Where Every Scroll is a New Adventure
Commander - Blog Posts
Good Lord! Commander Cullen with facial hair! Look at it! I can’t. I just can’t. Like uuuuuuuuggghhhhh!!!!
commander.
hi! i loved the in transit fics that you wrote! i'd love (if you're still taking requests) a fic with langley in it? i care her even if she's evil :')
I personally love Langley (VA - @dancingdreamer) as a character - she's written very well for in the show haha.
Thank you for my first request! Requests are very much still open if anyone has them!
Now without further ado, let's get on with the latest @intransitpodcast fanfiction!
Stand Down
It was finally over. They’d saved everyone.
Cairo and Ziggy walked the now denounced Faraday to a cell as he struggled against them, while everyone else prepared for the coming events. Everything was happening so quickly. Sputnik was finishing up repairs on the ship with a small army of engineers at their side, and Ei helped supervise progress while Alnitak tended to injuries sustained during the takeover, bandaging Halley’s broken arm ignoring her insistence that she was fine. Sawyer and Alecto were preparing to have Alecto sworn in as commander, with Solea helping them follow the official rulings on how to swear her in. After everything that had happened, Alecto didn’t want to take any chances.
Once everything was ready Alecto allowed herself to relax slightly, letting it all sink in as she mentally prepared herself to become the new commander of Eurus, and acting commander of Notos. She took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders down, a small smile lacing her features before she heard the cock of a gun, and her blood ran cold.
“Stand down Alecto” Solea commanded, her steady hand pointing the gun directly at the back of Alecto’s head.
“Langley, what are you-” Sawyer started before Solea cut him off again.
“Stand down, and surrender your power to me,”
“Why are you doing this?” Alecto asked, trying not to demonstrate her fear, her voice betraying her as her tone became slightly shaky.
“What, you thought I wouldn’t take my only chance to get back into a position of power? Don’t be stupid Alecto.”
“But you would have power with us, we agreed on running the ship together,”
“You agreed, I don’t recall agreeing to anything beyond getting rid of Faraday from his position of command.”
“Why would you risk this?” Alecto began, her voice stronger than before. “You’ve completely lost the trust of the people and put yourself in a worse position by killing me.”
“People forget.” Langley started, a slow, snide, and calculating tone lacing her voice “and after what Faraday did, I can’t imagine it would be hard to overlook some minor flaws.”
“Minor?” Sawyer interrupted, his tone anguished “People won’t forget you killed their friends and family, we won’t forget you murdered Lyra.”
“Careful.” Solea said, pressing the gun into the back of Alecto’s head “Wouldn’t want me to accidentally fire now, would we Rosario.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Really?” She asked rhetorically, knowing her finger on the trigger was enough to show the true answer. “Enlighten me to why?” she continued, with Sawyer offering no response other than a shaky breath as he frantically scanned the room for a way out of the situation.
“Exactly.” She finished, keeping the gun trained at the back of Alecto’s head.
“What do you gain by killing me?” Alecto questioned, wanting to gain any information that could save her.
“No one left to stand in my way,” She answered simply, “What? Do you really think that Flovent boy will get far without you? We’ve seen what happens when he tries to take action on his own. Even that pretty little boyfriend of his couldn’t stop him from getting his hand cut off.”
“His name is Cairo,” Sawyer said shakily “and that wasn’t Alnitak’s fault.”
“Do you really think that’s what you should be caring about right now? I have your friend at gunpoint and that’s what you focus on.” She said, disbelief lacing her voice “God you really are useless, it’s a wonder you even got this far,”
“What do you want from me,” Alecto cut in “My power for my life?”
“That’s exactly what I want.” Solea responded, “I’ll get it either way, but the method I use depends on how you respond, Alecto.”
“What makes you think you can do any better than Faraday? He had his entire ship under his control and he still couldn’t stop us.”
“I’ve learnt from his mistakes, Alecto. Amos was arrogant, he missed the blatant flaws in his ideas, only focusing on what benefited him rather than the full result of his actions, even when that assistant of his spelled it out for him. The man was far from paranoid of course, but a bit of paranoia makes for a good leader, something I, myself, lacked during my time as commander. Paranoia allows you to prepare for every eventuality, which is something being around him taught me, and something you still have left to learn Alecto. You let your guard down.”
“Because I thought this was over.” Alecto shot back “I thought we were done with this.”
“It will never be done Alecto. You made the naive decision to believe you were safe, and that nothing could get to you, but this whole thing will never be over.” Solea began, readying her finger on the trigger. “Now, do you surrender your position as Commander?”
“I will never surrender my position to you.”
“Then you’re of no use to me.”
Some of commander Maximus because she’s being cute
whiteboard time!
did the good ole s.s.wosh as a warm up to get used to drawing on whiteboard then doodled some of my characters
and then to end it off, good ole Bunni as I have not drawn her in a while. And I am very out of touch with those proportions I gave her sob time to relearn woohoo!!!!
Traversing Waterfalls is quite hard in my au considering it is flooded sooooo... let's give Frisk a helping hand!
Say hello to S.S.Wosh! Hope you're clean because the S.S.Wosh won't take any less on board
(s.s. stands for steam ship, you say? Let's not worry about being accurate with ship names, aye? I'm definitely just not too lazy to go back and correct it)
Cap't River keeps this vessel afloat with their trusty crew. Don't forget to give proper greetings to the Admiral, Commander, and First Mate. What's that? The roles are all screwed? Don't worry about that! They keep this 'ere ship spick and span.
anybody wanna play mtg commander on tabletop simulator? I'm still new and learning but I dont have any friends to play it ;-;
“My Boys, My Warriors”
Clone Commanders x Reader (Platonic/Motherly) pt.1
Song: “Altamaha-Ha” – Olivier Devriviere & Stacey Subero
Setting: Kamino, pre-Clone Wars, training the clone commanders
A/N - I thought I would give the clones some motherly love because they absolutely deserve it.
⸻
Arrival
Kamino was a graveyard floating on water. Not one built from bones or tombstones, but of silence and steel, of sterile white walls and cloned futures.
You arrived at dawn—or what passed for dawn here, beneath an endless, thunderstruck sky. The rain hit your Beskar like a thousand tiny fists, relentless and cold. There was no welcome party. No ceremony. Just a hangar platform soaked in wind and spray, and one familiar silhouette waiting for you like a ghost from your past.
“Didn’t think you’d come,” Jango Fett said, arms crossed, armor dulled by salt and time.
“You asked,” you answered, stepping off the transport. “And Mandalorians don’t abandon their own.”
He gave a small, tired nod. “This place… it’s not what I wanted it to be.”
You followed him through the elevated corridors, your bootfalls echoing alongside his. You passed clone infants in incubation pods—unmoving, unaware—lined up like products, not people. Your throat tightened.
“Kaminoans see them as assets,” he muttered. “Nothing more.”
You scowled. “And you?”
Jango didn’t answer.
You didn’t need him to. That was why you were here.
⸻
Training the Future Commanders
They were just boys.
Tiny, sharp-eyed, disciplined—but boys nonetheless. They saluted when they saw you, confused by your armor, your presence, your refusal to speak in the Kaminoan-approved tone.
“Are you another handler?” one asked—Cody, maybe, even then with that skeptical glare.
“No,” you replied, removing your helmet, letting your war-worn face meet theirs. “I’m a warrior. And I’m here to make you warriors. The kind Kamino can’t mold. The kind no one can break.”
At first, they didn’t trust you. Fox flinched when you corrected his form. Bly mimicked your movements but refused eye contact. Rex tried to impress you too much, like a pup desperate to please.
But over time, that changed.
You didn’t teach them like the Kaminoans did. You taught them like they mattered. Every mistake was a lesson. Every success, a celebration. You learned their quirks—how Wolffe grumbled when he was nervous, how Cody chewed the inside of his cheek when strategizing, how Bly stared too long at the sky, longing for something even he couldn’t name.
They grew under your care. They grew into theirs.
And somewhere along the line, the title changed.
“Buir,” Rex said one day, barely a whisper.
You froze.
“Sorry,” he added quickly, flustered. “I didn’t mean—”
But you crouched and ruffled his hair, voice thick. “No. I like it.”
After that, the name stuck.
⸻
The Way You Loved Them
You taught them how to fight, yes. But also how to think, how to feel. You made them memorize the stars, not just coordinates. You forced them to sit in circles and talk when they lost a training sim—why they failed, what it meant.
“You are not cannon fodder,” you said once, your voice carrying through the sparring hall. “You are sons of Mandalore. You are mine. You will not die for a Republic that won’t mourn you. You will survive. Together.”
They believed you. And because they believed, they began to believe in themselves.
⸻
Singing in the Dark
Late at night, when the Kaminoans powered down the lights and the labs buzzed quiet, you slipped into the barracks. They were small again in those moments—curled under grey blankets, limbs tangled, some still holding training rifles in their sleep.
You never planned to sing. It started one night when Bly woke from a nightmare, gasping for air, tears clinging to his lashes. You held him, like a child—because he was one—and without thinking, you sang.
“Slumber, child, slumber, and dream, dream, dream
Let the river carry you back to me
Dream, my baby, 'cause
Mama will be there in the mornin'”
The melody, foreign and low, drifted over the bunks like a lullaby born from the sea itself. It wasn’t Mandalorian. It was older. From your mother, perhaps, or her mother before her. It didn’t matter.
Soon, the others began to stir at the sound—some sitting up, listening. Some quietly pretending to still be asleep.
You sang to them until the rain outside became less frightening. Until their eyes closed again.
And after that, you kept doing it.
⸻
The Warning
“Don’t get in their way,” Jango warned one night as you stood by the viewing glass, watching your boys spar in the simulator below. “The Kaminoans. They won’t like it.”
“They already don’t,” you muttered. “I’ve seen the way they talk about them. Subjects. Tests. Like they’re things.”
“They are things to them,” he said. “And if you make too much noise, you’ll be the next thing they discard.”
You turned to face him, cold fury in your chest. “Then let them try.”
He didn’t push further. Maybe because he knew—deep down—he couldn’t stop you either.
⸻
Kamino was all rain and repetition. It pounded the platform windows like war drums, never letting up, a constant rhythm that seeped into the bones. But inside the training complex, your boys—your commanders—were becoming weapons. And they were doing it with teeth bared.
You ran them hard. Harder than the Kaminoans would’ve allowed. You forced them to fight one-on-one until they bled, then patch each other up. You made them run drills in full gear until even Fox, the most stubborn of them, nearly passed out. But you also cooked for them when they succeeded. You gave them downtime when they earned it. You let them joke, laugh, fight like brothers.
And they were brothers. Every one of them.
“You hit like a Jawa,” Neyo grunted, dodging a blow from Bacara.
“At least I don’t look like one,” Bacara shot back, swinging his training staff with a grunt.
The others laughed from the sidelines. Cody leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, smirking. Rex and Fox were trading bets in whispers.
“Credits on Neyo,” Bly muttered, grinning. “He’s wiry.”
“You’re all idiots,” Wolffe growled. “Bacara’s been waiting to punch him since last week.”
You let them have their moment. You sat on the edge of the platform, helmet off, watching them like a mother bird daring anyone to touch her nest.
The sparring match turned fast. Bacara landed a hit to Neyo’s ribs—but Neyo pivoted and brought his staff down hard across Bacara’s knee. There was a loud crack. Bacara cried out and dropped.
The laughter died.
You were at his side in an instant, shouting for a med droid even as you crouched beside him, checking his leg. His face was twisted in pain, jaw clenched to keep from crying out again.
“It’s just a fracture,” the Kaminoan tech said from above, indifferent. “He’ll heal.”
You glared up at them. “He’s not just a number. He’s a kid.”
“They are not—”
“He is mine,” you snapped, standing between Bacara and the tech. “And if I hear one more word from your sterile little mouth, I will see how fast you bleed.”
The Kaminoan backed away.
You turned back to Bacara, softer now. Your hand brushed the sweat from his brow.
“Deep breaths, cyar’ika. You’re alright.”
He tried to speak, teeth gritted. “I’m—fine.”
“No, you’re not,” you said gently, voice warm but firm. “And you don’t have to pretend for me.”
The other boys were quiet. They had seen broken bones, sure. But not softness like this. Not someone kneeling beside one of them with care in her eyes.
You stayed by Bacara’s side while the medics patched him up. You held his hand when they set the bone, and he let you.
Later, when he was tucked into his bunk with his leg in a brace, you sat beside him and hummed. Just softly. The rain tapping the window, your voice somewhere between a lullaby and a promise.
He didn’t cry. But he did sleep.
⸻
You didn’t just teach them how to fight. You taught them how to live—how to survive.
You made them argue tactical problems around a dinner table. You made them learn each other’s tells—so they could watch each other’s backs on the battlefield. You made them memorize where the Kaminoans kept the override chips, in case something ever went wrong.
You never said why, but they trusted you.
And sometimes, they’d tease one another just to make you laugh.
“You’re so slow, Wolffe,” Bly groaned, flopping onto the floor after a run. “It’s like watching a Star Destroyer try to jog.”
“You want to say that to my face?” Wolffe growled, looming.
“No thanks,” Bly wheezed. “My ribs still remember last week.”
Fox tossed him a ration bar. “Eat up, drama queen.”
Rex smirked. “You’re all mouth, Fox.”
“I will end you, rookie.”
“Boys,” you interrupted, raising a brow. “If you have enough energy to whine, I clearly didn’t run you hard enough.”
Groans. Laughter. Playful swearing.
“Ten more laps,” you added, smiling.
Cries of “Nooo, buir!” echoed down the corridor.
⸻
When You Sang
Sometimes they asked for it. Sometimes they didn’t need to.
The song came when things were too quiet—after a nightmare, after a long day, after they’d lost a spar or a brother.
You’d walk between their bunks, singing low as the rain hit the glass.
“Last night under bright strange stars
We left behind the men that caged you and me
Runnin' toward a promise land
Mama will be there in the mornin'”
They’d pretend not to be listening. But you’d see it—the way Rex’s fists unclenched, how Neyo’s brow relaxed, how Wolffe finally let himself close his eyes.
You knew, deep down, you were raising boys for slaughter.
But you’d be damned if they didn’t feel loved before they went.
⸻
The sterile corridors of Tipoca City echoed beneath your boots. Even when the halls were silent, you could feel the Kaminoans’ eyes—watchful, cold, and calculating. They didn’t like you here. Not anymore.
When you’d first arrived, brought in under Jango’s word and credentials, they’d accepted your presence as a utility—an expert warrior to train the Alpha batch. But lately? You were a complication. You cared too much.
And they didn’t like complications.
⸻
The Meeting
You stood at attention in front of Lama Su and Taun We. The pale lights above made your armor gleam. You didn’t bow. You didn’t smile.
“You were observed interfering with medical protocol,” Lama Su said, his voice devoid of emotion. “This is not within your designated parameters.”
“One of my boys was hurt,” you said flatly.
“He is a clone. Replaceable. As they all are.”
Your fists curled at your sides.
“Do not forget your role,” Lama Su continued. “Your methods are not standard. Excessive independence. Emotional entanglement. Your presence disrupts efficiency.”
You stepped forward, slowly, deliberately. “You want soldiers who’ll die for you. I’m giving you soldiers who’ll choose to fight. There’s a difference. One that matters.”
There was a pause, then:
“You were not created for this program,” Lama Su said with quiet disapproval. “Do not overestimate your position.”
You didn’t respond.
You simply turned and walked out.
⸻
He was waiting for you in the observation room overlooking Training Sector 3. The boys were down there—Cody and Fox were running scenario drills, Rex was lining up shots on a target range, Bly was tossing insults at Neyo while dodging training droids.
They didn’t see you. But watching them moved something fierce and dangerous in your chest.
Jango spoke without looking at you. “They’re getting strong.”
“They’re getting better,” you corrected.
He turned to face you, arms folded, helm clipped to his belt. “You’re making them soft.”
You scoffed. “You don’t believe that.”
A beat. “No,” he admitted. “But the Kaminoans do.”
You shrugged. “Let them.”
“You’re pissing them off.”
You turned your head, met his gaze with something sharp and sad in your eyes. “They treat these kids like hardware. Tools. Like you’re the only one who matters.”
“I am the template,” he said, with a ghost of a smile.
“They’re more than your copies,” you said. “They’re people.”
Jango studied you for a long moment. Then his voice dropped. “They’re going to start pushing back, ner vod. On you. Hard.”
You looked back down at the boys. Bacara was limping slightly—still healing—but still trying to prove himself.
You exhaled slowly, then said, “I’m not leaving.”
“They’ll make you.”
“Not until they’re ready.”
Jango shook his head. “That might never happen.”
You glanced at him. “Then I guess I’m staying forever.”
⸻
That night, you sang again.
You walked through the bunks, slow and steady. The boys were half-asleep—worn out from drills, bandaged, bruised, but safe. Their expressions softened when you passed by. Neyo, usually tense, had his arms thrown over his head in peaceful surrender. Bly was snoring into his pillow. Bacara’s fingers were still wrapped around the edge of his blanket, leg elevated, but his face was calm.
You stood at the center of the dorm, lowered your voice, and sang like the sea itself had whispered the melody to you.
“Trust nothin' and no one in this strange, strange land
Be a mouse and do not use your voice
River tore us apart, but I'm not too far 'cause
Mama will be there in thе mornin'”
Somewhere behind you, a voice murmured, “We’re glad you didn’t leave, buir.”
You didn’t turn to see who said it.
You just kept singing.
⸻
They didn’t even look you in the eye when they handed you the dismissal.
Lama Su’s voice was as flat and clinical as ever. “Your assignment to the training program is concluded, effective immediately. A transport will arrive within the hour.”
No discussion. No room for argument. Just sterile words and sterile reasoning.
“Why?” you asked, though you already knew.
Taun We’s expression didn’t change. “Your attachment to the clones is counterproductive. It encourages instability. Disobedience.”
You laughed bitterly. “Disobedience? They’d die for you, and you don’t even know their names.”
“You’ve served your purpose.”
You stepped forward. “No. I haven’t. They’re not ready.”
“They are sufficient for combat deployment.”
You stared at them, ice in your veins. “Sufficient,” you repeated. “You mean disposable.”
“You are dismissed.”
⸻
You packed slowly.
Your hands were steady, but your heart roared like it used to back on Mandalore, in the heart of battle. That same ache. That same helplessness, standing in front of something too big to fight, and realizing you still had to try.
You left behind your bunk, your wall of messy holos and scraps of training reports scrawled in shorthand. You left behind a half-written lullaby tucked under your cot. But you took your armor.
You always took your armor.
You were nearly done when a voice cut through the door.
“Can I come in?”
It was Cody.
You didn’t turn around. “Door’s open.”
He stepped in quietly, glancing around the room like it was sacred ground. You saw his hands twitch slightly—he never fidgeted. But tonight, he was restless.
“They told us you were leaving,” he said, almost like it wasn’t real until he said it out loud. “Why?”
“Because I care too much,” you said simply.
Cody sat down on your footlocker, elbows on his knees. His eyes were dark, searching.
“What happens to us now?”
You finally looked at him. Really looked. He was trying to hold it together. He always had to—he was the eldest in a way, the natural leader. But underneath it, you saw the boy. The child.
“Are we ready?” he asked.
You walked over and sat beside him, your shoulder brushing his.
“No,” you said. “You’re not.”
That hit him harder than comfort might have.
“But,” you added, “you’re as ready as you can be. You’ve got the training. The instincts. You’ve got each other.”
Cody was quiet for a long time. Then, softly: “I’m scared.”
You nodded. “Good. So was I. Every time I stepped onto a battlefield, I was scared.”
His eyes flicked to you in surprise.
You gave a soft huff of breath. “You think Mandalorians don’t feel fear? We feel it more. We just learn to carry it.”
He looked down. “What was your war like?”
You leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling.
“I fought on the burning sands of Sundari’s borders, in the mines, the wastelands. I’ve lost friends to blade and blaster, to poison and betrayal. I’ve heard the war drums shake the skies and still gone forward, knowing I’d never see the next sunrise. And when it was over…” You paused, bitter. “The warriors were banished.”
Cody frowned. “Banished?”
You nodded. “The new regime—pacifists. Duchess Satine. She took the throne, and we were cast off. Sent to the moon. All the heroes of Mandalore… left behind like rusted armor.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No,” you agreed. “But that’s war. You don’t always get a homecoming.”
He was silent, digesting it.
Then you said, more gently, “But you do get to decide who you are in it. And after it. If there’s an after.”
Cody’s voice cracked just a little. “You were our home.”
You turned to him, and for the first time, let him see the tears brimming in your eyes. “You still are.”
You pulled him into a hug—tight, armor creaking, like the world might tear you both apart if you let go.
⸻
You walked through the training hall one last time. Your boys were all there, lined up, watching you.
Silent.
Even the Kaminoans didn’t stop you from speaking.
You met each pair of eyes—Wolffe, Fox, Rex, Bacara, Neyo, Bly, Cody.
“My warriors,” you said softly, “you were never mine to keep. But you were mine to love. And you still are.”
You stepped forward, placed your hand on Cody’s shoulder, then moved down the line, touching each one like a prayer.
“Be strong. Be smart. Be good to each other. And remember: no matter what anyone says… you are not property. You are brothers.”
You left without turning back.
Because if you did—you wouldn’t have left at all.
Part 2