#one hundred tookas

[mire-draws-things]

one hundred tookas: #2, #3, #4

Wolffe, Sinker and Boost (based Wollfe's and Sinker's fur from their armor, Boost is orange because of his bacon strips hair)

#one hundred tookas #tooka #tooka cat #loth cat #commander wolffe #clone trooper boost #clone trooper sinker #tcw wolffe #tcw boost #tcw sinker #mire's gallery | color sketch #🎨 my art tag

[ddejavvu]

a major obi-wan thought on my bedtime rotation is the idea of sparring with him like that scene from miss congeniality WOAHHH another would be the interrogation with reader being a potential spy idk maybe i just find interrogations sexy.. and u cant go wrong with the classic mean obi wan taming a brat reader whose perhaps his padawan or an unruly senator under his protection ELITEEE

if you want sparring with obi-wan, you can check out my fic betrayal, that was meant to be a quick and dirty 200 words and ended up being a 17K porn novel <3 i totally agree with you on the interrogation front, i swear with the way he holds eye contact with jango in aotc i'm surprised the guy's pants didn't drop of their own accord. all that to say i've chosen the senator plotline <3

this post is 18+, minors dni.

You're not entirely sure how the Force works, but you're willing to bet that it opened its big fat mouth and told your overzealous security guard that you were trying to escape. You made sure to be deadly silent, and you'd blocked the cameras set up to monitor your bedroom, so you know he hadn't seen or heard you. Nevertheless, he stands in your bedroom doorway looking very unimpressed by the one leg you've managed to weasel through your window.

"Tell me, Senator," He calls, voice purposefully casual, like you're not bisected by a pane of glass, "Are you trying to kill yourself so that no one else gets the chance?"

"I'm not going to die." You insist, moving further still out of the window, "I'm going to take a walk."

"How many stories up are we? Two hundred?" Master Kenobi asks, this time stepping forwards into your room. He approaches your window but doesn't grab you, merely staring down at the very long distance between you and the ground.

"One-hundred-and-eight." You grunt, your strength waning the more you hang from the ledge of your window. He notices the strain in your voice, but prolongs your suffering with a thoughtful nod.

"Yes, right. I think that's a wonderful coincidence, then, seeing as how that's the number of bones you're going to break if you fall."

"I'm not going to- fall-!" You gasp at the feeling of your foot slipping against the balcony below you, but you're actually thankful for the Force now that it fuels Obi-Wan's quick reflexes. He dives to catch you, and hauls you up by only one of his hands gripping your bicep. It hurts, but you suppose he was right; it would have hurt a lot more to fall.

You're set on your feet with the expression of a tooka caught shredding its owners bedspread, but Obi-Wan meets your surly pout with an unimpressed look of his own. You're safely on the floor of your apartment, but his hand remains curled around your upper arm.

"I didn't think I needed to specify to you that staying 'out of reach' of your assassins did not mean dangling above them like a strung-up target."

"I was going to take a walk in the city," You repeat, teeth gritted, "I was going to keep my hood up, and I was going to blend in with the crowd."

"An excellent plan, truly," Obi-Wan indulges you, "I'm sure the seasoned bounty hunters that are poised to shoot you on sight would have been fooled by a cloth draped over your hair."

"I'm going crazy in here! I have to get out, I have to do something!" You gush, attempting to tear your arm out of Obi-Wan's grip. He doesn't let go, though, and he muscles it back to your side with a fleeting glint of fury in his eyes that you hadn't thought a Jedi was capable of. He walks forwards, and by extension, you walk backwards until your knees hit the frame of your bed and you're pushed down onto the mattress.

"Senator," He starts, keeping his voice tightly wound as he now looms over you, "I have a duty to protect you, but you have a duty to your own life as well. And I will not see you risk it by hanging yourself off of a skyscraper for something as menial as a stroll in the city! If you'd like to walk, you may walk into the closet and get yourself changed into your nightclothes, because the only thing you'll be doing this late at night is sleeping."

"You're not my daddy," You sneer at the man, his audacity setting something in your chest aflame, "You can't tell me what to do. I'm not going to sleep."

"I find your impression of a petulant toddler truly amusing, Senator," Obi-Wan deflects your persistent attempts at boiling him over, "But as you have a hearing to attend tomorrow, I suggest you take my advice and turn in for the night."

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you're surprised it doesn't split beneath your teeth. He's right. You have a hearing tomorrow, and you're really only protesting sleep because he's asking you to do it. Perhaps.. perhaps that is below your station.

"Go," Obi-Wan's eyes flicker towards your dark closet, "But I would like you to leave the door open, please."

"What?" You rear your head back indignantly, any succession you'd decided on now gone as you process his request, "I'm not letting you watch me change, you freak!"

"I assure you I will not be watching," Obi-Wan lets go of your bicep, leaving a stinging ring around your skin in his wake, "But should there be any climb-able windows or secret exits in your closet that I'm not yet aware of, I don't want to be slowed down by a lock in my attempts to rescue you from your own foolishness."

"You're crazy. I'm telling the Jedi Council about this." You vow, storming off to your closet and tucking yourself into the walk-in portion so that your bodyguard can't see you as you strip down.

"You're more than welcome to, Senator. I suggest, though, that you be truthful with them about your attempts to fall from the two-hundredth-story of this building, otherwise you're going to make me look rather perverted."

"It's the 108th floor!" You snap, any patience you'd possessed throughout your encounter with Kenobi flooding out of you. It heats your skin, blazes it warm, which is perhaps why you've forgotten you're no longer clothed when you whirl around to correct the man to his face.

You're standing in the doorway of your closet now, very angry and very naked. Master Kenobi's eyes stay politely locked on your own, but one of his eyebrows raises, and a corner of his lips twitch in a barely-concealed smirk.

"Senator, if I were you," He drawls, his gaze heavy upon you despite being fixed on only your eyes, "I wouldn't tell the Council that you're giving me a strip show."

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi-wan kenobi fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan kenobi fluff #obi-wan kenobi oneshot #obi-wan kenobi one-shot #obi-wan kenobi one shot #obi-wan kenobi headcanon #obi-wan kenobi headcanons #obi-wan kenobi hcs #obi-wan kenobi hc #obi-wan kenobi fan fiction #obi-wan kenobi fanfic #obi-wan kenobi blurb #obi-wan kenobi drabble #obi-wan kenobi dialogue #obi-wan kenobi x y/n #obi-wan kenobi x you

[wrencatte]

mini-fic 5!! (ish) Post-Survivor. Rambler Crew + Mantis Crew + Cal's ponchos. Omniscient POV. 1k words Reminder! I post these on my Ao3 as well (a day or so later), including an alt version of mini fic 3 that's Ao3 exclusive!

“That is not a good look.”

Cal frowns and looks down at his new poncho, stretching it out from the bottom to put it on full display. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It clashes with your hair,” Merrin says.

“Everything clashes with my hair.

“Well, that is worse.”

“It smells,” Greez complains. “Where did you find that thing, the garbage?!”

Cal grins. “Actually – .”

“Please no.”

“I found it in an oggdo abode.”

“And you put it on?” Greez demands in horror, his voice higher and squeakier than Cal’s ever heard it get before.

Cal stares at him for a long, long moment before he lets out a sharp giggle, and then that giggle turns into a full-on cackle. He falls against the bar top for support. The present cantina patrons watch in amusement and fondness as their resident Jedi turns red faced at the force of his laughter. They don’t get to hear him laugh very often, and the smell of his ‘new’ poncho is nearly worth it.

Greez isn’t done: “Why the hell is there even an oggdo on this planet? I thought we left that sithspawn on Bogano!”

“Maybe it followed you just as the boglings did,” Merrin suggests, patting Cal on the back as he wheezes. “Perhaps you missed it on the ship, it seems quite miss-able.” That, for some reason, just makes Cal start back up again, covering his face as his ears turn bright red. It’s a borderline hysterical laugh, but everyone very carefully avoids making note of that.

Greez points at her. “You, be quiet. And you.” He marches up to Cal and starts tugging on his ‘new’ poncho, but all he succeeds in is yanking the Jedi around while he smacks at the latero’s hands. “Take it off! I can’t have you stinkin’ up my saloon!”

“Hey! Hey! C’mon, it’s not that bad!”

“No, it is.”

“It really is, Cal.”

“Sorry, Red, but that thing smells worse than nekko crap.”

Cal turns to his gathered friends with betrayed tooka eyes. It really only works on Zygg, who immediately looks away, hiding her face with a hand so she’s not swayed by them. Mosey covers her nose for emphasis even though she’s smelled way worse on her own adventuring. She’s even said so and Cal swears a bilemaw smells worse than the oggdo did. Cal covers his heart in mock betrayal before all the pointed looks and disgusted expressions makes him reluctantly give in and pull off the pink poncho. He drops it into Greez’s waiting hands. He knows when he’s been outnumbered despite what some people would think.

“Good,” Greez says, holding it as far away from himself as possible. Which isn’t very far, but Cal counts that as pay back for making him take it off in the first place. “I’ll just…run this a couple hundred times in the washer and give it back – .”

“Tomorrow?” Cal asks hopefully where he’s started to rummage around in the bag he’s been carrying around lately. Says it’s a better place to put all the seed pods and priorite he’s been finding around Koboh. Merrin joked once that it was the perfect size to fit a fully grown bogling and he really just wanted to show it the scenery. Cal hadn’t denied it.

“Never?” Merrin suggests then laughs airily as she dodges one of the aforementioned seed pods Cal throws at her good-naturedly. BD-1 beeps his protest at the seed pod being treated like that, earning an apology from a suitably chastised Cal. “I am just saying, you’ve outgrown the ponchos, Cal. This style you’ve cultivated over the years is much better.”

“But they’re comfortable,” Cal complains, still rummaging.

…The bag isn’t that deep.

Mosey eyes him suspiciously even as she says, “I’ve got a couple’a ponchos you can have, Red. They were my pa’s, but I doubt he’d mind if you took ‘em off my hands. They’re good for the mountain trails since it gets cold up there. And they’ve been stored up all nice and clean.”

Cal flashes her a smile. “Thanks, Mosey, but no thanks. I’m all stocked up.” Everyone watches in horror as he pulls out another poncho. It’s not nearly as garish as the pink one, but it’s still ratty and smelly and Cal pulls it over his head with a bright, beaming grin. “See? Problem solved.”

“Problem not solved!” Greez shrieks, flinging the pink one away. “You brat! Are you kidding me right now?!”

“I have four more!” Cal declares proudly.

“No,” Merrin whispers, aghast.

Cal nods, his smile getting smug now. “Yes. A crate of them just sitting there. It looked like someone tried to set up camp and the oggdo took offense to it. You can take one, but you can’t take them all!”

“Merrin,” Greez says, voice low and serious. Cal looks at him, eyebrow raised in a challenge. The latero puts one set of hands on his hips and points at Cal. “Get him.”

Green magick flares but Cal is already running out the main door, cackling loudly as Merrin gives chase. The rest of them are left behind to stare at Cal’s bag still sitting on the ground.

“Do you really think he has four more?” Moran asks, clutching his drink to his chest. He’s looking a little pale.

“We could throw out the whole thing?” Ashe suggests. “He can collect more seeds later.”

“Doma would kill us for the priorite.”

“Kark, she would.”

Before any of them can make another suggestion, a little body dashes through, scoops the bag up to her chest and pauses, giving them all a good moment to really take in the sight of Kata looking at them all wide-eyed and innocent… wearing a smaller and cleaner poncho in her favorite shade of purple. BD jumps onto her back with a happy beep, and she grins brightly at them before she then – runs away, giggling.

Greez blinks once, twice, and then swears loudly.

“I knew it! I knew they were working together! Those, those brats!”

#cal kestis #greez dritus #nightsister merrin #jedi survivor #sw jfo #sw jfo fic #my writing

[mwolf0epsilon]

Catnip for Humans

Hardcase, watching some funny tooka videos on his datapad: There's nothing better to pass the time on a long commute, quite like a good ol' cat compilation on SpaceTube... They're so silly. Silly little guys!

Fives: People really get a kick out of recording their tookas doing weird crap, uh?

Hardcase: Yep! And I say keep it coming! No such thing as too many tooka cat videos.

Fives: I dunno... What's so special about this compilation compared to the hundreds you watched before?

Hardcase: These ones are about what the cats do when their owners give them catnip. Look at them! They love the stuff!

Jesse: Half of these look crazy. The other half looks like it got to the good stuff in the medbay...

Hardcase: Yup.

Jesse: Dang... I wish they made catnip for people.

Dogma, looking up slightly bewildered at Jesse's statement: They... Do...

Jesse, genuinely curious: Uh? There's human-nip for real?

Dogma, blinking: .... Marijuanna...

Fives & Hardcase, cackling at Jesse's expense:

Jesse, realizing his mistake:

Dogma: Did you seriously forget weed is a thing?

Jesse, hiding his face in his hands: I hate you.

Dogma, shrugging: Hopefully you won't forget its illegal on Coruscant too...

Jesse, blushing: CAN IT!

Fives & Hardcase, still cackling:

Jesse, throwing his hands up in defeat and stomping off: I hate this karking battalion!

#star wars #the clone wars #clone trooper hardcase #arc trooper fives #arc trooper jesse #clone trooper dogma #drug mentioned #this is based on an actual conversation I had today

[padmeanddorme]

I believe that if the Amidala-Skywalker’s lived happily ever after…

Part 1 by Padmé.2008 😊

Anakin and Padmé would have Leia’s middle name be Shmi Sabé while they would ensure Luke’s middle name would be Jinn Ruwee as they wanted to honour significant people in their life. Ahsoka, Sola, Obi, Fives, Ono, Rex, Satine, Teckla, Bail, and Mina would be the other name options.

Padmé would fall pregnant with one more child once the twins were at least 5 years old. Anakin would first insist their baby be called Angel. Padmé adored the meaning behind the gorgeous name but the two would ultimately decide against the name Angel as it would feel bizarre if their child possessed the same name as Anakin’s term of endearment for Padmé. What name do you feel would suit their child? I feel as if a name rooted in Nabooian folklore would be a fabulous fit.

Cody would be internally freaking out whenever he pictured Leia and Luke as toddlers, hence he prayed each day and night that they would harbour more of their mother’s qualities. He did not want to deal with another reckless, melodramatic and whiny Skywalker.

Rex would be pestered by a six-year-old Leia constantly, with her endless questions making Rex feel as if he would age a hundred years within one day. Little Leia would badger Rex about how she demanded he teach her how to fire a blaster every few days. Also, Leia would beg Rex to deliver her a pet tooka.

Luke would be a shy mama’s boy who would convince his mother to visit Yoda at least once a month. Yoda had decided to relocate to Dagobah, despite there being no terrifying threats like the Sith, so he could create his favourite meals and snicker while he forced others to try it. Padmé would always hesitantly agree to visit Yoda on one condition; Luke would help her convince Yoda that they would not be consuming rootleaf stew, yarum seeds, mushrooms spores, sohli bark or any of the revolting delicacies of Dagobah.

#star wars padme #padme deserved better #padme amidala #padmé amidala #padmé skywalker #anidala #anakin x padme #anakin skywalker #luke skywalker #anakin and leia #leia skywalker #commander cody #rex star wars #master yoda #luke and padme #padme and leia #luke and leia #star wars #skywalker twins #skywalker family #happy skywalker family au #leia organa #star wars anakin #star wars au #star wars headcanons #padmé naberrie #luke and anakin #skyberrie #Padmé.2008’s works

[badbatchblog]

Hello everyone! This is Omega. Since we've just started up this blog, I thought it would be a good idea to have us introduce ourselves!

I'll go first. Like I said, I'm Omega! I'm the newest member of the Bad Batch, and although I look like the youngest, I'm actually the oldest! I used to live on Kamino working as Nala Se's assistant until my brothers came to rescue me after the Empire took over. I'm really good at using an energy bow and playing strategy games. I have a Tooka doll named Lula that my brother Wrecker gave me. And my Trooper doll too! Oh, and I have a pet! Her name is Batcher, she's a Lurca Hound. Gonky and AZI are part of our family too, but I don't think they'll be joining the blog. Umm. I'm not sure what else to say about myself! I'm still trying to figure things out, honestly. But I'm excited to meet new people and chat with all of you!

Ok, here are my brothers! -Omega ☀

*****

heya everyone! I'm Wrecker! I like to blow stuff up and eat good food and cause a ruckus! the last part is what Tech and Crosshair say I do anyway haha. I'm the biggest and strongest of all of us and proud of it! I also get called the sweetest one by other people, but idk I think Omega is the sweetest one. I do think of myself as a nice guy tho! just don't get on my bad side hehe. uhh let's see, what else... oh! I only have one eye! my other one's a fake one. if you saw the scar on my head, you'd understand why! oh yeah and I know Omega said I gave Lula to her... which I did! but we still share her. Omega just gets to keep her more often. I don't need Lula THAT much! ...don't listen to anything Crosshair says otherwise. ok I think that's all! lookin' forward to talk with you guys sometime!

-Wrecker 💪🏽

*****

Hello. This is Tech. I am the main source of information and the main mechanic for the Bad Batch. I possess a high level of intelligence and dexterity that allows for me to bear these titles. I set up this blog as a means for us to get to know the people of this website better, with the hope that it will provide some much-desired information about the society culminated here. In fact, it would be much appreciated if we could get specific information from those who choose to interact with us; anything you're willing to provide will do. Oh. Omega has informed me that this was supposed to just be about myself... I'm afraid the rest will have to wait until another time. Or perhaps saved for potential inquirers. Regardless, I look forward to whatever is gleaned from this experience.

Addendum: It appears as though there's some confusion surrounding my existence. Misinformation, if you will. Well, I can assure you all that this is one hundred percent the real me, and any rumors surrounding my death have been greatly exaggerated. If you require further proof, by all means, ask for it. That is all.

-Tech 🧠

*****

Echo here. Wrecker already stated it, but I'm actually a former member of the squad. I'm also a former member of the 501st Legion. I still consider myself a part of the family though (and the others do as well), which I appreciate. I have several cybernetic augmentations and limbs, curtesy of the Techno Union, thanks to an accident I endured a few years ago. It's fine, I'm over it now. I've accepted who I am, and if other people can't, then that's their problem. I probably won't be as active here as the others, but I'm more than happy to answer any questions thrown my way.

Thanks. -Echo 🔌

*****

hey. name's Hunter. i'm the leader of this squad. i have enhanced senses and am good with blades. my face has half a tattoo on it. i like to keep my hair back with a bandana. don't mess with my squad or you'll regret it. i don't know what else to say. i'm no good with technology stuff.

(Addendum: It's true, it took him 15 minutes just to write all of this out. -Tech)

-Hunter 💀

*****

The name's Crosshair. I'm a sharpshooter, and the best damn one you'll ever meet. If you want to know more about me so badly, then ask me yourself. Information like that doesn't come for free, after all. I don't care how much Omega fusses at me about it either. Like she's doing right now. Yes, that's correct. Keep fussing, kid, and I'll just keep mentioning it. Pout all you want. Cry, even. Anyway... my actions speak louder than my words. Send me questions if you want, I don't care. Just know that you're more likely to get a decent conversation out of me than Hunter. The man can't even capitalize his sentences correctly. So go ahead. Ask me something. Just don't expect anything... pleasant in response.

Oh... and Wrecker was totally lying about Lula.

-Crosshair ❌

#the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch rp #tbb rp #mun note: please read the pinned post before interacting; thank you!!

[amberskyyking]

Clone Wars gave me big feelings and I accidentally wrote several hundred thousands words about it and now I’ve got fanfics (and paintings??) and pieces of my soul are on the internet and I blame Filoni. But turns out writing is cheaper than therapy and less likely to injure me than my other hobbies, so. Master list below! Please mind the tags and TWs.

Disillusioned - Main story! Cinnamon role rogue clone OCs and Luz the disaster pilot trip and fall into a series of rogue missions saving vode and taking names (mainly Krell, the name they are taking is Krell). 66 chapters long for… Reasons. 👀 Posting weekly with some bonuses!

Disillusioned Bonus Content Request Denied, Kark Off - Commander Fox is a protective, sleep deprived asshole. Spicy Snacks and Safe Places - Nox the Medic helps a brother through a mental health crisis in the aftermath of Umbara. Kriff’s Sake, I’ll Love Every Version Of You - A heartbroken Boomerang realizes he still has a chance with the love of his life and he’s not about to waste it. Crow, Please Report To The Commanders Office (OOOooohhh) - Crow was a terrible cadet. He is a terrible Coruscant Guard. But he's not a terrible brother.

Clone Wars Short Stories, Bingo & One Offs Facing Down Demons With A Drink In Hand - Captain Killswitch and his General have to face an old trauma in the form of his Jedi's old master, Pong Krell (Eventual series...?) Dying Isn't Very Regulation - Fives should know better than to touch weird force shit, but what's the silver orb going to do? Kill him again? Pfft. (Time travel fix-it inspired by Snapback, by TooManyTeeth!) Unattended Adiik'e Will Be Given Beskar'gam And A Free Tooka - Jaster Mereel finds a sad mandokarla child and Good-Buir-Jaster angst ensues (Written as a gift, but doubles as fic-therapy, I guess!) You Trust Too Easily - Crosshair trusted the Bad Batch one too many times... And now it's too late. (Based off the BB S3 leak!!!)

PLANT BUIRE ART SERIES!!!! - I started painting clones with plants after making some jokes about it with TooManyTeeth and they're actually really fun?? I don't know how these guys are coming out of my own paint but they deserve lil plant friends!!! If you'd like a print of any of these please PM me! I'm glad to share the love <3 Commander Fox and his Cactus, cause he's a prickly guy Commander Wolffe and his Wolfsbane, he's proud it's so poisonous

#star wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfiction #order 66 #star wars #clone troopers need a hug #clone troopers deserve better #star wars oc #clone trooper oc #coruscant guard #501st legion #212th battalion #fuck pong krell #mandalorian adoption #jaster mereel #arc trooper fives #starwarsficnetwork #star wars bingo #clone wars art #clone wars fanart #oil paintings #plant buire

[catboydogma]

Hey bfbdnndndndndndn just found this blog of urs XD🧡

I got a Fox prompt if that’s still alright?

Fox finds a tooka and sends Hound to find its owner, while he has to deal with the chaos the tooka causes

now / here / this / remember

one hundred pieces - anima!

send prompts 옷

notes: hello lol and thank u for the prompt! i love writing fox and love opportunities to flesh out the guard (and the various ocs populating it) a little more in my head. this was very fun and refreshing to write :)

wc: 712

“Hound.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There is a creature under my desk.”

“Uh.”

“Hound?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Find an owner for this beast so it may be vacated from the premises.”

“Sir. You mean… the owner?”

“At this point, Sergeant, any owner will do.” Fox lifted the scrawny thing up by the scruff of its neck. They inspected each other: the tooka with beady black eyes, Fox with eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. Its little clawed feet paddled in the air for a moment as Fox adjusted its grip. It wasn’t parasite-ridden, from his cursory glance, and it seemed to react favorably to Fox’s proximity: this meant it was an owned beast.

“And you’re just gonna.”

Fox didn’t move his eyes from the tooka. It favored him with the closing of one eye, then the other. Hound shuffled nervously in the background.

“I will assure that it will not be causing any further trouble,” Fox said. Tookas were like wayward sergeants like that. One needed to keep a close eye on them.

“Right. Ok. Sir.” Hound saluted, then jammed his bucket on.

GAR Frequency: Advanced Sgt. How To Spell Reconnn..o Force Hound: ohhbbhh force he found bastard Hound: how was i supposed to know bastard would go hide in the commander’s office  Hew: Is it warmer in the Commander’s office? Hew: Is our office not good enough for the bastard? Pent: Commander wouldn’t kill an unarmed man Boots: bastard Pent: good point boots. Commander wouldn’t kill an unarmed cat Boots: :/ Pent: good point boots. Ni partayli gar darasuum, bastard Hound: the commander uh Hound: said he’d make sure bastard didn’t do anything else Hound: and? Hound: that im supposed to find bastards owner Hew: Are you sure about that? Hound: what else am i gonna do, lt Pent: well …

Fox was only slightly beginning to regret his resolution to look after the beast. After tipping over seven cups, three datapads, and nearly Fox himself as it wound its way between his legs, the creature still seemed content to poke its blunt little face into every conceivable crevice in Fox’s office. It inspected the tiny, miserable window. It inspected all three of his filing cabinets with equal duration and gravitas. It inspected Fox on multiple occasions, butting the flat of its head up against his knuckles or shins, patting at his greaves with its scaly little feet, sitting before him and making various noises.

Finally—at last—it settled as Fox got up to stretch: right on his chair. He turned back around to find it already curled up in the presumably warm indentation he’d left, ears flicking back and forth and eyes half-lidded with what Fox assumed was smug satisfaction.

“You idiot,” Fox said, leaning a hip against his desk.

The tooka laid its head down on its paws and let its tail curl over its hind feet.

There was nothing else for it. He would have to evict the beast.

Several hours later, Hound poked his head through the doorway of Fox’s office to find Fox with half his ass perched on the very edge of his chair and the tooka a warm, sleeping lump behind him. It snored, just a little, in a whuffly little wheeze that Fox had found made it impossible for him to move the damn thing.

“Commander?”

“Sergeant.”

“Did, uh…”

“Sleeping,” Fox said, looking up from his datapad and letting it clunk against his desk. “Have you located someone to return it to?”

“Ye-es,” Hound said.

If he was going to try and pull one over on Fox, he should have left his helmet on.

“No tookas in the Guard barracks,” Fox said sharply.

“Not even Grizzer’s emotional support tooka?” Hound asked, holding his hands up to his face in a pleading gesture. “She gets lonely…”

“Grizzer has an entire squad of troopers to keep her company and her litter of colleagues.”

Hound didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to: the creature woke, shoved its bony little elbows in the small of Fox’s back as it stretched, and hopped off his chair. It slammed its forehead against his shin in what Fox had decided to be a gesture of commiseration, then ambled over to Hound.

“Out of the barracks,” Fox said again for emphasis.

Hound’s face lit up.

#a heat rash in the shape of the show me state #this has been sitting in my drafts for toooooo long time to get OUT #commander fox #sergeant hound #tookas #fanfiction #tcw #coruscant guard #corrie guard

[thecoffeelorian]

The Transport On The Left, #5

Title:  The Transport On The Left

Chapter:  Five

Genre:  Drama/Mystery

Word Count:  1.1 k.

Characters Included:  Wrecker, Captain Rex, and Commander Wolffe.

Brief Description:

"Does it make him a giant nerfherder to wish for something else besides working for scraps from others who don’t exactly enjoy his company, let alone having to stare down the barrel of what’s left of his life and spend it in total maddening silence?

Or should he just swallow all these feelings down like they’re a tasty milkshake from Dex’s Diner, force a smile, and go on doing whatever Hunter wants���?"

AO3: Link Here

No-Pressure Tags: @theosb0rnway @skellymom @gun-roswell @called-me-vicky @momojedi

@littlefeatherr @storminormins @thesmollestnerd @ilovemedia @sunshinesdaydream

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Special Notes: This divider was created by @djarrex , and so I give all credit to her. :)

One // Two // Three // Four // Five// Six

Five

They’re gonna yell at you for stormin’ out like that.

Let ‘em yell all they want.

Hunter doesn’t like it when you do your elopement thing.

Hunter can deal with it just like everybody else.

Wrecker’s steps echo a bit too loud in the station’s corridor as he walks, a somewhat achy reminder that this station has, unfortunately, lost its purpose in life. Once, it held the solid position of tending to the wounded of the G.A.R., and as such could see up to two hundred Troopers a day if the fighting grew that heavy.

Nowadays, however, even though it’s got enough supplies for the welfare of around two battalions, it’s lucky to see a grand total of ten Troopers or less. Maybe that’s the amount of people in here right now, because even with his bad ear, Wrecker hardly hears anyone else out here besides himself. That’s got to be a good thing, then, because it means less chance of discovery and attack by any unwanted visitors, sure…but then again, it also means there’s almost nobody to talk to.

Especially not when the good Captain’s team of rescuers delivered Crosshair into their hands one minute; then had to go off to a different area of the station the next. Not when they’re still waiting for the grand return of AZI-3, as well as the chance of putting at least one unsolved mystery to rest.

Still…would it really have hurt Cap so much to stick around for more than a few minutes?!

Wrecker lets out a loud sigh and plops himself down in front of the nearest skyhole, his annoyance fizzling up ever so slightly. Okay, so he DID lie about going to find Fireball, but then again, he could cut the tension in that hospital room with a lightsaber, so he had to get out of there FAST. After all, he needs more to do lately, even if he won’t say such things out loud.

On the one hand, yeah, he IS happy to do other things besides fight and blow things up all the time. He’s finally bought his own paint set with the credits Cid managed to toss his way, so obviously, he’s learnin’ how to use ‘em. Already he’s tried his hand at painting a few tookas on the walls of the Marauder—red and black, of course, although he won’t exactly say no to the other colors as well—and so far, everyone seems to approve. Kriff, even Tech got so excited over his new talent that he almost dropped his datapad to get a closer look, and Tech NEVER puts that thing down. That has to count for SOMETHING.

On the other hand, though…painting and scrapping for barely fifty credits apiece seems to be ALL that he’s good for lately, because not only has he NOT had a good brawl in ages, but unfortunately, there’s been almost NO explosions whatsoever…and honestly?

The lack of any real action is becoming just so…BORING!

And if he has to be honest with himself, which he WILL—Wrecker really and truly MISSES IT.

He misses the way he and the rest of the boys could push their way through enemy lines with nothing but sheer determination and a really big ship door.

He also misses how, even though some of the locations they were dispatched to looked nothing but impregnable, they always managed to find their way in and out with barely a scratch gained in return.

And third, but certainly not least, he misses—other people. Other Troopers who not only could back his squad up in times of trouble, but also WOULD lend a hand without ever thinking twice about it. Is it SO wrong of him, then, to want SOME part of this to come back in his life?

Does it make him a giant nerfherder to wish for something else besides working for scraps from others who don’t exactly enjoy his company, let alone having to stare down the barrel of what’s left of his life and spend it in total maddening silence?

Or should he just swallow all these feelings down like they’re a tasty milkshake from Dex’s Diner, force a smile, and go on doing whatever Hunter wants…?

It’s about a minute or two later when Wrecker starts hearing voices coming from down the hall, two in total, and they sound kinda annoyed with each other. Does this mean Captain Rex is circling back around…? It might be great if he did! At least he might have somebody to vent to about his thoughts, then—that is, if Cap isn’t too busy with anything first!

“—don’t understand why—have commed—while, SIR.”

“We’ve—through this, Wolffe—utmost secrecy…”

And that’s just without the added bonus of getting to hear something, ANYTHING, about all of the Trooper rescue efforts going on behind the scenes. How wizard would THAT be if he did…?!

“I am sorry—Venator disaster, don’t get me—but it’s better if—things are kept—”

“—Who’s. There.”

All three of the men in this hall—Wrecker, Captain Rex, and a second Commander who also looks like he’s missing one eye—immediately fall still and silent, their respective focus turning to size the others up.

“Excuse me, sir, but I don’t believe we asked for eavesdroppers.”

Wrecker himself suddenly gets the feeling he’s standing before that nexu back on Saleucami, only this time, it’s learned to take on Trooper form so that it can catch human prey ten times easier.

At least, that’s the way he reads the room until Cap steps forward, one hand raised in a calming gesture.

“Easy, Wolffe, he’s a friend.”

“You’re SURE.”

“Yes. Wrecker’s—friend of Echo’s, so by association…”

“…He’s a friend of ours.”

“Correct. Now, could you PLEASE stand down…?”

Wrecker swears that he sees Wolffe’s mouth twist into a downward turn of disapproval, a lot of Troopers had done that to him before—yet, thankfully, he also must have thought things over as well, for the next thing he knew, Wolffe had let some of the tension out of the room by taking two steps back.

“There we are...thank you, Commander.”

A collective sigh spreads around the little gathering there, and Wrecker can’t help but grin a little in relief. Things are tense enough everywhere, he knows, so obviously he doesn’t want to make any rough situations even worse.

“Yeah…thanks, Commander! Er…d’ you want me to go back with the others?”

“Well, I’m afraid that depends, Trooper. What brings you out here?”

The time has come, he thinks with a little shudder, taking in a quick breath and then breathing it out again. It’s now or never, Master Billaba give me strength...

Wrecker stood up straight, made eye contact, and began to speak his peace.

#star wars #the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #tbb #clone force 99 #tbb wrecker #wrecker bad batch #clone trooper wrecker #wrecker tbb #wrecker the bad batch #the bad batch wrecker #bad batch wrecker #captain rex #commander wolffe #tbb: the transport on the left #go wrecker go #alternate titles: clearly i have to write everything around here #alternate titles: can we stop trying to inspire all the schoolgirls and start letting the troopers talk?! #FOR FETT'S SAKE-- #tbb rex #tbb wolffe #rex tbb #wolffe tbb

[kaminocasey]

Bonsoir Chapter 6: Golden Hour

Bonsoir Masterlist

Summary: Have you ever wondered what transpired at the Battle of Sarrish and what Gregor was thinking while he found out who he really was in the "Missing In Action" episode? Me too. Keep reading to find out! Pairing: Gregor/OC!Cassia Nu Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Depression, Violence, Angst WC: 3.1K A/N: I know this is two months late and I appreciate your patience. I also appreciate you all loving Cassia like I love her. <3

Gregor isn’t sure how this mission has gone so wrong. Sarrish was supposed to be easy. A quick in and out. Something the Foxtrot group had done hundreds of times before.

“FALL BACK!” Gregor shouts to his men. “FALL BACK!”

Gregor shoots at the Sarrishians that are starting to gain in numbers, looking around for his brothers but only sees Dyer as he’s retreating. Gregor tries shouting to him, but Dyer doesn’t hear him as he gets shot and drops. Gregor wants to shut his eyes, to block out the awful loss he’s suffered today. It’s only him left. There’s no one else.

Except Cassia. He has to keep going. For her.

Cassia’s smile fills Gregor’s mind as he starts running for a ship. It seems empty. Maybe he can escape and fly back to base and alert General Kenobi of what’s happened. Would he be considered a deserter? Surely not.

Gregor gets to the Sarrishian ship as fast as he can, glancing around him to make sure he’s not being followed. As soon as he shuts the door, he makes his way to the cockpit and puts his gun down, starting up the ship as quickly and discreetly as he can. Once he takes off, he starts flying back toward where base is set up. He’d have to tell General Kenobi about how badly the mission went, but maybe he’d be granted leave and he could see Cassia, if even only for a few days at most. It would be better than dying here on the battlefield.

All of a sudden there’s a cold metal pressed up against Gregor’s throat and he quickly realizes it’s a knife. Someone must have been onboard and he missed them.

Kriff, Gregor thinks as he struggles against the Sarrishian.

The Sarrishian says something in his native tongue but Gregor doesn’t understand Sarrishian. He tries to lurch the ship forward and up as he heads toward space. The Sarrishian falls back to the back of the cockpit, struggling against the wall. Gregor clicks his seatbelt into place and grabs his gun and shoots the Sarrishian.

As luck would have it, the ship starts getting shot at. Gregor rolls his eyes, cursing to himself. He starts flying toward the next planet, which he thinks is Abafar, if he remembers quickly.

All of sudden, when he reaches Abafar’s atmosphere, a huge explosion takes out the hull of the ship, causing the ship’s alarm to go wild.

“How the hell do they have the technology for that?” Gregor starts pushing buttons, and prepares for impact. “Good thing I can handle a rough landing I guess.”

When Gregor hits the ground, he’s proven wrong as his head gets slammed against the dash and everything goes black.

When Gregor wakes up, he isn’t sure where he’s at and why he is where he is.

Cassia wakes up with a start, finding her cheeks wet as she cups her own cheeks. It’s been eight months and she still can’t sleep well. Nightmares of Gregor being taken from her haunt her every single night.

She tried therapy for a while, but felt that she was getting nowhere. She tried the tricks that the therapist offered but nothing worked.

Cassia looks at the alert tooka next to her, staring at her with wide, concerned eyes.

“I’m okay, Wedge.” She pets his head and he makes himself comfy in her lap as she wipes her eyes and cheeks, breathing deeply, trying to calm herself.

There’s a rattle on the doorknob to her room and momentarily, Cassia’s heart clenches, hoping for him, even though she knows it’s Mara on the other side. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop hoping for Gregor.

Mara walks in, sitting on the bed, next to her.

Since Mara lives there now, she doesn’t bother knocking. Mara moved in after a couple weeks of not knowing if Cassia was okay. She wouldn’t answer the phone, open the shop, or leave the apartment. The only thing she’d been able to do is take care of Wedge.

Things are relatively back to normal now. Except Mara doesn’t bring Dyer around, which Cassia feels terrible about. Mara shouldn’t have to hide any part of herself from Cassia. This is Mara’s first real relationship in so long.

“Do you want breakfast?” Mara asks.

Cassia shakes her head.

“Then, let’s go for a walk, hm?” Mara gives a sympathetic smile.

Cassia knows this trick. If she won’t eat, then she has to leave the apartment and get some sunlight.

“Okay.” Cassia sighs.

“I’ll put Wedge in his harness.” Mara squeezes her hand before picking up the Tooka and walking out of the room.

Cassia lies back down for a second before Mara’s voice fills the room from the doorway. “No laying back down.”

Cassia rolls her eyes, amused, and sits back up. She could do it today. Possibly. Getting out of bed, she throws on a sweater and pants. Looking in the mirror, she sees just how tired she looks. Puffy eyed, constantly. She’s aware she needs to get it together. But for now, puffy eyes and a sweater is all she can manage.

When Cassia finally emerges from her room, Mara greets her with a cup of caf, holding her hairbrush.

“You sit and drink, I brush.” Mara gives her a reassuring smile, guiding her to the couch.

The sun starts peeking through the living room curtains and Cassia watches the silhouette of the Coruscant skyline as Mara brushes her hair while she drinks her caf.

“You should invite Dyer to go with us.” Cassia murmurs, looking at Mara in the mirror in front of her.

Mara’s hands falter slightly and then continue brushing. “We broke up.”

“What?” Cassia pulls away to look back at Mara.

“It wasn’t working out.” Mara lies.

Cassia knows when Mara lies and Mara knows that Cassia knows. That’s when Cassia realizes it's because of her.

“Mara…”

“Cash, don’t worry. It was a friendly breakup. I can comm him anytime I want.” She squeezes Cassia’s shoulder. “Now, finish your caf so we can go.”

Cassia turns around and looks at Mara’s reflection in the mirror. She’d been so absorbed by her own grief, she didn’t even notice her best friend’s breakup.

“Mar… I’m so sorry.” She murmurs.

“Don’t be. Now, drink.” She kisses Cassia on the top of the head and starts braiding Cassia’s hair.

You have to be better, Cassia tells herself, you can’t shut down again.

The park that they go to isn’t the one that he took her to. It’s a different one. A closer one to the apartment. It’s surprisingly busy for an early morning and Cassia allows herself to take in the morning sun, realizing how good it feels on her skin. She didn’t realize how badly she needed this.

“Feels good, right?” Mara teases her.

“Yes.” Cassia rolls her eyes, smiling.

It was the first time in a long time that she actually smiled. She missed the feeling. Maybe things can start going back to a relative normal.

“Here. Eat this.” Mara pulls a sandwich out of her bag and hands it to Cassia.

The action may seem so small to someone else, but to her, it was everything. Mara was the only person she had left and she never stopped looking out for her, even when Cassia became difficult to be around.

“I love you.” Cassia rests her head on Mara’s shoulder.

“I love you too. No matter what.” Mara pats her leg.

Cassia sits up and starts eating the sandwich. It was delicious as always. Mara was the better cook of the two, for sure.

“Mm.” Cassia hums.

“I knew you were hungry.” Mara smirks.

“Glad you did, because I didn’t.” Cassia looks down at Wedge sitting patiently at their feet, watching all the people going by.

Mara was more than just her best friend or business partner. She was her sister. Her family.

Abafar, Outer Rim

“Gregor, take the garbage out, it’s getting smelly! Do you not smell that?” Gregor’s boss, Borkus shouts at him.

“Oh, sorry, Borkus. I was finishing up the last of the dishes.” Gregor apologizes, quickly going to grab the garbage pail underneath Borkus’ grill station.

“Be quick about it. Table three is almost done.” Borkus barks.

“Sure thing, boss.” Gregor nods, heading toward the back door of the diner.

He’d been working since early that morning for the breakfast rush and he was already exhausted. Borkus had been running him like a droid.

Hm. Not a bad idea, a service droid, he thinks to himself as he dumps the pail over the other garbage.

“UGH!” Gregor hears below him.

Gregor steps back, concerned, finding an angry looking Zilkan glaring up at him as he wipes the trash off of himself.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there.” Gregor apologizes, feeling terrible. “Look, I could get you some food, but uh, normally people come in the front door. But there's no problem.”

The Zilkan stares up at him, squinting tightly, trying to get a look at him. Gregor’s still confused.

“You do know that you’re eating garbage, right?” Gregor asks, gesturing toward the piled up trash behind the Zilkan.

The Zilkan tosses the stale bread aside and points up at him. “You’re a clone.”

“Excuse me?” Gregor asks. “Uh… I- I wouldn’t know about that. My- my name’s Gregor. Uh, wait. What’s a clone?”

The Zilkan climbs up on the dumpster to jump over onto Borkus’ trash pail to get a good look at Gregor. As soon as he meets him at eye level, he grabs Gregor’s face and pulls it toward him. It’s incredibly uncomfortable and very confusing. This man is acting like he knows Gregor. And what the hell is a clone?

The Zilkan exampines Gregor’s face, looking in each eye before pulling away.

“You are a clone.” The Zilkan laughs. “Are you working undercover?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gregor insists.

“Listen to me, soldier.” The little guy continues. “Whatever your assignment is, it can’t be more important than mine.”

“It is his first real mission.” The WAC-47 droid speaks up, obviously irritating his counterpart. “He is just a map reader.”

Gregor looks between the two of them. Where the hell did these guys come from?

“Don’t listen to that ignoramus!” The Zilkan shouts. “You are a clone and a soldier in the Republic Army, and I order you to take me to your ship. We need to get back to Coruscant immediately.”

Now, it’s just getting too weird. This man must be off his rocker. What Army? What ship? And he still doesn’t know what the hell a clone is.

“Uh, look friend, I was just trying to help. I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way.” Gregor lowers the pail gently to let the Zilkan down.

“I do not think that soldier believes you are a colonel, uh, colonel.” The droid salutes at the Zilkan.

All of a sudden, Borkus’ loud angry voice fills the back area, “Gregor! Get back to work!”

“Uh, excuse me, I gotta go.” Gregor stands back, giving the two little guys an apologetic look. “I don’t wanna lose my job.”

Gregor walks back into the diner, closing the door behind him, still confused.

At the end of the shift, Borkus and Gregor lock up the diner. It was a long day and Gregor was still thinking about what the Zilkan had said to him.

“So, uh, Boss… you know, I was just wondering…” Gregor scratches the back of his head.

“No, you can’t have a raise, Gregor.” Borkus shakes his head, locking the door to the diner, before waving him off.

Gregor follows him toward their apartments. “Oh… no, no, no… I- I don’t want a raise, sir. I- I just wanted to know, what’s a clone? Someone told me I was a clone today. They insisted.”

“Ha. A clone?” Borkus laughs. “Clones fight battles across the galaxy. They are brave soldiers. Does that sound like you?”

Borkus really wasn’t a nice guy, but he had given Gregor a job and helped pay his rent. He’s not in a position to challenge the man.

“You’re a dishwasher, Gregor. Forget about clones or anything like that.” Borkus grabs Gregor by the shoulder. “You have good life here, a simple life. More than you had when Borkus found you.”

Borkus folds his arms as if he’s disappointed in Gregor.

“I- I know, sir. And I appreciate everything that you’ve done, believe me. But I- I thought maybe you could tell me… how… How did I get here? Where did you find me?”

Gregor has tried and tried and tried again to remember just exactly how he got here, but he can’t. He figured something must have happened to make his memory this bad, right? Did he hit his head or something?

“Enough questions.” Borkus turns away. “Go home. Sleep. Come back tomorrow. Do your job.”

Gregor hangs his head in slight shame. He didn’t mean to upset his boss. Honestly, he just needed answers. Anything.

“I don’t want to hear that word “clone” again, Understand?” Borkus asks before walking off toward his home.

It’s just become more obvious that Borkus isn’t telling Gregor something. What it is, he doesn’t know yet. But, he knows he’s going to try to find out.

When Gregor gets home, he goes straight to the fridge to take a swig of wine that Milane, the woman next door, had gifted him a week ago for being a good neighbor and getting her tooka off the roof. He had told her it wasn’t a big deal but she insisted on repaying him somehow and while he appreciated the gesture, he was pretty sure if he didn’t take the wine, she was going to offer something else, something he wasn’t interested in.

He grabs his book out of his bag and looks at it, running his fingers down the cover before opening it like he always does, finding a heart next to the name Cassia and a wilted flowery weed braid that was clearly a bracelet at some point. Who Cassia was, he has no idea but he liked the heart and the way she signed her name. It was swirly and feminine and somehow with the flowery bracelet, it all felt so… personal?

All of a sudden, there’s a man in the room… “Captain Rex, reporting for duty.”

No, not a man… It’s Gregor? Without hair? He looks around, confused. “What-”

Gregor realizes it’s a hologram and steps toward it, cautiously, running his hand through it, still alert and confused. “I… I don’t understand… that’s me?”

“No, that’s Captain Rex.” Gregor hears the Zilkan’s voice behind him. “He’s a clone of the Republic Army. Just like you, Gregor.”

“I can’t believe it.” Gregor looks back at the clone captain, full of even more questions.

A little bit later, after Gascon, the Zilkan, and his droid friends try to explain to Gregor what he is and where he’s from. He’s reeling, trying to keep up.

“Okay… Slow down, slow down.” Gregor tries to keep up. “So, you’re telling me that there are more of these clones?”

“Millions. A whole army’s worth.” The spunky little WAC-47 droid chimes in.

“Uh-huh…” Gregor scratches his chin. “And they all look exactly like me?”

“No, those clones are warriors, professional soldiers created by the Republic, trained to fight, and die, if necessary, in our war against the Separatists. They’re not dishwashers living in some vermin-infested hovel.” Gascon tells him, firmly, clearly trying to get him to remember who he is.

“Look, I’m lucky to live in this place. Mr. Borkus says my salary doesn’t even begin to cover the rent, so he pays the difference for me.” Gregor turns around, looking at the book, flipping open the cover page to look at Cassia’s name again.

He can’t help but start to wonder… were you a part of his former life? Were you someone he knew? If so… did you miss him terribly or think that he was dead?

“Don’t you get it, Gregor?” Gascon asks him, “You’re his slave… We need to figure out who you really are, how you got here… Are you sure you really don’t remember anything?”

“All I remember is waking up on a transport.” Gregor replies. “Somehow, we crashed on Abafar. And, well… Mr. Borkus says I have amnesia.”

“Hmm…” Gascon nods. “Every clone has an identifying code on their wrist. Your military records will be in the database. Scan him, R2.”

The blue and white astromech rolls toward Gregor, and he sits down and holds out his wrist so R2 can scan him easier. This was all still so overwhelming to Gregor. He wasn’t just some dishwasher… He was a soldier.

R2 projects an ID and Gascon moves over for a better look.

“Impressive. Gregor, your designation is CC-5576-39. You were a captain and part of an elite squad. A clone commando.” Gascon tells him. R2 beeps and the projection goes away. “Your file says you were reported missing in action during the Battle of Sarrish.”

Gascon lowers his head, placing his hand over his heart and the droids all beep with sadness. The Battle of Sarrish…

“Sarrish… Sarrish…” that sounds so familiar… “Wait… What was the Battle of Sarrish?”

“It was one of the Republic’s most devastating losses…” Gascon tells him.

“Sarrish…” Gregor mumbles again, starting to feel a picture piece itself together in the back of his mind. It still seems so groggy… yet so familiar.

His men. His brothers… all dropping… the Sarrishians out numbering them… Gregor running toward a ship… Flying the ship… and then crashing… It all starts to make itself known… after all this time.

“Yes… now I remember…” Gregor sighs. “So many soldiers were dying…”

“Do you remember how you escaped Sarrish?” Gascon murmurs.

Gregor tells him about trying to get away from the Sarrishians so that he could warn the General. He was so close and then they chased him to Abafar. He mentions all the bodies… the bodies of his brothers… how they were everywhere. And then he looks at the book in his hands again.

Slowly… a picture of a young woman with beautiful brown eyes appears in his memory. Cassia. He remembers her. He remembers her smile. He remembers her eyes. He remembers her laugh. He remembers Wedge. He remembers laying in bed with her. Tears immediately spring to Gregor’s eyes as he starts to remember again.

He needs to get back to Cassia as soon as possible.

TAGS: @grievouus @brynhildrmimi @madameminor @dumfanting @rain-on-kamino @misogirl828 @rexandechosandwich @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @twistedstitcher27 @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @loverofclones @idlenesses @captain-splock-you

#tcw gregor #captain gregor #gregor x oc!cassia nu #gregor x oc!cassia #tcw #the clone wars #clone wars gregor #clone captain gregor #bonsoir fic #bonsoir

[mire-draws-things]

one hundred tookas: #6 | Fives

I followed my heart and went a bit ham on this one :v

1: Talu (oc) | 2 - 4: Wolfpack | 5: Gaze (oc)

#arc trooper fives #tcw fives #fives tcw #clone trooper fives #🎨 my art tag #one hundred tookas #he's got a glowstick and is not afraid to use it for shenanigans #mire's gallery | color sketch

[chocmarss]

Labyrinth Hearts (CH 1)

Summary:

“I’m needed,” he prompted. “by something not you.”

She took the steps to get to him instead. “Something bigger. Though, I can’t really tell you what it is. The Force, most likely.”

That wasn’t exactly reassuring. “As far as I know, the Dark Side occupied most of Malachor. It could be tricking you.” Realisation dropped to the bottom of his feet. “It could be tricking us.”

“No, whatever’s happening right now, right here, is just us. I managed to reach out and bridge a connection so that I can talk to you.”

She let her fingers brush over his jaw, wanting to feel him standing in front of her instead of allowing it to be a dream, a hallucination. He wanted it to be this, here, to be more than something he’d conjure up using his own head.

“All I know,” she continued softly. “is that you’re supposed to be on Malachor with me. I can feel something waiting for us here.”

the clone wars. rexsoka. time travel. post-mission to malachor. canon divergence. rated T. 4.4k words. (1/?)

When days were bad, seniority came with add-ons Rex would rather shove under his bunk.

Something about it poked into the tender flesh of knowing the fact his time was cut short, and how that came with the attentiveness of “Sir, we can take it from here.” by young, jumpy chicken-legged tookas when they saw him hauling a single crate containing stolen Imperial blaster snipers across the hangar; anti-grav was busted —something about wayward bolts and Stormtroopers trying to kill Spectre-Four, Five, and Six— so that left him doing things the old fashion way.

It was a hundred and fifty kilograms and weighed a bitch-ton, but he managed. He had a trolley anyway. If he could haul a trooper, his armour, and the DC-15 strapped to his back of the same weight all those years ago, he could do this.

He had to heave that stupid thing on top of another crate with a loud bang before the younger Rebels decided to evade the hard set of his annoyance.

READ MORE ON AO3

#rexsoka #captain rex #ahsoka tano #time travel au #canon divergence #labyrinth hearts #star wars rebels #star wars #the clone wars #marsrb #marswrites

[wrencatte]

mini-fic 4 (ish)!!

pre-Survivor Bravo and Gabs learn about Cal's psychometry - and I give Cal a sniper rifle. Bravo POV. 1.3k

Cal smiles and says, “Blasters aren’t the Jedi way,” in that tone that he thinks makes him sound all-wise and mysterious, but Bravo’s heard that same tone when he tried to cover up his latest cooking disaster, so he doesn’t. buy it for a second. Gabs doesn’t even bother covering her laugh. Cal pointedly shifts to turn his back on her, focusing his attention on Bravo instead.

The pilot grins and taps the table between them, bringing the Jedi’s focus back to the dismantled DH-447 rifle on it. “C’mon, man. What happens if you lose your fancy lasersword?”

“I won’t lose it.”

“But if you did?”

“I have the Force.”

“Cal.”

“Bravo.” But Cal’s laughing, which makes him feel better about needling him like this. “I seriously doubt I’ll ever end up in a situation where I’ll have to snipe someone. And, if for some reason, I end up without my ‘saber, I’ll probably pick up a normal blaster or something. I don’t need to know how to use that.”

“You never know,” Braco insists. Cal sighs. “Listen. We’ve landed on a perfectly good planet to give it a shot. There’s no one around to see you if you’re that worried about embarrassing yourself.”

Cal glares at him. Bravo just smirks and shrugs unrepentantly, recognizing that look. “You are the worst,” the Jedi hisses, gesturing for the pilot to reassemble the rifle, a resigned expression on his face. Bravo does so gleefully, expertly slotting everything into place.

“You’re too easy, Kestis,” Gabs calls out from her spot in the shade of the Mantis’s nose where she’s scrolling through a holopad. “He didn’t even bring out the tooka-eyes.” BD-1 whistles his agreement. She reaches up a pats the droid’s head.

Cal huffs. “You’re supposed to be on my side,” he tells his droid. BD beeps a happy since when that makes him laugh and shake his head. Gabs cackles loudly.

Bravo finishes reassembling the rifle, does his final checks, and hands it over. Cal hesitates then takes it up, fingers fluttering over the weapon carefully.

“You’ve shot with this?”

“Dozens of times.”

“You hit your target?”

He throws up a vulgar gesture towards the Jedi first, then to the laughing Gabs. “Yes, you asshole. I hit my target every time. Why?”

Cal smirks. “Just checking.” There’s an odd look on his face, one Bravo’s seen before, but has never been able to place. His touch stutters on the cheek piece, brows furrowing. “Got something to paint a target with?”

Bravo nods and grabs the pointer before they head towards the edge of the canyon cliff. Gabs isn’t far behind, bringing her holopad to record it along with BD-1’s perspective. Below them is a meandering river, framed on either side with low, spindly plants and tall, wide trees with a sparse number of leaves, making them the perfect targets.

They watch the Jedi clear a spot of rocks and set up the tripod for the rifle, moving so quickly and efficiently that Bravo is immediately suspicious that he’s been duped. He scowls and crosses his arms, shooting a glance at Gabs, who looks confused and just shrugs.

“Cal,” she drags out, tapping the back of his boot. “Were you lying? You look like you know what you’re doing.”

“Wasn’t lying,” Cal answers distractedly as he lays on his stomach and peers through the scope. “I haven’t survived this long without knowing how to use a blaster, but I swear I’ve never shot a rifle before. Paint me a target, Bravo.”

Bravo lays next to him and paints a tree. “Eight-forty,” he murmurs from the read out. The projection is bright this close up, just a couple hundred meters shy of the lower range of this particular rifle model. The further the target, the fainter the paint, but it’s not really meant for long distances, unlike the rifle. The read out tells him wind resistance and whatnot, but he keeps his mouth shut, curious to see what the Jedi is going to do.

Cal sits there for longer than is smart, but they’re not on a mission or in active combat, so Bravo doesn’t say anything. His breathing is even, almost like meditation. Another second ticks by, then another, and then Cal is squeezing the trigger with the sort of patient skill that takes people years to learn. Must be a Jedi thing.

The shot goes high, hitting just the edge of the paint. Cal swears in Huttese, insulting himself, which just makes Bravo’s jaw drop. If what Cal said is true and he’s never picked up a rifle before with the intention to shoot, then he has no reason to be mad at that shot.

“What the hell?” Gabs gasps. “You were lying!”

Cal laughs, highly entertained. “Nope, still not lying. Paint me another.”

Bravo does. “Ten-thirty.”

He doesn’t pause as long to squeeze the trigger this time, three heartbeats, and the bolt hits the target a couple centimeters from bullseye. “One more.”

“Fourteen-twelve. Far as we can go.” The canyon isn’t wide enough. It’s impossible that Cal’s getting better the further they go out. Bravo refuses to believe he’s never done this before.

Sure enough, even with the paint faded at this distance, the Jedi hits bullseye. Cal moves off the scope, expression purely ‘loth-cat who got the cream.’ He clicks the safety on and rolls onto his back, thrusting his hands up triumphantly with a giddy laugh.

Gabs kicks the bottom of his boots obnoxiously. “Hey! No! You were definitely lying. What the hell was that?”

Bravo’s still staring at the last tree. “I’m with Gabs on this one.”

Cal props himself up on his elbows, surveying them with a suddenly somber expression. Gabs stops kicking his heels, getting serious. BD-1 boop-whirls comfortingly…encouragingly? Cal smiles fondly at him. Bravo sits up cross-legged, waiting patiently. Cal keeps secrets. They all do. The two of them have only been working with the Jedi for a couple months now, and Bravo knows there’s a lot more going on in that head of his than either of them are ever going to know, but this seems more serious than when he told them about Bracca, or what’d happened during the Purge.

“I have this ability,” he starts slowly, eyes flicking between them as if he’s still making the decision to trust them, Bravo realizes. “It’s called psychometry. People, events, experiences, they leave an imprint in the Force, an echo of the past. I touch something and I can feel it happen.”

Bravo glances at the rifle. “You felt me shooting that?”

Cal nods. “I was in your place. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten an echo from a rifle, but this is the first time I’ve tried to use one, or a dozen, to shoot it. You’re a good shot.”

“So are you,” Bravo says dazedly.

Gabs tilts her head. “Is that how you knew the vault codes back on that mission on Nar Shaddaa? An echo?”

“Yep,” Cal says, popping the ‘p.’

“Huh, that’s really useful.”

Cal laughs, throwing his head back at the force of it. “Yep,” he repeats, eyes crinkling at the corners. Gabs smiles back. The Jedi doesn’t laugh nearly as much as she thinks he should. He has a nice smile.

“What other skills does that work on?” Bravo can’t help but ask.

“Most of them. I’m limited by the length of the echo and, you know, my human-ness, but if I get enough echoes of the same thing, or they’re long enough, it gets pretty stuck in my head.”

“That’s really useful.”

Gabs kicks Cal’s boot again to bring his focus on her. “Thanks for trusting us with that,” she says sincerely. “I know you Jedi are a mistrustful bunch (for a good reason, I know) and we’ve only known each other for a little while, so thanks. It means a lot.”

The crinkle around Cal’s eyes stays there as he smiles bright enough Bravo makes a joke about needing sunshades. “You’re trustworthy people. BD likes you.” The droid whistles his agreement. “See? Now, c’mon, let’s get back to what we were doing before Bravo got all ‘Cal needs to learn how to shoot.’ Saw wants us on Norsid in three weeks.”

#cal kestis #jedi survivor #sw bravo #sw gabs #do they have actual tags? #the rifle mentioned is a canon rifle but i stopped looking at #pictures of it once i got the name #so i don't know if it has a cheek piece or a scope bc i was looking at real world rifles #i also don't know anything about shooting #so there's that #my writing #this is part of my gestalt series and will be chapter 5 (4)

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Frog Trooper - (3/4)

Summary: After contracting a bad case of strep throat, Dogma ends up feeling a little less like himself and begins to withdraw from his brothers. An outside force decides to teach him about self-value and to trust in one's brothers, no matter how annoying they may be.

[Dogma continues to have a hard time, especially when his newfound froggy instincts and odd behaviour puts into question whether or not the others still consider him sentient or not. What's a distressed overthinking frog to do under such conditions?]

[Part 2 can be found here or on AO3]

---

“I’ll have to be honest boys, I’ve never seen anything like it." Ahsoka said with a frown, as she stared at the frog with the impossibly familiar presence in the Force that should (most definitely) only belong to one very distinct trooper of the 501st. "This is not something that just happens...”

Almost immediately the medics lost their smiles at the rather blunt statement. Not because any of them were foolish enough to believe they’d get a quick resolution to Dogma’s peculiar problem. Rather, in their minds if even a Jedi had trouble gouging the absurdity of it all, then it was likely this ordeal might take a lot longer than they could afford to fix...

And their leave time was most definitely not infinite.

In a couple of days they’d be headed off planet to help provide support on a mercy mission. One that involved the Jedi's agricultural division and a couple hundreds of tons of crops. That much perishable cargo could not go unguarded. Especially not when pirate activity had doubled in the last couple of months.

There was no way they could possibly bring a nerfburger sized frog with them to help defend the Jedi AgriCorps from potential hijackings. He'd just get in the way. Or worse...

And, while commander Tano may still only be a Padawan learner and not a fully fledged Jedi (she was still very inexperienced), the grim look on her face spoke volumes of the severity of the situation itself. After all, she had been raised in the Temple since she had been a tiny little youngling. Her curiosity and drive to learn would have lead her to seek answers to any sort of strange convoluted tales of this very same fantastical nature.

And, if she truly had never heard of a being becoming a frog for no discernible reason, then there was likely nothing in the Archives that might help. Or at least nothing accessible to any of them, mere clone soldiers untouched by the Force.

“We can still try talking to Master Jocasta Nu about it. She knows the Archives and all of the information they contain better than anyone in the Order…” Ahsoka continued upon seeing the look on all 6 of their faces (he wasn’t sure that he could emote as well as the others anymore, but Dogma knew for a fact he didn’t look happy about this). “But whatever caused it isn't something most Jedi would know or even want to do to another sentient… And if Dogma wasn’t in contact with any kind of artifact recently, then I really don’t know what could have changed him…”

So in essence, if they didn’t find a way to change Dogma back soon, there was no telling what might become of him in the 501st's absence. And there were at least two species of sentients in the Temple that actively consumed amphibians. There was no telling how many more resided in Coruscant alone, aside from the armies of stray tookas and other assorted critters that would most definitely not have much of a problem sneaking into the GAR barracks.

Dogma didn't fancy the idea of getting devoured by either Master Yoda, or someone's unsupervised pet. Oh he did not fancy that idea one bit...

He croaked out a despairing sigh that earned him a sympathetic wince from the commander. Difficulty emoting or not, such a pitiful sigh was a universal sign for the general displeasure of being the butt of a cruel joke.

"It just... It just kind of happened really suddenly..." Pitch's shoulders dropped slightly in defeat. Likely from having his hopes so quickly dashed. "One moment he was drinking some water in the mess with the others, the next he was puking up blood and running to the medbay get help..."

"And then he collapsed into soup." Twitch pipped up. The other medics shuddered at the reminder, while Dogma simply opted to ignore the comment altogether. Best not think about that if he ever wanted to eat soup ever again.

Or go without some very horrifically themed nightmares.

"That's... Uh... Alarming." Their commander seemed unsure of how to phrase it delicately. A side effect of being the highly unorthodox general Skywalker's apprentice no doubt. But it seemed general Kenobi's influence still shone through, which was a relief. "Has anyone else ended up like this? Or is it really just Dogma?"

"Just Dogma." Sponge answered calmly. They didn't look all that fussed, which was either them just masking their distress or an attempt to keep everyone else's heads cool. "We don't know why. He'd been taking it easy after catching a rather severe case of strep throat. No time at all to get up to shenanigans... Not that Dogma would."

"Hm... No strange artifacts, no encounters with malicious witches, no threading on cursed grounds that we know of..." The young togruta listed each idea on a finger as she spoke, trying to at least narrow it down to something feasible. "Master Obi-wan would probably have some more ideas... But I still think speaking with the chief librarian might be our better option until he's back from his mission..."

"That tracks. We've tried contacting commander Cody to ask for advice already...." Kix added as he crossed his arms and shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

From his perch within Pitch's now very waterlogged bucket, Dogma could somewhat tell he was growing agitated. It made something in his own skin itch with trepidation of some kind. A need to sink into the water out of sight.

"Total comms blackout." Twitch's smile gained an air of nervousness to it as he seemed to consider the alternative offered to them. "Are we... Are we allowed in the Archives? We're not... We're not Jedi. Or Padawan learners..."

"Well, there will be restrictions obviously. Only members of the Order get to see what's locked away in there. Not even most Padawans get to see the full scope of it until they get knighted, and even then they still have set limitations until they become Masters." The togruta crossed her arms as she explained this, falling into a slightly easier smile. "But keeping what's going on in mind, we'd need to take Dogma to the Archives to better explain the circumstances... So I don't see why you couldn't go in at all, so long as you're with me and don't tamper with the Stacks..."

You'd think after the threat of a stolen Holocron that the security measures would have been reinforced to something more grandiose than just a simple escort permission. Stationing a couple of Temple Guards at the doors surely couldn't do any harm. Still, Dogma couldn't complain at the idea of seeing the inside of the Archives for himself.

All that knowledge... So close yet so far...

It was a wish come true to be able to just be inches away from such a rich pool of information. Maybe once he had his human form back he'd be able to walk amongst the Stacks to appreciate the sheer beauty of them? Just for a few minutes? A clone trooper could certainly dream...

He let himself sink further into the bucket, laying his belly on the very bottom so that he could rest and mull over some thoughts. Ambitions set aside, he had to start prioritizing some things. Like what he knows about his current condition, how he got where he is, and what's likely to come.

It had certainly been a while since he'd brushed up on medical protocol. Hadn't needed to think about it in a while, even if he was technically one of the 501st's reserve medics. One of the troopers you would have to go to if the actual medics were unavailable due to unforeseen circumstances (or even death on the field).

It hadn't happened yet, nor had he wanted it to. As confident as he was that he could stitch up a brother without much issue, he doubted anyone trusted him enough to do so for them...

Also he was just never really good at comforting anyone other than Tup, because he wasn't very good at reading people's tones. At best he could tell when he wasn't wanted, which was often.

Even so, Dogma is no fool. At least not in this particular situation.

The Jedi would be their first option. Commander Tano would be taking them to the Temple to speak to the master archivist, in the hopes that maybe she would have an answer to this peculiar plight. Then (if that proved fruitless) they would likely be taken to the healers for a second opinion of some kind.

And then if that too did not work for them, Dogma would likely be sent to Kamino to be dissected. A thought which made him begin listlessly floating back up from the bottom of Pitch's bucket.

He shuddered to think what the Kaminoans might do to him. What sorts of experiments and protocols they had for situations that involved, pardon the expression, Force Osik.

But it was the likeliest outcome to all of this.

Currently he was a liability. A rather bizarre unknown that would need studying. And who better to crack such mysteries than the people who'd made them? That knew them inside out? Even the medics didn't have much of a choice but to send the worst cases back to Kamino sometimes... No matter how healthy he may actually be, his current condition fit the bill for a returnal.

At least he'd get to see a part of the Temple before he died. He thinks Acronym would have been jealous of him for that.

Reemerging from his temporary dive, Dogma tried to compose himself before using his stubby little forelimbs to cling to the edge of Pitch's bucket once more. The chilly air felt refreshing enough, and his brothers and commanding officer seemed none the wiser about his inner turmoil.

Good. He didn't need to embarrass himself further.

"There's been a stall of information if that is what you are inquiring, commander..." He catches the tail-end of whatever question Sponge had answered. They seem nonchalant about it.

Kix on the other hand, does not.

"Sponge has argued fervently against updating the rest of the vode until we have potential answers." The slightly older medic corrected, expression sour over the matter. "Or a plan of sorts..."

"No one else knows?" The young Togruta frowns, seeming apprehensive about this particular tidbit of information.

"Well... Everyone that was in the mess knows Dogma was throwing up blood and teeth. And uh, the others definitely saw him start to uh... Transform..." Twitch offered with a nervous and rather unsure smile. One could only mention one of their own kin change in a rather gruesome fashion so many times before it lost its luster. "It wasn't pretty and Tup's been blowing up the comms for hours. He's scared half to death because we haven't said anything..."

"Until we can say for sure Dogma will be ok..." Sponge's eye twitched despite them keeping a leveled voice. "...We won't be saying anything. I'd rather not offer anyone any false hope, nor openly lie about this."

"Oh please... Admit you're still just angry about the other day. That's all it ever is with you!" Kix crossed his arms, annoyance permeating his tone like a thick coat of oil.

"My feelings on everyone else's lack of tact do not affect my work as a medic." Sponge rolled their eyes before pointedly glaring at the other. "I tend to look after my little brothers, unlike some clones..."

"Oi oi oi!" Dogma startled as Pitch's voice came directly from above him. He glanced up at the blue haired medic who looked displeased with both Sponge and Kix. "Let's not dig up old wounds, ok? We need to concentrate. And not get into needless squabbles in front of a commanding officer."

That seemed to get both of them to settle down for now.

Even so, Dogma noted the poorly concealed glares the older medical officers gave each other before they relaxed. It made him wonder what had gotten them so tense to begin with. Last he checked there wasn't any bad blood between them.

Was there?

"I don't think it's a good idea to keep everyone in the dark about this for too long..." Ahsoka offered once both medics had calmed down. "But I do agree with Sponge about not offering anyone false hope at the moment. Whatever this is..."

And she looked at him with those big blue eyes of hers. The obvious concern in those soulful pools made him feel so very small and exposed. She seemed... Nervous.

He didn't like that.

"...It needs to be handled delicately."

---

"Gotta love ordering out at Dex's..." Pitch gleefully tucked into a nice juicy nunaburger as the group sat around in the barracks, going through some of the holobooks they'd checked out from the library while eating their lunch.

Just as Dogma had feared, the results of their consultation with both generals Nu and (subsequently) Che did not yield immediate answers. And, where Ahsoka's lack of knowledge on the matter had been worrying but not too disappointing due to her inexperience, the astounded reactions of two Jedi Masters were much more disheartening.

Really, the only positive outcome of seeking out help from the Temple was that they had gained the support of two very knowledgeable individuals. Jetiise who wouldn't give up on uncovering the secrets to such an odd occurrence, just because they were a little stumped on the root cause.

On top of that, Dogma had also gotten another health assessment that was done as more of a form of reassurance to the clone medics than for himself.

He was the perfect bill of health... For a frog...

And he would remain so, so long as his brothers attended to his current froggy needs. In fact, general Nu had been quite insistent that they do some research if they hoped to keep Dogma alive long enough to maybe see a cure in the near future. A sentiment which was greatly appreciated by the frog trooper, but that also filled his tiny pudgy body with tremendous amounts of fear.

Dogma was no stranger to the mortality of himself and the vode. He just never had to really worry about it outside of battle because he wasn't exactly fragile to begin with. He was made of sturdy stuffs just like any other clone. He was also fully independent and capable of caring for himself (he didn't need to rely on anyone, and shouldn't have to).

As it stood now however, his constitution was most definitely not the sturdiest. The incident with the dry skin was enough of a warning on this matter. He was now completely dependent of other's care to get through the day, and did not know how to feel about this (other than deficient on the survival department).

He wasn't even the only one who had to think about this new factor.

So, having parted from the Temple to rethink their situation, the medics had come to their own conclusions on how best to proceed from then on out. That they couldn't exactly figure this out on an empty stomach, and that the public library may have some information about budgett's frogs that may be of use to them...

"Preach it brother." Coric agreed with Pitch's comment in between bites of a handful of fries "I swear the GAR should just hire him to deal with mealtime. He could make anything taste good."

Dogma would agree if he could. There was just one tiny problem aside from the fact he currently couldn't speak neither basic nor their dialect of mando'a. No one had bothered to get him anything. And he was starving too!

His fault entirely for skipping meals the prior night, and then not accepting Twitch's offer of sharing during early meal. Not that he would have kept it down for long, but still...

Watching his brothers stuff their faces while his own stomach felt like it was tightening painfully into an intricate knot, was a form of torture unlike any other. But also being able to smell the rather juicy looking burgers and other assorted junk food? The sight was making his brain go blank with an all consuming gluttonous desire.

He wasn't even a fan of fast food and all that disgusting greasiness that came with it! In fact, the idea of touching slick fried foods with his bare hands usually made him squirm and gag with just how wrong it felt. The amount of oil and saturated fats used to make that crud just couldn't be healthy.

Turning into a frog had likely made his finicky palate a little less picky.

"You're both gross..." Sponge grunted in revulsion at the sight of Pitch and Coric speaking with their mouths full. "Have some manners..."

"Oh lay off the decorum, we're all siblings here vod'ika!" Coric grinned. There were bits and pieces of fries stuck between his teeth. It only made Sponge scrunch up their face in even more nauseated indignation.

"And have something to eat while you're at it..." Kix pointed his fork at them after swallowing another forkful of his own food. "A fancy milkshake isn't going to sustain you all day..."

"Says the man eating a fruit salad." Sponge rolled their eyes.

Twitch giggled as he watched the older medics bicker between themselves over who was eating what, and how clearly one of them had the superior taste buds. A second later he glanced over to where they'd set Pitch's flooded bucket down, and noted Dogma's unblinking stare. Fully focused on their take-out containers.

And the frog didn't take long to notice he was being watched.

"What?" He croaked out institutionally, frowning when he remembered that the kih'vod would not be able to understand any of his words. It was all just garbled animal noises to them.

Still Twitch didn't look away or seem bothered by the rather unbecoming noise he'd just made. He seemed to be considering something, actually.

"Hey... Uh, do any of those holobooks say what these kinds of frogs normally eat?" The kid looked towards the others, a frown on his face.

This seemed to get everyone's attention.

"It's just... Well Dogma skipped late meal yesterday... And this morning he threw up a lot. He must be pretty hungry by now..." The young but rather perceptive medic pointed out. "But uh, I really don't want to give him anything that'd make him sick. Just keeping him in tap water is already making me a little nervous..."

"The water filtration system isn't very good no..." Pitch conceded, seeming almost guilty now as he stared at his burger and then at Dogma. The latter still clearly interested in their lunch.

"As for your question, it says here our vod is a voracious little predator." Sponge scrolled through one of the holobooks, seeming somewhat fascinated by what they were reading. "They are specialized in hunting other frogs. Tadpoles to be exact."

Dogma puffed up at this. He was NOT eating a tadpole. No way in hell! He'd rather starve!

"Erm...We don't exactly have tadpoles at hand..." Twitch grimaced in disgust, likewise seeming against the thought. "Is there anything else we can give to him?"

"Well, it also says here that these little guys eat insects and snails, which we also do not have at hand... However it appears that the people of the planet where they originate from often keep them as household pets." Sponge tapped their chin in thought. "I know a couple of vode who keep amphibians in terrariums under their bunks... Perhaps they could provide some idea of substitute feed. They'd also know what pet traders would reliably give us something that wouldn't harm Dogma..."

"Oh! That's another thing! We should build him a terrarium!" Pitch exclaimed excitedly. "That way we both free up my poor bucket, and also keep Dogma somewhere nice and safe that will feel more comfortable for him!"

The frog in question frowned. A terrarium? He didn't need something like that! Surely they could just let him wander about and occasionally just spray his body with a little water so he didn't dry up! Setting up some kind of enclosure was excessive.

And a blatant misappropriation of supplies.

"I guess that would tick off all the boxes in general Nu's recommendations..." Coric crossed his arms and pondered on the matter a little more. "We have the knowledge at our disposal, we just need the materials and appropriate food... And maybe check to see if tap water is safe for him or not..."

Dogma couldn't believe this...

They were legitimately considering putting him in a tank. Like as if he were some kind of a battalion pet or mascot!

He would not stand for this kind of treatment!

A seething burning rage like nothing he'd ever felt before, was suddenly coursing through his veins and causing his squishy little body to begin ballooning like a startled gullipud.

How dare they? How dare they insinuate such a thing? That he'd ever be comfortable in a position where he was treated as a lesser simple minded being?! He'd thought at least the medics had cared.

"YOU ARE NOT DOING ANY OF THAT! I AM NOT BEING PUT ON DISPLAY FOR EVERYONE TO LAUGH AT!" The vexed frog shrieked in indignant rage, kicked his hind legs wildly as he tried to escape the confines of Pitch's helmet. The urge to run at them and yell in their faces was a strong one, but the way his body puffed up into such a roundish shape made it hard to make it over the edge that was currently keeping him contained.

At least his grating screeches seemed to catch them all by surprise.

All five medics were staring at him in shock as he continued to flail about uselessly, making quite the mess as he furiously splashed the table with water.

"Oh man... I think he's getting cranky..." Pitch winced as he took in the sight before them. His discomfort more than apparent.

"Well, Dogma is usually a grouch when he's hungry..." Kix moved over to try to push the upset frog fully back into the water, but very quickly retracted his hand when he nearly got his fingers bit into. "We really need to get him something to eat. He'll settle down afterwards."

That was not why he was angry!

They just said they were going to put him in a glass cage, which gave him a perfectly good reason to be upset with all of them. They were treating him like he wasn't even there, or capable of independent thought! That, just because he'd become a frog, that suddenly he enjoyed everything a frog did!

He flailed harder and snapped at Kix, wanting nothing more than to bite into those heavily calloused and intrusive fingers and hang off them until he proved his point. He would NOT be treated like some dumb little verminous critter!

He was a clone of Prime just like them. A highly trained soldier of the Grand Army of the Republic. Best marksman of his squad and class, and proficient in tactical analysis. He'd fight them to prove it. He'd scream and bite and rip into their fingers if that is what it took for these insufferable giants to back off and leave him be!

Dogma's eyes widened and he suddenly froze. Where had those thoughts come from? He wasn't, and never had been, the sort of vod to resort to biting another brother in a fight.

But just now he'd... He'd tried to do it...

And he'd been snapping at Kix with enough force that he might have actually drawn blood from him if he'd managed to latch on. Had fully intended to injure the medic on purpose, which was so startlingly uncharacteristic of him that it made him tremble and deflate. The fight completely gone from him.

That wasn't... The way he'd reacted wasn't right... He'd never do such a thing as to think about actively harming his vode! Even on Umbara his actions had never been personal.

He felt wrong. This all felt very wrong. What was happening to him? To his mind? Had his changes been more than physical?

Most terrifying of all, would he continue to change until he really was nothing more than an ugly and aggressive little frog?

Would he... Would he stop being Dogma? The thought terrified him.

---

By the end of midday meal, it was unanimously decided that Dogma's situation needed to be announced to the 501st. Not to everyone of course, only to the other clones who would be recruited into helping tend to Dogma while he was in this state, so obviously they had to be debriefed on the matter.

The natborn officers (sans commander Tano and generals Nu and Che) didn't need to know just yet. And perhaps that was for the better. Dogma's track record was already not great and any more negative attention might end poorly for him.

Sponge hadn't been entirely happy with not having more answers before they told the others, but they had given in once Twitch had insisted that any longer and Tup might begin to actively hunt them all down to interrogate them...

It all seemed like the perfect setup for Dogma to suffer yet another humiliation. Only the laughter and mockery he'd been expecting as he miserably lay in Sponge's gloved hands never really came.

In fact, Hardcase, Jesse, Fives, Echo and Tup looked a little horrified as they were given the full details of just what had happened once Dogma's morphing body had been dragged into the medbay (leaving a bloodied greasy streak behind for them to gawk at). The horror turned to nausea, and then apprehension as Coric wrapped up the explanation with what they had been told to do.

And then Twitch added to the conversation with the ideas they'd had once they'd consulted some research material.

"So that's it...? One of us turns into a frog and we just have to sit and wait until the Jedi figure something out?" Fives didn't look happy about it.

Behind him Echo stood as stiff as a board, staring straight at Dogma while chewing on his knuckles. He looked like he was trying to wrap his mind around the absurdity of it all, which was exactly what Dogma himself had been trying to do since he'd woken up like this.

"There's nothing more we can do besides provide our kih'vod with safe housing, and whatever nutrient requirements he needs to meet..." Kix shook his head in defeat, equally as unhappy about the situation as the ARC trooper. "This is some kind of weird Force event... A rare one at that, if they couldn't give us any direct answer."

"Just our luck, right?" Jesse rolled his eyes.

"I trust the generals will do their best to help." Kix continued. "But it could take days, or weeks, or even months until they find something that we could use..."

"Maybe even years..." Sponge added, very gently running a finger up and down the curve of Dogma's back.

The frog trooper shifted uncomfortably and hissed at the unwanted contact, trying to use his back legs to push the obtrusive finger away. Just being held was fine. The petting on the other hand just reminded him of his previous explosive reaction...

"Years?! We don't have years to spare!" Tup cried out in dismay, hands shooting up to grasp at his very tangled hair (he'd likely been tugging on it all day if it wasn't neat and tidy the way he liked it). "There has to be a way to fix Dogma now!"

And how he wished he could vocally agree with his twin right now.

There was not much use for a frog out in the battlefield. He'd just be a burden on them all. A fact that had likely occured to all of them by now. Dogma himself knew this and he was disheartened at the prospect that his condition might take more time to cure than any of them could put into.

Time that even his own lifespan might not allow for. Or maybe it had been shortened? He had no idea how long these things lived.

The point was, he couldn't fight. He was completely and utterly useless to the 501st...

"Lets maybe not be pessimists and instead focus on building Dogma a safe environment..." Pitch grumbled as he set his bucket to dry on his trunk. "I called in a favour from one of my batchmates, Rhythm. He's stationed here on Coruscant as a communications officer and... Well Rhythm's a bit of a social butterfly. He knows a few people."

The others perked up a bit at this, while Dogma remained laying despondently and flat on Sponge's palm. There was no fighting them on the matter and he did not have the energy to do it again. He didn't want to lose control the same way he had before just because he felt like his intelligence was being put into question.

"He said he knows a friend of a friend who's a bit of a frog enthusiast, and that she's more than willing to lend us some stuff." Pitch carried on, looking down at his comm and carefully scrolling through it. "The tank itself, the filtration system, some natural decorations, even a disk-bowl thingy we can attach to it and put mud into, so that he can play in it..."

"Mud? Dogma doesn't like mud..." Tup looked disgusted.

"Who does? It gets everywhere..." Jesse grimaced in equal amounts of disgust. "And it makes cleaning your kit the worst kind of hell..."

"Well I think it's nice!" Hardcase countered with a genuine smile. "Its really good for your skin, you know!"

Everyone, Dogma included, gave the usually hyperactive trooper a look. Of course Hardcase had to be the one to feel contrary today. But then again he'd never once shown any issue with trekking through muddy terrain. Not even while lugging around his bigger blasters.

Free camouflage, he jokingly called it... Dogma really didn't care for any of that mess.

"What? How do you think I maintain this amazing complexion and smoothness of mine?" The heavy weapons specialist raised an eyebrow. "It's not just a good workout routine. You have to treat yourself."

"By rolling around in the mud?" Fives snorted.

"Hey I'm not that cheap! There's like, there's bath-houses that do special spa treatment stuff... And I might have made a lady friend who's really into men in armour..." Hardcase grinned from ear to ear, eyebrows wagging suggestively.

At this, the others shook their heads, rolled theirs eyes, or even whistled and congratulated the hyper clone. Dogma simply glanced up at Sponge hoping his look of disapproval came across. The medic didn't seem to notice.

"Anyway, I can get some mud for our kajil bal gedin'la vod'ika to play in." Hardcase shrugged. "Might do him some good while his skin is so sensitive..."

One thing Dogma had to give them all credit for. For all that the 501st was often a chaotic incomprehensible mess of insubordinate and mischief, they worked well in groups. It took a mere 30 minutes to get everything delivered to them.

Between Pitch and his corrie batchmate getting the supplies from the specialist; Hardcase's sweet talking to whatever natborn masseuse he'd charmed; and then the collective collaborative efforts to build him the karking terrarium?

It gave him almost no time to really think about the fact this might be his life now. Almost. Nothing short of death would keep Dogma from considering every given thing from all angles.

The odds were not stacked in his favour.

"It looks pretty nice actually..." Echo mumbled as he admired the group's handy-work.

It didn't come anywhere near the naturalist look the zoo had managed to accomplish for their own frog enclosure, but it at least looked fairly decent for a first time build. Surely any actual honest to the Force budgett's frog would love living in there. But Dogma was not a real frog, and he was getting the impression the others had forgotten this.

He was afraid his own brain was starting to forget as well...

"The filter is working correctly, the lights are affixed, and we have plenty of places for him to hide in and even some grade A mud from a spa...." Kix looked very pleased. "We've made frog heaven."

"All he needs now is a little frog girlfriend to get that massive stick out of his sh--" Jesse began, only to get slapped on the back of the head by Pitch. "Ow!"

"All he needs now is to eat something." Pitch glared in warning. "He hadn't had anything yet and we're not letting Dogma starve on our watch."

Dogma gulped and pressed himself even flatter against Sponge's palm. He'd briefly seen the jars of feed they'd gotten from Pitch's batchmate's friend. He'd seen the contents moving. He was not looking forward to his very late lunch.

"We should give him something with a good ratio of fat and protein..." Coric spoke up from across the room. He was currently holding a few of the jars, looking at the labels and skimming through the nutritional values.

Twitch was holding two other jars, seeming entranced by the movement in one of them.

"A mealworm would likely be a nice starter..." Coric continued. "It's 15% fat and 20% protein. Some ARCs and ARFs actually eat these out in the field... It's a good boost. It's also a favourite among reptile and amphibian pet owners."

"I don't think he'll like eating something alive..." Tup gulped uneasily as he caught sight of the wriggling worms.

"We have other options, like the pinkies and the pellets, but the holobooks all said frogs very much prefer to eat live prey." Coric shook his head. "The movement stimulates the hunting instinct."

"Then just wiggle the food in front of his face?" Tup frowned.

"Budgett's frogs are aggressive and don't handle hands in front of their faces well." Kix cut in. "The last time I tried to touch him, Dogma tried to bite me, and he did bite Sponge when they took him out of Pitch's bucket."

The frog in question croaked sadly. He hadn't meant to that time. He'd been startled.

"That's why you use thick gloves when handling bitey critters and kih'vode." Sponge pointed out matter-o-factly. "Although I'd trust Dogma not to give me any kind of disease... You lot on the other hand, I have no idea where your mouths have been. Nor do I wish to know."

"Case in point, mealworm it is..." Coric set one of the jars down before beginning to unscrew the other. "Lets feed him now while the filter works its magic... Then we can put him in the tank."

The moment the jar was open and the CMO used some forceps to collect a big fat wriggling worm, the others all began to make gagging disgusted noises at the sight.

Dogma squeaked in displeasure, not wanting to have that horrid thing anywhere near him. But, as Coric began to approach, the transformed trooper couldn't help but to focus on the creepy crawly.

Logically a great part of him was repulsed by the sight... But a smaller yet somehow louder part of him was reacting in a completely different way. His stomach felt emptier than empty, he could feel himself salivate at the sight of the yellow grub, and his body tensed as his brain tried to comprehend what was happening.

The forceps didn't even get to settle in front of him. He practically lunged out of Sponge's hands to clamp down on the wriggling mealworm. His jaws shutting around it with considerable force. The juices spilling down his throat and filling Dogma with an euphoric sort of glee that not even alcohol could provide.

"Karking hells..." Fives gawked as he watched Dogma eat with enraptured gusto. "This whole frog thing's really gotten to him..."

"This isn't right..." Tup sounded horrified. "Dogma would never eat a bug. Especially not... Not like that!"

The frog paused in his delighted gulps to look at Tup in surprise. He didn't expect his twin to sound so disheartened. He also didn't expect to find him in near tears.

The sudden joy he'd experienced evaporated in mere seconds.

"I know this is hard for you Tup..." Kix sighed. "But until we fix this, we have to accept the fact Dogma's changed... And we need to be supportive of his changes."

"Even if it means Dogma isn't behaving like himself." Pitch added.

But he hadn't changed! Not fully at least... He was still himself! Even if his body and these newfound instincts were making him act weird. Even if he was suddenly not averse to eating bugs.

He was still Dogma! Wasn't he?

"Tup..." He wanted his twin to tell him he was still Dogma.

The other didn't even spare him a glance.

"And what if there isn't a way to fix him? Then what?" The overly-emotional trooper asked the medics. "What if they can't fix him and I've lost Dogma all over again?"

"We'll still care for him." Twitch looked at Tup sadly. "It's our duty."

The more he listened them talk, the more Dogma's cracked heart sunk deeper into the recesses of the cold black darkness of his chest cavity.

He was nothing more than a shared responsibility... A Force-damned chore they'd begrudgingly taken on... Tup already considered him a lost cause...

Appetite gone, Dogma laid back down flat on Sponge's palms. The medic took his reaction as a sign of tiredness, if them turning towards the terrarium and slowly setting him down on the pitcher of mud, was anything to go by.

To add insult to injury, the mud didn't even bother him. It felt nice. It felt karking nice to be in the mud. It felt like home.

Tup was right, he was too far gone.

It broke him, having to accept this. That he could no longer perform the duties he was made for. That he couldn't go out in the field with his brothers and protect them in battle. But he'd be damned if he was any more of a burden to the vode as he had been in the last couple of days.

From the moment he rejoined the 501st, to getting sick and then this, he'd been nothing if not an liability to the battalion. Useless in everything he did, no matter how hard he tried. Unwanted and undesirable, now in both personality and appearance. But, even if he was no longer the proud trooper he'd once been, he was still smart enough to know when it was time to leave.

And leaving was the better option.

It'd save the others the trouble of having to look after him. Of having to worry about whether or not he'd eaten, or if the tank needed cleaning. He could still help by staying away.

And if he was stuck as a slimy gross little frog, then maybe he could still make himself useful to someone out there. Even if just for educational purposes for young natborn children.

Mind made up, Dogma nodded to himself as he prepared for a long wait. Once everyone retired to bed he'd be making his escape. It wouldn't be hard to get out of his enclosure, considering none of them had bothered to set up any sort of covering.

And Dogma hoped he was still as good a climber as he used to be.

#Eps Writes #star wars #the clone wars #clone trooper dogma #clone medic kix #clone medic coric #arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #clone trooper tup #clone trooper hardcase #arc trooper jesse #clone ocs #clone medic sponge #clone medic pitch #clone medic twitch #pitch and rhythm are rogue's ocs #twitch is obviously gaeasun's oc

[xxlittle0birdxx]

WIP: Obi-wan/Satine; post-Brotherhood

This took over my head after reading this but from Mike Chen’s Brotherhood.

It was hard to avoid her. The latest passionate exhortation to choose neutrality, and prevent the war from escalating was all over the HoloNet. It was in a report prepared for the Council. Not just the text, as was the usual custom, but an audio and video recording, as well. He could console himself in that Yoda chose to only display the speech’s text. He could picture her so clearly in his mind’s eye, though. The blonde hair that would escape whatever coiffure she’d twisted it into to fall in wisps around her face. The color of her eyes that shifted from the crystalline blue waters of Scarif to the rich shade of the lapis mined on Draboon. The tiny line between her brows that would deepen during their frequent bickering arguments. The small, private smile she had just for him. The one that warmed him from the tips of his ears to the soles of his boots. Would she wear a dress in blue, her favorite color? Or would she wear something in dark pink? Or purple? He’d once relented on his birthday to look up images of her at some school opening she’d attended earlier in the day. She had worn green, his favorite color. He entertained the idea that she’d done it for him, because it was a color she rarely wore on its own. Her subtle way of saying hello from across the stars.

The question still haunted him. What if he’d done what was good for his soul, and bent the Code? Perhaps then, he could function as though he didn’t share a single brain cell with Anakin. Like a ginger tooka or lothcat.

‘Master Obi-wan, insights you have on the Duchess?’ Yoda’s warble startled him from his uncharacteristic reverie.

Obi-wan took a moment to reposition himself in the chair, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee. ‘I’m afraid anything I might have to add is sadly outdated.’ He spread his hands apart in mute apology. ‘I haven’t seen or spoken to the Duchess in sixteen years.’

Sixteen years, eight months, and twenty-five days to be exact. But who was counting?

‘Know her best on the Council, you do,’ persisted Yoda.

Obi-wan resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Yoda wouldn’t give up so easily. It was just good policy to keep a place as potentially volatile as Mandalore in the back of one’s mind. Unbidden, the memory of dozens of tiny, seemingly inconsequential intimacies arose. The scent of her perfume, faded after a long day, whispering in the hollow of her throat. The touch of her hand against his cheek. The way she twirled a lock of hair around her index finger while she read. Even how she bit her lip just before her head fell back as she… He twitched his robes to drape over his hips a little more securely, and tried with all his might to let it go. ‘She is a committed pacifist. Trying to persuade her to aid the side of the Republic would only waste our time and hers. It would be a futile endeavour.’

‘Even for the Great Negotiator?’ Kit Fisto grinned slyly.

‘Especially for the Great Negotiator,’ Obi-wan said firmly. Satine would see it as a personal challenge to find a hundred ways to call him a pompous ass in the most diplomatic language possible, if not the tone.

#obi wan kenobi #satine kryze #obitine #obi wan carrying a torch for satine #obi wan keeps tabs on her #jedi council #obi wan’s past relationship with satine #past obi wan/satine #he thinks he’s in control of it #spoiler alert #he’s not #just prior to the Mandalore plot #dreaming about satine #dreaming about his own personal au #brotherhood #mike chen #star wars #the clone wars

[for-the-sake-of-color]

Meet Crisis Company

218th Urban Crisis Response Unit.

Deployed and wiped out on geonosis, out of the hundreds, a lieutenant and three corporals remained. The survivors were split, rearranged, send off. Promoted. The Lieutenant, now a Captain, was given orders to rebuild his company. He gets command of standard squads, and begins to rebuild his own squad out of other survivors.

It starts with Jet, the Captain. but what good was an urban crisis response unit that couldn't splice open a door?

enter Lieutenant Margo, the tech, only agreeing to leave her position as squad leader to be his second so long as she was allowed to bring her favorite brother. This is acceptable. Does an Urban response unit need a heavy weapons expert? not really, but hey, Welcome to the family Cynic

No, what they needed was a bomb diffusal expert E.O.D. Bomb threats were a regular in capital cities. So, in comes Boom. a steady voice with steadier hands.

Every unit needs a medic, and even this early into the war, Heron's grown weary of front line medicine. He volunteered for Crisis Company early on, and worked his way to the the Captains squad by simply being good and dedicated to his job.

Then comes in Torch and Lake. The last two in a trained Bloc of sharpshooter squads. Out of two thousand specialists, these to Corporals are all that remain. The twins will not be split, and their rabid devotion to remaining alive amd together put them off of being picked by several units. Jet thinks they're perfect, every sharpshooter needs a spotter, afterall, and then spends the rest of his life (lovingly) suffering that decision,

and then comes the first battle of Kamino, and Ventress, and they loose Boom. It's a devastating blow, that they never see happen. They simply find what is left of their brother in the aftermath.

It's a while before they fill the E.O.D position. And one day, Captain Jet see's him sitting there, one of the four survivors of a bomb diffusal squad that had only partially succeeded, and partially survived. A burnt out bomb diffuser, who didn't want to die, who was terrified he wouldn't make it. Terrified of death. Of dying in an explosion, of there being nothing left of him but dust. Not exactly an ideal trait for someone who was supposed to face that possible future in almost certainty in pretty much every mission.

Jet offers him the specialist spot, and Sprig agreed. An Urban response unit often faced more... primitive anarchist type explosives. would they have killed a civilian or ten? probably, but even that wasn't likely to get past his padded armor. as safe as E.O.D could be.

And then they get stationed on Brentaal. A boring post where they are largely relegated to scanning incoming cargo for the republic embassy. until the day comes when one of those crates is carrying assassin droids. Go figure, right? Lops of Herons leg and as they were leaving, taking the transport out to a Medical station, the Captaining squad leaving the rest of the company to go get it replaced.

A little beast, Bing the tooka, snunk aboard and firmly fixed herself in their outgoing transport.

Apparently, Crisis Company traded their medics leg for a Mascot on Brentaal.

They get transferred to the Resolute, some Jedi's flagship, on their way through to the nearest medical center to get Heron fitted for a Semi-permanent prosthetic. The Resolute is back from a secret mission, deep into the unknown regions, back to the core worlds. And on that ship they meet the final member of the Captains squad, and the member that others would later (wrongly) attribute the naming of the company to by nature of his presence, the rabidly devotional sith Nihlus Brek, a reawoken relic from ancient times. A cold, broken husk of a man void of direction, to whome living is synonomous with suffernig, who's only purpose is to witness and record the galaxy, having seen too many libraries, jedi and sith, burn to the ground to let who was left behind leave without even a trace of a whimper. Who, despite this somewhat noble cause, only feels good and eurphoric when killing, and only feels warmth and hope and love when given a family, a clan, to protect at any cost.

Protect at any cost, you say? Inquires the Captain who refuses to lose any more of the family he has rebuilt from the ashes, who has a heart as big as those sad brown eyes, and enough love in that heart to extend that love to someone who thinks murder is fun.

Anything you want, I'll be anything you want, do anything you want, just love me, keep me. Says the sith. Your enemies will burn, and you will survive, on my life, on the lives of countless others.

Make him fight for us, and we will allow him to fight for you, Says the Jedi council in a split vote after a week of contentious arguing on whether or not to lock the sith in the basement and throw away the key.

And that day, the Captains Squad in the 218th Crisis Response units Crisis Company was finally complete. It's just a damn shame that the entirety of the company that was left behind on Brentaal was then reassigned, leaving Jet in charge of... Only his squad.

Because the council is not giving a sith over a hundred troops at his beck and call.

Thats fine, They'll make due as a specialist unit. This is fine, says the optimistic chronic micromanager now in charge of only seven instead of a hundred.

It's a good thing managing a sith is a lot of damned work, that he's a handfull enough on his own.

#star wars #crisis company #crisis company tag #jet tag #margo tag #cynic tag #lake tag #torch tag #heron tag #sprig tag #nihlus tag #just a little worldbuilding that i need to iron out so i can refrence back for sure #swtcw #swtcw oc #clone troopers