Did A Little Series Of Tbb And Love Languages…idk

Gorgeous Echo my love! Best tattoo idea for Echo. I love it so much! Rex-Fives-TBB … his history beautifully on display. 😍❤️

# echo never looked better

We just need more Echo, am I right?

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I recently revisited this story from @freesia-writes and was delighted. Again. Jesse written as “JESSE!” and then ‘jesse’ as more of him was revealed. Funny and heartfelt.

#jesse loves pookie #ptsd

Pets4Vets: Jesse (1/4)

Chapter 1 of 4 - Word Count: 3.2k - Jesse x Fem Reader Master List

“Thanks for dinner,” she said quietly, shifting her eyes from her plate to his and crossing one arm across herself to rub the outside of the other. 

“Yeah baby,” Jesse purred with a cocky grin. “I mean, I got the dinner but you brought the dessert.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a treat,” he said with a wag of his eyebrows. “Want to take the party back to your place?”

“Oh, um. I’ve got to work early, so I think that’s all I’ve got time for now. But thanks again,” she offered, trying to mask the cringe on her face with a disingenuous smile. 

“Alright, your loss… heheh…”

“Yeah…”

They made their way to the door of the restaurant, Jesse holding it open for her as she shuffled awkwardly past him. She hesitated on the sidewalk, turning back to face him with that same feeble grin. Another thanks for dinner. An offer to walk her home. Declined. A question about another date. After a long, uneasy pause, that was also declined.

Jesse kept up his best face, chest puffed and confidence set firmly in place, until she disappeared around the corner, then he slumped, turning to begin his own walk home. A glance at the chrono reminded him that he wasn’t allowed back in the apartment he shared with Kix for another hour and a half… The cramped flat they rented together didn’t allow for much privacy, and his roommate had been excited to take advantage of the alone time with his partner from Right to Love, a matchmaking service for clones wanting to live as freely as they were able since the war had ended and they were released from service. 

The endless flashing lights of the Coruscant streets were oppressively bright as he plodded aimlessly, unsure of where to go. A deep sense of resentment was growing within, and he didn’t realize he was muttering under his breath until a few strange looks from passersby clued him in. Many of his brothers had found immediate success with Right to Love, now experiencing the joys of a relationship in ways they’d never thought possible when they’d been nothing more than property their entire lives. And yet here he was, having tried to connect with five different people now, each one entirely put off by the end of the first date. His assigned case manager at Right to Love had assured him that matches weren’t always perfect the first time around, and sometimes the process took a little longer to ensure the ideal fit. 

Doubt was growing in the pit of his stomach as he walked. What was it about him that was getting in the way? He was throwing himself wholeheartedly into this pursuit, and yet each attempt seemed to be less encouraging than the last. The resentment began to coil in his chest, heating up into anger, and he leaned into it. Anger was familiar. Anger, he could deal with. It made him feel powerful and in control, pushing aside any tendrils of fear or sadness that lay at its core. A sign up his head caught his eye, and he turned abruptly to barge through the door. 

Music thumped inside, the small crowd on the dance floor moving as one to the beat, and he jostled his way around the edge to find a seat at the bar. He waited for a while, watching the bartender help customer after customer, including those that had arrived after him. When the man began polishing some glasses, Jesse finally called out, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Can I get some service here?”

The bartender slowly finished wiping his glass, sidling down to the end and resting his palms on the counter with no attempt to hide the disdain on his face. 

“Did your giant face tattoo block you from seeing the sign on the door?” he drawled. “No clones. Go back to your own district.”

“You’re living in the past,” Jesse growled, the snake in his chest twisting and hissing. “Credits are credits. What does it matter who they come from?” 

“Just get out,” exhorted a Zabrak on the stool beside him who’d had his back firmly turned to him from the start. “Before we make you.”

He’d had enough.

“Go ahead and try,” he snarled, smacking a fist on the counter and rising to his feet. The Zabrak was in his face immediately, flanked by a nat-born and a Weequay who looked far too excited to throw hands. 

“Know your place,” the nat-born taunted, leaping forward to throw a swing, which Jesse dodged and countered with one of his own, sinking a fist into the man’s stomach and earning a satisfying grunt of pain. The brawl exploded, quickly changing the three-on-one situation into an entire mob set on teaching the clone a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. The ARC trooper held his own, ducking and swinging, using leverage to toss one body into another, but the blows were coming from every direction. A foot to the back of his knee knocked him off balance, right into someone else’s fist.

The next thing he knew, he was unceremoniously thrown onto the sidewalk among a litany of curses and insults, and he scrambled to his feet, body throbbing with numerous bruises from the punches and kicks that had landed as he’d tried to hold them all off. His nose was bleeding, and he wiped it on his sleeve before pinching it hard, stalking toward his building in a tornado of rage. 

He sat outside on the stoop for the remaining hour, ruminating on the sheer injustice of it all. But eventually, the hot indignation quieted, and in the stillness, he fought to stuff down the disappointment that whispered judgment and failure in its place. 

* * * 

“Come on, give it a try.” Kix straightened his scrubs as Jesse slouched against his bedroom doorway. “It’ll be a different dynamic. Might be helpful.”

“I don’t need help,” Jesse scoffed, folding his arms across his broad chest. 

“I know,” Kix affirmed quickly, “But the food carts in the square are delicious. So bring your next date and just come along for that.” He smoothed a hand over his neatly-cut hair and tilted his head at his mirror, checking that the first few letters of his head tattoo were hidden as much as possible by his dark locks. The medical clinic he worked at had some fairly strict rules around personal appearance, and considering how difficult it was to find clone-friendly jobs, no matter how qualified they were, he wasn’t about to risk losing his placement over something as trivial as that. 

“Fine,” Jesse huffed. “I’m doing this for the ronto wraps, you know.”

Kix grinned, clapping him on the back and squeezing his shoulder as he headed for the front door. “You’ve been doing too much upper-body, vod. Have a leg day.”

“Hah. Go clean some crusty old geezers, di’kut.”

“Oh please. I’m saving lives out there,” Kix threw over his shoulder as the door closed behind him. Jesse sighed. That did seem like a much better purpose than his own job as a personal trainer at a local gym, where most of his clients were flaky hopefuls who wanted to get into shape without putting in the time and work that it required. It paid well enough, though, and gave him an outlet for a sense of purpose as well as a place to exercise. If he were honest, he’d hoped he’d meet someone there, figuring they’d be more aligned with his interests and lifestyle, but after months upon months of dismal prospects, he’d gone ahead and applied at Right to Love. He sighed, turning to rummage in the cooling chamber until it was time for work.

* * * 

Days of work and leisure blended together, and Jesse found himself spending more time at the gym, adding cardio sessions on top of his bodybuilding regimen as a way to blow off steam. He finally got another match from Right to Love and agreed to go on the double date with Kix and his partner, laboring a disproportionate amount of time over what to wear. He didn’t want to admit it, but with each date he felt increasingly desperate. Desperate to prove that there wasn’t something wrong with him. Desperate to feel like he had access to the whole variety of options for a “normal” life. Desperate to enjoy the care, intimacy, and connection that some of his brothers had found. 

He straightened the long-sleeved henley shirt and rolled up the sleeves a little. Ladies loved the forearms, right? Slipping a wallet into his back pocket, he checked his reflection one last time and ventured into the living room where Kix was waiting for him. 

“Here goes nothing,” he grumbled. 

“That’s the spirit,” Kix nodded sagely, a fond smirk on his face.

The square had a weekly event where all the food carts in the vicinity would gather to offer their delectable delicacies, and there really was something for everyone, making it a very popular attraction. Jesse swaggered beside his date, Kix and his partner bringing up the rear, and shared stories of valor and bravery as she nodded and made small sounds of agreement here and there. The four of them had shared some snacks from a variety of vendors and were now walking it off along the city streets. 

Coming to a somewhat scenic overlook of a steep dropoff with many Coruscant levels stretching down below, the four of them sat on a couple of benches. Kix stretched his arm across his partner’s shoulders, and they nestled into his side with an affectionate gaze. Jesse shifted awkwardly beside his date, a beautiful redhead that made his mouth go dry when he tried to talk. Yet he’d pushed past it with bravado and confidence, he felt simultaneously certain and completely unsure of her interest. Kix was murmuring in his date’s ear, bringing a demure smile to their face, and Jesse turned to look at the redhead beside him. 

“So… You mentioned some adventures in the jungle… Did I tell you about our campaign on Felucia?” he asked, launching into the story before she was able to respond. He wove an exhilarating tale of their encounter with both Separatist forces and the Commerce Guild, finishing with a flourish and grinning proudly. 

“Sounds like the war was wild,” she offered.

“You’re karking right it was,” he laughed, attempting to slip his arm around her shoulder as well, but she stood up quickly. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I… I’m gonna go.” 

Jesse watched her leave, speechless, then was flooded with embarrassment as he felt the eyes of Kix and his partner on his back. He slowly turned to face them, and the empathetic looks on their faces added insult to the injury. 

“See you at home,” he muttered to his brother, nodding to Kix’s partner and stuffing his hands in his pockets as he trudged back to their apartment. Kix watched him for a long time, nodding at the murmured condolences from his partner, who was incredibly kind and gentle, both admiring and strong in their own right, and he was regularly blown away at the fact that he’d been able to find them. Their compassion only served to deepen his own hope that his brother could find whatever it was he was looking for. 

* * * 

The next morning, a much-needed day off of work for both of them, Jesse was sprawled on the couch with a lazy hand resting on the steaming mug of caf on the nearby side table. Kix was scrambling some eggs in the kitchen, casting the occasional glance over the counter at his brother’s dejected slump. He was torn; Jesse was notoriously stubborn, but Kix also knew him better than most anyone else, and if he kept continuing in the same pattern, he would likely keep getting the same result. He flipped the eggs one more time and turned off the burner, scattering some shredded cheese over the top of them and putting a lid over the pan to melt it all together. 

“You… uh… seemed different last night,” he ventured, picking up his own caf, now mostly cold, and sitting in the armchair across from the downcast clone. 

“Mmm,” was the only response. 

“Does it always go that way?”

“Mmm.”

“What’s… What’s with the swagger stuff?” Kix asked, abandoning the subtlety. Jesse cast a hard look at him, but he caught the quickly-concealed flicker of hurt beneath the tattooed face.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Just doesn’t really seem like you. Did you answer the questionnaire honestly?”

“Yes!” Jesse said defensively, furrowing his brow.

“Well… then that might be why the dates aren’t going so well, if they’re expecting you to act… normal. You’re smart and pretty down-to-earth most of the time. Last night it felt more like you were trying to prove yourself somehow.”

His words stung, and Jesse balked at the feeling of being perceived so accurately. But a sense of resignation had settled in again, and he shrugged, attempting a nonchalant facade. 

“I’m just gonna get a pet. That’ll have to lo–... to put up with me, right?”

“Sure,” Kix sighed. “I’ve heard good things about P4V.”

“Look, di’kut, I know I can’t even get a second date, let alone some bedroom action, but I don’t think I have the credits for a sex worker… At least not a good one.”

“Classy as always,” Kix rolled his eyes. “It’s not a brothel, it’s called Pets 4 Vets. They have a variety of service animals to help with the difficult aspects of adjusting to civilian life.”

“I want a good-sized Massiff, not some fluffy little Loth-rat to lick me when I have ‘big feelings’,” Jesse snorted. 

“Kriff, you are thick sometimes.”

“Just these thighs.”

“Right. Just try it.”

“We’ll see.”

* * * 

You stroked a hand down the bogling's back, running fingers along the soft fur of its fluffy tail. It leaned into your touch with a contented noise, and you closed the cage behind it, watching it begin delicately eating its food before moving to the next kennel. You’d been working at Pets 4 Vets for a while now, and you felt thoroughly at home amid a great group of coworkers and an even better assortment of animals from every corner of the galaxy. They were all either in the process or finished with their training to be emotional support animals for the veterans who had served the Republic so well. You’d been a little unsure around the clones at first, not having spent any time with them before this, but they’d grown on you quite a bit and you’d been amazed at the complexity and individuality of each one. You’d also developed a knack for pairing them with animals, although it still took a few tries at times. 

“Good morning, tookas,” you said warmly as you slid the food bowl into the next crate, watching the two loth-cats eye it lazily from where they were curled around each other in the corner. They were a bonded pair, and last summer they had surprised the entire staff with a full litter of the most adorable babies you’d ever seen, who had since grown and been placed into loving homes. None of you had been too eager to see the parents leave, however, and it just so happened that none of the troopers so far had been the ideal match for them. The two of them roamed the clinic during the day, curling up near computer terminals or gracing guests in the lobby with their tails high in the air. At night, all the animals were tucked into their cozy kennels until morning, when they’d be fed and let out into their various programs for the day. Some had hours of training, others enjoyed free time inside or out, and some simply spent as much time as possible shadowing the clinic staff. 

“I wish I got breakfast in bed,” you murmured as you closed their door, watching the loth-cats yawn and nuzzle one another. You felt a deep sense of longing in your chest, and moved to the next cage to try to keep your mind from continuing on its current trajectory. But it was a lost cause. “Wish I had someone to wake up next to as well,” you continued. The dating scene hadn’t been kind to you, and if you were honest, you’d pretty much given up. Your friends urged you to keep the dream alive, to go on double dates with them and to meet the various eligible bachelors they knew, but nothing felt like a good fit. You assumed the problem was with you. And that was alright. You were happy enough on your own…you said. The clinic staff was a tightly-knit group, for the most part, and you authentically loved the animals. You felt fulfilled by the unconditional love you shared with each one, and you were so proud at the growth you got to witness as they went through training. 

The horde was fed, each one was released to its daily duty, and you began to clean all of the kennels, wondering if you should take your friend up on her offer to check out 79s. It felt completely out of your comfort zone, however. Not because of the clones, but you just generally weren’t a fan of loud, raucous environments, and you weren’t much of a drinker… So it didn’t seem like a very attractive prospect. As much as you were mocked for it, you weren’t really keen on one night stands, nor were you good at “keeping it casual”. You wanted a relationship with depth and longevity. Sometimes you wondered if the taunts about you were correct, that you had in fact watched too many cheesy holofilms and now had an unrealistic view of romance. 

Whatever.

A few hours of cleaning were followed by an hour or so at your computer, reviewing and categorizing the new applications. You didn’t realize you’d been completely hunched the entire time, your back rounded as you tapped away at the keys, and would have remained blissfully unaware if the receptionist hadn’t commented on it as soon as she popped in. 

“Geez, you look like a shrimp,” she laughed, dropping a data card on your desk. 

“You’re a bit of a cod yourself,” you teased, and she giggled, swatting your arm. “What’s this?”

“A new app. I was gonna bring him back here in person but he said he had lots of ‘big important stuff’ to do.” She rolled her eyes. “Quite the cocky one. He didn’t want to go through the interview process because he ‘knew what he wanted and it was a big dog’.” A chuckle followed the words as they both nodded. They were familiar with the type.

“Did you tell him he has to do an interview if he wants anything at all?”

“Yup. Said you’d contact him.”

“Lucky me.”

“Thought you might like a challenge. It’s been quiet for you lately,” she grinned.

“Considerate as always,” you smiled right back. 

“Have some fun with him. He could use someone taking him down a peg or two. Although I thought I could see the remnant of a black eye, so maybe someone already tried. He’s a big boy, too.” A suggestive wink.

“Oh boy. Can’t wait.”

Next Chapter

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ARC Trooper Badassery! Fives at his finest.

I call this gifset 'would not want to meet Fives on the battlefield'

Three of the finest.

#tcw #arc trooper echo #clone medic kix #clone captain Rex

⸻ Kix, Echo and Rex

The truth ain’t always pretty.

#clones clones clones

The next arc of Doc’s Misadventures! @staycalmandhugaclone continues this masterpiece. Poor Doc, trying to do the right thing in an environment that won’t support it. And being reintroduced to “Jester,” that was so fun! As always, waiting excitedly for more!

#hunter in running shorts! #doc thirsting

Reprocussions

Part (1) of the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Did the first series of cuts to my taglist - you don't reblog or comment, I don't tag - that's how Tumblr works, my dearies.

Warnings: Emotions. That's a warning in itself. Dread, arguing, guilt, regret, feeling overwhelmed. Also a touch of profanity. Also racism style prejudice. Oh, and some Hunter thirst.

WC: 3,874

Mando’a translation

ori’buyce, kih’kovid – all helmet, no head: someone with and overdeveloped sense of authority

Kamino was, at its core, a failed science experiment; what few inhabitants still clinging to life above tumultuous, unforgiving waves doing so purely from a futile denial of the impending ruination already evident in the violence of the oceans that overtook nearly the entirety of the planet’s stormy surface eons prior. That destruction was predestined; a simple consequence of climate, but what befell those inhabitants in the centuries that followed could be blamed on no one but themselves; driven to the edge of extinction not from natural catastrophe but from some ill-conceived need to eliminate traits arbitrarily deemed undesirable, altering the very code of their existence first through selective breeding, and then through artificial splicing until natural reproduction was not only deemed obsolete in their strive toward perfection, but became biologically impossible.

Perfection is the great myth of social naivety, offering aspirations veiled beneath the façade of a motivation that, in truth, results only in the inevitable collapse of will as goals prove eternally beyond reach. This toxic mentality, however, persists far longer than the spark of brilliance crushed beneath its unreachable expectations, but that illusion of perfection is infectious, destined to poison any subjected to its ideals not only with feelings of crippling inadequacy but also in granting false justification for prejudice against those labeled lesser through simple consequence of genetic expression.

I hated how that mentality had seeped into not only so many of the clones they’d created, but into myself as well, tainted by those beliefs not through direct correlation, but from a nearly equally unjust bias toward the clones themselves. Had I never met Hunter and his brothers, I’m not sure I would ever have truly noticed, but, after living with them and witnessing firsthand the cruelty their squad was subjected to because of it, each reg I saw instantly filled me with a distrust that brought with it a bang of guilt. It wasn’t every reg. I knew that. But it was enough to leave me torn between that guilt and the nagging reminder of just how damaging granting them the benefit of the doubt could be.

It was because of that bias that I refused to leave the medbay of the Vigilance for even a moment; not while Hunter was still bedbound and Crosshair needed to make frequent visits to continue monitoring the progress of his eyes. Admittedly, the term ‘bedbound’ was rather fiercely contested… particularly by Hunter, himself.

“No! You’re on med-leave for at least another week!” I was shouting again. “I don’t care if those orders came from the damn Grand Chancellor, himself!”  I’d been doing that a lot lately, whether in response to Hunter’s increasingly frustrated demands to be released or toward the ship’s staff insisting that I let them relieve me for a while. “It’s barely been four kriffing days since you were in hemorrhagic cardiac arrest!” It wasn’t healthy. “You’ve barely even started physical therapy!” I knew it wasn’t healthy.

“Because you won’t let me out of this kriffing bed!” He snarled back.

“Two weeks is the minimum recovery time for an injury like-”

“For a nat-born! Not a clone!” He interrupted. I still couldn’t look at him without seeing how pale his skin had been when I’d found him.

“You died!” The emptiness in those captivating eyes. “I barely managed to bring you back! Any other medic would have given up long before I did!” The terror I felt any time he was out of my sight, that fear that I might miss something critical; I knew it wasn't healthy… but I couldn’t risk seeing him like that again…

“Then get your head out of your shebs before we get do get stuck with some ‘other medic’!” He snapped, and my entire body froze with a sudden chill, muscles locked as the air stilled in my lungs. “You give them reason to think you can’t be objective with us, then there won’t be a damn thing I can say to keep some ori’buyce, kih’kovid from pulling you.” It wasn’t a threat. Despite how his voice dropped into that frightful growl, I knew it wasn’t a threat. He was begging me.

My teeth ground together, nostrils flared with barely controlled, shallow breaths. I said nothing as I turned and left. No words would come to me, nor did I have any confidence in my ability to force them past taut lips even if they did. I told myself it was rage that left my ears ringing, that sent a nauseating tingle dancing beneath my skin and prickling my fingertips, but I knew it was nothing so kind as that, nor so simple.

I thought of that night hidden away with Tech in the cockpit, how he’d teased me for admitting that I had nothing beyond him and his brothers; what that would leave me with if I was ripped away from them. Sick… Maker, I was going to be sick…

Clones did heal faster than nat-borns… but something about forcing them back into a war zone after so little time to recover… It wasn't fair… In so many aspects of life, clones were treated and viewed as lesser; granted fewer rights, spared little consideration for basic needs or comforts, awarded no thought toward self-autonomy… Forcing myself to adhere to those unjust standards ground against the very core of my being… but Hunter was right… If I pushed too far, if I was called out and removed, they'd be subjected to those same rules with far less compassion.

Despite the size of the Star Destroyer, it seemed impossible to find a breath of solitude, constantly dodging patrols or maintenance crew or janitorial workers; so, I walked. I’d barely glanced at the mission brief before lashing out, balking at the departure date looming in a mere three days, but it seemed a shockingly straightforward reconnaissance objective: confirm the presence of a droid factory that had supposedly just begun construction, and, if the reports were correct, plant enough explosives to level it before the thing could become a threat. Simple…

It wasn’t hunger that drew me toward the mess hall. I knew they’d be there, most of them, at least, and, though I wasn’t ready to actually speak with them, emotions still too raw to even feign some appearance of calm, I needed to see them. Tech’s arm no longer needed the support and protection of the sling, a fact he took advantage of before I’d properly cleared him, and he’d assured me that he’d tended both Echo’s shoulder and Wrecker’s knee while my attention was focused on Hunter and Crosshair, a kindness that only deepened my own growing sense of inadequacy even as I’d forced myself to offer my gratitude.

In the sea of nearly identical faces, my men screamed their defiance both through stature and in the striking contrast of their darkened armor amidst the white and gold of the 212th. It was because of that contrast that I was surprised to note an additional figure beside them; beside Wrecker. He dwarfed the man, an illusion that was only further accentuate by Crosshair and Tech's towering frames seated just across from them. Still, I found myself tensing, shoulders drawing back as my teeth ground, lips just hinting at a scowl, but I froze before taking that first step toward them. Smiling… Wrecker was smiling.

While I couldn't see their expressions from where I stood, Crosshair had his chin nestled atop his palm, elbow lazily hiked up on the table, an air of impatience screaming from how his head hung down toward a shoulder, more resigned than annoyed, and Tech appeared to actually be just as engaged with the reg as Wrecker. That guilt returned in force. They were talking; laughing… and I’d been so ready to assume the worst…

I studied them for a moment longer, gaze lingering on the gleeful face of the reg as I absently noted the faint scar bisecting one of his eyebrows. This wasn’t me… This neurotic mess, jumping to respond with violence before even granting a chance to speak… That man was no different than the troopers Emmy gave her life trying to help… His broad grin only twisted that bitter taste of shame and regret deeper into my chest, tightening some unseeable noose. It felt like something was about to snap, muscles locked so taut they threatened to shake.

Air fleeing me in a sharp huff, I turned on my heel and all but fled, boots clicking loudly against the harsh metal below in rushed strides just shy of running. Cody once warned me of how traumatic events could alter the dynamic of a group. I wondered, suddenly, why he knew that. It felt odd to think that the Kaminoans might have chosen to include such concepts in whatever glimpses of psychology they might have included in their training programs, but his words had held none of the hesitation of one speaking only through thin fragments of forced studies, the details of which had long since been forgotten. I wouldn’t doubt that his General was surely well versed in such things, but the Commander’s words held a weight far greater than what might be found through secondhand allusion. Had he seen the consequences of some similar horror? Watched the fallout helpless to stop it? What would he say to this? How might he judge the depth of my connection – my dependency – to these men? How quickly might he replace me?

I knew Hunter was right. There was a balance between what care I was allowed to give and the merciless demands of the GAR, and if I faltered too far in either direction, I’d lose them…

Hunter’s eyes snapped up as I reentered the room, body tensing where he stood just a few careful steps from his bed, and I watched that initial panic of being caught flare into a defensive glare, but I didn’t allow myself to sink back into what fears had fueled my earlier outbursts rebuking his every attempt to push himself; I didn’t allow myself the freedom of even acknowledging that fear, that whisper of doubt that I was still missing something; I couldn’t.

“I’m ordering a stress test.” I stated before he could bark out whatever argument clearly churned behind taut lips. Instantly, that tension fled him, powerful shoulders sinking beneath a hesitation that only further emphasized how apparently unreasonable he’d believed me to be, and I had to let my gaze fall to the now empty bed beside him to keep that realization from breaking me.

 “If the scars hold and you don’t start bleeding out again, I’ll clear you for duty.” I didn’t look at him as I said it, and the silence that followed was anything but kind. I had to keep myself from fidgeting, jaw ground.

“… Doc…” The quiet sympathy in his voice only pulled me nearer to the edge of breaking. Wrenching a quick, deep breath into my lungs, I snatched my datapad and rapidly typed in the order before I could talk myself out of it.

“You deserve better than this…” I barely whispered it, rage and despair twisting through the words. He called my name, and my throat seized against the ball of tears straining to escape.

“I'll get you some clothes.” I said stiffly and, before he could respond, before he could further justify the cruel reasoning behind his rushed return to the battlefield or offer some softly murmured reassurance that I couldn't risk letting myself believe, I turned away, steps once again tapping loudly on the hard floors. Three days… we had only three days before being forced to fight again... It was wrong…

I’d brought him a comfortable shirt along with his shorts for the stress test. He elected not to wear it. Whether that choice stemmed from a hope to flaunt how quickly his wounds were healing or something far less innocent, I wouldn't let myself think too deeply on it - straining to keep my gaze on the datapad in my hand instead than the wealth of power illustrated by his every stride.

Hunter’s hair was tied up in a messy bun rather than loosely held back by that faded bandana, revealing elegant lines of muscle sweeping from his thick neck down to broad shoulders honed to frightful perfection from years of ruthless fighting, from racing across battlefields with heavy weaponry held at the ready, from driving fist and blade alike through enemies made of flesh and metal and every combination in between. He’d gained nearly ten kilograms in the time I’d been with them, and that boon had only added to the lethal effigy of raw power before me; added to the very real danger he represented. That power scared me, once… but that was a long time ago.

“Pain level? Say anything less than three and I’ll throw a damn weight vest on you.” I threatened, speaking as though I wasn’t fighting to keep my gaze from following every drop of sweat as they slid down the valleys carved between abs accentuated by dark, coarse hair that narrowed in such a cruel invitation between the V is his hips before vanishing beneath the waistline of his shorts.

“Three.” I could hear his smirk, jaw tensing against the way my lips threatened to pull into a grin of my own even as I pointedly rolled my eyes at him.

“Any difficulty breathing? Stiffness or pressure or-”

“Pretty sure one of those fancy scanners would have started yelling at me if my lung was collapsing again.” He drawled, turning toward me with a knowing look. He’d been running for nearly an hour, and the man was barely winded… Still, I couldn’t silence that fear… that certainty that there was something…

“Alright…” I finally murmured, hand reluctantly reaching out to flutter over the controls. His attention didn’t waver as he gradually slowed to a stop, chest swelling with barely quickened breaths. There was a sense of defeat sown deeply through that single word that forbade me from meeting his eyes for a long moment, studying the readout of his vitals one last time before making myself look at him. “If anything feels off – if the pain gets worse or you feel short of breath, I swear to the Force, Hunter, you need to tell me.” It was supposed to be an order, but the desperation drowning me left it anything but, and the softness in the way he sighed my name robbed me of even a sliver of denial that he hadn’t noticed as he slowly crossed the room.

“I will.” He could have mocked me; could have dismissed my fears with overly confident boasts and promises, but he didn’t, and that granted a far greater comfort that he could possibly know… Still…

“I don’t like this…” I barely whispered it, finally letting the weight of that terrible dread tug at the corners of my lips, shoulders sinking with a helplessness neither of us had any hope of fixing.

“I know.” He murmured. For just a moment, his shoulder tensed, arm just beginning to move before he forced it still, and I mourned the loss of that touch he hadn't allowed himself to give, the warmth of his hand stolen from me for fear of wandering eyes and over-eager rumors.

My gaze fell, lingering for just a moment on that hand, on the ridges of veins and spiderwebs of scars, on the memory of the dizzying contrast between the roughness of calluses stretching across palm and fingertips alike, and how gentle I knew his touch to be.

“Someone stays with you.” That, at least, carried some hint of authority as I drew a shaky breath before looking back up at him. “I don't care what happens, someone stays with you at all times.” The patches of bare skin where the electrodes had gone refused to let me forget how still he’d been between those horrid moments when his body had seized beneath the flood of electricity meant to restart his heart. The bruising had already begun fading from his chest, but I’d never be able to forget how stark the outline of my palms had looked, how dark the mottled purples and red were in those hours after bringing him back…

He let out a quiet huff at my order, head tilting down slightly to better hold my gaze.

“Yes, ma’am.” My lips pursed slightly at that teasing lilt, and I had to fight back the threat of heat spreading up my neck at the low rumble of his voice.

Drawing a deep breath, I finally turned away from him, attention falling back to my datapad to clear him before I could find some excuse not to.

“And you’re wearing a chest brace.” I added, cheeks burning at the quiet chuckle it drew from him.

“Alright.” He hummed through that little smirk that sent my heart racing, brow hitching slightly. “Anything else?” My jaw jut forward against the smile toying with the edge of my own lips.

“Give me a sec, and I’ll think of something.” I shot back, arms crossing my chest with a heatless glare, but he only responded with another soft laugh.

 The following day passed in a blur; endless paperwork to finish, a shocking amount of supplies to restock, as well as overseeing what precious few hours of physical therapy I could force each of them through before we were scheduled to leave. Nearly each of them, at least. Wrecker's knee had some lingering stiffness, but that faded with minor warmups. Tech's arm was still notably weak, but he assured me he'd already tested for nerve damage, and I had no reason to doubt him, resigned to merely monitor it over the coming weeks. Crosshair had spent much of the time aboard the massive flagship in their gun range, and he had no qualms with proving just how thoroughly his eyes had healed. But Echo… Echo had vanished under the guise of “requisitioning" materials to finish building his new legs, an occasional message our only reassurance that he was still onboard.

I shouldn't have been surprised to note the missing supplies during my final check of the Marauder's medbay, but the little pang of disappointment was there regardless. The night cycle had nearly begun, and the thought of sinking in-between warm sheets and warmer arms taunted me as I reluctantly noted the missing bacta and bandages, and started wearily back to the hanger's storage room, empty box cocked against my hip.

Night had little meaning in space. It was a label meant only to grant some illusion of familiarity; a place-keeper for the sake of simplicity despite the fact that “night" had a thousand different meanings on a thousand different planets. What days or weeks spent in the in-between of hyperspace were usually used to gradually adjust perception to match the cycle of one’s destination.

The Vigilance, however, had no destination. If she neared a planet, it was for the sake of a brutal onslaught void of any consideration toward night and day. Men died in the darkness just as easily as in the light. So the Vigilance rotated between an imagined night and day solely because such a thing was expected, but, in truth, it made no difference beyond a simple shift change to those sentenced to remain in that liminal existence. Solders still marched through halls on patrol amidst maintenance crews and cleaner bots and all manner of workers striving to keep the vessel ready to fight at a moment's notice, and they spared me little consideration as I wove between them, just another cog churning within the Republic’s war.

“It was a trick question.” My attention snapped up, surprised to find a clone standing a few meters away just within the door of the supply room, a tentative smile on his youthful face. I nearly glanced behind me, but there was no mistaking who he was speaking to.

“I… didn’t ask a question.” I replied hesitantly, mind struggling to make sense of the odd interaction as I studied the man before me. His left brow was split from some barely visible scar, and his nose was ever so slightly askew, but his eyes were free of that haunted distance that had become far too common among the more war-hardened soldiers.

“Droid poppers.” He said as though that might explain everything. A moment later, I finally realized that it did, eyes widening, and his lips pulled into a broad grin, shoulders shaking with the faintest hint of laughter. My mouth opened, but I was too surprised to fathom a response.

“Jester.” He offered stealing a few slow steps closer., and I couldn’t quite hide the wince, but he only laughed harder.

“Feel like I might owe you an apology for that.” I offered with a sympathetic chuckle.

“Well, I did have a couple more… exciting names I would have preferred, but…” he shrugged, “I kind of earned it.” The ease of his aloofness was a stark balm to the heaviness of the past several days, and I readily welcomed that lightness with a smile of my own.

“I don’t think that was a trick question.” I belatedly retorted, instantly earning an animated eyeroll.

“But it was definitely meant to make me look like a damn fool.” I couldn’t help but snicker, nose scrunching with a knowing smirk.

“Just be glad I sent you to Wrecker instead of Tech.” He let out a heavy huff at my response.

“Tech was there.” He stated flatly, and I let out an unapologetic snort. “I think he’s going to try to make my entire batch repeat basic chemistry…”

“But now you know how to make an incendiary grenade from spare parts.” I teased. His shoulders dropped, brows furrowing above a fond glare.

“Yeah. Several ways, in fact.” He drawled, earning another bout of laughter from me.

“He’s… really nice.” Jester’s voice fell into a near whispered, expression softening with a touch of remorse.

“Yeah,” I murmured quietly, “He really is… They all are.” I added, but the skeptical look he shot me drew a knowing chuckle even as I tried to suppress it. “They are.” I pressed. “Just… need to earn it, first.” His gaze fell at that, jaw shifting stiffly as that remorse grew.

“I tried to apologize… He wouldn’t even let me finish.”

“Words… don’t really matter much to him.” I explained gently. “You reached out… And since Crosshair was there and you don’t have any black eyes, I’m assuming you did it respectfully.” He let out a quiet huff.

“Thanks.” He whispered after a brief moment of silence. I didn’t have to wait long before he continued. “I needed some sense knocked into me… would have preferred you do it in a less embarrassing way, but…” His eyes rose back to meet mine. “Thanks.”

“Let’s not make a habit of it.” I replied, words quiet before drawing a deep breath and glancing back at the still empty crate. “You got out of it last time, but, since you’re here, how about you help me pack for our next mission?” That beaming smile instantly returned to his lips as he eagerly started toward me.

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Bad ass ARC Echo ❤️🔥

Sigh 😍😍😍

Yeah, Echo showing off his one-arm pull up is one of the moments I always watch several times over when rewatching "Rampage." Partially because I've been working on pull ups for years now and still can't do even one, so I'm always impressed by those who can. But also, it's Echo 😍

# truth

🙌✨✨💖💖💖💖

Legit maniac.

I can only imagine the utter carnage that would be Tech playing this:

Thanks @zahmaddog I’ll see if I know 10 people. (Oh, I don’t.)

List 10 your favorite characters from 10 different fandoms, then tag 10 people.

In no particular order:

1. Echo - Star Wars

2. Spike - Buffy/Angel

3. Dr. Cox - Scrubs

4. Fiona Glenanne - Burn Notice

5. The Vulture - Brooklyn 99

6. Charon - John Wick

7. Nacho Varga - Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul

8. Jack Donaghy - 30 Rock

9. Sameen Shaw - Person of Interest

10. Angela Montenegro - Bones

No Pressure! @techhasmjolnir @badbatchsprincess @missfrieden

List your 10 favorite characters from 10 different Fandoms, then tag 10 people!

Thanks for the tag, @mystical-salamander!

1. Garazeb Orrelios, Star Wars

2. Alastor, Hazbin Hotel

3. Starscream, Transformers

4. Shadow the Hegehog, Sonic the Hedgehog

5. Castiel, Supernatural

6. Blitzø, Helluva Boss

7. Fox McCloud, Starfox

8. Shawn Spencer, Psych

Can't think of any more 😅

Tags: @seth-shitposts @heart-0f-a-rebel16 @lost-in-derry @birdsandbeetlesandmoths and anybody else who wants to do this!