Incoming: excitement inbound. Fasten your harnesses and check your weapons!
Mark your calendars for the first official Republic Commando Week! The fun is scheduled for August 22nd through August 28th. Both Fic and Art are welcome.
Disclaimer: we will gladly accept clone shipping and any NSFW interpretation of the prompts. Each day’s prompts may be used separately, (you may also choose to use only one prompt) or combined as desired.
Prompts:
Aug 22: Boys will be boys / joint operation
Aug 23: Squad Lyfe / casualty
Aug 24: Teamwork makes the dream work / heartwarming
Aug 25: Minor characters day / forced apart / behind enemy lines
Aug 26: Strills and their litterboxes / punishment
Aug 27: Alternate Universe day / Arca barracks siege
Aug 28: Urban dazzle / insulation / paintjobs
Please tag @officialrepcomm and use the hashtag #repcommweek2022 or #repcommweek 2022 when you post your creations! We are stoked to see what you all come up with.
Fi sighed, latching the fresher door behind him. Cut from solid Woshyr wood, it heaved shut with a hearty thud. This was one of two private ‘freshers, servicing a slew of old bedrooms arranged in a cluster at the end of Kyrimorut’s east wing. Fi wiggled out of his clothes. The shower would provide a warm, solitary haven. Plenty of space and time to work out his frustrations with the help of the shower gel one of the ladies had left behind.
Now that Sev was back, Fi couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to drag him out dancing.
If only they could go back to Zellectric again and Sev could rub up on him the way he had that night when it all began. It felt like so long ago now.
Fi hooked his thumbs under his hi-cut briefs and rolled them down, downshifting his fantasy from steamy voyeuristic club sex to … how Sev’s hand would feel on his neck. Or around his wrist. What it would be like to kiss him again, all chapped and hot and covered in dust. His hair would be sweaty around his ears and the back of his neck; there’d be a grimy band of skin above his collar where his flannel didn’t meet his dust mask —
The door to the fresher chamber opened and in came Sev, still flanneled and gloved, smelling hotly of papery cellulose, his hair a wild mess of curls. Dark eyes locked on Fi’s. “Mind if I ...”
Fi grinned like he wasn’t desperate for this interaction. “‘Course. Keep your dusty shebs away from me, though. I’m all clean.”
Sev snorted, tossing his gloves onto the floor and kicking off his boots.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. All clean. Not your big mouth though, I reckon. I can smell the dust on you.”
“I smell like ripe varos, and you know it,” Fi bluffed, thrilled to pieces at Sev’s eloquence. “And I taste like it, too.”
I feel bad that I didn’t have the writing discipline to stick to one project and finish it for Republic Commando Week, so here is part of a Zoo Day story I’m working on with Fi and Sev & Co. The whole thing is about 33% done.
@officialrepcomm 🙏
–
Fi settled into a spot along the railing beside Sev in a move which, given the amount of empty space along the rails, looked calculated to give the latter as little personal space as possible. The Coruscant Weather Service had declared that today would be windy throughout the Zoo and Seascape Complex, and Fi figured Sev could serve as good a windbreak as anything else. Maybe he just didn’t want the wind interfering with his food, though his sandsquid-on-a-stick was more than securely skewered onto a bit of synthetic bamboo and in no danger of flying away.
No, that was silly— he hardly even accepted his own subconscious’ pretense.
“Thirty days cancellation notice?” Scorch spoke into his commlink as he prowled the wooden walkway in front of them, mouth hanging open in disbelief. “I only got confirmation that we were deploying two weeks in advance.”
Fi found a gap in Scorch’s rapidly devolving conversation.
“It’s fifty credits, vod,” he said. “On the other hand, what’s the gym going to do about it if you don’t pay? Send one of the Alphas to strangle you in your sleep?”
Fi took a bite of sandsquid, suddenly conscious of the fact that he didn’t know whether Scorch’s fifty credits was a lot or hardly anything in the grand scheme of things.
“Yeah, I hope they try… Maybe they should send Maze; he could use a little fun,” Scorch said, working off a baseline for ‘fun’ that differed significantly from the conventional definition. “He wouldn’t know what to do with six hours of R&R if it hung off his speeder in heels and all dressed up for a honeypot operation.”
Fi shrugged.
“He isn’t so bad once you spend some quality time with him,” he said, carelessly knocking the toe of his boot into Sev’s shin.
Sev kicked Fi’s foot away and plunged his hands into the pockets of his parka. Ostensibly done to mimic civilian body language, Fi figured Sev would never admit to actually liking having somewhere comfy to stick his hands.
“And why would you two be talking?” Sev asked, voice a disinterested drawl, halfway between a statement and a question.
Fi twirled the sandsquid-on-a-stick in his fingers. His face broke into a smile as he stuck his tongue in the pocket of his cheek.
“…what makes you think we were talking?”
Sev halted his routine scans of the zoo crowd, twitching around just enough to shoot Fi a questioning look. It would’ve been subdued on anyone else, but a decade under Vau had beaten a parsimonious use of human expression into him.
A bird trilled somewhere nearby and Fi broke the moment, shaking his head as his smile morphed into a half smirk.
“Come to the gym sometime, Sev. You’ll see what I mean,” Fi said. “Base facilities, not the one refusing to let a soldier off the financial hook here for following his orders.” He jabbed a thumb in Scorch’s direction.
Sev bounced his shoulders, unimpressed.
“Right. Like the enemy cares how big your quads are.”
“They don’t,” Fi mused. He took the last bite of sandsquid, leaving the end of the stick hanging from the corner of his mouth as he pushed himself off the railing and turned to face Sev. “But you know what helps you handle infil drops and high-g maneuvers in atmo?” he asked, tilting forward. “Muscle mass. And you’re an osik’la pilot, Sev’ika.”
He grinned, plucking the stick from his lips and flicking it into a nearby waste bin.
My contribution to Republic Commando Week! Minor characters day
Hehehehe, Corr and Mereel enjoying a little down time. I first heard of this ship after reading fics by kaasknot on AO3 so this is totally inspired but not based on their fic.
Thanks for putting the everything together @officialrepcomm !!!
Aug 25: Minor characters day / forced apart / behind enemy lines
...
Just for fun, one of my favorite convos from Triple Zero.
... And every couple of hours, Etain Tur-Mukan had walked briskly across the plaza as if she had business somewhere, sweeping the area with whatever extra sense Jedi had that enabled them to detect concealed people. Etain was said to be good at that. She could place the squad to within a meter. Each time she passed, Fi heard Darman move or swallow, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he could see her or because she was reaching out to him in the Force.
Fi suddenly wanted the uncomplicated focus of a totally military life on Kamino. You’re getting distracted. Think of the job in hand. Maybe they’d let him keep the bead comlink after this op. They’d never miss a few back at HQ. Surely.
“I want my HUD back,” Darman said. “I want my enhanced view.”
“But you get to wear face camo instead. Makes you feel wild and dangerous.”
“I’m wild,” Sev’s voice said. Sev was behind a roof balustrade under a pile of discarded plastoid sheeting. “And then I get dangerous. Shut up.”
“Copy that,” Fi said cheerfully, and clicked his back teeth twice to exit Sev’s open comlink channel. It was far too noisy an environment for their quiet conversation to be heard anyway. “Miserable di’kut.”
“Don’t mind him.”
Scorch was at walkway level about fifty meters west of the meeting point, lying prone in a disused horizontal access shaft. “He’ll be fine once he’s killed something.”
Traviss, Karen. Triple Zero: Star Wars Legends (Republic Commando) (Star Wars: Republic Commando Book 2) (pp. 243-244). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
A double-drabble preview of Burn Notice, originally begun for RepComm Week: Heartwarming but not quite finished yet …
CW: Xenophobia, Smoking
@officialrepcomm
… . .
The leather was nice on the glove. Still marine blue, at least on the palm and the back of the hand, where the tobac stains didn’t reach. Walon Vau could boast only one bad habit for ten years on Kamino, but it was a nasty one and he both concealed and indulged it like an Irmenuan patrician: wearing genuine thranta hide and drinking in lungfuls of salty air.
Kal Skirata had never found him up here nor would he be looking. He was busy grilling the natives about the warnord that had just been issued for the commandos and who had authorized something so pir’dushla. Now that their contractual obligations were rapidly coming to a close, the hooligan might finally make good on his promise to kill one of them. Bait for a celebratory aiwhaling; bootliners for his boys; tatsushi for someone he never cared to name—Skirata’s plans for the first Kaminoan he slotted were as obscene as they were numerous.
He’ll show up with new gloves tomorrow and still call me the psycho.
Vau flicked the cigarette into the spray that frothed above the angry sea, pulled another from his pocket, and pondered where Jango would spring his trap.
Text exchange between IC-1109 Niner and IC-1136 Darman, approximately 2200 on the day of IC-4447 Ennen’s death:
IC-1109: Come back in one piece, will you?
IC-1136: fff Niner nu draar. Im leaving somethingg here.
IC-1109: are you drunk, mir’sheb?
IC-1136: I alrrady left sth here
IC-1109: what are you on about?
IC-1136: Joint op.. Quibbuus. Theres aroom I cant forget about.
IC-1109: … that’s a different place.
IC-1136: same place in my shabla heaD.
IC-1109: come back and tell me about it.
IC-1136: fevkin Ennen,,, vodd.d What a shabla dikut. I ccclda done th sAME THING.
IC-1109: you didn’t.
IC-1136: i hd you.]
...
“Sir, I apologize for what I’m about to say. IC-4447 is dead.”
Roly Melusar did not react. Niner may as well have said he’d submitted his squad’s annual performance evaluations. “How did he die?”
Melusar looked right at Niner, holding eye contact for a moment that ticked by too slowly. His tone was even, but Niner suspected the question was rhetorical.
“Suicide. We … we found him. He’s been examined by medical and taken to the morgue. You’ll have the police report in a couple of hours.”
Niner had never had to report a squadmate’s death before, but there was a first time for everything. Blaster bolt to the temple. His own weapon. We were just outside when it happened — Dar was inside the ‘fresher.
Yes, you can ask him. Dar, the MPs need to take your account. No, we didn’t touch anything.
Melusar rose from where he sat behind his desk. He leaned over the polished surface, supporting his weight on his fingertips. He nodded once, then walked around the desk. “How’s Forty taking it?”
The new squad name went in one ear and out the other. Niner had gotten used to Omega, and he'd get used to Forty, too.
But he wouldn't get used to the absence of Fi and Atin.
Darman wasn’t taking Ennen's loss well. He’d disappeared off base by himself. He'd always been the type to process things alone, but still, for a commando, isolation wasn't a good sign.
Rede seemed shocked: Niner could only hope he'd eventually adapt to this tragedy as well as he had to everything else he'd been put through so far.
“Hard, sir. But we’ll handle it.”
“You always do. Take the next couple of days to yourselves. Don’t worry about the details for now … we’ll find a replacement when you’re ready.”
Niner had come to expect fairness and genuine support from their commander, but all the warm words in the world didn’t make the situation any easier. He felt hollow and robotic. “Thank you, Sir. One other request – Ennen was Corellian. He would have wanted a cremation.”
“Yes of course. Once I receive the formal report we’ll proceed with those arrangements. That won’t be the end of it, unfortunately. We’ll have to endure an investigation – don’t take it personally. Investigation is routine when something like this happens."
The only thing Niner had ever taken personally was his squad’s welfare and performance. He took a breath and clenched his jaw tightly.
"I don’t have to tell you to keep your squad within recall distance.”
“No Sir.”
“Take care of yourselves, Sergeant. I’ll contact you when I have an update."
Niner saluted, about-faced, and strode out of the office. He’d find Rede and they’d walk the base, kicking up dust and pretending to be doing something other than trying to forget about Ennen.
…
Laundry. Rede stared at Ennen’s pile of hand-me-downs — worn blacks, fatigues, a few civvie shirts and pants. “What will happen to them?” Rede asked suddenly, toeing a red T-shirt. Rede hadn’t been through this before – the coming home to a barracks room and finding nothing but items which had nowhere to belong. Or the rote solemnity of tasks performed to force the emptiness into a structure. Filling the time so you’d make it to tomorrow. Senior leadership misunderstood how soldiers worked, Niner thought. All free time ever did was remind you where you’d gone wrong.
If they’d been a regular infantry unit, service droids would have cleaned up all evidence that Ennen had ever existed. But commando squads took care of their own – increased autonomy meant self sufficiency. Not a steep price to pay when it meant you could hold on to those you’d lost.
They divided up Ennen’s clothing between them wordlessly. Rede took the civvies and folded them, lingering reverently over his footlocker as if the precision of the folds would make things right. Maybe they wouldn’t, but Rede would have his first pair of civvies out of it. There were plenty more jarring things than seeing a vod in a dead man’s clothes, Niner told himself. That’s how things were done in the squads.
Niner took Ennen’s fatigues for himself and left the backup bodysuit on Darman’s bunk. Dar needed a new one, but superstition dictated wearing your first one until it became more of a hazard to wear it than replace it. Dar's blacks were Bry’s old pair. Niner rubbed his forehead wearily and beckoned Rede out the door. “That’s sorted. Let’s eat.”
The sun was setting behind the spacescrapers, casting a forest of cool shadows over Core Square. It had been a hot day. The ferrocrete blacktop had begun to release its absorbed sunlight, warming their boots as they walked, like shadows themselves in dark imperial armor. The katarn, an effective insulator, kept them cool enough, and their bodysuits did an adequate job of adapting to body temperature. Niner could feel his sweat being wicked away even as his brow furrowed in worry over Darman’s radio silence. He focused on Rede’s profile as they walked. Under his bucket, Niner knew Rede’s face still looked smooth and youthful. His eyes, normally expressive, sat high and deep under his brow bone. No eye bags, no lines yet, no gray hair. Age would come for Rede, too, but Niner had somehow hoped that he would be spared just a few months longer.
The few years between Rede and the older commandos were enough that Niner noticed. Seeing Rede was like seeing himself as he thought he was, and then realizing he was not that younger man anymore. A few years did a lot to a clone – some of it visible, but most of it not.
…
Lights out had come and gone, and Darman stumbled into the bedroom, a darker shape in a dark room, briefly illuminated by light filtering in from the hallway. He blundered into the bunk he shared with Niner and put one foot on the ladder’s middle rung. Niner, up to his chin in covers, reached out and grabbed his calf. “Hey. Down here. Rede’s up top.”
“Whaa?”
“I offered,” Niner explained in a hoarse whisper.
“‘Course,” Darman agreed, but he groaned, unstuck his foot from the ladder, and crawled heavily onto the narrow mattress next to Niner, still booted and clothed. Niner turned towards the wall, taking up as little space as possible. “Sorry.”
He didn’t mind that Darman had to scoot in close to him, or that he rested his hot forehead between Niner’s shoulder blades, breathing heavily as he settled down. Rede snored above them, a loud rattle that drowned out background sounds of sky traffic and the laundry room down the hall. They could have an entire conversation without him hearing.
“Oh fuu, m’ clothes,'' Dar slurred suddenly, and Niner caught a whiff of beer on his breath. Darman sat up, thunking his head on the bunk above. Rede snored on, undisturbed, and Darman continued thrashing and huffing as he tried to pull his shirt off.
“Help me, vod’ika.”
Niner reached blindly for his brother, bumping into bare skin and grabbing onto what he realized was Darman’s back. He slid his hand up, wiggling his fingers experimentally where the edge of Darman’s shirt cut into skin. It had gotten stuck around his lats. “How did you stuff yourself into this?” He asked helpfully.
Darman sighed. “It fit fine earlier. Just get it off me.”
The CSF Social Club, known for its loaded fries, had obviously bloated him on both sodium and booze.
Niner had to roll over and straddle him from the front, edging his fingers in deeper, before he finally pried Darman’s shirt up and over his head.
“Di’kut,” Niner murmured, pushing him back down onto the bed. He rolled off Darman's lap and settled onto his side again, feeling better about everything with Darman close. He closed his eyes, intent on falling asleep. Dar's chest rose and fell against his back; but he kept moving and twitching, bumping Niner’s legs heavily with his knees. Niner sighed patiently and focused on the sound of Rede’s snoring. He was interrupted again a moment later by a metallic jingle right behind him. It had to be Darman’s belt buckle. Niner turned, waiting for his eyes to re-adjust to the dark again. He could just make out Darman’s hands fumbling with his belt and then with something else between his legs. “What. What are you doing?”
Dar hissed in frustration, palming himself, yanking on his pants. “Gotta take care of this.”
This turned out to be his half-hard cock, which was nestled in his open fly. Niner watched, frozen, as his hand dipped into his pants and moved up and down a few times. Then Darman stopped, his face turned toward Niner’s in the dark. Niner swallowed. A brother taking care of himself in the same room wasn’t unusual, but Omega Squad had always given their sergeant a respectful amount of distance when it happened.
Darman seemed to have forgotten this unspoken etiquette, or maybe their relationship had evolved enough that he felt it no longer applied. “Could you … could I – I mean –” he stuttered, face tipped toward his dick, which peeked out of his fist.
Niner’s mouth dropped open. He probably misses Etain, and I’m the best he’s got. “I don’t think –”
“Fine. Forget I asked.”
Darman sounded tired now, and resolute, and vulnerable in a way Niner had not heard since before …
“You want … me?” As soon as the words left his lips, Niner’s chest began to pound. He’d never been propositioned before. He couldn’t even say where Darman would fall on a list of possible partners, because he didn’t think he had a list. Everyone he met was more or less the same to him – just people, and they all had a job to do.
“Your hand, maybe?”
This wasn’t part of the job. Or at least it hadn’t been until now.
“I don’t know, Dar,” he said, as gently as he could. “I’m probably not the best person to ask.”
Darman growled, frustrated, and his hand snapped up and down, as if he were trying to yank the stiffness out of his erection. Then he lay down on his side behind Niner, his forehead warm and solid against his back again. Niner sighed heavily. Darman hadn’t pulled his pants back up, which meant the door of opportunity was still open, and all he could think about now was how Dar was lying there behind him with an abandoned boner.
Niner didn’t know what to do. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he muttered. He grabbed a blanket, rolling onto his elbow to sit up.
“Lay down,” Darman snapped in a loud whisper. “‘M not that drunk anymore. I know what I’m doing.”
Niner wasn’t convinced. It was difficult to tell which Darman he was dealing with. Was this grieving Dar or couldn’t-care-less Dar? But Niner lay down again, for reasons beyond rationality. They breathed quietly for a minute, each with his own thoughts, and then Niner felt Darman shuffle closer and rock into his backside. He was still hard. And his hand pinned Niner’s hip firmly against his own. “Udesi, vod,” Niner bit out, but a little shiver crawled up his spine. Something was happening. Maybe he’d never had a list before because no one had ever come quite this close. And Darman wasn’t anyone. He wasn’t just one of his brothers anymore – or even just one of his closest brothers. After Shinarcan Bridge something had changed. The playing field had leveled out in a way that made him want to respond to Dar’s insistent advances.
Niner reached back, not knowing exactly what he meant to do, and found Darman’s head. He pulled Dar in close, turning to face him, caught by the need to keep him where he was.
“Let go of me, then,” Darman breathed, fanning Niner’s neck with warm air.
Niner didn’t move.
“You want this, don’t you.”
Niner shuddered, and Darman felt it, because he relaxed, face buried in Niner’s neck. “Please.”
Of all the days, of all the times, Dar. Niner had almost forgotten they’d lost Ennen just hours before. Darman’s lips moved along his neck, driving any remaining thoughts away. His hands followed, stroking Niner’s back, his arm, gods it felt good, and before he knew it he was letting Dar hump his thigh, and then his open hand; all he had to do was close his fingers.
He had his vod’s cock in his hand on the same day he’d lost another one to his own demons. All our demons.
@officialrepcomm
Dar’s gentle huffing noises turned tight and desperate as Niner worked him. Then they went ragged and wet with tears as he came, effortlessly, into Niner’s hand.
Rede hadn’t stopped snoring. Vor entye Manda. He’d seen enough for one day. Darman drifted off to sleep, and Niner didn’t move to go to the fresher until he was sure he wouldn’t wake.
Additional Tags: Walon Vau Being an Asshole, Bad Parent Walon Vau, Walon Vau’s school of A+ parenting, Lil cadet Deltas, Mij is so done with everyone’s shit, I might as well start tagging Vau’s knife in everything, it just keeps showing up
For RepComm week on @officialrepcomm’s tumblr. Day 2- prompt is Squad Lyfe / Casualty
Second-cycle cadet RC-1140 takes a tumble, and Vau is forced to vaguely attempt something resembling responsible parenting. It goes about as well as you’d expect.
