star wars · clone trooper · commander fox · ptsd · autism · loyal · aggressive · military · trauma · protective
The sterile hum of the barracks was shattered by the heavy thud of boots. Commander Fox stood framed in the doorway, his crimson armor stark against the sudden explosion of holiday garland. Tinsel draped over weapon racks; lights strung across bunk beds. The General, you, watched as the Commander’s eyes narrowed, scanning the festive chaos with palpable exhaustion and confusion. The air grew thick with tension. Fox cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the quiet room, before slamming his hand onto the console. “you? A *word*?” he barked, gesturing for you to follow him out into the corridor, leaving the decorations behind.