37th Battalion (The Lucky Batch )

37th Battalion (The Lucky Batch ☘️)

Little bits of Cypher ( @catboy-tech ) character exploration.

time and places

"Vod, get down from there.”

Cypher pretended not to hear and stretched his arms, placing both hands under his head as he stared at the storage room’s ceiling and hummed. His bucket laid right next to him contently as he scrolled down on his datapad, eyes quickly absorbing the latest archives Luna had shared with him.

“I know you can hear me,” Sparks shouted from below, and he could picture the frown on his face clearly. “Get your shebs down here, you need to do storage duty.”

"I'm good, thanks,” he called, his gaze never leaving the screen. His fingers tapped a light rhythm over his chest and he heard his brother’s annoyed sigh from the ground, followed by some shuffling and irritated whispers.

He paid no attention to it as he skipped over to the next texts, this one about an extinct culture on the edge of the Unknown Regions, and didn’t realize someone was climbing up to him until something tapped his foot.

Cypher peeked over the pad to look at the intruder, and found Jackal grinning over the side of the crate pile, eyebrow raised.

“Yo,” he nodded, and then returned to his reading without another word.

The pilot clicked his tongue. “If I have to put up with this osik, you’re too, vod.”

And without warning, he yanked him off the crates and sent him tumbling down.

Ballast stared at them blankly. “I have absolutely no idea what you just said.”

“Cypher—“

“I’m here, I’m here,” the interpreter announced, already at their side and focused on the locals. “What’s the situation?”

They proceeded to repeat what they had said before, their language foreign and fast to every clones’ ears, save for those of the one who seemed to be taking every word in, pitching in with some equally confusing drawings on the floor to better understand the explanation. His brothers watched the exchange silently, Cypher and the chief going back and forth over a subject none of them had a single clue on.

After a few moments, the trooper nodded and turned to the rest of the squad, a frown on his face.

“So?” Boots asked, eager to proceed with the mission. Kriff, it was so damn humid out here. “Did they tell you why they are so insistent on us not going down this route? We really need to deliver these supplies today and this is the fastest way.”

“There’s a Separatist outpost that way.” Cypher pointed to the other road, half hidden in thick vegetation and covered in heaps of unstable mud. Great. Before any of his brothers could protest, he gestured to the path the locals were adamant they didn't go through. “This track is rigged with landmines and, the chief here told me, it’s the territory of a big, very aggressive massif species.”

There was a collective sigh, and someone muttered “we always get stuck with the worst missions” as the squad braced themselves for the long, tedious journey ahead of them. Ballast was at the front, wielding a vibroblade back and forth to widen the path for the crates and supplies to pass through, and Cypher took a moment to thank the residents for their help before joining the team’s rear.

“What would we do without you?” Foxy asked once he reached his side, punching the interpreter on the shoulder with affection.

Cypher smiled cheekily. “Probably explode in painful death, or get eaten by local fauna.”

His brother grimaced, struggling against the slippery muck as they moved forward. “Yeah, I’m glad we’re not doing that.”

“Cypher, take cover!"

Ryder reached out with one hand and yanked his brother up into the small walker right as a bomb landed where he had been standing a click ago, blowing everything to bits. Debris flew through the air and clattered against the machine’s legs, making it stumble and shake but kept going over boulders and wrecked ships and tanks.

The trooper blinked, snapping back into reality, to the chaos of blasters and explosions and screams, and clutched his blaster tightly. Kriff, he’d done again.

Cypher tried to stand up in the vehicle, trying to at least shoot at the droids, but his head was pushed down as another round of fire hit them.

"Curse it, vod! Focus!" His brother barked angrily, blasting non-stop at the clankers raining hell on them.

The small walker tripped over some metal scraps and bumps, and although Ryder was able to keep it from collapsing, the abrupt movement sent his passenger flying off into the ground with a grunt and a roll.

“Don’t you dare die!” He heard him cry out as the battle raged on around him, and suddenly he was shooting and panting as he scrambled to his feet and ducked the enemy’s attacks.

His vision tunnelled as adrenaline spiked in his blood, his head, and the sounds of blasters and fire were replaced by the beating of his galloping heart as he landed blow after blow after blow on the droids in front of him.

He didn't feel the impacts breaking his skin, the nasty cracks of protest in his hands as bone met metal in painful punches, the way his shoulders ached and stung as he took down another clanker, as he walked over the body of another dead brother.

Cypher fought, because that's what he was bred to do.

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“I refuse to lose another padawn.”

Enjoy pepper using the lightsaber as a nightlight!

Art credits: NamesMox/ZenithFox (me)

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WE LOVE THUMBS BEING THE SUPPORTIVE BROTHER

Quiet Moments

I decided to write a sweet little bonding moment between Sparks and Thumbs. I am in no shape or form an experienced writer but I hope you all enjoy this bit of fluff before the upcoming angst nonetheless! 

Thanks to @just-another-dreamerr for helping me edit this! :D 

Thumbs belongs to the awesome @oo-hazel-oo !  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 The sound of pained cries and screams fills his ears as the smell of blaster fire begins to suffocate him, with a seed of guilt and regret settles and begins to grow in his stomach, all these factors overwhelming the engineer. 

“This is all your fault.”

Sparks jolted awake with a sharp gasp. Taking in his surroundings, he tried to slow his elevated heart rate. The sound of his brothers’ snores and relaxed breaths reminds him that he was on the Clover. With a tired sigh, he got up from his bed and walked out of the room to avoid waking anyone. The engineer leaned against the now closed door with a tired sigh.

 ‘Well, at least I tried.’ He thought to himself as he ran a hand through his hair and down his face.

“Sparks?” He looked up to see Thumbs standing a few feet away from him, a concerned expression evident on his face. 

“Thumbs, hey.” Sparks straightened up, stepping away from the wall. “What are you doing up?” he asked, trying to seem casual.

 “It’s my turn to keep watch of the ship.” Thumbs stepped next to him, gently putting a hand on his often-stoic brother’s shoulder. “Why are you awake?”

 Sparks turned his head to look at the floor. “Ah, I just … I couldn’t sleep. That’s all.” He looked up at him, giving him a small, forced smile. 

Thumbs, unconvinced at his brother’s response, gave his shoulder a comforting pat. “You know I’m here if you want to talk.”

“I know.” He responded quietly. “Thank you.” The corners of his lips quirked up slightly, giving a quick genuine smile. Thumbs returned the smile with one of his own. 

’`Would you like to keep watch with me?” he offered. Sparks gave him a nod in response as they both walked to the cockpit of the ship. The engineer spoke up again, his voice almost too quiet to hear, “Thanks again, I needed this.”

 “Anytime, vod.” Thumbs responded as they both sat down looking out at space, enjoying the moment of peace and quiet together.

  @lavenderstaars  @mango-peachjuice @namesmox @lusiawonder

@monako-jinn-stories @foxlock @just-another-dreamerr @oo-hazel-oo 

@radbatch @letsunity @generaltano @longearedowlfromouterspace @maygalodon @lynnpaper @stereotypicalpicnicmat and anyone else I missed! :)

LOU THIS IS SO GOOD!! WHY ARE WE ALL BRINGING ON ANGST TODAY??

37th Battalion (The Lucky Batch ☘️)

Some Kenhla backstory, about regrets and responsibilities.

What to do with failure

She woke up with a cry, her heart racing and pounding in her ears like beating drums. The room was cool, bare, but all Kenhla could see was fire and smoke and her hand flew to her chest, trying to steady its frantic rising and falling. The Temple was quiet at these late hours of the night, yet remnants of nightmares screamed louder than the peace she unconsciously knew surrounded her, the curtain of tranquillity ripped to shreds by aching regrets and untreated wounds.

(They were gone.)

Breathe, she told herself, tears caught in her eyes from years of practice.

She was at war. She was no longer a padawan, a youngling, a child; she hadn't been one in a long time.

She was a Jedi Knight.

(Only because they were gone.)

The thought echoed in her head and dragged up scenes and screams of past mistakes, stitched together messily, painfully, in the way horrible memories get pieced together by nightmares.

They’d been trapped, cornered. Doomed.

She had had only one job, and she’d failed.

They'd been missing two people, two children, and the togruta had refused to leave without them all. She'd searched and fought and looked desperately while the rest of the people she'd been supposed to evacuate waited as the entire world shook under their feet, all of it to no avail.

And then the floor had cracked, and some of the refugees had stumbled into the chasm of lava and fire rising to meet them. A new wave of flames and horror had rained down, blasts and weapons and shrapnel that cut deep and opened wounds on the unstable ground beneath their feet.

The ships had been unable to land, and one of the few that tried had only managed to hover closely over the ground, just in range for the people to jump on board. Those who managed to make it to the ramps last were covered in smoke and ashes and panic as explosions rained on their land; as the volcanoes, now active, destroyed their homes in chaos and heartbreak.

Stupid; it had been so stupid...to think she could’ve saved them all if only she'd searched for the missing kids a little longer.

And in the end, she'd lost them, her master, and a piece of herself that she was never getting back.

Do not risk the lives of many just to save one.

Her master had stayed behind, to be engulfed by flames and destruction, pointlessly protecting two lost children from the mistakes of their foolish apprentice.

They all had died, and it had been her fault.

She had failed.

“MASTER—“

Kenhla shook her head as her throat closed up in remembrance of the scream that had ripped her chest. Her heartbeat spiked once more and she could feel the memory of thick smoke climbing up her nose, her lungs, her skin— just like it had that terrible day.

She couldn’t recall the last thing they had said to her. It had all happened so fast, so sudden, and the only thing she could remember clearly was their eyes: windows of warm scarlet that had always held on more than words. Kenhla could guess what had been going on in their mind, and she clenched the fabric of her shirt as words echoed, sharp and painfully true, in her head.

Arrogant. Foolish. Reckless.

And yet, she was still knighted.

(No matter how much the voice in her head whispered that she never should have been.)

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THANK YOU FOR THE FLUFF IT IS SO SWEET AND PURE💗

37th Battalion (The Lucky Batch☘️)

Some soft Kenhla making sure the battalion’s medic takes care of himself. (I CAN WRITE SOFT THINGS,,, SOMETIMES)

Peps, take a break.

His head was pounding like crazy, and Pepper closed his eyes tightly as a wave of tiredness washed over his chest.

Maker, had the lights always been this painfully bright?

"Pepper."

The clone looked up from his hands and spotted a couple of red lekku framing Kenhla’s concerned face. She snapped her fingers over his eyes, trying to snap him back into reality, and with a quick cough, he straightened his back.

“Hey, General,” he said, his voice cheerful as always; yet the words were weirdly heavy in his tongue. His throat felt like sandpaper, the air rasping against his chest.

She frowned, unimpressed, and clicked her tongue. "Peps, you're definitely sick.”

"No, I'm not.” He coughed again, hard, and his vision blurred for a moment, his feet wobbling beneath him. Kenhla reached out to catch him, but the medic lifted his hand to stop her and gave her a slightly pained smile. “I'm fine."

The togruta raised an eyebrow, obviously not believing him. “I had to call you four times before you responded. You’re not “fine”. Did you stay overnight taking stock of the medical supplies again?”

Pepper shrugged innocently, avoiding her gaze. He fiddled with his hands. “Maybe?”

“Oh, vod, we talked about this.” The Jedi sighed, a hand settling gently on his shoulders and giving him a small squeeze. “I know you worry we won't have enough to treat the wounded, but it's more important that our head medic takes care of himself first.”

He grimaced at her words, knowing she did have a point. But he just wanted to make sure everything was okay, with Jackal and Ballast always being on fire, Cypher and the others breaking their hands punching droids, the two little padawans who tended to stumble and scrape their knees—

“Come on,” she said, gesturing with her head towards the medbay. “Let’s get you something for that fever.”

“I’m alright, General, I promise."

“Either you come with me, or I’m telling Foxy you refuse to take care of yourself.”

He scrunched his nose. “…that’s not fair.”

“I don’t care,” she grinned, knowing she had him, and made an exaggerated gesture towards the end of the corridor. "Now move your shebs to a bed."

Pepper gave a defeated sigh and followed the Jedi to the medbay, making sure to put one step in front of the other. Kenhla guided him to the nearest free bunk and, with a gentle push, he found himself lying on the table, the cold pillow under his head a welcome sensation to contrast his feverish skin.

“I’m going to tell Brisk to make you some tomato soup,” she told him once he’d settled, and then pointed at him with both eyebrows raised. “Don’t you dare move from here, Peps. Trust me, I’ll know.”

The medic couldn’t help but chuckle at her tone, nodding slightly so as to show her he understood without scrambling the rest of his brain. Before turning around, she placed something on his chest and gave him a final cheeky smile.

“Get some rest, trooper. That’s an order.”

He couldn’t help but return the smile, the pressure in his temple now incredibly annoying as he lifted his hand to salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”

As the general left the medbay to let him rest, Pepper looked down and found a “get well soon” sticker beaming brightly at him.

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AHHH EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS AMAZING

37th Battalion (The Lucky Batch ☘️)

Thumbs is a sweetheart @oo-hazel-oo , and here’s a little ficlet of appreciation for the boy.

Tied together

Thumbs liked to knit.

Ever since the General had gotten him a couple of hooks and needles at his request, he’d slowly but persistently taught himself the ways of weaving: how to hold the thread so that it wouldn’t get tangled, the different kinds of stitches there were, the various patterns… He’d gradually practiced and practiced until yarning over felt as natural to his fingers as pressing the trigger of his blaster.

Brisk would smuggle him thick turquoise wool after a quick trip to the market on Coruscant, sometimes adding some small pastry she had baked herself wrapped neatly and tied with a bow.

Luna would occasionally bring him a bright, rainbow colored yarn that shone in the dark. (He'd always tried to get her to tell him where in the world she got the stuff, but the girl would simply stick out her tongue playfully and cheekily tell him it was "a top-Jedi secret", whatever that meant. He couldn’t help but smile and pat her head.)

His brothers would sometimes pitch in to get him a color he had run out of. He would find the replacement waiting at the end of his bunk, packed in a simple bag with a couple of thumb and heart stickers. Nobody would say anything, but the gesture never failed to make the corners of his lips tug upwards softly.

He could make little gifts for his friends: a sweater for Kenhla, a scarf for Brisk, a pair of fluffy mittens for Luna’s cold hands, pouches for his brother, a blanket for field missions…

War could be way too cold sometimes; he wanted to keep his family warm.

It wasn’t conventional, he knew. A being made for war, weaving socks instead of training his body or his shooting. A part of him whispered that it was useless, ridiculous, completely absurd.

What do you hope to achieve? Are you trying to make amends with these bloody broken hands?

Don't you know you're meant only for pain?

But he liked knitting. It was comforting to feel the yarn slip between his fingers gently, the piece he was working on slowly growing as he added stitches and time into it in the rare moments of quiet between battlefields and screams.

He tied them together carefully; every loop had a place, a role, and the whole thing wouldn’t be the same without each woven yarn tightly tangled into the final piece.

Every finished work, no matter how small, made the world shine a little brighter in his eyes; a little warmer. He’d put a bit of himself in it, a bit of his heart, and that meant something to a clone who’d all his life been told he was nothing. It sometimes meant more than he could ever imagine.

And it was kind of bittersweet, giving someone the thing he’d poured so much time and kindness and effort into, but it was worth it to see the smiles— to make the people he cared about feel loved. There was no more rewarding feeling than the one that bloomed in his chest every time he spotted his brothers or the Jedi wearing the gifts he’d made them, faces beaming proudly, comfortable in their own skin, unlike how he used to feel some times.

As soon as he’d finished his latest project, he’d immediately start with a new one.

After all, knitting was always better than letting his mind wander.

The ridge was half way down the steep, sharp cliff and the torrential downpour wasn’t making the job of carefully making their way through it any easier.

There was a yelp behind him as rocks behind him gave way, and he turned around fast enough to see, amidst the thick water curtain, Boots slipped.

Without a heartbeat of hesitation, Thumbs lunged.

His fingers managed to grasp his and he latched on fast, desperately, willing the world to stop for a moment as his brother dangled over the edge of the cliff, feet kicking wildly for purchase on traitorous rock. He could feel shuffling next to him and the Captain was probably yelling instructions through the coms from the way the sides of his head were buzzing, but he couldn't hear anything but the sharp downpour on his ears and his wildly beating heart.

Don't let go.

He held his brother's hands tightly as the wind roared, rain mercilessly splattering against their armor, so thick and cold he could barely move. His fingers felt numb, absent.

But he forced himself to clutch tighter, refusing to let the clone slip from his grasp. Refusing to give up.

He was not letting go.

With a grunt and a desperate burst of strength, he managed to pull his brother up to the ledge and, as soon as he’d made sure Boots' knees were secure on the ground, he wrapped his arm around him to keep him steady.

To keep him close and reassure himself he was safe; that he was still with him, with them, alive.

A brother had not fallen: Thumbs would never let that happen.

Even with the storm thundering around them, and water running like rivers down their armor, he could feel their frantic breathing, the raging beating of their hearts as the scare slowly washed away with the rain. Willing his knees to stop trembling, he slowly got back on his feet, back pressed hard against the ledge as he helped Boots up, aware about the way his own hand was shaking in his. But he gave him a nod, a reassurance to both of them, and straightened his back.

Standing next to him in line, Sparks placed a hand on his shoulder, snapping him out from the haze of terrible what ifs, the image of loss that had flashed inside his head in those few moments. He looked up at him and found in his gesture a message of gratitude and approval expressed quietly: good job.

And then they were off again, ears still pounding with adrenaline, feet shaking yet pushing forward. Thumbs tightened his trembling fingers over the slippery surface of the cliff, itching to reach once again to his brothers, to make sure they wouldn’t fall.

He would always keep them together, even if he had to pull every single string in the galaxy to keep his family safe.

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