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eyayah-oya · 3 years

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I never knew what I was missing

Cloneship Week Day 2 - Soulmates - @cloneshipweek

Jesse/Kix

Rating: T

Canon typical violence, major character injury (I don’t go into graphic detail of the injury, though)

Ao3 link

Since the moment Jesse was decanted, there was an ache in the back of his mind, as though he was missing something important, but could function without it. He’d heard whispers from other cadets that they felt the same. They all had to be careful to not let the Kaminoans or the Cuy’val Dar know about this strange emptiness in the back of their minds for fear of what would happen to them. Surely, this deep-seated need for something was some kind of defect the longnecks hadn’t expected.

As Jesse got older, he began to hear even quieter rumors, basically legends, that said some of the clones found something to fill that aching emptiness. According to those rumors, it wasn’t something that helped, but someone. But it wasn’t until Jesse was eight that he learned about soulmates.

The Alpha class somehow managed to get access to the holonet, and they found the information on soulmates and what it means to have one. The Alphas then passed that information down to the CCs, who passed it down to the CTs, always careful to not let any of the trainers or Kaminoans come across the information.

A soulmate is the term used for someone that they couldn’t live without, who, once they met, would complete each other in a way that no one else was able to. Soulmates could be platonic, familial, or romantic, but they were supposed to be the one a being could always rely on. There weren’t any particular abilities or tactical advantages that came from finding and connecting to your soulmate, but Jesse found he rather liked the idea of having someone that was meant for him specifically. Clones weren’t allowed much in the universe. They weren’t even allowed to have names, though most clones gave themselves one just to prove that they were people, too. But Jesse’s soulmate was his, whoever they were. And that meant everything.

Jesse first watched a brother find a soulmate just before all the battle-ready clones were sent out to Geonosis with General Yoda, Grandmaster of the Jedi Order. He’d stepped foot inside a gunship along with his squad and a squad of brothers he didn’t know. His batchmate was pulled across the gunship until they were standing face to face with another clone, helmets off so they could see each other. The pure joy radiating from them bolstered everyone’s spirits even higher than they already were. After all, the Jedi had finally come, and they would be able to finally fulfill their purpose.

Two hours later, he watched his batchmate get shot in the face by a Geonosian and the newly found soulmate nearly break down from grief and pain. Less than a minute later, and the other clone met his own end.

So many clones died on Geonosis. So many who had never found their soulmates. So many that had, and were now separated by death itself. And there were many who followed their soulmates quickly into death, rather than survive and live a life without the other.

Following that battle, Jesse found himself fearing that void in the back of his mind where his soulmate was supposed to be. Had they died before they’d even met? How did he know that his soulmate was gone if they’d never found each other? Was it an awful pain like he’d seen with his new squad in the 501st? Would he ever be able to find out, or would Jesse be stuck in an endless ignorance?

There were no answers. Fellow clones, vod’e, couldn’t answer him, and nat-borns had rarely had to worry about that kind of thing until the war broke out. Sure, there was probably someone, somewhere who might know the answer, but there was no way to scientifically prove anything as no one knew their soulmate until they met.

As the war progressed, Jesse did his best to ignore everything about soulmates. As soldiers, they were supposed to be the best fighters, defending the Republic against the Separatist droid armies. Worrying about his soulmate would only distract him and put everyone else in danger. He’d seen vod’e self-destruct after their batchmate or cyare were killed, and Jesse could admit that he never wanted to deal with anything like that.

It wasn’t until a difficult battle on some Outer Rim planet that was mostly marshes that he was abruptly confronted with the idea of soulmates again.

“Get down! Get down!” Jesse shouted at the group of shinies he had been put in charge of. The blast of a cannon from one of those octo-droids nearly blew the head off of a kid who was cackling madly as he shot the incoming droids with his Z6. Jesse managed to pull him behind shelter just in time, practically flattening the kid to keep him safe.

“What the kark do you think you were doing?” Jesse ground out. He pulled the shiny up enough for them to crawl away from their current position to try to find someplace a bit more defensible. He’d already lost two members of his squad in this skirmish and he didn’t want to lose any more. The shiny just scrambled after his squadmates, pausing every few feet to take out the droids that were getting too close to their position.

Christophsis was a nightmare. They’d taken the city easily enough the first time, but with the spy that had taken out their weapons depot, the Separatists were winning against both General Skywalker and General Kenobi. Too many men in both companies were dying, and from what Jesse understood, no one was answering their plea for reinforcements.

New orders came through over Jesse’s HUD, and he quickly turned to gather the eight shinies he had left. “Retreat and regroup with the main army. Keep your heads down and blasters up.”

“Yes, sir!” they chorused.

The extra shooty shiny cackled wildly. “Let’s get these clankers!” he shouted and popped up to mow down a row of clankers with his Z6, completely disregarding the blaster bolts headed his way.

Jesse tugged the shiny back down and glared extra hard at him, hoping that he would be able to feel the glare despite the bucket. “Keep your damn head down or you’re going to get it blown off. Stick with your squad and head back to the base,” Jesse ordered angrily.

With a sheepish salute, the shiny turned and followed his squadmates as they ran back to the base. Jesse covered their flanks as they ran, taking out as many B-1s and SBDs as he could as he followed a minute later. The whine of a cannon sent Jesse diving into cover. He gulped in lungfuls of air as desperately as he could while he had a second of respite until the droids would reach his position and he’d be forced to move again. At least his shinies made it back to base safely.

The giant crystal Jesse hid behind glowed a brilliant blue-green and he had only a second to think “Oh shit,” before the world around him exploded.

He lost time, though he wasn’t sure how much. There was a sharp pain in his chest that hurt with every breath he took, but especially when he coughed. Something metallic lingered in his mouth, making him gag from the awful flavor, but there was nowhere to spit it out. Protocol had been drilled into his head from the time he was decanted: Never remove your helmet in an active battle. The last thing he wanted was to have nasty tasting spit inside his bucket.

Blaster bolts flashed overhead, blue and red striking against the green crystal the city was built of. It was strangely beautiful, the danger adding to the beauty in a way that Jesse couldn’t describe. Soothing. Reality warped a little, and Jesse began to drift. Drift far away, following his brothers who had marched on.

Something deep in the back of his mind snapped into place, filling the empty space that had always existed. Jesse jolted as if he had been shocked, and let out an awful sob at the pain coursing through his chest. His immediate instinct was to curl in away from the pain, but something was holding him down, keeping him from moving. Somehow, that was more terrifying than anything else he had experienced since he’d first been deployed to Geonosis.

“Stop moving! I need a stretcher, stat! Massive bleeding from the chest cavity, but I have a pulse and I plan to make sure he has a pulse by the end of the day.”

Jesse relaxed as he recognized a brother’s voice. A helmet appeared in his visual range as something pressed against his chest. A scream wrenched from the depths of his chest in response, heaving sobs making the pain worse with every breath and every slight shift in movement. It was worse than anything else he had ever experienced in his life.

And yet . . .

The hole in his mind had been filled. Jesse, sometime between long moments lost to agony, realized that meant he had met his soulmate. It took long minutes later, when the medic managed to get him onto a makeshift stretcher for transport back to the base, that he realized the medic was his soulmate. His other half. The one that was supposed to complete him in every way.

A feeling pulsed from the area that Jesse knew his soulmate now occupied, though it was barely noticeable with all the pain signals firing in his brain. It was a warm, soothing feeling, almost like a hug, or praise from the Captain or the Commander. Warm like the rare sunny day on Kamino and warm like the jungle sims they trained on. Warm like batchmates piling together in the same tube for comfort. It was as comforting as a hug from his batchmates, though all of them had been killed on Geonosis. In the middle of treating his life-threatening wounds, his soulmate was making sure Jesse felt safe and cared for. Whoever this medic was, Jesse thought that maybe, just maybe, he could fall in love with them.

Well, at least I know I’m in good hands, Jesse thought deliriously. The medic would do everything he could to make sure Jesse lived to see the end of the day.

Every step of the way back to base jolted his injury further, and distantly, Jesse wondered what, exactly, had put him in this condition. Blaster wounds didn’t usually bleed since they instantly cauterized the wound. Maybe shrapnel? Definitely something sharp and definitely something poking his lungs. Jesse did not recommend lungs being poked. Universe, kindly kark off and never let something like that happen to him again, please and thank you.

“Move! Out of the way, soldier!” the medic snapped and Jesse could hear a mad scramble as whichever brothers were in his way scampered off to the side.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Jesse recognized the voice of his shooty shiny, though how he managed to do that while delirious with pain escaped him. Maybe it was the number of times the shiny seemed to put himself in danger during the last few days.

“I will do everything I can to make sure he is,” the medic responded, very carefully not promising anything. Good vod. It’s a bad idea to give false hope, just as it’s a bad idea to promise something he wouldn’t have much control over. Jesse would die when his time was up, and until then, he would fight to stay alive every second.

-------

“You’re lucky you survived,” the medic said later, after the battle was saved and both the Resolute and the Negotiator were headed to their next mission. Jesse didn’t know the details, and he didn’t care to, either. What he did care about was the fact that his soulmate was sitting beside his bed and had saved his life and Jesse still didn’t know his name.

“I had a good medic,” Jesse quipped. He groaned as he began to test the mobility of his extremities. Chest wounds were awful, and he desperately hoped he would never have to live through one again.

“It was a close thing. You had to be put in a bacta tank for two days before you were healed enough to be put in a bed. A few more minutes out there and you would have bled out.”

From what Jesse remembered, that made sense. “What impaled me?” he decided to ask.

The medic grabbed something from the tray beside his bed. A green crystal shard from Christophsis the size of his thumb lay innocently on the medic’s palm. It glinted innocently in the harsh lights of the medbay, ethereal and stunning. And yet, that thing had nearly killed him on the battlefield of Christophsis.

“Guess the most beautiful things really are the most dangerous,” Jesse said.

The medic snorted and turned to fill out some forms on his datapad. Jesse shamelessly used this opportunity to study his soulmate. The vod had intricate designs cut into his hair, which was cut down to a buzz. He had sharper cheekbones and a thinner face than most other clones, though for any nat-born the difference wouldn’t be noticeable. There was also a tattoo on the side of his head that read “The only good droid is a dead one.” Jesse agreed completely. Mostly. The mousedroids and the General’s R2 unit weren’t bad. Any Seppie droid though? Yeah, they were only good when they were reduced to scrap. The medic’s hands were slimmer than Jesse’s, the way most medics’ hands were. It was easier to treat delicate injuries if you didn’t have to worry about thick fingers getting in the way. Some brothers called medics delicate, but Jesse had never thought that way. Medics were stronger than the average clone, simply because they had to pick up and haul brothers far from the battle while they were in their armor. Plus, they had to deal with the deaths of thousands of brothers without breaking themselves. Medics were the strongest vod’e.

“Have you finished your staring?”

Jesse smirked. “Nope. But I would like your name.”

The medic answered with a sharp grin. He leaned forward, his elbow on Jesse’s bed and his chin propped up on his fist. “What makes you think you should have it?”

“I’d like to know who my savior is,” Jesse answered. He felt a flicker of amusement coming from the space in his mind where the medic had taken root. “You and I are gonna be close, I can tell.”

“Those lines don’t work on me,” the medic said, his smile still razor-sharp. “I only give my name to a di’kutla runi that doesn’t end up in my medbay bleeding from their chest.”

Jesse’s heart fluttered in his chest, broadcasted to the whole medbay by the karking machine monitoring his vitals. The medic had called him “runi”. Soul. The Alphas had overheard that word from some of the trainers on Kamino when they talked about families left behind or marching ahead. The medic really was his soulmate.

Said medic was a karking bastard though and should definitely stop smirking like that every time Jesse’s heart literally skipped a beat. That smirk was doing dangerous things to his mind, and he hated that he was stuck in a bed in the medbay for the foreseeable future. At least he’d be able to talk to his soulmate and get to know him. If said soulmate would karking cooperate.

“Kix,” the medic said after a few minutes of Jesse trying to tamp down his blush and get his wayward heart to stop betraying him.

“Huh?” Jesse said intelligently.

“My name. Kix. With an x.”

Kix. Jesse rolled the name around in his head for a few seconds before he decided that the name suited his soulmate. “I’m Jesse. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too.” The smirk shifted into a softer smile. One that reminded Jesse of the warmth he had felt when their connection had snapped into place and Kix tried to comfort him while treating his shrapnel wound. The warmth that delirious Jesse had decided he could easily fall in love with.

With a clap of his hands, Kix turned away from Jesse’s bed, who immediately ached to reach out and keep. He didn’t want to be alone and he certainly didn’t want his soulmate to leave.

“Now that you’re awake, I have a pack of shinies that I am officially making your problem.” Kix opened the medbay doors and waved to someone down the hall. He turned and flashed that same dangerous smile. “Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

Jesse decided that he would deal with a hundred shooty shinies if it meant he could hear Kix’s laugh again when the reckless one (who promptly declared that his name was Hardcase, given to him by Captain Rex himself) started talking a minute at Jesse without getting a single breath between sentences.

It would definitely be worth it. After all, the Mandalorian wedding vows (stolen off the holonet in a Mando’a learning module) mention raising warriors together. Who better than the shinies of the 501st?

#clone/clone #jessix #jesse/kix #clone trooper kix #clone trooper jesse #clone trooper hardcase #look a wild hardcase appeared #haha how did he get there #soulmate au #cloneshipweek2021 #day 2 | soulmates #cloneshipping

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solar-writes · 2 years

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cloneshipweek Halloween 2021 prompts

Late submission for @cloneshipweek's Halloween 2021 prompt.

Rating: T

Ship: Dogma/Hardcase

Prompt: Day 3, Curses

Warning: Very vague implied friskiness.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am afraid no part of this is a joke, Dogma. Until General Kenobi can find a way to reverse what the Sith artefact’s done to the both of you, you’re going to be stuck like this for the foreseeable future.”

Dogma doesn’t curse, because it’s not generally a good idea to spout invectives in the presence of your commanding officer. But he comes close. Very close.

“Foreseeable future,” he echoes, torn between outrageous and disbelieving.

“Oh, c’mon,” the person next to him — the most infuriating pain in the shebs Dogma’s ever had the misfortune of meeting — says, breezily like Rex has just announced the duty roster for the upcoming week. “It’s not that bad.”

Dogma clenches his jaw so hard he hears something crack. “Shut up, Hardcase.”

“I mean, I know we’re both probably not going to get much privacy for the next week or so, but — don’t be so uptight, Dogma. Think of it as an opportunity, to get to know each other…better.” Hardcase waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Tup’s words about Hardcase harboring the most massive crush on him hit him full-force, like a star destroyer entering hyperspace. “I’m sure we could both…stand to gain something from this learning experience —"

“Hardcase,” Rex sighs. “You’re not helping.”

“Just tryin’ to be optimistic here, Cap’n,” Hardcase shrugs, and Dogma’s left hand moves up with the motion, too, from where it’s literally melded into Hardcase’s right: an odd joining of the flesh that had taken place when Hardcase had, against General Kenobi’s instructions, touched the karking Sith urn on their last assignment to that run-down Sith Temple in the Unknown Regions. That had ostensibly unleashed some kind of centuries-old curse, and Dogma had had the misfortune of being the unfortunate karker closest in proximity to Hardcase then.

“Oh, lighten up, Dogma. Look on the bright side of things for once, would you. It’ll be fun! We’ll do everything together — eat, sleep, even shower, and I’m sure we’ll come out of this as best buddies —"

Dogma slaps a hand over his face, desperately trying to tamp down the rising irritation that’s threatening to spill over. One week. General Kenobi has promised one week to figure out how to reverse the spell, and if the blasted Jedi takes any longer than that Dogma will personally march straight to the medbay and perform the amputation of his limb himself.

Well. He supposes it’s better than being attached to Hardcase at the hip.

#cloneshipweek2021 #spookyseasonweek day 3 | curses #dogma x hardcase #crack #cloneshipping #solar writes

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sergeantgoggles · 3 years

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@cloneshipweek

The Flowers Speak Volumes When There Are No Words Day 16 (technically) | Flower Shop AU Hunter/Tech | Huntech (feat. Echo) 1,592 Words

Light, bell-like chimes jingled as the glass front door to the corner flower shop opened, signaling a customer had entered the establishment. Taking pause from pruning his latest display arrangement, Echo looked up and smiled at the man who stood in the lobby. Soft brown eyes with lightly golden flecks scanned the flowers that were already composed and poised in their vases, and he took each of them into quick consideration. From the look of him, Echo was able to discern that the man had somewhat of an idea what he was looking for. Some of his customers did, and it was always nice to hear from someone else who was just as passionate about flowers and plants as him. Others weren’t as knowledgeable, which worked just as well. Echo liked to flex his vast flowery wisdom when the opportunity presented itself.

“Hey there,” he greeted after a moment of observation. “Something I can help you with?”

The man in question seemed to be around his age, perhaps only a year or two in difference. He smiled sheepishly, and it might have been the cutest thing Echo had seen all day. Turning back to one of the displays, the man gestured with his head.

“I think I want something that looks like this,” he told him, but there wasn’t much confidence in his voice.

Echo followed his gaze to a bouquet of different colored roses. At the time he had made the arrangement, he had done so for the annual Pride Parade, a simple showcase of colors of the rainbow. There were other arrangements like that in different pride flag colors, but Echo had taken them off display to refresh them. Only the rainbow bouquet remained.

Smiling, Echo chuckled. “They’re quite colorful, aren’t they? What’s the occasion?”

“...No occasion,” the man, who Echo now noticed was covered in a number of tattoos, replied shyly. “I just want to give someone flowers.”

This earned another chuckle from Echo. “Flowers are an excellent gift, but can have a number of different meanings. For example, those roses certainly look pretty, and if that’s what you’re going for, that’s perfect. If you want them to have meaning, though, I suggest something that isn’t so cliche.”

The man nodded, seemingly following along, then crossed his arms. “So how do I tell someone that I’m thinking of them without coming on too strong?”

A lightbulb clicked on in Echo’s brain, and he grinned. Without a word, he left the man standing in the sunlit lobby surrounded by flower arrangements and hanging plants. When he returned, there were two stools in his hands, and he placed them on the customer side of the counter. He took a seat and offered for the man to do the same. There was a slight hesitation, but the man accepted and sat beside him.

“Tell me about her,” Echo said, his smile never leaving his face. It was his life’s mission to help people communicate their feelings through flowers and plants. They were a natural beauty that everyone could cherish in their own ways and could say so much with just a little bit of thought.

“Um, it’s…” The man hesitated again, and this time Echo caught the blush of a man who didn’t want to out himself. Sympathetically, he laughed.

“I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m sorry.” Echo apologized, which seemed to make the man relax his shoulders a little. He knew what it was like to be judged for his sexuality, and he certainly wasn’t going to do that to this man. What he needed was reassurance and guidance.

“I’m Echo, by the way,” he changed tactics and offered his hand. “I’m the owner here.”

“Hunter,” the man next to him replied with his own soft smile as he took Echo’s hand. “I’m the manager of the tattoo shop across the street.”

“Small world,” Echo laughed as they shook hands, then prompted him again. “So Hunter, tell me about him.”

As he situated himself on the stool better, Hunter took a deep breath and told Echo about the guy he’d met on a dating app as a last ditch effort before he gave up on dating altogether, how they had been talking for a couple of weeks, but they had never seen any photos of the other or met in person. Echo had his own reserved thoughts about that, but he supposed the mystery of it could have been interesting. Hunter continued to tell him that right now it’s really casual, but they’ve been talking more and more the last few nights.

“There’s something about him,” he admitted with a shy tap of his fingers on the counter. “I can’t put a word to it, but I know that I want to mean something to him.”

Echo felt his heart melt a little. Of course, he knew the feeling well, and he felt it every time his husband smiled. Hunter was falling in love with his mystery man, whether he knew it or not, and he was going to help play a part in it.

“So you know a little bit about what you’re looking for in an arrangement then?” Echo edged them back to their business discussion.

“I do flower tattoos for people all the time. Most of the time it’s for a lost loved one, and the flower meant something special to them, so I’ve learned a little bit about the language of flowers just from listening to clients.” Hunter explained, “But, well, flowers were never really something I thought about growing up, or even now, but I wanted to be able to get him something nice to let him know I’m thinking about him without dropping to one knee.”

They both laugh at that, and Echo grinned. “I think I’ve got one for you. It’s one of my simple pre-arranged sets, but it will be perfect for what you want to convey.”

Echo stood and quickly whipped around the counter to the small bookshelf against the back wall. On top of it was a small arrangement of a yellow flower with layers of small petals that fanned out from the center placed delicately in a pearlescent spherical vase. Scattered amongst the yellow were branches of vivid green ferns. Carefully, Echo cupped his hands around the base and carried it back to where Hunter was still perched on the stool.

“Here,” he said cheerfully as he placed the case on the counter. “They’re zinnias. The yellow ones specifically mean ‘daily remembrance,’ or rather, ‘thinking of you.’”

A delighted glint sparkled in Hunter’s eyes as he looked them over. “And the leaves?”

“They’re ferns,” Echo supplied, amused. “If this guy is anything like you say he is, he’s pretty magical, or at least, that’s how he makes you feel. Ferns are a symbol of magic and fascination.”

Hearing that shot a dark flush across Hunter’s cheekbones, but he didn’t deny that was how he felt. Instead he ran his fingers gently along the edge of one of the fragile blooms. “Yeah, he is pretty amazing.”

Echo crossed his arms, pleased with how things were playing out. It wasn’t often that he got a customer that was as genuine as Hunter. Most of his clients were men who had forgotten special dates and had to make it up to their spouses, or extravagant arrangements for events and weddings. It wasn’t everyday that someone came in simply looking to woo a special someone in their lives.

“How much do I owe you?” Hunter’s voice cracked through Echo’s internal reverie.

After a moment's thought, Echo chuckled softly and shook his head. “It’s on the house. Just fill out the card on the counter with where to send them and I’ll take care of it from there.”

Hunter gawked, looking between the florist and the arrangement. “Seriously?”

“Completely,” Echo assured. “If things go well, come back and see me. We can talk about money then.”

The tattoo artist hesitated, and Echo understood why. Freebies weren’t the best way to go about doing business, but sometimes taking a bit of a loss for a greater good was worth it. He watched as Hunter mentally wrestled with himself before conceding to the offer given to him.

“Fine, but if you see me again, I’m paying you double,” Hunter bargained as he grabbed one of the flower ended pens from the cup on the counter and began filling out the card.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Echo laughed with a shrug.

Once Hunter had filled out the information, he stood from the stool. Now that the exchange was over, Echo could tell he was nervous.

“Hey, Hunter?”

Hunter glanced up to meet his gaze, and Echo made sure to hold him there as he gave the man a reassuring smile. “You seem like a nice guy. I’ve only known you for fifteen minutes, but I don’t see many guys like you come through here. If this guy is as wonderful as you make him out to be, he’s going to love the flowers.”

Slowly, the tension fell from Hunter’s shoulders, and confidence replaced the anxiety in his molten dark eyes. “Thanks. I hope so.”

Without another word, and before he could get cold feet on the whole thing, Hunter exited the shop, the light jingle of chimes signaling another customer come and gone. As Echo looked over the arrangement, his hand slid to the delivery slip. He read the name aloud with a smile on his lips.

“You are a lucky man, Tech. I hope you know that.”

#cloneshipweek2021 #day 16 | flower shop au #hunter/tech #sergeant hunter #clone commando tech #arc trooper echo #huntech #implied echo/fives #kanra writes

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wanderingjedihistorian · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hardcase/CC-3636 | Wolffe Characters: CC-3636 | Wolffe, Hardcase (Star Wars), Roger the Gardener (OC B1 Battle Droid) Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Hardcase is a sweetheart and is trying his best, Wolffe is quiet when he worries, Established Relationship, cloneshipweek2021, Day 3: Tattoos, Tattoos Series: Part 4 of Cloneship Week 2021, Part 60 of Playing in the Soft Wars Sandbox Summary: Hardcase could see the gears turning in Wolffe’s head as he prepped the ingredients for latemeal, but he had no idea what could have the other clone so distracted. For Cloneship Week Day 3 Prompt: Tattoos @cloneshipweek

#cloneshipweek2021 #day 3 tattoos #wolffe/hardcase #commander wolffe #hardcase #my writing #soft wars #star wars fanfiction

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coruscantguard · 3 years

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a calm but inquisitive interest

Clone Ship Week Day 2 - Witch AU - @cloneshipweek

Commander Bly/Commander Fox

Warning for mentions of the police & discrimination by the police (specifically against magic-users)

(Ao3 Link)

The whole thing begins about half an hour before closing time. Bly is the only one behind the counter when the man comes in— he'd managed to successfully bully Aayla into actually taking a night off and going on a date with that poli sci major from college who'd apparently become the Naboo district's House Representative, so she's hopefully out having a good time— and the man nods politely in response to Bly's greeting, then starts looking around the shop.

The man, Bly notes internally as he finishes chopping up the mandrake in front of him, does not look like their usual customers. He's wearing a suit that's much nicer than most people wear to coffee shops— much nicer than most people wear to potion stores that are combined with coffee shops, for the record, which is what The 327th Star technically is— and holding a briefcase that practically screams fancy expensive job.

The man also seems to fail at finding what he's looking for all on his own, as he's empty handed when he makes his way to the counter.

"Good evening," the man says before Bly can open his mouth. "Do you by chance have something that's memory enhancing? Or maybe some kind of sleep replacement?"

Bly blinks in surprise, puts his knife down. He takes in the bags under the man's eyes, the way he's drumming his fingers against his leg, and internally winces. He's run a coffee shop for long enough to know what it looks like when someone is running on fumes and too much caffeine, and this man could practically be a textbook definition of it. "Sir, I'm pretty sure that selling you any of that right now would kill you, and I'd rather not have to go through a murder investigation right now." Bly pauses, considers that. "Or ever, really, actually. I try to avoid murder investigations."

"Smart," the man says, quickly enough that Bly would wager he's not thinking about what he's actually saying. In his experience, people's brain to mouth filters tend to start failing around 24 hours of no sleep— or after a few days of very bad sleep, if some of the shit Cody said during finals week is any bar to go by. "But if that were to happen— and, disclaimer, this isn't legal advice, no attorney-client relationship is being formed here, consult with your own lawyer if you want legal advice— don't tell the police shit, just lawyer up. All the bullshit pop culture pushes regarding defense attorneys is just that— bull-fucking-shit." A pause, while Bly processes that. Well. It seems like Mr. Exhausted is some kind of lawyer, which does explain the ridiculously fancy everything he's wearing right now. Huh. Interesting. "Why would you get prosecuted if I was the one to be dumb and consume the potion wrong? I mean, assuming that your reluctance to sell isn’t because all the potions you have in the category I asked for are poisonous to humans, as it would make more sense if you just said that to me straight out."

... If Mr. Exhausted is a lawyer, then Bly probably owes Anakin an apology for dismissing his frequent complaints about how much lawyers like to hear their own voices as Anakin simply being annoyed with Obi-Wan instead of an actually somewhat valid critique of the profession. Whoops.

"They’re not poisonous,” Bly reassures him, “ but, in my— admittedly limited— experience, law enforcement tends to assume that if magic is present at a crime scene, magic is also at fault."

The man nods, suddenly looking much more engaged in the conversation. His fingers tap faster on his leg. "And innocent until proven guilty is a standard that only exists in courtrooms, police tend towards guilty until proven innocent in their investigations, which means an investigation could quickly turn to prosecution-- right, yeah, that makes sense, I should’ve known that. Sorry, I'm a bit tired right now. Huh. You know, every day my blood pressure thanks me for not going into criminal law, fucking hell, I don't know how Thire does it. I suspect I would've snapped and murdered a bitch by now if I had to deal with that much fucking bullshit on a daily basis."

Bly takes a moment to... process all that, and blinks at the man. The man, in turn, suddenly winces, and stops the drumming of his fingers. "Fuck, wow, I apologize, that was both irrelevant and inappropriate. God, I have a trial starting in a week and... you know what, I'm just gonna shut up now.” A pause. “Uh, what would you recommend for someone who needs to memorize a lot in a short amount of time?"

Sleep, Bly internally says, but externally, he summons up his best customer service smile, because he's smart enough not to tell someone this sleep-deprived the obvious. "I have a few ideas for something that could work," Bly says, moving out from behind the counter to their energy-related section of potions in the back, firmly forcing his brain to focus on his actual job. "Could you give me a bit more information regarding what you're trying to memorize?"

#cloneshipweek2021 #blyfox #foxbly #commander bly #commander fox #tcw #swtcw #star wars #the clone wars #cloneshipping #my writing #police mention #a calm but inquisitive interest #gallorywrites

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cloneshipweek · 3 years

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Welcome to the Cloneshipweek Tumblr!

Our current event (starts Sunday, October 24th)

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Cloneshipweek Discord server

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We wish you happy creating!

#cloneshipweek2021 #cloneshipping #star wars

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rivulet027 · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CC-5576-39 | Gregor/CC-3636 | Wolffe, Plo Koon & CC-3636 | Wolffe, Sinker & CC-3636 | Wolffe Characters: CC-3636 | Wolffe, Plo Koon, CC-5576-39 | Gregor Additional Tags: Post Abafar, Lost Love, Grief/Mourning, Cloneshipweek, Reunions, Just Add Kittens, POV CC-3636 | Wolffe, Hurt CC-3636 | Wolffe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Parental Plo Koon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending Summary:

It's difficult for Wolffe to accept that Gregor is dead the second time around, but when Plo finds Gregor it's not easy to accept that he's alive either.

#rivulet027 #cloneshipweek2021 #reunion #clone commander wolffe #clone trooper gregor #clonecest

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professional-dikut · 3 years

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Day Three - Tattoos

heres my day 3 for @cloneshipweek ✨ some crosstech and a hc that Tech did Crosshair and Hunters tattoos😁 (click for better quality🤦)

i meant to post yesterday but i didnt get it finished so ill post it later(:

#also random hc that tech sees better up close without his goggles on #jk i just suck at perspective🥲#cloneshipping #cloneshipweek2021 #crosstech #crosshair x tech #tech x crosshair #clonecest #day 3 | tattoos #tech #crosshair #tbb #the bad batch

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aahsokaatano · 3 years

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Cloneship Week Day 3: Tattoos

Pairing: Tup/Fives/Dogma

Rating: G

@cloneshipweek

and @ninjatwins who asked for Tup/Fives/Dogma in yesterday's soulmate au!

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

"Where's the fire?" Fives asked, mostly joking, as a shiny skidded around the corner and almost head-long into him and Echo.

The shiny froze for a moment before tearing off his helmet and pointing at Fives irritably. "You! This is all your fault!"

Fives felt his jaw drop on it's own accord as beside him, Echo doubled over laughing.

“Do you know how much time I spent practicing fire safety?” the vod hissed, eyes wild. The tattoo over his face was large and intricate and Fives was fascinated by how the ink shifted as the vod - his soulmate - snarled. “How many prevention and extinguishing methods I read up on? The amount of training sims I ran in the middle of the night?”

“No,” Fives squeaked. Echo absolutely wheezed beside him, which was not helpful.

“Too karking many!” the vod said, poking Fives’ chest with an authoritative finger. “And it’s just a joke?!”

“Dogma?” Another shiny appeared behind the first, this one at a more reasonable pace. “I heard yelling.”

Fives’ soulmate - Dogma, his name is Dogma. He likes it. - whirls around to scowl at this new vod. “You’ll never guess who I just found.”

The shiny took off his helmet, revealing that he also had a facial tattoo - a teardrop, below one eye. His hair was gathered back neatly, and looked very soft.

He gave Fives a considering look, before glancing at Echo, who was leaning against the wall for support as he giggled.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Echo made a strangled noise and laughed even harder. Traitor.

Fives thwapped his shoulder with the back of his hand. “Don’t pay attention to him, he’s an idiot.”

The new vod blinked, looked to Dogma’s fuming face, and simply said “ah.”

He stepped up and held out his hand. “I’m Tup. This is Dogma.”

“Fives,” he said, shaking Tup’s hand. “The idiot is Echo.”

“Rude.” Echo wheezed.

Fives rolled his eyes, smiled at Tup when he noticed him - his other soulmate! - doing the same.

Across his ribs, he swore he could feel his two tattoos warm in the presence of his soulmates.

You! This is all your fault! on the left, and What’s wrong with him? on the right.

Fives slung his left arm over Dogma’s shoulders, and his right over Tup’s.

“Wherever you two are headed, I’m coming with you, and Echo is not.”

Tup giggled. It was a nice sound.

Fives was looking forward to getting to know these two vode - his two soulmates.

#cloneshipweek #cloneshipweek2021 #tup #dogma #fives #echo #tup/fives/dogma #my writing #my fanfic #day 3 #tattoos #soulmates

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eyayah-oya · 3 years

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A Bit of Hope to Keep You Safe

Clone Ship Week | Day 7 | Armor - @cloneshipweek

Bacara/Rex

Rating: G

Warnings: none

Ao3 link

Rex walked through camp with two cups of caf in his hand, looking for Commander Bacara. They had time to relax before the next big push of the campaign, and Rex wanted to spend at least a few minutes with Bacara before they had to be a Captain and a Commander again. It was so rare that they even got to see each other, let alone outside of a professional setting, that Rex was willing to take whatever they could scrounge together.

Eventually, he found his way to the edge of the camp, overlooking a vast violet sea. The boulders of ancient ruins littered the ground, and Rex found Bacara leaning back against the boulder on the seaward side. Rex kicked a pebble to let the Commander know that he was there, and Bacara looked up.

For the first time in a long time, Rex got a good look at his boyfriend. Bacara looked exhausted. The eyes that held so much warmth during ARC training now were shattered with grief and the burden of forever remaining strong for his men. Bacara was the bulwark holding back the tide of the entire Separatist army from his men and the rest of the Republic. When Bacara realized it was just Rex, the line of his shoulders slumped just slightly, and the man behind The Marine peaked through the cracks in his armor.

“Rex,” Bacara breathed.

With a small smile, Rex sat down next to Bacara and handed him one of the cups of caf. “How are you?"

"I’m holding up, tat’ka,” Bacara said. He took a long sip of the caf and wrinkled his nose adorably much to Rex’s delight. “Did you put any sugar in this?”

“I gave you the allotment of sugar, same as every other damn cup of caf in the Republic,” Rex said, holding back a snicker.

Bacara hummed and drained the caf as fast as he could before setting his cup down on the ground next to him. With a languid stretch, Bacara leaned his head back against the boulder and closed his eyes, drinking in the rays of the sun. His skin was paler than other brothers, a testament to how rarely he took his bucket off. Rex scooted a bit closer to Bacara and pressed against his shoulder. A shudder ran through his body before Bacara leaned into the touch.

Rex wanted to weep at how touch-starved and lonely he was. How many nights did Bacara spend alone while his men sought comfort amongst themselves? How many times did he stand guard while the Marines shook apart and put themselves back together just to fight and die in another battle on a planet the Republic had all but forgotten? There was not a single clone ever created that did well with being isolated. From the time they were decanted, they spent every second of their day with brothers. But the Marines were isolated and Bacara even more so.

There were few things in life that Rex wanted more in that moment, than to take Bacara and his men far away from the war and keep them safe and loved. He wanted to hold Bacara every night, and tell him how loved he was until he stopped flinching at every touch. Rex wanted to have the freedom to be there for Bacara since he refused to allow anyone else close enough to take care of The Marine.

In the middle of a galactic-wide war, however, there wasn’t much Rex could do for any of those desires. He could care for Bacara for however long this campaign lasted, and then they’d be separated once again with little to no contact.

As Rex ran his fingers over the gouges in his thigh plate from an exploding tank, an idea struck him.

“Bacara—” Rex began, then stopped. How did someone even ask something like this? Maybe he should have paid more attention to Kix and Jesse’s courtship.

“Hmm?”

For several seconds, Rex tried to figure out what exactly he wanted to say. There were just so many different ways it could be taken, and Rex wasn’t even sure if the Marines were isolated enough from their brothers that this custom hadn’t reached them yet. Giving a piece of himself to a brother, especially one from a different battalion, had certain meanings. Rex fell in love quickly and loved deeply. Bacara loved just as deeply, but he was also slower to trust and slower to love. It felt awful to even think it, but Rex really wasn’t sure how his suggestion would be taken.

“Rex, whatever it is, I’m sure it will be fine,” Bacara sighed. “Talk to me, tat’ka.”

With a deep breath, Rex undid the clasps of his left vambrace, the only piece of his armor that he thought might be able to fit Bacara. Without a word, he turned and offered the piece of armor to his boyfriend and held his breath.

Bacara didn’t say anything. He stared at the vambrace, face carefully blank, and Rex was terrified that he’d pushed too hard too soon. The shattered look in his warm brown eyes seemed to clear, some of the cracks healing, just a little bit. They were silent, only the distant waves crashing against the base of the cliff and the calls of local seabirds could be heard. Not even the camp was close enough to hear the everyday chatter of soldiers reconnecting. After a minute, just long enough for Rex to get anxious, Bacara reached out and took his vambrace, his fingers trembling slightly.

Rex let out his breath in relief. Bacara understood what Rex hadn’t managed to find the words to express what was in his heart. This was important, for both of them. Vod’e traded pieces of armor with only their closest brothers. It was a promise to return. A promise that they had someone watching their back. A promise to always be there for them. Some, like Echo and Fives, it was a gift between siblings. Fives still cherished the piece of armor Echo had given him before the disastrous mission to the Citadel. Others, like Jesse and Kix, treated it as a courting gift. In either situation, the two who shared armor formed a connection that was unbreakable.

“Rex—” Bacara whispered, his voice rough and broken. “Rex, are you sure—”

But he refused to let Bacara finish that sentence. Rex surged forward and pulled his wonderful, kind, gentle boyfriend into a deep and passionate kiss, though he kept every movement gentle and loving. Everything he felt for Bacara was poured from his heart and into the kiss. Every time Rex only managed to keep going because he knew he needed to come back to Bacara. Every time he thought about his boyfriend fighting alone on far-off planets, surrounded by enemies. He gave Bacara everything, his whole soul. And Bacara welcomed every touch, every lick, every bite with the desperation of a man dying of loneliness. A man dying for the love of his cyare.

Bacara eventually took control of the kiss, pulling Rex into his lap and cradling his face in his large, warm palms. The callouses scratched over his skin, sending tingles down his spine and curling his toes in his boots. Rex sighed into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around Bacara’s shoulders and let him find what he needed with every shared breath and every suck and nip. Rex could only hold tight and refuse to let go.

Since the first time they kissed, Rex had always fallen apart when Bacara kissed him. There was a depth and a passion, building up heat until Rex was panting and hazy-eyed in his arms. With every kiss, Bacara told Rex how much he loved him. How much he meant to Bacara. How desperately he needed Rex. And this time was no different.

Rex had no idea how long they’d spent trading kisses with him straddling his boyfriend’s lap, caf cups and vambrace left forgotten in the dirt next to them. When they finally broke apart to simply rest their foreheads against each other, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, turning the pink sky a gorgeous red and purple.

“Rex?” Bacara murmured.

“Hmm?” He couldn’t gather up the scattered cells of his brain to come up with a more intelligent response than that.

“You really want to exchange armor?”

Rex idly slipped his fingers into Bacara’s curls, playing with the longer hair on top and scratching through his beard. “Of course, Cara. I love you. I can’t do much to be there for you while we’re still fighting this war, but I can promise to always come back. It’s not much—”

“No, it’s perfect,” Bacara interrupted. “I would love to exchange armor with you.”

“Good. I’m really glad.” Rex nudged Bacara’s nose while his hand scrabbled to find his forgotten vambrace.

Bacara huffed, amused, and grabbed the vambrace from where it had fallen on the opposite side of where Rex was searching. “Is this what you were looking for, tat’ka?”

Rex gave his best Tubie scowl he could, the one that never failed to make Ponds melt into a puddle, and nuzzled Bacara’s face. “Not my fault you hid it,” he grumbled.

“Of course. It’s perfectly reasonable to start losing your mind when dealing with the Jedi. No one would blame you for forgetting the little things.”

“I can and will bite you,” Rex threatened.

Of course, that had a slightly different effect on Bacara than Rex had been expecting. His dark eyes turned black with desire, and he leaned forward to leave a sharp bite on Rex’s swollen bottom lip. Rex gasped and his heart skipped several beats.

“Cara,” he gasped. “That’s not playing fair.”

“Who said anything about fair?” Bacara ran his hand along Rex’s arm, until he reached the empty space that his vambrace normally occupied. “Can’t have you going into battle without a full set of armor. That would be unprofessional.”

“Yeah? Are you going to do anything about it?”

Bacara hummed in response. With deft fingers, he quickly undid the clasps of his own left vambrace and pushed Rex back far enough that he could easily access both of their arms. They were all clones, so the vambraces looked to be the same size. It wasn’t cost-efficient, after all, to provide custom sizes of armor for the entire GAR. But the padding inside might be different for Bacara and Rex, since the Commander was built a bit bigger than Rex.

“Rex of Torrent,” Bacara started, his voice rumbling thick and low. “I give you my armor with the promise that I will always watch your back. I will always support you in everything you do. I will always love you. And I swear I will return to you as best as I can. Do you accept?”

Blinking away sudden tears, Rex leaned forward and captured Bacara’s lips in a soft kiss. “I accept your armor and your promise. Bacara of Nova, I give you my armor with the promise that I will stand by your side. I will treat your men as my own, and I will support Nova in every way I can. I will be your rock and your anchor. I will love you as long as I have breath and I will always do my best to return to you. Do you accept my armor and my promise?”

“Yes,” Bacara breathed. He shuddered and gripped Rex’s bare arm as tight as he dared. Rex wrapped his other arm around him and brought their foreheads together again, their lips brushing with every breath. He held Bacara until he was steady once again.

“Can I put my vambrace on you?” Rex asked once the shudders had faded to only the occasional tremor.

Bacara nodded and with sure fingers, Rex slid the vambrace into place and clicked the clasps closed. They both sighed when the armor settled into place and then Bacara was reaching for his vambrace. He returned the favor and soon, they were both fully armored again, minus their buckets.

“Thank you for letting me do this,” Rex murmured softly.

“No need for that. I’m glad you thought of it. I wasn’t sure—” Bacara trailed off. There were a number of things that he could say, but neither one chose to acknowledge any of them out loud. He wasn’t sure if Rex would want to wear his armor. He wasn’t sure when they’d be able to see each other for the exchange to even be possible. He wasn’t sure if either of them would live long enough to talk about exchanging armor.

None of those concerns ended up being founded, and Bacara relaxed as much as he could against Rex. Rex easily accepted his weight and held onto him as tight as he could. It wasn’t the same as being on board a ship, where they felt a bit more comfortable removing their armor, but it was good enough for now. Now was all they had, with the war pulling them across the galaxy from each other, and Rex intended to make the most of it.

(Later, his men would send Rex knowing smirks and pointed observations, carefully out of hearing range of Commander Bacara. While they teased and prodded at him, Rex knew that every single one of them were happy for him. They all needed a little bit of love and comfort with the war weighing down on them. Especially Captain Rex and The Marine.)

This is inspired by Soft Wars by @thefoundationproject . You should all go read it because it’s amazing!

#clone/clone #clone shipping #rexcara #rex/bacara #captain rex #commander bacara #soft and fluffy #i love them a lot #cloneshipweek2021 #day 7 | armor #armor swap #inspired by soft wars

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solar-writes · 2 years

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cloneshipweek Halloween 2021 prompts

Late submission for @cloneshipweek's Halloween 2021 prompts, written while I lounged around in bed this morning trying to wake up.

Rating: T

Ship: Dogma/Hardcase

Prompt: Day 5, Dares

Tags/warning: Modern AU, very vague implied frisky thoughts.

“Nope, those are the rules, Dogma,” Echo shakes his head. “Fives was pretty clear on that from the beginning. You’re going to have to pick one.”

“Between entering the Umbaran house and kissing Hardcase on the mouth?” Dogma demands, aggrieved.

“Exactly,” Fives says, a touch self-satisfied, and if Echo weren’t in the room Dogma would have reached over and cuffed him on the head.

Both options are inadvisable. The Umbaran house is an old, abandoned, dilapidated mansion that stands ominously on the corner of their street, so tenebrous and threatening that the thought of entering it sends chills down Dogma’s spine. And maybe Dogma doesn’t put much weight into belief of the supernatural, but the property’s been unoccupied for decades. If the demons that haunt the place (not that there are any, of course) don’t kill him first, the lack of structural integrity will when the house collapses on him with not so much as a warning the second he passes the threshold.

As for the alternative — well, Hardcase is handsome and charming and funny, and it’s entirely possible Dogma’s been privately fantasising about getting Hardcase on top of him, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to let any of the other guys even think there’s a remote chance for the both of them. Besides, there’s a real possibility that if he starts kissing he won’t stop, and that’ll definitely give him away then.

The second option, in question, has his lips puckered up and is making kissy noises in Dogma’s direction, and Dogma eyes him with a look that hopefully conveys a convincible degree of disinterest.

“I pick the house,” he sighs, resigned to his fate, and Hardcase immediately pouts.

“Woah,” Tup says, eyes wide. “Seriously? Nobody dares step foot near the Umbaran house, not even the authorities.”

“That’s because it’s private land,” Dogma says, matter-of-fact. “And the owner is apparently the Umbarans’ great-great-grandson, who lives far away in another continent.” He tips his chin in Fives’ direction: an open challenge. “What are the terms?”

“One night spent in there,” Fives says, grinning. “One whole night, and if you come running out before dawn breaks tomorrow you still have to kiss Hardcase on the lips.”

“Deal,” Dogma says, because the thought of the ancient, run-down house may make him uneasy, but it’s entirely unfounded. Dogma isn’t a superstitious person in any meaning of the word — ghosts, and other paranormal creatures, don’t exist, as much as people are inclined to believe they are. It’s just dumb stuff Fives and the rest like to believe in.

After all, it’s just one night. What could go wrong?

#cloneshipweek2021 #dogma x hardcase #cloneshipping #solar writes #spookyseasonweek day 5 | dares

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sergeantgoggles · 3 years

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@cloneshipweek

Secrets of the Castle -- Chapter 1 -- Chasing the Chaser Day 18 | Hogwarts AU Wrecker/Jesse (feat. Hunter/Tech and Crosshair/Echo) 1,832 words

Seventh year in Defense Against the Dark Arts had, so far, been Wrecker’s favorite class. Professor Kenobi was strict, but he was also fun, even if he didn’t get some of the older man’s jokes. His lessons were well thought out, and over the years had taken the time to help each student individually wherever they needed it, even if it wasn’t for his class. As the head of Gryffindor House, Wrecker expected nothing less. Oh, he wasn’t in Gryffindor himself, but he was well acquainted with students who were. In fact, it was because of how their classes were scheduled this year that this class was now his favorite.

It was the only class he shared with Jesse.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only class this year that Hufflepuffs shared with the Gryffindors, and the only class that saw all four houses in the same classroom. This meant a few things. The first, and most important as far as Wrecker was concerned, was that he got to be close to Jesse. He could stare at him, discreetly of course, and laugh at him and his friends, and be amazed by everything Jesse did for a whole uninterrupted two hours.

The other, slightly less important but also a plus, was that he got to be with all of his friends from different houses at the same time aside from outside of the classroom. Fate would have had it that his three best friends were all placed in different houses. It suited Wrecker just fine. As Tech put it, being as close as they are seeing as they’re in different houses breaks the societal norms and stereotypes. Something like that.

Professor Kenobi was running late, which was abnormal, but nothing that anyone gave much thought about. On the contrary, the buzz around the room was focused on the upcoming Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Normally, he would join in on the ruckus, poking jabs and taunting the other team, but it felt weird to tease Jesse. He might not have been the captain of the team, that was Rex, but Jesse was a damn good chaser. Wrecker thought he might have made a better beater, seeing how broad and toned his shoulders were, but he couldn’t deny that Jesse was just as talented at being a chaser for the last five years.

“What’s wrong?” Hunter questioned. Of course Hunter would notice something was off. He always did, and it was as endearing as it was incredibly annoying.

“Hm? Surely you aren’t nervous about the match tomorrow?” Tech further questioned as he leaned into Hunter’s side, causing the blue in his robes to fall open. “It’s just an exhibition match. There’s nothing on the line.”

Wrecker knew that. After all, he was his team’s best beater. Well, perhaps that was a bit of a brag. Hardcase was also a great asset, but Wrecker’s ego refused to let him believe he was the best, and his record of hits proved it.

“That’s not it,” Crosshair leaned back in his chair and swished his wand so that little bubbles that were shaped like hearts floated over Wrecker’s head. “He’s just thinking about Jesse again.”

Flushing as dark as the crimson headband that matched Hunter’s robes, Wrecker clapped his hands around the bubbles and popped them in a single motion. “Cut it out, Crosshair!”

His trio of friends share a laugh at his expense at the same time the commotion grabs the attention of others in the classroom. Multiple heads turn to see Wrecker, red faced and scowling, one of them being Jesse’s. Wrecker shrunk in his seat and hid his face. When had he gotten so bad for him? They hardly spoke outside of a few exchanges in the hall or before a game, and it wasn’t usually more than a few words. Still, he groaned under the scrutiny and sighed when Fives playfully smacked him on the shoulder to grab his attention once again.

“Yikes, you’re in deep,” Hunter commented quietly and gently patted Wrecker’s back.

“If I recall correctly,” Tech chided, “you had it so bad that you accidentally cursed yourself with squawking like a chicken every time you spoke for a week just because I smiled at you.”

The memory of Hunter cooing like a bird made Crosshair snicker. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“Yeah?” Hunter raised a brow in Crosshair’s direction and turned to fully face him. “What about you and Echo? As if you didn’t do something completely stupid in his presence when you had a crush on him.”

A silence fell over the small group as they collective tried to think of a time when Crosshair had done something stupid in front of Echo, but none of them came up with anything.

“Wrong,” the Slytherin replied coolly. “I’m more mature than--”

“There was that time when you spilled hot tea down your robes because your hand slipped watching me undress.” Echo’s voice piqued from behind them as he leaned around to peck Crosshair on the cheek. A dark flush abruptly spread on the Crosshair’s cheeks as his friends’ attention was turned to him.

“No one needs to hear about that,” he mumbled, though he didn’t shy away from another soft peck of affection, this time to his lips.

“Surely,” Echo agreed, then glanced in Wrecker’s direction. “Still fussing over Jesse? I don’t understand why you just don’t talk to him.”

Wrecker groaned and ran his large hands over his face. “You guys make it sound so easy!”

“Because it is,” the four of them agreed at once.

“Seriously, Wrecker, just say hi after class,” Echo encouraged before squeezing Crosshair’s shoulder and leaving to join his brother and their friends. “I promise that he won’t bite, unless you’re into that.”

Another round of chuckles made their way around the small group, and Echo winked at Crosshair as he slid into a seat next to Fives, easily falling into their conversation.

“He’s a good one, Cross,” Hunter complimented. “Not sure how he fits in wherever he goes, though.”

Crosshair shrugs. “It’s fine. Fives can be annoying, but Echo usually keeps him in check.”

Wrecker took the time to look in Jesse’s direction again as his friends chatted amongst themselves. Like Echo, Jesse seemed to fit in wherever he wanted to. Conversation and charisma came naturally to him, and there was something about the way that his eyes twinkled when he laughed that made Wrecker’s heart skip a beat.

It was by chance that when Professor Kenobi came through the door that his eyes caught Jesse’s. Time seemed to stop, and Wrecker was sure that he wasn’t breathing, or maybe he was, but somehow Jesse’s gaze made it so he felt too light to need air. At first the gaze was shocking, like Jesse was surprised to see Wrecker there even though they’ve shared a class for months and have been in the same school for the last seven years.

After a moment, however, Jesse’s gaze turned soft, and his chocolate brown eyes sparkled in a way that made Wrecker’s skin prickle with excitement. He couldn’t help it, he smiled at Jesse, albeit shyly. How could he not when there was so much warmth and beauty in something that was just as simple as sharing a gaze?

But then the unthinkable happened, and Jesse smiled back and winked at him.

Oh, Wrecker was convinced now that he wasn’t breathing. He was dead. There was no other rational explanation for what was taking place. This was all an elaborate dream, a vision of what he wished would happen before death claimed him.

“Eyes up, Wrecker.” Professor Kenobi’s voice cut through his reverie, and thin fingers snapped in front of his face. “If you paid half as much attention in class as you did to the antics of your peers you’d be in much better academic shape.”

Blinking several times, Wrecker broke out of the trance he’d been in and watched Professor Kenobi situate the books and scrolls on his desk. “Uh, right.”

As per usual, his commentary caused an uprising in giggles throughout the room, and Wrecker sighed again. For once, he didn’t want to be the class clown, though he had long accepted his role in the school hierarchy. His friends offered sympathetic smiles as they broke into their assigned seating by house.

“Apologies for my tardiness, everyone. I do hope that you took the extended time given to you to double check your research essays on boggarts and how they can affect cursed objects.” Professor Kenobi grinned, undoubtedly knowing full-well that none of them had done such a thing. He listened to the collective groaning about the room before chuckling. “Very well. If you’re all so confident, take out your papers to be collected.”

Wrecker huffed as he rummaged through his belongings to dig out his roll of parchment. He was quite proud of himself for the work he had put into this essay. He didn’t understand a lot, but he was fascinated by boggarts and being able to shift into one’s greatest fear.

What would his boggart turn into if his biggest fear was rejection?

Quickly, he shook the thought from his head. Having found the parchment in question, he set it in front of him and watched as he floated into the air to be gathered with his classmate’s essays. They flitted and fluttered about until they were neatly stacked, then brought down swiftly and gently into a pile on Professor Kenobi’s desk.

He sat back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the desk quietly. Maybe Echo was right and he just had to say something. It couldn’t be all that bad, right? Sure it could, but maybe it was better to find out now then to hold onto hope and wait for another school year to come and go. This was their last year at Hogwarts. After this, who knew where they would all end up. Wrecker hadn’t decided on much of a path for himself, though he thought he had a chance to skate by with his Quidditch skills, but Jesse...he was so talented and smart. He could go off into the world and do anything he wanted and never look back at him.

Nodding to himself, Wrecker steeled his resolve. He chanced another glance at Jesse and smiled again when he noticed that Jesse was already staring back at him with a smile of his own.

“Sorry,” Jesse mouthed to him, then gestured at Professor Kenobi. Was he apologizing for getting Wrecker singled out?

Wrecker waved a dismissive hand and shrugged. It wasn’t all that big of a deal. He was used to it, but it meant a lot to him that Jesse felt like he had to apologize for it.

Their gazes broke again and Professor Kenobi launched into his lecture for the day. Yeah, today was the day. Wrecker was going to do it. He was just going to say hi.

Maybe.

#cloneshipweek2021 #day 18 #day 18 | hogwarts au #wrecker/jesse #clone commando wrecker #arc trooper jesse #sergeant hunter #clone commando tech #clone commando crosshair #arc trooper echo #crosshair/echo #hunter/tech #the bad batch #star wars: the clone wars #clone shipping #cloneshipping #clonecest #kanra writes

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coruscantguard · 3 years

Text

hope (a dangerous, disquieting thing)

Clone Ship Week, Day 1 - No Order 66 AU - @cloneshipweek

Commander Thire/Commander Bacara/Commander Neyo, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Tarr Seirr, Pix, Yoda, Original Cerean Character

(Ao3 Link)

After the war ends, and the Chancellor is removed from power, Thire finds himself waiting for Neyo in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

It's not where he'd intended to wait for Neyo-- far from it, in fact. Usually, he would've waited outside for Neyo's transport to arrive, spoken with the other troopers working while he waited. Usually, he would've resigned himself to dealing with Coruscant's too-hot summers outside, just so he could ensure that he caught a glimpse of Neyo before their respective duties pulled them away again.

But now-- theoretically at least-- their days consisting solely of that kind of monotonous, soul-destroying work are over. Now, while they do still have things to do, it's not as endless as it used to be, not as overwhelming.

He'll never admit it where Cody can hear him-- he, Caladian, and General Kenobi are much too pleased with themselves for somehow pulling off that nexuosik half-cocked "plan" of theirs, Thire refuses to give either of them anymore satisfaction than they've already got-- but he's more than a little impressed, and more than a little thankful, that they managed to pull it off. Sure, it's not finalized yet-- after all, the wheels of the Republic's courts turn slower than a bantha in a sandstorm, so it'll probably be years until they actually see the end verdict-- but Thire's already seen a substantial improvement in his day-to-day life, and he knows he's not the only one.

After all, Thire isn't the only one who's been dragged to the Jedi Temple's gardens by the bitey little Force sensitive osik that's apparently General Mundi's youngest daughter. It was Bacara who roped him into this after the tiny youngling Jedi named Killi-Adi-Mundi tracked him down, Bacara who decided that if he was being dragged to some weird lineage-family reunion, he wasn't suffering alone. And since Neyo wasn't yet on planet, he'd elected to have Thire join him instead.

This is the first time they've spent any time together without Neyo there to mediate since Neyo had somehow roped Thire into their relationship, and it's not exactly how he'd imagined bonding with Bacara, but it could be going much worse. After all, it's not everyday that one gets to watch a three year old bully the Galactic Marine into letting her sit on his shoulders while General Yoda speaks riddles about the power of the small.

Thire's worked enough with General Yoda over the years to be relatively nonplussed by this. Bacara, it seems, has not.

"You're not half as funny as you think you are," Bacara grumbles, crankily opening one eye to glare at Thire while Killi starts pulling past-regulation length hair into tiny ponytails that she seems to be securing with the Force. It's quite the impressive display of power from a cadet. "I can see you laughing."

"I'm not laughing," Thire says drily, rolling his eyes. "You sure those new fancy glasses of yours are the right prescription?"

Bacara moves like he's about to make a rather rude gesture in Thire's direction, before seemingly remembering the presence of his General, his General's former padawan, his General's former padawan's padawan, his General's child, and General Yoda, and sticking his tongue out instead. Thire doesn't laugh at him. He doesn't. Coruscant taught him better self control than that.

General Seirr's padawan however, a young Human girl with long black twists of hair and a fondness for purple, seems to have completely missed the Jedi equivalent of those lessons and bursts out laughing.

General Mundi and Bacara proceed to let out identical put-upon sighs, which just sets the shiny Jedi off even more.

"When is Commander Neyo supposed to arrive again?" General Seirr asks pleasantly, turning to look at Thire. And Thire opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't end up saying anything, because right as he's about to speak, he's cut off by a sudden flash of fabric, and Commander Pix's laughter turns into a high-pitched squawk as her hood is suddenly pulled down over her eyes by an invisible force.

Thire's not quick enough to bite back his laughter at that one, and the Commander's petulant tone when she speaks just sets him-- and General Mundi's brat-- off further. "Ma-ster," Commander Pix complains, as she tries and fails to take her hood off. "Master!"

"Yes, Padawan mine?" General Seirr asks a moment later, seemingly letting go off her hood as he does, if Commander Pix's surprised squeak when she manages to throw it off is any indication. "Is there a problem?"

She pouts. "You're the worst," she says, turning to General Mundi. "Master Ki, tell Master Tarr that he's the worst."

General Mundi raises an eyebrow. "Tell Master Tarr that he's the worst..."

Thire scrunches his eyebrows together, not quite getting what the General is implying, and a brief glance at Bacara confirms that he's not the only one confused. Commander Pix seems to get it though.

"Master Ki, tell Master Tarr that he's the worst, please?"

Face as neutral as ever, General Mundi turns to look at General Seirr. "Tarr, I'm afraid I must inform you that you're the worst," he says blandly.

Thire covers his mouth to hide his snicker, scoots closer to Bacara so he can whisper to him. "You shebs, you didn't tell me your General was funny."

Bacara glares at him, but doesn't react to the fact that Thire's move left their legs pressed together, which is a win in Thire's book. "Sorry, did you want me to include that in one of my official reports? Yes, Admiral, we managed to hold the line, but we require more supplies. General Mundi made a joke today. Any chance the 327th can reinforce us?"

Thire snorts, elbows him. "You know what I meant," he says pointedly, and Bacara just sighs, which is another point for Thire, if Neyo is to be believed. And perhaps he does it because he's riding high on that success, perhaps the end of the war emboldened him, but Thire takes the opportunity to knock their shoulders together too, grins in response to the unimpressed look Bacara sends him.

Perhaps this whole relationship thing will go better than he was expecting, Thire thinks, and that kind of positivity, that kind of optimism, is something he's hasn't gotten to experience in a long, long time. Perhaps this will go well. Perhaps he can actually fit into the weird mismatched families that Bacara and Neyo managed to create, perhaps he's not the intruder he's been worrying that he'd be.

The feeling of hope sits oddly in his chest, and it feels like a risk, like he's leaving himself exposed, but... it's not bad. It's the opposite, really.

It's been a long time since Thire's allowed himself the luxury of dreaming, but as he looks back to the bickering Master-Padawan pair, feels Bacara's leg next to his, he allows himself to consider that maybe, just maybe, this will actually end somewhat happily.

#cloneshipweek2021 #day 1 #no-order 66 #thire/bacara/neyo #thirebacaraneyo #commander thire #commander bacara #commander neyo #ki-adi-mundi #tarr seirr #yoda #jedi padawan pix #killi-adi-mundi #thirebacara #cloneshipping #my writing #gallorywrites

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