in my head tup and hunter are on opposite ends of the hair care routine spectrum out of the clones with non-regulation lengths like tup is 12 steps to soft silky locks hunter meanwhile rubs bar soap into that shit and calls it a day. they meet once n hunter says yeah soap is soap and tup lets out a little whimper

crosshairs fic idea: reader is gossiping with coworkers (maybe medics idk) about who the most attractive clone is and reader mentions crosshair and he somehow finds out and teases her

Teasing // Crosshair x reader

“It’s definitely Captain Rex. ” Tula, a Rodian nurse from the 212th, stated decidedly. You giggled into the shitty GAR rationed caf.

“That’s just cause your into blondes.” You teased, content with the rounds of chuckles at the mess hall table as Tula’s teal cheeks blushed blue.

“I still don’t know why we’re having this conversation, they’re clones, they all look the same! Thats like the whole thing.” Rys groaned uncomfortably, the only man at the table of civilian enlistments. It was rare for some many of your friends to be in the same place at the same time- but medical staff and engineering alike, every six months after your first deployment civilian enlistments were shipped back to Coruscant for a week long training refresher.

“You can’t say that, it’s rude!” Tula slapped his arm, eyebrow ridges furrowing over her galaxy eyes. He held his hands up in surrender.

“Yeah Rys, we won’t assume you’re any less straight if you admit that Wolffe is clearly the most attractive.” Raina grinned, her peach colored lekku twitching at the thought of the commander. You considered the idea but shook your head as other names got thrown around.

Kix, Fives, Bly, Keeli, Cody, and a couple other names you didn’t quite recognize the names of were tossed around the table. Haircuts, scars, tattoos, personality all became deciding factors as you at your dinner, occasionally chiming in to tease your friends.

“Ok then, who do you think the hottest soldier is?” An engineer from some outer moon data post asked after you teased her for her choice- Tup, a younger soldier in the 501st that you hadn’t met since your transfer to Clone Force 99.

You held your hands up, ready to evade the question. But Raina interjected, a challenging look on her face. You’d gone through academy with the peachy colored twi-lek and her sharp tongue was almost faster than her flying. You knew that look, and it didn’t bode well.

“If you don’t answer, I’ll tell every trooper I see all week that you said it was them.” She threatened with a smirk that said she already knew she had won. The smirk grew to a grin when you let out a defeated sigh.

“Well, in my own personal opinion, that Crosshair is the most attractive man we work with.” You admitted quietly. An honest answer on your part, you did think he was attractive even if you’d never say it to his face. Immediately, several pairs of disbelieving eyes landed on you.

“What? He doesn’t even count!” Rys pointed an finger at you to emphasize his point, “he doesn’t even look like the other clones!”

You shrugged as Tula slapped the back of his head again, her voice scolding as she hissed, “You can’t say that either!”

Then she looked at you, “Really though? He’s meaner than a burned gundark.”

“He’s scary.” Raina nodded.

“He’s an ass.” Another one of the 212th enlistments echoed from down the table. You’d forgotten that a few of the units they were assigned to probably had worked with Clone Force 99 at some point. Nevertheless, suddenly, you felt a need to defend the sniper who had finally become what you’d consider a friend.

“Ok, so it takes a while to get to know him, but...” you started, thinking of all the amazing qualities no one else saw because they weren’t with him all the time, “he’s loyal to a fault, really funny, always pulls me out of sticky situations and usually manages to keep me out of them to begin with, once you get to know him and how he is, you see how much he cares about his-“

“Ok, sure,” Raina cut you off, clearly not believing the cold eyed sniper could care about anything or anyone. She paused to pitch her voice up, flutter her eyelashes, and clasp her hands beside her face like a cartoon princess, “we don’t know him like you do~”

She interrupted herself with a snicker before she continued in her normal voice, “and all that bantha crap, but this is about attractiveness. What makes him hot? And don’t give me any of this, personality is all I look at shit.”

“And if I tell you, you’ll leave me alone?” You asked, though it was more of a demand. Tula nodded, she had always been a little boy crazy, and was dying to hear the scoop. You sighed again, hoping your cheeks weren’t too flushed, “fine, He’s very unique looking, in all the best ways. He’s very tall and lean, but crazy built. I’m into the silver hair, and believe it or not, under the armor that man has the best ass you’ll ever see.”

Tula was leaning on the table, giggling wildly at the juicier bits of you description. Raina had leaned back in her seat, and rolled her eyes, “To each their own, I suppose.”

Fortunately for you, the conversation switched to complaining about to the soldiers that were in charge of your training. There was a rumor the Fox used “civilian training” as punishment for his men when they earned a reprimand. It made sense, all the Coruscant guardsmen that were tasked with running drills with you weren’t exactly thrilled to be there. As if any of you were either.

“Yeah, I definitely don’t understand that attitude. We get it, you don’t want to be here, neither do we, but we are so let’s just get it over with- with out the..... are you even listening?” You were in the middle of your tangent when it was clear none of your group was listening to you. Instead there were all staring over your head with varying looks of slight fear, curiosity, and overall disdain. Tula was the one who attempted to subtly point behind you. At first you feared it was one of the troopers in charge of your training, so you quickly turned around with a forced apologetic look on your face.

To your surprise, you found Crosshair. Helmet free, as usual he had a toothpick between his teeth as he gave your group an appraising sweep. He had the same look on his face that he did when he was sizing up ‘the regs’- until he got to you. It took a year for him to stop looking at you that way, but his slight sneer eased out to neutral-which when it came to the sniper, it might as well have been an ear to ear grin.

“Crosshair! What are you doing here?” You asked, turning around in your seat. In addition to his sudden appearance, just his president was slightly confusing. Typically, Hunter would come himself, or send Tech- all to avoid a potential fight. Your training mates looked slightly bewildered at the amicable exchange.

“Springing you. We’ve got an assignment.” He shrugged after plucking the toothpick from between his lips. Like a true creature of habit, he started twirling the stick between his fingers. You quirked an eyebrow motioning to the other civilians.

“You can’t ‘spring me’, it’s GAR regulation for me to do this training refresher.” You reminded him, he rolled his eyes- but you weren’t sure if his disdain was for your use of air quotes or just disdain for GAR regulation in general. With any member of the Bad Batch, it was usually general disrespect for the rules. You gave him a look before continuing, “I still have three more days.”

“Is it really training? You could run circles around anyone here, especially them.” He drawled as he nodded his head over his shoulders at the table of red painted troopers who were eyeing him in distrust. Your eyes went a little wide, was that a compliment? And then you ducked your head at the offended glares of your table. In an effort to prevent a fight, you stood quickly before letting him lead you off.

“They’re aren’t gonna let me leave, Crosshair.” You reminded him, looking up to meet his eyes. He smirked a bit, setting his eyes forward.

“How are they gonna stop us?” He challenged, dropping his smile to glare at a passing trooper.

“Well, ion cannons come to mind.” You mused before clearing your throat, “You guys could always go with me, you went on plenty of missions before you got stuck with me. It be like the good ole days.”

He didn’t laugh at your joking tone, but shook his head, “You’re one of us, you stay with us”

You were stunned to silence for a second, despite your friendship he’s never referred you you as ‘one of them’. Heat rose to your cheeks as you exited the corridor into a lift, so Crosshair diffused the tension.

“Mission takes precedence over regulations. When have we been know to follow the rules, anyways.” He mused, swiping his ID card so the lift would let you out in the hangar. He relaxed a bit when you snorted a laugh before he continued on, “Besides, how can pull you out of sticky situation if you’re on a different planet?”

You froze in your spot, stomach dropping and cheeks flaring with red hot embarrassment; you had forgotten the cardinal rule of working with Crosshair.

If you didn’t have eyes on Crosshair, Crosshair definitely had eyes on you. And in this case, apparently ears as well.

“Ok, look-“ you started, hoping to ease your embarrassment, but all of the excuses you could come up with fell flat before they made it out of your mouth. Fortunately, the lift door slid open, allowing you to escape before you could further your embarrassment.

Crosshair actually chuckled out loud, long legs easily traipsing past you as he headed towards the Havoc Marauder. Momentarily, he twisted around to walk backwards, pointing his toothpick towards you, “Don’t worry, your ass is almost as good as mine.”

Me again, hope you don’t mind... anyways could you do Cody and Obi wan First Meeting out of Cody’s POV and he slowly realizes that this isn’t you usual Jedi general but that Obi-Wan Kenobi is not only beautiful but also 1. Incredibly good at words 2. Actually cares about the Vode 3. For that reason dislikes fighting and casualties and actually shows his compassion to the Vode 4. Is an absolute badass and 5. Absolutely insane

(Obi-Wan defying the troopers' expectations is the reason i'm alive, and the vode being intimidated by this scary magic man only to find out he's a reckless dumbass who cares more about them than actually winning the war is just. yes. not actually sure how it happened in canon, my brain is being mean, but canon is nebulous and i do what i want. 

so here's Cody being surprised by Obi-Wan's endless love for absolutely everybody, and obi being surprised that Cody is surprised.)

  Cody is running on six hours of sleep in two days following General Rret So’s reassignment, and he isn’t even close to being finished cleaning up that... disaster. They’ve got a new batch of shinies to paint and name, bodies to bury, a new general to meet, and to be honest, Cody doesn’t have all too high hopes for their next one. It’s already kriffing clear that none of the Jedi have proper military training, and while Cody isn’t one for gossip, he’s also heard rumors that Kenobi hasn’t been in the field since Geonosis. And they want him to lead an attack battalion.

  But when Cody arrives in the hangar of their current outpost to make sure it’s in shape before Kenobi arrives, there’s a Jedi near the center of the room, sitting on the floor. Or sitting... a few inches above the floor, only one hand gently touching the durasteel below him, and Cody halts just inside the door.

  It doesn’t take much to guess his identity, what with the Jedi robe mostly pooled on the floor, whose edges drift in lazy swirls. The man has his eyes closed, several small stones levitating in equally lazy spins around him, but the casual show of power doesn’t put Cody on edge the way their Nautolan general had; the air around Rret felt like static when he meditated, but General Kenobi effuses warmth and calm, his expression as thoughtful as it is peaceful. 

  Cody skeptically takes in the armor under Kenobi’s robe, modified clone armour; General Rret never touched anything not sent directly from the Temple. And Kenobi is... smaller than Cody had expected of the famed Negotiator that had helped lead at the Battle of Geonosis, more lithe, more compact. His hair is longer than regulation (not that that has ever stopped Tup), just enough to pull back, with an endearing curl that’s escaped the elastic floating at his temple.

  Cody was created for problem solving, for analyzing patterns and information where his rank-and-file brothers could not, but all these little details just leave him confused.

  The stones gently and slowly settle back onto the ground, followed by the general as he inhales a deep breath, and that aura of tranquility does not leave when he opens his eyes. 

  And then he smiles at Cody.

  Cody snaps a salute, nerves jumping despite the general’s expression, and tries to raise his mental shields like Jango had taught them to. “General, sir,” he greets, keeping his gaze just below Kenobi’s eyes, which unfortunately has him pinned on his lips.

  “Commander Cody,” he returns warmly in High Coruscanti, rising in a fluid motion and holding out a hand. Cody stares at it for a moment before he realises General Kenobi means to shake his hand, and he almost thinks it’s a trap, but he hesitantly reaches out all the same. That smile grows as Kenobi then moves to grip Cody’s forearm like any proper Mando, tapping his other fist to the center of his chest. “It’s good to finally meet you, Commander: I’ve been assured that we will work quite well together.”

  Reeling, Cody almost forgets to respond. “Sir?”

  “I’ve heard nothing but compliments from your men, and from other battalions; Captain Rex in particular speaks very highly of you.”

  Does he know Cody was almost court martialed for arguing with General Rret? Does he know about the multiple complaints submitted by the Nautolan for insubordination? 

  The way Kenobi’s eyes crinkle at the corners doesn’t assure him that he had. “I like to get my information from multiple sources,” Kenobi explains, finally releasing Cody to tuck his arms behind his back almost at parade rest. “You’re here a bit early, aren’t you? Excellent, that gives us some time to chat before your men arrive.”

  It’s enough that General Kenobi went out of his way to learn his name, and then use it, leaving Cody absolutely helpless as Kenobi launches in questions about the cleanup from Rret’s departure.

-

  Kenobi growls like a stampeding reek as their next assault goes to kriffing shit. No sooner had Kenobi managed to greet Ghost Company, that the call to arms had blared through the outpost, a droid battalion approaching from the South. Which was something Rret had apparently anticipated but not felt the need to tell anyone, including the High Generals.

  And Kenobi had loaded up with the rest of them, speaking quickly with the pilot, and surely his general wasn’t planning on— on actually fighting with them? 

  But he had indeed leapt from the transport into the dense forest right alongside him, and Cody had realised, kriff, he has to try and keep this crazy Jedi alive long enough for him to ask what the kriff he’s thinking.

  And then things just keep going wrong, from misinformation about droid numbers, to being cornered in a ravine, to Cody having to step over a Shiny that hadn’t even been named yet. Kenobi whirls through the droids with his lightsaber, but the B1s seem to just keep coming, and Cody has almost resigned himself to dying here, because Rret would never let them change the plan this far in—

  “Commander!” Kenobi shouts, shoving a B2 droid off his ‘saber. “Full retreat! Evac is inbound, get your men to the top of the ridge!”

  “Sir?”

  Appearing at Cody’s side and handing him a fresh blaster, Kenobi’s serene expression is traded for troubled rage, but it’s by some miracle not aimed at the vode. “We’re not winning here today,” Kenobi says, jerking his chin towards the ridge as he tugs Cody behind a boulder. “We need to regroup, your medic is already overrun.”

  Which doesn’t quite compute. It’s not as if they haven’t lost entire squads in similar conditions, what does Kenobi hope to achieve by—

  “I’ll hold them off,” he says, making Cody choke on his spit. “As long as I can.”

  “General!” By the Force, he can’t honestly think that Cody will let him stay behind, that Cody will leave him here.

  “That’s an order, I’m not losing any more men today,” Kenobi says firmly. He checks around the boulder before spinning back to Cody. “I was told you were by the book, that you were a stellar soldier with his brothers’ best interest at heart. Are you going to make me a fool for believing that?”

  “General, I don’t think—”

  “I’ve given you an order, Commander. Retreat. I will meet you back at the outpost.”

  Swallowing down the urge to throw up, Cody nods and salutes, and prays to whatever deity listening that he’ll wake up tomorrow with absolutely no memory of today.

  Kenobi gives him a small smile, before reigniting his ‘saber and rushing back into the battle.

-

  Cody is just beginning to wonder if they’re going to have to get another new general when Kenobi shows up in the last search party before they call it off for the night, stepping off the transport with several more injured brothers that hadn’t made it back with the first two evacs. A squad of shinies runs up to get the stretches to the medbay that is indeed overrun, but Cody doesn’t worr— can’t worry about that right now, marching up to Kenobi with a comm disk.

  “Sir, welcome back,” he greets, taking quick stock of the minor grazes on Kenobi’s face, how limp his hair has turned, but he otherwise seems fine, which is a miracle in it of itself. “High General Mundi—”

  “Later,” Kenobi cuts him off, not unkindly, but with an air of unspeakable exhaustion. “Master Rret So restationed your secondary medics, yes?”

  “Yes, sir, but what—?”

  Kenobi nods once and starts to follow the shinies, Cody matching pace with him even as he’s sure he’s broadcasting his confusion into the Force. Kenobi offers him a tiny smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Your brothers aren’t going to last the night if I don’t go help Wupi, and you’re horrendously undermanned as it is.”

  Another name casually thrown out, as if General Rret hadn’t even bothered to learn their numbers, and if Cody wasn’t already a whirlwind of emotions, he might have some feelings about that. Later. Everything later.

  A thought occurs to him. “Sir, General Rret said they were needed elsewhere. The secondary medics.”

  They arrive at the medbay that is in utter chaos, too small to house so many vode, already filled from their last skirmish and now completely overflowing. Kenobi looks around almost as if he’s going to cry, before he clenches his jaw and turns to Cody.

  “General Rret was mistaken. I hailed the 501st from the transport, they’ll be here tomorrow afternoon, but until then, it’s my duty to keep your men alive. Can you help me do that, Cody?”

  Cody simply nods, wondering if he had been concussed during the battle. “Yes, sir. What do you need.”

  “I need every sheet you can spare, and the emergency medkits from all the transports. I need you to hold off General Mundi until morning, I know he’s expecting a long conversation. And please, tell him in no uncertain terms that I plan to have very harsh words with his former padawan as soon as the 501st arrive.” Kenobi takes a deep breath, seeming to draw energy in from everywhere, and then puts a hand on the side of Cody’s neck for the briefest moment. Almost like static shock, Cody flinches, but suddenly doesn’t feel so exhausted, and he blinks down at Kenobi.

  “That should hold you over until morning, I trust you to handle the rest of the outpost?” He raises a single brow, but kriff if Cody is going to tell him no.

  “Yes, sir.” He salutes, feeling a green warmth brushing against his mind that certainly was not there before, but belongs there all the same. 

  That warmth stays with him long after the 501st arrives with aid, and Cody intends to hold onto it for as long as his cannon-fodder life allows. 

Fives and Dogma are still alive, but have to live in hiding. They need to face their own demons when it comes to understanding what defines them as soldiers, clones, and human beings. When another friend joins them, they may get closer to this understanding for once. AO3 chapter on the link and full chapter below the cut.

-

The tides are high today. The ruins facing the ocean are long forgotten by the locals – noting to see but worn-out walls guarding a moss-covered house that nobody ever had become interested in. It was too far off, away from the capital city and with a far too difficult access. The terrain was unstable, and a speeder or an actual military walker might be needed to climb the steep way. Not even the troublesome teens would bother try getting there, for it was too much trouble just to spray some graffiti over an old building.

Nobody knows, however, that the place is actually inhabited. The roughed up exterior hides a home that smells like freshly-baked bread and wildflowers (a bush full of them grows near the vegetables being grown in the backyard) and the walls are painted teal-green. The decoration is simple and leaves no clue of what kind of people live there aside from the bes'bev leaning on a wall and the password-locked datapad on the small dinner table. There are three chairs placed around the table, but one of them is covered pants and shirts of the same black uniform while only the remaining two seem to be in use.

The backyard’s wall close to the meiloorun trees has an old, rusty target hanging there, blaster burns so deep on its center the next shot might just pierce the thing through. And much ahead on the deck against which the tides are crashing, there is a man looking over to the sea. The man has a large scar on his temple and its pinkish, lighter skin different from his darker tan, and his brown eyes are lost in the waves’ movement. The waves go back and forth, back and forth. Crashing against the deck. Crashing. Spraying. Exploding. Like that explosion back in…

He shakes his head. No. Remembering never did him any good.

He thinks about maybe shooting a little on the target. He misses the action, misses shooting. Then he thinks about maybe watching one of those holo-vids for the billionth time. The mere thought makes him scrunch his nose in annoyance. He can always play a holotable game. He snickers, remembering back in the day when he was just a kid and he’d be awake late at night playing with…

No, please. I don’t wanna think about him. Not today.

The man is dressed in plain black clothes, but there is a piece of what looks like a white armor on his right arm. The armor is dented, scratched and clearly has been through a lot in its lifetime. Something that he hasn’t seen in years happens: the light on the blue panel close to his wrist lights up, and a sound like static comes through it.

The man jumps upright, and he who seemed like an farmer who’d never left his fuit trees’ side in his life suddenly has the posture of a soldier. He clears his throat as his eyes examine the comlink, and he whispers tentatively:

“Sir?...”

There is silence. Not a single word, not a single sound but static. The man knits his brows, poking the comlink. Damn old thing must be picking up interference. Of course they  wouldn’t call him. There’s no reason they would. The man runs his hands through his black hair, which has grown long and untamed as his goatee that now is a full beard like one of the Generals he’d served under. He has tried tying his hair up in a bun but then he saw himself in the bathroom mirror he almost screamed at the resemblance he’d share with his younger brother. That day, he’d punched the mirror until his knuckles were bloody and the glass was ground to bits. He hates mirrors now.

The man had a name before, when his brothers were still alive and his life seemed to have meaning, to have purpose. He was part of something big, something meaningful. He had a family, countless brothers who shared his face and his genetic code.

Before all this, the man’s name was Fives. And whatever this story turns out to be, it feels like an epilogue of a badly-written story.

Another man walks out of the house up to Fives. He had the same face and wore the same black clothes, the same arm guard only on his right arm just like him. His face was scarred like Fives’, but not on his temple - lighter spots dusted over his face like freckles on a large V-shape, as if deliberate laser shots had been used to erase what before had been a tattoo. The man had been the first clone to ever come to live in this planet, in this house. He tugged on the cuffs of his shirt to then walk to Fives’ side, looking at the crashing waves.

“Made some bread.” he said “Milk’s almost gone, we gotta milk the bantha.”

Fives hummed in response, and he kept watching the waves. Fives had been living together with him in hiding for the past six months, and the other man had been living there a year prior to that, and yet, they didn’t talk much. It was hard getting the Fives to talk. He’d most unexpectedly turn aggressive, never physically violent but he would scream and curse, he would slam doors, he would empty his blaster on the target outside and sometimes he would just scream at the ocean as if he cursed it.

“Will do. Can I ask you a question…” he drew in a breath, turning to the other man “…Dogma?”

Dogma nodded. He was averse to talking too. In fact, his voice would be raspy whenever Fives would hear it. Dogma would spend most of his days playing his bes'bev and baking – he used to be terrible at first, but grew very good at cooking. Unlike Fives, he kept his crew cut and shaved on a regular basis. He needed the order, needed to look proper. He’d lost so much but if he lost the appearance of a soldier, he felt like he might lose his mind too.

Not that he haven’t already, but still.

“What is it?” there it was, his voice raspy as usual

“I think my comlink rang.”

Dogma nodded sharply.

“Mine did too. Coincidence?”

“Hardly.” Fives frowned “He must be trying to reach us.”

“But why would he?”

“No idea. He said he’d never come back. Ordered us to lay low. I have no idea why he’d risk talking to us.”

“Maybe… Maybe things were cleared out.” Dogma said, his eyes slowly moving from one side to the other “Maybe we can go back.”

Fives tried to let out a laugh but it came out as a snarl.

“Go back? Not gonna happen. Look what they did to us.”

Fives turned his back on Dogma, and Dogma says:

“I got the radio to work. We can get some transmissions from the local outpost, stay sharp, keep an eye out for any progresses on…”

“We are not listening to shinies talking about whatever boring shit they do on this wasteland.” Fives snapped over his shoulder “We are not getting involved. It’s over, Dogma, we are no longer troopers. Get over it. I did.”

Fives ran his hand over his chest. He could still feel the uneven spot on his sternum where the blaster shot had hit his reinforced plate under the armor. As a last minute resource back at the 99, Kix had given him the untested armored clothing designed by Kix himself, for him to wear under the uniform. It was the only thing that saved his life. Once after Rex got Fox and his men to leave, and asked General Skywalker for time with his fallen brother, he talked in hushed whispers to the soldier who pretended to be dead. As Kix got in the scene, he pulled his best grieving face as he placed Fives on a stretcher carried by droids and he looked at Rex in a silent begging: help me out.

And Rex did. Kix made the “autopsy” on another dead brothers whose temple he’d quickly inked with a number five tattoo, as he’d later scrap off the superficial flesh of Fives’ forehead on the same spot, disfiguring his tattoo. And just like they had done a year prior to that with Dogma, Fives was registered as dead. Details of his file showed him as a victim of the virus-induced paranoia that had killed Tup, shot dead by a trooper trying to protect the Republic. His chest had been badly injured by the close range blaster shot nonetheless, and he would have breathing issues for the rest of his life.

Still, he was alive. That was more than Hardcase, Tup or Echo had ever gotten.

Fives got back into the house and dropped sitting on the couch with a long sigh. Dogma followed him, leaning against the doorframe, his features darkened with the contrast of the sun that poured in from behind him.

“Are you alright?”

“Am I ever?” Fives asked angrily as he rubbed his chest still

“You can’t just accept to be forever stranded in this hellhole, sir.”

“Will you cut out the kriffing “sir” shit already?” Fives’ voice was louder now, angrier still “We are not soldiers anymore, Dogma, we are just two men trying not to die anytime soon even if life sucks, even if every day looks exactly like the one before, even if we should be dead but aren’t, even if everyone we ever cared about-- Shit…”

Fives ran his hand over his face. Dogma just pushed all his fucking buttons, the whole posture gist, the whole protocol crap. He didn’t need any of this shit. He didn’t want it. Dogma stared at him in silence for a full minute before walking inside, picking up his bes'bev and sinking down on the opposite chair, hitting a few notes of the Vode An melody at it. Fives frowned to then abruptly get up and storm out to the backyard once again, slamming the door on his way out. Fuck Dogma. Fuck Dogma and his stupid bes'bev and his stupid formal addressing and his stupid face, Fives’ own goddamned face as well.

He picked up the blaster hanging off a nail on the wall and walked away from the target, taking his aim. He drew in a breath, and his chest felt tight. It hurt. He gritted his teeth, imagining the Rishi Eel that had killed Cutup and he pulled the trigger. Dead on center. He tought of the clanker that had killed Droidbait. Dead on center again. He thought of the clanker in the tank, the one who’d exploded Echo in front of him and he screamed between his clenched teeth, shotting it dead on center again. He kept shooting, and he kept thinking, and he kept screaming. Hardcase. Waxer. All the men killed in Umbara because of Krell. Tup. The ammo was long over but he kept pulling the trigger, the empty clicks echoing in his ears louder than the blaster shots. He dropped the weapon, running his hands over his head and the tightening in his chest seemed to only worsen.

Shit. Shit. Fuck.

“Jareor jetiise!” he snarled, turning to face the ocean where the sunlight glimmerd over the waters “kaminii haar'chak! Shabiir alor!” he spat on the ground “Fuck, fuck! I’m a fucking idiot!”

His breathing was shallow now, ragged in his dry rage. He heard the door creaking open followed by Dogma’s footsteps approaching and fuck no, he was not in the mood to deal with his accepting crap.

“Cursing the Jedi, the Kaminoans and the Chancellor is a good change of pace, but you’re still cursing yourself.”

Fives did not look over his shoulder, but Dogma’s voice was close enough for him to know the brother was right behind him.

“I do not want your self-help crap, Dogma, now will you shut your kriffing mouth for once?!”

“It was not your fault, Fives.”

“I’m telling you to shut up.” Fives’ voice is controlled but has a warning to it

“You need to stop blaming yourself.”

“You are always so quiet, and then there are these days in which you just won’t shut up, will you?”

“Just talk to me. Maybe I can help. Maybe… Maybe you can help me.”

Fives balled his hands into fists.

“This is your last kriffing warning—”

Dogma reached for his shoulder.

“You never told me what really happened to Tup.”

Krack! Fives spun around so fast Dogma couldn’t avoid the solid punch to his jaw, staggering back with a grunt. Fives grabbed Dogma by the front of his blacks, his face twisted in raw anger very close to his.

“Listen to me. Kriffing listen to me.” he repeated as he’d shake Dogma by his collar “We are outcasts, deserters, legally dead. Life is hell as it is, and so help me the stars, it’s not like I don’t think about jumping down to the rocks every single day, but you don’t have to make it even worse. Stay in your lane, Dogma. Just stay in your lane. Play your flute, do your meditation, make your goddamn breads and cakes but leave me the hell alone.”

Before Dogma could answer, the comlink on his wrist beeped, and a voice came through it:

“Doubt, do you copy?”

Rex. He was calling  Dogma’s codename. The only time this happened before was when he announced Fives’ arrival to their hiding spot. Fives let go off Dogma, and he hurryingly pressed the button on his arm piece.

“This is Doubt here.”

A sigh came from the other side.

“I’ve been worried when I tried to reach you earlier and failed, may have had some interference. Is Nine there with you?”

That was Fives’ codename, based on his former numeral name and his deceased sergeant from the Rishi Outpost. Dogma eyed Fives for a second before nodding.

“He’s here, sir.”

“Good.” said Rex “Stay put. I’m on my way there. And, Doubt… tell Nine I’m bringing a friend to see him.”

The transmission was cut, and Dogma looked at Fives still.

“Which ‘friend’ would that be?”

Fives shrugged, lowering his gaze.

“No idea. It’s not like there were many of them still alive.” he scratched the back of his head, exhaling sharply “Kriff. Hey, Dogma, I’m…”

“You’re sorry, I know.” Dogma sighs, turning back to the house “I was out of my place. I’m sorry too, I just… Just wanted to do something for you like you’ve been doing for me so often.”

Dogma had recurring nightmares every other night. Tup used to have them too, would wake up in a cold sweat saying he’d seen himself doing horrible things. Fives had researched – something he’d learn from Echo – through datapads and even asking the Jedi about techniques to keep bad dreams at bay. Even commander Tano, bless her, had gotten him a book on anxiety taken straight from the Jedi library. Thanks to that, he knew a lot of breathing exercises, several techniques to cleanse one’s thoughts and, as General Skywalker had taught him, soothing mantras to steer one’s mind towards a peaceful sleep. These had been specially useful to Dogma as they’d lay in their beds to sleep and he’d writhe and whimper and cry in his sleep and wake up terriefied; Fives would calmly say “your intrusive thoughts are not who you are. Your mind is playing tricks on you. Take hold of reality. You are not what you dream. Breathe.”

Fives shrugged, feeling even more embarrassed now as they walked inside, waiting for their former captain to arrive.

“Maybe I’m beyond help, brother. Just leave it as it is.”

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Clones being Mercilessly Teased for checking you out:

Rex: Whatever the Admiral was saying was just background noise for the Captain. He was staring at you instead of paying attention to strategizing. In that moment, watching you fix the panel behind Ahsoka was much more important than the Admiral’s droning. Of course it was, you were you and easily the most beautiful and perfect person on the Resolute. He thought he was being discreet about it; he had his helmet on, but his brothers could tell. Especially after he was caught not paying attention. Rex was brought back to reality when the General elbowed his side. “Rex. I've been trying to get your attention forever. You with us?” After jumping slightly, he nodded ignoring his brothers snickering, “Of course sir.” “Right.” The general didn’t sound bought, but let it go. “I guess that wraps it up, dismissed.” A few minutes later in a hallway, he caught up with Fives. “Hey, Fives, You mind recapping what happened during briefing?” The arc trooper looked over to the Captain with a smirk, “Why? Did (Y/N)’s hair not give you the plan?” The now unhelmeted Captain’s cheeks lit up red before Jesse chimed in, “We both know he wasn’t staring so intently her hair.” “Shut up.” Rex groaned, face redder than a sith lightsaber. “(Y/N)! Fix my panel!” Hardcase teased in a high pitched voice, swooning over dramatically. Shaking his head, Rex turned around. “I’ll just ask the commander.” He told them. That didn’t stop Echo. “You should ask (Y/N). She was probably paying more attention than you were.” __________________________________ Wolffe: He was supposed to be assisting an interrogation of a separatist spy, but the protocol droid was down and you just happened to be able to interpret- well at least until they booted up another protocol droid. The thing was, Wolffe couldn’t concentrate on a thing Master Plo was saying, only how your voice lilted as you spoke the foreign language, and the motions you made with your hands as you spoke. He only snapped out of it when he realized he was now staring into your expectant eyes. A rush of epiphany went through him as he snapped his eyes to the waiting general. “Sorry, Sir, could you repeat yourself?” He hoped the low lighting of the interrogation room was enough to hide the red glow of his cheeks. “I asked if you could escort Miss (Y/L/N) out, so she can find that protocol droid. Or fix the old one.” The keldor general had an underlying tone of ‘because I know you're unable to pay attention with (y/n) in the room.’ “Yes, sir. Miss (Y/LN)?” He answered, gaze lowered like a scolded dog, but you just met him with a smirk. “After you, Commander.” Not ten minutes later, with you now fixing the protocol droid for the general, Wolffe found himself standing outside the interrogation room with his brothers teasing him. “Maybe you need (Y/N) to translate basic for you too.” One of them teased, referring to how blankly the commander had stared at you and the General. The commander shot him a glare before you came back in with the droid. Immediately Wolffe was drinking in the sight of you: you had pulled your hair back, your uniform jacket tied around your waist revealing a matching gray tank top, and he was drawn to the black grease smudge on your cheek. He didn’t even realize the stupid grin that had bubbled up as the other troopers snickered. “Couldn’t find the new one, but I was able to get this one running again. It's a little twitchy though.” You explained, proud of your quick handiwork. “You get that Commander?” Another trooper asked sarcastically. “Or should she translate it for you?” “Shove off, Snapper.” ___________________________ Fives: He was known for doing this. Everyone noticed it, how Fives sometimes just stopped fighting to simply watch you. Some thought it was rooted in worry for you as you ran amongst the battle to help the injured, other thought he was defective, and some knew it was just because he thought you were that amazing. Whatever the reason, it was also the root of most of the teasing he received. Echo caught him doing it again: he went from badass arc trooper blasting down commando droid to lax shoulder lover boy watching as you checked a downed trooper for a concussion. Echo yanked Fives down behind some cover. “You wanna fight this battle or get shot while staring at your girlfriend?” Fives chuckled at the thought- as if it hadn’t happened before. “Enticing offer. Her hair looks nice today.” Even with the helmet, it was obvious that Echo was rolling his eyes. Suddenly their comma lit up, “Fives, if you get shot because you're stalking me on the battlefield again, you're stitching it up yourself. And we both know you failed your first aid class.” “Brother, even your girl is chirping you. Gotta get your head in the game.” Jesse sassed as he slammed into the wall the ARCs were using for cover. Kix spoke up to. “Don’t come crawling to me either, softy.” “Cut the chatter, boys! We got clankers to waste!” Rex shouted as he pressed past them, never ceasing fire. “Well, you boys heard the captain. Now shoo!” That was you, staring at them from your crouched position shooing the away with flapping motions from your hands. Even with his bucket covering his face, you could tell he was shooting you a cocky grin, probably accompanied by a wink. _____________ Echo: Echo was supposed to be focusing, but with you diving after his brother that managed to fall off a bridge into a lake it was rather hard. In hindsight, he knew you were a brilliant swimmer and keeping the troops alive was your entire job, but must you? Now, you were walking beside him, your GAR nurse uniform was clinging to your body leaving so little to the imagination. So how in the world was he expected to focus on the task at hand with you in that state next to him? Really, it was unfair! His training never prepared him for this! “Echo, I don’t think the Separatist base is on your girlfriend’s a-” “Fives, now would be an excellent time to shut your mouth.” Echo hissed back, as Fives snickered. “It’s a shame, Echo, that the only way for you to get your girl we-” Hardcase started but you cut him off. “I'm a nurse and I know how to keep you alive, I also know the most painful ways to end you.” You interrupted. It would have been less scary if you had growled it, but instead you paired it with a sickly sweet smile. “Yes ma’am.” Hardcase gulped with a nervous smile. Suddenly, Echo felt two hard claps on his back, looking over his shoulder to see Captain Rex and Commander Cody both with shit eating grins. Echo cursed his wondering eyes. “C’mon, it’s not Echo’s fault that (y/n) would rather jump off a bridge that deal with him.” The Yellow painted commander smirked. Echo watched you roll your eyes before playfully thwacking a hand across his shoulder. “Besides, like you said Hardcase this is the only time she’ll ever be soaked for’em.” ____________________________________ Tup: Tup had always been a daydreamer, more content with imagining things than whatever was actually happening in real life. In fact, he relied on it when it came to heights. ( He blamed his fear of heights on his first mission when the General flung him off a building like a frisbee for the commander to catch with the force. According to Rex it happened a lot. ) Regardless, the only reason he wasn’t completely terrified of the gunships rattling and constant swerved was the fact he could focus on you. Dressed in you GAR nurse uniform, backpack strapped tightly as you clung to the rope dangling from the ceiling for stability. He watched as you yelled to speak to Kix, he could read your lips. Then the gunship hit a hard left and he watched your grip slip; he watched you almost fall to the floor (a recipe for disaster in a crowded gunship). Tup breathed a sigh of relief when Jesse caught you single handedly by the handle of your backpack, and laughed softly when he picked you up by it like a kitten by the scruff of its neck and set you down next to him. Grinning up to the teardrop tattooed trooper, you stretched to reach the grip but another violent shake sent you into his chest. Another chuckle followed by a blush, he wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you secure. You laughed at the groans of his brothers. “Do y’all have to do that right now?” Hardcase groaned as he watched the PDA. “Lovebirds, keep it behind closed door.” Fives groaned, shaking his head. “Y’all are just mad because Tup’s getting more action than any of y’all combined!” Jesse called back. Your cheeks lit up red, and even under the helmet you could tell his probably were too. “Well, I can’t reach the grips because y’all are unfairly tall and the floor is disgusting so….” You hissed. “Can we please just focus on the battle ahead?” The captain pleaded. “Yeah, good luck getting Tup to focus with his dream girl clinging to him!” Echo laughed. “There just jealous.” You whispered after standing on your tiptoes to get closer to his ear. He chuckled and just held you a little tighter. ________ I'm sorry I've been gone so long. Requested by many anons. Up next: Rex, Kix, Fives, and Echo accidentally getting married after being undercover as a married couple.