#tbb nemec

[echoreconcrew]

(Follow up to this!)

Tag List

@legacygirlingreen @saiwaispirit @leenathegreengirl @returnofthepineapple @citrus-and-things @heidnspeak @loyaltechphan @thecoffeelorian @foxgirl95 @freesia-writes @clonethirstingisreal @justanotherdikutsimp @vrycurious @tahny-andthe-diamonds @themeghanlodon @cw80831 @whimsy-of-worlds @separatistnightmare @imabeautifulbutterfly @mae-lou-ron @dreamie411 @keukumbr @teryx16 @phoenix-angel-suyari @elligatorrex @skellymom @cw80831 @wrenkenstein @eclec-tech @boredzum-671 @ladyazura19 @kyraltre @501stdathomirian @midnight-142 @imperialsprig @tcwtbbocdatabase

[echoreconcrew]

Later on Valentine’s Day….

Okay, so I didn’t get that Valentine’s Day kiss from Echo (YET!) but I did get to spend time with my best friend in the whole galaxy, Nemec! So, still a great day 💕

~Gem 💎💕

Tag List

@legacygirlingreen @saiwaispirit @leenathegreengirl @returnofthepineapple @citrus-and-things @heidnspeak @loyaltechphan @thecoffeelorian @foxgirl95 @freesia-writes @clonethirstingisreal @justanotherdikutsimp @vrycurious @tahny-andthe-diamonds @themeghanlodon @cw80831 @whimsy-of-worlds @separatistnightmare @imabeautifulbutterfly @mae-lou-ron @dreamie411 @keukumbr @teryx16 @phoenix-angel-suyari @elligatorrex @skellymom @cw80831 @wrenkenstein @eclec-tech @boredzum-671 @ladyazura19 @kyraltre @501stdathomirian @midnight-142 @imperialsprig @tcwtbbocdatabase

[orangez3st]

Requested by @neverrrrrrrmind HELLO FROM THE MAIN BLOG. I’d like to request a fic where reader is in a poly relationship (well, actually it doesn’t have to be romantic as long as there’s three of them) with Nemec and Fireball. The rest is up to you 🫵🏾 THANK YOU!

Buy One Get Two

Clone Troopers Nemec & Fireball × GN!Reader

✧ Summary: You took a small walk to that nice caf shop in the Senate Building, returning only to be met with new clones with markings you've never seen before, who are apparently assigned as your new guards.

✧ Tags & Warnings: reader as senator, bodyguard clones, reader drinks caf, mentions of corrie commanders, platonic, friendly conversation, just being nice to clones :3

✧ Word Count: 1.9k

✧ A/N: I HAD FUN WRITING THISSSS (as always with platonic fics they're so addicting to write). Thanks for the great prompt vod @hellfiresky! I've been so so so obsessed with these two dummies lately. So according to my hc they are actually from different companies but I'm gonna put them in the same one for this one. Hope you enjoy 💛 (oh there is so gonna be a part 2 for this fyi)

Main Masterlist | Read on AO3 | dividers by me

The particular corridor that leads to your senatorial office isn't particularly crowded at this time of the hour. For you, it is also a good, quiet space to take a break at from the buzzing chaos of your thoughts inside the confinement you call office. It's where you work, yes, but working is separate from discovering the littlest bit of peace while you can. The silence of this corridor reminds you of that of your old alma mater’s—specifically the one that leads to its many auditoriums.

Attendants and clone patrols and other officers alike pass by as you do. You hold a flimsi cup holder containing three cups of caf by its fascinatingly sturdy handle. This day you took your chance to get caf all by yourself, dismissing your aide in the guise of taking a brief walk, bravely temporarily dismissing the urgent issues at your desk demanding your attention. Several of them have to be accomplished today, and you need something consumable to give you a little more push.

And by the time you turn around the corner to accept your fate where more work awaits behind the door, you stumble into an abrupt stop. On either side of the door where it's usually manned by a couple of Coruscant Guard troopers you've grown fond of, you find a couple with green visor and dark green markings, features that are foreign to you, almost as if for camouflage purposes. Their armors are way more scratched and dented than the Corries that you've seen.

They immediately straighten at your arrival, quite unnaturally. The sight puts you in immediate despair that you're doing this again, but you quickly set that aside. The air about them, you can tell already, is quite different.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” you start with a welcome, encouraging smile. “Any chance you know where Blaze and Steel are—the usual Guardsmen assigned here?”

They share a glance, their stoic helmets preventing you from reading their expressions, but you might be able to guess already. One of them with a scorched helmet answers, “They're reassigned for a time being, Senator. In exchange, both of us are stationed here for 25 rotations.”

At the numbers, your brows immediately knit into a frown. “Now that's quite a long time, isn't it? Aren't you two supposed to be…” You eye their armor plates that definitely have seen some more brutal actions. “In the frontlines?”

The other one with a unique lighter green marking in his helmet nods sharply. “CT-5775, Senator.” He nods at his partner's direction. “And this is CT-3258. We're both privates of the 41st Elite Corps under Jedi General Luminara Unduli.”

You hum. “Elite frontline troopers, yes? Then what are you doing here?”

He hesitates for a moment before once again answering your inquiry with the same firmness, “Punishment, Senator. Our entire platoon… made a mistake. We were sent home and reassigned to assist the Coruscant Guard. Starting today.”

It must be quite an embarrassment for admitting that out loud. You hold back your grimace, but internally you've quickly applauded their directness and honesty. Both you can find in most clones, but not all would admit that they are technically on probation.

“Haven't you been informed of the reassignment, Senator?” the other trooper, one with the scorched helmet, asks.

You huff quietly. “Didnt know about any trooper reassignment, to be honest. Must've missed it completely or the system’s fault. My aide would've told me.” You would need to ask them later. “What are your names?”

“I'm Fireball,” the previous trooper answers. He then gestures to his counterpart, the one who's been granting you detailed answers. “And this is Nemec.”

You muse, “Nemec and Fireball.” You've heard of how the clone troopers established their own culture. A little something for themselves that they weren't allowed per strict Kaminoan protocol. It reminds you just how entirely different they are from you—the only similarity shared between you and Nemec along with Fireball is that you are only human fighting for the same cause.

Human. As far as you know, you are merely one of the small group of senators that treat clone troopers as people given with choices, free will, and the mind. What pains you is that they are used to being treated as cannon fodders—expendable, replaceable. Property.

“Would you like some caf?” you offer the drink carrier to both troopers right away. You always find the crevice in time to give your assigned guards treats as a way to engage with them. It's a small yet fine start that you hope would inspire your peers as well. “The cafeteria downstairs got quite an offer I couldn't miss but I didn't know who to share these with.”

They look hesitant—understandably. Especially casting a quick glance on the brand emblazoned into the cups, they'd know it's one of the fancy ones they absolutely can't afford even with their monthly stipend. “We appreciate the offer, Senator,” Nemec refuses politely, “But with all due respect, we're on duty.”

You almost roll your eyes. “This is caf, Nemec, not Corellian whiskey,” you insist, bringing your tone lighter to indicate to them that you won't rat them out nor want them to pay back. You don't even have the heart. “It’s allowed. If you're caught by Commander Thorn—or even worse, Commander Fox—I'll even cover for you, you know that?”

Fireball’s slight upward head tilt marks his apparent enthusiasm, swayed by your persuasion. “Promise, Senator?”

You chuckle softly. “Cross my heart. It's fine, have one with me.” After a second, they crouch a little to read the labels on the cups before plucking one off the carrier for themselves each. You notice that Nemec actually took your usual hot double-shot mocha, but you don't even feel bad. Fireball took the iced shi-shok latte, and that left you the hot double-shot less-sugar koja nut latte—thank stars for the invention of double-shot caf.

You sip on your caf carefully, humming pleasantly at the feel of smooth blend of milk and caf seeping into your tongue. You feel rejuvenated instantly. Both troopers have their helmets off as they enjoy their own caf; they look so much alike. “Have you ever heard the Coruscant Guard's marshal commander is both exhausted and terrifying?” you ask them.

Fireball snorts, seemingly dropping all courteous manners and already grown easy with you. “All the time, Senator. Everything about him? They're all true.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Including the silly rumor that the real Fox was actually devoured by an eldritch creature from Level 2?”

“And that his armor is possessed by the spirit of an ancient Sith Lord that sought the Light?” Nemec’s eyes glint in humor, a stark contrast to his stricter upbringing. He shrugs. “Yeah. We might even believe it.”

“Say what you want but he's efficient,” Fireball asserts, clearly enjoying the dive into the topic—especially since it's his chance to talk about a commanding officer far above him in a safe bubble. “Extremely dedicated. Most clones, shinies especially, either aspire to be him or are afraid of him.”

“That’s true,” you reply, almost in awe. You wonder how they keep up to these smaller details. Perhaps a central comm channel for everyone… with a server that magically doesn't crash regularly. “So while you're here, do you report to him?”

Nemec finishes another sip of his mocha before answering, “We report to our lieutenant. And to Commander Stone, Senator.”

You frown. “Why him and not Fox?”

“It's… pure logistic and functional,” Fireball goes to explain, “Stone is the top Corrie liaison specifically assigned for other battalions. Any arrangements or requests coming from any troopers outside the Coruscant Guard go through him. But not rarely do most commanders go directly to Fox, cutting through the chain of command.”

“Pure logistic and functional,” you hum in awe. Maybe you should observe and study these chains of commands further as it apparently interests you.

“And uh, another thing, Senator,” Nemec's voice plunges through your beginning of a thought. He's taking another sip of his hot mocha, eyes already wide awake from the caffeine. “We're assigned to be your escorts as well. So if you want one of us to run an errand, give the order.”

“Yeah.” Fireball nods enthusiastically, shaking his iced caf in a circled motion that emits the cluttering noise inside the cup. “We’ll handle it. We're good.”

“Good?” You quirk an eyebrow at them, a little teasingly. “On the field, yes. But anyway, how are your data entry and administration skills?”

Hesitating to reveal a truthful answer, Fireball's mouth is gaping like a fish. A humorous sight to you that you have to stifle a giggle behind your hand. Nemec, seemingly with a clearer mind perhaps thanks to double shot, takes over but shares the hesitation. “I… we… clones learn quickly.”

“No worries, I was just joking. You're here as escort guards, not my aide.” You let the last of your laugh dissipate into the air, followed by the troopers’ nervous laugh as well, and simultaneous big gulps of caf to ease their nerves. Lacking more information and desperate for it, you keep shooting questions. “Does that entail you both will escort me to and from my apartment as well?”

Nemec nods. “Yes, Senator.”

“And be present at your home office too,” Fireball adds informatively. A slightly grimmer expression slides into his countenance. “Considering recent assassination attempts. Strict order from command to be by your side, wherever.”

“I see,” you hum thoughtfully, instinctively glancing behind your shoulder expecting someone watching your every move—you could be a target for something you've said in publicly aired senate sessions. Both clones can't help but notice your movement, and share a sympathetic glance. With a clear of the throat, you return to your easier side once again—easygoing, friendly smile, encouraging demeanor, sharp ears to listen. “So. You… two haven't been assigned to escort duty ever prior to this, have you?”

“True. This is our first.”

“Good for you, Fireball.” Your smile breaks into a small grin—an encouragement, before it's to be hindered when you're sipping from your hot caf again. “First time for everything. Learning by doing, yes?”

“Agreed,” Nemec says calmly, a foreign touch of political tone etched into his caf-induced mannerism. It's somehow both a weird and not weird sight to you. “Speaking of something else, don't you have work to do, Senator?”

You had to make sure that it's him, Nemec, who had the audacity to pull a diabolical move like that on you, and not Fireball. Your gaze flits between the two of them and, yes indeed it was Nemec. “Who are you, my mother?” you playfully retort, even giving him a stink eye. You break into another grin and laugh before any of them could show concern for being written up. Both troopers visibly exhale in relief. You grin. “Thanks for the reminder though, Nemec. I should better finish whatever's on my desk before clocking out.”

As you bypass them to step inside your office, behind you Fireball cackles victoriously from glee he's felt on the first day of the job. “Thanks for the welcoming caf, Senator!”

Their smiles are joyously contagious. “Pleasure, gentlemen,” you reply with grace, as you raise your caf toward them in a toast. “Hope you have a great time on Coruscant!”

Credits: Blaze and Steel (the Corries mentioned earlier) are from @hellfiresky's brilliant, cracky shiny clones fic RED TIDES! Go check it out 🏃

Taglist: @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @filamentlights @msmeredithrose @heidnspeak @lucyysthings @emmaw18 @leiopython-rat @gh0st-c0mpany @br00kthe0takuuuu @ct7567329 @returnofthepineapple @gloriousinthebattle @nymphali-dae @leannathespacewerewolf @remotelyhauntedstatue

A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)

[orangez3st]

Staying Sane

Clone Trooper Nemec × GN!Reader

✢ 𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 ✢ ↤ Prev | Next ↦

✧ Prompt: #14) Bedridden

✧ Summary: Last month, your parents approved in a new caregiver—Nemec—for you. You've never really asked a lot of things about him, so today; you're curious.

✧ Tags & Warnings: modern au, caregiver au, reader is paralyzed waist-down (needs wheelchair for accessibility), reader has medium/long hair, platonic, comfort, may be inspired from Me Before You

✧ Word Count: 2.6k

✧ A/N: Nemec in here is I think somewhat of an ooc (but then again ooc is a myth nowadays) so he deserves nice things such as retirement from combat and working these jobs okay 😭 enjoy Sicktember #14 vode! 💛 (p.s. Me Before You breaks me every single time)

Main Masterlist | Read on AO3 | dividers by me

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Fireball drops back onto your bedside. “I'm flying to Greece on Thursday.”

“Greece?” you almost yelp, but that's what he does. Your best friend Fireball is a private chef, and it's not a rare occurrence that he travels. You know that the Mediterranean is actually his favorite—anywhere with hot beaches and killer creamy food dips. “What, yacht kitchen opportunity?”

“My, uh, clients wanted me to go with them because their little daughter is allergic to tomatoes and olive—I know, sad, girl can't eat bruschetta and red meat sauce—Greek dishes are 90% tomato and olive oil, so I need to whip up stuff along the way.” He shrugs innocently, smiling. “And she loves my cooking.”

Although you're more than happy to secondhandedly absorb Fireball's career tales, you always can't help but feel jealous. Especially when it involves travelling, from the grand ones like flying out of the continent to the simplest things like going for a weekly grocery run. Speaking of, you can barely remember the last time you've ever used your legs.

Your smile is bitter. Again, not rare. “Wish I could go, too.”

Fireball picks up your mood easily, you always like to imagine he's a telepath. The chef thing is just side-questing. “I'll send photos, promise.” His hand grabs yours, squeezing, lips blooming into a full grin to lift your spirits up. “Even bottling up Elafonisi’s pink sand just for you.”

Only got to gasp in awe at his future gift for you, your next words are taken away the moment the door to your bedroom cracks open, and in comes your new caregiver, Nemec, also Fireball's close friend from the marine days. It was a long time ago, but the long-existing camaraderie won't expire anytime soon.

“Hey,” Fireball cackles, standing up from your bed. “There's your man.”

Nemec double-takes at the direction of the voice after dropping his gym bag in the corner of the room. He huffs a chuckle, approaching Fireball. “Hey, you're here.” He clasps the other man's hands sharply. “Saying goodbyes?”

“Be back on Sunday so no, not permanently,” Fireball cheekily says. He's vouched for his marine buddy to be your caregiver, and now your family owes him one. “Hit me up if you're free tomorrow, I'll be having a spare couple of hours for beer, smoke, and fried string cheese.”

Nemec snorts. “Yeah man, will do.”

Your best friend then turns to you and plants a brief kiss on your cheek. “See you when I get back.”

“With the pink sand,” you demand playfully.

He barks a laugh. “With the pink sand, yeah.”

With a final pat on his jeans pocket to check his phone and a parting bro nod to Nemec, Fireball slips past your bedroom door and takes all his warmth and sparkly personality with him. At least, more sparkly than Nemec, anyway.

You yawn and stretch your arms. “What time is it?”

Nemec is halfway nearing your bed. “About…” He peers at his watch. “Eight past four. How are you feeling now, bluebell?”

You allow him to adjust your pillows. “Just feeling really sleepy. Fireball's been here since lunch, you know.”

“He's great company,” Nemec chuckles airily to himself. Then his hand, larger than yours, pats the top of your head experimentally. He pulls away and rubs his fingers together then, feeling slight grease on them. “Alright, just in time. Just to remind you, bluebell; it's wash-your-hair day today.”

“Already?” You take that in as if offended, where in reality you’re just, probably feeling a little, lost. “S’not even smelly. I haven't been sweating much.”

Nemec is filling a glass of water by your bedside. His army green sweater is a little loose-fitting on him, made for comfort. “That's because you couldn't take a sniff of your scalp,” he replies, the corner of his lips twitching upwards at your defence. “And you really don't want your crown to be itchy, do you?” 

Your next protests on your tongue get stowed in. “Well, um, no.”

“Right, so we're doing this.” He can't hide his satisfaction any longer that you actually listened. “Okay? Warm water and all in the tub just like usual. Just the way you like it.”

You nod, conceding, and peel off the blanket that covers your legs while Nemec rolls your wheelchair near your bedside.

“Need help this time?” he asks you.

“Yeah, please, and thanks,” you answer gratefully. You could've sworn you fell asleep on the spot for a second the moment Nemec turned his back earlier. “Can you just… carry me straight to the tub?”

He chuckles, a honey-warm voice breaching through your drowsiness. “Yeah, sure. On three, yeah?” He then hovers over you, large hands slipping under your knees and back. “One, two, three…”

Nemec smoothly adjusts you against his chest, and you hurriedly cling onto his neck so you won't put your entire weight in him. Not that you're that heavy, nor can you feel his support under your knees, but you just don't want to burden him that much.

“Maybe you should take a quick shower instead of a bath.” Nemec’s voice echoes somehow, and you realize that now you're already inside the bathroom. He’s still carrying you—and you almost fall asleep, again. “Don't want you to fall asleep still lathered in soap, bluebell.”

“Right,” you yawn, eagerly reaching toward the seat perching on the bathtub so you can shower by yourself. A quick shower sounds like a much better idea, just like your bed is a much better place to fall asleep in rather than the tub. “Okay, I'll do that.”

Nemec’s smile that reaches his warm brown eyes exudes a multitude of comfort and reassurance into you. Without another word, he sets you down gently onto the seat, patting the pile of fresh clothes just on the little table to remind you before slipping out the bathroom door, leaving you to privacy. If you need anything, you could just holler as he's right outside the door.

Quick shower means quick, but with sleep still creeping closer into you from the edges of your mind, you're trying your best not to fall asleep on your own body-scrubbing. Especially when you're scrubbing at your scalp with the tips of your fingers—it’s too relaxing and you just can't deny that. By the time you're done, your body is moving on its own—drying yourself and putting on some easy clothes, loose and cozy for a nap until you have to be up by dinner time.

“Done!” you call, and the door opens immediately—Nemec strides right in with an amused look on his face.

“That was a new record, you know,” he remarks with a soft smile. “Seven minutes and so-so seconds. You'd think with the sleepy pace you were going and washing your hair it'd go twice the duration.”

“Quick means quick,” you repeat yourself, chuckling lightly. “But at least you don't have to worry about me passing out with shampoo on my hair.”

He laughs, a low sound so as to not startle you. “Feeling lucky today, then. Let's dry your hair now, bluebell.”

Nemec is always gentle with his responsibility and always counts to give you a heads-up when he's about to carry you in his arms. Of course, with his diet and military upbringing, he's physically capable to do heavier labor and much more. You'd think as an ex-marine he'd be cold, stoic, distant—he must've quite seen a lot of things out there. His work here to tend to your needs is a complete 180°, and you can't help but wonder. He’s warm, always patient—he’s a good, legitimate caregiver.

Outside the bathroom, he sets you down on your wheelchair and guides you to your vanity where you keep your hairdryer—you never keep your hairdryer in the bathroom for safety hazards. With your comb in the other hand, Nemec dries your locks with great care, paying attention if the heat gets too close to your neck.

The noise from the tool is making you sleepy again. The fact that it's white noise to your ears isn't helping—you have to keep your head straight while Nemec is combing through your hair and blowing hot air. You fight to keep awake, supporting yourself on the handrests of your wheelchair so you won't fall over.

Or so you think.

Nemec taps your cheek gently once your head is lolling over to the side, his insides panicking when the hairdryer gets too close to your hair and so he yanks it away from you. “Not done yet, bluebell.”

You groan slightly. “Sorry.”

“Don't be,” he says, combing your hair again, inspecting for locks that are still damp that he missed. “We just can't get your lengthy hair to dry faster since it's, you know, lengthy.”

You hum, drawling. “Do you think I need to chop them all off?”

Now he can't exactly imagine you with shorter hair. Maybe above the shoulder, maybe one of those pixie cuts. The first time he's met with you, this existing image of you is already affectionately branded as you.

“It's your choice,” he eventually says, running his fingers through your hair to fluff them a little, also to see if he's missed. “I think you'd look beautiful all the same with shorter hair.”

“But which one do you prefer?” you ask, and this question of yours stops Nemec in his progress. Your innocence sometimes catches him off guard, but he's found that trait of yours intriguing and unique a long time ago. 

“Honestly?” Your hair is all dry. Setting down the hairdryer on your table and pulling the plug, Nemec takes a look at you in the mirror—cheeks all flushed from the warm shower and eyes half-drooped. He then brushes his fingers along your hair again. “I prefer this.”

“So no haircut yet,” you acknowledge, yawning. The spot between your eyebrows frown slightly then, and the slightest glint of curiosity lingers in your eyes. “Nemec, do you mind if I ask you something? Maybe, um, a little personal?”

He totally didn't expect that. He certainly has some secrets he keeps to himself, but fine, he could be selective and smart about this kind of question. “Of course, shoot.”

You look down at your fiddling thumbs. “I've… never really learned about your background.” And then your eyes meet his in the mirror, the nervousness dissipating as you speak. “Actually, I just know that you're an ex-marine with Fireball, and when you retired from the military you chose to enroll in this nursing program.”

“And earned my license, yeah.” Something he can go on about, thank god. Nemec maintains your curiosity through studying you in the mirror. His lips twitch upward a little in nostalgia as he says, “Do you know that I've never seen real combat on the field?”

Your eyes widen in intrigue. “Really?”

“Yeah, sadly. Or maybe thankfully,” Nemec shrugs, exhaling loudly, his hand going up to rub his developing stubble. “It won't be a lovely sight. Obviously. Me and my squad are just one of the luckiest squads—never seen real combat, most of the time during our tours were just waiting and observing. And before you know it, we were done and sent back home.”

“That happens?” you ask in palpable awe. “Not always seeing combat, I mean.”

Nemec nods firmly, once. “Definitely happens. More common than you think, actually. It was boring out there; sand, coarse and dry, getting into my boots and somehow under my clothes—it just…” he blows raspberry, “plain sucked.”

You behold him seconds longer, and Nemec doesn't have jack of an idea what to say after that.

“So,” you start, “What got you to enroll in a nursing course?”

Ironically, the answer would be the same one he'd given in his interviews.

“Do you ever experience when you're loving what you're doing to the point you're dead dedicated to it, and then suddenly at some point something inside you says ‘stop’ and you realize you've had enough of everything?”

You look at him in the mirror, contemplating what he said. “Mm, not really.”

“It's what happened to me,” Nemec says, lips pulling into a small smile as he reminisces. “Took me a while to realize that serving the country out there isn't for me—which was surprising for most people I confided in. I realized that I care a great deal about… life.” Exhaling deeply, he rambles on, “Taking care of things. Of people. I went back and realized that I love taking care of my grandmother before she passed, so I got into the courses to earn my license and put myself out there.”

These hands, he thinks. Those hands are the same ones who ran drills and gripped assault rifles, geared up and stripping away of it methodically, slapped a friend's back thanking them for a story around the firepit in the dark over cans of energy drinks. He found a beautiful camaraderie that would last centuries in the military, his buddy Fireball is a primary example. But did he find the kind of satisfaction that wouldn't want you to look for anything else and more? No.

This entire thing—taking care of people and not outright risking his life on the line—keeps him sane. He was young enlisting, and he had so much to live for. Has.

“And when they asked about my military career, particularly concerned about my mental state about the horrors I saw out there, you know what I said?” Nemec huffs a chuckle. “I ain't seen nothin’; the only horror I've ever seen or afraid to is making a mistake while on the job—like letting you out of my sight, for example. Or when my grandmother passed.”

And so he hates to make you feel scared and alone. Though he knows you're strong enough to move yourself onto your wheelchair and move about on your own, he can't imagine the accidents, worst probabilities that won't escape if one couldn't be careful enough.

Everybody said he's a good man. A truly dedicated man. Nemec thinks he's aware and conscious of that as well—so he promised himself that he will become a better man.

“It's… scary to watch someone take a leave in front of you, even if they go peacefully with their loved ones by their side.” He clears his throat, realizing he's carried away too far. “But hey, promise I'm keeping my eyes on you—”

You've gone slack in your wheelchair, but before Nemec could panic, he hears your steady breathing and notices your chest rising up and down rhythmically. He chuckles quietly to himself—he’s indulged your questions and indeed got carried away that you've fallen asleep. Stupid, that he forgot you were sleepy and practically fought it to even finish showering earlier. Silly, that you were probably already out before he said half of those things.

“Sorry for rambling,” he mutters apologetically, and so sincere that he wishes you could hear it. He then picks you up and lays you down on your bed gently, making sure you're tucked in underneath soft blankets and your hair isn't tangled.

Nemec steps away from you, capturing the peaceful moment briefly with prayers and admiration for you—you’re a strong person, a survivor even. They've told you how the accident took away a good chunk of your hopes to continue living, but you've managed to adjust from the ground up.

“Sleep tight, bluebell.” With a soft pat to the top of your hair, he quietly takes his leave of you. “See you at dinner, yeah?”

If anything, you are somewhat similar to him. Thought you were living the dream, but something happened. Only, you drew the short straw. But what matters is; you survive. And you make do.

Thanks for reading! Taglist is moved to event masterlist.

A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)

[orangez3st]

Royal Planning

Clone Trooper Nemec × F!Reader

✧ Prompt/Inspo: Two heirs from opposing families must decide if their love is worth the risk of plunging their kingdoms into war AU (prompt by @/castielscaplan)

✧ Summary: As the heir to the throne, you have plenty of responsibilities. Unfortunately, your beloved prince hails from the opposing kingdom. Longing for peace, both of you discuss perhaps the maddest solution ever there is.

✧ Tags & Warnings: medieval royal au, established relationship, forbidden romance, brief royal politics, lots of kissing, talks about eloping, suggestive (no explicit), reader has hair long enough for him to brush away, (edit:) VERY CHEESY you've been warned

✧ Word Count: 2.1k

✧ A/N: So I'm surprised at how I missed writing Tolkien fics (I've never posted any but I love popular medieval adaptation word structures; they're kinda cheesily neat lol). This is for @hellfiresky who’d claimed their longing for Nemec is even bigger than Rex and Boss LMAO. Enjoy this one vode! 💛

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | divider by me

“We should stop meeting like this.”

Nemec claims your lips again as if they're his own name. His attempt to dismiss your warning is rather successful. Well, almost. While you can't resist the gentle touches and deep longing kisses his hands and lips give you, the overshadowing politics of both your kingdoms often take precedence. You, an heir to your father's throne—and Nemec, from the house of princes in the realm of your father's archenemy.

It isn't easy. But Nemec’s neverending affection for you seems to make it so.

He pulls you flush against his body. His hands taut gripping your waist, caging your political concerns from set free, attempting to keep you in the moment. Just you and him. He always utters those words to you.

“Is that what you truly want?” His breath is warm over your lips.

“Your coy wordplay is a reflection of how much you do want secret meetings in the middle of the woods like this,” you huff.

A deep chuckle comes deep from his throat. “Stating the obvious, aren't we?” His finger strokes your cheek. “Or what, would you like us to meet in a tavern instead?”

“No,” you state firmly. “I would not have freedom.”

“Then what is this?” His gaze is teasing. “Heir to the throne. Gone from the court. Apparently, perhaps, the gatekeepers saw you riding into the wild, hooded and cloaked. And for what? Definitely not meeting a secret lover from a rival kingdom. Is it to relish the wind sweeping over your face?”

“To pick some mushrooms,” you grunt. Nemec’s smirk widens as your cheeks fluster, an evidence of how much you like his low-voiced teasing. “And I had to bribe Thorn not to chaperone me this time.”

“How generous of you.”

“He knows, Nemec,” you remind him sternly. “That's what made it worse, for I have to pay double.”

“If you have any trouble with fortunes, you could send a word.”

You snort. “As if you are any richer than I.”

“I am a member of some royal court as well, Your Highness.” He seals his lips onto yours again as if to set finality upon his words. “Only not an heir. You are the one with such grace.” He moves to your jaw, his voice growing huskier. “And such power.”

You giggle softly at his lips’ ministrations along your skin. “You're insufferable, prince.”

And he never goes far. Although the dips and flawless skin of your neck often keeps him awake at night in his own bed, Nemec never crosses the line. His hands never dip lower and his mouth only gets to latch onto your jaw, and once in a while; that patch of sensitive skin under your ear that derives the softest sound he's ever heard—but only when he needs it. Only when he intends to lay awake in his bed at night thinking about you.

He wonders. He dreams. How your soft body would feel like melting against him. You in your rider's clothing is enticing enough—there are less layers than your ceremonial clothes you adorn yourself with to court. Less jewelries, less formalities, more enthusiasm, more dreamy gleams shining in your eyes when you look at him. It is the best and rawest form of you he could ever get from you—for now—and he is sufficiently pleased.

“But about your personal guard,” Nemec says again, pulling away from you. A slight frown etches onto his perfect dark brows. “Is he not afraid to have his head separated from his shoulders if I, say, put a child in your womb out of wedlock?”

Heat creeps into your cheeks faster than your father's fastest cavalry rider. Your mouth gapes and closes as you try to form words at his plainly-uttered imagery.

“He trusts me,” you reply after a moment. There's no single element of teasing on Nemec's features, and you're glad for that. “Never mind wedlock, my love. Father would behead me for treason. And then I would lose the child. You would lose both of us.”

He nods, sighing. “Very good.”

You blink at his response. “Was that somewhat of a trial?”

Nemec's lips curve into a genuine smile, his warm brown eyes gleam at you. “Just know that I would never stand that far from my responsibilities.” He leans to kiss your forehead, breath gruff against you and his arms around you tighten. “I know the risks. But you make it almost difficult to resist.”

You bury your face into his chest, embarrassed. “Am I tempting to you?”

“Since the first day we met, Your Highness,” comes his deep chuckles. His tone grows softer and fond as he speaks. “How your gaze pierced through the throng of people as they danced in the middle of the ballroom, and you always seemed to look for me. I remember Fireball, a fellow prince from my house, teased me endlessly while being envious the entire night.”

A soft giggle escapes you. “That was so long ago.”

“Only proves that my love and affection for you has been equally steadfast, is it not?”

You raise your head to meet his fond gaze and smile. “I've never heard any truer words said.”

Nemec kisses you again, the last view you saw before he closes the distance between you is his delighted grin. He savors your lips as if they are to be his last meal, or a chunk of a juicy bountiful hunt. He wishes he could taste the sweet Alderaanian wine that you drank that night—the very same night you first laid eyes upon each other. Nemec had kissed you under the moonlight in the quiet corner of a balcony, and now under the green canopy of trees.

Each brush of his lips are firm and full of certainty, as if practicing his wedding vows on your lips in the form of kisses that always leave you breathless. Your fingers curl into the shirt that he wears, your boots stomping his clumsily with every teasing bite he does to your bottom lip. It doesn't take long for it to turn passionate, his tongue easing into your mouth and you releasing a soft moan as you savor and brush the wet muscle with your own.

Nemec pulls away abruptly. Your eyes reopen to see him hanging on by a thread, his hands on your waist gripping tightly. “By Haran,” he breathes heavily, “You’re not making it easy for me, my love.”

“Apologies,” you blush, looking down.

He smiles reassuringly at you. “No need to. It was a compliment.” He gently cradles your face and pecks your lips one more time. “You're beautiful.”

Muttering your bashful thanks, you weave a hand through his hair that's slicked back.

“But sooner or later we need to speak further about this,” he says reluctantly. As much as staying in a wee arboreal paradise where both of you could meet and kiss until eternity is tempting, he knows he and you have to work to make it reality. He shifts back against the tree. “Come. Sit down here with me.”

You sigh, feeling a little relieved. Nemec pulls you close so your back meets his firm chest, his arms winding around you with the intention of not letting you go soon, perhaps even after the discussion is finished.

“So I heard from a little bird that your court has been tense since two weeks ago,” he begins calmly.

“Indeed,” you sigh. You look longingly into the stream just a few distance away, watching the water currents break through rocks. “They were worrying about my brother's religious calling.” 

“Your father's spare?” Nemec is surprised. His hand tenses on your hip. “Isn’t that forbidden for the sake of the throne if you'd died?”

“Exactly.” You lay a hand on his thigh and trace a constellation along the seams of his tabard. “And he was on the brink of exiling himself. Father was horrified. A spare to the throne must adhere.” Being your father's heir, you were in every council meeting, and unfortunately it equals new headaches every now and then. “The royal court has been tense with the house of bishops since then.”

Nemec hums in thought. “Or he could be your new archbishop.” He is a well-taught man, rehearsed with the laws of your kingdom. “What do you think about that?”

“I merely want him to walk his own path,” you answer. “If one opens, one should tread it. Moreso if it comes from their own will.”

“Well, if I'm not mistaken, the prince is quite a little rebel himself. His endeavors travel to my kingdom, and my court honestly praises him, if you find that believable.” He lets out a little chuckle. You smile along with him. His voice lowers, as if trusting you to keep a secret of his upcoming words. “And if he answers his religious calling, I am thinking he'd take your side and bless our marriage.”

Your breath stops. You raise from his embrace and turn to face him; Nemec, your beloved. You've long gone from being smitten with each other to loving each other passionately, the grueling need between you growing stronger, as well as your need to be together with him openly. Not with secret meetings like this. His brows crease with seriousness, eyes sharp with determination. It doesn't look like his ideas had just come moments ago. This has been brewing long inside his own deep pool of thoughts.

“We aren't accepted in each other's kingdoms for their rivalries. If this continues and we aren't prepared by then, war would erupt and either you or I or both of us would fall victim to it.” He falls silent. “By a soldier's sword or by an executioner's axe.”

You look at him intensely. “So what do you suggest?”

“I am thinking,” Nemec says, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles. “We take a map, ride out, and observe the lands. Choose the very grounds where we will build our foundation, and then we stab the ground with our standard to claim the land as our own.”

A long silence rules over the air around you, and for a moment you can only hear the water stream, unbothered by the tense in your conversation. The burden suddenly falls over you, and your doubts slowly consume you.

“A dominion… of ourselves?”

“We can rule together, you and I.” Nemec squeezes your hand. “We make your brother archbishop, then we form our own court.”

“But what is there to be left for my father?” you argue, “He would have no heir.”

“If I'm not mistaken, your queen favors your cousin just as much as she does her own children. I'm certain she could be persuasive.”

“Every word you said is true,” you huff, recalling how your mother loves to spend more time with your first cousins during festivities in the castle. Dancing, talking. Her smile appears often in their presence, and less with your own family.

Nemec sees your longing and disappointment, and empathizes.

“If you ask me, I see no other solution,” he says carefully. “I have been thinking about this for a long time. Every bit of our relationship is forbidden, and I want to live in a world where I could be at ease with you without worrying about plunging both kingdoms into war.”

The problem is they still would if you both do this.

“Let them be distracted with the matter about your brother,” he convinces you. “Meanwhile you must talk with him about our intentions and gauge him on our side.”

Your lips twitch with a smirk. “He's been on our side since he knew that I'd been gone with you the other night, unchaperoned. He coaxed me into telling him.”

“So the bribery runs deep?” Nemec teases you. “Information for information?”

“Information abuse,” you correct him. Your chuckle sets temporary ease within him. To strengthen his intentions, Nemec tugs you close to him again, your hands pressing against his shoulders as he can taste your breath with such closeness.

“We have to think of any other possible happenings,” he murmurs, one hand brushing your hair away from your face and the other squeezing your waist reassuringly. “What sort of dispute could erupt between your realm and mine, and what we must do before it happens.”

You nod determinedly. “I'll rehearse over every single law I've learned and find any loopholes. As long as you do that, too. If we are tried by our respective courts.”

“It would never get to that point if you renounce yourself to your people beforehand.”

“Marvelous idea, my love.”

“Entertain me not, Your Highness,” Nemec smirks at your tone, leaning to capture your lips with his again deeply. “Don't speak empty words to your soon-to-be husband and fellow sovereign.”

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[circus20204]

incorrect quote attention grabbers

When one vod who is a cold brainwashed killer and a fiery ball of energy both are trying to grab the attention of someone they both want to hang out with things can get a little. interesting.

CX-2 is currently hanging out in fireballs cell with nemec just talking about some random tooka videos while fireball is duck taped to the ceiling tape over his mouth to quiet him

CX-2: "interesting the way it stalks its prey..the loth rat screaming for mercy don't you think that is a charming thing?'' *he asked looking at nemec with dark eyes*

Nemec: *unnerved by that but used to it at this point* "mhm, stealthy hunters but just as dangerous when they decide to attack the face..."

*fireball was not happy and somehow managed to wiggle enough to loosen the tape and lands on CX to be followed by a angry cadet grade in trooper bodies brawl....Nemec then just slipped out*

Fireball: " YOU ARE INSANE ATTENTION HOG!!"

CX-2: " as if you are any better mister knock me out with a food tray and stuff me under the bed just to joke about cheesy stuff."

this will last for awhile be both give up...for now

[ripcurlreef]

thank u bad batch for giving us howzer

[ladykagewaki]

Ms Fangirl& Friends: New Friends from 2024

Ms Fangirl made many new friends this year...

@zaya-mo @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @ladykatakuri @marierg @thecoffeelorian @salubriousbean @bring-backup-99 @99tech99 @clonethirstingisreal @ilovethebabybatch @sunshinesdaydream @jane8675 @eclec-tech

I think this is all the "new" characters i doodled this year. Sorry if I missed any. My imagination was on overdrive. It will likely be slower this coming year as my job is changing (not a promotion) and will take more of my energy. But here's to a wonderful new year!