#oc clone: vault
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Cards on the Table
Summary: Vault decides to take Cam up on his offer to play some sabacc while waiting for ship repairs.
Word Count: 830
Warnings: Gambling.
A/N: @anxiouspineapple99 Thank you so much for lending me Cam! I had a lot of fun writing this 😊💜
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The chronometer on the wall ticked away the seconds, and Vault swore it was mocking him. Another minute gone, it taunted until he could almost hear the wires crackling as it churned time.
The shuffled clack of crimson and white armour reminded him he was being observed, by brothers no less. Cross-armed, muttering, betting against him as they sipped their steaming mugs of caf. He had been foolish to become entangled in Coruscant guard games. If his squad discovered he had deviated into gambling while getting their ship repaired, he would be condemned to scrubbing latrines until his hair turned grey. But his expertise was in logistics, and Cam’s persuasive wager had only fuelled his eagerness to showcase his abilities.
‘Just one game to pass the time. The scans will take a bit,’ the guard had said thirty credits ago. ‘Nothing worse than hanging around here with nothing to do.’
In a whirl of courage, he threw caution to the opposing wind and played all his cards, remaining steadfast and certain in his choice. His expression quickly dropped into disappointment as Cam confidently laid down a perfect match and claimed his winnings.
“What can I say,” the engineer shrugged as he rolled a credit between nimble fingers. “Luck of the shuffle.” He expected Vault to slump back like the others he played, resign himself to defeat and perhaps even comment on his skill, but instead, he flung down another jingling cluster of credits.
“Deal again,” he said, a competitive glint lighting up his eyes.
“I thought you were supposed to be an intelligence clone,” a broad-shouldered Corrie guard pointed out. “You’ve lost every match.”
“Other type of intelligence,” Vault corrected. “Many make that mistake. Besides, I’m going to win this one.”
Cam flicked a loose curl from in front of his face. He couldn’t decipher if Vault’s drive came from sheer determination or a cheerful disposition, but regardless, he looked forward to facing an eager challenger.
Swinging his legs down from the playing table, he settled his elbows onto the scratched wood and grinned.
* * *
The locks to the Mantle Squad barracks clacked and discharged the door with an obnoxiously resounding thud. Vault had intended to make a quiet entry, but when he caught sight of Hayze poring over a technology magazine, his shoulders drooped. “Hadn’t you gone out with the others?” he sighed.
“Hello to you too,” his preoccupied squadmate grumbled, remaining fixed to the pages. “Did you get the ship sorted?”
Vault gave a small “yes” as he rummaged in the drawer beneath his bunk, retrieving the armour cleaner and a soft cloth. The potent chemical scent invaded his nostrils the moment he opened the tin, and he hastily got to work scouring the dirt and mending blaster dents. Hayze’s intense glare felt like a laser beam piercing into his skull. Coughing and tensing his shoulders, he attempted to evade the silent suspicion.
“You’re never usually this quiet,” Hayze remarked, shoving the magazine aside. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Vault.”
“Hayze.”
The clone at the central countertop straightened up and folded his hands in his lap. Normally, his brother would return and talk non-stop, and the absence of his usual lively chatter made him wonder what was wrong.
“I may have had a fun little game of sabacc with a Corrie engineer when I went to get the ship fixed,” Vault explained. “And I may have lost.”
“How much did you lose?”
“About fifty credits. Give or take.”
With a heaved breath, Hayze rubbed the bridge of his nose and muttered a curse. Despite his irritation, he remained measured, resolved to gather all the facts before criticising his foolishness. Rumours had reached him about the bets made by Coruscant guards and the cunning strategies they employed to secure their wins. Vault’s losses cast a shadow over the squad, and it would be a challenging task to restore their expert reputation. “Was it an all-in bet or…?”
“No,” Vault replied, elongating the word in a bid to stall Hayze’s inevitable lecture. “We played for about two hours.”
“And in those two hours, did you not think that perhaps you should back out and take a minor loss to your pocket?”
“Yes.”
Hayze already knew the answer, but he wanted it confirmed. “And you carried on?”
“I did.”
A disgruntled crease bowed his brother’s neat eyebrows. Leaving his armour on the workstation, Vault hurried to the central table, forearms on the surface and a plea in his hazel eyes. “Please, please, don’t tell Vesper. Or Commander Viren. She’ll be so disappointed.”
“I won’t mention it, but you have to make me a promise, right here and now,” Hayze said sternly.
“Anything, as long as it doesn’t involve money because… well…” Vault rubbed the back of his neck and his face contorted into an apologetic smile.
“Next time, take me along with you,” Hayze told him. “I know a thing or two about sabacc, and I could beat any of those Corrie guards blindfolded.”
#star wars#star wars fanfiction#sw fanfic#sw fanfiction#oc clone: cam#oc clone: vault#oc clone: hayze#tcw#the clone war#tcw fanfic#tcw fanfiction#the clone wars fanfiction#the clone wars fanfic
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HEEHOO attempted to draw my shitty Star Wars oc in the style of Clone Wars 2003 after rewatching it with my roommates last night.
It was a fun challenge! I’m not really used to drawing in super geometric(?) styles like this when it comes to characters who aren’t mecha.
Denny my beloved <3
Approximate time taken: 3 hours 54 minutes
Total brush strokes made: 2,337
Art program used: Procreate
#spirit’s oc vault#oc#original character#fanart#fan character#character design#Star Wars#star wars clone wars#star wars prequels#star wars fanart#star wars oc#clone wars 2003#kaleesh#kaleesh oc#general grievous#Art style test
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someone better shake me by my shoulders because i have the strongest urge to create a SecUnit sole survivor
#THAT DOESN'T EVEN WORK#for whose who haven't read murderbot. secunits are built from cloned human tissue and robotic parts#like a robot* but also a clone from Star Wars.#also they don't have sex parts#but it would be REALLY FUNNY to have like. a Vault Tec SecUnit#because SecUnits are typically made by terrible insurance companies#this would be incredibly unhinged. i wanna do it so bad#there's no lore basis for this in fallout im pretty sure. idk i played this game for like a week#but also secunit oc like c'mon that would be so fun#like they physically cannot have children so the main plot wouldn't work but also it would be so fun to have a SecUnit in fallout#jamjams
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Putting sketchy designs to the blorbos that have been rattling around in my brain for the past month
do they all have intentionally edgy names? absolutely; I think they deserve them
textless closeups under the cut
#valiantart#tcw#the clone wars#clone oc#star wars#OC: Blackout#OC: Deadlock#OC: Remnant#OC: Corpse#OC: Vault#OC: Noose#OC: Horde#OC: Lucy#baby me having sameface problems with my art while adult me draws clones and wishes i could draw upon that old ability
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The Good, The Bad, and...
Summary: Lucy and The Ghoul encounter a shadowy figure from his past while on their way to New Vegas. This stranger, nicknamed Red Eyes, is intent on collecting a bounty on The Ghoul as a means to settle a feud between the two after they were betrayed by him. Will Red Eyes succeed, or will they have a change of heart based on their complicated feelings toward the man?
(Cooper Howard x OC/reader)
Words: 2,941
A/N: I forgot to post chapter 1 of this on here sorry guys. Anyway this is low key a Star Wars AU because as a Cad Bane fan I simply could not help myself so this is technically kind of a follow up to this fic. Enjoy!
Chapter 1
From the Desert Comes a Stranger
“I’ve taken down so many of dese clones over da years…” Her father began in his heavily accented manner, sighing, and pushing his hat back with his pointer finger as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. The red of his irises were somehow muted by the red lenses of the goggles he wore, which made it hard to see the look in his eyes as it was. He quickly dropped to his knees and with a single swipe of his knife he removed something from the clone’s body. She couldn’t quite make out what it was before he pocketed it.
He turned around quickly, pointing his gloved finger up at her. She straightened up.
“Now, Ciella, what ya need to know is…” He handed her the bloodied knife, closing her fingers around the hilt and holding her smaller hand in his. It was one of the only times he made a tender gesture towards her other than the odd hug here and there.
“Once you figure out one da rest are easy.” She had to wonder what the point of all this was.
When they arrived on the site - an old, decrepit warehouse with a caved-in roof - her father was quick to corner the clone that now lay dying before them. He tried his best to grab the gun that was strapped to his leg, fumbling with it and managing to point it in her father’s general direction before he was gunned down. Two shots in the chest from the looks of it, shots that left the man (clone) heaving and wheezing on the floor with blank eyes, and she knew that’s what he wanted to happen. If he wanted to shoot the man in the head he would have. He was the fastest shot in the Wasteland, and it would stay that way for many years.
“Now, I want ya to take dat knife dere and,” He finally stood and moved her closer to the dying man. “Yer gonna have to cut his throat, unless ya want to hear him scream. I’m not against it but it’s best dat we keep him quiet. Don’t want any stragglers comin’ in and takin’ us by surprise.”
Ciella drew in a deep breath as she knelt down beside the man. His blank eyes suddenly held so much emotion, it was a look she’d seen in her own eyes a few times before. Mostly on dark nights in the Jewel as she listened to the way men spoke to her mother… and the way her father spoke to her at times. It was the look she saw in the mirror after she saw how her mama took care of those men - their purple, mangled faces contorted in pain and their eyes bloodshot staring up at her, and their hands clutched around their throats.
This man was in pain, and he was afraid of dying.
There was a large tattoo on the side of his face, around his eye. It was a symbol, most likely belonging to whatever faction he belonged to since escaping his vault. From what she overheard her dad discussing, Vault 66 seemed to be defunct, with the clones created within revolting and escaping into the Wasteland. He had been hunting down the clones for the last five years, among other things. She never quite understood why anyone would flee a vault to live on the surface.
Her father took the respirator off of his face, letting it hang below his chin. She felt more at ease at this, happy to hear his own, unmodified voice walking her through what she was about to do. Her heart was beating fast and felt like it had leapt into her throat. She glanced at the open ceiling and focused on the large, white moon that hung in the deep blue sky.
Perhaps the sky full of swirling stars would be enough to comfort her.
“When he’s dead, cut off da part of his face with da tattoo and hand it to da Tin-Man. Den we can go home.” He instructed. Ciella hesitated.
The clone looked at her, stared her down, silently begging her for mercy. He was just a clone, and he was wanted so he must have done something bad, right? She looked back at her dad, who had pushed his goggles up onto his forehead, revealing his bright red eyes staring back at her expectedly. Tufts of navy blue hair peeked out from under his hat and over his goggles and his lips were curved into a small smile.
He actually looked like a supportive father for the first time in his life.
Ciella made her decision at that moment, and the girl at only eight years old turned around and drove the knife into the clone’s throat. His eyes widened and met her gaze for a moment and she felt her heart drop. He groaned and wheezed, the blood gurgling in his throat as the crimson substance dribbled from the corners of his mouth. A sputtering cough had his blood spraying across her face and she wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or not. She tried not to heave at the disgusting feeling.
On instinct, she pulled the knife from his throat and drove it back into his flesh. Over and over. A larger, warmer hand wrapped around her wrist and stopped her mid motion.
“Dere ya go.” Her father smiled wider as pride swelled in his chest. His baby would be a killer, just like he was. “After dis I’ll teach ya everyding I know.”
☠☠☠☠☠☠☠
The sun bore down unbearably upon the duo traveling along the Mojave Desert. It had been miles and miles of desert between the Griffith Observatory and the place the Ghoul was certain Lucy’s father was heading. The vaultie was starting to fall behind, clearly tired from the constant moving. It was hard to find shelter all the way out here, and unfortunately for her the Ghoul didn’t feel comfortable stopping out in the open.
They had traveled through a few settlements at that point, each one growing more and more decrepit and sparse. The people were quieter and hid away in their own corners of the small towns, eyeing the Ghoul and his traveling companion wearily. The whispers and glares of the different townsfolk hardly made for good hospitality, if anything it was that fact that drove him away from each place. Something was happening, someone said something, and he felt it was too risky to stop for a few nights in any of the settlements.
The last place they’d been to was a day’s walk away at this point, and the talk amongst the people in that saloon made him deeply uncomfortable. Then there was the body.
In the sandy dunes of the last settlement they had been to laid a man with sun kissed skin and snow white hair stained at the temples with red. The poor man had his brains blown out, by who… well, let’s just say he had a good idea of who it was. It was clear the job was done quickly, the man clearly didn’t see them coming, and the fact the man’s armor and other supplies went untouched raised even more alarm bells. He got them out of there quickly and quietly.
Unfortunately for Lucy, the Ghoul was one-track minded at the moment. His family was out there, he could feel it. There was a reason he kept going for over two hundred years, and he would not let those years of anguish be in vain.
He would kill anyone who tried to get between them.
“There’s gotta be somewhere we can stop, right?” Lucy sounded hoarse, tired. He wished he could answer her truthfully. He hadn’t traveled this far into the desert before, and the way the sun seemed to hang so high in the sky for so long made him question whether anyone ventured that far, let alone set up shop. He shrugged.
The dunes seemed to stretch on for miles and miles, with only a few rocky formations on the horizon. A few dried plants littered the ground here and there, somehow finding the strength to grow in such a harsh climate. It was a wonder anything was able to grow and flourish after the bombs. Maybe he should have sent the vaultie to ask for some sort of transport back at the saloon instead of being stubborn like he usually was.
“Maybe that person’s coming from a settlement down that way?” The Ghoul froze, feeling himself go numb.
Among the dancing heatwaves stood a dark-clad figure on the horizon.
They stood still, any discernible features hidden by a wide-brimmed hat and respirator over the figure’s mouth. The wind blew and kicked up dust and whipped the figure’s coat to the side, revealing the large holster against their hip. Their dark attire starkly contrasted with the bright blue sky and pale sand.
The words of the men in the saloon ran through his mind.
Someone’s lookin’ for a ghoul just like ya! There was a bounty put out not too long ago, I think it’s been taken offa the board. A lotta caps goin’ for that guy. He considered that a warning at the time.
Anyway, it looked like the guy who took the bounty was Red Eyes. He had the goggles an’ everything, but we all thought he was dead.
And Red Eyes was supposed to be dead. He died around five or six years ago.
The figure in front of him was a ghost.
Red Eyes stopped a good twenty feet in front of them, standing perfectly still. The wind shifted again and from beneath the wide-brimmed hat came a tuft of navy blue hair that blew in the breeze. The desert was all too quiet now, and it felt like something from one of his old movies. Red Eyes felt like an old western villain, dark and ominous, seemingly a force of nature. He worried the figure wasn’t only after him.
“Lucy, you should head back.” The Ghoul muttered, putting a hand out to stop her from moving any further. She stared at the figure for a moment, suddenly afraid because of the Ghoul’s reaction.
“It’s only one person.” She muttered. “Maybe they’re lost?” The Ghoul stayed silent. He would not repeat himself.
Her doe-like eyes flickered to him and she noticed the way his mouth was set in a seemingly permanent frown. His whole body looked stiff, like a cornered animal. She nodded, understanding finally, before turning on her heel to make a run for it.
The Ghoul watched as the stranger glanced in Lucy’s direction. Red Eyes observed her, seemingly studying her like an unbothered predator eyeing a nearby animal knowing it couldn’t do anything to stop it. He grit his teeth and took a few steps forward, spurs jangling with each stride.
This was not good.
“Now I know that fancy getup you got on is not yours.” He began through a false bravado, flashing teeth that used to be a pearly white. It was so easy for him to slip back into a role, something he had been doing this entire time. Yet, this time, he was given the chance to play the good guy. It felt unfamiliar somehow, after all, it had been several years since he’d done such a thing. He was almost grateful for this stranger’s theatrics. “Who might you be? Cause you sure as hell ain’t Red Eyes… he’s dead.”
He knew all too well who this was.
Red Eyes looked up, the red goggles reflecting the bright sun and making it impossible to see past their lenses. More of the stranger’s hair seemed to flow from behind them, long strands of navy waving in the wind like a flag. Their stance shifted from one of leisure to subtly looking like they would pounce. The stranger moved their coat away from their hip, revealing the large gun strapped to their form.
“I’d be careful where I was sticking my nose if I were you.” The heavily modulated voice called out. “Or lack thereof.”
The Ghoul bit his tongue. “I’m assuming that corpse we found back there was you, then? Certainly wasn’t the handiwork of any ol’ fiend.”
“Wasn’t much work.” Red Eyes spat quickly. “Was a clone. They're easy. Woulda gotten in my way.” Their accent, even through the voice changer, was thick. Louisiana, most likely from the New Orleans area.
“You’re here for me.” He didn’t feel the need to ask. He threaded his thumbs through the belt loops on his trousers, opting to seem more relaxed than he was. He knew Red Eyes would see right through his guise.
“Isn’t that obvious?” Their hand twitched beside their gun. He eyed them wearily.
“Well, I’m not goin’ willingly.” A low, rumbling chuckle sounded from the stranger.
“I never said I was gonna take ya in alive.” They answered, voice cold with an edge to it. He fought the urge to argue, to call their bluff, for doing so would be too risky.
Truthfully, Red Eyes had every reason to want him dead. It had been a few years, five to be exact, since they last saw each other. Five long years since he turned the fellow bounty hunter in for killing a crime lord. Five years since he left them for dead. This would be a fitting end for their little rivalry, even if it wasn’t always that way.
But he wouldn’t go down just yet. Not without a fight.
He had to find another way to fight them. A quick draw duel would mean a death sentence for him, unfortunately. Red Eyes was and still is the quickest draw in the Wasteland. He would have to throw them off somehow, say something to really disarm them.
He did the only thing he could think of, and instead of indulging in the stranger - instead of going for his gun - words that he never thought he would say slipped from his dry, cracked lips.
“Ciella, I’m sorry.”
Red Eyes froze. Their hand was still dangerously close to their gun’s grip. Over the wind, he vaguely heard the sharp, uneven intake of air from the figure. The breeze picked up again, blowing open the stranger’s coat to reveal the figure of a woman.
“It’s a bit late fer that, isn’t it, cher?” It most definitely was her. “I came ta finish the job. I shoulda known a coffin wouldn’t hold yer ass.”
Cooper held back a laugh. Ciella Bane was an ally at one point, and maybe even a friend, but the moment her picture was up on one of those boards he knew their partnership was over. Someone was offering a hefty reward for whoever could bring the bounty brat in, preferably alive.
That was his mistake. He knew he probably should have killed her while she was sleeping and taken the smaller reward for her corpse. Killing her like this would be a pain in the ass.
“You wanna take off that ridiculous getup and let me see you?” He taunted, much to Ciella’s dismay. He just had to hit her where it hurt, get her emotional and in her head so she missed when she inevitably shot at him. However, it had been a few years, he couldn’t be sure that trick would still work.
Though with dear ol’ daddy not around to give her more of his tips and tricks he doubted she would have improved much more than the last time they brawled.
Ciella scoffed. “The last thing you’ll see are these goggles. Everyone’s gotta know it was Red Eyes who took ya out, ghoul.” She spat, though there was a sadistic playfulness in her voice. Cooper rolled his eyes.
“I got places to be, girl.” Cooper countered with equal venom. He was getting antsy, and he felt she was wasting his time. “Let us through and…” He stopped.
What would he do? What could he do? What could he possibly offer her where she wouldn’t be on his trail while he and Lucy trekked the Wasteland on a wild goose chase? Ciella coming back from whatever corner of the world she ran off to after burying him alive was the last thing he wanted.
“Let us through and we can finish this some other time. I’ll tell you where I’ll be and you come find me.” He offered finally, feeling the weight of his words in his chest. He wouldn’t give up finding his family so she could have her petty revenge, but maybe one day, when everyone around him was gone and he knew his daughter was safe and could live a happy life, he would go to Ciella and let her put him out of his misery.
“We do this here and now.” The bounty hunter replied. “That head o’ yers is fetchin’ a pretty penny. Figured it was better I did it than some chem addicted fiend on the street.” Her words were purposefully inflammatory. She was doing the same thing he was.
She straightened up again, mimicking the stance of a cowboy in a western getting ready to draw, and Cooper knew what it meant. She wasn’t giving him a choice. They’d done this dance once before, and unfortunately for him it didn’t end well.
The Ghoul sighed and moved his coat from his holster, and he mirrored her stance. “This ain’t gonna go the way ya think it will, sweetheart.”
“I doubt that.” That same, robotic voice answered, yet he knew she was still all too human underneath.
#cooper howard x oc#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#star wars au#fallout fanfic#cooper howard#the ghoul#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x oc#fallout#cad bane mention!!!#so#cad bane#fallout tv series
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how would cody / rex react if they saw you hurt?
for both of these, i'm going to say that you're a field medic, working with the 212th or 501st respectively. which means you, my dear, were injured in battle
cody
look, both cody and rex are in positions of authority within their battalions, but cody is the marshal commander. he has the highest rank a clone could possibly have. so for cody, everyone is his responsibility. does this mean he's constantly a little stressed? yes.
he wasn't all that happy about having a nat-born as a field medic when you first joined the 212th, but you proved yourself many times over, so cody trusted you with his men's lives, and with your ability to hold your own on the field
until one day you couldn't. until one day you were injured. and boy cody has never moved so fast
it was a poorly timed grenade throw mixed with superbattle droid blaster fire which resulted in an explosion that threw you against the wall of the cliff the republic army were using for cover
the commander shot his blaster with one hand while he used the other to vault himself over rocks to get to you
he'd never have admitted that he cared more for you than he should, more than a commander to a medic, more than friends. but in that moment, where your body is slumped against the wall unconscious, cody wanted nothing more than for you to know just how much he cared for you
could cody have gotten another clone to scoop you up in his arms and carried you away, behind the general who was cutting down droids? yes. but all he wanted was to get you safe, this man was tunnel visioned on you
he doesn't leave your side when you're back on the negotiator, even when Bench (hi yes i have a 212th clone medic OC and his name is bench and yes i know how he got the name. i love him) tells cody to rest, because you'll be sedated for a few more hours
when you wake up, cody is slouched in a chair clearly dragged from another section of the cruiser. your head is pounding and there is a slight ache in your side, but you were more worried about the terrible sleeping position of your commander
cody wakes up to you calling his name, and he's immediately out of the seat and sitting on the side of your cot, hand going to reach for yours but he decides against it (you take his hand)
rex
alright so rex and anakin and basically all of the 501st are definitely the type for dramatics, so you probably get shot, let's be honest
you keep working despite the blaster-wound in your arm and rex just heart-eyes at you for a moment before realising "oh my maker y/n was shot"
you're already in a relationship with rex (this is the best friend and right hand man of a jedi who is married to a senator. he does not care lmao) so he's so stressed. not only is he the captain, in charge of his men and all those who are apart of the 501st and are generally on board the resolute, but also you're his partner. he cares about you so damn much
as soon as he reaches you, he orders kix to tend to your wound, but you brush him off, saying that you will be deal with yourself once you are back on board the cruiser. the man currently dealing with broken armour in his side was your priority
rex holds you to that. the second you are back on board the resolute, rex is walking you to the medical wing - honestly he would carry you if he had to
the entire time kix is patching you up (literally just a bacta patch), rex is asking if you're okay, telling you off for being reckless and not being in complete cover, apologising for not protecting you better. all the while you're telling rex that it's your job and that he was doing his, and that he wouldn't be if he was hovering by you
he definitely has you share his bunk with him that night because he was so worried about you
#˚:✧｡• paper bin#captain rex x reader#commander cody x reader#˚:✧｡• captain rex#˚:✧｡• commander cody#˚:✧｡• anon
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I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter VII
Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers.
Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC
General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.
Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.
Chapter Word Count. 5K
Beta. @starstofillmydream
4 Helona
Through the skylights of the vaulted ceilings, Eluca’s three moons painted the main level in a sea of blue. Streaks of gray and blue-white danced along the walls like friendly spirits, playing across the clones seated at the kitchen table.
Kazi wasn’t staring at the clones, though. Her attention was drawn to the opposite mezzanine above the sunroom. To the little girl surreptitiously spying.
Lying on her stomach while peering through the wooden spokes of the banisters, Neyti scrutinized the clones’ nighttime card game. The concentrated stitch in her eyebrows heightened her intrigue.
Only three clones sat at the kitchen table—Commanders Cody and Fox, and trooper Nova. Too focused on their game—a game that had already resulted in an argument between the two commanders—they didn’t notice their spy.
“She’s similar to you.”
The voice surprised her so much she jumped. Kazi blinked at her sister, resting a palm against the wall to steady herself. The ends of Daria’s mouth twitched but she didn’t smile. Her gaze rested on Neyti, who was so focused on the clones she remained oblivious to their watching.
“She’s curious about the men,” Daria said. “She watches them the way you do.”
Kazi sniffed. “I don’t watch them.”
“You do.”
Dressed in a black, nearly sheer nightgown, her green eyes alit with a knowing gleam, Daria looked like a shadow. A shadow that observed all around and traded in secrets.
Kazi shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t like the idea of anyone watching her, much less studying her.
“You watch them because you don’t trust them.” Daria hefted something behind her back. “You’ve been amassing a list of problematic behaviors, biding your time until they’re sure to mess up, and when they do, you’ll be ready to condemn every single one of their flaws.”
Disconcerted by her sister’s assessment, Kazi tugged on the end of her braid. “You don’t know me.”
“Not anymore. But I did, once,” Daria said quietly. “You used to do it with Mama. You would wait months, and when you couldn’t hold it all in anymore, you would burst.”
“That was years ago,” she muttered.
Daria shrugged and returned her attention to a now-yawning Neyti. “I stand by what I said: you’re both similar.”
“We’re not.” Kazi folded her arms over her chest. “Neyti is sweet and kind and forgiving. She’s curious about the clones because they’re unknowns. Not because she’s mistrustful.”
“She’s curious about the men because you are. Have you wondered why she maintains her distance? Why she looks to you whenever a decision must be made where the men are concerned?” Daria breathed a wry chuckle. “She sees how wary you are of them and she mimics you. You’re so unaware of the effect you have on her.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Daria gave her a sidelong glance. “Are you seriously so surprised to learn that a little girl looks up to you?”
“Neyti doesn’t look up to me.” Kazi scoffed. “There’s nothing inspirational or encouraging about me.”
“I used to look up to you.”
The honesty in Daria’s tone—the wistful hurt quieting her voice—made Kazi wince.
It was bizarre to remember those early years. The time when they were little girls who played together, who laughed together, who cried together, who dreamt together.
There was a time when they were inseparable, their two-year age difference a nonexistent barrier.
There was a time Kazi promised to always protect her sister. A time when she promised they would always be friends.
Their father’s death changed everything.
Kazi sought comfort in solitude; as the seasons changed and the dead bitterness of winter gave way to the aromatic blooms of spring, the bond with her sister shriveled and died.
The thing about being sisters was: Kazi loved Daria. She always would. And she knew Daria would always love her.
So this broken bond between them, a bond amassed from memories of warmth and security and unconditional love, hurt worse than any physical pain. Because it was a hurt borne from the possibilities that could have been, and the silent weeping of two little girls who lost their anchors.
Most nights she yearned for the years when her sister looked at her with awe and love.
Now, Daria’s face only ever held disappointment.
The disappointment of a little sister whose older sister abandoned her.
“I didn’t know you kept this,” Daria said, drawing Kazi from her thoughts. She flipped open a page of the leather-bound book in her hands.
Kazi stiffened. A spike of anger singed her blood.
Carefully preserved in Daria’s hands was her adventure book, an old, worn thing her mother gifted her when she was a toddler as a means to store memories. The first forty pages housed printed photos from her early childhood. From the years before her father died. The last sixty pages were blank.
The adventure book had sat in the closet of her old home. Collecting dust and forgotten by all except Kazi, she tried to throw it away. But she couldn’t. The photos were too evocative and the memories too visceral.
She couldn’t throw it away because she was sentimental, and she was desperate to cling to a time when life was innocent and she was hopeful.
Kazi gritted her teeth. “What were you doing in my room?”
“I saw your knitting stitches on your desk,” Daria said calmly, unrepentantly. “I didn’t know you still knitted—”
“I don’t.” Daria gave her a disbelieving look, and Kazi clenched her fists. “I wanted to see if I could still do it.”
For a long moment Daria studied her, and she knew, from whatever her sister saw in her face, that she didn’t believe her.
“I saw this tucked away,” Daria said, returning her attention to the book. “Almost like you’re ashamed of it.”
“It’s a silly book,” Kazi muttered.
“And yet you kept it.” More pages flipped; photos of a happy family flickered. “It was important enough for you to take from Ceaia.”
Ignoring the emotion clogging the back of her throat, Kazi eyed her sister. “What do you want?”
“Do you remember when we would visit the harbor and steal the fishermen’s best catches?” Daria ran a finger down a faded photo—a photo of the two sisters, smiles wide and teeth missing, as they posed at a festival. “Do you remember the woman who almost caught us?”
She remembered. She remembered all of it.
They would hide among the ships’ containers, listening to the fishermen boast their catches of the day. Usually larger fish.
Some occasions a fisherman would come across a star succulent, or a turtle, or an anemone: creatures that could survive outside the water. The fishermen would place bets on the price of their rare catches. When they were distracted, Kazi and Daria would sneak aboard their ships, find the creatures, and free them.
One afternoon a female sailor caught them throwing a turtle overboard. The two sisters managed to dodge the sailor’s attempt to wrangle them, and they sprinted away. Days later, the sailor was still grousing about the miscreants. Kazi and Daria didn’t return to the harbor for three weeks.
They were never caught.
“I was so scared,” Daria said. “I thought we would get in trouble, but you always convinced me to go. I could never refuse you.”
The urge to look at her adventure book was too hard to resist and Kazi caved. A new page of photos displayed the old lighthouse. Their lighthouse.
“I remember the time we were stuck here.” Tracing the lighthouse’s exterior, Daria quietly laughed. “The lightning was awful and I thought we were going to be struck. I was so scared and you kept telling me it was going to be okay, but I wouldn’t calm down.” Green eyes lifted to hers, searching. “Do you remember what you did then?”
“I told you a story,” Kazi said hoarsely. “The legend of the Sea Dragon.”
“The Sea Dragon.” The moonlight cast Daria’s countenance in a grayish darkness similar to that stormy night so long ago. “You told me he was watching over us. That he was with us so we didn’t need to be afraid.”
Kazi thought back to that day.
The sight of a tear-stained, six-year-old Daria cowering in the corner of the lighthouse’s watch tower. The water slowly rising. The sheer terror of not knowing how to protect and comfort her little sister. So she started to tell Daria a story, like her father used to do when she was scared, and the first story that came to mind was the legend of Sea.
By the end of the story, Daria had quieted. She was no longer shivering.
A crackle of lightning had split the air and eight-year-old Kazi squeezed her sister’s hand. “Are you okay?”
Daria squeezed back, smiling wetly. “I’m not scared, Kazi. Not when you’re with me.”
“When we got home, Mama and Papa were livid. You took the blame. You told them you forced me to go with you.” Daria stared at her, confusing wrinkling her features. “I never understood why you did that.”
Kazi looked away.
“You kept this, and your dragon,” Daria mused. A soft snap of leather and then Daria pushed the adventure book into her hands. “I thought you didn’t care.”
“I know.”
Shaking her head, Daria appraised her with a bemusement that bordered frustration. “I thought you didn’t care about us—about our culture. Our traditions. You went to the capital and I thought for sure you would adopt the Culturalist way of life.”
The Ceaian people were split into three groups—Traditionalists, Reformists, and Culturalists.
Long ago, two sects of Ceaians coexisted, both revering the dragons and upholding traditions. But as centuries passed, and the last of the dragons perished, one group of people broke away. They were the Reformists.
The Reformists turned the legends of old into dogmatic opinions of society and the world. No longer were the legends to be stories admired and awed; instead, interpretation of the legends enforced societal expectations of gender roles, marriage, and wealth.
It was the Reformists who determined Higher and Lower Society—the refined versus the rugged. Similar to Traditionalists, they scorned technological reliance, but believed the cultural practices of the Traditionalists were too “common.”
Kazi’s mother came from a Reformist family.
The Traditionalists, on the other hand, lived among the ocean’s shores—sailors at heart. They maintained their culture and legends; they worshipped the natural process of life and respected all living things.
Most Traditionalists refused the advent of technology that swept across the galaxy. Droids were uncommon and typically frowned upon. Traditionalists valued humanity first and foremost. Their cultural practices relied on a connection to the earth, a reverence for folklore, and a humble lifestyle built upon the legends of their people.
Kazi’s father was a Traditionalist.
Over the millennia, the Reformists built Ceaia’s major cities and established its central government. But then, a new sect emerged: the Culturalists. A people who sneered the Reformists’ hierarchy and scorned the Traditionalists’ “common” way of life.
The Culturalists respected technological advancements, belittled old legends and traditional values, and practiced the ways of the galaxy. Eventually they opened Ceaia’s spaceports to interplanetary travel. They learned new cultures and political ideologies.
Their name—Culturalist—was originally coined by the Reformists. To sneer upon those who deemed tradition a nuisance. However, the Culturalists adopted the title, declaring their superiority based on their relations with other planetary systems, and their understanding of the galaxy at large.
Most Culturalists looked down on the Traditionalists. Only the Reformists were taken seriously, thanks to their self-righteous view of advancement that permeated the Culturalist’s mindset today. Even then, the Culturalists emphasized choice rather than societal expectations.
Over time, and enraged by the Culturalists’ view of life, the Reformists returned to Ceaia’s mountain ranges and harbors, abandoning the cities they had built. They reclaimed localities and smaller cities, maintaining their doctrines on society. The Culturalists took control of the central government. But Ceaia’s central government lacked true, authoritative power. Today, the sole power exercised was relations with other planetary systems.
“You’re right,” Daria said, exhaling a bitter breath. “I don’t know you. I don’t know what ideologies you subscribe to. I don’t know why you have your dragon when it’s not in your room. I don’t even know if you still believe the legends. Or if they’re simply myths to be ridiculed and forgotten.”
No matter how cynical she became, Kazi would always believe in the dragons. They were stories that inspired. The stories that gave her meaning.
“Some days I wish we were out on the boat with Papa,” Kazi said quietly. “I wish we were sitting out there. Just us and the waves and the gray sky.” She closed her eyes and pictured their old sailboat, the waves tossing them about, and the wind whipping her hair, and the ache in her cheeks from grinning and laughing too much. Too hard. “Everything was so simple back then.”
It was a time when loneliness, familial duty, and fears of disappointment were nonexistent. It was a time when she felt alive.
“What boat?” The question snapped Kazi from her memories and she found Daria frowning at her. “What boat are you talking about?”
The anger lining her sister’s tone caught Kazi by surprise. “The boat, Daria. We spent hours every weekend on it. Sometimes we went out after a long school day.”
Daria clenched her hands at her sides. Her knuckles were white; her fists were trembling. “There was never a boat.”
Beads of sweat silvered her forehead. Daria brushed them away.
Nonplussed, Kazi took a step forward but her sister retreated, blinking wildly.
“There was never a boat. I don’t remember a boat.” A scowl marred Daria’s features. The whites of her eyes were enlarging. “You’re wrong. There was never a boat. What are you talking about? A boat? What fucking boat?”
“You’re right,” Kazi said hastily. She rested a firm but unthreatening hand on her sister’s shoulder, aware of Daria’s increased shivering. “I was wrong. There was never a boat.”
Goosebumps dotted her arms and Daria eyed Kazi doubtfully. Confusion and anger hunched her shoulders inwards. She looked small. Frail.
“It’s late,” Kazi said gently. “Why don’t we get you into bed, okay?”
Indecipherable mumbles followed them down the hallway and into Daria’s room. As Kazi helped her sister into bed, each symptom tallied in her mind—a mental report for Healer Natasha.
Memory loss was expected twenty months into the disease’s progression. Ultimately, it would steal all of Daria’s memories. She would exist in a world where she no longer knew her own name.
A world where she would forget their childhood, their parents.
A world where she would be alone.
Bile rose in the back of Kazi’s throat. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.
She blamed the lack of sleep, the number of arguments the past few days, and the stress from last night and this morning.
But blame truly rested in this moment. In the knowledge that her sister had forgotten the boat. Forgotten years spent at sea. And soon, she would forget more than just a silly boat.
Her little sister, the one person she had loved more in this galaxy than anyone else, would no longer remember her.
“Kazi?” Tucked into her bed, Daria fiddled with her light purple sheets, tracing a white flower embroidered along the hem. “Do you know why Papa stopped loving me?”
Kazi blinked her bemusement. “He never stopped loving you. Why would you say that?”
“He doesn’t take me out on the boat anymore.”
Daria’s train of thought both bewildered and exhausted her. The way her sister forgot the boat and then remembered it, but only seemed to remember a specific memory associated with it, left her feeling behind and twisted inside out.
Kazi didn’t know if Daria’s feelings were an accurate representation of her current thoughts. She didn’t know if her sister ever questioned whether their father loved her.
Even in childhood it was obvious that Daria was their mother’s favorite and Kazi was their father’s. The unspoken favoritism was more overt the older she got. But Kazi had always thought her father was fair in his treatment of Daria. He wasn’t her mother—he never taunted Daria until her emotions overflowed.
Now that she thought about it, he had been harder on Daria.
Though both sisters were opinionated and stubborn, Kazi kept her opinions to herself, and her stubbornness never stopped her from disobeying her parents. Daria, on the other hand, made her anger known. And she never shied from obstinately refusing orders she didn’t like.
Disagreements led to raised voices, and many tears, and moments when Kazi hid in her room, finding it difficult to breathe while she listened to angered shouts. She hid for hours, waiting for the anger to turn on her. Expecting it, because it always happened. She was always blamed.
She always held some resentment against Daria for those moments. For some reason, she never blamed her father.
Squeezing Daria’s shoulder, Kazi managed a tired smile. “Papa always loved you.”
“Promise?”
Daria stared at her with such blatant hope it hurt. Buried itself into her chest, like a fishing hook, and yanked. Hard.
“I promise.”
5 Helona
Avoidance was a skill Kazi had honed over the years.
Too nervous to make a final decision out of fear of making the wrong decision, she learned to avoid her problems. Ignore them until they forced her one way and the decision was made for her.
But avoidance tendencies didn’t pair well with her level-headed mindset. She was self-reliant. To a point bordering hyper-independence. Responsible and disciplined, she had to be in control.
And yet the fear—the fear of mistakes and being wrong—was crippling.
Her mind was constantly at war: avoidance versus control; fear versus independence.
Kazi had managed to avoid Commander Wolffe for nearly two days. An incredible feat, if she was being honest, considering they cohabitated.
Her conversation with Commander Cody had left her reeling. Like she’d stepped off a cliff and was plunging toward the ocean below, except the water was much farther than she originally thought. She was caught in the in-between and she didn’t know how to move forward.
So she avoided the commander and ignored any issue related to him.
Sitting on the uneven porch steps, Kazi laced her boots, eyeing the sky. Gray clouds were amassing, cloud swells ebbing, expanding from horizon to horizon. The weather gauge claimed it wouldn’t rain for another three hours.
Maybe it was arrogant of her, but she decided the ten-kilometer walk to Neyti’s school was doable. A small part of her thought Neyti would appreciate the change in scenery.
Anyway, she needed the fresh air. Needed the movement of a long walk to ease her tension, from the arguments the last few evenings and the unsettling sight of Daria this afternoon. She had found her sister smiling absentmindedly at an empty corner in the sunroom. The sight had unnerved her enough, she refused to dwell on it.
Dressed in loose trousers and a black tank top—her early return from work allowed her to change into comfortable clothes—she pushed herself to her feet and started along the dirt path.
With the sun curtained behind the clouds, the jungle’s temperature was cooler and tolerable. Kazi tilted her head to the sky. She made it a handful of meters before movement from the trees caught her attention.
A frisson of alarm pricked the nape of her neck. Her heart lurched and her stomach fell.
Sweating and breathing heavily, Commander Wolffe emerged from the entangled trees of the dense jungle. He was slowing to a walk. His hands were on his hips. He looked like he’d just finished a hard run.
Kazi froze. Desperation encouraged her to hide in the nearby trees; however, pride kept her feet glued to her spot.
The commander seemed lost to his thoughts. Unaware and unobservant. Odd for someone like him. He lifted his black shirt to wipe at his face. That was, until his gaze landed on her.
An array of emotions played across his face, like one of those old toys she had as a youngling. A click of a button displayed an image, and if you clicked it fast enough, the images turned into a holofilm.
Distraction blinked into surprise, furrowed into reservation, and then settled into apathy.
Disconcerted, Kazi started to turn away, content to pretend she hadn’t seen him.
The commander had other plans. Plans that resulted in him taking a step towards her. And then another.
Kazi was too caught in her head—unable to decide between walking away and holding her ground. It didn’t matter. Commander Wolffe approached her. A healthy meter separated them.
Maybe she should apologize, but she didn’t want him to think it was a false apology brought forth by proximity—
“I thought you worked.”
The hoarseness of his voice mixed with his non-question made her spine straighten. She tried to force her shoulders to relax. They didn’t.
“I do.”
Vines thicker than her legs looped between the trees. Kazi could have stared at them for another hour to avoid his gaze, but she didn’t want to be a coward. So she met his eyes, remembering the hostility from two nights ago. The accusation and disdain and antipathy.
“I took off early,” she said, glancing at the graying clouds under the pretense of assessing the weather. When she looked back, he was observing her in a way that was familiar yet still set her on edge. “To pick up Neyti from school,” she added.
The commander nodded.
For a moment it seemed the silence would expand indefinitely.
Commander Wolffe looked toward the house and then back at her. A hand slid through his hair. His jaw flexed; his posture was unnaturally stiff, agitated.
“May I join you?”
Her immediate answer was a resounding ‘No,’ but her chin dipped. In acceptance.
Swallowing her discomfort, Kazi walked away, gaze set firmly on the dirt path ahead and the wild jungle enveloping the horizon. The commander appeared at her side.
Kazi slipped her hands into her pockets. Not to hide their slight trembling. Never that. Merely for the aesthetic.
“I spoke with Cody,” the commander said. He clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze set on the path as well. “He said you talked.”
“We did.” A bird trilled, the sudden noise making her tense. “We spent some time in the garden.”
“You sound surprised.” The statement bordered accusation, his tone sharper than a dragon’s claws.
“I was. But not because he’s a clone.” She pursed her lips. “I was surprised he wanted to talk to me. I thought that after…”
“My brother likes to play diplomat and interfere where he’s not wanted.” Commander Wolffe rolled his shoulders back. “He told me to apologize—”
Kazi stopped, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not interested in forced apologies. If you’re only here because of your brother, you can go back to the house and tell him you apologized, but I’m not in the mood—”
“I agree with Cody. On some parts.” Commander Wolffe crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down, hesitating. “I overheard you. Last week. At the warehouse.”
Frowning, Kazi thought back to the day at the warehouse. It was the meeting with Fehr, Bash, and Carinthia. The meeting the three commanders interrupted. The meeting where Commander Wolffe first asked her to analyze his intel.
“You told her you’re analyzing patterns of deserted clones. For the magistrate.”
“I am,” Kazi said slowly.
She assessed the wariness darkening his features, the ticked muscle in his jaw. Everything—the abrupt change in his offer and the severity of his mistrust—suddenly made sense.
“The magistrate asked me and I couldn’t refuse,” she said. “But I’m not going to do anything that endangers your missions. If it comes to it, I’ll scrub the data. I’ll correct the reports. Anyway, being on this project gives me an opportunity to warn you if something comes up.”
Disbelief flickered across his face and she tried not to feel offended. “Why would you do that?”
“What? Help you?” At his guarded scowl, she rolled her eyes. “Because, if you’re discovered, you lead a trail straight to my house. To my family. Because, I may not know you, and we may have our disagreements, but I would never turn someone over to the Empire.”
His apathetic expression miffed her and she looked away, shaking her head. “You may not trust me, and that’s fine, but I’m not a traitor.”
“And you think I am,” he said lowly.
“No.” The intensity of his gaze was hotter than Eluca’s sun at the height of summer. Kazi squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry for what I said.”
The commander winced at her apology, either from shock or doubt, she didn’t know.
“I had no right to accuse you of being culpable in the rise of the Empire,” she said. “And I had no right to call you a traitor.”
Commander Wolffe didn’t seem to know how to react. He was stuck somewhere between skepticism and perplexity.
Discomfited by the awkward silence, Kazi drew her hands from her trousers’ pockets, turned on her heel, and continued along her original path. Only a few seconds passed before the crunch of dried soil alerted her to the commander’s presence.
They walked together in silence. For a long time.
The scent of soil and coming rain surrounded Kazi. A low roll of thunder sounded far away. Beneath the dense confines of the jungle, she felt small. A pollinator lost in a field of wildflowers. Content for the moment yet unreasonably lonely.
A throat cleared. Hands clasped behind his back, Commander Wolffe walked with an air of command, authoritative and intimidating. Kazi forced herself to walk straight, to not create more distance between their bodies.
“My brothers…” He paused. “They mean everything to me.”
The corners of her lips twitched. “I know.”
He hesitated. “I had no right to question your credibility and skillset.”
Remorse underscored his tone, and Kazi nodded at his apology.
At the edge of the jungle, they halted. Above, the darkening clouds cast the commander in a somber light, emphasizing his haggardness. Stress lines wearied his features; unspoken duty hardened his posture.
“I’ve seen how the Empire operates,” Commander Wolffe said. “Anyone will betray another for more power. Or money. I won’t allow my brothers to be in a similar position again.”
The emptiness in his eyes was both hollow and guarded, and yet the firm resolve in his tone spoke of his protectiveness.
“My mission with Cody didn’t go as planned.” Annoyance lined his tone, underscored by a twinge of regret. “We infiltrated a military outpost and were caught by a handful of soldiers. We thought we could convince them to join us. To desert.” He released a bitter chuckle. “They said we were traitors and then killed the men we had come to rescue.”
Kazi felt the blood in her face drain.
“I thought you were running rescue missions, Commander. Where are your rescued soldiers?”
“I thought, if given the opportunity, those men would desert,” Wolffe said. Even though his eyes were on hers, they were distant. Like he was replaying the mission. “They looked at me like I was the worst scum in the galaxy. I was pissed at myself. And I took my anger out on you. I apologize for it.”
“I’m so sorry,” Kazi whispered hoarsely. “I shouldn’t have said those things, and I’m so—”
“I said things I regret, too.” He cleared his throat. “This work with the magistrate—”
Instinctively, Kazi tensed, prepared for accusation or disdain or complaint. Wolffe noticed the change in her demeanor and scowled.
“I’m not questioning you.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m only asking if it’s safe.”
“Safe?” Her eyebrows scrunched together and she shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You’re intentionally misleading the magistrate by interfering with collected data,” he deadpanned. “If you’re caught—”
“I know how to handle data like this.” The doubt in his expression was offensive. Kazi dusted an imaginary spot from her arm. “I’m used to this. It was my job for years.”
Wolffe arched a brow. “Spying?”
“Analyzing intel and determining if it was credible and reliable.”
“That’s not the same as scrubbing—”
“We were feeding intel to the Empire: intentionally scrubbed and misaligned data that would interfere with their analytics without raising alarms.” Kazi played with the end of a braid. “I studied military weapons’ sales, numbers, storage. I split time between there and analyzing Imperial weapons’ construction.”
A hint of intrigue flashed across his face. “There were rumors some military technology was missing in the Outer Rim. It was kept quiet.”
Kazi smiled wryly. “Ceaia was unimportant in the Clone War. We were overlooked by the Empire. And from what I know, our allies were preparing for a coordinated rebellion.” Her voice faltered and she looked away. “We were gearing up for the long-term. We weren’t prepared for the Empire’s attack.”
Embarrassment warmed her cheeks and she shrugged, rubbing at her chest.
It was stupid to share that information with the commander. He wasn’t interested in her past, and even if he was, it didn’t concern him. They were nothing more than random people cohabiting.
Kazi glanced at her chrono. “I need to pick up Neyti. Alone. She’s still not entirely comfortable around you and I don’t want to force her—”
“I understand.” Wolffe surveyed the neighborhood bordering the jungle’s edge and then levelled a hard look on her. “You are aware you’re safe with us.”
She managed a tight smile. “Okay.”
“Ennari.” He said her last name quietly, seriously. She opened her mouth—to demand an explanation as to how he knew it when not even the rebel network knew her real last name—but he cut her off. “We won’t hurt any of you.”
“I know—”
“If a threat presents itself, we will protect you.”
The promise in his tone was both genuine and lethal, and as Wolffe held her gaze, she knew she could trust him to keep his promise.
Whatever he saw in her face seemed to satisfy him because he turned around and left.
Soon the shadows claimed him.
And still Kazi didn’t move, staring after him.
Masterlist | Chapter 6 | Chapter 8
A/N: Next chapter release – February 22nd
Tag: @ulchabhangorm
#I Yearn and so I Fear#commander wolffe x oc: kazi ennari#commander wolffe#oc: kazi ennari#commander wolffe x ofc#star wars fanfiction#star wars fan fiction#commander wolffe fan fiction#commander wolffe fanfiction
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The Clone Wars: Unfinished Business
The 4th and final part of the Clone Wars Bad Batch arc with my OC: Specter!
If you've stuck around this far, dear reader, thank you so much for taking an interest in Specter. Her story has just begun and I will be posting the first episode of The Bad Batch: Specter next Friday (5/10/24).
As for the format of this episode; since the original went back and forth between Anakin's team and Obi-wan/Mace's teams, this will remain with Anakin and the Bad Batch, just to keep continuity towards Specter's perspective.
this has been edited. Enjoy!
Specter finished adjusting her hair just as Crosshair and Hunter arrived with the rest of their gear. Wrecker hung out near her while Tech made a final inspection of the Marauder before their next mission.
Echo apparently had a plan to help the Republic take back Anaxes; while Generals Windu and Kenobi had the ground, the Bad Batch, Rex, General Skywalker, and Echo would infiltrate Admiral Trench’s dreadnought and counteract their attack patterns. She couldn’t care less about the specifics, as long as it would lead to a Republic victory.
“Tech, is everything ready?” Hunter asked.
“Yup, Sarge. We are ready. Still not sure how we’re gonna land on that ship.”
“Don’t worry. Echo says he’s got a plan,” Rex assured, coming up behind Tech.
“That makes me feel so much better,” Tech replied flatly with a shake of his head.
“What do you mean by that?”
“To be blunt—”
“He’s always blunt,” Specter said as she passed by. Tech sighed and continued.
“His mind belonged to the Separatists until we unplugged him. We don’t really know where his loyalties lie,” he admitted, narrowing his eyes slightly.
“Right.. Well, I do know. Now, get moving,” Rex said gruffly.
Once everyone was on the ship, they took off, veering away from the Republic fleet heading towards planet-side battle and up to the Admiral’s dreadnought.
“Please tell me we are blowing something up,” Wrecker hoped with almost child-like anticipation.
“Sorry, Wrecker, once again, this is strictly stealth,” said General Skywalker.
“I hate that word,” the brute groaned in complaint.
“I don’t,” Specter said with a smirk.
“Well, of course you wouldn’t. Your name is Specter.”
“Both of you, focus, please,” Anakin chided before turning. “Echo, you’re up.” The clone nodded and went toward the console.
“Don’t worry. As soon as I plug in, I’ll send a signal to the command ship.” He plugged his scomp-arm into the port.
“What type of signal are you gonna send? Nothing that’ll give us away, right?” Hunter eyed Echo cautiously. The entire Bad Batch was uneasy about the situation: the situation being Echo. Specter couldn’t help but agree with what Tech had said earlier, worried the Separatists could easily turn Echo against them, or somehow find out their plan of attack.
“As far as the droids are concerned, we’re just gonna be another one of their shuttles coming in for a landing,” Echo explained.
“And the regs think we take risks,” Hunter mumbled just loud enough for Specter to hear. She chuckled, playfully elbowing him in the ribs with a smirk.
“Sending the signal now.”
The team waited in silence, hoping the plan would work.
“Roger, roger, Shuttle TC-159. You may approach and land,” a battle droid said through the radio. Specter let out an audible sigh of relief.
“I’d still rather blow it up,” Wrecker grumbled as they approached and landed on the underbelly of the massive ship.
“I have a feeling you’ll get your chance, given our track record,” Specter muttered.
“Shall we bet on it?” Tech asked from the pilot’s chair. She snickered.
“Let’s not bet on the chances of a certainty.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The team landed aboard the dreadnought undetected. So far, the coast was clear as the Bad Batch, General Skywalker, Rex, and Echo snuck through the corridors of the ship and towards the comm vault.
Specter led the group, occasionally signaling for the team to proceed. Her pistol was raised and ready for any potential scuffle.
They reached the vault. Specter held up a fist, the group paused before she scanned the area and indicated the coast was clear, letting Tech come forward and use his datapad to open the vault. He followed the General, Captain, and Echo inside while the others stood guard.
It was all up to Echo now.
Skywalker reappeared a minute later, the rest of the team gathered around.
“Alright, Echo will be in the system in just a moment. Are there any other entrances to the vault?”
“Not that we’ve seen, but we could always do a quick sweep,” said Hunter. “You, me, and Wrecker can double-check the perimeter. Twins? You two keep an eye on things in this immediate area, but stay off comms. If we end up detected, it’ll be best to give you more time. If none of us find anything, we’ll rendezvous back here,” Hunter ordered. They nodded and split, sans Specter and Crosshair. The former of the two slouched against a wall and sighed dramatically.
[I’m bored], she signed with her hands, exaggerating the slouch in her shoulders and letting her head fall back against the wall.
[We just got here], he replied, frustratedly signing, Specter could tell he wasn’t in the mood for her antics, which gave her all the more reason to continue.
[But we’re just keeping guard and I'm not detecting any activity in this area.]
[Would you rather be in there?] he nodded towards the inner chamber. Specter sighed, contemplating. [Do you trust him?]
[No], that answer was easy. [But we’ll see how he pulls through. I think he can tell we don’t exactly like him.]
[I'm not a fan of ghosts], Crosshair shrugged as he signed. Specter’s shoulders bounced in silent laughter.
[I’ll try not to be offended.]
[I’m not a fan of you either], he teased.
[I'll never forgive you now.] He made the motion of swiping at her, shaking his head. [I really wonder if the Separatists could take control of him again], she signed, keeping an eye on the room.
[Anything is possible], he shrugged.
“What are you two talking about?” Hunter asked, reappearing with Wrecker and Skywalker.
“Nothing,” they simultaneously said, crossing their arms.
“Oh yeah? Then what’s Echo’s status?” Hunter waited for an answer, they said nothing, only sheepishly hanging their heads and taking arms once more. Wrecker laughed, taking a position by the main entrance, while Hunter shook his head and took off his helmet, moving to stand by the door with Skywalker.
“I’m intercepting a transmission,” Tech said from the inner chamber, catching the group’s attention. “Trench is ordering all of his droids… to the assembly complex.”
The same one Generals Kenobi and Windu were attempting to take back. Specter gripped her rifle a little tighter, craning her neck to peer inside.
“Alright, Echo, what are you trying to pull?” Hunter accused, stepping towards the clone.
“Don’t worry, that’s what I told them to do,” Echo assured, seeming all too confident in his risky move. His tone made Specter uneasy.
“That’s making me worry more,” Specter chimed in. Crosshair shot her a look and she shrugged.
“Our troops will be vastly outnumbered,” said Rex, seeming to doubt his friend for a moment.
“Not when I send them a feedback pulse that shuts down all the droids,” countered Echo.
“Oh, right. Sure thing. Problem solved,” Specter remarked sarcastically.
“How do we know that’s what you’re really trying to do?” Tech questioned.
“We have to trust him,” Rex said after a beat of silence.
“Rex is right,” Skywalker affirmed. “Echo, we’re all counting on you.” The clone nodded and went to work. Hunter motioned for Specter to stand down, but still shared a wary glance with her and Tech. Crosshair went to stand by his twin—who had rested her rifle against the wall—watching as Skywalker reported to the planet-side Generals.
“Master Windu, I know this sounds crazy, but it’s about to get a little more crowded where you are.” Crosshair looked at her, she held up a hand for him to wait and hear.
“We have our hands full as it is. What is your plan?” Windu replied.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, it isn’t my plan. Echo is drawing all the droids to your position so he can neutralize them all at the same time,” he explained.
[Is he really?] He signed
[I can’t say. Best we can do is trust him and wait], she replied. [I don’t like it either.]
So they waited with baited breath, either for the clone forces on Anaxes to be overwhelmed, or for Echo to come through and shut down all the droids. Hunter and Skywalker exited the room, allowing Echo to finish the job. Specter anxiously and instinctively brought a hand up to chew on her nails, but forced it back down, not wanting to take off her helmet or seem unprofessional. Several minutes later, General Windu came through the comm.
“I am pleased to report that we are in control of the assembly complex, and all of the fronts are falling to the Republic thanks to Echo’s plan,” he said. Skywalker smiled, nodding toward Hunter and the twins before turning back inside.
“That’s good news, Master Windu. We’re on our way back to the base.”
“May the Force be with you.”
[And also with you], Crosshair signed. Specter choked back a laugh and smacked his arm.
It worked, she thought to herself with a sigh of relief. While she still didn’t exactly trust Echo, she would consider him off of her radar of suspicion.
“Good job, Echo,” Skywalker complimented.
“Well, I guess you actually are on our side,” said Hunter.
“Was there ever any doubt?” Echo gave a playful salute and smile.
Hunter looked as if he might say something before Tech interjected, “Some,” blunt as usual.
“I second that,” Specter called into the room. Rex chuckled and waved his arm as if dismissing her.
“Come on, brother, unplug and let’s get out of here.”
[Happy now, Specter?]
[Yes, finally], she signed with relaxed hands. She picked up her rifle and walked with him further down the corridor, closer to Wrecker, ready to escape the dreadnought, until Echo called for them to-
“Wait, I just scanned a new order from Trench. He’s initiated a countdown. There’s a bomb hidden at the assembly complex, but it’s big enough to destroy most of Anaxes.”
“Can you stop it?” Skywalker asked.
“Well, I can try,” answered Echo, though he didn’t sound too certain. Skywalker seemed to have an idea and wasted no time running down the hall.
“General, where are you going?” Rex called after him.
“If you can’t stop the detonation, perhaps Trench can!”
“Detonation?” Wrecker enthusiastically wondered allowed after the Jedi had run past.
“Against the Republic,” the twins replied, shutting down his excitement.
“So we have to hope Echo can shut it down?”
“Yes.”
“Would you two stop saying things at the same time? It creeps me out!” Wrecker cried.
“No.”
“Awwww, c’mon it's weird!”
At that moment, a metal clanging down the hall caught their attention; Crosshair peered around the corner, pulling back just as a blaster bolt flew past his head.
Trench knew they were there.
Without another word, the three took positions and fired back, though they didn’t make much of a dent in the oncoming forces.
Hunter eventually caught up with them, Tech, Rex, and a barely conscious Echo trailed behind.
“We got company!” Wrecker shouted, charging forward to assist Crosshair and Specter in their coverfire. “What happened to him?” he nodded towards Echo.
“Electrical feedback overloaded his systems,” Tech answered. “Sabotage from Admiral Trench.”
“Great,” muttered Crosshair.
“Hey, we’re almost through!”
“Don’t jinx it, Wrecker,” Specter warned as she switched from her rifle for her shotgun. Taking center stage, she fired a few shots at the droids, bright bursts of plasma knocked the enemy back and gave Wrecker and Crosshair enough cover to shoot them down and clear the way.
“Now, let’s get moving before another wave comes,” Hunter ordered with a nod.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wrecker, Crosshair, and Specter cleared the way ahead while Hunter and Tech provided cover from droids approaching from behind. The unit created a protective circle around Rex, who had Echo slung over his shoulder.
“We can’t blast our way out. There’s too many of them,” Rex said, placing down Echo when another wave of droids appeared in their path. Without another word, Wrecker handed Hunter his blaster and cracked his knuckles, Hunter aimed down each end of the hall.
“Oh, here we go,” Specter caught sight of Wrecker punching his fists together and running into the line of fire.
“What’s he doing?” Rex asked.
“Time to release the wrecking ball!” he shouted, charging at the droids. He barreled through them, punching and throwing them down, clearing their path.
“I honestly feel bad for those droids,” Hunter mentioned as the team crouched down, waiting for the assault to finish.
“You don’t feel bad when he crashes into me during training,” Specter accused.
“I think you turned out fine.”
Wrecker made his way through the last of the droids, pounding the last one’s head.
“It’s all clear!” he shouted, waving. The group got up, ready to move out.
“More droids,” Tech noticed them approaching down the other end of the hall.
“Go. I’ll buy you some time,” Crosshair said, moving in front of Tech. He threw a reflective puck at the small group; it stuck to a droid and he shot it down. Firing again, the blaster bolt bounced off the reflective surface, hitting all the droids.
“We’ll meet you at the infiltration point,” Rex said as the group vacated the area.
“Hey, if you die, can I have your stuff?” Specter asked before she left. Crosshair looked at her, his silence an indication of his deadpan expression underneath his helmet. She giggled and ran off.
“Oh! He’s gonna try and top me,” Wrecker complained as Hunter gave him back his blaster. “You watch.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The group made it to the infiltration point, but Tech turned back towards the halls.
“I’m picking up dozens of droids on my sensors, all heading this way,” he announced.
“Hope you’re not waiting on me,” a voice said. It was Anakin, running down the hall to meet them.
“Now all we’re missing is Crosshair,” Hunter reported.
“Speaking of,” Specter said, noticing as he sprinted, leaving behind a trail of more reflective pucks on the walls.
“You miss me?” he asked once he met up with the group. A big group of droids were right behind him.
Who wouldn’t miss your ever dramatic charm? Specter thought with a scoff.
“How touching,” he drawled, using the platform on his shoulder-piece to stabilize his rifle. He fired, hitting the last reflective puck, and the blast ricocheted down the hall, hitting every droid as it bounced from puck to puck.
“He thinks he’s so cool when he does that,” Specter muttered, walking off with her rifle slung over her shoulder. Wrecker lifted up his helmet, gaping at the damage.
“Relax, Wrecker. You’ll top him next time,” Hunter comforted.
“No he won’t,” the sniper chimed in, following the group. The brute pouted.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They made a quick escape, everyone piling into the ship as Tech detached from the underbelly of the dreadnought and flew away.
“I’ve got a present for you, Wrecker,” Anakin said, holding up a detonator for the clone.
“Oh, seriously?” he said excitedly. “I get to blow it up? The whole stinking thing?” Wrecker grabbed the detonator and almost cradled it in his hands. He wiped away a tear. “This is the happiest day of my life,” he said between sniffles. He pressed the button.
Specter watched as explosions erupted a second later, destroying the dreadnought and the surrounding ships, from her spot near the rear cannon, smiling at the damage done.
Mission accomplished.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Captain Rex, Corporal Echo, and Clone Force 99,” General Windu said as they all stood at attention, “you all have done a great service for the Republic. Thanks to your courage and effort, Republic shipyards will soon be up and running again.” The Jedi walked away with a respectful nod.
“You’ve got some medals coming your way,” General Kenobi said with a smile before following Windu.
“Thank you, General,” Rex said. He and Echo went to walk, but Echo noticed the Bad Batch did not go to follow.
“You coming?” he asked.
“Not really our thing,” Tech admitted.
“Accolades,” Crosshair hissed.
“Yeah, we’re just in it for the thrill. Yo!” Wrecker said with enthusiasm, pumping his fist.
“We know we’re good, we don’t need a medal to tell us so,” Specter said with a smirk and a hand on her hip.
“You sure it’s your thing?” Hunter asked Echo.
“What do you mean?”
“Your path is different,” he explained before giving a deep huff of a chuckle, “like ours. If you ever feel like you don’t fit in with them, well, find us.” Echo watched as Hunter nodded his group back to their ship. Rex came up to his friend.
“Those are some of the finest troopers I’ve ever fought alongside.” The captain put a hand on Echo’s shoulder, drawing his attention. “Echo. You and I go way back. If you feel that’s where you feel your place is, then that’s where you belong,” Rex encouraged, patting his shoulder and turning to go. Echo looked toward the Batch again.
As Rex walked he knew Echo wouldn’t stay; he turned and saw him talking with the group. Echo turned back to Rex and saluted, leading the rest of the Bad Batch to stand at attention and salute too. Echo was one of them now.
And that's the end of the Clone Wars Bad Batch arc! I hope you enjoyed that! Stay tuned for next week!
#Star wars#Star wars oc#the Bad batch#the Bad batch hunter#tbb hunter x oc#tbb hunter#tbb crosshair#tbb tech#tbb wrecker#tbb echo#clone force 99#the clone wars#the Bad batch oc#tbb oc#sw tbb#sw tcw#f!oc
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Friends Like These
Crosshair x oc (Emi)
any warnings? usual star wars gore, clone treatment on Tantiss, mentions of torture and ptsd (nothing in depth, yet)
I look down at my datapad, it's almost sunset, meaning Omega will be rounding the corner soon. I shut the two doors that surround Crosshair's cell, making him sigh, he knows she's coming too. She rounds the corner and smiles slightly.
"Hi Emi." She says, I nod in reply before speaking.
"Hello Omega." I answer, internally cursing myself for the robotic tone. She tries not to wince, but it slips anyway. In an attempt to distract me from it, she runs to Crosshair's cell and begins to talk to him. He hums every once and a while, but stays silent mostly.
I watch to make sure no one comes, Omega and Crosshair would be punished for the rule break, and I'd definitely be executed for helping them.
A clone comes around the corner, it's Kail.
He groans, "The emperor is here, and i think i'm going insane."
"Why?" I ask.
"They went into that weird vault they think we don't know about." He said.
"Well, I know about it because i work down there, you know because i told you." I say, he rolls his eyes, even under the helmet, i can tell.
Kail looks down the hall to where Omega is walking away from Crosshair's cell. "Do they know?" He asks quietly.
"No, and it's best to keep it that way." Kail nods.
"Goodnight Emi, Kail." She says.
"Night kid." Kail says.
"Jango's dad genes strike again." I joke, making Kail punch my arm before leaving.
.
I do my rounds, walking through the cells, when i stop at one. My heart cracks again at the clone shivering in his cell. I look around, seeing no one, and open his cell.
"Do you need another blanket? Tea?" I ask, he sighs shakily.
"No." He answers, not looking at me. I nod, despite not being in his vision.
"I'll bring some anyway." I say, walking out and hesitantly shutting the door behind me.
.
"-I wouldn't hesitate to leave you behind."
"I'm not them."
"I belong in here."
"No one belongs here." Omega says before walking away, making my lip twitch.
"Goodnight Emi." She says, walking past me.
"Goodnight Omega." I answer, my response making her stumble slightly before walking away.
I look around, knowing no one will be around for 20 minutes, I walk to Crosshair's cell.
"Why can't you just admit she's grown on you?" I smirk.
"Shut up, she hasn't." Crosshair says, rolling his eyes.
"She so has, she's made you smile more in the time being locked in here than you did during the war."
"Was I supposed to smile during the war?" He bites.
"What, are the conditions better in here?" I raise my eyebrows.
"At least you're outside." He says, making me pause.
"..You know that if i had any sort of power here that-"
"I know, i know..it was a low blow, i know you would." He says, sighing.
"..How's your hand?" I ask.
"Fine,"
"Cross.." He takes a deep breath.
"Shaky. i try and hold it still but then the other one shakes and it's- getting worse." He says.
"..It's probably a neural thing, or it may be the.." I look away, making him look up.
"What?"
"It may be PTSD of some sort, the testing..." Crosshair sighs and rolls over, facing the wall.
"...I'm sorry, Cross.."
"I know you are."
#the bad batch#star wars bad batch#star wars#tbb hunter#tbb tech#tbb echo#tbb omega#tbb crosshair#tbb wrecker#sw tbb#tbb#tbb spoilers#tbb season 3#tbb season three#the bad batch crosshair#crosshair x reader#crosshair x oc#crosshair fluff#crosshair angst#the bad batch x reader
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your OCs have been replaced by a mimic! how do their loved ones figure out they're fake?
Oooooh, this is really cool! Thank you!
Rae: Well, let's see... is she flagrantly reckless and self-sacrificing if she thinks someone else is in trouble? I mean hell, if she shows any shred of self-preservation at all, that's the mimic right there. The real Rae has infinite willingness to finish a fight and zero care if she's completely outmatched.
Robin: I mean, she and her loved ones have already dealt quite extensively with clones before, so they'd either just notice the differences pretty quickly or would just ask one of the resident telepaths to look inside her mind. But for something more personal... check her eyebrows - the real Robin has a small scar from where she used to have an eyebrow piercing (the mimic probably picked up on the rest of her facial scars, but that one's small and hidden and probably got missed)
Madison: Honestly, Bravo would probably be the first to tell. He'd be barking up a storm from the moment the mimic walks in the door, he knows that's not his girl. But if for whatever reason Bravo isn't there, Alex would just call her by her full name instead of Mads - the real Madison would be confused, he always uses that little nickname unless something's genuinely wrong, but the mimic probably wouldn't even notice.
Ophelia: Honestly, they wouldn't have to do a whole lot, just watch her and interact with her for a while. Olly has a very distinct way of carrying herself, and while her loved ones might not be able to identify exactly what that is, they'd sense something off about a mimic.
Gia: Anything related to her clover, honestly. The mimic might recognize that there's some kind of significance to it, even that she's protective of it, but wouldn't realize that it's her literal life force because that's quite literally her deepest secret.
Jasper: Take them near a crowded area, but not in the middle of the crowd itself. Jasper's empathic sense makes busy areas difficult for them, since they get emotional feedback from everyone around them even from a distance. A mimic wouldn't have their empathic sense, and even if they tried to imitate Jasper's discomfort with busy places, they'd assume it's exclusively about being in the middle of the crowd.
Quinn: Honestly, just put her in front of One and let him talk for a while. The real Quinn will take any excuse to make some quip at his expense, she probably can't even get 30 seconds into the conversation before she some dig on him. The mimic would try, but just doesn't have the same je ne sais quois
Kestrel: Honestly, they'd probably go the fairly standard route of just asking questions about details only Kestrel would know - stories from their past adventures with the Knights, the contents of the vault in Fablehaven, even simple things like their favorite fruit (raspberries) or favorite flower (dandelions). It's some very similar techniques to the ones Warren uses when Kestrel is at risk of losing their grip on their identity.
Katherine: Honestly, just quiz her on ancient history - and we're talking deep trivia. She's done a lot of studying, particularly into Ancient Egypt, because understanding the history and culture helps her harness its magic most effectively (and not to mention, she's gotten a lot of stories from a direct source). The mimic might get a few details right, but Katherine's giving a passionate half-hour-long ramble about something most people never even knew existed.
Eris: Challenge them to a sparring match. Now, this could get dangerous fast, but there's logic here. The real Eris has a complicated sort of dynamic with the people he cares about - if Rick were to challenge her to a fight, for example, she certainly wouldn't back down, but he'd also be careful that Rick didn't get too badly hurt in the process. But a mimic would only see Eris' token ruthlessness, since those other dynamics are rare and complex and hard to see, and would treat the fight like any other battle.
Nikoletta: Ask her to take off her gloves. It's a similar story to Eris, really: the mimic would see more of the persona she puts out, but her loved ones would recognize that she has more complicated feelings about it. If she puts out bravado and acts all cool, it's the mimic. If she hesitates or looks concerned, even just for a millisecond, it's Nik. Alternatively, they could get a stranger to reach for a handshake (the real Nik will hesitate even if she's wearing gloves or doesn't have her shadow-touch), or offer her a chair that puts her back to the door (the real Nik gets very uncomfortable when she can't see the entrance/exit of the room she's in)
Jimmy: Read him a quote from a book (without showing him the title) and ask him to identify what book it's from. The real Jimmy has a fantastic memory for the things he reads and could identify the book and even the rest of the scene surrounding the quote, plus it's a bit gentler of a means than asking him for information about his death/ghosthood.
#my friends!!!#answered asks#my ocs#jasper wilson#ophelia octavius#oc quinn/aces#madison douglas#oc kestrel#rae mckinney#robin cassidy#gia pantazis#oc katherine johnson#oc eris#nikoletta bordeaux#jimmy luciano
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fanfiction trope ratings: fate worse than death
Give me a fanfiction trope and I’ll grade it
trope rating: A
THIS IS MY SHIT THIS IS MY SHIT THIS IS MY FUCKING SHIT
AAAAAAAAAAAA OH MY GOD I FUCKING LOVE FATE WORSE THAN DEATH!! it's why the death count of my ocs dropped DRASTICALLY as i got older! it's because i realised that i could make them SUFFER in ways that didn't involve dying!
and like, this is seen so much in my fics! the twst ones, it's like. silver's coma in two for nero? fate worse than death bc he's neither alive nor dead. rhapsody for green?? mal killing silver wouldve been a mercy. HOLLOW FUCKING MOON?? LITERAL MONTHS OF PSYCHOLOGICAL TORTURE FOR SILVER?? and that's only my twst fics; there's so much other content i've made where death would've been a far greater mercy
and GOD i love it so much. death is so EASY. you die, you're gone. if you're alive, you can be tortured, you can go through agony. you have to suffer under the weight of your mistakes and sins.
and. and. i think about blaseball actually, and the utter horror of what it meant to become legendary — that you didn't die, you were just preserved eternally in the vault and had clones made of you. or necromancy, where those who were brought back had debts that led to numerous other deaths. or being redacted. literally disappearing. or the static with the wyatts. all of it is fucking haunting and it's why blaseball as a horror genre thing worked so well (i miss it) OBVIOUSLY THERES MORE I JUST,, listed the first thing that came to mind.
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🕐 Was there ever a time your OC would have given everything to turn back the clock 5 minutes? What happened? (can I nominate Medusa if already answered for Yloise?)
I HAVEN'T ANSWERED FOR YLOISE YET BUT GOOD GOD IS THIS A MEDUSA QUESTION ok ok for yloise: the vault obvs
I think Medusa would legitimately pinpoint the office party as the point where everything started going Extremely Wrong (instead of just ordinarily wrong?) for her, and instead of like, drunkenly going to hit on her boss for the fun of it and get subsequently drawn into a web of Cloud-of-Darkness-Summoning-Intrigue and conflicts with her Ascian ~allies, she would just like, resist the urge to get another martini w/ Antonio and just fucking go home with Scylla earlier in the night.
After that, it's a cascade of many, many, many moments that she would take back in an instant if she could - the murder sidequests Emet-Selch assigns her, LITERALLY EVERYTHING SHE DOES WITH AMON (and especially as it relates to Scylla), refusing Pandora's offer, going after Antonio when he flees, fighting Caliban, fleeing back to the Tower and the fallout from that (OH GOD AND THE DOUBLE DATE).
The only things she doesn't regret is getting Scylla's clone out before it's too late and joining with the dragon friends in the end.
#the allagan tempest#medusa shaking herself by her shoulders like 'WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU'#medusa
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List of my Star Wars OCs
Under a cut because I have no doubt this is going to grow and I mostly want to keep track for my own purposes.
Also. Uh. Should go without saying, but please don't use my OCs without asking. I know it's unlikely to happen but just in case. Please?
Jedi
Umika Sessenii - Twi'lek Jedi Master, teaches engineering
- she/her
- prosthetic hand from an explosion
- Pale green that’s striated with darker shades of stripes.
- Trans woman - ears instead of cones, and four head tails instead of the standard two
- Anakin's supervisor for an 'advanced program'
- Maybe a decade older than Obi-Wan?
- Tiniest Assistant Teacher
- Shiny Rainbow Knife
[name??] Skywalker
- He/Him
- Anakin invents a twin brother
San-Set Neff - Nikto
- He/Him
- Knight as of Galidraan
- The King, the Soldier, and the Spy
Healer - Eris
- They/them
- Peer to Obi-Wan
- Uncle Ben and Little Luke
Soul Healer - Madrás
- She/her
- Master as of Obi-Wan's year on Mandalore
- Uncle Ben and Little Luke
Healer - Orféaz
- They/them
- Master as of Obi-Wan's year on Mandalore
- Uncle Ben and Little Luke
Healer - Tophin
- They/them
- Anakin Uses a Sketchy Amulet from the Vaults
Skysisters AU and all the OCs in that.
Clone
(He/him unless otherwise noted)
Furbie - Coruscant Guard
- specializes in navigating infested lower levels
Gus, short for Asparagus - Coruscant Guard
- Shiny
- Helps Ahsoka out when she Accidentally Becomes A Film Noir Detective
- Pretends to be psychic to cover for her
Porkchop - Coruscant Guard
- Medic
Clone Medic Whiskey - 212th
Clint and Matt
- Clones inspired by Hawkeye and Daredevil
- Deaf sniper, blind melee specialist (mild force sensitivity to parallel Marvel character's enhanced senses)
Elk - 501st
- rank Private
- Boba Has a Crush (On Rex’s Boyfriend)
Jimmy - 501st, junior medic
- Anakin's DNA Wish
Pillow and Quota - 212th
Mandalorians
Na-Tsuyon - True Mando support (non-combatant)
- She/her
- tattoo artist
- Nautolan, aquamarine
- very much does not want to be involved in the plot
- Older than Jango, younger than Jaster
- A Child’s Ink
Hujnak - True Mando support (non-combatant)
- He/him
- Devaronian
- Piercings artist
- A Child’s Ink
Kamilla - True Mando
- drill sergeant during Galidraan era
- She/her
- The King, the Soldier, and the Spy
Medic Mirka’lu
- She/her
- True Mando during Jaster and Jango's era
- Has known Jango since he was eight
- The King, the Soldier, and the Spy
- Anakin Introduces his Jedi Babies (and Himself)
Unnamed - Twi'lek, medic
- She/her
- Lesbian married to another Mando
Laika - Pantoran hacker
- She/her
- Not actually Mandalorian, but part of the Cuy'val Dar
- Widows on Kamino
Unnamed guard (and sister) thirsting over Jango
- Obi-Wan Declares Himself Dad Shaped
Tatooine
Unnamed - Nautolan, Tatooine
- He/him
- Owns an ice cream shop, considered wealthy by slaves but is functionally living hand to mouth
- Dry skin; isn't judged for having indoor cooling even by those in poverty, due to species needs
- Hides runaway slaves in the back
Beru's Uncle
- becomes Tatooine's Senator if Hutts are ousted
Ranko
- He/him
- Beru's Cousin
- Lives a few towns away, only see each other every few months
- Undefined sexuality (bi or pan)
Slaves and former slaves:
- Depthseeker, Singerwake, Dunefire, Moonhuntser
- Not Quite as Clever as a Fox
Mirat - human
- She/her
- Runs a general store in Anchorhead
- 18 at RotS
- Gets married seven years after the rise of the empire; asks Ben Kenobi to officiate
- Wizard of the Jundland Wastes
Primro Depthseeker - human
- She/her
- Five years older than Luke and Leia; lives in Anchorhead
- Wizard of the Jundland Wastes
Other
Teskarim - Shop attendant in Mandalorian Space
- She/her
- Rex and Anakin Raise a Family
Ron-Gan - Human Senator
- Space Ronald Reagan
Yenna - Togruta
- She/her
- Head of PR for the GAR (civilian employee)
- The Skywalker Sex Tape
Unnamed - The Accountant From Theed
- an accountant working for the government of Naboo
- The Accountant from Theed
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@patchmates I call you "patches" to my friendos, but I just noticed you go by Kit.
Funny thing?
I have an OC that is pretty much a mini-Fox, who in some of the AUs is a second-generation Alpha that is made late into the war. Seventeen pretty much... pockets the skrunky thing.
This is pretty much him. His name is "Kit." He wasn't doing too great. Seventeen... kind of got attached. Kind of raised the runty thing like a tiny little feral kitten found on the street.
Nala Se showed her pleasure in all the excitement, her head bobbed at the end of her long neck. “Alpha-17.”
From the threshold he grunted at her and looked back to the darkness from whence he came.
Seventeen pinched his bottom lip under his teeth and whistled sharply enough that Hunter flinched wildly, and Nala Se recoiled her neck. Her long fingers clutched onto Omega’s shoulders, and pulled the child deeper into the vault’s chamber.
“GET OVER HERE!” He bellowed.
Out of the same source the giant had come from, a small company now followed. They ranged in ages, the oldest just about the right age to start practicing with blasters on stun settings. Their smallest were too young to be allowed on foot, and held by their biggest. They all wore single-bodied jumpsuits that looked likely to tear apart into two pieces at the waist. Mostly in shades of dark greys and blacks, they had highlighted details: blue, yellow, green, and a deep shade of magenta.
“Who are—”
Tech began, as his eyes scanned the array of some of the most unique spectrum of young Clones he had seen since… well, him and Batch 99.
“Talk less, move more—” Seventeen commanded, as he tucked into the vault just as a Clone with dark curls and darker eyes darted under his foot, narrowly missing being stepped on. He was young enough and small enough that when Seventeen scooped him up on his way in, the Little was held he was one of their sock-dolls they made to practice their stitches. He squeaked, “I can walk!”
“Not fast enough,” Seventeen rumbled—finally muted as the devastation truly began around them, his voice barely managed to boom a dulled echo of its usual volume.
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okay first of all how does anyone bear to do asks i need to keep switching between two tabs trying to figure out what questions i'm trying to ask, there's got to be an easier way-- BUT right, Behind the Scenes asks: 1, 5, 12, 18 PLEASE, and 23. (PS am i supposed to ask so many? prob not. screw it, i'm greedy (PPS am i supposed to be anon rn idk if that's correct etiquette)) THANKS!
I jot the numbers down somewhere if I'm getting overwhelmed. You did great though! And no, there is no etiquette on how many to ask, don't worry. If there's a double I'll just send you to the other ask. More means I get to talk about fic more, which is great! :3
What was the first fandom and/or pairing that you wrote fic for?
Star Wars, Thrawn x OC. I was pretty sauced. I think I have some great moments in there, and I was free to create all the banter I wanted, etc. But it suffers a LOT from me being completely new to multi chapter work. I go into meandering tengeants and don't know when to stop on the world building. It had its fans and really dragged me into the whole fanfic universe though. Maybe one day I'll finish it, but I had no idea which way to go. I feel like I wrote myself in a corner, somewhat haha
5. What is the perfect environment for you to write in?
I don't mind loud spaces like cafes or pubs, so long as the music isn't obnoxious and I can hear my own. I just like places where nobody is going to come to me to interrupt me. Sadly I live and work in a backpacker hostel, meaning I have 50 odd housemates at any given time, without counting the 250 guests. I get interrupted a LOT.
So right now, hidden in my bed or hunkering down at my fav cafe, would be my answer.
12. Is there a trope you haven’t written yet but really want to?
Yes! There's this Tarkin & Ahsoka fic I mentioned in this ask. It focuses on the amnesia trope. I really, really like to write sort of mind fucky things from character PoV. So Tarkin struggling with shattered memories and having to rebuild himself while trusting this total stranger… Hard. Especially when WE all know she's lying to him to try and use him for her side, because the rebellion just needs the help that badly.
I do need to make better research on real amnesia before I apply scifi logic to it... And I need to not be hyperfixation on Quaritch's blue ass. His own trope scratches a similar itch, since he's a clone with implanted memories. So identity crisis as well...
18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.
OK ok I have this entry from my Hannibal ficlets that focuses on a secret inside the "mind palace" Hannibal Lecter has. I've read all three relevant Hannibal books, watched the films, all TV series… And then I read the book Piranesi by Susanna Clarke. It's excellent and I recommend it.
It focuses on a man living inside an enormous house that has three levels going in all directions, with clouds in the top level and a sea with rushing tides in the bottom. There are statues everywhere… And birds… And it's very WTF and it takes you a long time to understand what's going on. It's in this man's pov too which thickens the mystery.
I love the works of Piranesi. He's an italian architect and archaelogist who once got sick. 22 yo and delirious with fever, he sketched a series of 'infinite prisons' which you can see here!
So I'm writing this tiny daily ficlet, trying to stick as close to 200 words as I can, and I was folding myself into a piranesian pretzel trying to FIT THE DAMN EXPRESSION in. Making Hannibal's mind palace into a piranesian thing.
There is a corner of his mind always plagued by snow.
It is a torturous journey there, through labyrinthine passages, down echoing stairwells and across bridges arcing over the piranesian landscape of his palace. It is easy to lose one's way, to be distracted by the vaulted ceilings of a chapel, the confines of well used hideouts, or the familiar outlines of his Baltimore office. But if he keeps walking, fingers brushing against all the door-frames of all the halls of his mind, eventually they alight on damp wood, cold and brittle.
[he's off to visit his baby sister, who he keeps in there. He was forced to eat her by soldiers as a child, yeah it's dark]
23. If you had to remix one of your own fics, which would it be and how would you remix it?
I'm not super hung up on this idea. I write and move on. I have 151 works currently and I've been on ao3 for not even 3 years. So as you can imagine I have a tendency to create a new work rather than worry about remixing.
This being said I'd probably completely retool my very first fic, as per answer 1. I'd change the OC, shorten the plot by A LOT, get the action started sooner, completely drop a lot of worldbuilding… It's a slog, which can be very sweet in a fanfic when you're enjoying the slog content, but dear lord, it makes for awkward re-reading.
I'd make the OC an alien instead of a human raised by aliens. Too much going on.
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Little bit of information about my clone oc, Vesper:
Vesper is the captain of his squad, a group of clone intelligence soldiers assigned to Commander Zeraphine Viren during the Clone Wars.
His squad has seven members: Zeraphine (commander), Vesper (captain), Drift, Hayze, Vault, Kyrix, and Lorn. Vesper takes his role as captain seriously which often leads to his brothers teasing him when he’s trying to reprimand them for mistakes during missions.
Vesper got his name from Drift when they were cadets after he found him sneaking out of the mess hall in an evening to watch the sunset on Kamino.
During one mission, he got caught in an explosion. He has a scar on the right side of his face where shrapnel caught him and two dark spots underneath his right eye where the skin didn’t heal properly. Zeraphine nicknamed him Freckles, and she is the only one allowed to use it. He also had significant hearing damage in his right ear after the explosion and has an implant to help his hearing. Zeraphine and his brothers began standing on his left if they needed to speak to him so he can hear them better.
Vesper has curly hair that he can only tame with a lot of hair products. Sometimes, if he’s in a rush, he just brushes it as best he can. He has a fair bit of stubble that he only shaves if he has to attend important events.
After Zeraphine told them about how she was treated differently growing up because her cheek markings were red instead of blue, Vesper had the idea of getting a tattoo of her markings on his wrist. His brothers all joined him in standing in solidarity with their commander. He also has other tattoos, including the names of his brothers on the back of his neck.
Vesper can come across as incredibly grumpy and impatient (he kind of is at times), but those who know him understand it’s because he likes getting the mission done on time and with as little trouble as possible. He prides himself on being punctual and efficient as a lot rides on the information his squad can get.
He likes to sketch when he has the time and has a sketchbook full of drawings of his team, certain locations he likes, and tattoo designs. His brothers often asked him to design their tattoos.
#tcw#the clone wars#sw tcw#sw the clone wars#star wars the clone wars#clone oc#star wars tcw#clone wars#sw oc#clone trooper vesper#clone trooper oc#captain vesper
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