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whiskygoldwings · 1 month

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Within Operating Parameters

One shot

Cody/Obi-Wan. Boil/Waxer. Clone/clone relationship mentioned.

Alternative Universe: Soulmates

Warnings: Dehumanization of clones

This kinda hit me out of nowhere, and kept me up until nearly 1 in the morning to finish it, so apologies if there's any errors/disjointedness. Also, I'm not sure who started calling the Negotiator's medic Helix, but it's stuck with me and I can't shake it now!

The clones never removed their helmets. Or, at least, not where anyone other than another clone can see. They spoke in military terms only, introduced themselves with identity numbers instead of names.

It makes Obi-Wan nauseous, even as he smiles gently at CC-2224 and thanks him for his assistance again.

He could FEEL their personalities in the Force, which only made their outward meat-droid presentation all the more painful. It’s unsettled all the Jedi, he knows, but he has always been particularly empathetic, and their fear and anxiety every time any nat-borns are near them makes him want to gag.

It presses at him constantly, the wary avoidance of him, the hopeful hero-worship, tainted by terror and panic. He’s been convinced from the very beginning that the clones are a trap, too conveniently placed to gift them an army when war began. But they are a particularly efficient trap for him. He can feel the curl of the Dark in the violent hatred he feels for the Kaminoans, in the creeping desire to turn the Negotiator to Kamino and rip the foundations asunder.

He breaths deep, drawing in the loving warmth of the Force, and breathing out the pain. His eyes are closed, and he feels a worried pang from one of the helmsmen, but he does his best to ignore it.

It’s the most effective torture that could have been devised.

——

CC-2224 stares at his eyes in the Mirror.

Still matching. Still golden-brown. Still within operating parameters.

He steps away, pulling his helmet on and activating the seals, ceding his spot to the next brother in line. CT-1477 is similary within operating parameters, but he takes the pre-requisite 30 seconds to observe and ensure he is still acceptable before moving to follow CC-2224 to the bridge.

CC-2224 sheds Cody with every step away from the Vode barracks. The clone slips over him, concealing the defective core of the brother from the enemy.

It’s a little harder today, as he steps onto the bridge. General Kenobi turns to him, and there’s a sad smile on his face, that quickly slides into a warm greeting, blue eyes shining at him.

CC-2224 knows the flash of warmth in his heart is defective, but it passes quickly. It is not permanent. It does not require reporting.

General Kenobi’s smile falters, and briefly there’s something painful on his face, before the serene calm washes it all away.

CC-2224 does not ache for the smile to return. He is functional. He reviews the battle scenario presented to him, and devises a strategy. He is not proud when General Kenobi strokes his beard and grins. He is not pleased when General Kenobi tells him it’s an excellent plan. He nods, and issues orders.

Cody bundles the memory in a tiny, precious box in his mind, and holds onto it for later.

——

Cody wakes in the midst of his brothers, warm and comfortable. Boil has a leg over his, Crys’ stomach is under his head. Wooley, the limpet, has drooled on his kriffing bicep again, and Cody can’t quite bring himself to be annoyed about it.

He’s woken, as he always does, at precisely 05.00hrs. He’s the Marshall Commander, he needs to wake before the others. The Kaminoans had trained it into him.

They did not train the extra five minutes he takes to soak up the warmth of his vod into him. That he took for himself.

The others wake around him when the five minutes are up. Wooley wipes his face on Cody’s arm, grinning up at him when he glares down. Crys stretches, careful not to disrupt Cody too much. Boil doesn’t move. He’s always struggled with mornings. Waxer is already pressing kisses into his cheek, dragging him up from the dark with the sheer obstinateness of his love.

Cody sighs, and waits until Boil manages to curl himself away from him, into Waxer, fumbling tired fingers into Waxer’s hair and holding him to him.

It’s time to get up.

Cody rises, stretching out cramped muscles from sleeping on the cold floor. They haven’t had an inspection yet while on the Venator, but the harsh punishments of the trainers and Kaminoans when they’d dragged the mattresses onto the floor still ache in each of them, and they haven’t dared that level of deviance yet. He firmly pushes away thoughts that General Kenobi probably wouldn’t care, would probably be pleased to see the humanity in them, and goes to take a piss and brush his teeth. There’s mirrors all along the wall in the bathroom over the sinks, but they’re not the Mirror, so he doesn’t bother to meet his eyes. Around him, brothers do the same, a mix of grumbling and smiling vode, all going through the morning routine.

Breakfast is caff and porridge. It’s actually not bad. The Generals had argued that ration bars was not enough to sustain an army conducting warfare, so Cody and his vod got real food now. It’s eaten in the confines of their cafeteria, sequestered deep in Vode territory, away from any nat-born eyes, but it makes Cody feel a little more human.

There’s not been a lot of that in their lives.

He finishes first, and stands first. He is always the first. It’s the correct order of things. He feels Cody start to slip away, CC-2224 activating with the measured footsteps towards the armour lockers. None of the other Vode catch his eye, the fond touches of earlier come to an end.

CC-2224 is not their vod.

He strips perfunctorily, and steps into the sonic. Cody looks down at his body, traces the new scar on his shoulder. CC-2224 steps out when it finishes. Pulls on the new set of blacks waiting for him. He settles the pieces of armour into place.

Around Cody/CC-2224 other brothers/clones strip and clean themselves. Deadened eyes, tight jaws. The rare aesthetical defect standing out in the midst of symmetrical bodies.

Cody glances away and walks out. He stutters a moment, dread coursing through him.

What if he didn’t look in the Mirror? Just for one day. What if he didn’t look?

He does, of course. Two golden-brown eyes. Matching. No deviance.

CC-2224 pulls his helmet on and goes to his duty.

——

There’s something tense in CC-2224’s presence today, Obi-Wan observes. Almost like he’s approaching a precipice, and has a choice as to whether he backs away, or continues to the edge. It’s beautiful. Obi-Wan finds himself watching out the corner of his eye, breath held, waiting to see which way he goes.

CC-2224 stays calmly still, hands behind his back, feet shoulder width apart. His chest rises and falls slowly.

Obi-Wan sighs, and looks away. There’s a spark of frustration, before he manages to ease it into the Force. The tense feeling has eased, CC-2224 has walked away from the cliff edge, and Obi-Wan does his best not to feel bitter disappointment.

Perhaps if he’d approached the man...?

He’s very tired of being feared.

It’s a moment of anger, a moment of exhaustion that drives him when he strides over to CC-2224, and puts a hand to his shoulder. It horrifies him in the next second, and he gapes awkwardly at the tilted helmet.

He has never breached their personal space before. It was vile, they had so little autonomy over their own lives; he refused to put them in uncomfortable situations when they were so clearly institutionalised to avoid any nat-borns.

Yet he’s still got his hand on CC-2224’s shoulder. He’s still staring into that visor, blue eyes searching for a glimpse of anything underneath.

CC-2224 doesn’t shake him off, doesn’t move. His external comms must have switched off, because there’s not even the sound of his breathing. He is still, silent, and his Force presence has shrunk to a...

Oh...

Obi-Wan feels his own breath catch, as something delicate and yearning unfurls from the shadow of CC-2224’s mind. The helmet trembles slightly, and a gloved hand comes up to place careful fingers over his own. They stand like that for a moment, two, and Obi-Wan realises the trembling of the helmet is rough, disjointed.

He thinks CC-2224 is shouting in there.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what compels him. He lifts his other hand to CC-2224’s helmet, places his fingers over the button to unseal his helm. CC-2224’s other hand jerks up, grabbing his wrist. He waits, and CC-2224’s fingers loosen, then slide over the back of his hand, over his own fingers, and press down against them.

The helmet unseals with a hiss.

They stand there for a moment longer, Obi-Wan staring into the visor, the visor impassively staring back. The trembling has stopped, but CC-2224 heaves with every harsh breath that pants out of his mouth, loud in the absolute silence of the Bridge. Obi-Wan suddenly worries for his ability to breathe, bringing both hands to the edges of the helmet, dislodging the gloved ones on top of his, and slides the helmet off.

CC-2224 has wide, golden-brown eyes, a cruel scar around the left one, and a wide, gasping mouth. He stares desperately back at Obi-Wan, who hungrily drinks in every line of his face, the helmet falling to the floor and rolling away as he presses his hands to either side of CC-2224’s face.

He watches, wonderously, as the golden-brown of Cody’s left eye swirls and rivers of blue flow through it’s warm deserts. He feels an odd, warm sensation in his own left eye, and knows sunlight and sand is filling his in turn.

CC-2224’s eyes snap to his own changing one, and he touches a gloved thumb to the edge of Obi-Wan’s eyelid. Obi-Wan can’t help himself, this wonderful, miraculous man in front of him overwhelmes him, and he turns his face and tilts up, pressing his lips to the pad of that thumb. Something broken punches out of CC-2224’s throat He grabs Obi-Wan’s face and slams their lips together.

It’s imperfect, teeth, brutal desparation and terror, but Obi-Wan answers, careful and gentle, easing them into a cautious kiss. He slides a hand into curling, regulation-cut hair, and slowly pulls away. He leaves his forehead pressed against CC-2224’s briefly, watching him come back to himself in fits and starts, and the horror beginning to twist his face.

Obi-Wan steps back, heart heavy as he lets go of CC-2224, as CC-2224’s hands fall away from him. This is his soulmate. His soulmate is terrified of him.

Obi-Wan has gone too far.

He still isn’t really sure what came over him. He steps away, collecting CC-2224’s helmet from where it rolled to, and walking back to him. The man is frozen, the only movement his eyes, wide like a cornered animal as he watches Obi-Wan. It hurts, like nothing Obi-Wan has ever felt before.

He raises CC-2224’s helmet over his head, and carefully brings it down, concealing those beautiful, mismatched eyes, one the colour of golden sands at sunset, one ocean-blue. He brings the helmet down, until it sits snugly where it should, and activates the seals.

He steps away, then turns and leaves. He feels the tears on his cheeks as he goes, and knows CC-2224 saw them before he left.

The other clones on the bridge never turned away from their panels.

——

CC-2224 functions within parameters for the rest of his shift. He does not see the General again. His heart rate is high, his breathing short, but he wrangles them back into acceptable ranges every time they begin to exceed the maximum. The other clones do not react to him. They do not say anything. They do not deviate from their duties.

Only Cody has done that today.

CC-2224 carries them through the rest of their shift. He does not wonder where General Kenobi, and his deviant mismatched eyes are at any point. He does not think about him. Does not remember his chapped, warm lips on his...

CC-2224 breaths carefully, brings them back within parameters, and functions.

It is Cody, when he passes the door to the Vode barracks, who wrenches off his helmet, tearing skin in his haste to pull it off before he releases the seals, and flings it carelessly to the floor. It is Cody who stumbles to the Mirror, desparate and terrified, and looks at his eyes.

Mismatched, deviant eyes.

His right is still regulation golden-brown. His left... His left is wonderful, brilliant stormy ocean blue. He presses stunned fingers to his own cheek, then to the Mirror, not quite able to believe what he sees. He stares, and stares, and stares. It does not change.

His brothers are behind him, helmets off, matching golden-brown eyes all staring at his own not-matching set. There’s wonder, horror, fear and anticipation on each of their identical faces. They are silent, waiting for him to react first.

He does not know what to do.

Eventually, the tableau is broken by Helix.

The Chief Medical officer orders them all to their dinner, placing himself between Cody and the others, arms folded. He stares them all down, until they trickle away, each one looking behind them at their Vod as they go. Wooley is the last to leave, and goes to reach out for Cody before Helix hisses at him. Wooley slopes off with a worried gaze, and finally, Cody and Helix are alone.

Helix turns to Cody, and watches him carefully through the reflection. It’s several minutes before Cody managed to look away from that blue, blue eye and meet Helix’s own regulation golden-brown pair.

Helix’s face is firm, but not angry. He looks at Cody. There’s no pity, or condemnation, he is simply there.

It helps Cody find himself again, in amongst the echoes of the Kaminoans in his head. He takes a deep breath in time with Helix’s own, and closing his eyes, turns away from the mirror.

He only opens them again when he’s turned completely away, and, standing straight-backed and proud, he faces Helix, waiting for his vod to lead him to the medical bay for decommissioning.

——

Obi-Wan hasn’t managed to meditate for the past hour. It’s not for lack of trying. He’d sat on the floor, hands on his knees, eyes (mismatched, wonderful eyes) closed that whole time. His legs are numb; he’s not entirely sure he can get up at this point, and frankly, he still desparately wants to go and find CC-2224 and beg him to please forgive him.

He winces as he unclenched his fist from where he’s dug his nails into his shin again. With a heavy sigh he gives up, awkwardly pulling his legs out from their crossed positions, and flopping back so he’s laid on the floor completely.

Meeting your soulmate was meant to be... The most incredible moment in your life. He’d grown up on stories of eyes meeting across rooms, drawn to each other inevitability. That first curl of colour-shift, that first warmth of knowing each other. Even Qui-Gon had spoken reverantly of it, in those moments he managed to overcome the grief and speak of Master Tahl.

Instead, Obi-Wan felt like he’d violated his soulmate.

He couldn’t help but remember those wide, frightened eyes, the hitch of fear in his soulmate’s breath. His warm brown skin had paled, even as he’d lurched forwards into the kiss.

Obi-Wan shudders, swallowing back bile.

Whatever the Kaminoans had done to the clones, his taking away CC-2224’s right to hide his eyes, to not make that soulmate bond was far, far worse.

He could feel it, delicate and frail in the center of his mind. He curled protectively around it, even as he carefully kept from touching it or strengthening the fragile thread. A soulmate bond with one who was force-sensitive could be a beautiful thing, a gentle sharing of emotions and thoughts of each other.

Obi-Wan refused to intrude upon CC-2224 anymore than he already had. He would allow himself tonight. One night to hover over it, bask in it, but careful not to touch. And tomorrow he would go to CC-2224, apologise for his over step, and seal it. It couldn’t be broken, not now it’d been allowed to form, but he could prevent it from growing any stronger, and give CC-2224 choice in this at least.

He wipes away his tears, and stared at the ceiling.

He was not meant for good things.

——

Cody stares at Helix, confused and frankly, fucking angry. They are in Helix’s office within Vode territory.

Helix has positioned them with Cody’s back to the door, and Helix facing it. He has placed Cody’s helmet in his hands, and set up a proximity alarm, so they will be alerted if anyone approaches. Helix stated he isn’t worried about Vode, that the secret will be kept by their brothers, but the fear of a nat-born inspection hangs over them even now.

Helix is a very good brother. He had spent the last hour explaining soulmates to Cody, and answering his questions. He explains that back on Kamino, those Vode pre-selected and trained to be chief medical officers had been quietly and secretly taught by Trainer Skirata exactly why they had to check their eyes every day, why they weren’t allowed to remove their helmets, why the Vode were trained to be inhuman drones when performing their duties.

Skirata had not been kind, but he had been indignant that this had been taken from them. It had been his small rebellion before he went and committed his full betrayal.

Helix told him of the Manda’s gift, the sign of the soulbond, the person who was made for Cody, and who Cody was made for. He told him that the Kaminoans had hidden this from the Vode, kept it from them for fear that their product would escape their indoctrination. He held Cody’s face and smiled, wide and proud, as he told him that this meant Cody would be loved.

At first Cody was silent, then doubtful, and then, so, so force-damned angry. So angry he shook with it, and thumped his fist on the floor, teeth clenched.

The Kaminoans took everything from them. Produced them. Trained them. Modified their bodies and mind. Gave them only identity numbers and shoddy armour. He didn’t know why this was the final straw on the pile of his resentment, but it was. He roars and bellows, Helix quiet and solid with him as he rages. The sounds of his fury echo off the walls. It isn’t long before the proximity alarm rang repeatedly.

No one enters, and Helix remains calmly sitting, waiting for Cody’s anger to settle.

Eventually, it does. But not into the weary acceptance of before. He feels something delicately warm in the core of him, and he surrounds it with calm revolution. He looks up at Helix with mis-matched eyes, and sees the same anger in him.

Together they rise, and Cody leaves the office, stepping out to the fading whispers of his brothers stood in the hallway, as they all turn to watch him. Boil and Waxer, Wooley and Longshot. So many brothers faces with halting, worried expressions.

He looks back at them, a single set of mismatched eyes within the sea of golden-brown, and tells them the truth.

——

Obi-Wan woke from troubled sleep to a sense that something had changed. For a moment, he stays lying on the floor where he’d eventually fallen asleep last night, and blinked up at the ceiling, struggling to center himself in the Force.

The oppressive fear and anxiety had been swept away by a flood of rebellion and joy. It sang through him, wardrums pounding at the heart of it. His limbs were flush with energy, his heart pounding in time with the beat. He found himself clambering to his feet, unable to resist the pull of fierce jubilance. His saber leapt to his hand, the force dancing playfully, excitedly around him, teasing him towards the door.

He walks dazedly through the hallways, following the curl of something golden dragging at his chest. His feet are bare, he wore only his sleep clothes, hair flattened from lying on the floor, and he didn’t care. He needed to find it, that wonderful bloom of warmth in the center of his mind, that proud, fierce presence that unapologetically called for him.

Blinking, he steps onto the Bridge.

The clones wore no helmets. Identical heads, with identical curled black regulation haircuts stood at their stations. The few nat-born officers were stood quietly, confused, unable to stop staring at the bared clone faces around them.

Obi-Wan could only see one.

CC-2224 stood, turned towards him, face open and proud and mismatched eyes locked with his. His hands are calmly held in the small of his back, posture military crisp. He watches Obi-Wan as he approached, until he stands infront of him, then he reaches out his right hand, placing his thumb on Obi-Wan’s cheek below his golden-brown eye.

“Cody,”

Obi-Wan startles, placing his own hand over the gloved one on his cheek. “What?”

Mismatched eyes crinkle nearly closed with the force of the smile on his soulmates face.

“My name is Cody.”

#star wars #the clone wars #commander cody #star wars the clone wars #obi wan kenobi #codywan #star wars fanfiction #codywan fanfic #cloneshipping #clone trooper waxer #waxer/boil

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starwarsalltypesoflove · 4 months

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SW - ALL TYPES OF LOVE WEEK

INFO

Star Wars: All Types of Love week is a fandom event of fancreations, lasting a week, that celebrates love in its many forms! Since we celebrate romantic love and familial love often, we thought it might be time to give an opportunity for other kinds of love to shine!

Inspired by the Ancient Greek Philosophers and their seven kinds of love, we aim to showcase those different, less celebrated loves. Rooting for the little guys!

HOW TO PARTICIPATE

No sign-up, nothing. Just create!!!

Post during the appropriate week and you’re good!

We welcome any kind of creation, as long as it is truly yours. Even old posts being reblogged is fine! Old creations deserve as much love as new ones.

Fanfics, fanarts, moodboards, fanvids, fancomics, banners, playlists… An epic fic or a 100 word drabble, an amazing painting or a stick figures funny scene- we love it all!!

WHEN TO POST

Wednesday 7th of February, 00h00 PST, to Wednesday 14th of February, 23h59 PST.

HOW TO POST

Post under the tag SWATOLW during the week the event is running. Add the tag of the type of love you are representing.

Be sure to @ us so we can appreciate what you’ve made and put it in the round-up!

WHAT TO POST

Star Wars characters, places, animals, games… Be it from the movies, the novels, the comics, the shows like The Clone Wars, The Mandalorian, Andor or even your own OC, the important parts are:

It must be from the Star Wars fandom

It must be about Love and that love must be not romantic or familial

To get a better idea of what we mean by that, you can read more about the seven types of love here. In short, we want to give a chance to shine to:

Love of Friends #philia

Love of Strangers #agape

Love of Partners #pragma

Love of Players #ludus

Love of Self #philautia

You can post about any of these, at any time of the week. There isn’t a day assigned to each type. The point is to create without pressure and celebrate all the types of love we don’t often focus on! The more of these you depict, the more we will love you for it!

QUESTIONS

“I love my two clones who are bffs, but they are clones. Does their love count as familial?”

Well, the truth rather depends on your point of view how you present it.

Pairs like Fives and Echo, and Rex and Cody, are usually understood in canon and fandom to be family. They can be friends too, but we’d prefer to focus on other pairs for this event. Post another time. We’re sure people will love it.

Alpha-17 and Cody have a cross-generational friendship? As long as the way their relationship is described/shown isn’t the dynamic of big brother & younger brother, or father figure & son figure, it’s good!

Want to show off Waxer & Boil being two peas in a pod? We would love that! As long as it isn’t a ship or they, the characters, don’t feel like the other is kin in the way we understand it.

“I want to show my two Mandalorians who are Partners In Bounty Hunting, but they are from the same clan. Does this work?”

No. I’m sorry, but it does not. We consider clan to be the SW equivalent of immediate family, a close circle, so it’s not the right event for this. But it does work if they are just from the same house or faction!

“Can I do two Jedi who are teammates and lovers?”

You can show any characters (two, three, four…) having a relationship that is sexual and based on love. As long as that love is not romantic.

If what moves your Jedi is the sense of purpose found in duty, the common love for the Light and the wider galaxy, the playfulness and affection shared between bed partners, these feelings can be as big as the moon, and it is still fine!

That is the whole point!

Feelings can be enormous and serious and important and still not be romantic or familial.

But if it’s shown or implied that the relationship is romantic/familial or turning so at some point, that is not what our event is focused on.

We know people are a bit tired from the holidays and that Valentine’s Day is a period often rich with events, which is why we put these conditions so it can be as low-pressure as possible. The point is to rejoice in all the breadth and the richness of the human sentient experience of love. In the love of Star Wars. And in the love of this community.

Be civil and show goodwill to participants and spectators. Be kind. YKINMKATO. Go crazy! Be creative! Have fun!

Love!

@swfandomevents

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padawansuggest · 1 year

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AU where Jango lives and somehow Jango and Dooku manage to get a hold of Obi-Wan at the same time and for once Jango is torn on who to go for first, arguably, Obi-Wan is the better target, seeing as Obi is less likely to hurt his son if he manages to win their fight and will likely drop Boba off with a more pandering adult to take care of him, but Dooku is Right There and he would very much like to murder him, but who knows if Obi-Wan’s family instincts will kick in and protect his ba’buir. But then. Dooku. Is just standing there. Vibrating at a frequency so high he’s almost able to perceive Qui-Gon in the force through that alone, 17 caffs into a binge on day 5 away with an annoying ghost son in his ear threatening that if he hurts Obi-Wan in any way whatsoever the first thing Qui-Gon is doing when he dies is punching him in the face and no he can’t hurt the baby clone either might as well just take a step back from this situation as a whole cause it’s not gonna go good, so, being the smart man Dooku is, Dooku just sorta shrugs (in the force, he’s so tense rn he couldn’t shrug if he tried) and proceeds to kidnap all three of them (confused preteen Boba is confused but relatively okay lmao) and that’s how Obi-Wan and Jango wake up locked inside a lovely set of ‘guest quarters’ in the Count’s palace with Boba and now they have to cohabitate with Dooku occasionally coming in to cry about how perfectly stupid Qui-Gon was as a small child and how he’d bitten So Many People and Qui-Gon says Obi-Wan bit even more as a kid than he did and Jango is just sitting here listening to a (tired??? Drunk???? Unsober. We’re calling that Unsober) Dooku cry about how perfectly feral his kids were and how most of their family is DEAD and it’s always falling to the dark side that does them in and Komari was ferally adorable as a wee one and Xanatos had been the bubbliest lil boy before Qui-Gon spoiled him too much and now Obi-Wan is somehow the most sunshine of their lineage while Obi-Wan looks on in horror at his childhood being spilled like this before mentioning that maybe Grandmaster should take a nap only to be picked up by said grandmaster and cried on because ‘he called me grandmaster! Fett did you hear that the sunshine baby called me Grandmaster!’ And Jango is like ‘god I wish I had a camera this could be so much blackmail’ and then finally Jango and Obi manage to escape with a still confused Boba (it’s his natural state) and make their way back to a very annoyed 212th where Jango is all ‘listen. I’ve thought about it. And I’ve decided I’m marrying Kenobi.’ And Obi is like ‘you are???? Why???’ ‘According to your ba’buir you’re the only good one’ and now Cody and Waxer and Boil are staging a ‘YOURE NOT MY DAD’ protesting fit and Obi-Wan is so confused at this turn of situation. Wtf.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #clone wars #jango fett #count dooku #Jango has decided that Dooku being haunted by his pissed son is so hilarious he could never match that #Dooku will eventually crawl back to the order to be yelled at by Nu and coddled by Yoda for the rest of his days lmao #Jango got some Sith to hunt he’s taking Obi on honeymoon to do that #jangobi

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momojedi · 8 months

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Headcanon: Being Shaak Ti’s padawan would include …

Type: Headcanons; GN! Reader Character(s): Shaak Ti, 501st, 212th, Wolfpack, Bad Batch, Omega, Clones in general Notes: I like the concept of a story as Shaak Ti’s padawan, I was thinking about writing a reader-insert about it. Would you be interested?

Despite her reputation as an admirable Jedi Master, Shaak Ti’s views on attachments would probably be anything but respected by the Council.

Shaak Ti gets motherly feelings just by looking at the Cadets or Omega, so you better be ready because once this woman sets her eyes on her new padawan, your fate will pretty much sealed as her newly adopted child.

Whatever you accomplish, whether it may be small such as motivating yourself to get out of bed or teaching a cadet a trick up to striking down a clanker or saving a clone's life, she’ll be the proudest Togruta in the entire universe.

The clones? They adore you. Shaak Ti is the most respected Jedi among Kamino, maybe even the most adored person among the clones there overall. The troopers admire her treatment and kindness, seeing a parental figure in her, a mother they never had the chance to know. Whomever she likes must be just as lovable then!

As Shaak Ti's padawan, all of Tipoca City knows your name by now. Wherever you go, you'll be greeted by the troopers with a bright smile and once they stop at Kamino after a mission, you'll be one of the few things they'll look forward to.

By now, you can pretty much distinguish all legions for their own unique charisma and cooperation among each other.

The 501st is cheerful and humorous; despite their clumsy and chaotic temper, they work together flawlessly. You'll be swarmed with stories, jokes and even some flirtatious attempts on Jesse's & Fives' account, physical love language such as hugs and handshakes, pretty much treated like one of their own. The Domino Squad especially appreciate you, being one of the very first squads you'd had the chance to accompany. Captain Rex will not even dare to leave your side; he says it’s because he doesn’t want his brothers to overwhelm you but really, he just adores you just as much and feels a kind of safety being close to you.

The 212th on the other is a lot calmer and neat, greeting you politely like they would any commander, but with a warm, grateful undertone. Some, like Waxer and Boil, will even bring you something from their missions, little objects and snacks they found. You’ll have Cody sitting with you during lunch and exchange with him about what you’ve experienced while he was away while he tells you all about the silly moments he witnessed with General Kenobi.

The Wolfpack are like a pack of puppies seeing the master again. The second they see you, they will forget everything around them, all attention now on you, whimpering and whining until they’re dismissed by Wolffe and allowed greet you. Speaking of our favourite commander, he will stand quietly and wordlessly beside you like a guard dog, waiting until the coast is clear to let his guard down and warmly greet you himself.

When it comes to the more unique clone forces, such as the Bad Batch, they’ll likely be able to spend more time with you once they’re on Kamino simply because they’re so small in number. The moment the Marauder lands and the four troopers are off the shuttle, you’ll be squeezed in a tight hug by Wrecker as soon as he gets the chance to. Due to their unique nature and different way of life, the connection you’ll have formed to them will be much more personal and likely seen as mostly unorthodox but that doesn’t matter to them, nor to you or Shaak Ti. Surprisingly enough, sometimes you can even see the ghost of a smile flickering on Crosshair’s face when you approach him after their return from another tough mission. And that means something!

The time between helping out Shaak Ti with the clones’ training and supervising the cadets is usually spent with none other than Omega, Nala Se’s apprentice, who, just like you, tends to feel a bit out of place among all the troopers so it’s nice to exchange with someone who feels similarly every now and then. She sees you as a big sibling, someone she can trust her emotions with and you sincerely return those very feelings.

Seeing you interact so well and kindly with all the clones leaves your master’s heart swelling with joy. She really couldn’t ask for a better student.

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hello-there-cyarika · 9 months

Text

Hive Troopers!

But what if the Kaminoans crossed Jango's DNA with some sort of Nabooian or Alderaanian honey bee? It probably helps them communicate on the battlefield, and obviously they get the benefits of not needing a jetpack! I've got a lot of thoughts about these boys, but I'll just give some of the basics for now:

The troopers can use communicate sort of like a hive mind! It's not as sophisticated as using communicators, but they can convey feelings and vague ideas

Their antennae are very sensitive! They can be used to sense touch, smell, taste, some vibrations, temperature, and more! I think that ARFs like Waxer and Boil would probably learn to use them with a lot more skill through their training, in the same way they'd learn to use more complex or advanced HUD modes.

I think that troopers' stingers would be closer to the stingers that wasps have: retractable, and doesn't cause them to die after one sting by getting ripped off.

Troopers' wings are also probably way more durable, I can't imagine the Kaminoans sending them into battle with anything fragile like that, so they probably modified the DNA. I think the wings are pretty flexible instead of being breakable.

I'll go into this more another time, if anyone is interested, but I think that the distribution of internal organs would be significantly different with the addition of the secondary abdomen.

The boys are FLUFFY!!!

I think that the fluff would be kinda waterproof (I mean,,,, they grew up on Kamino and all) but on the other hand I think it'd make fire waaaay more dangerous. I think that blaster bolts could also cause the fluff to catch fire....

Can they make honey? yeah dude they're beeeeeees

They probably made space-mead out of it lmao

I have a lot of feelings about the way cadets are grown in little tubes land sleep in tubes on the walls like bees use honeycomb for their larvae and its all in large curved structures and how the whole thing seems just a touch like a hive......

They can DEFINITELY dance maps like bees can!!!! The ARCs and ARFs are the best at it.

They don't have compound eyes, but they do have hexagonal pupils!

I'm gonna doodle more of this whenever I have time, so let me know if you want to see anything specific, or have any fun ideas from this? I'd love to talk about them!!! <3

I also want to say that I have been VERY heavily inspired by @mothask! Please go have a look at their amazing fluffy moth boys!

@yukipri's winged au is also a huge inspiration for this! Y'all have GOT to go check out "Take Flight, Brothers All" on ao3 it's SO GOOD!!

And finally, a lot of the ideas I've developed about the bees' ARF training have come from the Reconstruction Corps AU (specifically Open Skies), created by the amazing @cacodaemonia!! I've got a lot of plans for Wax and Bo as ARF bees that I'm so excited to get started on!

So much love and appreciation to all of my inspirations!!!!! <333333

I have no idea if anyone's made anything like this before lol, but if anyone has I'd love to know!!

<3 I do not give my consent or my permission for my art to be re-posted or reuploaded on this or any other website <3

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 5 months

Text

Fortunately Unfortunate

Jesse x GN!Reader

Summary: Jesse’s number is drawn in a lottery, forcing him to participate in a cross-training event with the 212th, and he’s not happy about it. However, his view of the training mission changes when he crashes into your life, literally.

Pairing: Jesse x GN!Reader

Characters: Jesse, Rex, Cody, Waxer, Boil, Sinker, Violet (OFC)

Tags & Warnings: 18+, grumpy Jesse, vehicular accident, no injuries, clone jokes, bad puns, shirtless clones, fluff, humor, angst with a happy ending, implied sexy time offscreen, suggestive themes

Word Count: 9.2k

Author's Note: Apologizing now for the word count (my small ideas never stay small), and for the fact that this fic only went through two rounds of editing before posting... This fic was written for @snippy-tano as part of the @rare-clone-fic-exchange. I hope you like it sweetie, and I hope you don’t mind the additional side characters 😘 As always, please enjoy 💚

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Tradition

“You can’t be serious?” Jesse groans with an exaggerated eye roll.

“I am,” Rex answers. “Your number was drawn, so you’re going.”

Jesse grunts. “This program is stupid!”

“This program is tradition,” Rex retorts.

“Can’t you send Fives?” Jesse asks. “He loves this stuff.”

“Fives’ number wasn’t drawn, yours was,” Rex crosses his arms and scowls. “ You’ll just have to learn to love it too.”

“But–”

“That’s an order,” Rex interjects.

Jesse grits his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Rex hands Jesse a data-pad. “Your transport leaves in an hour. I suggest you take that time to adjust your attitude. Cody is a good friend of mine and I don’t need you giving him grief.”

Jesse takes the data-pad. “Yes, sir.”

Rex turns to leave and Jesse is left in the cargo bay alone. He sighs as he sits down on a crate to review his new orders. Every month, the battalions swap a few clones in the name of “cross-training”. The clones are picked at random via lottery, and unfortunately for Jesse, his number was drawn this month. Out of the millions of clones, why did it have to be him? It’s not that he’s opposed to cross-training, but he shouldn’t be forced to leave his own battalion to do it.

Jesse swipes through the data-pad and skims over the details. He’s been assigned cross-training with the 212th attack battalion, specifically their ARF unit. He scoffs. The 501st has an ARF unit, and a darn good one. There’s no reason for him to be shipped off-world to play ARF trooper with a different battalion. If the GAR wants to cross-train clones so badly, then he should be able to do it with his own brothers, not with a bunch of clones he doesn’t know.

Jesse sets the data-pad down next to him on the crate and shakes his head. He wants to make Rex proud, but his heart just isn’t in it. Even if meeting a marshal commander does sound interesting, he knows he won’t be working with him exclusively. He’s an ARC, and he wants to do ARC things, and go on ARC missions with Fives and Echo. It's a shame that he’s missing out on their newest assignment. It sounded like a wild ride, and he was looking forward to it.

The intercom speaker interrupts Jesse’s thoughts to notify him that his transport is boarding and will be departing soon. With a heavy sigh, he hops off the crate, grabs his data-pad, and makes his way to the transport. He straps in and closes his eyes, letting his mind go blank as the transport whirs to life and delivers him to his new temporary post. The time it takes to get there is just under one standard rotation, so he takes this time to try to prepare himself for anything.

The transport lands and as the ramp descends, Jesse raises an arm to shield his eyes from the bright sun and the dust swirling into the transport. He steps down the ramp and observes his new surroundings, which isn’t much to look at. It’s a desert planet with little to no vegetation, and the sun glares down hot onto his plastoid armor. He experimentally grinds his foot into the tan earth beneath him and it shifts like powder until he reaches a layer of rock underneath.

“You must be Jesse,” Cody says on approach.

Jesse looks up to see the commander and straightens himself to attention. “Yes, sir!”

“Welcome to the 212th,” Cody gestures for Jesse to follow him. “I’ve heard good things about you from Rex. He says you’re one of his best.”

Jesse follows next to Cody as they make their way to the command center. “Just doing my duty to the Republic, sir.”

“He also mentioned that you’re not particularly fond of this assignment,” Cody adds.

Jesse grimaces and tries to backpedal. “With all due respect, sir, I only meant that I’d rather not be away from my brothers at the 501st when they might need me.”

“Fair enough,” Cody says. “However, if the survival of the entire battalion rests on you being there at all times, then perhaps Rex should be demoted.”

Jesse scrunches his face with indignation and raises his voice. “Captain Rex is–”

Cody turns on his heels to face Jesse and crosses his arms in a silent word of caution.

Jesse takes a startled half-step back and holds his tongue. “Nevermind, sir,” he stammers with embarrassment.

The rest of the walk to the command center is silent. Jesse kicks himself as he realizes how far he stuck his own foot into his mouth. So far that he’s surprised he hasn’t choked on it yet. He doesn’t want to embarrass Rex, yet here he is picking a fight with a marshal commander. It’s definitely one of the dumber things he’s done in his life. But, when it comes to his captain, Jesse finds it difficult to control his emotions. Their history together is too deep not to defend him.

When they enter the command center, Jesse sees two ARF troopers in camouflage armor with colors matching the tan dust that’s been sticking to him since he arrived. He also sees another trooper in gray and white armor standing next to them. As he gets closer, he can hear them chatting away about something nonsensical. He eyes the three clones and mentally sizes them up; not entirely sure what to make of them yet, but he’ll reserve judgment for now.

“This is Lieutenant Waxer and Boil,” Cody gestures with his hands. “They’re part of our elite ARF unit, Ghost Company, and will be conducting your training for the next few rotations.”

The four clones trade head nods of acknowledgement.

Cody turns to Jesse and the clone with gray armor. “I expect you to address them as you would a commanding officer, with respect. Follow their orders and do what they ask of you.”

“Yes, sir!” Jesse and the other clone affirm.

Cody nods. “I’ll leave you to it.”

A moment of silence passes between the four clones as an awkward air blows in.

Waxer is the first to speak up. “Do you guys have names?”

“I’m Jesse,” Jesse answers and stretches out his hand to shake that of the two ARFs. “With the 501st.”

The clone in the gray armor follows suit. “I’m Sinker, with the 104th.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Boil adds.

Another awkward silence passes between the clones and Jesse starts to question the validity of his new assignment. Perhaps this whole thing is a big joke and he can board the next transport off this dust bowl. He absentmindedly grinds his foot into the dusty floor, a habit he picked up somewhere during the war to keep him from running his mouth when he’s bored. If someone doesn’t say something soon, he might, and they probably won’t like what it is.

“Alright, boys,” Waxer says with a gesture of his head towards the door. “We’re heading out to the corral.”

“Corral?” Jesse asks, raising an eyebrow. “Are we learning to ride animals?”

Boil chuckles. “Sort of.”

Jesse looks at Sinker, hoping that he’s on his side about how crazy this whole thing sounds.

Sinker shrugs. “Sounds fun.”

The three clones head out of the command center, leaving Jesse alone in his bewilderment. When his brain catches up to him, he jogs up to the rear and follows them out to the so-called corral. Although, Jesse wouldn’t call it a “corral”. It’s just a barricaded motor pool full of AT-RTs. A part of Jesse is relieved that he doesn’t actually have to ride any animals, but his intuition tells him that whatever they have planned isn’t going to be as easy as he thinks.

Waxer stops in front of the barricade and addresses the squad. “As part of your cross-training in the ARF unit, you’re each going to learn how to ride an AT-RT.”

“Don’t you mean drive?” Jesse interrupts.

“No,” Waxer answers. “An AT-RT isn’t just some machine you can climb on and control. It takes concentration, skill, dexterity, and a mutual understanding between you and the walker. You don’t drive an AT-RT, you ride it.”

Jesse rolls his eyes. There’s a reason he’s an ARC and not an ARF. He doesn’t have the patience for these pansies, talking about a machine as if it’s a living animal. What utter nonsense.

“Shinies don’t even look at an AT-RT until they can show competency riding a living breathing animal,” Boil continues the explanation. “Since both of you are well-established and accomplished soldiers, we figured we could skip the live animal part and see what you’re made of.”

A smirk flashes across Sinker’s face and Jesse realizes he’s alone in his feelings about the training. He grinds his foot against the dusty earth again, feeling way out of his element. ARCs don’t “ride” AT-RTs, they infiltrate enemy lines, perform sabotage, steal secrets, and tip the scales of an assault. His last hope that he might get some in depth reconnaissance training has officially been dashed as Waxer opens the corral and ushers them inside to show them the AT-RTs.

“Do you name them?” Sinker asks as he inspects one of the units.

“Of course!” Waxer exclaims with a proud smile. He pats the side of the unit Sinker is looking at. “This one’s name is Sella. She’s a little glitchy, but she’s seen a lot of combat.”

If Jesse rolled his eyes any harder, they would roll right out of his head.

“Can I ride her?” Sinker asks, his eyes bright.

“Eh, not for your first ride,” Waxer says. “Like I said, she’s a little glitchy.” Waxer moves across the motor pool to another unit and pats the side. “Vala here will be a good starter for you.”

Sinker punches Jesse’s shoulder in excitement and heads over to where Waxer is standing. Jesse rubs his shoulder in mock discomfort, then crosses his arms. He’s still not convinced this is proper ARF training. He wants to be looking at charts and battle strategies, not galivanting around in AT-RTs. There’s nothing useful about this exercise that he can take back to his unit, unless they let him take the AT-RT as a souvenir, which he highly doubts they would.

“How about this one for you?” Boil asks while leaning against another unit. “Her name is Mina and she’s pretty gentle on the new guys.”

Jesse huffs and approaches the AT-RT. “Sure.”

The AT-RT training goes just as well as Waxer and Boil expect. Both Jesse and Sinker fall off their AT-RTs multiple times just on start-up, when the machine initially jerks to life. The breath is knocked out of Jesse’s lungs more times than he can count and he wonders if Kix can order him a replacement set if he ever makes it back to the 501st alive. The only buffer he has is his ARC armor and it’s not enough to prevent the litany of bruises from growing on every part of his body.

By rotations end, Jesse and Sinker manage to stay on their AT-RTs and even take a few steps forward with them. It’s been hard work, but they’re finally seeing the fruits of their labor and Jesse’s ego is just as bruised as his thighs. He gets it now. He understands what they mean by riding an AT-RT instead of driving it. It’s not like a starfighter or an ATTE that he’s driven in simulations. No, these things are like living animals and they need to be respected as such.

At the end of the training session, Jesse doesn’t stop for food at the mess hall. Instead, he hobbles to the medbay for some bacta, then makes his way to the barracks. He gingerly pulls his armor off, each flex of muscle a new sensation of pain. He winces and grunts until it all comes off and he stacks it neatly beside his assigned bunk. He pulls out a ration bar from his pack and settles onto the cot, mindlessly munching away at the bland bar while trying not to move.

Tomorrow, they’re taking the AT-RTs out on a fake reconnaissance mission. He’s not sure who decided that he and Sinker are ready to take the AT-RTs into the field, but he definitely doesn’t feel ready. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to move when he wakes up in the morning, let alone climb onto the back of an AT-RT and ride it out into the middle of who-knows-where. Just the thought of his legs doing that climbing motion again makes his thighs twitch in protest.

The next morning, Jesse wakes when the sun rises and its rays shine into the barracks. He was right, his entire body objects to him moving even one inch off of his cot, but he doesn’t have a choice. He feels like a cadet all over again. Like he just went through a rigorous course of simulations and he needs to go again. Those are days he wishes he didn’t have to remember. He’s much stronger now, and more resilient, but his aching thighs force his recollections.

Jesse swings by the medbay before meeting up with the others at the corral. He begs the medic on duty for anything he can give him to help soothe the pain. He’ll even take a muscle relaxer at this point, even if it makes him drowsy. The medic takes pity on him, tosses him a small bottle of painkillers, and threatens him not to mention it to anybody or he’d be returning to his battalion in a bodybag. That’s a risk Jesse is willing to take. Besides, Kix has threatened him with much worse.

Jesse downs a few of the pills, stuffs the bottle out of sight in one of his belt pouches, and heads to the corral. Everyone else is already there, and he hopes that he isn't too late that they make an issue about it. Luckily, no one mentions his tardiness, but Waxer does have a small grin on his face that makes Jesse suspicious. He wonders how much enjoyment Waxer and Boil get out of torturing their shinies with this training, because clearly they know why he’s late.

Waxer gives the squad a short briefing on their fake mission. He pulls out the data-pad with the map coordinates on it, their rendezvous point, the intel they’re supposed to be acquiring, and any enemy obstacles in their way. This is what Jesse has been after ever since the beginning of the cross-training. He studies everything Waxer shows them, eagerly consuming all of the information and stuffing it away in his brain to use later when he’s back with his own battalion.

After the mission briefing is over, they mount their AT-RTs, Jesse on Mina and Sinker on Vala. Waxer and Boil mount their personal AT-RTs, the ones they’ve been using since they became ARF troopers, and the squad heads out into the desert. Unlike Waxer and Boil, Jesse and Sinker do not have ARF trooper armor. Since the mission is fake, there is no need to outfit them. The squad looks rather odd up close, but from a distance no one can tell they’re mismatched.

The squad spends hours in the desert. The constant back and forth motion on the AT-RT has Jesse convinced he’s also going to need a spine replacement. He wonders how hard it will be to requisition and if there’s a special form he needs to fill out. He tries to pop a few more painkillers but as the AT-RT continues to lunge forward like a jack-rabbit, it makes the task very difficult. In all honesty, he’d rather be dropped out of a LAAT without a jetpack than do this full time.

Around mid-day, Waxer calls over the comms to let the squad know that they’ll be stopping for a break soon. He gives them the coordinates for the only known piece of civilization within ten klicks of their location, and they all head in that direction. Jesse can’t wait. His back, thighs, and butt all thank the Maker that he’s going to be able to rest soon, even if he has to fall off the AT-RT instead of hopping off. At this point, he’s not even sure his arms are still attached to his body.

As they approach their rest-stop, Waxer gives the order for the squad to halt. Waxer, Boil, and Sinker all stop relatively close together, but Jesse keeps going.

“Jesse, halt,” Waxer calls through the comms.

“It won’t stop,” Jesse calls back while pressing every button he can think of to try and stop.

“What do you mean it won’t stop?” Waxer asks as he watches Jesse move further away.

“I mean, it won’t stop!” Jesse yells.

“Hit the emergency brake,” Boil orders into the comms.

“I did,” Jesse answers. He refuses to panic, but the building is getting closer and his AT-RT is not obeying his commands. “I think there’s an electrical malfunction.”

“Great,” Waxer sighs. “Just steer her out of harm's way and we can figure it out.”

“About that…” Jesse pauses. His heart rate increases as the building is looking a lot bigger than it did a few seconds ago. “The steering isn’t responding either.”

“Bail!” Waxer calls as he starts his unit up and rushes over. “Bail, Jesse, bail!”

It’s too late. Jesse braces as his AT-RT crashes into the side of the building.

“Order up for table twelve!” the cook calls from the kitchen as he rings the bell at the end of the order window.

“Coming!” you answer, then rush over to grab the order.

“What’s the hold up?” the cook asks. “Are you daydreaming again?”

“Only everyday I’m stuck working here,” you sing back with a sweet smile.

The cook huffs. “Just make sure the customers are fed. You don’t get paid to daydream.”

“Yes, sir!” you answer with a mock salute as you balance the tray of food on one hand.

You turn around and roll your eyes before walking the food over to table twelve. You’ve been stuck working at this diner for four cycles now with no end in sight. It’s not the worst job you could have, but with the small amount you’re being paid with no raises in the near future, you’ll never be able to afford to go find a new one. It’s an endless cycle of work, work, work, and never any time for yourself or what you want to do. It’s agonizing, but it’s all you have.

The only reason you even have this job is to pay off your parent’s debt. They left you on this barren rock to go on their “galactic tour” and never returned. From what you know, they made a deal with the owner of the diner to ensure you had a place to stay, and in return, when you were old enough, you would work for him to pay off the debt. It’s definitely not the life you would’ve chosen, but it’s the life you have been given, and you should be grateful for even that much.

Your only solace is your best friend Violet. She also works at the diner and hates it as much as you do. The two of you became fast friends when you first started working at the diner and now you spend all of your free time together. Violet also doesn’t have any parents planet-side, so there’s an even deeper connection between the two of you and an unspoken understanding about life. At least you have each other, is what you tell yourself when things get unbearable.

“Tooka got your tongue?” Violet asks as she peers over your shoulder.

“Ah!” you startle. “Where’d you come from?”

“Table eight,” Violet answers. “You had that look in your eye again.”

“What look?” you ask.

“The dreamy and distant one,” Violet answers with a flip of her hair.

You groan. “That obvious, huh?”

“If you were any more obvious, you’d have a neon sign stuck to your forehead,” Violet laughs.

You sigh. “Don’t you want more?”

“More what?” Violet asks.

“I don’t know,” you answer. “More anything.”

Violet thinks for a moment. “Yeah, more sleep and more credits.”

You pout. “Besides that.”

“What else is there?” Violet asks as she picks up another tray of food.

“Oh, you know…” you trail your voice quietly while bussing the table next to hers. “Like love and stuff.”

Violet snorts. “What? Love? Out here? In this dust bowl? You’re nuts.”

“I am not!” you retort. “It could happen.”

“Yeah, sure,” Violet rolls her eyes, “because gorgeous and attractive people just tumble into our diner like it’s a speed-dating site.”

“I–”

CRASH

The violent shockwave shakes the diner to its core and knocks both you and Violet off of your feet and flat onto the ground. You instinctively cover your head as pieces of debris and dust fall from the ceiling. The patrons in the diner start screaming and run past you to the diner exit as you lay on the floor, stunned by what just happened. You slowly open your eyes and look over at Violet, making sure she’s okay. She looks dazed, but nods and you both help each other up.

“Kriffing banthas!” you exclaim. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Violet says with a shaky voice, still in shock.

You turn around and see a gaping hole in the side of the diner and your eyes grow wide. A mess of twisted dura-steel, snapped electrical wires, and broken water pipes are poking out in every direction. You’re not sure what to make of it. You tilt your head from side to side trying to figure out what happened until you see a clone trooper’s body laying under some debris. You rush over, climbing through the rubble to get to the trapped man. He’s unconscious, but breathing.

“Violet, help me!” you call back. “He’s trapped!”

Violet climbs up alongside of you and you each grab an arm, tugging with all of your might, but it’s no use, he’s too heavy. You pant at the exertion and look around for anything that you could use for leverage. But before you can make your next move, three more clone troopers burst through the front door of the diner. They look around frantically before meeting your gaze as you wave your hands to try and get their attention. They must be with the clone that’s trapped.

“Over here!” you call out to them. “He’s over here!”

The three clones rush over and replace you and Violet. The two troopers in camouflage lift the debris and the third clone in gray armor pulls the trapped clone out from underneath it. They carry him away from the debris pile and lay him on top of one of the diner tables. The clone in gray armor pulls out a bag with a medic symbol on it and rummages through it. Finding what he’s looking for, he scans over the unconscious clone with the device, then sighs in relief.

“No internal injuries,” the gray clone says. “Looks like he just got knocked out. He’s lucky.”

One of the clones in camouflage shakes his head. “Of all the things to go wrong.”

“At least he’s not dead,” the other clone in camouflage says. “Try explaining that to Commander Cody and Captain Rex.”

The first clone in camouflage visually bristles.

“Um, excuse me,” you interrupt with a slight raise of your hand.

The first clone in camouflage takes his helmet off. “Apologies, I’m Waxer, with the 212th.” He points to the clone next to him. “This is Boil, also with the 212th, and that’s Sinker, with the 104th.” He looks down at the clone on the table. “And that one is Jesse, from the 501st.”

“Pleasure…” you say as you try to take it all in. There’s so many numbers and names, you’re not sure how you’ll keep them all straight.

“Wait, hold on,” Violet interjects, dumbfounded. “Y’all just crashed into our diner and you're exchanging pleasantries like you met at the local market?”

“Correction,” Boil says. “Jesse crashed into your diner.”

Violet’s jaw drops and she turns to you. “Are these guys for real?”

“I assure you ma’am,” Sinker says. “We are, in fact, real clones.”

You start to snicker and Violet throws her hands up in defeat. “You know what, I’ve had enough for one day.” She takes her dusty and torn apron off and tosses it on the ground with the rest of the debris. “I do not get paid enough to deal with clowns!”

“Don’t you mean, clones?” Boil asks.

“I meant what I said!” Violet yells back as she navigates around the debris to the exit.

You try to stifle a laugh, but fail. “Don’t worry about her. She’s just stressed. It’s not every day we get clones crashing into our diner.”

Waxer rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that. One of the AT-RTs had a malfunction and Jesse couldn’t get it to stop.”

“I see,” you look down at the clone on the table and knit your brows with worry. You feel bad for him. It must have been scary, being stuck on an uncontrollable collision course and knowing you can’t do anything to stop it from happening. Well, at least for you it would have been scary. You’re not even sure if clones feel fear. It’s not something you’ve ever thought about, until now.

“We’ll fix the wall for you,” Waxer says. “Might take us a couple rotations, but we’ll get it done.”

“The owner will definitely appreciate it,” you smile. You’re not quite sure where the cook went off to, but he must have bailed when the wall was smashed. That coward. He talks a lot about your head being stuck in the clouds, but when things go wrong, you’re the only one keeping a level head.

“Can you stay with him?” Waxer asks. “We need to comm our superiors.”

“Yeah, sure,” you agree, then pull out one of the table chairs to take a seat. You didn’t realize how much your legs were shaking until you were sitting down and relieving them of their duty, but now that the adrenaline is wearing off, you’re starting to feel exhausted.

You watch Jesse like Waxer asked you too, but to be honest, you’re not sure what you’re supposed to be watching. You look him over from head to toe and take in all of his features. He’s wearing different armor than the other three clones, but it’s not the standard issue clone armor that you see in the news either. You’re not sure what it is. He’s got two thick leather skirt-looking things around his thighs, two holsters, and a big flappy thing across his shoulders.

You shrug and continue your examination. He also has some type of pouch on his chest that looks like it could either hold ammo or snacks. You figure both are important. There’s also an extra chest plate on top of the standard one. Must be for extra protection. You then look at the blue markings that adorn his arms and legs and wonder if they have any meaning. The last thing you look at is his face. There’s a huge GAR tattoo covering one side. Curious, but not bizarre.

You lean over his body to get a better view, when you hear him stir. You quickly remove yourself and wave your hand over his face to try and get him to wake up.

“Hey,” you call. “Wake up, Jesse.”

Jesse groans as he comes to. “Am I dead?”

You chuckle. “No, just got a little knocked around.”

Jesse hisses as he tries to sit up and raises a hand to hold the side of his head. “Ow, my head.”

“It’s gonna hurt a bit,” you say. “That was a nasty crash.”

Jesse closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “What crash?”

“You don’t remember?” you ask in concern.

Jesse opens his eyes, and as they finally focus, he sees the mess of twisted dura-steel and a crushed AT-RT within it. His body jolts at the memory. “The building!”

“Whoa!” you put your hands on Jesse’s shoulders to try and get him to calm down. “Easy, Jesse, easy.”

Jesse breathes heavily at the new surge of adrenaline, but settles down. He shoots you a quizzical look. “Who are you and how do you know my name?”

“Oh, right,” you laugh nervously then introduce yourself. “I’m a waitress here and your friends are just outside. They pulled you out of the rubble and told me to watch you.”

Jesse leans his head back against the table and groans. “Rex is going to kill me.”

“Who’s Rex?” you ask to try to keep him talking. Concussions are very serious, and without knowing if he has one, you don’t want him falling unconscious again.

“My captain,” Jesse answers. He drapes an arm over his face. “He’s the one that sent me to this desolate dust bowl.”

You chuckle at his disdain for the planet.

“Oh, sorry,” Jesse apologizes. “I guess this is your home, huh? I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“No worries,” you wave off the remark and smile. “I think it’s a dust bowl, too.”

Jesse chuckles.

“I’m sorry about your AT… thing,” you offer, trying to remember the exact acronym.

Jesse laughs. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t mine.”

You snort and then laugh along with him. “You’re funny.”

“And you’re pretty,” Jesse blurts out.

You stop laughing as you process what he said. “You think I’m pretty?”

Jesse’s stomach flips when he realizes his thoughts didn’t stay in his head. “Kriff, did I say that out loud?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answer nervously, your face feeling warm.

“Maker, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” Jesse apologizes, the embarrassment written all over his face.

“So, you don’t think I’m pretty?” you ask.

“Uh, no, I mean yes, well, you see,” Jesse stammers, then gives up trying to explain himself. He sighs. “I think my brain got scrambled in the crash.”

You chuckle and pat his arm. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

After your short but awkward conversation with Jesse, the three clones reassemble in the diner to debrief the now awake Jesse. Waxer commed Cody, Boil commed Rex, and Sinker commed Wolffe, although from the sweat on Sinker’s face, you can tell who has the most commanding officer of them all. The consensus is that the GAR will pay for the damages and the four clones will repair the diner wall. None of them seem too thrilled about it, and you don’t blame them.

By the time the excitement has calmed down, and the materials to fix the diner are located, it’s nightfall and you are exhausted. You’re practically dead on your feet, body swaying with your broom while trying to clean up some of the debris on the other end of the diner. You’re the only staff member left to help clean up, so you chose to stay. Of course won’t be paid for any of this, but the faster the diner is back in business, the faster you can start getting paid again.

You dump another dust pan of rubble into the trash receptacle, then plop down onto one of the stools lining the diner counter. You yawn wide and lean your elbow on the counter, propping your face up as you close your eyelids for just a moment to rest. The moment must have lasted longer than you expected, because when you open your eyes again, you wake up in one of the booths with a blanket on top of you and another one folded under your head for use as a pillow.

It’s still dark out, the moonlight beaming in through the large transparisteel panes that line the front of the diner, and you sit up to get your bearings. There’s three clones nestled on the floor, all tangled up together in a mess of armor and limbs. You’re not sure how sleeping like that is comfortable, but more power to them. You realize Jesse is missing, and you pop your head up over the booth to look for him, hoping that he hasn’t wandered off somewhere and gotten lost.

You tiptoe around the sleeping clones, blanket hung around your shoulders to keep the desert chill out, and walk around looking for Jesse. He’s not inside the diner, so you walk outside. You really hope he didn’t leave to relieve himself and you’re about to walk in on something you’re not prepared to see, and luckily you don’t. You circle the entire building and you still can’t find him. Finally, you hear your name being called and you look up to see two legs dangling from the roof.

You shake your head and climb up the side ladder to join Jesse on the roof.

“You should be asleep,” he says, not moving his gaze from the horizon.

“So, should you,” you retort back. “You’re injured.”

“I’m fine,” he dismisses. “Barely even a scratch on me.”

You sit next to him and let your feet hang off the edge. “I was talking about your brain.”

Jesse chuckles. “That’s fine, too.”

“No more accidentally calling me pretty?” you jest.

“Not making any promises on that one,” he smirks.

You smile and fidget with the edges of the blanket. “Did you move me to the booth?”

“Hope you don’t mind,” he answers. “That counter was doing nothing for your back. Probably should’ve asked first.”

“Oh, no,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

Jesse smiles. “You’re welcome, mesh’la.”

You don’t remember falling asleep on the rooftop, but when you awaken feeling like a rolled up burrito with Jesse’s arm draped across your side, the memories start to come back. You must have talked for a while before dozing off, because you feel like you barely got any sleep at all. The blanket wrapped around you is tight and you wiggle to try to get yourself free from it, but as you do, you start to roll away. You panic slightly before feeling Jesse’s firm hand stopping you.

“Going somewhere?” he asks, his voice rough with sleep.

“Thought I’d roll myself to work today,” you answer.

Jesse raises an eyebrow. “How’s that working out for you?”

You wiggle against the restraining blanket. “Ten out of ten would not recommend.”

Jesse snorts and sits up. “I didn’t want you to get cold or fall off the roof.”

“Appreciate it,” you strain out as you wriggle some more. “Please help me.”

Jesse unravels your blanket cocoon and helps you to your feet. You straighten your dirty uniform out and climb down the ladder to get the day started with Jesse trailing behind you. Violet is already inside the diner, chatting with the other three clones. She gives you a knowing look when she sees you walk in with Jesse, but doesn’t say anything. You’re just happy she’s here to help. When she stormed off yesterday, you weren’t sure if she was going to come back.

As the clones start discussing their plan of attack, the two of you decide the best way to start the day is to eat a hearty breakfast. There’s a lot of work to be done and everyone is going to need as much energy as they can get. The cook never came back, but that’s of no matter, you know how to cook. In no time, a full breakfast and hot caf is served. You dust off some of the debris before placing the plates and mugs down on the table and everyone digs in.

Once breakfast is over, the four clones get to work hauling away the large debris pieces from the wall and the crushed AT-RT. You offer the use of the dumpster in the back of the building, but they insist that the GAR will come pick it up and you should use the dumpster for smaller debris. You don’t argue with them and set out with Violet to clean whatever you can of the mess inside the diner, making sure to wear gloves so you don’t cut your hands on any sharp pieces.

As the day continues, the desert heat begins to seep into the diner. The crash must have broken the refrigerant lines, but with the gaping hole in the side of the diner, the climate control wouldn’t be of much use anyway. You and Violet switch gears and make a refreshing batch of Tatooine Sunset to ensure everyone stays hydrated. You also put damp towels in the conservator to help cool everyone off during breaks. It’s barely midday and you know it’s only going to get hotter.

Soon enough, the clones start shedding their armor, at least the top halves of their armor. You’ve never seen a clone without their armor, but honestly, you haven’t seen that many clones to begin with. It’s when they start taking the top black portion of their bodysuits off that you really take notice. They’re jacked. You stand back in one of the corners, mindlessly moving your broom as you watch them work. Not a single piece of debris makes it into the dustpan.

Violet elbows you in the side.

“Ow!” you exclaim. “What was that for?”

“You’re staring,” Violet answers.

“Am not,” you argue.

Violet crosses her arms. “Four hot, shirtless men are flexing their muscles and sweating in our diner, and you’re not staring?”

You purse your lips trying not to give her any satisfaction.

“Well, I’m going to stare,” Violet says. “I mean, look at those abs. But the difference is that I can stare and sweep.”

You roll your eyes and push some garbage into the dustpan.

“You wanted more,” Violet says as she nonchalantly scoots away with her broom. “Well, more is standing over there with a giant tattoo on his head.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she’s too far away. You hate it when she does that. Violet always seems to know what you’re thinking before you’ve even thought it yourself. According to her it’s her gift to the world, but really, it’s just a nuisance. She is right, though, because Jesse does make your heart flutter. You’ve just met him, but it's like you’ve known him your entire life. Talking to him feels as natural as breathing, and for the first time, you truly feel fortunate for your job at the diner.

You lean on your broom and start staring again, watching Jesse walk over to the rubble, pick up a large piece, then carry it out of the diner and drop it onto the pile. Each movement he makes causes the muscles in his arms and torso to ripple with dramatic effect. The sweat that drips down his body only serves to accentuate how toned he is. Before you even realize it, Jesse’s looking at you and you nearly fall off your broom in embarrassment, but he smiles at you.

You continue cleaning up the diner while stealing glances at Jesse, but he also glances back. You want so badly just to sit down and talk with him more. Your conversation on the rooftop last night was a lot of fun and you both shared different things about your lives. You told him about your parents and how you got stuck working at the diner, and he told you about his battalion and how he got stuck going on this training mission. Both equally unfortunate, but now, it feels okay.

The late afternoon break comes around, so you and Violet make another batch of Tatooine Sunset, as well as some sandwiches. The clones inhale the sandwiches so fast that you’re embarrassed you didn’t make more. You offer to, but they turn you down, being grateful just for the opportunity to eat real food instead of rations. You smile and turn back towards the kitchen. Jesse follows you through the double-doors and leans his hot back against the cool conservator.

“Like what you see?” Jesse asks with a smirk.

You turn around to look at him. “The wall’s coming along nice.”

Jesse scrunches his nose. “You weren’t staring at the wall.”

“How do you know?” you jest. “Maybe I like walls.”

Jesse tilts his head to the side and folds his arms over his bare chest. “Are you sure you don’t like something else?”

You groan. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

Jesse gives you a devilish grin.

“Fine,” you sigh. “I like what I see.”

“I knew it,” Jesse says, a little too excited.

“Maker above, would you two please get a room!” Violet exclaims from the order window. “I’m so sick of you staring at each other. The closet is empty if you’re looking for a place to smash.”

“Violet!” you yell as your face flushes with embarrassment.

Jesse snorts. “That closet can barely fit a broom.”

“Then kiss or something,” Violet says. “Anything to get you two back to work.”

Jesse pushes off the conservator and heads towards the double doors. “You heard the task-master.”

“Wait,” you call. “Aren't you going to kiss me?”

Jesse stops and turns his head. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

You fidget with your hem. “Kinda.”

“Kinda isn’t a yes or a no,” Jesse says.

“Yes,” you correct. “I want you to kiss me.”

Jesse takes his hand off the double doors and walks over to you. Your eyes dart around as your nerves start to get the better of you. You can’t believe you just asked him to kiss you. You’ve never kissed anyone before. What if you’re bad at it? What if he doesn’t like it? What if you accidentally bite him? Maker, your stomach is in knots. Your breathing becomes heavier as he gets closer, but your nervous energy comes to a halt when he cups the side of your face.

Jesse smooths his thumb over your cheek and gives you a reassuring smile. He dips his head and tilts it to the side before pressing his lips against yours. His lips are warm and their touch ever so gentle as they melt into yours. You place your hands on his chest and all of your worries and concerns slip away as all you can think about is Jesse. You don’t want this moment to end, but eventually he pulls back, breaking the kiss, leaving you breathless and wanting for more.

Without a single word, Jesse turns on his heels and leaves the kitchen to go back to work fixing the wall. You stand there, alone in the kitchen, completely dazed by what just happened. You’re not sure if you’re dreaming or not, but you’re too afraid to pinch yourself to find out. You press your fingers to your lips, thinking about the kiss, and your body warms. You’re not sure how you can work now, but you do know that you’ll be spending every spare moment you have with Jesse.

Finally the repairs are complete and tonight is your last night with Jesse. Your stomach aches at the thought of him leaving. Only a couple of rotations ago, he crashed into your life and stole your heart. You didn’t mean to fall for him, but his soulful brown eyes and bright smile captivated you. Besides, the feelings are mutual. You don’t want him to leave, but you know he can’t stay. He’s a soldier, with things to do and places to go, and you’re just a waitress at a diner in the middle of nowhere.

You’re spending your last night together sitting up on the rooftop of the diner, legs dangling over the edge, as you gaze up at the moon and soak in each other’s presence. It’s quiet, like it usually is in the desert, and not a soul would dare to disturb this moment, not even Violet. You want your last night with Jesse to be a memorable one, and what better way to end it then with the way you started it; on the roof. It may be silly to some, but it makes the pain a little easier.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” you say sadly.

“Yeah,” Jesse answers, equally feeling sad about his departure.

“I don’t want you to go,” you admit as your voice quivers.

Jesse wraps an arm around you and pulls you against his side, leaning his head atop yours. “I don’t want to go either.”

“Stay?” you ask.

“You know I can’t,” Jesse sighs.

“Please,” you plead while nuzzling into his neck. “Don’t go.”

Jesse’s heart breaks. He picks his head up and cups the side of your face, leaning in and closing his eyes to capture your soft lips with his own. You press your body against his, deepening the kiss until Jesse is laying flat against the roof and you’re straddling over his stomach. Your lips are locked as Jesse glides his rough hands over your smooth back, pulling your shirt in different directions as he maps out the plains of your body.

Jesse breaks the kiss for a moment. “Come back to Coruscant with me,” he whispers while ghosting his lips over yours before nipping at your bottom lip and pulling them back against his.

Now it’s your turn to break the kiss. “Jesse–”

“We could get an apartment,” he cuts you off before you can protest, then plants a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth. “I’ll take care of you.” Another kiss finds its mark. “My vode will adore you.” A gentle suck at your bottom lip. “We’ll make lots of babies.” He smirks and you can’t stop the giggle from forming.

You sit up and release a soft sigh. “Sounds nice.”

Jesse reaches up and cups your chin. “But?”

You melt into his caress for a moment before removing his hand from your face. “But I can’t.”

Jesse bends his knees so you can lean back against them, then laces his fingers under his head. “Why not?”

You absently draw small circles around his chest with your fingers, the longing evident in your actions but missing from your words. “My home is here.”

“I could be your home,” Jesse reassures with a small smile.

You briefly smile back and tap at his chest. “What if something happens to you? I’ll be alone.”

Jesse knits his brows and frowns, fully understanding your hesitation. He’s a soldier, created to be expendable. His brothers die every day and no one bats an eyelash. There’s no guarantees that he’ll come back from his next campaign alive, but still, he wants this. He wants you.

Jesse untangles his fingers from behind his head and takes both of your hands in his own, kissing them tenderly. “I can’t promise tomorrow,” he admits. “I can only promise now.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek. “Then can I have you, at least right now?”

Jesse wipes your tear with his thumb, then flips you onto your back so he’s hovering over you. He leans down and presses his lips to yours once again, yearning to taste as much of you as possible. If this is his only moment with you, then he wants to remember everything. Every sweet taste, every curve, every bump, and every heavenly sound you’ll make for him as he ravages your body with only the moon above as a witness.

“Jesse,” you say his name breathlessly as your desire builds. “I want–”

Jesse places a finger against your lips to hush you. “I know, mesh’la,” he soothes while rubbing his finger across your plush lips before gently pushing it into your mouth, causing you to gasp. “We’ve got all night.”

The light of the rising sun pierces through your eyelids, rousing you from your slumber. The morning comes quicker than you expect and you groan as you sit yourself up on the hard dura-steel roof. You rub the sleep from your eyes and look over to your right, expecting Jesse to still be sleeping, but he’s gone. Your heart sinks and you whip your head around to make sure he didn’t get up and stretch his legs, but you don’t see him. He must have left before you awoke.

Holding tears back, you stand up and pat down your wrinkled and disheveled clothes, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. But who are you kidding? How could you ever be normal again after a night like that? A night of romance, passion, and longing that made you feel everything and nothing all at the same time. You know this is for the best. He’ll go back to Coruscant, back to the war, and you’ll be here, working your minimum wage job.

You break at the thought. Dropping to your knees you begin to sob, grieving over what you let go of. You don’t want Jesse to leave. You don’t want him to be a one night stand. You want a life with him. Even if it means him being away for weeks at a time or that he may leave and never come back. That slim chance is lightyears better than never seeing him again, than never feeling his burning touch on your skin or hearing his deep voice whisper sweetly in your ear.

You have to go after him. You can’t let him leave, not without you. Maybe it’s selfish, but you don’t care. Burdened with the thought of never seeing him again, you wipe your face, pick yourself up, and head to the ledge. You grab the ladder and stare off into the distance, wondering if you’ll catch a glimpse of him, but you don’t. You may be too late. Regardless, you slip down the ladder, ignoring the rungs and land with a thud onto the dusty ground.

You’re breathing heavily, your hair is a mess, and your clothes are horribly wrinkled, but you don’t care. You push open the front door violently. “I quit!”

Violet looks up at you from where she’s mopping the floor and pauses to lean on her mop with a knowing smile. Love wins, she guesses, and she’s right.

You walk over to Violet and throw your arms around her. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“I know,” Violet says as she hugs you tightly.

“I’ll miss you,” you whisper, the tears barely held back.

“I’ll miss you too,” Violet answers with a tremble in her voice. She breaks your embrace and composes herself. “Now go, or you won’t catch him.”

You reluctantly let go of your best friend, and with tears in your eyes, you back away and leave.

“You got everything?” Waxer asks as he carries another crate into the transport that’s taking Jesse back to Coruscant.

“Hm?” Jesse snaps out of his daze. “Oh, yeah,” Jesse answers, and then pauses. “I… I left something in the desert.”

“I hope it wasn’t valuable,” Waxer laughs.

Jesse stares out towards the dusty horizon and sighs. “Priceless, actually.”

Waxer claps a comforting hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Sorry to hear that.”

Jesse gives Waxer a half smile, but it quickly fades back into a frown. His transport leaves within the hour and he wonders if he made a mistake by not saying goodbye. He thought if he left without a word, it would be easier for both of you, but he was wrong. His chest feels tight and his heart aches. What he wouldn’t give to hear your voice one more time. He didn’t think it was possible to leave this dusty planet more upset than when he first landed, and yet here he is.

Jesse takes one last look at the place he initially despised, then turns to board the transport. It’s not just you that he left in the desert. He left his heart there too, on the rooftop of that old diner. He sits on one of the crates in the back of the transport and leans his head against the cold frame. He didn’t want this assignment. He didn’t want to come here. It could have been any other clone, but no, his number was drawn. The universe has a cruel sense of humor.

Before the ramp closes, Jesse hears someone calling for the transport to halt. Leaving his bucket on the crate, he makes his way back down the ramp to ask what’s delaying the departure, thinking it might be something mechanical. However, as he barely steps off the ramp and onto the dusty earth, he sees a speeder in the distance. He grabs a pair of scopes from a nearby clone trooper and dials in on the speeder. His breath catches in his throat. It’s you.

Jesse gives the scopes back to the clone trooper he took them from and starts walking away from the transport, his heart beating rapidly out of his chest, wondering if it’s really true or if the desert heat is playing tricks on him. Did you just want to say goodbye or do you want to go with him? He doesn’t dare let himself think the latter. You made it clear to him last night that you won’t go with him, but he wants to hope so badly. He wants to believe that it’s the only reason.

The speeder comes to a screeching halt a couple yards away from Jesse and he watches with bated breath as you jump out of it and sprint towards him.

“Jesse!” you yell as tears fall from your face.

Jesse smiles and opens his arms. You jump into them without a second thought and bury your face into his neck. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you off of the ground and onto his hips, one arm cradling your butt and the other securing around your back.

“I didn’t think I was going to make it in time,” you cry.

“You made it, mesh’la,” Jesse soothes as he kisses your cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”

You pick your head up and look at him through blurry vision, a small smile growing on your lips. “Not goodbye. I’m going with you.”

Jesse’s eyes dart around your face, looking for any semblance that you’re joking or maybe this is a dream, but he can’t find anything. “You’re coming with me? To Coruscant?”

You nod your head, afraid that your voice will crack if you try to use it again.

Jesse squeezes you tighter, terrified that at any moment you’ll be ripped away from him. He can’t believe that you changed your mind, that you’re going back with him. His thoughts race a mile a minute as he thinks about your future together. He has a stake in this war now, something worth fighting for that wasn’t thrust upon him by someone else or programmed into him as duty and loyalty. No, now he has you, and he will fight this war to make sure you stay safe in his arms.

“Let’s go home,” Jesse says as he carries you into the transport.

You smile and rest your head on his shoulder. “I’d like that.”

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merlyn-bane · 3 months

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hi hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii if you're still doing foelu prompts i would love to see cody and helix and the baby just being soft dads <3333

or really anything helix-centric tbh

So uh,,,,this one got a little tiny bit out of hand and is much longer than the other fills have been, whoops 😅😅 I hope this is Helix-centric enough for you, my love<3 There's a little bit of everything, from fluff to humor to spice!

Without further adieu, I present to you Baby Part Two: Electric Boogaloo.

[Requests for Foelu missing scenes, future snippets, and extra vignettes are STILL OPEN. Please submit any requests you might have to my ask box. They will all eventually be cross posted on AO3 as well 🥰🥰]

~~~~~~~~

By the time Obi-Wan brings up the possibility of having another child, they’ve all pretty much accepted that it likely wasn’t going to happen. It’s not something they’d ever really discussed, after all, and none of them had really wanted to be the ones to bring it up for fear that Obi-Wan might feel in any way obligated to carry again just to give them another child. Especially given that—regardless of the fact that he’s made it very clear that he has no regrets about it now—the first pregnancy wasn’t exactly his choice to begin with and had been fairly traumatic from start to finish to say the very least. Helix had frankly assumed that Obi-Wan would want nothing to do with gestation ever again as long as he lived, and personally thought that would be more than fair.

Besides, just him and Kai-Tal are—so much more than enough. More than any of them ever thought they’d have.

He thinks it must have been either Waxer or Rex that had held out hope the longest, but after a decade passes with the Jedi giving no indication of even considering having another ik’aad, it becomes a little difficult even for them to think that he might change his mind eventually.

But then one day, he just…does. Helix couldn’t even say what could have possibly prompted it. They’re all just…settling in for bed one night, following a day just like any other, and then Obi-Wan’s sitting up and folding his hands in his lap all prim and then asking them if they might, perhaps, be interested in having another child. If they might like, even, to get a child on him themselves, in the standard natborn way.

Cody recovers enough to actually respond first, even if he’s still slack-jawed. “We’re—the Kaminoans made us sterile, cyare,” he murmurs, and it sounds like it breaks his heart to do so. It probably does. Who among them hasn’t thought of what that might be like, to have a child that’s part them and part Obi-Wan? “You know that.”

Obi-Wan considers Cody seriously, clearly taking the time to carefully mull over what he wants to say next. “Do we know that for certain,” he asks finally, “or is that just what you all were told?”

The five of them glance at each other with wide eyes. “I don’t think anyone’s ever checked,” Helix allows finally, the words sounding halting even to his own ears, “but I can’t imagine why they would lie to us about something like that.”

“Not lie,” Obi-Wan corrects, his brows furrowed thoughtfully. He strokes absently at his beard and Helix finds himself—rather surprisingly—having to work to suppress a small fond smile at the tic. “It is not a large leap, I feel, to think that Jango Fett himself might have been sterile, given the trouble he went to himself in order to have a son, and it’s feasible that the scientists didn’t think to ensure that you all would be, too.”

“But we’re…clones of him, mesh’la,” Waxer frowns, “isn’t that the sort of thing that usually gets passed down?”

Obi-Wan grins, suddenly, looking oddly conspiratorial. “Not if he became so as the result of an accident or illness rather than genetics.”

“Prime had spmumps as a youngling,” Helix whispers, feeling his own eyes widen a fraction further. “I saw it in his medical file. He—it’s—not impossible. In theory. It might…actually be worth looking into.”

The Jedi’s grin broadens. “Excellent,” he says. “And after that, we can have my contraceptive implant removed, and you all can come inside me one after another until it takes.”

“I vote we start practicing right now,” Boil growls playfully, yanking Obi-Wan into his lap by his hips and kissing his laughing mouth.

~~~

They aren’t…they aren’t sterile.

Every single vod in their polycule gets tested, and then a few of the others that they're closer to across different batches just for a larger sample size. There is some variation in their counts and other factors which doesn’t actually surprise him—even cloning to the sort of strict perimeters adhered to by the Kaminoans, some variability is inevitable—but it’s all consistent enough that Helix feels comfortable putting word out to the Vode at large.

It’s only then that Helix comes to his next concern.

Obi-Wan had not exactly been young when he’d carried the first time, not by natborn humanoid standards, and that had been a little over a decade ago. Helix by this point has done a fair amount of study and penned no small amount of papers on reproductive biology in a frankly somewhat surprising and entirely inadvertent specialization—has somehow become known as one of the foremost experts on the subject regarding the Stewjoni people within the Republic, much to Eil-Idh’s seemingly unending amusement, even—and is very much aware of the increased risks that come with pregnancy as a being gets older. Things like gestational diabetes or preeclampsia, not even to touch on the risks to the potential child themselves.

So Helix sets up a conference call with himself and Vokara with Eil-Idh to determine if such a pregnancy would even be truly feasible—because Helix isn't willing to risk Obi-Wan’s health, and he knows the others won't be either—and tries not to feel too much like he's been caught in a time loop.

The first words of of Eil-Idh’s mouth are “What has that damned fool managed te get himself into now?”, which Helix finds much funnier than he probably should and which garners snorts from him and Vokara both.

“That is about what I was wondering as well,” Vokara says dryly, raising a brow at Helix, and Helix sighs before scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Obi-Wan is thinking about carrying again.”

Eil-Idh blinks at him. “Aye? That's a surprise. I half figured the lad had mind te have his womb removed entirely by the end of the first one. How is yer wee one, anyhow? She was quite a precocious lass, last I heard.”

“Let’s just say that I'm glad we have so much help,” Helix replies wryly, smiling fondly despite that. “And that's about what I'd thought, too. He caught us all of guard when he brought it up, especially since it's been so long.”

“Aye, he's certainly nae spring nuna.” Eil-Idh drums her fingers on her desktop. “But then, I'll wager that's exactly what ye're calling me about. He's approaching fifty now, isn't he?” The midwife shakes he head, pursing her lips. “I've little doubt he could do it, stubborn and hardy as he is, and it wouldnae be te first I've seen, but it wouldnae be my preference.”

“I think this is where I come in,” Vokara grins, sitting forward and folding her hands together. “As Jedi, our relationship with the Force affects the impact that the passage of time has upon our physical bodies. As younglings we age on par with our Force-null peers because that relationship is still new, but the longer we have communed with the Force, the more that aging slows. Many Jedi that are not lost in the field live much longer lives than even other members of their own species.” Vokara turns an even more excited grin onto Helix. “And our observations over the last ten or so years have suggested that that effect may even be seen by those nulls that do spend enough time in proximity to us.”

Well that would explain a lot, Helix thinks. Even with the gene therapy that's long since been rolled out to them all to address their advanced aging, he's pretty sure his back should bother him a lot worse than it does. “So you don't have any concerns?”

“About his age? No. I wouldn't recommend that you go for a third, probably, but especially with Obi-Wan spending so much more time in the Temple now with access to the full breadth of our medical resources and what we learned from his first pregnancy, his age isn't what I'm worried about.” Vokara tilts her head a little. “I would be more worried about the potential of the advanced aging gene being passed down. It's dominant, isn't it?”

“It is.” Helix swallows. “You're worried it would double the rate of gestational development and put it past what his body could support.”

Vokara nods seriously before glancing over at the midwife. “What do you think, Eil-Idh?”

“I think I'd rather not find out,” she replies, blunt as ever. “How sure are ye that's how it would work?”

“Not very,” Helix answers truthfully. “That hasn't been my area of focus. But I can touch base with Kamino and see what they know; Bones is still out there last I heard.”

“Do that,” Vokara says. “We'll go from there.”

~~~

“Don't tell me our Jedi's gone and fuckin’ sprouted again,” Bones answers without preamble once the comm. connects, glancing up from a datapad. The other medic seems to be in the temporary office he's held for ten years, which reassures Helix that he's probably not interrupting anything critical.

“What, no ‘Hello, Helix, how are you’?” Helix mocks, “No ‘Been a while, vod, I'm surprised your sanity's still kicking’? ‘How's your ad'ika’? You're just going to jump straight in to asking me if we're having another one?”

“My bedside manner will improve when yours does,” Bones drawls. “You don't make social calls, Helix, you send me a text comm. every quarter and ask if my riduur has finally had enough of my attitude and fed me to the strill yet.”

“And I am continually disappointed.” Bones's Mandalorian wife seems to actually like him for some reason, despite his perpetual grouch and the fact that they're still on Kamino when Helix is near certain they'd been supposed to have a successful curry shop in Little Keldabe by now. Helix squints at him. “Obi-Wan wants to have another baby,” he tells the other man bluntly, “but he wants to do it the standard natborn way this time. I'm concerned about how our advanced aging would affect a pregnancy.”

Bones snorts. “We're just going to ignore the other glaring issue with this plan?”

“I've already run that part by Che,” he says irritably. “That's not what I asked you.”

“You didn't actually ask me anything,” the other medic points out. He folds his arms over his chest and leans back, raising an eyebrow. “Do you really think that over the span of a decade, none of our siblings have managed to knock up a natborn, Helix? Really.”

“Then how come this is the first I'm hearing about it?” he snaps. “We all still thought we were sterile until Obi-Wan made the suggestion that we check.”

“Well I suppose they must have wanted their privacy. You know we don't publish that shit publicly because the Republic media likes to turn any developments with the Vode since the war ended into a shitstorm of feel-good porn to soothe their own guilty consciences.” His brow raises a notch higher. “And I'm a little busy advancing our scope of knowledge to notify you personally. It's all on our private medical servers if you'd thought to look.”

Helix ignores the dig. Bones isn't actually wrong. “So it can work, then? Obi-Wan could carry our biological children safely?”

“Safely? If Che's comfortable with him gestating at all at his age, sure.” Bones taps his fingers against his bicep where his arms are still folded. “Comfortably? That's subjective. It's only the one molecule that actually causes the development rate to double; with the kid getting one modified gene from you and a standard one from the other parent, the development rate lands somewhere in the middle. From what I've seen gestation will probably last about seven and a half months and he'll feel more or less like he's carrying twins. His symptoms'll be worse and you'll want to monitor everything more closely but if you're asking if I think it'll seriously jeopardize him, then no. And since I know this'll be the next question: the kid would be able to receive the same gene therapy the rest of us did once they're born. We even already have the dosages figured out. They just can't receive it in utero.”

Helix frowns, mulling that over. It's beginning to sound doable, at least, but Helix would really prefer for his partner to not have to be miserable for seven and a half months if it can be avoided—even though he knows that such a thing would never be enough of a deterrent for Obi-Wan. Maybe even more so because of that. “What about IVF? Then we could edit the genes in the embryo stage like you all did for that first round of tubies after you got the gene therapy figured out. Get rid of the advanced aging factor altogether ahead of implantation.”

“Sure,” Bones agrees jovially, “if you think you can get Obi-Wan Kenobi to agree to leave the Temple for three weeks to undergo a series of medical procedures here on Kamino when his other option is getting fucked in his own bed.”

Helix groans, burying his face in his hands while Bones laughs at him. “I hate it when you're right,” he grumbles. “Genuinely.”

~~~

Helix lays all of this information out in front of the other members of the polycule once he has it so that they can make a decision together, because that's how they do things, and he'd been pretty sure going into it that he'd already known the answer, but Obi-Wan of course manages to catch him off guard regardless.

“So, you're telling me that if just have you all get me pregnant the old fashioned way, the baby's advanced aging can still be treated postpartum and I only have to be pregnant for seven and a half months?”

“Why are you saying that like it's a benefit?” Helix stares at the fucking madman he'd somehow managed to fall ass over bucket for, aghast.

For his part, Obi-Wan only shrugs placidly. “It certainly sounds like one to me.”

“Di'kut, did you miss the part where I also told you that your symptoms are going to be worse? It's going to feel like you're carrying twins, Obi-Wan.”

“Well Padmé managed it well enough,” the Jedi sniffs. “And I get to evict them a month and a half early. I'm failing to see the downside here, darling.”

Helix groans and buries his palms in his eye sockets, long-suffering. Cody pats him on the shoulder. The others just chuckle. “Why do I bother,” he mutters.

Obi-Wan grins, unrepentant. “Would you like to go first?”

~~~

Not all of the research that Helix does in the lead-up to Obi-Wan’s second pregnancy is quite so serious or unpleasant.

In fact, the fruits of some of it turn out to be quite fun.

For instance, Helix has read extensively about the ideal conditions for conception. The best diet for his partner in the lead-up, the most opportune timing, the optimal positions, et cetera. There's little truely empirical evidence for most of it, but if it might help and there aren't any major drawbacks that he can see? Helix sees no reason not to give it a shot.

There's also the fact that Obi-Wan has left the planning of all of these details in the conception of their second child in Helix's hands. He has allowed the careful scheduling, allowed Helix to direct things more in the bedroom (despite some mild teasing from the others, who have seemed happy enough to play along regardless), has even allowed Helix to plan out the majority of his meals for him—all with a considering gaze and a barely-there quirk to his mouth, as though the Jedi knows that some part of Helix is enjoying all of it more than he'd maybe expected. That he's getting off on the control and the willing submission of a man that Helix knows is one of the most stubborn motherfuckers in the galaxy when he wants to be. It's... heady. Very heady.

That man's head is in his lap right now, a pillow under his hips to support the angle they've been propped up into and Helix's fingers carding through the sweaty strands of his hair in an almost parody of a soothing touch while Cody feverishly ruts into his cunt—the cunt where Helix has already left his own spend. “Been a while since we've just run a train on you, hasn't it, Obi-Wan?” Helix croons, smirking at the hazy blue eyes that flicker up to his face when he speaks but don't quite focus. “You've gotten a little too used to just getting everything you want all at once, I think. Just look at you, ner jetii, you've only taken two of us and you're already out of your poor little head. Cody hasn't even come yet, you've still got four more loads to go.”

Obi-Wan chokes on a moan and the former commander swears viciously, readjusting his hold and shifting his knees a little and then picking up the pace even more, somehow. “Kriff,” Cody growls through bared teeth, a sentiment that seems to be echoed by the rest of them—Waxer, Boil, and Rex all staring slack-jawed at the sight that they must make. Rex in particular looks like he's just barely reigning himself in until it's his turn; but then, Helix wouldn't expect much else from the vod that frequently enjoys licking his own come out of the Jedi's hole only to fuck more into him in an endless cycle until Obi-Wan cries from the overstimulation.

Not that any of them had really been less affected when their partner confirmed that he'd had his birth control implant removed.

They all fuck him one after another until the Jedi's poor cunt is puffy and red and overflowing and then they leave him like that, with his hips propped up and laying back against Helix barely conscious and grinning like a dolt while they give their seed its best chance to take.

And then they do it all again the next night, just in case.

~~~

Helix is hovering.

Just a little bit—or maybe a lot, possibly. He knows he is. But with his partner approaching the halfway mark of his shortened pregnancy and every bit as miserable as Helix had feared, it's hard not to. He hasn't developed any signs of complications or any serious conditions, mercifully, but Helix is poised to catch it immediately if that changes.

“I hardly need an escort to the ‘fresher, darling,” Obi-Wan grits through his teeth as though he is not actively using Helix's arm to hold himself steady, clearly making an attempt to modulate his tone into something less biting but not quite managing. Helix barely notices at this point; the Jedi's hormones have been downright torrential, and the physical discomfort has been no help to his moods. If he is not waspish, he is weepy, and if he is not weepy, he is horny enough that Helix isn't certain they could've handled it with any less than the five of them they have.

He'd all but cried all over Kai-Tal when she'd earned the first bead of her padawan braid, and then again when she'd earned the second.

They are all managing as best they can.

“I don't want to see you fall over again, Obi-Wan,” Helix argues, though he's careful not to let the words sound accusatory. Obi-Wan scoffs anyway.

“You take one little tumble—”

“Your entire center of gravity is off and you know it,” Helix reminds him firmly. “Worse than the first time. I told you—”

“And I stand by my decision,” Obi-Wan snips, scowling. “Now would you very much mind either shutting up or fucking me?”

Helix snorts softly. “Yeah, alright, Master Kenobi. ‘Fresher first, then maybe we'll talk about it.”

~~~

Helix gets to be the one to deliver their son.

Obi-Wan’s labor goes much, much smoother the second time around—the exact way he’d wanted it to back then, even. The contractions begin in the morning just after firstmeal, and they all have plenty of time to reschedule any obligations they may have or delegate any responsibilities that can’t wait before things progress enough for them to walk down to the Halls of Healing, where they are met by Vokara and Bant.

If anything, with the absence of the stress and adrenaline that had kickstarted Kai-Tal’s delivery, Obi-Wan’s labor this time is slower than the Jedi would like. He spends a fair amount of time bouncing on an exercise ball and harassing his créchemate before things really start to kick off, and by then, Bant is more than ready to give him his epidural.

They all remember his feelings on that matter.

It’s Cody that Obi-Wan holds onto for support once it’s decided that it’s time for him to start getting into position, gripping his hands as he squats down. Assuming that Bant will be the one handling the delivery, Helix stands off to the side with the others and tries to fight the urge to pace until the Mon Calamari healer snorts at him and tilts her head.

“What are you doing over there?” she asks him, her voice all gentle teasing as she folds her arms across her chest. “You’re a medic too and it’s your baby.”

Helix swallows. “I—are you sure?”

“Oh for Force’s sake,” Obi-Wan snaps, pulling his head back from where he’d been pressing his forehead against Cody’s just enough to glare up at them. “Get down here. Bant and Vokara will be here to assist if needed but you are perfectly capable of catching our son, Helix.”

Helix will deny the goofy smile that takes over his face as long as he lives but is totally unable to help it as he moves into position, kissing Obi-Wan’s cheek along the way. “Alright, Obi-Wan,” he murmurs. “We’ve got you.”

“I know,” the Jedi grunts in response. The pushing starts not long after, and the next two hours pass in a blur of everybody working to help support Obi-Wan through the process in any way they can.

Helix has never been more in awe of their Jedi. It had been one thing to know, in theory, what he had gone through to bring Kai-Tal into the world. It is another thing entirely to actually watch him go through the process now and know that this time he’s doing it in a proper medical facility with the support of his partners and access to painkillers he hadn’t had then.

Their son comes into the world at seven pounds and eleven ounces just in time for latemeal at seven and a half months on the dot, screaming his fury at them all for the egregious crime of removing him from the quiet warmth of his father’s body and already looking…just like his buir’e. There’s a little bit of Obi-Wan in the shape of his eyes and chin, but other than that…

“You were right,” Helix tells his partner once they all finally have a moment to breathe, his voice unmistakably hoarse and wobbly as he stares down into their son’s perfect face. “Someone’s going to think you kidnapped him, one of these days.”

“It’ll serve me right, I suppose,” Obi-Wan snorts, looking tired but happy in the biobed he’d been helped into as he holds his arms out for the boy. Helix lays the baby on his chest—only a tiny bit hesitant to relinquish him—and Obi-Wan hums quietly as he smiles down at the boy before glancing back up at his partners, the five of them all crowded close. “We are still calling him Keeli, I presume?”All eyes go to Rex, who hasn’t bothered to wipe any of the moisture from his face as he stares down at their son. Keeli had been his batchmate, after all; Obi-Wan had insisted that they chose the child’s name this time since he’d chosen Kai-Tal’s, and they’d all been at a loss until Rex had quietly asked if they could name him after his vod that hadn’t lived to see the end of the war. None of them had had the heart to tell him ‘no’, and besides, there were much worse names in the galaxy than Keeli Kenobi. “Yeah,” Rex whispers, reaching down to stroke his thumb through the baby’s thatch of dark curls. “Keeli Kenobi.”

#foelu #foelu snippets #obi wan kenobi #clone medic helix #commander cody #captain rex #lieutenant waxer #sergeant boil #writing #my writing #asks

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