making friends via fandom is inherently hilarious because in many ways it's like a regular friendship and sometimes you'll share stuff that's going on in your lives and offer support and talk about food or pets or random cultural stuff because you live on opposite sides of the damn planet, but also some of your interactions are like "hello beloved friend whom I cherish deeply, I have brought you a deceptively platonic gift of lovingly crafted star wars porn"
Spring is almost here and all the snow has melted in Sweden! I'm excited to see what plants will grow in the garden. A little fox š¦ visited our yard the other night so I've been dreaming of it wandering through the forest and bringing spring š±š·š¼š¹š»
The inspo photo I took!
The daring little fox looking for kibbles missed by the dogs
How they supported you during the Great HoloNet Crisis: 501st Edition
Rex: cleared your task schedule for the day, brought dinner to your quarters, and helped you form a strategy for what you would do if The Problem didn't get fixed.
Fives: told you jokes until he finally got you to laugh, then put on your favorite holovid and cuddled you in the common room.
Echo: offered, with total sincerity, to slice the servers and revert the changes. He could have done it, too.
Kix: asked when was the last time you drank water (you didn't remember). Handed you a bottle of water. Asked when was the last time you ate anything (last night). Handed you a ration bar. Waited patiently while you finished both, then pulled you into the longest, tightest hug of your life.
Jesse: insisted that some fresh air would make you feel better. Commandeered a speeder bike and took you on a tour of his favorite parts of the planet. It was a bunch of farms.
Tup: showed up in your quarters with blue milkshakes (where did he even find ice cream?), then built a blanket fort where the two of you could hide together until the galaxy felt a little less kriffy.
Dogma: held you on his lap and played with your hair while telling you that you're a good girl who deserves better.Ā
Hardcase: nose kisses. So many nose kisses.
In honor of reblogs being great again, feel free to add your own headcanons for the 501st, the 212th, the Wolfpack, the Corries, the Bad Batch, or any other clones.
Warning: angst, guilt and some sadness, but also comfort and fluffy moments, mention of drugs, canon typical violence
A/N: This was a Secret Santa gift exchange I did on a Discord back in December but I couldnāt bring myself to post it - until now. There will (probably... maybe) a second part to it, where it will get spooky... and more sibling banter of course, because we all deserve.
Summary: It's the year 18 BBY and Commander Scorch is on another shady mission for Hemlock when he suddenly is confronted with the past in form of a face he knew all too well.
Insight is rarely one of those brilliant aha moments where you're suddenly confronted with a completely new perspective. Only in exceptional cases do you facepalm and, depending on the nature of the insight, let out a sound of triumph or shame. No. More often than not, it's a rather gradual process that begins in a seemingly insignificant situation. A situation in which you're unaware that it will turn your life upside down. And even if you can't quite remember that one moment later... the subconscious keeps working. Relentlessly. And at the end of the process, you inevitably ask yourself how, in hindsight, you could ever have felt, thought, or considered anything different than what you now believe. And how the heck you actually got from there to this point right now.
For IC-1262, Clone Commander Scorch, that process started in 18 BBY, on a sleazy space station in the Ojoster Sector, while he was running errands.
āAnd why should I accommodate you in this matter, clone?ā The down-and-out Corellian gave Scorch a crooked smile across the table, revealing a row of yellow, rotten teeth. His bodyguard beside him, a grumpy-looking Devaronian, remained impassive, staring blankly at the wall behind Scorch.
āBecause Iām a fucking commando, you jerky dumbshit, and all Iād have to do is flicker my finger to blast you and your buddy into orbit. And if it werenāt just a waste of ammo, youād put on quite a show. Scum!ā
But since he had been raised to be polite in a certain sense, and certainly obedient, Scorch only swallowed his answer. He was on a mission. Even though it was an illicit one. The blue glow in his visor still flickered dangerously in the dimly lit room as he tilted his head slightly and replied in a calm voice: āI understand from your answer that you intend to refuse service to the Empire?ā
That hit home! Thank Katarn. Scorch didn't even have to straighten up to add another inch or two to his already imposing stature. Without another word, the scumbag slumped down behind the table and slid a small package wrapped in brown flimsi towards him. Pathetic.
āOn the house, sir!ā he stammered. āIt's always an honor to do business with you!ā
His expression betrayed his hope that Scorch wouldn't be showing up again anytime soon. And Scorch shared that hope, albeit for a different reason. It felt so much longer than four years since he'd left Kamino as a fully trained elite commando with Delta Squad and successfully completed his first mission on Geonosis. Delta Squad. Whatā¦? He immediately pushed the thought aside. Instead, he accepted the package, discreetly put it into one of his belt pouches, and gave a short nod to signal the conversation had ended, before turning and heading towards his shuttle.
That's when it happened. Scorch was almost at the airlock when he saw a mirage in a scratched Transparistel window. Just for a moment. It was the reflection of a face, half-hidden beneath a hooded cloak, a face he'd seen a million times before. Every day it stared back at him from his mirror before he hid it beneath his white-gray helmet, concealing it from the galaxy, and Scorch became "Commander Nameless." And even though he shared that face with a million others, for himā¦ for all of themā¦ each one was unique. And this face hereā¦ No, it just COULDN'T be! He stopped and whirled around. But there was no one there. At least no one who could have been a clone in civilian clothes. No one who bore the nameā¦ Perhaps his imagination had played tricks on him, he pondered about half an hour later, as he sat in the cockpit on approach to Wayland, gripping the controls a little tighter than necessary.
And even more so, about twelve standard hours later, when he was back in the shuttle on his way to the space station again. This time, however, not on some stupid mission. Not to procure another dose of glitterstim for the head of the Advanced Science Division, like some shady henchman. This time, because he wanted it himself. Because he needed to know.
He was a fucking commando. Back then, four years ago, that still meant something. He and his brothers had been through hell for ten years to receive the best training an elite trooper could get. He had survived Vau and his whimsāand Geonosis. He was outstanding! Even better than the already magnificent clones of the Grand Army of the Republic. Excellent, enhanced genetic material, bred for battle, drilled to succeed. Toā¦ what the hell?! Since when did he think of himself and his brothers in derogatory terms like āgenetic materialā? Fierfek! Ever since he was assigned as Royce Hemlock's personal lurca hound, that perverse sadist in the name of science. If Scorch was still able to cry, a tear or two would probably have trickled down his cheek. Visible to everyone, if anyone had been there, as his helmet lay unattended on the co-pilot's seat.
Some time later, when Scorch re-entered the space station through the airlock, he noticed for the first time how different this place was from his current living space. Tantiss, like Kamino before, was cold and sterile. New and shiny. In a way, frightening. Up here, everything was old and dilapidated, teeming with shady characters lurking in the shadows. In every corner someone was talking or laughing. There was shouting and bargaining, and in the canteen, the dulcet voice of a Twi'lek singer wafted through the air like wisps of smoke. He strutted slowly through the corridors, and it was as if the scum around him held their breath as soon as he approached, even before he had his DC at the ready. He didn't belong here, they made sure he knew it, and suspicion hit him like a blast of icy surf. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Corellian, who was still frantically trying to take cover behind a wall panel the moment Scorch entered the room. The "prime" stuff he'd given him earlier was probably laced... again. Scorch couldn't care less, and that wasn't why he was here anyway. He was here to gain certainty. He was here to... well, to do what exactly? Step by step, he felt himself gripped by trepidation. What had he been thinking, coming here to hunt down a delusion? What did he actually intend to do if his instinct proved correct? And what if he'd been wrong? Then he'd return to Tantiss empty-handed and pick up where he'd left off, as if nothing had happened. The mere thought of this possibility tightened around his throat like an icy claw, threatening to choke him.
The minutes passed by and nothing happened. No matter how closely he looked and scanned his surroundings, he couldn't find the face he'd come for. Not a single clone... even though he'd expected none, the fact still stung. He'd do one more round, head towards the storage areas, checking if anyone was hiding in there. Just then, a red dot flashed on his HUD. Unauthorized access to the shuttle. Scorch turned on his heel and ran towards the docking bays. The shuttle was there, amidst other vessels, and it looked like it had been a false alarm. He still thought there was something in the wind.
And rightly so.
āI thought Iād have to engage the weapon systems and light this thing up like a tree on Life Day before you realize something is off.ā
A cloaked figure sat in the pilotās seat with folded arms across the chest, turning toward the hatch just as Scorch jumped into the shuttle and targeted the intruder in the DCās crosshair.
āYou used to be better than Six-Two,ā the figure said mockingly, before adding, āand more talkative.ā
Scorch tilted his head and considered for a split second. Was thisā¦? Of course he was. Who else would be this level of crazy, or arrogant, to sneak onto an Imperial shuttle undetected, only to then deliberately set off the silent alarm? For the first time in a long time, a smile played on Scorchās lips, and no one could see it.
āI had nothing useful to say, Fixer.ā
There was a moment of silence. Then the figure stood up and pulled the hood off his head. And there, in the dark cockpit, illuminated by the concealed neon light of the landing platform, stood Fixer. Dressed in civilian clothes, unarmed, his golden-brown eyes fixed intently on Scorch. And perhaps for the first time in his life, Scorch was speechless, as the icy claw around his neck was tightening mercilessly.
āI was afraid you hadnāt seen me this morning.ā
No answer.
āIā¦ Boss sent me to get you outta here.ā
No answer.
āScorch?ā To an outsider, his voice might have sounded uncertain, but Fixer was more likely alarmed. And, to be honest, Scorch couldnāt even blame him.
It had been almost a year since the initial commando units were disbanded on Vice Admiral Rampart's orders. With the list of deserters and insubordinate troopers growing ever longer, especially since the newly formed Empire had begun replacing clones with recruited stormtroopers, this was considered a justified measure to prevent further defections. However, it met with little success. Scorch had just been transferred to his new assignment on Daro to train stormtroopers when he received news that IC-1140 and IC-1138 had deserted. The loss of his brothers, no, that fact that they left without him, was such a blow that he threw himself into his work from that moment on, regardless of the consequences. Not even the weekly electroshock sessions bothered him anymore; afterwards, he always felt "set on the path of righteousness." Good soldiers follow ordersā¦
If there were clones who were deserting one by one, then it was up to him to take care of those who had stayed behind like him. He had to make sure they survived. He had toā¦
He had to arrest Fixer right here and now and hand him over to the Imperial courts. He had to make sure he got what he deserved. Good soldiers follow ordersā¦ and not just the ones they like.
āScorch? Fierfek, if you donāt say something soon, Iām going to assume youāve had a stroke.ā Fixer pointed his index finger at Scorchās visor.
No answer.
But if he did watch over his brothers, as he had sworn in his despairā¦ Images flashed before his mind's eye. Hundreds of captured clones, all currently in solitary confinement at the base on Wayland, undergoing daily blood tests for scientific purposes. Toā¦ well, what exactly for? Scorch closed his eyes, but more and more images surfaced. Brothers, emaciated and hopeless. Brothers who were still here one day and gone the next. But not like theyāve vanished on the battlefields all over the galaxy. Piles of corpsesā¦ the cadets, theā¦ the childrenā¦ in the basementā¦ theā¦
Good soldiers follow ordersā¦ not just the onesā¦ theā¦
āScorch!ā
He saw himself patrolling on the other side of the cells. He saw himself shadowing Royce Hemlock, the cursed monster with the gentle voice and the icy face, ready to obey any order he received. He saw himself wipe out an entire village on Silla, simply because of the fact that the civilians witnessed the Science Corps attempting to capture a Zillo Beast for their own purposes. He saw his face disappear behind the unfathomable facade of his helmet, carrying out unspeakable tasks in the name of the Empireā¦
āAre you going to arrest me now? You know, I wonāt make it easy for you, Six-Two.ā
He came face to face with the insight. Then he removed the helmet, and his own golden-brown eyes filled with tears gazed upon his long-lost brother.
Little Pitt Star Wars comic doodle with slight lore.
I really love when Jedi have an emotional support Mandalorian and vice versa. Also I've been thinking a lot about how to integrate some of these characters into Star Wars considering I didn't wanna make this au medical heavy (funny I know but we'd just be looking at space hospital and star war's medical lore is just silly let's be honest) but I really feel like Abbot would still be a combat medic. It's just a part of who he is.
Okay, that's a really good sentence. Typo. Typo. Huh, did I write this? It's actually not bad. Typo. Hm, I would cut out that part now, but it kind of works. TYPO. Oh, this part is really good. That is the wrong word, wtf? I'm enjoying this more than I thought I would. ANOTHER TYPO? FFS.
