#lule writes

It was raining the other day and it reminded me of you lucksters @mango-peachjuice @maygalodon @generaltano , so now this little thing exists. (Rane loves his little sister Brisk, I know, the Force told me.)

Rain can be bittersweet too

It was raining.

The soft splatter of the first few drops against durasteel had him looking up from where he was cleaning his blaster, eyes climbing through the tall canopy until they spotted the clouds covering the skies. They were a pale grey, light and fluffy, like the ones that usually hung over Kamino with gentle rain and murmuring thunder.

It was like the first time he’s felt it on his skin, from that time, long ago, when something inside him had pushed him outside the domes and into the storm. The moment that had earned him a name.

And the last time, when he’d let it run over his face as he’d held the bodies of his brothers, his chest tight while his heart shattered.

A thunder rumbled softly in the distance and dragged his mind out of bittersweet memories. He looked at the sky, uncertain, something off between his ribs.

Hesitantly, he stretched his hand forward, out of the cover of the dropship's wing. Gentle droplets landed on his hand, scattering once they met the plastoid on his arm and leaving specks of water that slowly made their way down his dusty armor, the trickles thicker as rain started to come down a bit harder and pool at the base of his palm.

He hadn't realized he was trembling until the water cupped in his hand slipped between his shaky fingers.

Ozone in the air, blood on the wet soil, cold—

Suddenly someone rushed past him, a cold breeze brushing against his cheeks as Jackal and the General dove forward, away from the cover of the ship’s wings and out into the open. He watched, impossibly still, as they both started sprinting like madmen in the small clearing, legs brushing against the tall grass and faces up to feel the water on their cheeks.

There was singing and smirking and buzzing energy under the skies, both of them drunk in the unexplainable freedom of the incoming storm. Songs got woven in the air and the warm rumbling of thunder echoed in the distance, like drums joining in to their display of joyful nonsense.

And there was laughter.

He'd never heard laughter in the rain before.

Jackal and Kenhla kept running around, boots splashing in muddy puddles as the water poured down, trying to get to each other. They were drenched from head to toe, armor splattered with mud, robes dark and heavy and wet, and yet they looked like they didn't have a care in the world other than dancing under the rain and laughing and spinning and joking—

Brisk suddenly joined in, an extra bounce in her step as she spread her arms wide, like a bird ready to take off towards the endless sky. She did a happy little spin, her feet light on the slippery floor and her eyes closed as she welcomed the storm like someone would greet a childhood friend: with glee and a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

A giggle escaped her lips and it was a sound of pure joy, a melody among the thunder and trickling water of leaves and metal, and Rane couldn’t help the way his breath stuck in his throat at the sight of the little padawan dancing under the rain.

There was a warm light in her eyes; a spark he found so hard to find in his own these days.

“Hey, Rane!” She called to him as she caught him staring quietly from under the shelter of the ship. The girl looked so carefree with her short hair plastered against her forehead, robes getting darker with water by the second— it was as if the weight of command and war had been lifted from her small shoulders for a moment. Her hand reached out to him, an invitation, a grin wide on her face. “You coming?”

Yes. No.

It hurts. It's cold.

Like holding somebody’s dying body. Rain was lonely.

But it’s freedom. It's life.

They were laughing and dancing. Together.

It's home.

He smiled quietly, hesitantly, and with a deep breath, took the step forward.

Yes guys there's more. (Ft. Our baby padawan.)

The dark isn't so scary when you're with friends.

Luna doesn't like the dark.

It's an endless void, an empty everything. Like thick ink, it clings to your skin and clouds your senses until you're lost and alone. It swallows you up entirely, and it feels like you’re pointlessly swimming in the never ending expanse of nothingness. It's a quiet fear that looms in the back of her mind, whispering, haunting.

So when the cave-in rips the lightsaber from her hand and buries her in darkness, it's as if the galaxy had taken the light as well as the air from her lungs.

There's a pressure in her chest that feels crushing as her eyes look around and see nothing.

Where are her friends? Where's her Master? What's going on?

Each thought squeezes her heart tighter and tighter and she sinks to the floor, her legs curling against her chest as she presses her eyes against her knees, fighting the growing panic. The muscles in her body go taut, and her arms are stiff, her legs stuck, her throat crushing.

Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, breathe, breathe—

She feels a kind hand on her shoulder, and it's like she's been thrown a lifeline in the midst of a storm.

"Hey kid," Raffle says softly, and his voice reminds her that even in the dark she can still hear. "It's alright. Slow breaths, we're here."

Another hand settles on her back and Luna feels the presence of Pepper next to her, at arm's length, gently instructing her to let the air fill her lungs and then ease it slowly. He makes his own breathing more exaggerated, so that she can measure the seconds in between inhale and exhaling.

Her raging mind takes a while to calm down, but the clones' grounding presence makes it easier to focus on something other than the suffocating darkness that's threatening to drown her. Once her heart stops galloping like crazy in her chest, she manages to lift her head from where it was pressed against her knees, a shuddering breath escaping her lips.

Her eyes are still closed tightly: it's easier to bear the dark when it feels like you're the one controlling it.

"Here, Commander," Raffle tells her, and she turns to face him blindly. The girl feels his hand take hers from the floor and place something metallic and familiar in her palm: her lightsaber. "You dropped this."

"Thank you, Captain," she's glad her voice does not tremble as relief floods her chest. Light.

The padawan ignites her weapon, and opens her eyes as it buzzes warmly in the air, comforting. In its white light, she spots the clones sitting around her, reassuring affection in their eyes as they silently ask her if she's alright. Luna nods, and huddles closer into the circle.

She doesn't like the dark, but it's easier when she's with friends.

Guys this is getting out of hand—

It's a thing. This is just the beginning.

Stickers

Pepper is never short on stickers.

It becomes his thing. He says that as a medic, he can certify that stickers make everything better, so there's always a bunch of them in his medkit, on his bunk, in his pocket.

Nobody knows where exactly he gets them, and honestly? They don't really want to know.

"Yes, that broken bone might need some bacta, but you know what will make it 100% better?" Pepper will say, slapping a sticker of a grumpy frog on on his brothers' armor.

He either gets a smile, an annoyed glare or an object thrown to his face, but it never fails to make at least someone else laugh.

"Pepper, can you please come to the mess," Hazel voice speaks through the comm. "Jackal's on fire again."

The medic is already on his way, sighing tiredly. "Tell Ballast that I warned him not to try any new explosives on Jackal. I'm telling the Captain."

"Noooo," someone whines on the other side of the comm, chaos echoing in the background. "I promise it's just a little fire this time."

"Drop and roll, vod, drop and roll!"

"What do you think I'm doing?!"

The door to the mess slides open, and Pepper calmly walks into a Jackal with an arm on fire, Boots with a now empty glass of water and Ryder recording the whole thing.

"Don't worry guys," he says, approaching the flames. "I got this."

He takes the fire extinguisher clipped on his hip and aims it at the fire, taking it out. Everyone stops screaming.

"See, it wasn't that—" he starts, but as he speaks the armor on his brother's arm sparks again, raging.

There's silence, confusion. Pepper looks at Jackal, reaches for his pocket, and softly places a sticker on his forehead.

"I've done what I could," he says gently, and walks away.

"WAIT—"

"Mmmm," Jackal murmurs, annoyed, his eyes digging holes into the Raffle's helmet.

"What is it?" Boots whispers to his brother, confused, following his gaze.

"It's the new Captain," he says, his glare focused on the captain and only him. "There's something about him… something off but I can't get a hold of what it is…"

"Don't worry, I've got this," Pepper chimes in, popping from behind them with a grin.

Before they can tell him to stop, the medic dashes forward, stickers sharp in his hands, and slaps them onto the bare, new bucket of the recently appointed captain of the 37th.

He's beaming, pleased, as Raffle slowly turns to look at him, and then at the leaf stickers now stuck on either sides of his visor.

"What is this, trooper?" His tone is neutral, and there's a hint of puzzlement meddled in his controlled voice.

"Stickers, sir."

Boots facepalms in the background while Jackal tries to keep his laughing quiet.

Raffle pauses, an eyebrow quirked, and studies the leaves now decorating his armor. For a moment there's silence, and then he looks back at the medic.

"I'll allow it."

"You're welcome, sir."

"Who's this little fellow?" Boots asks, raising an eyebrow at the mechanic and the robot standing in the hallway.

"It's our new member, G00-S," Ballast pats its head, and it warbles angrily, zapping him lighty to get it off. "He's a menace. We call him Goose, the Murder Droid."

Goose chirps and turns presumptuously, his head legs kicking in approval at the nickname.

"Ah, I see Pepper got to him," the clone notices, spotting the bunch of stickers that had been placed randomly over the droid's body.

"Pepper always gets to everyone."

Pepper is standing close to the ship, keeping an eye on the mechanic inside. He doesn't get half of what his brother is muttering over the mess of wires and tools he's tinkering with, but there's a fire extinguisher nearby just in case.

"How's it going, vod?" he asks, tapping gently the medkit in his hands.

Ballast doesn't answer, his tongue sticking out as he makes the final adjustments to the panel.

"Aaaand… almost done!" he announces with a smile, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "Come here, Peps, help me out a bit."

Pepper doesn't move, and eyes the ship's ramp suspiciously.

"I'm okay right here," he calls out, and his brother snorts.

"Don't tell me you're scared?"

"Oh, I'm not scared. I just like having two arms attached to my body, thanks."

"Come on, vod," Ballast insists, head popping up from between scraps of metal. "Jackal needs this ship to work for our next mission, and he dared me to make it extra fast."

"Why would you help Jackal have an even faster ship? Are you insane?"

"I'll give you 5 creds."

There's a pause. "Ok, but I'm bringing the extinguisher with me."

"Fair enough."

The medic sends a prayer to the universe and steps inside the ship, holding his breath.

"Hold this," Ballast tells him, handing him some wires. "Don't let them touch."

He picks them up gently and watches as the mechanic finishes working on that. After a few moments, he gives the system a nod of pride and closes it with a satisfying click.

"What do you think?" He gestures at the panels, a grin on his face.

"Mmm, I think you're missing something," Pepper concludes, and before his brother can let out an offended scoff, he slaps a bunny sticker over the console. "There. Perfect."

There's a pause, and the mechanic nods in approval.

"Yes, I think that's—"

Smoke starts coming out of the console, and a bunch of red lights start blinking furiously.

The clones look at each other, and sprint.

The medic is just passing through the barracks when he notices Thumbs sitting on the bunk. He's looking at his helmet with a frown, and once he gets nearer, Pepper sees that the paint is chipped and burnt there where he had carefully sketched the design.

His brother sighs, a thumb brushing over the ruined drawing, and doesn't notice him approaching. Wordlessly, Pepper produces two stickers from his belt, both a cartoon version of thumbs up, and places it over the damage.

Thumbs looks up, searching for words to say, but he gives him a few pats on the head and a smile before walking away.

They're all exhausted, but at least Pepper has stickers.

"Well boys, nice work out there," he says, looking at his brothers.

They're all on the floor, their bodies too stiff and tired to even move their heads towards him. There's a collective groan as the medic walks between them, looking for any serious injuries while sticks star and heart stickers over their chipped armors.

"Peps, please, I can't feel my face," Ryder says exhaustedly.

The medic wordlessly slaps a sticker on his face. "You're welcome."

"Pepper, don't you kriffing dare touch the fangs," Foxy warns, his eyes closed as he feels him approach. "It took me 3 hours to get them right, and it took one more for it to dry without being set on fire."

"What about fang stickers?" The medic asks with a grin.

Foxy doesn't move, but his lips tug upwards as he lifts his aching arm up for his twin to place them on his forearm. "I love you, vod."

"You only love my stickers, you di'kut."

It was a terrible battle.

The field is a broken mirror, with cracks and bodies spread as far as the eye can see. Pepper walks among the wounded, bacta patches and bandages clutched tight on his hands as he tends to their injuries, lips pressed together under his helmet.

There's so much blood. So much quiet.

It almost makes him sick, the way a place which was filled with screaming and explosions can now be so deadly silent.

He nods at the trooper with the head injury and moves on to the next, who lays in impossible quiet half a feet ahead. The medic kneels beside him, refusing to acknowledge the stillness of his chest, the ease of his features. He looks like he's finally resting as he checks his vitals, heart heavy, and closes his eyes.

A brother dies, and Pepper isn't short on stickers.

@mango-peachjuice you’re grounded for the self sacrifice talk. This is the consequence of your actions.

Babysitting your superior officer

Brisk huffed again, her feet tapping restlessly on the floor as she paced in the hangar, stopping only for a few seconds before then going back again. From the way she was fuming and the loudness of her steps, Pepper didn’t know what would wear out first: the soles of her boots, or the durasteel floor.

“I can’t believe she left me here,” the padawan muttered under her breath, fingers clenching and unclenching in the air. “Her padawan. Why does only Luna get to go?”

Pepper looked up from the manifest he was checking to point at the bandages wrapped around her torso, eyebrows raised. “Probably because she didn’t break three ribs after almost getting blown up or gave the General and us a terrifying scare.”

The girl stopped her pacing to look at him, a frown settling in her face as she pressed her lips into a thin line, his words irritatingly true and reasonable. She tried to cross her arms over her chest and winced at the sharp sting on her side; the bacta might have made them heal faster, but it still took bones an annoyingly long time to heal completely.

Noticing her discomfort, Pepper clipped the datapad on his belt and patted the lid of a crate across him in a quiet instruction. With another huff, she took a seat and let him examine her bandages and the scrapes on her hands.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” she finally defended herself, lifting her chin as if to make a point while he adjusted the wrapping a bit. “I sensed someone was alive in the wreck, I had to go help them.”

But the ship had exploded just as she had jumped over some broken tanks, trying to spot whoever was trapped inside. Thankfully she hadn’t been too close when the wave of heat and fire had sent her crashing backwards.

The medic sighed and took a seat next to her, mindful of not brushing against her tender ribs as he slipped his arm over her shoulders protectively, trying to offer comfort.

“You cut it pretty close, kid.” His voice was gentle, but she could feel the concern etched in his tone. She pressed her lips tighter, avoiding his eyes. “You managed to get out of the way just in time to not get killed, but when Rane found you lying on the ground…”

He didn't need to continue talking for her to understand. From what Luna had told her in the medbay, the clone had screamed for help through the comms and Pepper had rushed in immediately right behind her Master—who had torn apart every clanker in the way to get to her. The other padawan’s voice had been a tight whisper as she mentioned there had been a lot of blood and shallow breaths and a too quiet pulse.

You looked dead.

“I just wanted to be useful,” she murmured softly, her fingers rubbing the hilt of her lightsaber with frustration as the memory played back again and again inside her head.

She could have saved them, if she’d been fast enough; if she’d been better. If only she’d followed orders.

If only, if only, if only—

A hand settled on her head and interrupted the darkness poking at her mind, making her look up and into Pepper’s kind, mismatched eyes. He gave her a half smile and promptly ruffled her hair, making her yelp in surprise and quickly turn her head before his fingers got tangled.

“You’re amazing, kid,” he told her as she tried to pointlessly fluff down her short locks, cheeks pouting offendedly at his attack. The medic’s smile only softened. “But you tend to dive in without realizing the limits of your abilities or the danger of your surroundings. You charge forward as if you’ve got something to prove to us and the General.”

I do, she wanted to say, memories of training with her former master clawing at her chest. I have to prove to her I’m good enough; that I’m worthy of being a Jedi.

Brisk kept quiet, those awful words choking at the back of her throat. Shut up, I already know.

“But, as much as I agree with the General’s decision about keeping you from unnecessary danger”— Pepper added, cheerfully placing a star sticker on her cheek — “I don't think making you sit out on missions is the best way to teach you how to take care of yourself on the battlefield.”

The girl smiled brightly at that. “Does this mean you’re going to let me go on my own in the next battle?”

He gave her hair another fond ruffling and chuckled, standing up to continue working. “Not a chance, ad’ika. You still have to figure out how to rush in without your feet getting tangled in the air.”

A little bit about the 37's Jedi meeting her padawan for the first time. This is some rare Serious Kenhla content, she's usually chaotic unless it's about the Jedi council.

Hopeless cases

She was walking down the Temple's halls and her usual reckless smile had been tucked away, replaced by tight lips and troubled eyes.

Kenhla knew why she's been called here, and her fists tightened at the unspoken words bouncing in her head ever since she'd gotten the message.

Reject. Failure. Hopeless.

She knew she was not the best knight. Far from it, she was sure that although she will be remembered in the archives, part of the council would be glad that a wild card like her could be shuffled away, let it be by her own means or by some other forsaken force.

She wondered if they were finally asking her to quit, because she knew they had quitted on her a long time ago.

The togruta took another turn sharply, hand fluttering over the clover stickers in her chestplate, the constellation one near her collarbone as she tried to push down her suspicions. There were many reasons they would call her back to the temple, but this time there were no mentions of chaperoning younglings to Ilum, or giving some lightsaber lessons to the recent initiates.

No, this time the Council was calling her about something else, and there was a bitter sensation at the back of her throat as she stood outside their door. Her hands patted a nonsensical rhythm over the hilt of her lightsabers, trying to release part of the tension etched in her body, and with a deep breath, she walked in—

She saw her, and it was like a bucket of cold water that had been looming over her head had just been dumped all over her.

The girl was young, short enough that she barely reached the togruta's chest, with short green hair and monolid eyes that shone like star-filled night skies. Kenhla felt a memory scratch the back of her mind, trying to break through: she remembered having that same light in her eyes, the same restrained bounce in her step as she had stood exactly where the youngling was, waiting for the biggest news in her life.

They were assigning her a padawan.

None of the Master's met her gaze; it was as if they could feel the judgement in her eyes, the words piling on the tip of her tongue.

You think she's hopeless, don't you?

She smiled at the girl warmly, a spark in her eyes meeting the youngling's nervous ones. Kenhla listened as she introduced herself, her hands tapping against her thighs as she tried to keep her excitement at bay. Her name was Luna, and it was a word spoken so soft and sweet and full of kindness that the togruta's heart swelled with warmth.

You're giving her to me because you don't know what to do with her, do you?

The girl turned around and Kenhla gently helped her braid a small strand of her hair, weaving some beads in between and a colourful turquoise strap to tie it at the end. Luna's eyes were shining as she touched her padawan braid, and the togruta reflected the joy in her face, a wide grin tugging at her lips as she placed a hand on her shoulder with pride.

You're trying to see if these two misfits can fix each other, aren't you?

Master and Padawan bowed to the council and left the room, the door sliding close behind them as they walked to their quarters. They would stay there for the next day, and then they'd be off to the Outer Rim, the edge of the galaxy, the middle of a war.

Kenhla's stubborn resolve raised up, stronger than ever, defiance burning brighter than flames in her chest. She saw her padawan's happy smile, the excitement in her star-filled eyes, as if she couldn't believe she had gotten a teacher.

As if she'd uncounciously been told she'd never make it.

And at the thought, the togruta swore to the world, to the galaxy, to the Force itself: she was going to guide and protect this kid, and prove to everyone who had doubted the youngling now under her care that she was meant to be the best Knight the universe had ever seen.

She promised.

Just some 37th shenanigans✨

Bugs

"What are you up to?" Cypher asked, spotting Foxy sneakily hiding behind a ship in the hangar, his eyes peeking over it.

He jumped, surprised, and placed his hands quickly behind his back, sushing. The interpreter directed a pointed look at whatever he was obviously hiding, and after a moment of hesitation, Foxy gave him a mischievous grin and showed him what was caged by his palms.

A bright, lively moth wriggled from within his fingers.

"Watch this," he whispered, and Cypher stared as he stood out of the hiding spot and walked towards a ship two clones were working intensely.

Oh, this was gonna be great.

"You see if I put this thing here…" Ballast said, tinkering with the panel wires, tongue sticking out in concentration.

Jackal slapped his hands off the console, nudging him away. "Don't you dare touch my ABBA music."

"But what if—"

"Hey, guys!" Foxy called out casually, getting right behind them and placinh his hands between their heads. "Check this thing out."

They both turned around to face him, and froze.

He could actually see their faces morph in half a click from confusion to horror as they saw the creature in his hands, and then—

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME."

"KILL IT, KILL IT WITH FIRE."

High pitch screams filled the hangar as Ballast and Jackal springed back fast, trying to get the hell away from the colorful moth he was holding. Cypher was cackling in the background, struggling to get air in between uncontrollable laughter, and the chaos bringer had the biggest, shit eating grin in his face.

"FOXY, I SWEAR, IF YOU DON'T TAKE THAT THING AWAY—"

"Awww, but she's harmless," the clone cooed, thrusting the insect closer to his frantic brother.

Ballast screeched again and threw a wrench, but it was dodged easily and clattered onto the floor. Cypher only laughed harder and Foxy snorted.

"If that thing so much as TOUCHES ME—"

"Relax, vod, it's just a bug. I have it under cont—

The moth wings fluttered for a moment, and took off from his palm before Foxy could stop it. Between the bright lights and the mess of tools and ship parts, it disappeared in a blink.

For a second, nobody moved.

The sharpshooter smiled nervously, feeling his brothers' murderous glares pierce him like a kebab. "Whoops…?"

And then chaos exploded once again.

"WHERE IS IT?"

"IT TOUCHED ME."

"Guys, it's okay, I'm sure it couldn't have gotten far—"

"THAT'S WHAT I'M FREAKING OUT ABOUT."

"BALLAST NO, PUT DOWN THAT EXPLOSIVE—"

Some Raffle & Kenhla friendship because I love them.

After a few drinks

Kenhla reached out and tapped his nose, a loopy smile on her face. “Boop!”

Raffle sighed and tightened his hold on the giggling General’s arm hanging over his shoulders, helping her walk in a straight line while simultaneously preventing her from happily skipping away. She had had a little too many drinks at the bar and, as he was unfortunately finding out, that meant her energy levels were off the roof. The clone had spent thirteen minutes watching the Jedi run around the same block jumping and bouncing like a rubber ball, alcohol high in her bloodstream, and another ten trying to talk her down from throwing herself out of the bridge’s edge, strongly explaining that she was in no condition to catch herself before splattering against the cold, hard ground.

He didn’t get paid enough for this.

“Get into the speeder, sir, please,” he told her, sighing, letting her lean on the side of the vehicle as he opened the door.

Once he’d made sure she was strapped in securely, he hopped onto the driver's seat and started the engine. Kenhla’s legs were bouncing joyfully up and down as they picked up speed, and she started singing weird, incorrect lyrics of Jackal’s cursed ABBA music as he drove her back, the city's cold night air making his skin tingle. He slapped her hand away from the console when she tried to turn in the radio, ignoring her offended expression and dialing his comm.

“Pepper, could you tell the Commander—“

“Don’t call Luna!” Kenhla said, eyes wide open as she snatched the device from his wrist and turned it off. “She’s gonna make me drink lots of water!”

“That’s…that’s the point, General.”

“Nope! I’m pulling rank here, Captain,” she wriggled her finger in his face, and then booped his nose again.

Raffle pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a couple more turns, racing down the bright light levels of Coruscant back to the Temple. He didn't know where the rest of the 37th was, but he hoped Sparks was having a better time taking Jackal and Ballast back to the barracks than he was with the General. The clone spotted their destination at the distance and, after making sure the togruta didn't fling herself off from the speeder accidentally, managed to pull over a few meters to the entrance and helped her out.

Kenhla started doing ridiculous handstands in the background as the captain walked towards the Temple door's, fishing for the comm he had clipped out of her reach to send a text to her padawan, telling her that the general was heading her way and that she should have a bucket of water ready. Luna responded with a thumbs up, and he could actually picture in his head the way she had rolled her eyes at the message.

He turned around to call the Jedi, but before he could open his mouth, she was by his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. His eyes reflected his confusion, but it didn't seem to register in her fuzzy brain because she offered no explanation whatsoever as she said, in a rare serious tone—

“You’re a great friend, Raffle,” the words were a bit slurred, but he recognized the sincerity in her voice, as well as the hint of something troubled in her usually confident eyes.

He paused for a moment, silence heavy between them, and then found the words to answer. “You too, General.”

She nodded, as if satisfied that he understood, and the unreadable emotion that had settled on her features faded away, as if it had never been there in the first place.

The togruta’s smile was sincere and reckless, and she tilted to the side as she took a few steps towards the temple. He started forward as if to catch her, but she placed her feet under her body steadily, straightening her step, and he pulled back. She turned back to face him, the same fond, careless smile on her face as she gave him a little drunk wave and giggle.

“Good night, you little waffle!"

The clone couldn’t help the way his lips tugged upward. “Good night, General.”