Call me Feather! About me: Christian, female, INFJ, born 1988, lives in mid-south U.S.A., has chronic pain + fatigue. I draw and write sometimes, with a focus on familial love, inside and outside of fandoms.
I picked up the Clone Wars: Battle Tales comics compilation, and mostly loved it (official clone-centric content still being released in the 2020's??! Hooray!!!). However, what happened to this poor li'l clone named Bellow was NOT OKAY. ☹️ And so HAD to be fixed in my "Gently Twinkling Stars" universe! (Fic version here!)
…In other words, the monster spat Bellow back out (because armor does not taste nice, and also gets stuck in the throat). He was understandably still traumatized, but he got washed off and bandaged up by Kix, and recovered with a lot of TLC from him and his best brother Hardcase (and likely mutual understanding from Cutup, who also lived in my fanart + fanfic AU, as y'all very well know by now).
And yes, as you can see, this means Bellow will be joining his 501st brothers as a Jedi Temple resident clone post-war, in my fanart + fanfics! Hardcase is giving him a tickle, because it's my headcanon now that Bellow got his name from how he always bellows (happily) when his batchmates tickle him (which Hardcase is especially fond of doing). 😊
Hey everybody! Just letting you know I'm going to a conference/convention with my friend @elinorjaneofmanyfandoms this week! My blog will be running on its queue like always, but if I'm slower to comment or reply to things than normal, that will be why. Take care of yourselves and keep having fun, and I'll be back in July! 💖
Rating: PG (mostly for descriptions of a monster swallowing a clone, based on an incident from the Clone Wars: Battle Tales comic, but in this case it ends happier because it spits him back out)
Characters: Hardcase and Bellow (the clone from said comic, whom Hardcase was shown to be attached to), as well as two Youngling OCs at the end. Kix makes a little appearance too.
Continue reading below, or READ ON AO3 HERE
~~~
A clone’s name, however silly or serious, was nearly always something he was intensely proud of. Some could sound intimidating at first glance—such was the case with Bellow, visually distinctive with his short little shaved haircrest, in the 501st. His name sounded as if he was roaring at some clankers, chasing them down a hall or battlefield. Well, he and his brothers would let the clankers think that (for a given amount a B1 could “think”). But the real story behind his name was a far cuter one.
For you see, Bellow was a very ticklish clone.
***
Even though their training was hard, there were moments of pure happiness that the little cadets could still experience, back on Kamino. Hardcase well remembered playing with Bellow, his favorite batchmate, back then when the only names they had had were numbers. Clones loved their brothers dearly, relying on them for affection—and Hardcase and Bellow were among the most playful, in how they expressed it.
Hardcase would bounce gleefully on the communal nursery mattresses, launching himself at Bellow, who would shriek just as gleefully, as Hardcase knocked him onto the pillowy expanse, and blew raspberries into his now-exposed tummy or chin. BBBBTTT!!!
Even at that tender age, Bellow’s laughs had been unusually deep and loud—the resulting YeeeHEEEhuHAAAWW!!!s had earned him a few reprimands from sleepy Kaminoans (because of his volume), as well as a name—a shining, precious name!—of his very own.
***
…That name took on a much darker meaning, though, in adulthood, on Benglor. When that giant monster, shambling and evil-eyed, had emerged from the jungle right behind poor Bellow—oh, Hardcase would have given his left foot just to have Bellow’s screams erased from his memory, in that moment. They weren’t just scared, they were agonized—so full of raw horror and pain. A drawn-out “NOOOOOO—!!” of a wail, Bellow clearly begging not to go out that way. The monster—the wild, ugly animal—hadn’t cared—it had reeled Bellow in with its tongue and swallowed him whole, in front of the 501st’s eyes.
Hardcase had exploded—chasing after the beast with his rotary blaster and screaming at the top of his lungs, his heartbreak barely hidden under his rage. Rex and Anakin had had to drag him back to keep him from getting his own self killed.
…But later that afternoon, at least, a miracle had happened. For armor, you see, doesn’t taste too nice, and has a habit of getting stuck in the throat. …Yes, in all the confusion, the monster had spat Bellow back out—unconscious, covered with goo, but still breathing, there in the hot jungle. The scouts had found him, and brought him back to camp. Kix had had to fight off Hardcase, sobbing and laughing with joy, from embracing Bellow before he could get him properly examined and treated.
…The TLC had been great that night, that both Hardcase and the medic had shown to their little batchmate. Kix had toweled him off, fresh and clean, and kissed his shaved temple almost maternally. Hardcase had squeezed him so tight (still laughing and crying) you could almost see the floaty cartoon hearts spewing from between his muscular arms. Poor Bellow was still traumatized and shaking, but at least he knew the nightmare was over, and he was safe and loved. The platoon had even scrounged their rations to fix him a big mess of his favorite food—fried protatoes, all crispy and salty, there on a plate before him, amidst the bandages and towels.
Bellow felt his stomach rumble happily—but then he flinched, at the very sound. It was… hard to think of putting something in his mouth, when he had been in… in ITS m—
Bellow started to tremble violently again, crying, and Kix and Hardcase both thankfully were able to guess what was wrong. The medic in particular knew they had to nip this in the proverbial bud, right now, before it could become a complex. He cuffed Bellow upside his hairstriped head—gently, affectionately—and growled in that mock-gruff voice they all knew so well by now, Kix bullying his patients out of love. “Eat, dummy.”
Bellow meekly obeyed. And so, he went to bed full that night—and whole, and sanitized, if a little scuffed-up; basically in as good a state as he could possibly ask for, considering. But he still was shaky, trembly even, in both voice and body. Hardcase couldn’t stand to see his little batchmate so. Letting a smile grow out the side of his tattooed face, he suddenly tipped Bellow over gently—all it took was two fingers under his chin, the dear vod was so trusting—and launched his old surprise attack. BBBBTTTT—!!!
Bellow fell backwards with Hardcase raspberry-nuzzled into his neck, and let his old halloos free at last. “YahuhHAAHAAAWW!!...” A dearly-welcome noise, drawing smiles from all the brothers peering around their bunks nearby, in the Resolute’s barracks.
***
A couple of years passed, and so did the war. Hardcase, Bellow, Kix, and many of their other 501st brethren decided to take up residency with the Jedi on Coruscant, as a new sort of Temple Guards—though thankfully more just like morale-keeping friends, in this blessed time of renewal and peace. Jedi had often been the best friends the clones had had, after all, apart from each other.
It had been the Jedi who had taught Hardcase not to seek refuge in anger—to let the tears fall at the outset instead, and then fight on, with grounded strength. Hardcase had become known as one of the 501st very bravest warriors since that point—after all, after seeing his best friend swallowed by a monster, well, clankers didn’t seem all that scary to him.
And Bellow? After the incident, he had meanwhile grown into quite a philosophical clone, and at first had struggled with a bit of “survivor guilt.” Why had the Force (literally!) delivered him from the jaws of death, when It had allowed other clones, just as beloved by their brothers as him, to die during the war? The Jedi had helped with that, too. Had comforted Bellow, some even hugging him like his brothers did. Had reminded him of what they all believed—that the Force’s mighty, loving Heart took all of Its children, including clones, home to a place of endless rest and happiness upon their deaths. That they would all laugh and embrace there again, someday—and that Bellow’s fallen brothers lacked for nothing meanwhile. It was this wisdom he then passed on to those around him.
At the moment, Bellow and Hardcase were installed beneath a tree in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, playing with their little friends, Pearl and Tikka. The Youngling girls reminded them of themselves, in some ways—there was a rambunctious leader (Pearl, the little purple Mikkian), and a more thoughtful follower (Tikka, the adorable peach-orange Mon Calamari), but both were equally playful and affectionate. Right now, Tikka trained her globular eyes up at Bellow, and asked, with concern, “But if your Jedi and clone friends who died in the war are havin’ fun up in Heaven, why does the Force keep us here?”
Bellow smiled very lovingly down at the baby Mon Calamari, as she cuddled in his lap, making sure she didn’t miss this. It was an important question.
“Because we still have to grow, Tikka,” he brushed her little fishlike chin up to look at him again. “We never know how much a soul will need to grow, before it’s ready to take home,” his drawling clone voice was as wise and grounding as many of their Jedi masters’. “It doesn’t mean any one is better or worse than another,” he then thought to add—still smiling, shaking his head—“it’s more like—well, look at Hardcase’s tattoos!” his brown eyes lit up towards his brother, and Hardcase’s own lit up with surprise in return, wondering where Bellow was going with this.
“Yeah?” Pearl peeked, squirming in Hardcase’s lap meanwhile. She reached to touch the distinctive trio of blue lines on his chin, running up his scalp (and, under his Temple Guard uniform now, his arms and legs).
“You remember Tuppy’s tattoo?” Bellow continued to smile at them all—Tup was another big favorite of the Youngling pair (and Bellow and Hardcase too), but he was off playing with his own bosom-brother, Dogma, at the moment.
“Th’ little teardrop?” Tikka nodded.
“That’s right!” Bellow beamed. “Well, Tup’s tattoo took a lot less time for him ta get drawn on, than Hardcase’s did,” (Hardcase couldn’t help but let his raucous laugh out at that, well remembering)—“but they’re either one just as pretty as the other, don’t you think?” the gentle clone guided the Younglings’ gazes back to his brother. “Our souls are a lot like that.” Hardcase nearly blushed then, touched by Bellow’s sweet lesson, and his place in it.
“I’m glad th’ Force decided you still needed growin’, or, or drawin’, Bellow,” Tikka curled tighter to him, almost sniffling. “Otherwise I’d never have met you!”
Bellow squeezed her tight, truly touched. “We’d’ve met later in Heaven,” he reassured her; “but since we’ve gotten to meet here instead, that must mean we’re meant to make marks on each other’s growth, besides just makin’ each other happy,” his eyes crinkled down at his little friend, gratified as her tiny smile grew back up at him. “And I think that’s pretty special.”
Tikka nodded and burrowed even tighter into Bellow’s heart. The clone nearly melted with happiness, wrapping both arms as tightly as they would go around her. A joyful, rumbling sigh shook through his chest, soothing her—just because clones weren’t Force-sensitives didn’t mean Its goodness couldn’t flow through them, sometimes in delightfully tangible ways. Bellow’s and Hardcase’s paternal sighs and laughs thrummed through Pearl’s and Tikka’s spiritual senses like a great web of light, which they returned with their own bright giggles and kisses on the clones’ cheeks.
This was love. This was what the mortal and immortal realms both existed for. Hardcase and Bellow snuggled into each other’s shoulders, their favorite Younglings still snuggled in their laps, and enjoyed every minute of this.
…There had been a rainshower that morning, in the Room’s self-contained weather system. The grass and trees around them were all glistening and green, and the air was cool and fresh, making a little group of bora-finches twitter in the still-dripping branches above them. Bellow and Hardcase stretched luxuriously, their white and gold Guard tunics much looser than their armor ever had been—which was a good thing, their tummies had grown so much! Hardcase was as fat as a pufferpig, and regularly demolished the Jedi kitchens. Bellow had had vegetarian tendencies, after the… incident, but he didn’t mind his protatoes being fried in bacon-grease, and he wouldn’t say no to big gobs of cheese being melted over them. He had a hearty serving of the stuff settling in his tubby middle right now. Bellow wiggled closer to Hardcase’s shoulder, and beamed hugely to himself, feeling pleasantly sleepy all of a sudden.
…Full bellies, full arms, and full hearts—did a better feeling exist, than having all three of those at once? And in such a beautiful place to boot! The souls that had gone before them were being hugged by the Heart of the Force Itself, and that was a bliss they would have to grow more before they could know—but apart from that, well, Bellow imagined Heaven couldn’t be much different from what he and Hardcase had right now. This was paradise!
That happy thought (and Bellow’s encroaching nap) was only interrupted by Pearl, suddenly crawling over and tickling his chin with her head-tentacles. “Didja get your name from when th’ monster got you an’ you hollered, Bellow?” she peeped—not judgily, but matter-of-factly. Pearl’s questions could often be blunter than Tikka’s, they had learned.
“Naw, he had that name long before then, darlin’!” Hardcase cut in mercifully and laughed.
“How’d he get it, then?”
“I’ll show you.”
“Oh nooo…!” the fake trepidation in Bellow’s huge smile was only matched by the mischief in Hardcase’s, as the latter leaned towards his neck, just like he had so many times before.
“BBBBBTTT—!!!”
“YeeHEEEhuHUHHAAAWWW!!!”
Bellow fell backwards with not just Hardcase, but two mischievous little Younglings tickling him now—rubbing his soft belly, scampering under his arms with their fingers of varying sizes, and raspberrying his chin until he literally cried with laughter. His bellows shook the leaves above them, sending the bora-finch flock squawking and flying about the Room’s blue ceiling. Hardcase beamed from ear to ear, rocking back on his rump, and letting the little Jedi go to it. It would never cease to give him pleasure, to see (or hear) his bosom-brother earning his name.
“I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”
Characters: Buzz, Barriss, Luminara, Gree, and Draa
Continue reading below, or READ ON AO3 HERE
~~~
Buzz woke up with Draa firmly curled about him like a baby woolamander. Co-sleeping was a common and platonic thing, among the vode, though they did realize married natborns often did it, too. Gree was probably second only to Draa in Green Company, as far as clinginess went—Buzz suddenly wondered how their own General Unduli was taking that. If she now woke up in the same sort of cuddly trap as him each morning. That thought made him chuckle heartily to himself—but he disentangled himself nonetheless, managing to slip out of the “E” of Draa’s chin, arm, and legs around him, without waking him.
Buzz smiled fondly at his loudly-snoring brother, and the others nearby; normally, he would be more than happy to oversleep, in their little puddle of peace. But today was a special day. His smile grew more secret, as he slipped out of their rustic cabin.
***
Buzz waddled out in protective gear, to his and his brothers’ little apiary in the middle of their forest clearing. The large Takodanian bees, crowding on the yellow flowers all around, waved their fuzzy antennae (three apiece) cautiously at him.
“Hello, my lovelies…” the clone crooned, holding one gloved hand out benevolently, hoping not to scare them. He was still their new neighbor, after all—it had only been this last month, when Buzz and some of his brothers had decided to join Gree, Luminara, Barriss, and the new baby, here on Takodana. And today would be their first harvest.
Very carefully, Buzz lifted one of the durasteel frames out of the box-hive, ripe and glistening with honey. His belly rumbled happily at the thought of the crunchy comb, which he would save as a treat for himself and Draa. But he drained most of the honey off to be bottled—the sun still just beginning to peek behind him, through the hardwood trees.
***
Luminara was just setting the plates on the table when she heard the knock.
“Buzz—!”
The scarred clone smiled almost anxiously. “Am I late for breakfast?”
“W-well no, but—” his Mirialan ex-general stammered, not having expected guests, for the amount she had cooked this morning.
Buzz lit up. “Oh good! I’m not here ta disturb ya,” he then chuckled reassuringly, in that easy clone drawl, waving his hand. “I just wanted to bring ya a little somethin’ to top off your biscuits!” he revealed the honey in his hand.
It was then they all—Gree, Luminara, and Barriss—noticed the bags under Buzz’s eyes, and how rumpled and rushed his clothes were.
“Buzz—” Gree nearly gaped; “did you get up at dark, change into a beekeeper suit, get that thing, an’ wrestle yourself back out o’ it, all before sunrise, just to bring that bottle here early?!”
Buzz smiled almost shyly at them, turning his gaze to the smaller Mirialan in the corner. “Well, this is the first honey we’ll’ve made here on Takodana, and I… I thought the honor of tastin’ it ought to go to our vod’ika.” His smile widened. “Sweets fer the sweet!”
Barriss gasped even more than her adoptive father, then—looking so small and meek in Gree’s arms, her peaked hood almost making her seem fairylike, in the growing morning sunmotes.
The clones knew Barriss was both a timid girl, and frequently hard on herself. They had spent the whole war trying to make her feel special. Apparently now they always would.
Barriss reached for the honey-bottle, very humbly. Buzz smiled and extended it in his bronze hand, just as humbly. Luminara handed her adoptive daughter a biscuit and a butterknife, with an encouraging nod.
The little Mirialan closed her blue eyes, then, as she savored the still-warm honey on the buttery biscuit. Then they lit up.
“Oh Buzz, it’s beautiful!” they were all rewarded with her tiny, growing smile, beneath the tattoo-dots of her green face. “It’s so sweet…” she blinked gently again; “but not as sweet as you were, to bring it out here like this.”
Buzz just growled and returned the little Mirialan’s hug, with all a clone’s usual avuncular pleasure. He, Gree, and Luminara all had to chuckle, then, as Barriss somehow rolled her sweetest little sister and primmest co-commander voice into one. She simultaneously kissed his cheek, and admonished, “Now you go back to bed!”
Aaaaaah, I love it, Cyber!! 🥰 Awww, Corrie twins getting to enjoy themselves! Thire's full hamburger face in particular is making me giggle. 🤭 Thank you so much!!
