“The Stillness Between Waves”

Star Wars: Bad batch - Luscious Locks

[The Bad Batch are sitting down at a table to eat an actual meal] Crosshair: [absolutely disgusted] Hunter, I swear. If I find ONE MORE HAIR in my food… Hunter: Jealous of my luscious locks? 😏 Crosshair: That’s it! I’m shaving you bald. [Under his breath] Never had to deal with this in the empire. Omega: Don’t! Hunter’s senses will be dulled! Hunter: Yeah, Crosshair. Listen to the kid. My- wait. What? Omega: Hunter’s hair amplifies his senses by acting as an extension of his nervous system. Hunter: Oh, really? 😑 What about smell? Omega: Nose hair. Hunter: Sight? Omega: Eyelashes. Hunter: Hearing? Omega: Ear hair. Hunter: …Fashion sense? Echo: Pft! That ‘tactical’ scarf says otherwise. Hunter: It messes with facial recognition! Echo: How? We share the same face. [Hunter and Echo start bickering] Crosshair, to Tech: She’s kidding, right? Tech: Wrecker, don’t touch that! [Leaves without answering] Crosshair: She’s kidding, right?!

The ADHD urge to not

Salve! I was wondering if you could do a 501st x Fem!Reader where she can comfort the boys after they have nightmares. Cuddly and fluffy fic? Love your work! 💙🇳🇴

“The Warmth Between Wars”

501st x Fem!Reader

⸻

The war was quiet tonight, at least on this side of the stars.

Your bunk was tucked into the corner of the 501st’s temporary barracks, a little pocket of calm in a galaxy always set to burn. The lights were dim, the hum of the base a low lull, and most of the troopers were supposed to be asleep.

But you’d learned that sleep didn’t come easy to men who’d seen too much.

That’s why you stayed awake—your blankets soft and open, arms ready, heart steady.

The first to appear was Hardcase—because of course it was. Loud in everything he did except when he was hurting. You heard his footsteps even before you saw him.

“Hey,” he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Couldn’t shut my brain off. Kept hearing the gunfire… y’know. Just noise. Dumb.”

You patted the spot beside you. “It’s not dumb.”

Hardcase flopped down like a kicked puppy, curling into your side with his head pressed against your chest. “You smell better than blaster fire,” he mumbled.

You chuckled, brushing a hand through his wild hair. “High praise.”

A few minutes later, Echo slipped in like a ghost, eyes hollow.

“Wasn’t even my nightmare,” he whispered. “It was Fives’. I heard him in his sleep.”

“Then bring him too.”

Echo looked back over his shoulder. Sure enough, Fives emerged from the shadows, rubbing his eyes.

“You’re like a kriffing magnet,” Fives grumbled, but he smiled when he saw you and Hardcase.

“Only for broken things,” you teased softly.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Fives replied, nestling in beside Echo, his back brushing yours. You reached back and grabbed his hand, grounding him.

The bunk was growing crowded—but there was always room.

Kix came next, grumbling about how it wasn’t “medically advisable” for this many people to share a bunk, but you knew better.

“You’re not here for medical advice, are you?” you asked.

“…No,” he muttered, surrendering as he slid under the blanket at your feet, resting his head near your knees.

Then Appo arrived, quiet and unsure, his helmet still on.

“You can take it off,” you said gently. “You don’t have to wear the war in here.”

He hesitated… then removed it.

The look in his eyes told you everything: too many losses. Too much weight.

You pulled him down beside you. “Just for tonight, let it go.”

Jesse and Dogma came together—one cracked jokes, the other said nothing. But both of them settled close, drawn by the comfort you offered without needing to ask.

Eventually, even Rex came.

He stood at the edge of the pile like a soldier standing watch. Not ready to be vulnerable. Not yet.

“Captain?” you said softly.

His eyes flicked to yours.

You didn’t pressure him. Just opened your arm, just a little, just enough.

Rex hesitated… then stepped forward and sank to the floor beside your bunk, resting his head against your thigh. You ran your fingers through his hair, slow and steady.

No one spoke for a while. The room was warm with breath and body heat, filled with the soft sound of steady inhales.

For just a few hours, there was no war. No armor. No titles. Just tired men wrapped around someone who loved them.

You pressed your lips to the crown of Fives’ head, gave Jesse’s hand a squeeze, and reached down to cup Rex’s cheek.

“You’re safe,” you whispered. “All of you. Tonight, you’re safe.”

And the nightmares stayed away.

Flower boy 🌻

Prettiest man ever!?? Fives in a flowercrown is something i didnt know i needed to draw for therapy ❤️‍🩹

once again i love how star wars takes place in a massive galaxy with thousands of planets and billions of people, and yet every bounty hunter knows each other personally

“Brothers in the Making” pt.4

Command Squad x Reader

The new training was brutal.

You made good on your warning.

Every morning started with live-fire simulations — no safeties. No shortcuts. Hand-to-hand drills until they couldn’t lift their arms. Obstacle courses under pelting rain and wind so strong it knocked them off balance. You pushed them until they bled, and then made them do it again.

And they got better.

Fox stopped hesitating.

Bacara stopped grinning.

Wolffe started thinking before acting.

Cody led with silence and strength.

Rex? Rex was starting to look like a leader.

You saw it in the way the others followed him when things got hard.

But even as your cadets got sharper, meaner, closer — something shifted outside your control.

Kamino got crowded.

You noticed it in the hangars first. Rough-looking men and women in mismatched armor, chewing on ration sticks and watching the cadets like predators sizing up meat.

Bounty hunters.

The Kaminoans had started bringing them in — not for your cadets, but for the rank-and-file troopers.

Cheap, nasty freelancers. People who'd kill for credits and leak secrets for less.

You weren’t the only one who noticed.

You slammed your tray down in the mess beside Jango, Kal Skirata, and Walon Vau.

Skirata didn’t even look up from sharpening his blade. “So. You see them too.”

“They stink like trouble,” you muttered.

Jango grunted. “Kaminoans don’t care. They want results. Faster, cheaper.”

“They’re not Mandalorian,” Vau said coldly. “No honor. No code. Just teeth.”

You leaned back in your seat, arms crossed. “They’re whispering to the clones. Getting too friendly.”

“Probably scoping them out,” Kal muttered. “Seeing who’s soft. Who’ll break first.”

Jango’s voice was low and lethal. “If one of them talks — if any of them breathes a word to the Separatists—”

“We're done,” you finished for him.

Silence settled over the table like a weight.

You glanced around the mess. One of the hunters was laughing with a group of standard cadets, tossing them pieces of gear like candy. Testing their limits. Grooming.

Your blood boiled.

“They’re not going near my boys,” you said quietly.

Kal looked over, sharp-eyed. “You planning something?”

“I’m planning to watch,” you replied. “And if they so much as look at my cadets sideways—”

“You’ll gut them,” Vau said. “Good.”

That night, as the storm beat against the training dome, you walked past the dorms. The lights were dim, but you could hear muffled voices inside.

“—you really think we’re ready?”

“Doesn’t matter. Buir thinks we are.”

“Yeah but… what if those bounty hunters—”

You stopped outside the door. Knocked once.

The room went dead quiet.

You stepped in.

The cadets snapped to attention.

You gave them a look. “You worried about the new visitors?”

They didn’t answer.

Rex stepped forward. “We don’t trust them.”

“Good,” you said. “Neither do I.”

They relaxed — just slightly.

“You,” you added, “have one advantage those other clones don’t.”

“What’s that?” Bacara asked.

You looked each of them in the eye.

“You know who you are. You know who you trust. You know what you’re fighting for.”

Fox swallowed. “And the others?”

“They’ll learn,” you said. “Or they’ll fall.”

A long silence followed.

Then Cody said quietly, “We won’t let them touch the brothers.”

You gave a small, proud nod. “That’s what makes you more than soldiers.”

You looked to each of them in turn.

“You’re protectors.”

———

The first hit came during evening drills.

You weren’t there. You’d been pulled into a debrief with Jango and the Kaminoan Prime. That’s why it happened. Because you weren’t watching.

Because they were.

The bounty hunters had been circling the younger cadets all week. The ones just starting to taste their own strength — just old enough to be cocky, not old enough to know when to shut up.

The hunters pushed them harder than protocol allowed. Made them spar past exhaustion. Made them fight dirty. Gave them real knives instead of training ones.

Neyo ended up with a dislocated shoulder.

Gree broke two ribs.

Bly passed out from dehydration.

And the worst?

Thorn.

One of the bounty hunters slammed him face-first into the training deck.

Hard enough to split his forehead open and leave him unconscious for thirty terrifying seconds.

By the time you arrived, Thorn was being carried out by two med droids, blood streaking down his temple, barely coherent.

The bounty hunter just stood there, arms folded, like nothing had happened.

You didn’t say a word.

You decked him.

One punch — a sharp right hook to the jaw. Dropped him cold.

Kal held you back before you could go in for another.

“You’re done,” you snarled at the Kaminoans who came running. “Get these kriffing animals off my training floor.”

“We were merely increasing the resilience of the standard units,” one of the white-robed scientists said coolly.

You stepped toward her.

“You try to touch any of mine,” you growled, “and you’ll see just how resilient I am.”

———

Later that night, the cadets met in the shadows of the observation deck. Not just your five — all of them.

Cody. Rex. Bacara. Fox. Wolffe.

Neyo. Keeli. Gree. Thorn. Stone. Bly.

Monk. Doom. Appo. Ponds.

Even a few of the younger ones — still waiting to earn names.

They were tense. Quiet. Watching the door. Waiting.

Keeli spoke first. “They’ll come back.”

Fox crossed his arms. “Then we hit them first.”

“Without Buir?” Rex asked, wary.

“She can’t be everywhere,” Wolffe muttered.

Monk frowned. “This isn’t a sim. These guys aren’t playing.”

Neyo leaned against the wall. “Neither are we.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Rain drummed against the glass overhead.

Finally, Gree spoke. “We don’t have to fight them.”

They all turned.

“We just have to outsmart them.”

They waited for their moment.

It came two days later. A late-night combat session with three of the bounty hunters, deep in one of the isolated auxiliary domes. No cams. No observers. Just a handful of cadets, and three heavily armed mercs ready to “teach them a lesson.”

They never saw it coming.

Rex faked an injury — stumbled, cried out, fell to one knee.

Bly drew the hunter in close, under the guise of helping him.

Gree triggered the power outage.

Fox, Neyo, and Bacara moved in from the shadows like ghosts.

Monk and Doom stole their gear.

Keeli hit them with a stun baton he “borrowed” from the supply closet.

By the time the lights came back on, the bounty hunters were zip-tied to the floor, unconscious or groaning, surrounded by sixteen bruised, grinning cadets.

They didn’t tell the Kaminoans what happened.

Neither did the hunters.

The next day, those bounty trainers were gone.

You knew something had happened. Jango did too.

You pulled Rex aside, arms crossed. “We didn’t do anything.”

“I didn’t ask,” you said.

He stood a little straighter. “Then I won’t tell.”

You smiled.

For a second, you almost said it.

Almost.

But not yet.

Instead, you gave him a nod.

“Well done, kid.”

———

Tipoca City was never supposed to feel like a warzone.

But that night — under blacked-out skies and howling wind — the storm broke inside the walls.

It started with Jango leaving.

He met you, Kal Skirata, and Walon Vau on the upper platform, rain hammering down in waves, cloak rippling behind him.

“Got called offworld,” he said without preamble. “Client I can’t ignore.”

You frowned. “Problem?”

He glanced at the Kaminoan tower, where sterile lights still glowed behind long windows.

“Yeah. Ten of those kriffing bounty scum are still here. Kaminoans won’t remove them.”

Kal spat on the ground. “Let me take care of it.”

“You, Vau, and her,” Jango said, nodding to you. “Handle it before I get back.”

He walked off without waiting for a reply.

The next few hours passed too quietly.

You and Kal did recon.

Vau slipped through maintenance corridors.

Then — the lights flickered.

The main comms cut out.

And every blast door in Tipoca City slammed shut.

———

In the Mess hall Neyo was mid-bite into a ration bar when it happened.

The lights dimmed. The far wall sparked. The room went deathly silent.

There were thirty cadets inside — the full command unit. And five Republic Commando cadets, seated near the back. All in training blacks, all unarmed.

Then the doors slid open.

Ten bounty hunters walked in.

Wearing full armor. Fully armed.

The first one tossed a stun grenade across the room.

The cadets scrambled — diving behind tables, flipping trays, shielding younger brothers.

A loud, metallic slam.

The doors locked again.

But this time, from outside.

A voice crackled over the mess intercom.

“Don’t worry, boys,” you said, voice steady, cold. “We’re here.”

One by one, the lights above the bounty hunters started popping.

Out of the shadows stepped you, Kal Skirata, and Walon Vau.

Three Mandalorians. Blasters drawn. Knives sheathed. No fear.

“Let’s clean up our mess,” Vau muttered.

The fight wasn’t clean.

It was fast. Ugly. Vicious.

You moved first — disarmed the closest hunter with a twist of your wrist and drove your elbow into his throat.

Kal went for the one reaching toward the Commando cadets, snapped his knee and disarmed him with a headbutt.

Vau took two down in five seconds. Bone-snapping, brutal.

The cadets rallied. Neyo and Bacara flanked the room, herding the younger ones behind upended tables. Rex shoved Keeli out of harm’s way and grabbed a downed shock baton.

Thorn cracked a chair over a hunter’s back.

Bly and Gree tag-teamed one into unconsciousness with nothing but boots and fists.

But then—

One of them grabbed Cody.

Knife to his throat.

Your blood ran cold.

“No one move,” the hunter snarled, voice wild. “Open the door. Now.”

You stepped forward slowly, hands up, helmet off.

“Let him go,” you said, voice low.

“Back off!” he yelled. “I’ll do it!”

Then — he started cutting.

Cody didn’t scream. Didn’t cry out.

Just clenched his jaw as blood ran down his brow and over his eye.

You saw red.

You lunged.

One shot — straight through the hunter’s shoulder — and he dropped the blade.

Before he hit the ground, you were there, catching Cody as he fell.

He blinked up at you, blood running down his face, trembling.

You cupped the back of his head gently, voice soft but steady. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Kal secured the last hunter. Vau stood guard at the door. The mess was a wreck of overturned tables, scorch marks, and groaning mercenaries.

You looked down at Cody.

The top of his brow and temple was sliced deep. Ugly.

He winced as you cleaned it.

“That’s going to scar,” you said quietly.

Cody met your gaze — steady now, strong, even through the pain.

“I don’t care.”

You smiled faintly.

“Good. You earned it.”

The mess hall had long since fallen silent.

The medics came and went. The unconscious bounty hunters had been dragged off to confinement cells. The lights flickered gently above, casting a soft blue hue over the now-empty space.

The only ones left were you and your cadets.

Twenty-three young men. Battle-scarred, bloodied, tired.

And very, very proud.

You sat on a table, legs swinging, helmet in your lap. A few bruises blooming on your jaw, a cut on your knuckle — nothing you hadn’t dealt with before. Nothing you wouldn’t do again in a heartbeat for them.

They lingered near you, some sitting, some leaning against overturned chairs, some standing silently — waiting for you to speak.

You looked at each one of them.

Wolffe, arms crossed but still wincing slightly from a bruise on his side.

Rex, perched beside Bly, both quiet but alert.

Fox, pacing a little like he still had adrenaline to burn.

Bacara and Neyo flanking the younger cadets instinctively.

Keeli, Gree, Doom, Thorn, Monk, Appo — all watching you.

Cody, sitting close by, with fresh stitches across his brow. His scar. His mark.

You let the silence hang a little longer, then finally exhaled and said, “You did well.”

They didn’t respond — not right away — but you could see the pride simmering behind their eyes.

You stood and walked slowly in front of them, glancing from face to face.

“You’ve trained hard for months. You’ve pushed yourselves, pushed each other. But today…” You paused. “Today was something different.”

They listened closely, the weight of your words pulling them in.

“You were outnumbered. Unarmed. Surprised.” Your voice softened. “But you didn’t break. You protected each other. You adapted. You fought smart. And you stood your ground.”

Your gaze swept across the room again, and this time, there was no commander in your expression — only pride. And something close to love.

“You showed courage. And resilience. And heart.”

You walked back toward Cody, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“If this is the future of the Republic Army…” you smiled faintly, “then the galaxy’s in better hands than it knows.”

You looked at all of them again.

“I’m proud of you. Every single one of you.”

For a moment, the room was silent again.

Then a quiet voice piped up from behind Rex.

“Does this mean we get to sleep in tomorrow?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not a chance.”

Laughter broke through the tension — real, loud, echoing off the walls.

Fox clapped Rex on the back.

Cody leaned lightly against you and didn’t say a word — he didn’t have to.

You stayed there a while longer, sitting with them, listening to the soft hum of rain against the dome. For now, there was no war. No Kaminoans. No Jedi.

Just your boys. Just your family.

And in the stillness after the storm, it was enough.

—————

*Time Skip*

The storm had been relentless for days — even by Kamino standards.

But today, there was something different in the air. The kind of stillness that only came before things broke apart.

You felt it the second the long corridor doors opened.

You were walking back from the firing range, datapad in one hand, helmet under your arm — drenched from the rain, mud on your boots, blaster at your hip.

And that’s when you saw him.

Tall, cloaked in damp robes, ginger hair swept back, beard trimmed neatly — Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He stood beside the Kaminoan administrator, Taun We, as she gestured down the corridor, her voice echoing in that soft, ethereal way.

You blinked. “Well, well.”

Obi-Wan turned at the sound of your voice, brow arching in surprise.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, smirking lightly.

“Likewise,” Kenobi said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Though I should’ve known—where there’s chaos, you’re never far behind.”

You walked up to him, nodding politely to Taun We, who dipped her head and continued speaking about clone maturation cycles.

“Nice robes,” you said. “Still playing Jedi or are you finally moonlighting as a diplomat?”

“Depends on the day,” he quipped. “And you? Still collecting foundlings?”

That made you pause.

You glanced at the clone cadets moving through the hall up ahead — your boys. Young, serious, sharp-eyed. Already starting to look like soldiers.

“They’re not foundlings anymore,” you said, quieter now. “They never were.”

Kenobi’s smile faded slightly. “They’re… the clones?”

You nodded. “Each one.”

“And you’ve been… training them?”

You looked back at him. “Raising them.”

That gave him pause.

He walked a few paces in silence before saying, “And what do you think of them?”

You smiled to yourself. “Braver than most warriors I’ve met. Fiercer than any squad I’ve served with. Smarter than they get credit for. Loyal to a fault.”

Obi-Wan’s expression softened. “They’re children.”

“Not anymore,” you said. “They don’t get the chance to be.”

He studied you a long moment. “They trust you.”

“I’d die for them,” you said simply. “They know that.”

He nodded slowly, then leaned in, voice lower. “I need to ask you something.”

You met his eyes.

“A man named Jango Fett,” he said. “He’s been identified as the clone template. The Kaminoans say he was recruited by a Jedi. But no Jedi I know would authorize a clone army in secret.”

You held his gaze. “Jango’s a good man.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

You exhaled. “He’s… complicated. He believes in strength. In legacy. In survival. He was proud to be chosen.”

Kenobi tilted his head. “And now?”

You looked down the corridor, where the rain slashed against the long window.

“Now?” you said. “He’s been taking jobs that… don’t sit right with me. His clients are powerful. Dangerous.”

Obi-Wan folded his arms. “Separatists?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you said, “Jango’s alone in what he’s made. But not in the burden. He just won’t let anyone carry it with him.”

Obi-Wan looked at you, long and careful. “And if he’s working for Dooku?”

“Then I’ll stop him,” you said. Quiet. Unshakable. “Even if it breaks everything.”

There was silence between you for a moment. Only the soft hum of the lights and the sound of rain.

Then Kenobi said, “We may all be asked to choose sides soon.”

You gave him a faint smile. “I already did.”

And with that, you turned and walked down the corridor — toward the cadets. Toward your boys. Toward the storm you could feel coming.

————

The hangar was alive with the sound of marching boots and humming gunships. The Kaminoan platforms gleamed under the harsh light of early morning, and the storm above was quieter than usual — almost like Kamino itself was holding its breath.

You stood near the gunships with your helmet tucked under your arm, the rain catching in your hair, your armor polished but worn. This was it.

Your boys — your commanders and captains — were suiting up, double-checking blasters, loading onto transports in units of ten, fifty, a hundred. The moment they’d been bred for was finally here.

And you hated every second of it.

“Buir!”

You turned as Cody jogged up to you, followed quickly by Fox, Rex, Wolffe, Bacara, Bly, Gree, Keeli, Doom, Appo, Thorn, Neyo, Monk, Stone, Ponds — all of them. Every one of them now bearing their names. Every one of them about to step into a galaxy on fire.

“You’re not coming with us?” Rex asked, brow furrowed beneath his helmet.

“No,” you said softly. “Not this time.”

They exchanged looks. Several stepped closer.

“Why?” Wolffe asked.

You smiled faintly. “Because I’ve fulfilled my contract. My time here is done.”

“But we still need you,” Bly said. “You’re our—”

“I’m your buir,” you interrupted, voice firm. “And that means knowing when to let you stand on your own.”

They fell quiet.

You stepped forward and looked at each one of them — your gaze lingering on every face you had once taught to punch, to shoot, to think, to feel. They were men now. Soldiers. Leaders.

And still, in your heart, they were the boys who once snuck into your quarters late at night, scared of their own future.

“You’re ready,” you told them. “I’ve seen it. You’ve trained for this. Bled for this. Earned this. You are commanders and captains of the Grand Army of the Republic. You are the best this galaxy will ever see.”

Cody stepped forward, his voice tight. “Where will you go?”

You looked up at the storm.

“Where I’m needed.”

A beat passed.

“Don’t think for a second I won’t be watching,” you said, flicking your commlink. “I’ll be on a secure line the whole time. Monitoring every channel, every order. I’ll know the second you misbehave.”

That drew a few smiles. Even a quiet chuckle from Thorn.

Fox stepped forward, standing at attention. “Permission to hug the buir?”

You rolled your eyes, but opened your arms anyway.

They came in like a wave.

Armor scraped armor as they all stepped in — clumsy and loud and warm, a heap of brothers trying to act tough but holding on just long enough to not feel like kids again.

You held them all.

And then, like true soldiers, they pulled back — each nodding once before heading to their ships. Helmets on. Rifles in hand.

Cody was the last to go. He looked back at you as the ramp began to rise.

“Stay safe,” he said.

You gave a small nod.

“We’ll make you proud.”

“You already did.”

Then the gunships roared, rising one by one into the sky, and disappeared into the storm.

And you were left on the platform, alone.

But not really.

Because your voice was already tuned into their frequencies, your eyes scanning the holo feeds.

And your heart — your heart went with them.

————

She never returned to Kamino.

The rain still haunted her dreams sometimes, the echo of thunder over steel platforms, the scent of blaster oil and sea salt clinging to her skin. But when she left, she left for good.

The cadets she had raised — the ones who had once looked to her like a sister, a mentor, a buir — were no longer wide-eyed boys in numbered armor.

They were commanders now. Captains. Leaders of men.

And the war made them legends.

From the shadows of Coruscant to the deserts of Ryloth, from Umbara’s twisted jungles to the burning fields of Saleucami — she watched. She listened. She followed every mission report she could intercept, every coded message she wasn’t supposed to hear.

She couldn’t be with them. But she knew where they were. Every. Single. Day.

Bacara led brutal campaigns on Mygeeto.

Fox walked a knife’s edge keeping peace in the heart of chaos on Coruscant.

Cody fought with unwavering precision at Kenobi’s side.

Wolffe’s transmissions grew fewer, rougher. He was changing — harder, colder.

Rex’s loyalty to his General turned to quiet defiance. She recognized it in his voice. She’d taught him to think for himself.

Keeli, Thorn, Gree, Ponds, Neyo, Doom, Bly, Stone, Monk, Appo… all of them. She tracked them, stored every piece of data, every victory, every loss. Not as a commander. Not as a strategist.

As their buir.

She moved from system to system — never settling. Always watching. A ghost in the shadows of the war she helped raise. Never interfering. Just there.

But she knew.

She knew when Rex's tone cracked after Umbara.

She knew when Cody stopped speaking on open comms.

She knew when Pond’s name was pulled from a casualty list, but no one would say what happened.

She knew when Thorn’s file was locked behind High Council access.

And one by one, her boys began to fall silent.

Not dead. Not gone.

Just… lost.

To the war. To the darkness creeping into the cracks.

She sat in silence some nights, the old helmet resting beside her. Their names etched into the inside — 23 in total.

They weren’t clones to her. They were sons. Brothers. The best of the best.

She had given them names.

But the galaxy had given them numbers again.

So she remembered.

She remembered who they were before the armor, before the orders, before the war took their laughter and turned it into steel.

She remembered their first sparring matches. Their mess hall brawls. Their ridiculous, stupid banter.

She remembered Fox making them salute her.

She remembered Wolffe biting her hand like a brat and earning his name.

She remembered all of it.

Because someone had to.

Because one day, when the war ended — if any of them were left — she would find them.

And she would say the names again.

Out loud.

And remind them of who they really were.

——————

Previous Chapter

We interrupt your regularly scheduled political tragedy to bring you SPACE PIGEONS.

Tech. ⚡️💀⚡️

Got the inspo from Sana. Kinda figured

he mostly yells this phrase at Wrecker.