idea when, or if, he was going to come out.

And that whole situation was all tied up with Commander Tano, because of course it was. The Jedi had spent the entire war dragging Char’s brothers through their nonsense. Why would now be any different?

That line of thought was accompanied by an uncomfortable twinge in his gut, but was that guilt over misplaced resentment, or was that just the Kaminoans’ programming, telling him to submit to the nearest commanding Jedi, to obey without question?

Breathe. Slow your heart rate.

He didn’t know, and he wasn’t about to risk talking it out with anyone. Especially not with Panz, not when even hinting at it would jeopardize the small amount of freedom he’d been granted by the Draboon VIII medics.

Everyone on base seemed to worship the ground Commander Tano walked on. Char had too, once. She’d been the 501st‘s commander, their feisty little sister. They had loved her, then, but they had loved her master too, and look where that had gotten them.

But he had stayed with the Empire of his own free will, snapping to attention whenever the Emperor called, and forcing Char and his brothers to…

To…

Slow your heart rate. Slow breath in. Breathe.

And he had trained her, and now she was off risking Char’s brothers lives, again, dragging them into some Force osik they should never have been asked to handle in the first place.

But that wasn’t exactly how it had happened, was it? At least, not if the rumors around base were to be believed. She’d gone in first, alone at her own request, and the others had followed later, only after something had gone wrong. That had been their choice, hadn’t it?

And she had run where her master had stayed, setting up an operation which seemed solely interested in rescuing clones from the Empire, in getting Char and his brothers out.

But she’d also run once before, hadn’t she? Abandoning them all, back when an extra Jedi on the front lines could have saved so many lives.

Except that had all started with the Jedi had thrown her to the mercy of the Senate, and even after that, she’d eventually come back. Not for Char and his brothers. Not for mere clones. For a cause. She’d come back then, and she’d come back this time too, even after his brothers had tried their level best to kill her. And how many of them had she killed herself, by turning their Sith captive loose as a distraction? He hadn’t even heard a treasonous whisper of another Jedi trying to save clones after the Order had gone out. They’d all either fought or died. All except for him, and what he’d done to Char and his brothers was objectively worse.

Get control of your heart rate, Trooper. Right now.

Char didn’t want to be here. He wanted to find somewhere quiet, somewhere private and sort through his spiraling thoughts. So yeah, having some kid sitting in on today’s session was pretty karking far from ideal.

“So?” Panz asked casually, as if Char’s protracted silence hadn’t already gone on an incriminating length of time.

Slow breath in. Half breath out.

“No. No problem,” Char replied, as if he could give any other answer.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Most of their brothers called every kid on base a cadet, old habit from Kamino, but they all seemed too young. Anyone training to be a medic had to be older, whatever the natborn equivalent of a seven or eight year old might be. Maybe one of the people the Raiders had picked up in their last mission had a knack for healing. Not that he wanted to deal with a natborn either…

Panz turned and opened the door, answering Char’s question.

Oh. Well, that was interesting…

He’d never met this cadet before, but he still recognized her on site. After all, there was only one person who could possibly have a younger, softer version of Jango Fett’s face, partnered with the lanky frame of an early-adolescent girl.

“Hi!” Omega said, a datapad pressed against her chest under tightly crossed arms, perky cheer just a hair too forced to be real.

Char felt himself tense in instinctive defense, immediately assuming she was reacting negatively to him, personally, but then he remembered one extra detail, which had been included in the morning’s gossip. The Bad Batch had made up the bulk of the team who had followed Captain Rex into the Wadj temple and disappeared.

And Omega was a member of the Bad Batch. Her squad was missing.

Char stepped a little further into the room, forcing himself to unclench his fists and assume an easier stance. Whoever’s di’kutla idea this had been, he wasn’t about to add to the kid’s troubles if he could help it. She was his, well, not his brother. Obviously. Sibling then. A real little sister, in training, blood, and bone.

“Hello,” he said, knowing he sounded gruff and awkward.

Panz ducked around Char, eyeing them both like he was expecting an explosion at any moment. “Go ahead and take a seat. Omega will be walking you through the first portion of today’s check-up,” he said, giving her a pointed, critical look.

The cadet, Omega, nodded, turned to set her datapad down on the room’s small desk, and picked up a handheld mediscanner with what was obviously a steadying breath.

For the first time, Char considered the possibility that this karking awkward farce hadn’t actually been constructed to test him alone.

He sat down in his usual chair, trying to project at least an outward approximation of calm.

“May I take your vitals?” she asked, squaring her shoulders in a halfway decent attempt at cool professionalism.

She sounded so earnest, which managed to catch Char utterly by surprise. He had to work to keep from snorting.

Unfortunately, he must not have been as good at concealing his reaction as he had hoped, because the cadet’s face fell a little, and she glanced at Panz in an obvious attempt to figure out what she’d already done wrong.

Char forced himself to not wince. He was already making a hash of things. “Been a while since a medic just asked nicely,” he said, trying to explain. “I thought you medics were trained to jump straight to the threats.”

It was a pretty poor attempt at a joke. Char’s sense of humor had always been a little questionable, and he was rusty, dealing with younger siblings. Omega just stared at him, then turned to Panz, as if asking for a little guidance, except the medic had reached up to rub his forehead like he felt a headache coming on.

Finding no help on that front, she just considered Char for a long moment. “Your file says you’re interested in trying out for the Reapers, right?” she finally said, expression brightening. “Well I know the top three candidates being considered for the new team leader. What’s that information worth to you?”

Char stared at her for a second, but only for a second, before silently extending his right arm, wrist up.

Panz made a choked, gurgling sound, like he couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to laugh or groan. “Shark?” he asked, incomprehensibly.

Omega moved the mediscanner over Char’s wrist, getting an initial reading, and then started up his arm, a small smile on her face. “Yeah,” she said, but the word sounded a little brittle.

“He’s gonna be fine, kid,” Panz said, and then explained for Char’s obvious benefit. “Shark is one of our ARCs. Got caught in an explosion on Wadj, but he’s up and in physical therapy now.” He snorted, glancing back at Omega. “Driving Kix up the walls, last I heard.”

Her answering smile was still watery.

Char wasn’t sure what to say to any of that, and so he kept his mouth shut, but he wondered about, well, a lot of things. How a half-grown, female cadet ended up assigned to an elite team of active-duty, genetically-modified troopers. About this mystery, injured ARC she was so torn up over.

About what the kark Panz was entering into his datapad, and whether he was writing more about Omega’s performance, or Char’s own reactions to it.

Omega glanced up at him, then back down at the readouts on the back of her scanner, and answered at least one of the questions Char hadn’t asked. “We play sabacc,” she said, panning the device up and around Char’s head, and then starting down his other arm. “He tells me stories.”

Char might not know how to respond to that, but apparently Panz was more upfront with his thoughts.

“He’s a menace,” Panz said dryly. “Never play him at cards. Never play her at cards.”

Omega’s grin was all teeth.

“You’re that good?” Char asked carefully, painfully aware that he needed to say something if he wanted to maintain any kind of a pretense of normality.

“I guess,” she said, sweeping the scanner over his chest and stomach before stepping to one side to move the scanner down his right leg. “Do you play?”

“Not since before,” he said, without elaborating. Everybody on base knew what was meant when any clone said ‘before.’

“Well, if you want to brush up, I’m stuck here for a while,” she said stiffly, finishing up the scan of his other leg and standing up to press a couple of buttons on the device.

Char knew he should probably say something, thank her for the offer, tell her that her squad was going to be fine, but the mediscanner rescued him from that by beeping in Omega’s hand. She frowned down at it, which didn’t seem like a good sign.

“Talk me through the results,” Panz said, stepping a little closer to her to look over her shoulder at the readout.

“One point three standard deviations underweight, but trending upward,” she recited, pointing out something to Panz on the device. “Elevated lead levels are resolving without chelation therapy.”

Wait, elevated what now?

Panz’s face was angled down at the screen in Omega’s hands, but Char caught his brother watching out of the corner of his eye for any reaction to the girl’s continuing litany of ailments and injuries. Char had been told about some of these issues before, but when had he cracked four of his ribs? Why were the medics worried that he kept breaking his fingernails? And what even was ‘mild anemia?’

Char never did get to find out how long his list of injuries and ailments might have gone, because Panz cut in right after Omega had covered Char’s various bone density issues.

“I think we can stop there,” Panz said, sounding slightly amused for some reason. Omega looked up at him, wide-eyed and apparently surprised by the interruption. “Most of your patients aren’t going to need or want every little detail, no matter what Tech’s been telling you. Recommended course of treatment?”

“Continue existing medications, continue existing diet and exercise programs,” she said almost mechanically, like she was reciting something from rote memory. “Consider adding movement-based, mental techniques to counter stress-based hypertension and insomnia.”

That made Panz smirk. “What do you think, Char? Are you willing to take a page from the Jedi’s playbook and try some meditation?”

Char was very certain that the question was meant to be rhetorical, and the suggestion did sound like the very definition of boredom, but he still considered it seriously. “Would it get me a range pass and a set of replacement armor any faster if I said yes?” he asked, deadly serious.

Panz apparently hadn’t been expecting that answer, because it took him a minute to finally say, “Yeah, probably.”

“Then yes.”

Panz blinked. “Kark, kid. If you can convince ten more troopers to join in, I’ll teach you how to use the field cauterizer.”

Her smile was very sharp. “If I convince twenty, will you show me how to run the surgical pod?”

“Thirty,” he replied after a moment’s consideration. “From a list of my choosing.”

Omega’s grin was somehow innocently joyful and terrifyingly predatory. “Deal,” she said.

“Go on,” Panz said, making a shooing gesture with his hands. “Run that report to Sling. I need to have a chat with Char, brother to brother.”

The kid basically bounced out of the room.

Char waited until the door shut behind him and Omega’s footsteps faded out of hearing before saying, “I hope you realize she just played you.”

The medic just sighed. “I know,” he said, sounding almost fond. Char was pretty certain he’d never heard the medic sounding so soft. The kid obviously had him wrapped around her little finger. “But if she can get you di’kute to take better care of yourselves, I’ll let her practice surgical techniques on my kriffing face.”

Char should probably be offended by the implication, but after the roll call of ailments Omega had just rattled off from his scan, he wasn’t sure he had much of a leg to stand on. “So, are you going to translate the back half of that?” he asked instead.

Panz pulled a sour face. “You’ve got a bunch of dietary deficiencies, and some other osik in your system you shouldn’t have been eating, but nothing irreversible with access to decent food. I’m willing to bet significant credits that natborns aren’t getting the same osik rations as clones,” he said, tone laced with contempt.

Char should probably feel something about that, but honestly, given everything else he’d experienced over the last two years, sub-standard rations barely registered.

And so, he just snorted and said, “Cheap Imp shabuire.”

Panz made a vague noise of angry agreement. “Do you have any other questions?” he asked.

Char knew perfectly well what Panz meant, but instead of asking anything about his varied health issues, he went for, “What do the Mandalorians want?”

That earned a thoroughly unimpressed look, which Char just met glare for glare.

For once, it was Panz who relented. “Kark if I know,” he admitted, leaning back against the room’s small desk and crossing his arms in obvious frustration. “Kryze has her people unloading a kriff-ton of armor and weapons salvage, and she wants to talk to Commander Tano. I don’t see them leaving until they get what they want, so we’re stuck with them for however long that’s going to take. The Corries are handling it.”

Char was abruptly glad he wasn’t a Guard.

“You kept your blue,” Panz commented idly, reading through the results of Char’s latest scans.

Char looked down at his new armor. A brother named Buckler had delivered the set yesterday, along with instructions on where the base kept its paint stores. His new design didn’t exactly match his old paint job, but it was close enough. “It’s what I’m used to,” he said flatly.

He knew some of his brothers had picked a different color, but he hadn’t even considered it. The blue just felt right. And he didn’t want to volunteer that painting the bubbling, blotchy textures around the seams of each plate, an effect he’d figured out how to make by adding blaster oil to a little paint and sponging the mixture on with a wet rag, had made him feel more settled in his own skin than anything else he’d tried.

“Is that one of the sets the Mandalorians unloaded on us?” Panz asked.

There had been a lot of phase two sets, mixed in with the stormtrooper gear in Kryze’s diplomatic ‘donation.’ All of the recently de-chipped clones were suited up again, not just Char’s other brothers from Hadros, but also the trio Jesse’s Reapers had brought in, and those four who had been stationed on some Imperial relay station the Draboon VIII brass had decided to covertly wreck. “Everything except the helmet,” Char admitted, because none of the salvaged gear had included the long-range reticle he’d wanted. Fortunately the quartermaster had been able to scrounge up the specs for a sniper’s bucket without too much trouble, and there had been plenty of other salvage to run through the recycler to make the necessary modifications. “Where’s the kid?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Panz gave him a sharp, amused look. “Up in the hanger bay,” he said. “Her squad should be arriving any minute now.”

Which meant that Captain Rex would also be arriving soon.

And Commander Tano.

The sheer amount of relief he’d felt, when he’d heard that everyone had made it out of the temple alive, had been like a punch to the gut. And yeah, he meant everyone, apparently including the Commander.

Which he also didn’t want to discuss at the moment.

If the morning’s appointment was just going to be stumbling from one conversational landmine to the next, he might as well go for broke. “When are you going to clear me for range practice?”

Whelk had been cleared for light duty in the infirmary last week.

Pike’s request to transfer to engineering had come through yesterday.

What the kark was the holdup? Char was eating when he was supposed to eat, sleeping when he was supposed to sleep. He turned up for his assigned duties on time, and performed any task given to him, boring as he found vegetable picking and food processing to be. He’d even started trying to figure out the karking meditation practices the kid had suggested.

Panz didn’t even look at him, he just kept scanning his datapad, and said, “When are you going to drop the karking act and stop pretending you’re not a complete headcase?”

The flippant question hit Char like a punch to the gut. His hands curled into tight fists, gauntlets creaking at the sudden pressure. He thought he’d been doing so well, keeping his issues under wraps.

Apparently not.

Panz sighed and dropped the datapad back on the desk. “Look,” he said, sounding serious and more than a little tired. “Let me let you in on a little secret. Every brother on base is a complete headcase. Even me. But if you won’t talk about it, then we don’t know what to watch out for. So stop karking with me. Stop pretending you’re fine. You’re not fine, and nobody expects you to be.”

Char just stared, something sharp-edged and dangerous growing in his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

That wasn’t how things had worked on Kamino, and it definitely wasn’t how things had been with the Empire. If a clone was too sick, or too injured, or too karked in the head to do his duty, then he was dead weight. And if anyone higher up the chain of command caught on to that fact, then he was just dead.

And sure, he and his brothers had covered for each other as much as they could, but you didn’t just talk about this osik. Not with eyes and ears and kriffing cameras everywhere, with recordings any natborn officer could review at their leisure. And maybe he hadn’t cared much about that kind of stuff back during the war, but his master certainly had. And maybe he wasn’t here, but his padawan was, or she was about to be. Talking about any of this stuff, it wasn’t safe.

Breathe. Control your heart rate. Take a breath. Why isn’t it working?

Except, pretty much all of the people here who might check a recording were brothers, and Commander Tano already knew about most everything anyway. She’d stopped by the infirmary a few times before she’d shipped out to Wadj, back in the beginning when they’d all been at their absolute worst. So, maybe it was safe? Or, at least safer.

Panz wasn’t going to let this go.

“You have no idea what you’re asking,” Char heard himself say, in a ragged tone he barely recognized as his own. “Do you want to know the age cutoff we used to decide which Jedi younglings we killed and which ones we delivered back for the Emperor’s special training programs? How about the number of unarmed civilians I shot on the mission that earned the 501st the nickname ‘Vader’s Fist’?”

Panz didn’t say anything, but to his credit, he didn’t flinch away from Char’s words either.

“You want to know what I want to do, once you let me off your leash?” Char said, and he knew he shouldn’t keep talking. Shouldn’t be admitting this out loud, but now that he’d started, he found that he couldn’t stop. It all kept pouring out, like blood from a slit artery. “I want to kill Skywalker. I want him dead, and I want to take my time about it, and I want it to hurt.”

Panz didn’t interrupt and seemed to wait a second, to make sure Char wasn’t going to continue before answering. For Char’s part, he felt like he was balanced on a knife’s edge, holding his breath, waiting to see what his brother, who’d had it so much easier after the Order had gone out, had to say to that. Waiting to see if he’d just run any chance he’d had of a little extra freedom off of a cliff.

“I think,” Panz said, obviously picking his words slowly and carefully, “That when the time comes to go after Skywalker and Palpatine directly, nobody’s going to argue about letting the 501st get at the head of the line. But in the meantime, we’re keeping things quiet and getting our brothers out of the line of fire, until we’re strong enough to hit them and make it stick.”

The brittle thing behind Char’s sternum started to crack. He’d been expecting more judgement. A reprimand. Something. “Yeah, and what does the Commander have to say about that?” pushing his non-existent luck one more time.

“She knows who’s sitting on the other side of this dejarik board,” he said, very seriously. “You know, she locked herself in her quarters for three days after we all figured it out. Kix wanted to take a laser cutter to her door after day two, but the Captain said she just needed more time. He said that she blamed herself for pretty much everything, that she’d already been hanging on by a thread, even before we put the pieces together.” Panz huffed a little, but Char couldn’t figure out what was so funny. “The room looked like it had been hit by an ion cannon when she finally came out, but her eyes were still blue. Surprised the haran out of all of us, we’d been bracing for yellow.”

Char didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been that. His breath was still ragged, humiliatingly unregulated, but the rush in his ears was beginning to fade a little.

“Things are going to be hectic around here, at least until Kryze and her people clear out,” Panz said, and the transition was almost jarring until he continued, “But she’d make time for you, if you ever wanted to talk.”

That seemed like something to work up to later. A whole lot later, after a lot of thinking.

“Maybe later,” Panz said, as if he could read Char’s mind. “In the meantime, Tenor’s been working on repairing some of the salvaged blaster rifles, but he’s having to custom machine some of the missing parts. He’d be able to finish up faster, if he had another specialist to test his repairs and make sure they’re all performing up to spec. As long as you keep improving, I could be talked into giving him your name.”

That bribe was terribly tempting, but it felt a little too perfectly crafted. It smelled like a trap. “Are you seriously trying out the kid’s method of managing problem patients?”

“If it works,” Panz said, shrugging unapologetically. “So, do we have a deal?”

“Take a breath, Doc.”

AN: Other chapters are available here.

Dividers by freesia-writes using helmets by lornaka. More designs available here.

#eidola tcw fanfic #star wars #tcw #star wars the clone wars #clone wars #the clone wars #clones #fanfic #fanfiction #clone troopers #tcw fanfic #clone wars fanfiction #the clone wars fanfiction #tbb #tbb fanfiction #bad batch #bad batch fanfic #the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) fit two people under your skin  STAR WARS

Febuwhump Day 1 - Brainwashing

A03

Alpha-17 doesn’t believe in monsters.

He’s lived through too much in his life to believe in the creatures under the bed, or those that creep through the dark hallways and eat unsuspecting cadets. He’s seen real monsters, he’s seen cruelty and violence. He’s seen real life, and nothing can scare him more than that, but he comforts himself with the knowledge that everything dies, that he can fight to the death if he has to. He knows the pain of being taken apart piece by piece, of being tortured past his limits, of watching so many vode marching off to the death. He knows the pain of losing good men that he trained personally, the pain of losing those he raised himself from childhood.

He knows the pain that comes from not having done enough.

Millions of vode are dead, millions more will die, and Alpha is almost numb to it. He’s lost enough that it no longer surprises him.

But he’s never had anyone come  back from the dead, and yet, here he is.

Months ago, Alpha had been brought back to the warfront by the death of his little brother, one of the boys he had trained and raised from childhood to be one of the best. He had been on Kamino when news had reached him that Marshal Commander Cody had died in the line of duty, and he had immediately felt the world drop out from beneath him. Cody -  Kote  - the youngest and smallest of Squad 17, his  vod’ika  ,  his ad’ika ; his pride and joy. Cody had been one of his, he had watched him grow into the man he was, and Alpha had thought, had hoped, that out of any of them, that Cody would make it to the end of this Manda-forsaken War. Cody had been a leader, a viciously competent warrior that put even other A-classers to shame. He may have only been a CC, but Alpha would bet anything that he’d be able to beat even a Null into the ground if given the chance.

He had never imagined Cody being just another name on a KIA list.

Cody could have been their leader, had the spirit needed to be Mand’alor. He had a natural charisma that made people  want to follow him, a strength to his soul that shone like fire in his eyes. He could be beaten, but he’d never break.

But he’d still died. He had died and left his 212th without a Commander.

Eventually, Alpha had managed to hunt down the troopers that had survived the mission that had killed one of his boys. Had tracked them down during shore leave and demanded to know what had happened. They couldn’t tell him much, because of the confidential status of the mission, but eventually a pale-faced and haunted Echo had spoken up, staring down at his alcohol like it could take the nightmares away.

“It should have been me.” The young ARC Trooper had whispered, looking close to tears, and Fives had gripped his brother’s hand like a lifeline. “I had gone for the shuttle - Cody - he saw what was about to happen before any of us. He saved me. He threw me out of the way and took the blast instead.”

Alpha had volunteered as soon as he could, had hunted General Kenobi down and put his name forward as his next Commander. He knew what his  ad’ika  would have wanted; he’d want Alpha to teach and protect his men where he couldn’t, to lead his Ghosts and 7th Sky. He’d trust Alpha-17 to watch his  Jetii’s back, to be at his side when he couldn’t, because Alpha wasn’t blind - he knew what his Kot’ika thought of General Kenobi, knew what he’d felt for him. He had seen the way Cody had looked at Kenobi, had known that they’d work well together when he’d suggested Cody as the Commander for Kenobi’s Battalion, even if he’d never imagined his little brother actually falling in love with the man.

Despite how much it hurt to stand in his place, Alpha had put himself forward, had painted his armour gold, and taken the title of Commander. It fits like an ill-fitting body glove, but Alpha wears it, because it’s what Cody would have wanted. He could keep up with Kenobi better than any shiny commander could, could call the Jedi out on his bullshit and keep him and his men safe. He knows it hurts Kenobi too. He knows that sometimes Kenobi turns to him expecting Cody to be there to a witty quip or a sarcastic smirk, and he sees the way he falters when it’s Alpha there instead.

The troopers are the same. Alpha knows they respect him, that they look up to him, but he’s not Cody, and they all know it. Over the months though, they’d learned how to work together; he’s glad it was him who had taken over for Cody, because he recognizes a lot of the signs of his own training in the way the 212th troopers move, no doubt passed on by Cody. They don’t move the way CTs are expected to move, instead Alpha can see his own personalized ARC training shining through in them, and he knows that any other commander wouldn’t have been able to keep up. As the months pass, he whips them into shape, distracts them from their grief, and keeps them moving.

And then rumours of the Seperatists’ newest asset reaches them. Until Umbara, no one sees it, but they hear the rumours spread by the small numbers of survivors left behind. Some sort of new droid made to look like a clone in black armour, that never speaks, never hesitates, and always wins. Until Umbara, its nothing more than a ghost story, a monster in the night, but Alpha had never believed in monsters, it was just another clanker that he’d destroy if he faced it on the field.

It was called many things; monster, assassin, dark trooper, but Alpha would know it as another target.

And then Umbara happened. The asset had killed Krell, had saved the lives of the 501st troopers that the  dar’jetii  was tormenting. It had killed  only  Krell, had torn the Besalisk apart, and then walked away; it hadn’t even  touched the clones, had barely even looked at them before leaving. Rex had come to him afterwards, baring footage of the fight between the asset and the General, an odd look on his face.

“It fights like a vod, Alpha.” Rex had said, sounding confused and lost as they’d watched the footage over and over again, looking to learn the clanker’s fighting style to better combat it in battle. “It fights like  you do.”

Watching the figure in black and gold armour, styled mockingly after his own, a kama swinging around it’s waist and a gold pauldron on it’s shoulder, Alpha couldn’t help but agree. It did fight like a clone; specifically, it fought like one of the cadets Alpha had trained personally. It was reckless, throwing itself into battle without a care, twisting into powerful kicks and using its blaster like a club in ways that Alpha specifically remembers one of his cadets doing, something that had driven Alpha to a frothing rage.

Cody.

It fights like  Cody.

He hadn’t voiced it at the time, had stewed in his rage at the insult aimed towards his dead  vod’ika. A droid that fought like Cody, a droid that had the exact same shade of orange-gold as his  vod’ika had chosen for his Battalion. It was an insult and an affront on everything Alpha stood for. He’d held on to that anger, had let it burn hot and harsh in his gut, knowing that the moment he faced the clanker on the battlefield, that he’d  destroy it.

He would tear it apart for the insult it symbolized. To know that the Seperatists were perverting his brother’s memory in such a way lights a fire in him that refuses to burn out.

And then he gets the chance to fight the asset. He fights it one on one, intent to destroy it and avenge his little brother, when the bucket comes off and Alpha’s heart stops. All he can think of, is that that’s a face glaring up at him, a familiar face with a familiar scar. He barely remembers the chaos that had followed.

Cody.

Somehow, the asset is Cody.

Somehow, they’d managed to get the asset -  Cody, his Kote - sedated and transferred onto the  Negotiator. It had hurt all of them to need to restrain him, to strip away black plastoid to reveal prosthetics and burns. They’d gotten him back to the ship, into the medbay and under the medics’ hands, and they’d found a  chip in his head.

And now, Alpha is staring down at the limp body strapped down to the biobed, ankles, hips, chest, and arms pinned to the bed by unforgiving metal, to make sure he wouldn’t attack again when he woke up. It’s still Cody. He’s missing both his legs at the thighs, there’s metal drilled into his spine and up the back of his skull. There’s a blinking monitor embedded into his chest, scarred skin growing around it, flashing with his heartbeat. They’d shaved him, put a cybernetic implant on the side of his head, over where his ear should be and stretching around his temple to interrupt the curving, hooked scar that had become his little brother’s visual marker of individuality, the one Alpha personally remembers tending to, right before pulling Cody into ARC training to ensure that Priest and Reau wouldn’t get their hands on him again. He’s covered in twisting, healing burn scars, left from the explosion they had all believed to have killed him, and there’s dark bruises standing stark against brown skin.

Bruises that Alpha had put there, when he’d nearly broken his brother’s neck while fighting him. When he had thought that Cody was a droid programmed to fight like him.

He'd nearly killed his little brother, the boy he'd raised, and he never would have known if he hadn't accidentally knocked his helmet off.

“Manda.” He breathes harshly, nostrils flaring, and he drops down into the chair Pace had put next to Cody’s bed. He ignores the medic’s eyes drilling into the side of his head, instead reaching out to gently squeeze Cody’s limp hand like he had when Cody had been a too-small child enduring too-cruel punishments in the place of more replaceable brothers. “What can you tell about the chip?”

Pace scowls, “It only showed up on a level five atomic scan.” He says, “We only found it because we were trying to find out the cause of the strange brain activity we were picking up - it showed up as a tumour, but once we removed it -” he gestures to the petri-dish next to the biobed, “- we found  that.”  ‘That’ being an ugly scrap of what looked like flesh, pink and pocketed and flecked with old blood. “Removing it from the frontal lobe stopped the strange brain signals we were picking up, and his waves went back to baseline - what you could expect from a regular clone.” Alpha tears his eyes away from Cody’s peaceful face to glower at the strange object. “We don’t have any proof, won’t until we can see how he acts when he wakes up, but Crys thinks it could have been controlling him.”

Alpha lets out a harsh curse, “Fucking seppies.”

“Yeah.” Pace murmurs, then shifts. “Commander,” he says slowly, enough of something odd in his tone that it makes Alpha look up to meet his gaze, to see them dark with anger, “whatever it is - that chip? It wasn’t made by the Seps.”

“What?” Alpha’s eyes narrow dangerously, and Pace nods, glowering at nothing as he rubs a hand aggressively against the gray fabric of his uniform.

“It gives off a different signal than the… prosthetics -” he says the words with furious contempt, like the sentence is rotten on his tongue, “- they drilled into him.”

Alpha snarls, baring his teeth like a cornered animal as he grips Cody’s clammy hand protectively, like he could destroy whatever did this to him with his will alone. “Who  do I need to kill for what they did to him?”

“Sir.” Pace’s voice is just as dangerous, “Whatever it is? It’s  Kaminoan.”

Taglist: @a-mediocre-succulent @yellowisharo @spoofymcgee @roseofalderaan @everything-or-anything @bellablue42

#cole writes #febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday1 #alpha 17 #Alpha-17 #commander cody #212th Attack Battalion #codywan #star wars fanfiction #arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #winter cody au #brainwashing #Obi-Wan Kenobi #obi wan kenobi #clone medic pace (oc)

[elysiadjarin]

Day 5: Pegging

I’m honestly surprised I’ve been keeping up with these. Juggling college, work, and projects on top of the time it takes to write these has not been easy. It’s been fun, though! Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

An obligatory Star Wars one, of course, because I firmly believe in pegging good clone boys. No one has to know this is the first time I’ve written pegging okay. Gotta be good to my clone OC, okay? He’s a good boy, really.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ content ONLY. Mentions of war (Clone Wars), though nothing explicit. Anal, pegging, strap-on, soft femdom, entirely consensual, some oral and handjob elements.

Tags: Star Wars, Clone OC (Icer), x reader

Downtime, Love

You’d been lying in bed, rolled over on your side and scrolling through your holoscreen, when you felt the bed dip behind you. Your boyfriend and his unit had been given some downtime between missions, and you had the weekend off from your job as a medic. He’d come to your flat, as usual, though he’d seemed to be a bit antsy all day.

With a hum, you settled your hand on his arm that wrapped around your waist. “Icer?” you murmured, glad he was finally deciding to lay down with you a bit.

He sighed from behind you, and he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck. “Hi, mesh’la,” he murmured.

You set down your tablet and squirmed, turning around to wrap your arms around his neck. “Hi,” you answered sweetly, leaning forward to nuzzle his cheek. “You finally get tired of pacing?” You smiled.

He gave you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, really. I just… I guess I’m still not over the last mission yet.”he shook his head. “I know I should be paying more attention to you-“

You pressed a finger gently to his lips, hushing him. “Hey. You don’t have to constantly feel like you have to give me attention when you’re troubled, Icer,” you reminded softly, knowing that your responsible boyfriend sometimes forgot to take things easy. “Here, with me, you can relax. Let go of all your worries, hmm?”

He tugged you closer, his forehead tucking against yours. “I know. I’m supposed to be having downtime,” he said ruefully.

You stroked his cheek, brushing past the small burn scars of blaster fire that littered the side of his face, not quite blending in with his dark skin. Gazing at him with a smile, you fell in love with him all over again.

“What can I do for you?” you asked, seeing his eyes flicker up to yours in surprise. “Tell me what I can do to help you relax.”

His fingers tightened around your waist for a moment, and he smoothed his hands over your hips and back. He hesitated, his eyes flickering away from yours as his lips twisted, as though holding back a thought.

“Tell me,” you coaxed softly. “You deserve to be spoiled for all you do, Icer. It’s your turn to be pampered.”

But a flush spread over his cheeks as he continued to avoid your eyes. “I…” he cleared his throat as his voice cracked. “I mean, I—“ He swallowed. “Can you-“ he trailed off into an indecipherable mutter.

You bit back a laugh as your boyfriend suddenly turned shy. Cupping his face, you brought his face up to yours. Pressing a kiss to his lips, you gave him an indulgent smile.

“Can’t help you if you don’t tell me, love,” you teased.

“C-can you fuck me?” Icer blurted, then buried his face in your chest in embarrassment.

You tilted your head for a moment, wondering why he would be so shy about it. It wasn’t as though Icer didn’t sometimes come home just to drop everything and push you against the wall to beg for attention. It had to be something else, right? Something that maybe you either hadn’t done before or something he considered extremely indulgent-?

Oh. Oh.

You laughed softly, carding your fingers through his hair. “Oh, does my sweet baby boy want to be fucked? You want me to get on top of you, push you into the bed, hold you down and fuck every thought out of your mind?” you purred. Icer rarely asked for the strap, but he was always such a good boy when he did.

He nodded against your chest, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Please.”

You hummed, bending to kiss his curly hair. “Of course. Let me go get ready, and you get comfortable however you want, okay?” you promised.

He nodded, reluctantly letting you go. You hopped up to go get the strap and lube, taking a detour by the bathroom.

Coming back out, you shed your shirt and shorts on the way to the bed. Laying the things on the bed, you found Icer already ready for you, lying on his back. With a smile, you crawled up towards him, straddling his waist. You cupped his face in your hands, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

His hands rested on your back, his eyes closing as he kissed you back. His face seemed to smooth out, and he let out a contented sigh into your lips. His eyes fluttered open to look at you, infatuation saturating his gaze.

“How did I get so lucky with you?” he murmured.

You shook your head with a smile. “Maker blessed me with you, Icer,” you refuted. “You deserve the world.” Then you gave him another kiss. “Now let me spoil you.” You could already feel his cock against your thigh, hard and clearly excited.

You started to kiss down his jaw, littering little marks across his neck, moving down to his chest. Your hands swept across his body, smoothing down his sides. You laughed softly as he panted and whimpered, jerking under your touches.

“Aww, is my baby boy already so sensitive?” you teased, unable to keep yourself from being a little bit mean. He just always reacted so beautifully.

You finally made it down between his legs, splaying your arms over his thighs as you comfortably settled in. Looking up at his face with an amused smile, you watched from half-lidded eyes as you gently flicked the tip of his cock. It dribbled precum, accompanied by a soft whine that spilled from him. His cock twitched, searching for more friction.

You let out a low hum, dragging your fingertip up the vein on the back. Tracing little circles on his thigh with one hand, you ringed your fingers around the head of his cock with the other, swirling your thumb in tight circles around his tip. Icer moaned as more precum dribbled from his tip, lubricating your fingers. His breath shuddered as he struggled to keep his eyes open. You reached out and grabbed the bottle of lube. Icer flinched as the cap popped open, and you set it down and smoothed you hand across his thigh.

“You okay, baby?” you checked.

He nodded. “Y-yeah, please.”

With a hum, you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his tip. Pouring the lube over your fingers, you partially distracted him by sliding the head of his cock into your mouth. Your fingers prodded gently as you sucked, tongue swirling around his tip.

Icer’s fingers clenched in the sheets, and he moaned as you slid one finger into him, slightly stretching him. You let his body adjust for a moment, then started to slightly thrust your finger, never going more than a knuckle deep. Still, you noticed how readily his body responded, and how his moans got a little louder.

The moment you added a second finger, scissoring and stretching him little by little, his voice cracked on a moan as he arched his back. His clenched hands twisted in the sheets. You smiled, carefully adding a third finger. He didn’t seem to be in any discomfort, to your relief, so you gently pulled your fingers away to get the strap.

He whined, peering down at you with a noise of protest.

“Calm down, you greedy baby,” you laughed, beginning to put on the strap. “I’ll be there in a second, I promise,” you soothed. “Do you wanna get comfortable for me?”

He nodded, then rolled himself over onto his stomach, pushing his ass up into the air. He turned his head to look back at you, his cheeks flushed with arousal and his eyes dewey with want.

You hummed, then poured some of the lube onto the strap. Shuffling forward, you grasped his hips, pushing the strap between his asscheeks and letting it rest there for a moment. You squeezed handfuls of his waist, sliding your hands down his sides, just getting him to relax.

His breath evened out a little, and he practically melted into the pillow in front of him as he slumped forward.

“That’s a good boy,” you cooed, letting the strap slide down and press against his entrance. You didn’t push, just letting Icer relax so his body would accept it more. The very top of the strap slid in, and Icer’s breath caught as he moaned into his pillow. You held his hips still as he jerked a little.

“Are we doing okay?” you asked, voice gentle and smooth as you swept your hands down the small of his back. “Do you want to do it yourself?”

He nodded into the pillow, then slowly started pushing back against you as you held still for him. Gasping a little, he eased himself fully onto the strap at his own pace while you watched him take every inch. It finally bottomed out into him, and he whined as he leaned back against your hips.

“Good job, love,” you praised, keeping your voice mellow to relax him. “Now how about you hand me that pillow, hmm?” You took the other pillow that he pushed behind him, then leaned down to settle it under his hips. You gently pushed him prone on his stomach, only the pillow propping up his hips.

Your name spilled from his lips, a half-breathless moan of pleasure.

Lowering yourself, you shifted up a little and laid over his back. “Just relax, love,” you soothed, reaching up to grasp his wrists with a firm but gentle hold. You pressed them down into the bed, your front fully pressed against his back as you physically pinned him in place against the bed.

Letting out a quiet hum, you pressed a kiss to the back of his neck just as you started grinding your hips into his ass. You smiled against his skin as he moaned, his breaths quick and stuttering as his cock ground against the pillow under him as well. Sucking a mark into the back of his shoulder, you slowly shifted your hips until you were angled just right.

The moment you gently thrust your hips, Icer half-strangled his cry into his pillow. His entire body jerked under you as you hit his prostate, shuddering.

With a little ‘tsk,’ you readjusted his hands so you could pin his wrists above his head with one hand. With the other, you reached down and tipped his chin up out of the pillow, sliding your thumb into the corner of his mouth.

“No no baby boy,” you purred, “don’t hide those pretty little sounds from me. I have to know that my good boy is feeling good, don’t I?” you teased, still thrusting into him, hitting his prostate every time. “Aren’t you going to give me those needy whimpers as you take what you deserve?”

Drool slipped down your thumb, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he practically sobbed. He was starting to babble a little, grinding his cock into the pillow as he got fucked. Slurred pleas and hiccuping whimpers spilled from his mouth, and you pressed another kiss to his neck.

“You gonna cum, baby boy? Gonna be good and cum for me, just like this, taking the strap like needy little boy you are? Don’t you deserve to get fucked like this, hmm?”

Icer hiccuped and nodded around your fingers, his whimpers and moans getting desperate. His entire body seemed to hum under you, getting so close to his peak.

Finally, as you thrust into him one more time and ground against him, his back arched as he let out a cry that vaguely sounded like your name. His whole body shuddered as he unraveled, until he finally slumped against the pillows, weak and spent.

You let go of his hands and chin, humming softly as you gently kissed his neck. Sweeping your hands down his sides soothingly, you stilled and kept the strap in him, just letting him ride out the aftershocks.

Finally, his head turned as he gazed at you through teary eyes. “Thank you,” his voice rasped and cracked.

“Shh, just relax,” you murmured, stroking his mussed hair away from his face. “You were such a good boy for me, Icer. You just stay here, okay? I’m going to get you all cleaned up, so you just lay here and be good for me, okay?”

But he whimpered and grasped your hand. “Stay. Please,” he whispered. “Little longer.”

You smiled at him lovingly, keeping your body on top of him. “Of course, sweetheart.” You kissed his cheek.

You watched him fall asleep with soft eyes, stroking his hair. Maybe you couldn’t take away all of his worries, but sometimes… you could give him a break, just like this.

It would have to be enough.

#Star Wars x reader #x reader #clone oc #clone #clonesimp #elysiadjarinkinktober #elysiadjarin #kinktober #clone x reader #nsft #star wars smut #fanfic #Clonetrooper #Clones #clone wars #mywriting #my writing

[teletraan-meets-jarvis]

Monster - Part 1

AO3 Link

Characters: Commander Fox (Main), Captain Rex, Commander Thorn, Corrie Medic Triage (OC), Anakin Skywalker, Fives.

Summary: Fives' death through the eyes of Commander Fox.

Warnings: 16+, swearing, mentions of death.

Word Count: 1.6k

Click here for Part 2

Author’s Notes: First trip on the angst train folks. I've had this in my head for ages because I wanted to try something that wasn't relationship focused and I'm still not over this whole storyline with the chips, they were so darn close to exposing ol' sheev. Fox deserves some spotlight but i'm very sorry it had to be on this. I have got a part 2 practically written up already but wanted to test the waters with this bit first. Let me know what you think!! Fic below the cutoff :).

The title is from the song Monster by Starset. If you're after some good sci-fi related songs for the feels, Startset is where it's at.

Under the knife I surrendered The innocence yours to consume You cut it away And you filled me up with hate Into the silence you sent me Into the fire consumed You thought I'd forget But it's always in my head

Each step was quiet, calculated as CC-1010 moved into the storage bay. His men following his lead as they prepared to surround their target. General Skywalker was verbally defending the Chancellor from where he was captured in a ray shield. The target was unaware of their presence, time to move in.

Set to stun.

“Stand down, soldier! Get on your knees!” CC-1010 commanded, surrounded by his Shock Troopers. The target looked over at the unattended pistols. “Don’t do it solider.”

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

“FIVES NO!”

Threat. Eliminate the threat.

Good soldiers, follow orders.

Set to Kill. CC-1010 never missed.

No.

Rex was screaming.

General Skywalker was ordering the Guard to lower the ray shields, not that CC-1010 could hear him over the ringing in his ears.

No.

The Captain was at his ARC-Trooper’s side, cradling his head. The blaster wound a disgusting contrast to the pure, shiny, white plastoid of his armour. The blaster wound that CC- no, that Fox inflicted.

No no no no no no.

The pistol fell from his hands and clattered to the ground as Fox came back to himself, the only sound which could be heard among the silence apart from Rex’s begging to Fives to stay with him.

Fox tore off his helmet. He couldn’t breathe. Fuck. The weight of what he just did crashed into him like a tsunami, threatening to take him down, tear him apart.

He stared at his gloved hands which shook uncontrollably. He tried to stop them but his brain didn’t have control of his body anymore. His men were looking at him, he could feel their gaze tearing into him like a jury to a defendant. Watching as their Commander fell apart.

He fell to his knees. No longer able to support his own body weight alongside the weight of his actions. He’d just killed another clone. One of his own vode. His own flesh and blood. That’d never happened before. Sure there had been traitors before among the clone ranks, but they’d never been executed on site. They’d never been pursued by Fox. Lucky them.

The chancellors’ orders echoed in his ears. “Eliminate the threat, Commander.”

Not bring him in for questioning. Eliminate him. No court hearing, no hearing Fives’ side like Slick and others before him. Just execution. And Fox was his executioner. Fuck he was going to vomit.

“Rex” Fox didn’t realise he was speaking until Rex’s eyes met his over Fives’ lifeless body, which he continued to cradle like his last hopes in this war.

Rex’s eyes were cold as ice, the power behind them attempting to freeze Fox to his very core. He didn’t blame him.

The heartbreak at losing another member of Torrent Company cracking the Captain’s usually unshakeable composure. As it fell apart piece by piece in front of Fox’s eyes, he was left staring at his little brother. His Rex’ika. Distraught, heartbroken, empty. He wanted nothing more than to protect him like back on Kamino, when Rex was a young cadet who feared the thunderstorms of their home planet. But Fox couldn’t protect Rex from this, Fox was the reason behind his brother’s agony, his loss. Fox was the monster.

“I-…” he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t explain himself. What could he say? I didn’t have a choice, I had to follow orders? That wasn’t going to fix the hole left in Rex’s heart. For losing Fives and for losing Fox too, because the Commander was sure he was dead to him.

Rex finally pulled his eyes away and it broke Fox’s heart. The Captain looked back down at his friend in his arms, his brother. He brought his forehead forward as he raised Fives’s, meeting him in one final Keldabe as he recited the Mando’a that had become far too familiar for them all. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. He cradled Fives close to his chest and hooked a hand under his legs as he got to his feet.

Rex’s face was stony, emotionless as he carried his fallen brother out of the storage bay. He held himself together as he brushed past the helmet-less Shock Troopers who stood stock still around their shaken Commander. He didn’t even spare Fox a glance. General Skywalker was hot on his Captain’s heels, going to offer support where he could. Just like that they were gone.

“Sir-“ one of the troopers went to place a hand on his Commander’s shoulder.

“Tell the Chancellor it’s done” Fox snapped out, the words tasting like bitter bile in his mouth. He did his best to regain himself as he grabbed his bucket, re-securing it and his emotions behind as strong a wall as he could fortify in his current state. Still shaking hands clasped around the dropped blaster and Fox finally returned to his feet, slightly unsteady.

“Return to base” his orders were flat as they came through the helmet. His soldiers didn’t react for a moment. He looked each of his men over, their shock at watching what happened bared to the world on their faces. He couldn’t take it. “Now.” Finally they nodded and made the move to leave the Gods-forsaken place.

Everything was a blur; people, places, all fading into nothingness behind Fox as he paced back to his office. His safe space. His feet carried him while his mind drifted, almost leaving his body in an attempt to protect himself from the internal horrors that threatened his grasp on reality.

Next he knew he was back in his office, no idea what route he’d taken to get there. The door had barely shut behind him before he stumbled to the small refresher attached and vomited. Choked sobs wracked his body as he emptied his stomach, tears creating salty tracks down his cheeks.

Once his body stopped torturing him, he finally backed away from the toilet and crawled to lean against the ‘fresher wall. His legs sprawled out in front of him as he threw his head back against the cool tiles. The sharp pain from the action doing nothing to bring him back, to distract him from the agony in his mind.

————

“Fox, Fox!! It’s Thorn, are you there?” The heavy gunner shouted from outside, his fists banging on the door demanding entry.

Nothing.

Thorn had heard what had happened, half the Guard already knew by now. Fox had been ordered to execute another clone by the Chancellor. As soon as the confirmation reached his ears, the Commander dropped everything to find his superior. He’d been friends with Fox long enough to know when he was nearing his breaking point, and he knew that this would throw him off the edge of his sanity.

“Kriff, Fox. I’m coming in!” He announced before punching the code in and rushing in to find his friend.

What Thorn found wasn’t pretty. Fox was propped up against the fresher wall, his head covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his amber eyes glassed over as he sobbed. He looked absolutely wrecked.

Thorn dropped to his side and took hold of his hands in an attempt to ground his friend. “Fox, hey Fox, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“I heard what happened. I need you to come back to us, yeah. Maker, we need you Fox.” That got his attention, Fox’s watery eyes met his, but the Commander wasn’t fully present behind them yet.

“It wasn’t me” Fox choked out in barely a whisper, tears flowing freely again. Thorn moved forward and pulled the Commander into his arms, their armour fitting awkwardly against one another but it was enough. The broken man clung to his brother as he continued to repeat his words in a tear filled mantra against Thorn’s armour.

After what felt like forever, the shudders that tore through Fox’s body eventually died down to something more manageable. Thorn took that as his moment to try and get his Commander sat up again, maybe even get some water in him. He began to pull away slightly so he could look him in the eyes but as soon as he did, Fox started babbling again. At least it was a few more words than before.

“I set the gun to stun, I swear. I don’t know what happened. Once I saw Fives, everything went dark.” He tried to explain with as much coherence as he could. “They’ll never forgive me for this.” Thorn knew who he was talking about, his batch mates. Cody, Wolffe, Bly, Ponds and Gree. Fox had felt that their relationship was strained ever since he joined the Guard and his brothers went out to fight on the front lines. He’d become the cold leader of the Coruscant Elite Guard, he had the ‘cushy desk job’ while they had to watch their men die day in and day out on the battlefield. The sad truth was that they’d never understand the things the Guard had to go through each day. One night after a particularly tough day, he’d listened as Fox admitted that he wished he could provide his men with honourable deaths in battle to save them from their fates within the Guard.

Thorn’s chest felt like a vice as he cradled his friend, trying to absorb some of his pain as if it would help make things a bit easier on him. He’d never seen Fox like this and it was killing him. Why did the Chancellor always place the worst jobs on the Commander, why did he have to keep him so close, right under his thumb ready to make him do the dirty work. Never thinking about the aftermath, because the clones didn’t matter. So long as Fox kept showing up and performing admirably on the surface, the day to day pain and suffering wasn’t of concern to the Republic, least of all to the Grand Chancellor.

“Fox, I’m going to call Triage alright? He’ll know what to do.” Thorn announced softly, not getting much of an acknowledgment for his words as Fox started to drift off in his arms, his body’s exhaustion overtaking him for a blissful moment.

Continue to Part 2

Back to Masterlist

#commander fox #commander thorn #captain rex #fives #anakin skywalker #star wars fanfic #star wars fic #clone wars fanfic #clone wars fic #arc trooper fives #clone wars season 6 #i love you fives #it's still not fair #i will probs write a mini fix it one of these days #coruscant #coruscant guard #corrie guard

[nicodemuslily]

Hardcase operation 1 (AU)

READ THIS BEFORE

Kix: Hardcase, stay put. I have to inject this in your arm.

Hardcase: What is it for?

Kix: To make you sleep.

Hardcase: It’s not the time for sleeping.

Kix: I know, but I have to do surgery on you. And it will be better if you’re sleeping. 

Hardcase: Why?

Kix: Because it’s going to hurt you. Do you want to get hurt?

Hardcase: No.

Kix: So lay down and try to relax.

Hardcase: I’m relaxed. 

Kix: ... If you say so. Lay down.

*Hardcase finally lays and Kix injects the anesthetic.*

Kix: Now, count as far as you can.

Hardcase: One, two, three...

Kix: In your head. And close your eyes.

*Hardcase obeys and his body started to move less until it stays put.*

** 

NOW YOU CAN READ THE COMICS

Kix: Well, I think we can go now. 

Rash: What is his problem by the way?

Kix: He’s hyperactive.

Rash: There is more than that, admit it.

Kix: He also had a small mental “retardation”.

Rash: Why the quotation marks?

Kix: In fact, he mentally grew up at a normal pace. So, he’s ten. 

Hardcase: ELEVEN!

***

(Sorry for the awkward presentation, but if I use the same pattern as I used for Connexion, you can’t zoom on the drawing actually. ^^; )

Well, in my AU, after Fives revealed the truth about the chip, clones decided to not tell the Jedi yet (because of the acquaintance between Anakin and Palpatine) and to make surgery on themselves to take the chip off their brain. It took quite some times, especially that they had to do it secretly. And when it was the moment for Hardcase, here came the troubles. XD

Actually, it was inspired by a true story. Someone I know has pretended to be asleep before a surgery and “woke up” minutes before the show.

What about Hardcase himself? Well, into my mind, Hardcase suffers from two issues due to the leak on his tank. 

First, he has a kind of hyperactivity syndrome. A “kind of” only because he doesn’t really have the low phase the real hyperactive people are enduring; he’s always “high”. He has trouble to stay focus on one thing for more than five minutes, he is always moving, he has to do plenty of things at the same time, he’s super creative and he barely sleeps more than four hours (and he has to eat more than his brothers).

Second, as Kix says, he has the body of an adult but his brain is the one of the little boy he is supposed to be. So he can look stupid or retard at first sight, but he’s not. He’s just as smart as a ten/eleven years old boy with no patience for lessons. He can understand and learn many things with the appropriate method. :)

And what about Rash? He’s the medic officer of the 327th. I didn’t expect to create my own clone OC, but I finally needed some to write my AU. I’ll tell you more about him with another post. :D    

#star wars #star wars fanart #star wars the clone wars #star wars tcw #sw tcw #tcw #tcw fanart #tcw au #sw au #the clone wars #the clone wars fanart #the clone wars au #a few inches below #silly comics #clone troopers #clone medic #clone medic kix #clone trooper hardcase #kix #hardcase #clone trooper oc #501st

[purplefangirl42]

Bad Timing (part 2)

Series summary: Crosshair meets someone that he has a strong connection to, but the timing is never right. Will he ever get his chance?

Pairing: Crosshair/Jedi! OC (Lena Orim)

Parts: Series Masterlist ~ Part 1 ~ Part 3 ~

Part 2 Summary: Lena and the Batch scope out the base and spend some time together.

Warnings: none, more feelings, Crosshair is his grumpy self

A/N: This turned out way longer than originally planned. Had to save some stuff for the next part. Hope you enjoy!

                                     ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖

Lena left the command center, stopping briefly at the makeshift med station to grab an emergency medpack for her mission. Even if Sparx and Admiral Yung were still alive, she had no idea what state they were in physically. She was sure the Separatists wouldn't have made their well-being a priority, and they had been in a crash before their capture. Lena wanted to be prepared for anything. She thanked Chip, the 394th’s medic, before crossing the landing zone to join the visiting squad at the speeder bikes she had pointed out to them earlier.

As Lena approached the group, she could sense a variety of emotions coming from the troopers. Hunter and Crosshair in particular seemed to be vibrating with annoyance, making her believe that she had just missed an argument between the two. It appeared the brotherly conflict was a universal thing among clones, no matter how "defective" they may be.

“Everything alright?” she asked, placing the medpack in the bag attached to her speeder bike.

Hunter turned to face her and gave her a nod.

“Nothing to worry about, General. Just making sure everything is ready to go. We’re ready when you are.”

Lena glanced around the group, her eyes darting from one face to another. Other than Hunter, none of them met her gaze. She wondered what had been the topic of the argument she had missed. The uncomfortable atmosphere surrounding them at her arrival led her to believe that she may have been the subject of discussion.

“I know you guys are used to working on your own, so I understand if my presence on this mission is a sore subject.”

A wave of embarrassment came from the entire group. Lena knew she had been right in her assessment of the situation; her presence was unwelcome.

“I’ll do my best to stay out of your way and let you do what you do best,” she said, giving them what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

Hunter cleared his throat and nodded his head towards the bikes.

“I’m sure everything will work out. We’ll just have to make some adjustments,” he said. “If we want to check out the base while there’s still daylight, we should get going.”

Lena nodded in agreement. She gave the group another once-over glance, her gaze lingering on Crosshair as he was the only one to return her eye contact. His narrowed eyes widened slightly as they met hers before his face returned to a neutral expression, and he put up a front of disinterest again. The corner of Lena’s mouth quirked upwards at his quick shift in expression. She could feel the unknown emotion from before rolling towards her in waves, almost as if he was projecting it at her.  Pushing her curiosity aside, she turned away from him and climbed onto her speeder.

“Follow me boys!” she called before speeding away.

The group of them traveled at a slow pace, the dense forest making their trip difficult. Lena cut down a few small trees that blocked their way with her lightsaber, allowing them to pass to a relatively clear section. A beep on her communicator signaled that a member of the squad wanted to speak with her. Slowing her speeder to a stop, she turned and looked at the group of clones that stopped beside her.

“I’m not sure how efficient this method of travel is,” Tech spoke up. “Surely there must be a better way to reach the base?”

“Unless you feel like walking, I’m afraid not,” Lena replied.

“You could cut down some more trees like you did before,” Wrecker suggested.

Lena laughed softly at his suggestion.

"We'll be doing enough damage with the attack on the base; I don't want to chop down a bunch of trees unnecessarily on top of that. We're almost to the small mountain near the base. We can stop there and climb up to get a better look."

The group nodded in agreement before they began to carefully make their way through the trees again. Once they reached the mountain Lena had mentioned, they parked their speeder bikes in a dense grove of bushes to hide them from prying eyes. Then, they began their ascent, making quicker progress up the side of the mountain than they had through the forest.

Lena leaped from a lower ledge to a large flat spot above her. As she waited for the rest of the group to reach her position, she looked around. A small outcropping on the side of the mountain created a sheltered area to her left, while an extended ledge was on her right. Lena walked slowly to the edge and looked down the side into the forest below. She could see the base in a large clearing a few klicks from the spot they had left the speeders.

“You know, you move pretty fast for someone your size,” a voice said behind her.

Lena turned from the edge to see Crosshair standing behind her. He had reached the top before his brothers, likely due to his long legs and affinity for high places as a sniper, Lena guessed.

“Gotta make up for my lack of vertical advantage somehow,” she joked. “Not all of us are built like you with long legs made for climbing.”

Crosshair glanced down at her, his visor impassive, but Lena could sense his amusement at her comment. He stepped forward to stand at her side, peering over the edge as she had. Flipping the sensor on the side of his helmet down, he scanned the area.

"Doesn't look like there are many droids outside the base. It should be easy to sneak in. What lies inside is another story."

A loud groan sounded behind the pair, causing them both to turn. Wrecker lay flat on his back in the middle of the ledge.

“As long as we don’t have to climb anymore, I don’t care how many droids are anywhere,” he huffed, pulling his helmet off his head to allow himself to breathe.

Lena walked over and stood at his side, smirking down at him.

"What's the matter, Wrecker? Can't handle a little climbing?"

Lena’s smirk faltered as she felt the embarrassment flood from him. His gaze shifted away from her as he sat up.

“I don’t do so well with heights,” he muttered.

Lena squatted down next to him and placed her hand on his large shoulder.

"Well, in the morning, you can close your eyes, and I'll lift you down the ground, so you don't have to worry about climbing back down."

Wrecker looked back at her in disbelief.

“No offense General, but how are you going to do that? I’m quite a bit bigger than you,” he said, holding his hand over her head to emphasize the difference in their sizes.  

Lena laughed at his question.

“I forgot; you guys don’t usually work with Jedi.”

Standing from her place next to Wrecker, she turned to the mountain face beside them. Finding a large boulder, she effortlessly lifted it with the force, holding it suspended in the air. Wrecker’s eyes went wide as he looked from her to the large rock in amazement.

“Showoff,” Crosshair scoffed from his place at the edge.

Lena's smile faded as she realized that he was probably right. She let the boulder fall gently down to the ground. She knew lifting rocks wasn't a significant accomplishment, but hopefully, it alleviated Wrecker's apprehension about the climb back down in the morning.

"I'll let you guys scope out the base from here and come up with some sort of plan," she said. "We’ll be staying up here for the night, so I’ll jump back down and grab some supplies from the bikes.”

Lena walked over to the edge and jumped back down to the ledge she had ascended from, and began her trip back down the mountainside, leaving the clones to discuss amongst themselves.

                                                  ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖

“Must you always make situations uncomfortable?” Hunter asked Crosshair as soon as he felt Lena was out of earshot.

“Yeah!” Wrecker added. “I thought her little trick was cool! Why’d you have to go and make her feel bad?”

"If my little comment hurt her feelings," Crosshair bit out, "maybe she should find a new line of work. The warfront is not the place for people that soft."

Despite his words, Crosshair did feel bad for his comment. Lena’s smile touched something deep inside him every time it graced her face, and to see it disappear because of something he said churred his stomach. To tell the truth, he had been impressed to see such a small woman lift something that made Wrecker look small with such ease.

He turned away from his brothers to look back down at the base, scanning the area with his visor. He may as well do the thing Lena had told him to do, as he certainly wasn’t going to win any points with her otherwise. Once he had done a thorough scan, Crosshair relayed what he found to the squad.

"I'll go with the General, Tech, and Wrecker into the base," Hunter said.  "We'll have to figure out exactly how to get in once we get there. Crosshair, you find a perch on a ledge or a tree nearby and keep an eye out for any surprises that may come from the outside. If we find the Admiral and reg in there, we'll likely need to make a quick exit, and I don't want any surprises waiting for us as we try to make our getaway. Hopefully, the droids will be preoccupied with whatever distraction the padawan and regs are causing outside and not worry about us.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Wrecker said. “Should we blow up the base while we’re in there? Show the regs fighting outside and the Seppies what we’re capable of?”

“I’ll leave that decision to the General,” Hunter replied, his gaze lifting to the edge of the cliff where Lena had reappeared with a pack on her back.

“Ugh, quit calling me that,” Lena said as she approached the group. “The only people that call me ‘General’ are Master Windu, Admiral Yung, and Chip when he’s mad at me.”

Crosshair raised an eyebrow inquisitively. He hadn’t heard someone insist on not using their title before. Most people were offended if you didn’t address them properly.

“Well, what do you want us to call you?” Hunter asked.

Lena seemed to think about it for a minute before answering him.

"You can call me Lena. Or if it truly bothers you not to use formalities, you can call me ma'am. I'm sure you'll come up with your own nicknames for me. My own boys certainly have. Now, what is the plan, and what decision do you need me to make?”

Crosshair let his gaze linger on Lena’s face as Hunter informed her of the plan. She seemed to be listening intently, but he saw her eyes shift to him, meeting his gaze for a second before looking away again to focus on Hunter. He wondered if she could sense his confusing feelings about her. He didn't know much about Jedi powers, other than that they could sense things, lift rocks, and jump really high. She seemed to keep searching him out as if she was looking for something, but then again, he could be paranoid. Or was it wishful thinking?

Once everyone had agreed on the plan, they settled in to wait until morning. Lena had contacted her padawan to fill her in before bidding her goodnight and good luck. It had begun to rain as the sun sank below the horizon, creating a chill in the air. Lena had pulled out a warming rod from the pack she had retrieved, placing it in the center of the small, covered space they took shelter in for the night. They all sat as close to it as they could without encroaching on each other’s space.

Wrecker and Lena made casual conversation, while Hunter and Crosshair sat silently together on the opposite side of the lit area. Tech sat at the edge of the covered space away from the group, keeping watch for any unsuspected visitors that may see the small amount of light and come to investigate. Every so often, Lena would laugh at something Wrecker said, causing Crosshair to glance up at her to watch her smile cover her face. He could feel his own lips quirking up slightly at the sight. A nudge against his right arm dragged his attention away from Lena to look at his brother beside him.

“You alright?” Hunter asked quietly.

Crosshair raised an eyebrow at the question.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You just seem tense, and your heart rhythm is all over the place."

Crosshair turned away and flicked the toothpick he had been chewing on away from him. He should have known it wouldn’t be long before Hunter would pick up on something.

"Stop listening to my heart. It's creepy," he said. "I'm fine. This mission isn't as bad as I thought it would be."

He glanced back in Hunter’s direction to his brother's face twist in confusion for a second before softening in realization. His eyes lifted to the Jedi across from him before shifting to meet Crosshair's, a slight smirk on his lips.

“You like her, don’t you?” he asked in a voice quiet enough that only Crosshair would hear.

Crosshair's eyes widened in surprise before he quickly turned away from Hunter's gaze. He wasn't sure if he "liked" Lena or if he simply thought she had a pretty smile. In the few hours that had passed since he met her, she had seemed like a decent person. She didn't treat them like rejects and had even smiled at him directly with no hint of malice or forced politeness. Also, if he was honest with himself, her smile wasn't the only thing he enjoyed.

"Don't worry. I won't tell her," Hunter said, nudging him again, the playful smirk still lingering on his face. “Although you should probably stop staring at her, or you'll give yourself away."

Crosshair elbowed Hunter in the side, earning a small huff of laughter from the Sergeant.

                                                  ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖

Lena glanced across the warming rod at the sound she heard from the other side. Hunter seemed to be amused by something. Her gaze drifted to the man beside him, and she swore she could see the hint of a smile on his face. She thought that tiny quirk of his lips improved his image enormously. It suited him much more than the scowl he had been wearing since his arrival. As she was observing him, his eyes lifted to meet hers, and for the first time, he held her gaze rather than quickly looking away. That moment of eye contact sent the curious emotion she had sensed from him flooding towards her. Lena tilted her head slightly and raised her eyebrows at him in a silent question, wondering what it was that he was feeling.

The moment was disturbed by Tech walking back into the light from his position at the edge of the space. He gestured to Wrecker before sitting down next to Lena.

"Your turn for watch, Wrecker," he said, nodding towards the darkness. "I didn't see anything, so hopefully, the night will pass without any excitement."

Wrecker groaned as he stood from his position on Lena's other side. He left the group and disappeared into the darkness. Lena watched him go, pitying him for having to leave the warmth of the light. She wasn’t looking forward to her watch.

Lena pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them at the thought of the cold air seeping through her robes. Her hand brushed against her collar bone in this position, causing her fingers to catch on the necklace she worse under the edge of her collar. Reaching in, she pulled it out from its hiding place and grasped it gently. As she stroked her finger softly over the beads, she felt her mind fill with worry.

“Are you alright?” a soft voice at her side asked.

Lena turned to look at Tech, whose goggled eyes stared back at her with concern.

"Yeah, I'm just worried about my friends, that's all. I'm fully confident that we'll get them back, but you never know what could go wrong. Whenever I reach out to them in the force, I can feel they are still alive, but I know that Admiral Yung is in extreme pain. I worry about what they might have done to him."

Tech seemed surprised at her concern for the Admiral. His eyes widened briefly before narrowing back in on the datapad in his hands.

“You consider the Admiral your friend?” he asked, uncertainty clear in his voice.

“Well…friend may be pushing it, but I do care about him and his safety. Why do you ask?”

Tech tapped a few things on his datapad before bringing up a file. Then, he showed her the screen, pointing at a specific line. Lena leaned forward and read the words he was pointing to. It was a statement from Admiral Yung that had been added to her personnel file about her leadership. She had seen it before and was aware of his feelings on the matter. She glanced back up to meet Tech’s gaze again.

"Yes, I know about that. But that doesn't change how I feel about him. He is still a member of my team, and I respect him greatly, even if we don't agree on some things. I don’t leave people behind.”

Tech shrugged and pulled his datapad back into his lap, seemingly satisfied with her answer.

“Do you look through the file of everyone you work with?” Lena asked.

Tech nodded, pushing his goggles back up from where they had slid down the bridge of his nose.

“We like to know who we’re working with beforehand. We go all over the place, so we don’t have the chance to get to know people. We bounce around too much.”

Lena turned away from him and looked back across the space to where Crosshair and Hunter were sitting. They had been silent during the conversation, and she could tell that they were listening in. The fact that they had read her file made her concerned about what they thought about her.

“What else did my file say?” she asked.

The three brothers shared a look of uncertainty before Tech spoke up again.

"It mentioned that you didn't have an active part at the beginning of the war. That you refused to fight. It was a topic of conversation before we arrived," he said, his gaze falling on Crosshair as he spoke.

Lena scoffed and shook her head.

“I suppose it does make me look like a coward,” she said softly.

"Personally, I found your reason admirable," Tech said. "Most people think of us only as tools. Granted, on the surface, that is our true purpose, but it is rare for anyone to see beyond that."

A small smile appeared on Lena’s face.

“I still feel the same way about the use of clone troopers against their will,” she said, “that will never change.”

“I’m more curious about what changed your mind about participating yourself,” Tech said. “It is strange to me that you would take such a firm stand and then change your mind. Why did you join the war?”

Lena's fingers returned to the necklace around her neck, lingering on a particular bead. An orange one with a blue stripe. She shook her head sadly before meeting Tech's gaze again.

“Ryloth. When the Separatists attacked innocent citizens, I could no longer ignore the fighting. Before that, I had stuck to relief missions. But when I arrived on Ryloth and saw the destruction and pain that had been caused, my mind was made up. My padawan Keebo lost her young nephew in one of the attacks, which drove her to support my decision. We officially entered the war after that.”

Silence followed her revelation. Tech didn't seem to have a follow-up question. Then, sensing that her somber tale had brought an end to the comfortable atmosphere, Lena stood from her spot on the ground.

“I think it would be best if we all got some rest. Tomorrow is a busy day.”

Lena walked away from the light and settled down against the back wall of the space, wrapping her arms around herself. She knew it would be warmer by the rod, but she needed some time to herself. She crossed her legs and closed her eyes, reaching out with the force to the base below the mountain.

Searching until she landed on Sparx’s force signature, she touched his mind. She focused on him and sent a wave of encouragement to him through the force, hoping it conveyed the message she wanted.

Stay strong. Help is coming.

                                      ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖ ⌖

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this part! Please reblog, like, and comment! If you would be interested in being on a taglist, please go comment on this post.

#tbb crosshair #crosshair #crosshair x jedi oc #tbb crosshair x jedi oc #crosshair x oc #fanfiction #star wars #star wars: the clone wars #Star Wars: The Bad Batch #the bad batch #tbb #OC:Lena Orim

[lost-on-kamino]

*runs in there* 17, 19, 24, 32, 44

(fdjfhdsjfsfs) 17. Any OC OTPs? I have a few Oc OTPs! One of them is a Clone Commander and his General. Crow (Clone Commander of the Avis Squadron) fell for Chora Tuteru (Pantoran General). But they didn't actually get together until much later past Order 66 when they did finally get to know one another. They end up having a kid later down the line while guarding Crow's Squadron who are still frozen in time. (Another is very self-indulgent with an OC x Canon I am still nervous to bring up;; ) 19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why) Dove would be one. Her journey is somewhat special. She didn't have her parents (Her father was missing and her mother was a Jedi who dropped her off at an Orphanage) and ended up becoming a part of the GAR under Tuteru as a Lt for her Squadron. She ends up apart from her new family during Order 66, being rescued by a bunch of Clones. And yet when coming face to face with her mother (A Disgraced Creche Master who ended up fleeing during the Temple and leaving Younglings behind.) She ends up following in the path of the Jedi before realizing, it's not for her. And she doesn't need to follow what her parents were before her. So she ends up just being a Force Wielder, though it takes time to get there. It's kind of something I need to follow, that I don't need to follow people to catch up in the trends... I can just go at my own pace and discover things for my own. 24. If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be and why? Honestly, Kite would be one I'd love to meet! He's a Pilot for the Avis Squad who ended up losing his legs while Piloting. Yet he still flies with his Squadron. His fighter is adjusted to his disability so he can jump in and go. He just keeps going. He doesn't let anything stop him and his heart is in the right place. He would be the one to help you along despite issues. And he would be a fun guy to talk to. 32. Which one of your OCs would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why? For a truthful answer, I'd have to say Magpie of Avis Squadron. He hoards everything for a Medic and just would have the tools to get out of the situation! For comedic: Metro(nome) Squad and Scooby Doo hijinks- 44. Something you like about your OCs in general How I can always develop them. I always tend to change how they once originally were into something different and sometimes that makes it better than they were. Dove is one example of how she's changed despite the year I've had her.

#Rogue Rambles #Metro(nome) Squad #Commander Crow #General Chora Tuteru #Clone Pilot Kite #Dove #Avis Squadron

[staycalmandhugaclone]

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved - Echo! You can read this little chunk as a standalone, or head back to the beginning for the full experience!

One of my besties on here mentioned they had some specific aversions severe gore, so I made a toned down version so they could still enjoy the story. Please don't hesitate to reach out with requests like this! If you're invested in my writings but aren't comfortable with a certain trigger warning, just let me know and I'll do my best to offer a version that is better for you!

Febuwhump Day 6 (Censored)

Secrets Revealed – OC Medic & TBB - An unexpected EMP forces Doc to reveal aspects of their past that could well turn the batch against them. Click here for the uncensored version.

Warnings: Mild descriptions of gore/injury, language, panic attacks, angst, PTSD flashbacks, self-depreciation, offhand reference to minor character death. This one hits a lot of potentially triggering topics pretty intensely and is fueled from a very dark place I was in with my own injury. Be kind to yourself. Healing is a nonlinear process.

WC: 6,291

Shoulder rolling to shift the strap of my medbag out of the crevice between my shoulder bell and chest plate, I glanced behind me to where Tech stood before a large blast door, fingers flying across the screen of his datapad. He’d been fighting to splice the security program for several minutes already, and each minute lost brought his brows furrowing closer together, lips bunching in annoyance. Turning my attention back to the hall behind us, I tried to listen for any signs of approaching enemies, but Echo and Crosshair’s distraction elsewhere on the Separatist flagship seemed to be a grand success. Hunter and Wrecker were on the level directly below us, acting as a secondary contingency plan should we run into trouble.

“It’s no use.” Eyes wide, I turned in shock to find Tech disconnecting his handheld from the panel near the door. “It would likely take me several more minutes to breach their firewalls. I am not comfortable with such a delay.”

“Guess Echo and I should have swapped places.” I said apologetically, earning a skeptical look from the tall clone.

“Echo is a highly skilled arc trooper. His chances of survival behind enemy lines far outweigh your own whereas your knowledge of the sciences will be useful in skimming through their records for relevant data.” I shot him a blank look - I’d been there when Hunter explained our roles, just the same as him.

“Doubling down on how quickly we can sift through their records is only worthwhile if we can get in there.” He didn’t wait for me to finish my retort before shutting down his datapad and hooking it to his waist.

“That won’t be a problem.” He dismissed. Without allowing me a chance to respond, he brought his comm to his lips. “Wrecker, go ahead and deploy-”

“I get to use it?!” Wrecker shouted. Tech frowned at the interruption, but his voice remained calm as he answered.

“Yes; it seems they’ve increased se-”

“Yeah, yeah; enough talkin’!” Tech let out a small sigh before beginning to shut down the communicator.

“Very well. Cutting comms.” I frowned, unsure why whatever Wrecker was doing would warrant actually turning off his gear.

“Is he blowing up some power unit for the door?” I asked doubtfully. His eyebrow cocked at my question.

“In a sense. I would advice turning off your communicator.” I stood still a moment longer, trying to understand. “Once the EMP detonates, we will be able to force open the door enough to” I didn’t hear the rest of his sentence, heart plummeting.

“E… EMP?” My voice nearly caught in my throat, body already taking a half step back. Hearing the sudden fear in my voice, Tech turned his full attention to me, as though he might find answers with a mere glance.

“Yes. That’s why he and Hunter are positioned directly below us.” Panic turned my blood to ice, heart bursting into a frantic pace.

“N… the-the radius – what’s the radius?!” Stammered words quickly turned into a shout, legs stumbling to remember how to move.

“Approximately thirty meters – enough to allow”

“No-no-no-no.” Thirty meters. Run. Run. Don’t think. The futility of the mad dash didn’t matter; the certainty that there simply wasn’t time to cross such a distance. The concern and confusion in Tech’s voice as he called my name didn’t matter. Just run.

I barely felt the ripple of static as the world went dark. Mid-sprint, my ankle went dead, foot falling limp and catching on the hard ground. And then I was falling, body crashing with enough force to tear the air from my lungs. For a single, blissful second, my mind was too taken by that threat of suffocation, lungs burning as my diaphragm balked beneath the sudden assault, but then that dread returned.

I remembered knowing we on the Separatist ship. I remembered knowing that Tech was with me, that Hunter and Wrecker were barely ten meters below us, and the Havoc Marauder was carefully hidden against an emergency escape on the outer hull. I remembered that the ship crash that first brought me officially into the Republic army was nearly two years ago and those wounds had long since healed, but, the instant the lights went out, those memories slipped away amidst the terror of nerves screaming beneath a memory far more consuming: pain.

Deaf to the wheezing of my faltered breathes, logic abandoned me. There was only fear; limbs flailing to push me upright, as though maybe I was mistaken; maybe I’d merely tripped, but, when I pulled my leg under me, when the sweeping beam of a flashlight showed how my foot hung listless to any demand to move, I was right back on that crippled transport unable to unsee the ruin of that joint.

“No-no-no.” The senseless plea stammered over numb limps and I felt myself crash back to the ground, strength abandoning me. Good leg dragging atop the smooth tiles, I just managing to push myself back against the wall, hands clawing into my shin as I stared dumbly at the useless joint. I knew there was no blood soaking beneath my hands, knew there was no pain shooting from ruined flesh, but the very memory of that long ago agony locked my every muscle, terrified that one wrong move might reawaken shrieking nerves – remind them that I should hurt, that it would never stop hurting.

I couldn’t hear the way my rapid gasps deteriorated into broken whimpers, nor the growingly frantic calls from Tech as he dropped to his knees beside me. It wasn’t until his hand slipped beneath mine, just beginning to cradle the wretched limb, that I even realized I wasn’t alone, and that horror struck me anew.

“Don’t touch me!” The screech tore from my throat, body violently lashing out to kick him away, still unable to tear my gaze from the way my foot simply… dangled, rocking listlessly with the momentum of my frantic movements. The thud of plastoid hitting metal was enough to pull my gaze away for just a moment, but it was enough. The fierce concern gleaming through the rich umber of his eyes… my friend… he was…

Bringing one hand back to bury my forehead against my palm, I strained to drag myself back to some level of control, cursing the fluttered racing of my heart, the way my entire torso convulsed in gulping, too-shallow gasps, lips twisted into a feral snarl as my teeth ground painfully together. The trill of a comm booting up drew my attention back to him, gaze wavering between him the that cursed joint.

“Very good. Now, can you tell me what happened?” I saw his mouth move long before hearing some distorted semblance of his voice. Had he been speaking earlier? What… what did he say? The familiar rhythm of my name fell from his lips in a tone far gentler than I’d ever heard from the man, dragging my focus back just a bit more.

“I will avoid contact as best I can, but I need you to help me understand what’s wrong.” He held his hands out before him, fingers splayed as though to further prove he wasn’t a threat. I found myself only able to stare at him for several seconds, mind lilting between the madness of fear and that fleeting grasp of logic. Tech. It was Tech kneeling before me. We were on a mission… My ankle…

“M… I-I…” I watched my fingers curl tighter around my leg, eyes sharpening into a glare as I looked back to my ankle in a sickening flurry of disgust and rage.

“Hunter, do you read me?” Scowling anew at the violent tremble I couldn’t begin to hide, my attention swept back to the man before me, the carefully leveled crispness of his voice a painful contrast to the unrelenting panic continuing to flood my veins with adrenaline. “I am unsure what happened, but the EMP seems to have compromised Doc.” Compromised. The consequences of his words broke through the fog of distortion.

“N… no-no! I’m not…” My lips moved before I could fully grasp the entirety of the thought, hand shaking as it darted out to snatch at his wrist. Still, I couldn’t quite grasp the sharp bark of Hunter’s reply.

“Just a moment – standby.” Tech said absently before disconnected the line. “Are you lucid enough to explain what happened?” Frowning, I had to repeat his words silently before finding some vague meaning. What happened…

“The… the EMP,” I stammered, gaze dropping to where my hand continued to cling to his wrist. He didn’t pull away, and the subtle warmth seeping through that slim space between his vambrace and glove suddenly felt overwhelming, attention tuning into it with a focus wildly disproportionate to the simplicity of it. “It killed the… the MPS.” He was silent for barely a second before understanding dawned on him.

“A micel power supply? You have a mechanical leg?” He asked, looking at my ankle with new interest. I’d just begun forming a reply when his hand moved toward the limb once more, and that terror tore through me with the same ferocity, body shying from him as though his very touch might rend my flesh to ruin.

“Don’t!” Even I could hear the madness in my voice, wide eyes staring blindly at my ankle as the color drained from my face. Instantly, he pulled back once more, expression falling back into that studious attentiveness, mind churning over some illogical equation.

“If this is from before you joined us, it should be long passed any ill effects from merely being touched.” He pressed, the simple rationality of his words reawakening the stomach-churning shame and wrenching a choked sob from me, knuckles cracking from where they still clenched his wrist.

“The battery should be easily replaceable. This is merely a temporary inconvenience.” He continued, confusion pulling his expression into a subtle frown. “For ease of mobility, a splint will keep the joint stationary until we can requisition a replacement.” The mere thought of seeing that limb in a splint again churned my stomach so sharply, I had to snatch my lip between my teeth to still the gag.

“What’s going on up there, Tech?” Hunter’s voice chimed impatiently from his comm, earning a flash of irritation from the pilot.

“Mechanical limb I wasn’t aware of – the EMP drained the power supply, but…” The words muttered absently from his lips, gaze quickly drifting back to mine.

“Doc has a robot arm?” The mic only just picked up Wrecker’s comment.

“Leg, unfortunately.” Tech automatically corrected.

“Can you get the both of you back to the Marauder?” Hunter asked.

“No!” The word burst from me with a whole new dread. “N-no, no, I’m… I’m fine-I’m…” I had to take a long moment to breathe, jaw shifting in some desperate drive to explain – to prevent them from calling off the mission because of me. “We don’t need to fall back!” It sounded like I was begging him… maybe I was.

“I believe there is time to retrieve at least some of the data before we need to leave.” Tech stated, eyes burring into mine as I looked up at him in shocked gratitude.

“Fine.” Hunter nearly growled after a long pause, “Wrecker and I will double-time it to you, but if there’s any sign of danger, get out of there.”

“Understood.” With that, he disconnected the call once more before watching me in a heavy silence, waiting. I tried to speak, lips twitching with words I couldn’t quite force into existence.

“If I may voice a theory,” He started, voice dropping into something almost gentle, “It seems whatever injury led to your augmentation left a greater impact than the augmentation itself.” Blinking against the burn of tears I refused to let fall, I felt the air fill my lungs; felt the still painfully quick racing of my heart; felt the heat of his wrist that he still made no effort to free from my grasp, and some wretched cocktail of defeat and fear and anger stole through me.

“It was… it was bad, okay?!” I finally snapped, already losing what little control I’d just begun to regain over my too-quick breathes. “I was… I was alone, and it… hm… It was c-crushed… It…” Just thinking of that night… my stomach seized, body going taut with the effort to force it back under control. I didn’t want to look at him – didn’t want to see that impatience or frustration in the face of my weakness, but my gaze seemed drawn to him. And I felt myself go still. There was no hint of annoyance in those eyes. With a deep quiet, he merely listened, focus tuned so fully onto me, I wondered just how much he learned from everything left unspoken.

“What you are describing is a type of post traumatic stress disorder.” He explained with a calm I found myself captivated by. “Just because it is considered a mental disorder, does not make it any less severe or debilitating that a physical injury.” A glimmer of sympathy and regret touched those eyes before he continued, “But, at present, I am afraid there is very little leeway to allow for appropriate consideration. If we are to finish the mission, we need to move quickly. That means securing your joint to prevent it from becoming a greater liability.” My throat constricted against the truth in his words. “If you are unable to apply a splint yourself, I can”

“No.” It left on a sharp breath, but he didn’t press as I gathered my thoughts, finally forcing myself to release him if only to begin slipping the pack from my shoulders, movements jolted and unsteady. “I can… I can do it.” He drew a slow, deep breath before reaching out to help me free my arms from the unyielding straps.

“Go.” I instructed quietly, trying not to think as I began digging through the main pouch to retrieve the brace. “I can do this.” Despite the weakness of my voice, he hesitated only a moment longer before nodding and pushing himself to his feet. Without another word, he darted back down the hall toward the powerless door.

I focused on the sounds booming through the darkness as I flicked on my own flashlight, forgotten in the depth of that momentary insanity. I focused on the quiet grunts as he strained against the weight of the door that I was supposed to help him with; listened to the metal finally begin to grind open. Eyes blindly following the movements of hands I tried vainly not to remember were mine, I listened to the quiet flutter of his footsteps darting through the neighboring room, certain he was using a mobile power source to boot up individual servers.

I was supposed to be helping him – pouring through that endless data right beside him; shouldering some of the weight of the endless responsibilities constantly thrown at these men I so desperately wanted to protect, but instead I sat curled against the wall, hands seizing inches from my unresponsive foot, grip burring into the split until my fingers ached. Move. Move, dammit! Just tie the damn thing up so you don’t slow them down any more than you already have!

Chest shaking beneath gasps too shallow to even feign relief from the suffocation burning my lungs, I felt the muscles of my arms tense, straining to push the limbs forward, to function, to just touch that useless limb before Hunter and Wrecker could see me in such a pathetic state. The very tip of my finger just managed to brush against my heal, and my body shook as though even that fleeting sensation might burn me. But there was nothing. Of course, there was nothing.

With that mental block finally broken, I wrenched the splint around my ankle, movements rushed by my own frustration and contempt. If I had just done this when the EMP first went off, maybe I still could have been of some use to Tech, but I couldn’t begin to guess how much time had been wasted in that pointless panic.

When I finally managed to push myself up against the wall, mind still rebelling at even the thought of resting that foot atop the floor, the sound of quickly approaching footsteps echoed distantly through the darkness. Bag tucked into the corner, I leveled my blaster toward the sound, eyes straining in search of those familiar silhouettes, finger ready to dance atop the trigger if I saw anything but.

“Can’t get you out of here if you shoot us.” Hunter’s weary voice carried down the hall seconds before he and Wrecker came into sight, and I couldn’t bring myself to offer more than a huff of relief. They said nothing more as they trotted quickly up to me.

“How come you didn’t tell us about the leg? ‘bet Echo’s gonna be jealous we found us first!” Wrecker asked. Beneath that boisterous personality, there was a subtle gentleness in his words that robbed me of any façade of stability.

“It’s a long story.” I could only risk whispering the words on a slow sigh.

“Wrecker: stay with Tech. When Echo checks in, I don’t care how close to finishing he is – get him out of there.” Hunter ordered. Wrecker glanced between us a moment but gave a reluctant mockery of a salute and continued quickly toward the server room. Only after the grinding of metal signaled he’d reached the door did Hunter turn to me, modulator further emphasizing a long exhale. I tried to force out some explanation; some excuse that might grant me reprieve from the disappointment I could feel even through the darkness of his visor.

“I’m guessing there’s a very good reason you didn’t mention having a cybernetic?” Defeat stole through me. There was no escaping this.

“It’s my ankle.” I finally whispered. “Just the joint – I was able to save everything else.” He didn’t move for a moment. Watching me in a heavy silence, he leaned down and absently picked up my helmet. I stared blindly at it for several seconds before managing to convince my body to move, to take the object that had become such a vital part of my identity and slip it seamlessly over my head once more.

“Come on.” He grumbled, stepping up against my right side and wrapping an arm tightly around me. The initial surprise of his touch left me tense, but he merely tilted his visor toward me; waiting. Hand still trembling, I tentatively slid my arm over his shoulders, gaze dropping both from guilt and shame as well as from the lingering afterimage of fear demanding I guard that ruined limb. He took a single step forward and stopped, shifting expectantly toward me. My thigh moved forward, muscles tensing to finish the stride as best as the immobilized joint would allow.

I didn’t notice how my fingers began to grip at the thick muscle sloping down to his shoulder, back going rigid as I strained to convince my body to walk; to move; that there was no pain; no traumatic injury still in need of coddling. Twice, I managed to just brush the tile floors with my heel, but both times the limb jerked back, an icy sweat quickly seeping through my blacks and soaking into my hair as that tremble stole through me like an infection.

“Set your toes down first.” His voice dropped into a murmur, wrenching my attention back to him. “Don’t add any weight; just let your toes touch the floor.” He continued, unrushed and free of the irritation so prominent in my own impatience. It was only because of that quiet understanding that I was able to obey him, knee bending to just let my toes rest against that cold tile. I felt my shoulders tense, anticipating how the limb would balk, and I hated the distant thought that I knew this – that I’d walked countless others through these very steps so many times before, but was powerless to recall any of those fleeting memories in the face of my own need.

“Good.” He spoke like we were at the range; like he was teaching me how to better my aim rather than how to walk, and I wanted to sob for the gratitude of his gentleness in that moment. “Now, just let your foot roll down until it’s flat.” Fingers tightening around him once more, I shift to follow those soft words, body shaking so violently, it was only his grip around my back, hand flared over my ribs to hold me close against him that kept me from tumbling. Still, it took several seconds to ease my leg straight.

“You’re doing fine, Doc; just lean on me.” Eyes closing tightly, I felt my focus shift to the rhythm of his breath; how his chest swelled and sank in an unbothered dance. Calm. Steady. Strong. “Good.” I didn’t realize I’d managed to lay my foot flat atop the floor until that whispered praise rumbled from him. “Now, hold onto me as much as you need. One step at a time.” Before committing to that first hobbled jump, I felt my gaze pull back briefly.

“My pack.” I barely managed to breathe the apologetic words. He didn’t bother looking at it before answering.

“Wrecker will grab it on his way back.” He assured me with a certainty I couldn’t doubt. Still, I hesitated just a moment longer before finally hopping forward, freehand darting up to lock around the top lip of his chest plate to steady myself, body once more going rigid beneath the expectation of pain. He didn’t move; didn’t rush me to continue forward, and I knew I’d never find the words to thank him as that tremor grew so intense in those first few seconds of waiting for that delayed hurt to cripple me that I could barely breathe.

I remembered the depth of my terror back when the red emergency lighting distorted the crimson stains to black, when the scent of fuel saturated the air so profusely, each gasp left me sputtering and gagging. I remembered the jolt of a pain so consuming, it robbed the sight from my eyes and the sound from my ears. I remembered the fear of realizing I was alone – that my partner was dead, and I’d die at their side if I didn’t escape that deathtrap of twisted metal and flashing warning lights. I remembered how my stomach seized at the first touch of that split beneath my heel at the way my vision narrowed and darkened as I forced my hands to maneuver the ruined joint into some semblance of stability, bound beneath gauze and cloth and straps of anything I could find; and I remembered the endless nightmare of dragging myself through mounds of sharp rumble and burning debris. I remembered the very moment I finally realized there was grass beneath my gnarled hands; when I turned back to discover an inferno now danced through the ship in a horrid display of hellish shapes made all the more vivid in the pale light of that planet’s slivered moon.

“Still with me?” I didn’t look at him; unsure when my gaze had fallen to the pale floors. Eyes blinking harshly against the afterimage of those flames, I felt my chest seize with a sharp gasp and wondered vaguely how long I’d only managed those fluttered, shallow gasps.

“Damn it.” Defeated… the way that curse fell from numb lips and clenched teeth, it couldn’t sound like anything other than that self-deprecating hatred that flooded my eyes with tears and sent my heart twisting with shame.

“You can hold on to me, and I’ll carry you to the Marauder, or you can take a breath and try again.” There wasn’t a hint of judgement in those levelled words, and I felt myself still beneath them. If I told him that I couldn’t, that I simply wasn’t strong enough to fight free of the unrelenting horror of something that I’d only barely lived through… I knew he wouldn’t question it. He’d haul me across the length of the Separatist ship without quip or comment, and wouldn’t speak a word of it until I could breathe without suffocating beneath the ghosts of engine oil and iron and sick that only I could taste… But I revolted at the very thought of yielding to that fear. I pulled myself from that dying ship… I could get through this.

Jaw setting in an enraged determination, I forced myself to breathe, forced myself to recognize the scent of recycled air and dust and the subtle oil Hunter used to clean his gear. There was no smoke. No emergency lights flashing in the darkness. There was no pain. Gaze shifting toward the hallway stretching out before us, I moved my leg forward, focusing on the sensation of the very tip of my boot brushing atop the flooring to guide the limb safely down. Hunter moved smoothly beside me, hold just supportive enough to steady me as I found my own rhythm, weight tentatively shifting onto my heel as though to prove the joint would hold.

The next step was only slightly faster, stomach still churning against every gentle movement, but even that slowly quelled. Gradually, I found the quickness of my breath shifting from panic to simple exertion; found my mind able to hold onto thoughts deeper than constantly screaming at myself that I was fine; that I shouldn’t be feeling this terror anymore. And a new dread and shame began to creep over me. I had to tell him. I had to tell him everything, even if he turned away from me because of it.

“My ship was shot down.” I heard the words escape on some simile of my own voice, felt Hunter’s attention shift ever so slightly as he listened. “My partner died in the crash, and my ankle… It was held together by more bandages than anything. I could smell fuel – couldn’t breathe, the air was so thick with it. By the time I pulled myself out of it, the whole thing was on fire. Must have been a couple hours before the ones who shot me down finally found me.” I stopped walking. He didn’t press, watching in silence as I struggled to force out the words.

“It was Commander Wolffe.” I finally whispered, and I felt the confusion seep through him. Knowing the coming questions, I merely continued quietly instead of forcing him to ask. “We were on Agamar. As soon as a battle ended, my partner and I swept the fields for survivors – had a few contacts to sneak them back to Republic airspace.” He didn’t say anything for a long time, and that anxiety and dread solidified closer toward panic with each passing second.

“Why?” He asked, and I could hear the simple confusion in that single word. Air fleeing me in a rush before my chest jerked against a broken inhale, I barely wasted a moment’s thought before answering.

“Because I had to try. I knew I could save some of them, and the ones I couldn’t… I didn’t want them to die alone.” He was still a moment longer before starting forward once more, arm still firm around my back to push me with him, and I quickly fell back into that unsteady gait.

“So, a Separatist doctor of rehabilitation medicine decided to forsake their home world to help the Republic?” He clarified as we reached the edge of the area effected by the EMP, gleaming lights blessedly dimmed by my visor. I cringed at the label but didn’t try to argue. “How’d you wind up serving in the GAR? Why didn’t Commander Wolffe finish you off when he found you?” My memories of that night were distorted with pain and shock, only vaguely remembering the figures approaching me from the tree line; my fleeting attempts to explain myself.

“There was a Jedi with him,” I replied, “General Plo Koon. I don’t really know what I said to them, but he believed me. They got me off Agamar, and General Koon… I guess he had friends in high places – he made me a new identity as a citizen of Dantooine and brought me into the 104th as a medic once I was well enough to fight. I was with them for almost a year when Captain Rex had me transferred.” The escape pod hatch connected to the Marauder came into sight before he spoke again.

“I just need to know one more thing.” He said, pausing a single stride from that door. I turned to face him, loathing the impenetrable visor hiding those grey and gold streaked eyes from me. “Where do your loyalties lie? Really?” I felt myself stand just that much taller, blossoming under the relief that this was a question I could answer without a shadow of hesitation.

“I’m loyal to this squad… The Republic isn’t perfect, but I believe in what it’s trying to be.” I said, willing the words into existence with my every cell and breath. “I swear, Hunter, I’m loyal to Echo and Wrecker and Tech. I’m loyal to Crosshair… I’m loyal to you.” I felt the trill of panic sending static down my fingertips as I waited for whatever judgement he settled on, body nearly collapsing when he finally nodded.

“You’ll have to tell the others.” It was nearly an order as he reached forward to open the latch. “They deserve the truth.” My mouth went dry, but I couldn’t dismiss the relief I felt at those words. Whatever happened, at least I wouldn’t need to maintain this cover anymore – I wouldn’t need to keep this distance between us.

-

We’d just come out of that first stint of lightspeed travel, floating in the darkness of space as Tech prepared to enter the next hyperlane. I had to do it now, before I could talk myself into further delays until Hunter felt compelled to step in.

“I… I need to tell you all something – I…” I caught myself on the verge of hiding, chin falling toward my chest, eyes staring blindly at the metallic flooring, and forced myself to draw a sharp breath before meeting their eyes, forced myself not to shy away from the tension stealing through them as those gorgeous eyes I’d come to know and love turned to mine.

The perfect silence that surrounded my every word was both blessing and curse – if they’d interrupted even once, I don’t know if I would have had to strength to continue, but it also allowed nowhere for me to hide, voice trailing almost thoughtlessly from listless lips lest I lose myself in the panic of what telling them this could mean. That quiet lingered for too long after I finally finished.

Hunter stood passively beside me, granting his brothers what time they needed to gather their thoughts. Crosshair’s disinterest had gradually dissolved into a seething rage, arms dropping from where they’d been crossed over his chest to tense at his sides, fists tightly clenched. Echo’s gaze remained locked blindly on a monitor beside him, brows just drawn together in a haunting dance between hurt and anger. Wrecker – sweet Wrecker – listened with a careful focus, but what sadness touched those eyes seemed born only from worry, while Tech hadn’t been still for a full minute before letting his fingers dance atop his datapad as I spoke.

“There is something I don’t understand.” Hearing those words in Tech’s eloquent voice nearly ruined me, but I waited in silence for whatever distain or betrayal might proceed them, unable to hide the weariness from my eyes as I forced myself to meet his gaze – I owed them that much. “There’s no reference to any samaritan involvement during that mission, and your records don’t have any mention of an ankle injury.” I drew a slow breath before explaining.

“A Separatist squad was sent to check for survivors – for anyone they could take prisoner. If the 104th took them out, it would have revealed their position, but they couldn’t risk moving some of their men, so I went… I told the droids that I’d been shot down by a lone clone, but that he’d already died from injuries sustained during the battle – even showed them a body. I was able to convince them that there was no one else still alive and got them to transport me back for medical treatment. I was barely out of surgery when then 104th snuck me out – their general didn’t feel right leaving me there after what happened.” The careful emptiness of my voice was a testimony to my certainty that my fate was already sealed; that I continued speaking purely to grant them every shred of closure I could while still allowed the freedom to speak.

“The cybernetic is Separatist technology. It was General Koon’s idea to keep it out of official records – he figured it would be best to keep my origins secret if I wanted to keep helping the GAR.”

“So much for all that bantha osik about trust.” I’d been waiting for that distain; that anger so vainly layered overtop a hurt I felt just as viciously as he did, but, when Crosshair’s sneered words lingered in the silence between us, it still sent my heart writhing within my chest as tears clawed up my throat. When my gaze moved reluctantly to find him, he looked at me with such hatred, I couldn’t keep those tears from spilling down my cheeks, and he turned sharply away to vanish into the hall of the Marauder. Jaw ground against the way my breaths began to waver, I sat perfectly still, waiting for the others to take their turn.

“Where you ever going to tell us?” Echo… That sliver of control crumbled beneath the quiet betrayal in his softly spoken question, chin dropping to my chest, face contorting with a grief too consuming to fight back. Jaw wrenching open in a gasped sob, it felt like an eternity passed in those fleeting seconds I took to gather enough strength to answer him.

“I wanted to – Maker, everyday I wanted to… but I was so scared.” Knuckles gleaming from how tightly my figured burr into my knees, I just managed to glance up at him. “By the time I trusted you enough to feel like I could tell you… I… just the thought of-of losing…” My lips shifted around words I just couldn’t force into existence, eyes sliding shut as though I could hide from what might come next.

“But we trust Echo.” My shoulders sank at Wrecker’s innocent confusion. “We got him from the seppies. If you say you’re on our side, I don’t see why it matters which planet you were born on.” When I turned to see the honest confusion in those mismatched eyes; the concern pulling his brows into the beginnings of a frown, I hurt all the more for it – for the distance this might wedge between them if he couldn’t understand.

“I have already received a response from Commander Wolffe.” Tech chimed, and even his voice was heavy with the severity of the conversation. “He has confirmed what you’ve said.” I felt no relief from his words. It wasn’t a matter of if they believed me – all I cared about was if they could forgive me. He said nothing more for a long moment, but I could see his mind racing over everything I’d said. “I regret that you felt the need to hide this from us… but I understand your reasoning to do so.” He stated slowly, eyes carefully trained on mine. “I hope in the future, you won’t feel the need to keep such information secret.”

Like a string had been cut, the tension swept from my body in a sudden rush of shock, jaw going slack, eyes open wide as my shoulders slumped. I could feel my heart racing; felt the air staling in my lungs for fear that even the movement of releasing it might cause him to change his mind.

“Assuming you are comfortable remaining a part of this squad despite our now knowing this… secret.” He added, a sliver of doubt causing him to hesitate in the face of my response. My eyes darted first to Echo, then to Hunter and Wrecker. None of them offered any objection to his words. And I broke.

With a violent sob, I launched myself forward, arms darting around Tech’s neck as I finally let the epitome of my fear and guilt and desperate gratitude overwhelm me. He tensed, hands flaring open for the handful of seconds it took for him to understand what had happened, but I only hugged him harder and, touch hesitant at first, he let his hands just settle between my shoulder blades.

I didn’t need to look to know it was Hunter who moved next, reaching out to grasp my shoulder, then Echo’s hand swept gently up my neck. Emboldened slightly, Tech’s arms wrapped more firmly around me seconds before Wrecker lock us both in an embrace so tight, I felt the air rush from the pilot’s chest in a sharp huff and couldn’t help but find myself laughing silently amidst sobs of relief.

“Just give him some time – he’ll come back around.” I didn’t realize my gaze had wandered back toward the hall until Hunter’s gentle words murmured through the silence. Glancing briefly at him, I tried to let him see the breadth of my gratitude and love before turning back to hide myself against the reassurance of my squad’s embrace.

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#heading is not linear #ptsd #injuries #flashbacks #anxitey #angst #self deprecation #blood #pain #language #star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch fanfic #star wars fanfic #febuwhump #febuwhump2023 #secret #secrets revealed #day 6 #tbb oc #my writing #mild gore

[morganas-pendragons]

My Heart (It’s Impenetrable) | Crosshair

this is my first time writing for the bad batch that didn’t involve skip, please be gentle.

this might be kind of OC but i added another prompt i thought of to this after drafting the beginning, but i hope you enjoy anyway!

***

There’s something odd that stirs in his chest when you’re around. Crosshair is renowned for his ability to detach himself from feeling things. He doesn’t care enough to acknowledge his own feelings. Not them, not his trauma, not much of anything at this point. There is his vode and the mission. 

The times he allows himself to feel things is when he’s nestled against the curve of a hill, sniper rifle poised on his shoulder, completely in his element with his weapon and the enemy in his line of sight. He’s renowned in the GAR for being able to take out targets at hundreds of feet that most of the natborn snipers would dream of being able to do. 

Crosshair doesn’t particularly care about them, or the regs, or the opinions of others in general. There’s his vode - The Bad Batch - and that’s it. They are the ones who hold his attention and his concern, when warranted.

The regs think he doesn’t have a heart.

He doesn’t really realize he does until you show up. Well, when you do.. the renowned sniper has a startling realization. That heart of his? It’s not nearly as impenetrable as he believed it to be. 

It doesn’t matter. Clones are bred with the thought of not feeling. He mastered that as a cadet. Prides himself on it.

  “Hello Crosshair.”

He’s pretty sure your tiny, bright self that shines like a beacon wherever you go is going to make him contemplate breaking that pride. 

*** 

The first time it happens, he’s angry. Feigns anger. You’re this little slip of a medic - he takes to calling you Slip which makes his brothers laugh - assigned to be with The Bad Batch by the GAR. They’re not particularly fond of GAR officers in general, but you were assigned to them due to their dire lack of a medic and the fact that they encounter some of the most dangerous missions out of all the clone battalions that serve on the front lines of a war. 

He’s exiting The Havoc Marauder when you sprint past him, hopping up onto the tips of your toes - he sees a flash of black, probably your medical wear you’d donned when tending to Hunter in the med bay - before pressing the ghost of a kiss against his cheek and laughing brightly as you ran away.

Crosshair is too stunned to move. Tech knows his brother, knows how he’s been told that feeling is a weakness, how he used to get harassed by the regs during their cadet years for it. 

He also knows how starved of contact they all are. How badly they crave people. You don’t take crap from anyone - much less them, despite how tiny you are you are also assertive and firm - if you don’t agree, they will know it. If you think they’re being reckless and careless with how much their lives matter to you, they will know it. 

  “Cross?” Tech knows better then to lay a tentative hand on his shoulder, but Crosshair shakes himself out of his reverie to face his younger brother. “C’mon. Our weapons need to be modified and cleaned.” 

The barrels of his sniper rifle are caked in dust. 

He tries not to think of you as he disassembles and reassembles that rifle until his fingers hurt and his eyes are crossing and the pieces are gleaming with how hard he’s scrubbed them, but he’s-kriff. 

Kriff. 

***

The second time, he actually snaps and you’re on the receiving end of it. It’s not intentional, but when you do it in the aftermath of a mission that nearly took his head from a small group of commandos he nearly missed, he’s seething with his failure and you’re just trying to help, he knows that. 

He’s still mad. 

  “Cross-” Your eyes betray your fear as his skin still burns from your kiss, and the Sniper glowers as he pins you against the wall of the Marauder. The brothers have left the premises to resupply in the marketplace over the hill, and the two of you had offered to remain behind to watch the ship and your bounty. “Crosshair, put me down. Now.” 

It’s not often you use that tone of voice with him. Maybe he did step over the line. 

  “Slip.” He snaps. “I need you to-” 

  “What? Need me to what?” 

You’re angry too. He hasn’t been able to read your intentions since you joined their merry band of misfits, but Crosshair has always been the most perceptive - beside Hunter - and so he sees you. Everything you do. The gentle way you approach The Batch as the humans they are, not just the clones, and how you always know what’s wrong before you even tend to them. The way you never talk down to Wrecker. The way you listen to Tech babble on incoherently about something you don’t particularly care about. When Hunter needs a second pair of eyes and it’s 3 AM, you’re so bone tired you could sleep for years, but you drag yourself out of bed just to help him. 

Remarkable. 

  “I need you to stop making me feel things.” He harshly releases you from his grasps and begins pacing the ground in front of where you stand. “This thing you keep doing, have been doing since we met you, I-I need it to end. It’s driving me insane!” 

Your frown makes his head spin. He’s thought long and hard about this, about how you somehow wormed your way into his head and remained there, and the last thing he wants to do is hurt you. 

 “Crosshair.” You reply calmly. “In case you are blind, did you ever consider that I might like you?”

His first question, almost immediately: why? What the kriff is there to like about him? 

  “Well, uh.. no.” 

  “Secondly-” 

  “Where was the firstly?” 

You glare daggers at him to shut him up. His lips quirk upward in the barest hint of a smile. He doesn’t really smile.. not the way you probably want him to. “Cross, you’re remarkable. Really. I talked with Hunter about this when we met because there’s just something about you that’s so alluring..” You move forward and tilt your head upward to meet his gaze. “I can’t figure out what it is. Is it the saltiness? The armor? The way you can just take out people without so much as a breadth of hesitation?” 

  “Slip, did you just call me salty?” 

  “Yes. What are you going to do about it?” 

You are totally caught off guard when he looks back and forth, glances down, and then kisses you on the cheek.

  “That.” 

Hunter asks you upon their return from the market if your cheeks have been burned by the sun because they’re so red. Meanwhile, Cross sits inside of the Havoc Marauder and smirks as he peers down the sight of his sniper rifle and begins to disassemble it. 

If a kiss was all it took to shut you up, he would’ve gotten over his impenetrable heart - the same heart you wormed your way into and made a home there - and done it a long time ago. 

#Crosshair x reader #The Bad Batch x Reader #Star Wars imagines #Star Wars oneshot #Crosshair x You #Crosshair x Y/N

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Sniper and The Medic: Chapter 6

Starring: Crosshair, OC Joan Vo

Chapter Warnings: Injuries

Taglist: @proadhog @skippyhopperwisdom

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

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Chapter 6: Black and Blue

Crosshair found himself hesitating outside the door to Joan's office. It looked just like any of the other doors down this hallway; he'd probably passed by it before without ever giving it a thought. But now that he knew where it led, who would be on the other side, he felt his stomach twist in apprehension.

And then he felt the dull pain from the bruise along his ribs and decided to just get it over with. He knocked, and heard her muffled voice calling back for him to enter.

Her office wasn't like the others he'd seen. Some kind of paneling had been put up against the standard white walls and a giant black rug took up most of the floor. It made the space feel smaller, but cozier. Even some of the lights seemed different, not as harsh and glaring as they usually were in these facilities. A desk was pushed against a wall on one side, and a small couch against the other. There was an assortment of other items about, from a bookshelf to a coffee machine to an exercise ball. A door lay open in one corner, and from his two-second view as he passed by, Crosshair determined it was a bedroom.

Joan herself was in the middle of the room, her back slightly turned as she faced a dartboard across from her. She had a dart poised to toss, but paused to look over at him and smiled in greeting.

"Hey Crosshair."

She didn't ask how he was this time, instead returning to focus on her game. Her tongue stuck out a little as she aimed and released the dart. It only barely hit the top of the board.

"Damn," she sighed. There was only one other dart on the board, the rest on the floor beneath. She faced him again with a smile. Her hair was out of its usual ponytail and she wore shorts along with her tank-top. Crosshair briefly wondered if he would ever catch her not looking wonderful.

"Do you play?" She came toward him and handed out her last dart.

He shook his head but still took the dart from her, hoping she wouldn't notice how much pain he was in. His plan was to casually ask for a bacta patch and then leave. If she wondered why, he'd say it was just a bruise but that he was fine and the only reason he came was because Hunter had insisted.

He would not, under any circumstances, tell her what had really happened. That he had been distracted by thinking about her while trying to run up some temple steps, causing him to trip and fall on top of the butt of his gun, which had gone underneath his chest plate and jammed his ribs. Nope. That was a secret he planned to take with him to the grave.

So he took the dart, held it up briefly, and tossed it over to the dartboard, hitting the bullseye square on.

Joan looked between him and the board a few times incredulously.

"You... you didn't even aim," she finally said.

"I aimed," he asserted.

She held her hands up with a little laugh. "Okay, Mr. Sharpshooter." She went over to the board to collect all the darts, looking back at him with another incredulous shake of her head. He was glad to have impressed her so much, especially when he wasn't feeling well.

"So, did you just come here to show me up, or what?"

She walked back to him, and it was then he noticed the large, gnarly-looking scar that spanned the entire length of her left thigh. Around it were tattoos of little birds, made to look as if they were flying in a spiral, up and away.

"No..." he said, distracted by her scar and tattoos. There was always something new to learn about her.

"Oh shit," she said, stopping a few paces from him. "You're injured, aren't you?"

Her eyes scanned up and down his body, trying to assess his condition. Of course she could tell when someone was hurt, he cursed at himself. It was her job. "Where?"

He vaguely motioned around his abdomen. "Just a bruise. I'm fine. Hunter..." he started to say, but she had set down her darts and was moving to take hold of his shirt. He put a tense hand on hers to stop her.

She looked up at him, half-amused. "I've probably seen worse."

That wasn't exactly what he was nervous about. Most doctors here would've had him disrobe on day one, one of many ways he felt humiliated in any examination room he went in. But since working with Joan, he'd been able to get over that fear a little. He didn't feel judged or scrutinized under her gaze. And he hadn't had to take any clothes off thus far.

But he let her lift up his shirt anyway, knowing he couldn't really stop her with the amount of pain he was in. Hopefully she would only pay attention to the injury.

She bent to inspect it and he couldn't help but glance down at it, too. It was the first time he'd seen the actual damage, and it definitely looked as worse as it felt. A large bruise was splattered across his lower ribcage.

"Um," she said with a little sigh. "Yeah that's... that's not good."

Crosshair braced himself for her to scold him, or fuss over him, or worse, demand to know what had happened. But instead, she calmly took a step back and folded her arms across her chest, looking him right in the eyes. "Well? What are you going to do about it?"

He scowled at her question. "I don't know. You're the medic."

"Last I checked, Clone Force 99 doesn't have a medic."

Crosshair realized what she was going for. She had made it clear just as much as Hunter had that the goal was for them to be prepared for their missions. If he couldn't figure out how to heal himself on Kamino, he didn't stand a chance doing so anywhere else. The problem was he really didn't know how to figure it out. Tech would know way more about this sort of thing.

"I'd ask Tech for help... I guess," he ended up saying.

That amused smirk ended back up on her face. "Yeah? When did this happen?"

"This morning."

"And did you ask Tech for help at any point between then and now?"

"No...."

"So what are you doing to do now?"

He wanted to sigh, but breathing was becoming much more strenuous. Why couldn't she just help him? He didn't really like when people fussed, but at this point, he'd much prefer that over standing around any longer. He got an idea, a rather silly and selfish one, but it was just the two of them and he figured he might as well give it a shot.

"I... I guess..." he pretended to think of a plan, letting his breaths come out shorter and louder and making himself sway a little on his feet. He didn't need to put on much of an act, just succumb to the pain and faintness he was already feeling. As predicted, Joan stopped testing him and rushed right to his side.

"Okay, okay, stay with me, Crosshair," she said softly. She wrapped an arm around his back, knowing he wouldn't be able to stretch his arm up and over her shoulder in his condition. Even through the pain, Crosshair felt a little excited tingle run through his body as her frame pressed against his. She began slowly leading him toward the couch. "I'll give you a pass on this one, but you need to stay awake so I can teach you what to do."

Joan helped him sit on the edge of the couch and quickly launched into her teaching moment. She had him cut open his shirt and showed him how to use the handheld x-ray monitor to asses if any ribs were broken. After determining it was just a bad bruise, she then explained how not to treat it: no bandagings, no deep breaths, but also not too many shallow breaths or else pneumonia might settle. She had him apply his own bacta patch and repeat back the frequency he should replace the patches while it healed. She also made him promise not to strain himself for a while, knowing he'd still need to train, but wanting to ensure he did it as safely as possible.

The whole time, Crosshair was in awe... of her medical expertise, her calmness, her way of inspiring him to take his health into his own hands. He wondered if she would ever feel the same about him. It was one thing to be impressive at darts, and a whole other thing to actually be attractive. Sitting there with his shirt off, his slight frame hunched and an ugly bruise on his abdomen, he wasn't sure he could pull it off.

Once she'd taught him all she could, she helped slip a poncho over his head, the only thing he could put on until the bacta settled in and gave him more range of motion.

"Thanks," he told her. "Sorry if I ruined your evening."

"Not at all." She walked with him to the door. "Also, I'll make sure Hunter lets you all have tomorrow off. I told him he could push you guys, but not break you."

"It wasn't Hunter's fault." Crosshair couldn't believe he was admitting this, but it was too late now. "I... kinda got distracted."

She gazed up at him for a moment, her green eyes subdued in the dim lighting. He knew if there was ever a moment for him to say something meaningful, it would be now. But he didn't know the first thing about flirting. He wasn't even a conversationalist in general. What could he possibly say?

"Green." The word slipped out of his mouth before he could even think about it. Her eyebrows quirked up questioningly. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He gulped and tried to save himself. "We did the Endor sim today and I realized my favorite color is green."

She didn't react right away, just kept looking at him with that soft look in her eyes. Then she said, "Mine too. I didn't know how much I'd miss it, coming here. Maybe... maybe you could show me the sim some time? Not to run, just to look at."

He nodded, trying to contain the blush that threatened to appear.

"Although, maybe I should get some target practice in... Clearly I'm not that good at it."

"Is that why you resort to punching droids?"

She laughed, a genuine and lovely sound that made his heart race for completely different reasons.

"I'll help you practice," he said, finally stepping into the hall to be on his way. He wanted to leave before he said something stupid and ruined the moment. "The least I could do."

"Deal," Joan grinned.

#star wars #the clone wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #crosshair #crosshair x oc #fluff #medical things #military things

[silvermoongirl10swfics]

OC designs 2/10

(These were all made on Picrew, https://picrew.me/image_maker/565738)  These squads featured more prominently in the Clone Wars Senior Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi series, but they have also had smaller cameos in the Vopak AU series. I will give short information about them in this post, but if you search on this blog using their squad name, you will get more detailed information about them.

Victor squad - batchmates:

Corporal Glim (CT-1291) - is assigned to 41st Elite Corps. Short brown hair, right-side of face scarred from being on the edge of an explosion. Glim can be quiet, but also loud, no one personality can describe Glim.

Sergeant Delightful (CT-2112) - is assigned to 41st Elite Corps. Military regulation black hair with a scar across his nose. Delightful got his name because he is not someone you want to talk to before he has had two cups of caf in the morning.

Sunny (CT-1921) - is assigned to the 13th ‘Iron’ Battalion. Military regulation blonde hair and clean shaven. He was named for his blonde hair and his sunny disposition.

Flycatcher (CT-2253) - is assigned to the 212th Attack Battalion, Ghost Company, Waxer’s platoon. Clean shaven and slightly shaggy, short dark brown almost black hair. Flycatcher is my little cinnamon roll who must be protected at all costs (but a cinnamon roll who can and could kill you if the need arises).  Flycatcher got his name because he caught a fly in the mess, the fly was still alive and so he let it go outside. He also loves all types of creatures and if he was allowed, he would be hiding as many small animals in his bunk as he could.

Blackeye (CT-2121) - is assigned to the 212th Attack Battalion, Ghost Company, Waxer’s platoon. Short scruff beard and military regulation black hair. He also has a black circle painted around the right eye on his helmet. As has been stated in fics, he is very protective of those he considers family. Aggressively protective. Which very much includes Obi-Wan.

Papa squad - batchmates:

Painkiller (CT-1619) - is assigned to the 212th Attack Battalion as a medic. He has regulation cut black hair, clean shaven and with a small tattoo on the top right side of his forehead of the medic symbol.  Painkiller is the hardass of the medics. If you try to say you're fine when you are not. Painkiller will make you clean up your own blood if you have left a mess in the Medbay. One of his best friends is fellow 212th medic, Needle. (I found a picture of the medic symbol and pasted it onto Painkiller’s picture.)

Plates (CT-1612) - is assigned to the 212th Attack Battalion. He is bald and clean shaven. He works in the mess and kitchen of the Negotiator. While he is quite a friendly person, if you annoy him you will be served disgusting slop for breakfast, lunch and dinner for a few days.

Pippin (CT-1691) - is assigned as a pilot in the 104th Battalion. He has short red hair and is considered the most chaotic one in the batch. Painkiller has spent most of his life worrying about Pippin, the fact that Pippin is in a battalion without anyone from his batch is very concerning for Painkiller. Pippin likes to joke that he and Painkiller are twins because of the last digits in their CT numbers being reversed (91 and 19), Painkiller does not approve of this. No Pippin, they are not twins!

Pace (CT-1635) - is assigned to the 91st Mobile Reconnaissance Corps. He has buzz cut black hair. His partner in crime is Pax, they make Painkiller worry about them and their slight chaotic tendencies, but they are not as bad as Pippin.

Pax (CT-1624) - is assigned to the 91st Mobile Reconnaissance Corps. He has longish brown hair. Pax is the slightly more dramatic one out of him and Pace. Secretly likes musicals and will dance around humming or singing to himself when no one is watching. Pace is definitely watching and records him.

#clone wars senior padawan obi wan kenobi au #Vopak au verse #victor squad #oc clone trooper glim #oc clone trooper delightful #oc clone trooper sunny #oc clone trooper flycatcher #oc clone trooper blackeye #papa squad #oc clone trooper painkiller #oc clone trooper plates #oc clone trooper pippin #oc clone trooper pace #oc clone trooper pax #original clone troopers #212th attack battalion #104th battalion #91st mobile reconnaissance corps #41st elite corps #13th 'iron' battalion