#clone wars angst

[literallyjustanerd]

Twist The Knife To Keep The Scar (Fives & Echo, grief/mourning)

Rex is leaning over his cot, face drawn into a gaunt mask. He knows what Echo will ask. Echo thinks he knows the answer. He asks anyway.

“Rex… where’s Fives?”

In their own ways, both Fives and Echo experience outliving the other. But in the end, it's Echo who has to find a way to live on in a galaxy with half of himself missing. A galaxy that, despite his brother's best efforts, Echo sometimes wishes he hadn't survived to see.

Back on my bullshit ruminating about Fives and Echo never getting to see each other again!

Dividers by the incredible @freesia-writes with amazing helmet art by @lornaka

General vibe: Grief, angst, dissociation, recovery, found family

Words: 4,888

Characters: Fives, Echo, Rex, Tup, Omega, The Bad Batch (mentioned)

Read it here or support me on AO3.

There's an exquisite heat in the air around him. Then a harsh, biting cold. A blinding light, then suffocating darkness. The ecstacy of adrenaline thrumming in his veins, then blood-curdling terror choking him until he cannot even scream. Hope, then despair. Peace, then pandemonium. Repeating in an endless cycle so maddening he wants to split his own skull open to quiet the furore. 

And then, he's awake. 

He comes back fighting from the void. Lurching, crying out, violent and reckless on instinct and little else. He wrenches at what’s left of his limbs, dismayed when they flail freely, unbound by the tethers and wires he’d grown so used to. It’s bright. He cowers from the light, though can’t think to shield his eyes with his one remaining hand. It’s an eternity before a voice reaches him through the ringing in his ears. The voice of a brother. It changes, alternating between speaking calm words and barking sharp orders. The familiarity is enough to break through Echo’s hysteria. He stills, holds back his own cries to try and make out the words. In time, his bleary vision begins to take in the sight around him, foggy shapes coalescing into a silhouette, then a face. It’s Kix. 

It’s Kix. His brother Kix.

He stands in a halo of fluorescent light at the head of Echo’s cot, calling brisk instructions to the other medics. At his order, the lights dim, soothing the ache in Echo’s eyes. He lays a hand on Echo’s shoulder, firm and grounding, and sternly tells him not to try and move. It’s then that he realises that there are lines attached to him. A great deal, in fact. IV tubes snake from his wrist and the crook in his elbow. There’s a port below his ribs syphoning some sort of clear-pink fluid, and wires running to electrodes arranged in a grid on his chest. He listens when Kix tells him they're all there for good reason. He believes it when Kix tells him he’s safe, they’ve got him, he’s okay. Someone raises a cup of water to his lips, and though Echo nearly chokes on the tiny sip, it still makes him want to sob with relief. By his head, Kix makes an adjustment on one of his IV flasks. He doesn’t raise his eyes when he says,

“Someone find Rex. Tell him he’s awake.”

Memory floods back into the broken kaleidoscope of Echo’s mind.

“Where is he?”

Rex hadn’t answered him the first time he’d asked, careening down hallways and around corners, still half-convinced he must be dreaming or dead. He had tried to convince himself that Rex was just distracted. That maybe he hadn’t even heard the question at all, despite it being one of the first things past Echo’s lips the moment he regained control of them. It was plausible: the blaster fire was loud enough and the chaos was all but overwhelming. But even in his addled, delirious state, he had caught the twitch in Rex’s jaw, the guilty way his eyes darted across the room, cagey, avoidant. Everything Rex never was. Echo had not asked again, had instead put the last of his meagre energy into clawing his way out of hell. And, despite his expectations, he’d made it. They all had. He had seen the sun again. He hadn’t lasted much longer than that– his atrophy and fatigue had come back to claim him once he’d been loaded into a transport. Still, the question remained stuck on his tongue as he passed out, not quite able to speak it aloud. He does it now, though, when Kix has cleared out the medbay and Rex is leaning over his cot, face drawn into a gaunt mask. He knows what Echo will ask. Echo thinks he knows the answer. He asks anyway. 

“Rex… where’s Fives?”

Three standard rotations. Nine Republic-sanctioned mealtimes since making it off Lola Sayu and out of the Force-forsaken Citadel. And still, Fives has made no appearance in the mess hall. Rex suppresses a sigh at the empty seat next to him, tries to still the bounce of his leg under the table. He gives up on his rations halfway through, sliding them across the table to Jesse as, wordless, he leaves the rows of bustling benches. It’s not easy to track him down. He checks the gym, the boilers, the bridge, even the laundry rooms before he comes to the cold, cramped halls of the armoury. It’s all but abandoned, only a handful of troopers choosing to skip or postpone their meal break. Rex weaves through the tight corridors of catalogued rifles and torpedoes, affording a distracted nod to the men who greet him with the usual salutes. Finally, he spots his brother in the back corner. He's counting stock, eyes boring into a datapad as though it's the only thing tethering him to himself.

"Fives.”

It gets no response at first. He’s far too wilfully engrossed in his task. Just as he has been in every spare moment since leaving The Citadel. Rex has watched him move like a man possessed from hauling cargo to running maintenance protocols, reviewing battle maps to making supply orders. More productive in three rotations than he’d ever been in a week. If he’d eaten, Rex hadn’t seen it. If he’d slept, it hadn’t stuck, judging by the dark, gaunt circles draped under his eyes. They age him, make his cheeks look too sharp and his skin too pallid under the ship's stark lighting. The half-serving of rations churns in Rex’s stomach.

“Fives, look at me.” 

There’s a hand on Fives’ shoulder, one he throws harshly off like a man woken from a nightmare. He blinks at his brother, unable or unwilling to focus his gaze.

“Don’t,” he says, before he knows quite what he’s refusing. Self-consciousness leeches into his fingertips, tightening around the datapad. It’s too much to keep his face turned in Rex’s direction, so he points it back at the wall.

“You know you can’t go on like this. You’re running yourself into the ground,” Rex coaxes. A hot rush of shame burns across the back of Fives’ neck, his shoulders raising against it. He’s being spoken to like a scared stray tooka. Like a cadet with a skinned knee. Given the choice, Fives picks the easier of two options and lets anger steer his reply.

“I know what I’m kriffing doing. Don’t need you checking up on me.”

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t get a choice in the matter.”

The growl Fives gives in response is involuntary. His fingers grip harder at the datapad. A sign of losing control? A sign of trying to keep control? Just because he itches to feel something break under his hands? After waiting patiently for a reply of some kind, Rex fills the silence again. 

"I'm not trying to tell you to stop caring. I know that's how it feels, but I'm not. I just want you to take care of yourself, too."

"And what's the point of that?!" Fives blurts. The datapad clatters across the floor, the sound louder than it should be, echoing and doubling off the towering metal walls. "What does it even matter anymore if he—" As quickly as the dam breaks, he stems the flow. Straightens his back and swallows the words back down, bitter as they stick in his throat. The seconds scrape by, sandpaper against his frayed mind. His teeth grit, eyes closed. He waits. But Rex stays silent. No more platitudes, no stern, parental reminders about health and self-care. In time, Fives is seized by the fear that Rex has grown tired of his tantrum and left. But when he turns away from the wall, his brother is there, his gaze steady, open. Waiting.  

"I… It was supposed to be… It was always …"

Try as he might, the thought won't make it out of his head in full, ending up in pieces by the time it tumbles past his proud, clumsy lips. 

"Always the two of you," Rex finishes for him. "Right from the start, I know. We all knew." Rex's mouth quirks, his eyes dipping downwards a moment. Fives wonders what memory it is that drives the expression. While he is still caught in a losing battle against his own voice, Rex continues, holding the silence at bay. "You know, back after the invasion on Kamino, Cody and I wanted to take one of you each? We both needed a new ARC trooper. It seemed perfect." He steps forward, turning to lean against the wall next to Fives. No resistance this time when a hand braces on Fives' shoulder. There's a lump in Fives' throat that is hard to swallow around. Rex continues. "But when we got one look at the two of you together, the way you were with each other… Well." The quirk in Rex's lip grows to a smile, small and fragile. "Cody and I never managed to stay together long. We were always pulled apart. We couldn't let the same happen to you." 

A dry, guttural sob bursts from Fives' chest, breaking through the barrier of his clenched teeth. The words follow before he can stop them. 

"It should have been me."

The reprimand he expects does not come. Instead, Rex keeps his gaze on Fives, as resigned as it is devastated. There's a soft understanding in the way he breathes; slowly in, heavily out. Underneath all his composure, it becomes clear just how intimately Rex knows this feeling. How many times Fives’ words have crossed his own mind after returning from battle. Fives lets go. Finally cuts the string he had tied to the top of his head to hold himself off the ground. The plastoid of Rex's shoulder pauldron hurts when Fives' forehead hits it. He relishes the pain.

Goosebumps break out across Echo’s skin when he steps into the rain. He gasps at the little pinpricks of cold, radio static dancing in the gaps of his armour. The sensation is not unpleasant, just another that he had long since given up on ever feeling again. Mercifully, the perpetual storm over Kamino has momentarily ebbed; Echo would not trust himself to stay upright on his cybernetics in a full typhoon. Walking is still entirely alien to him. He knows he must look a mess, unsteady and teetering, each step a lurching fall forward with the hope that the sordid mess of durasteel beneath him will catch his weight. Hunter stands a few feet ahead of him, and he’s flanked by the other members of Clone Force 99 as they disembark. Though they form up around him, clearly ready to act as a buffer if one of Echo’s gambled steps doesn’t pay off, they say nothing, only watching from the corners of their eyes. Affording him his pride. Preserving the illusion of normalcy. 

They needn't bother. Under Echo's carefully-drawn expression there is a storm as vicious and brutal as the worst of Kamino’s tempests.

Kamino has changed since the last time he had walked its sleek, streamlined halls. It feels cleaner, smoothed over, more soulless than usual. Was it always so cold here, even inside? Beside him, two of his new squad are bickering. Though only a few feet away, their voices reach Echo from a distance, muffled, underwater. He feels thin. Not just malnourished, though he evidently is. His whole existence feels thin, as though he isn’t actually there. Someone could walk straight through him and feel nothing more than a cool breeze. A fleeting pang of regret tells him he should be with Rex, should have stayed with the 501st. But beneath the crashing waves on the surface, in the depths of his mind he knows that it’s better to be a stranger than to face those who know him, what he was and who he’s lost. What he’s become. Rex could feel it, too, when he had seen Echo off on the landing field.

“If that’s where you feel your place is, then that’s where you belong.”  

Was it about belonging? Or was it just that he couldn’t bear to stand so close to the edge of the gaping hole that had been left in his life?

The only time Echo had ever talked about this with Fives, he had been shut down with a single look. A thousand words in a microscopic expression, the silent language they’d forged together accidentally through years of traded glances. Across battlefields and barracks, strategy meetings and mess hall benches, until they knew the other’s mind by instinct, sometimes better than they knew their own.

“When,” Fives had said, with the weight of the galaxy behind the word. A shield raised against the knife of Echo’s ‘if.’

“When we both make it to the end of the war, we’re going to Naboo first. General Skywalker talks about it all the time. It must be worth the hype.”

Maybe Echo should have pushed it. Doubled down on his ‘if’ and done something, said something to prepare them for having to keep breathing after the other was gone. They had never dared to say aloud that their plans for a galaxy-wide sightseeing tour could grind to a halt in a single heartbeat. For years they had curated their list of destinations, sights to see, cities to explore, foods to taste and cultures to learn, everything they had always been denied. Neither wanted to be the first to say their grand adventure might never happen. Or, worse, that it could be a solo trip. Echo opened his mouth. But the minute twitch in Fives’ brow told him all he needed to know: he was picking at a thread that could unravel them both. Once one of them was gone, the other would surely die in every meaningful way. There was no point in even acknowledging the possibility. So instead, he lobbed a wadded-up piece of dirty laundry at Fives’ head and smiled.

“Fine. Naboo first. But I still want to see the museums in Alderaan. Don’t care if I have to drag you kicking and screaming.”

Beside Echo, the muted conversation grows louder. Words repeated. Someone trying to get his attention. One of them, the big one, Wrecker, slaps him on the back. It jars the rivets along his shoulder blades, sending sharp bolts of pain through his spine as he’s thrown forward by the force. It’s too fast for his cumbersome legs to catch him, and in a split second Echo has accepted he’s going to hit the floor. But the impact doesn’t come, and he opens his eyes to find a shamefaced Wrecker holding him aloft with one arm looped under his chest. 

“I– Sorry, Echo, I didn’t mean to– Should’ve been more careful,” he stammers, returning him to his feet as though he weighed less than empty armour. The shock brings Echo crashing back into his body, makes him feel real again in a way he is woefully unready for. The others are staring at him, their eyes singing like blasterfire on his skin. It takes an embarrassingly long moment to will his mouth into moving.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles, unable to meet anyone’s eye. “I’m fine.”

He wonders if it’s better to be stranded in a vast, flat desert than to stand at the edge of a bottomless pit.

It’s after Umbara that Rex overhears Fives with Tup. Lights-out was hours ago. They’re out of the barracks, but Rex can hardly reprimand them for it: half of the men, himself included, have had scarcely little sleep since what happened on that wretched, awful planet. All over the ship there are small groups of vode, hunched over mugs of caf at tables in the kitchen, crammed into bunks together, running endless drills in the gym. Rex despairs at being unable to do more for them, but he knows better than most that nothing could grant his brothers rest or peace in a time like this. Still, something in Fives’ tone tugs him closer, makes him linger around the corner and strain his ears to listen.

“–not about glory or heroics.”

“But what about what you–”

“Forget what I did. Okay? What I did doesn’t matter. I’m telling you , here and now, you stay alive.”  

They’re sitting on the ledge of a large bay window, faces backlit by the ship’s external lighting and the low ambient glow of hyperspace outside. Tup has his legs drawn to his chest, a steaming mug cradled in his hands, while Fives leans forward, elbows on his knees. Rex knows he should make himself known. Or at the very least walk away now. It’s not his place to eavesdrop. 

He doesn’t move.

It was a different version of Fives that came back from losing Echo. Sharper edges, harder, but more brittle. Scar tissue where there used to be unmarred skin. He still jokes, even still plays pranks and pulls stunts to entertain those around him. But his laughter is never quite as free or unguarded. His eyes scan every room he enters, searching, never finding. And most noticeably, he’s developed an intense protective streak over his brothers. Especially the shinies.

“I just want to fight for our brothers. Like you and the others have been.” Tup sounds chastised, confused. Still so sincere. Rex chances another glance around the corner to see Fives topping up his brother’s mug from a small flask before he takes a swig himself. Another breach of regulation Rex can’t rightly fault him for.

“You want to do something good for your brothers?” Fives says, voice low. “You survive the war. You stay around for them. You live to see a day we’re not forced to risk our lives for people who don’t karking care, don’t even know we exist .”

Rex doesn’t realise just how much of a hypocrite Fives has become until months later. Until he’s holding Fives to his chest on the floor of a derelict warehouse, the smell of blasterfire and burnt flesh thick in the air.

Losing Echo has made a hypocrite of Fives. As fiercely as he protected his brothers, as many times as he told them not to be heroes, he never reserved the same caution for himself. In fact, he launched himself headlong into more perilous situations than he ever had with Echo. He hid it under his status: an ARC trooper was supposed to be a more independent agent, a knife to make the daring precision cuts, carving a path for the battering ram of his fellow troopers. Still, Rex worries what the real motivation behind his recklessness might be.

“...Okay,” Tup says finally. But Fives still says it again.

“Just stay alive. Kark the war, kark the Republic, just… stay alive .”

An overwhelming silence falls over his mind, like a blanket of thick, black velvet. Relief. The sudden dying out of a background murmur he had never recognised until it stopped. The quiet is all-consuming, incomprehensible, fantastic. The release of a muscle flexed for years on end. Finally waking from a nightmare to the unworldly hush of night. A dream he knew well, but had never put name nor reason to. Weight lifted from his chest, breathing free, movements wholly his own for perhaps the first time in his life. Respite from the storm. But underneath the stillness, there’s a foreboding: a forest only falls silent in the presence of a predator.

It’s been years, but Echo still panics whenever he wakes on a medical bench. Pain blooms in his frontal lobe as he pitches himself upward, his hand raising to find a bacta patch plastered there beneath the rivets.

“Echo?”

Omega’s voice sounds so fragile. She lays his name out delicately, like she’s afraid she’ll break it. He immediately forces his eyes open to give her a reassuring smile, desperate to rid her of that timid tone.

“Hey, kid.” He cuts her off when she opens her mouth again– “I’m fine. Promise. Good as new.” A quick scan of the room, and he sees his brothers around him, all in varying stages of regained consciousness. All with matching scars on their scalps. Marking them, finally, as free men. If Echo was awake enough to have full use of his body, he would smile at the thought. His gaze lands on Rex, standing guard in the doorway, and he finds that the smile grows completely on its own.

It had taken months for Echo to feel like a part of Clone Force 99. That was mostly by his own design: any attempt at bonding from his new teammates had been met with a wall of solid durasteel. He’d lacked even the decency to respond with anger, denying the others the barest hint of emotion. Scared that even hostility was too much of an intimacy. But his brothers had worn him down, for better or worse.

“Echo, you ever play Sabacc? Cross always cheats, but if we team up on him we might win!”

“I noticed on the last mission it seemed your cybernetics were somewhat miscalibrated. If you like, I can take a look at them and make some improvements?”

“If you’re going to sit up and brood in silence again, you can at least make it worth your while and drink with me. …And for the record, I don’t cheat at Sabacc. I’m just better.”

Before he knew it, he had four new brothers.

Just what he got for vowing never to get attached again. 

Rex offers him a hand when he tries to lift himself to his feet, one he gratefully accepts.

“Did it feel this strange for you?” he asks, blinking hard. Rex gives a stiff shrug. 

“Didn’t have time to think about it. When I got my chip out, I… had other things to think about.” 

Echo doesn’t pull at that thread.

“So… He really was right.”

No matter how many times Rex had explained Fives’ death, Echo had never made sense of it in the past. It didn’t help that Rex’s own recollection of the incident was garbled, fogged over by confusion and grief. All Echo could gather was the vague notion of fear, paranoia and conspiracy. His brother had died desperate and frantic, with a warning to Rex that made little sense in the moment and even less when retold after months of rumination. 

It made far too much sense now.

“Yeah,” Rex sighs, eyes flitting to each of the other clones in the derelict room. “Yeah, he was. I just wish…” 

Echo nods.

“Me, too,” he breathes. It’s silent for a moment, until Rex speaks again. Echo isn’t sure what makes his brother say it now: despite Echo’s probing questions since he’d first been rescued, Rex had never answered. Now that he does say it, though, it hits Echo like a punch to the gut.

“He never got over it, you know.”

Even after he had begun to consider himself a real member of the Bad Batch, Echo had done little more than coast. Though he still put all his effort into their missions –it was hard to break such a hardwired work ethic– his heart was rarely invested in their assignments.

And then, just like that, the war had ended.

Standing aboard the Havoc Marauder, watching Kamino turn into a pinprick of light in the ocean as they fled, Echo had felt a sudden, harsh pang of relief that Fives was no longer with him. He would feel it often in the coming months as The Empire tightened its grip on the galaxy, sometimes morphing into a bitter jealousy: Fives never had to see what had become of the Republic. Of their brothers.

Slowly, he and the others gather their bearings, carve out as many seconds of rest as they dare before scraping themselves together to leave. They aren’t naive enough to consider anywhere safe for long. The silence as they trek out of the rotting venator is heavy, and it’s jarring when someone breaks it.

“One of your men really figured all this out?” Hunter says to Rex, sounding sceptical in a way that sparks an involuntary flare of anger in Echo. “The chips, what they were for, Order 66, all of it?”

“I don’t know if he knew what it all meant,” Rex says, kicking aside a hunk of warped durasteel to make way for Omega. “But he definitely knew what the chips could do to us. And he figured out the Chancellor was behind it long before anyone else ever did.”

“The Emperor,” Tech interjects, “technically speaking, now.”

Rex shrugs halfheartedly, then continues, eyes trained firmly on the ground in front of them;

“I shouldn’t have been surprised. If anyone was brave, skilled and stupid enough to pull that kind of stunt off, it was always going to be Fives,” he says, smiling wistfully. “But I’m sure you’ve all heard far too much about that since Echo joined you.” The silence from behind Rex makes him pause, turn to see the others’ confused expressions in the light of his headlamp. He looks to Echo, gives him a bewildered, questioning frown, and Echo shrinks, unable to meet his eye. As close as he has grown with his new brothers, there are still a few nerves too raw to touch.

He stays in touch with Rex as often as their situation allows. It may be an unnecessary risk, the number of calls he makes to Rex’s encrypted comm frequency. He always disguises it under some flimsy justification, sharing a scrap of intel or paltry status report. Hardly anything substantial. Nonetheless, Rex answers every time. And he never ends the transmission when the information runs out and the conversation turns trivial.

“She’s getting good,” Echo tells him, smiling vaguely out into hyperspace. “She’ll be a better shot than I ever was.”

“Sounds like she’s got a good teacher.” There’s pride in Rex’s voice. Echo never did manage to outgrow his giddy reaction to positive feedback. Especially from his Captain. Silence takes hold, and Echo searches for something to keep the transmission going, but Rex gets there before him.

“You know my offer still stands,” he says gently. “There’s always a place for you here, brother. I’d be glad to have you back.”

Echo isn’t quite sure what makes him pause. Months ago, in the last days of the war, and even after its end, he would have jumped at the chance. To be back with Rex, to return to something he knew, to what he could only assume was the closest a clone could get to home. He’d been so directionless, disconnected from himself, unsure there was even a self left anymore.

“I…” He begins the sentence with no way to finish it. There’s a lot he wants to say. A lot he wants to do. He’s still getting used to wanting things again at all. It was a strange feeling after spending so long adrift, running on inertia without drive or purpose. But once the Batch had turned from soldiers to brothers, then to sister as well… Once his chip had been removed, and he’d learned exactly what his brother’s death had meant, all Fives had done to try and protect the family he had left…

“I think I understand,” Rex says, and Echo wonders in dismay if he’d said any of that out loud.

“I want to go with you,” he finally blurts. “I want to help you, I do. Eventually. But right now…”

“It’s okay.” Rex’s voice is softer over the comm. Too soft. Echo digs his scomp into the side of his thigh, breath tight in his throat. “You’ve got to do what’s best for your vode. And right now, the best thing you can do is stay around for them.”

A noise in the cockpit behind him sends Echo scrambling to wipe at his eyes, whirling his chair around to find Omega peeking down at him from her tailgun-come-bedroom.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she says, like she’s apologising. “Are you talking to Rex? Can… Can I sit up with you?”

Who is he to say no to her, when she looks at him like that?

Rex keeps the frequency open far longer than he probably should, regaling Omega with war stories, some true to life and some Echo knows for a fact are embellished. Still, he doesn’t correct him, not when it would only dull the spark in Omega’s eyes, listening so intently. Echo says nothing when Rex begins the story of two particularly brave ARC troopers, incredibly daring and heroic on the battlefield, but– 

“–absolute idiots everywhere else.” Omega giggles uncontrollably, and even Echo smiles: he’ll cop that one. Though he does have to cringe at some of the misadventures that follow. At least Omega enjoys laughing at these two ridiculous, childish ARC troopers and their exploits.

“They were always better when they were fighting together,” Rex tells her, and Echo’s chest seizes, “but even when they were separated, even when they didn’t realise it, they still fought for each other.”

Echo makes the decision right then and there, with his brothers asleep in their bunks behind him, Omega perched on the arm of his chair and Rex’s stories in his ear. When (not if, when ) this is all over, he and his family will go travelling.

Naboo first.

#drabble #fic #do i write a fic now where rex tells echo about umbara and echo has to deal with knowing what his brothers went through #or do i finally leave these poor men alone #sw tcw #tbb #star wars: the clone wars #star wars: the bad batch #sw tcw fic #tbb fic #arc trooper echo #arc trooper fives #domino twins #captain rex #clone wars angst #angst #grief

[echoedcrosshairs]

Unseen Scars ~ p.2

Summary: Female Jedi survived order 66 hides out in the underground of Ord Mantell. Hiding out in Cid's parlor keeping your head down you see Rex's face and get sent backward in time. (Gif by @dreamswithghosts)

Warning: Order 66 Jedi Trauma, Feeling Haunted, Soft Rex, Angsty and Love

Word count: 2.7

Masterlist part 1

Facing all that you fear will free you from yourself. Your nerves were still on edge tempting you to flee being around the rest of clone force 99 even if their chips weren't activated they were still at risk at going nuclear at any moment. Although the walk back to the parlor soothed your nerves being Echo and him again but going into the parlor into such a cramped space didn't help. Rex positioned you behind him hoping it would help sooth you, his arm went around your waist ready to shove you away if necessary. Nonchalantly Echo had placed himself between Rex and the rest of his brothers, he may have trusted them with every bone in his body since they rescued him but you were still the commander to him. They both wanted to protect you even from a non existed threat. It was comforting that after all this time Rex and Echo just had to look at each other to know what the other was thinking. The 501st may be gone but the bond between them lives on.

"Do you think the Commander will rehabilitate?" Tech said flatly looking at you then back to Rex mind conversation, "Obviously I disagree with the systematic eradication of the Jedi, she does not possess the same mental fitness as we clones have been bred to endure and the order has seem to take a heavy toil on her mental aptitude for returning to the fight."

"The Commander-" Rex started, "Can speak for herself," you cut in.

You swallowed looking at Tech, "A wise man once said Truth enlightens the mind, but won't always bring happiness to your heart. It is a lot to accept and understand but it doesn't heal the fact my own men, men I trusted with my life and fought beside for years, tried to terminate me nor the death of so many allies. That same man also said 'Ignore your own instincts at your own peril," you paused to look at them and up at Wrecker before your eyes shot back down, you couldn't help feel that something was wrong but the force was beckoning your silence, "I am not ready to find myself in that position again."

"Well get them out," Echo said defiantly, "We'll never be a threat to you, ever."

"I'll be in touch," Rex nodded pulling you away from them towards the exit but waited to speak until he put a decent amount of distance between you and Hunter, "The force is telling you something isn't it?"

"They have to get them out, soon. How did you get yours out?"

Jesse... Vaughn... Your mind wandered to the battlefield, having the 501st at your side. The boys always wanted to die in battle but never like that. You wiped the corner of your eyes, "They were good men," you choked out when he was done.

"The best."

The both of you continued down the street in silence, at some point your hand found his. It still hurt to look at him but his presence helped the pain, "Now what?" you whispered.

"You can stay here... or you can help me save my brothers, I have to try."

You looked at him, the conviction as dedication across his face was the same one he had before a battle, "I'll come," you whispered before you had time to think it through, "Don't know how much use I'll be, Tech has a point."

"It doesn't matter, just having a Jedi with us is enough especially you Commander," Rex said squeezing your hand, "We should gather your belongings, the boys are destined to pick me up shortly."

Weaving between side streets it was an easy back track to your tiny place, Rex found a bag and quickly packed your clothes as your hand rested against the slats in the floor concealing your past.  You scooted up lifting the slate with the force letting your free hand dig out the pouch after putting the board back you opened it retrieving the saber. The weight felt foreign in your grasp, the metal cool to the touch. You flicked it up into the air catching it with the other hand, just like riding a speeder. Looking over you saw Rex observing with a small smile before he returned to packing, you tucked the saber away.

"Are you sure about this?" he said slinging the bag over his shoulder but not looking at you trying to hide the grim expression. He would keep giving you a chance to go back to a normal life if you wanted one even if it hurt him, the war took so much from you he didn't want to be the reason you lost any more.

"Facing all that you fear will free you from yourself," you stated with a heavy breath, it wasn't the simple answer you knew Rex wanted but it was the truth, "If you remember Anakin and I were never one for running when things got tough. I think I've hidden in the shadows long enough." That statement was the first sliver of hope you had in a long time. Your eyes found Rex's, fondness had swept over them at the mention of the old days, the simple days. Keeping eye contact you took the short steps across to him tucking your face in his neck holding him. Your body still screamed run but your heart told you not to let go.

His hand found your back rubbing it, "We should get going," he sighed not wanting the tender moment to end, "Let's meet the 105th," he smirked.

"Did you really just switch the numbers?" you said with real genuine laughter.

"No, but I think I'll start calling us that if you make that beautiful sound again," he said putting your arm through the crook of his, "Let's go."

Finding the ship wasn't hard, it was discreet for the most part in the back of the docking station. The only tell tale sign that it was different then any of the standard ships around the port had been a barely noticeable white mark barely indistinguishable in the shape of Ashoka facial mark hidden near the bottom of the haul by the ramp.

Rex squeezed your hand tightly finding the nervous expression on your face, "None of these men will ever be a threat to you," he said giving the ship three solid knocks.

Your heart shook as the anticipation grew, these are Rex's men. Deserters of the Empire, they could be trusted. Right? I trusted my men... Clam grew over your skin as the ramp finally touched the ground. Looking up you found a green trooper looking down at you, one of master Yoda's men? You watched the trooper salute, standing at attention coughing to get the attention of the other trooper hanging near by who repeated his attention.

"Commander, this is Nemec and the brother over there is Fireball, at ease," Rex said giving them a stiff nod.

"Nice to meet you, Sir," Nemec said as you walked on board after Rex.

"She's a little skittish around us clones so give her breathing room."

"Don't blame her," Fireball murmured, "I barely ever want to see our face again," he heard Nemec cough finding the glare he was giving him, "Just saying, I can barely stand to look at it after what our brothers did."

"His chip's defective, deteriorated but unlike Tup's it didn't execute the order early. It's out now. He took the loss of his General hard and found me soon after," Rex whispered.

"Let's get out of here, I'm going to show the Commander around," Rex said gesturing away from them, "Refresher, their room, my room, mess... sorta," he shrugged, "storage closet, I could turn that into your private room if you want one," he shrugged again nervously rubbing his neck at the unspoken question hanging in the area.

"I think I should share yours Captain, I'll want my own bed of course."

Rex's heart skipped a beat, "I can arrange that," he tried to keep his stern dignified expression but felt like a cadet, of course their had been nights together but never like this coexisting in the same place, "Sorry," he coughed finding the responsive blush across your face. "Anyway, you can take my bed for now. I'll go grab a spare mat from the storage room," he said setting the pack down on his bed excusing himself so you to get settled in. It's not like before di'kut, the reminder settled in his bones wondering if all of the closeness had been to much. He tried to steal himself to that possibility. Taking a seat outside the room, he forced himself to clear his mind until Nemec walked over.

"You sure about this, Captain," he said jetting his chin towards the door, "We need a Jedi on our side but are we sure being in these cramped quarters is good for her?"

Rex understood his brothers concern, he looked at the door for a moment before placing a hand on the man's shoulder, "She was always the backbone holding the men together after every major loses and always giving us hope. It's time we do the same for her." His tone was firm, "I trust her, she choose to come with me for a reason. I believe she knows she can work through this."

"Did you ever think she came because she loves you?"

"Trust her judgement, Vod," Rex smiled taking his hand off his shoulder, "Let's head to base." Turning on his heel Rex rummaged through the storage closet grabbing the rolled up mat before heading back to his room. Our room, he thought smiling. When he returned all of your belonging had already taken up the spade signifying your stay with him.

"I haven't seen or slept on one of those in ages," you smiled softly looking at the poor express for a bed as he laid it out, "I'll take the mat if you want the bed-."

"Don't even think about taking the floor Mesh'la," he said bringing his gaze to yours, "We'll head to our base to plan to get The Bad Batch's chips out and you can see everyone else, I know their's a couple other 501st troopers who'd love to see you," he smiled.

"Who?" You asked going wide eyed.

"Hawk and Dogma," his grinned widen, "I definitely didn't expect it either," he cautiously said walking forward letting one hand fall to your hip, "A Jedi and a captain, whatever are they going to think," he jested hearing you laugh melting some of the burdens in his heart, "I've missed you every passing moment, Cyare," his grin faltered for a second before returning, "No matter how long it takes I'll wait for you to be ready again," he said letting go, "the rest of my life if need be. Now I have to try to figure out how to get their chips out."

"Captain?"

"Yes, Mesh'la?"

You took the step back towards him wrapping your arms around his neck, the familiar scent, feel of him and the warm tiny tug through the force, "Thank you for being patient," you pulled away wrapping your arms at your side, "We can use the republic scrap yard, their were rumors of a ship being delivered."

"And you know this how?" Rex smiled crossing his arms.

"I did have a salvaging job to get by."

"I'll let the boys know and we can devise a plan, welcome back Commander."

You followed after him, skin prickling at Nemec and Fireballs presence. They each offered a small smile as you took the sit next to the Captain as he started planning. He was quiet for what seemed like forever when he hand stretched out and rested in your thigh as he kept working. You looked down at it, lip quivering as tears threaten to fall again. It's a different time, you placed your hand over his as you chimed it time to time with what little information you had.

"Rex?"

"Yes, Mesh'la?" he said not lifting his eyes from the task at hand.

"I'll love you the rest of my life too," you whispered squeezing his hand, "I think we're getting ready to land again," you said feeling the ship slowing down.

Rex gave a tiny nod standing up interweaving his fingers with yours, guiding you towards the cockpit finding Fireball bringing the ship down. You observed the low tech handmade building and the small cluster of troopers already waiting outside, greens, greys, a red and then the 501st blue. You saw the familiar valiant tattoo across Dogma's face and then the red hawk wing tattoo's on Hawk's temples. Walking off the ship Rex placed himself between you and the rest of them, each set of eyes noticing the hands bound together. You felt like you were going to be sick being around this many troopers, it apparently must have paled you.

"Commander, you're not looking so good," Hawk pointed out.

"Let's get some air Cyare," he said softly, "Hawk, Dogma both of you are coming with me to help a couple of our brother's get their chips out."

"Yes, Sir."

Gently you felt Rex stir you away from the crowd away from prying eyes towards the edge of the small base, guiding you towards a crate to sit on overlooking the forest, "Better?" he asked quietly.

"Do you think Tech's right? What if-."

"A wise woman once told me when I was losing faith in myself; A soldier's most powerful weapon is courage. Courage begins by trusting oneself. You choose to come with me, Commander, you could have stayed on Ord Mantell and lived out a regular civilian life but you didn't."

"You've been waiting since Tibrin to toss that back at me, haven't you?" you said with a smile sad laugh, your gaze travelled to the sky remembering other sayings you were taught; Who we are never changes, who we think we are does. One must let go of the past to hold on to the future. To seek something is to believe in its possibility. I was- I am Jedi, a Commander in the Grand Army of the Republic and partner of one of the most highly decorated Captain's. I do not run when the battle get's rough, I stand beside my men and face evil head first. I am survivor of Order 66, I lived to fight another day. You exhaled a breath you were apparently holding. Turning your head, you took his appearance forcing your mind to calm down and body to still. The familiar earthly tone of his eyes; the arrays of brown to shimmering golds, the short blonde hair, the expressive eyes just for you and a smile that puts very sun to shame. While your body tried to fight but your mind had already come to terms with reality, it might take for your body to catch up but it would be worth it. Rex would be worth it. You watched his hand come up and caress your cheek, your breath hitched as you leaned into it bringing your hand to his.

"Possibly," he smiled finally answering the question, "Ready to go back?"

"Yeah, I want to see the boys," you smiled.

Rex pulled you closer to him, "Let's go see the boys," he affirmed keeping his hand around your waist stirring you around troopers until he found the two other blues in the back rolling up their sleeping packs.

"Sir," Dogma saluted before staring down at Rex's arm, "Regulations-"

"No longer exist," Hawk pointed out, "Called it," he chuckled.

"Nice to see you too, Dogma."

"Sorry, still getting use to it," he added nervously.

"Me too," you mumbled.

"I am happy for the two of you," Dogma quickly added, "When are we leaving?"

"In a couple hours," Rex said feeling your body slowly continue to tense. His mouth fell agape when you reached out hugging the two of them, "I've missed you, boys," you whispered before pulling back. Rex's hand found your waist again feeling the muscles constrict themselves into knots. He stirred both of you back to the ship to your's room, "That was bold," he murmured eyeing you cautiously as you climbed onto the bed.

"With great risk comes great rewards," you offered, gently tugging his hand towards the bed smiling as redness flushed across his face. Sheepishly he removed his poncho and armor discarding it to a regulation neat pile on the floor, “How about until we leave I try to get use to being next to you again?”

“There is no other place I rather be then next to you, Commander,” Rex smiled climbing into the bed, “Just tell me when it becomes to much, I don’t mind taking my time with the scars I can’t see.”

#captain rex #tbb captain rex #clone wars captain rex #captain rex x jedi reader #captain rex story #captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #clone wars fanfication #the bad batch fanfiction #clone wars fanfiction #clone wars angst #clone wars fluff #clone wars fanfic #captain rex fanfiction #Captain rex fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars story

[aspenstarflare]

I woke up at chose angst (Note: I know Anakin and Ahsoka’s situations were entirely different, I was just toying with the fact of Anakin being afraid of being abandoned too)

#anakin skywalker #obiwan kenobi #ahsoka tano #clone wars #kenobi series #disaster lineage #anakin and obi wan #anakin and ahsoka #obi wan and ahsoka #the wrong jedi arc #clone wars fanart #kenobi fanart #star wars fanart #fanart #clone wars angst #star wars the clone wars #star wars prequels #i will make you share my pain #anakin had such terrible abandonment issues imagine how he felt when he watched obi-wan abandon ahsoka

[toomanybandstocare]

{Who's The Coward Now}

Program: Even though the medic somehow always finds a way to get under your skin, you hold a deep respect for Kix. That may have begun to turn into something more than a professional admiration. Until it shatters after an argument that continues onto the battlefield. Heated words are exchanged, but you'd rather hear him yelling at you than the radio silence that answers when you try to call him.

Pairing: Medic Kix x Support Agent, GN! Reader

Genre: Angst

Length: 3967w

Warnings: Reader and Kix say pretty hurtful things to each other because they care about each other type of deal, Battle scene, Medical scene, Couple of swears (as usual lmao)

Camp Resolute Masterlist

Counselor Notes: Thank you to @wizardofrozz for your help on this as a thought partner. It was so helpful & @obixwan, I hope you enjoy! Not too sure how I feel about this one tbh, but I am pretty happy with it.

“You have to be more careful,” Kix reprimands you. Though his hands carefully hold your head, he can’t control the anger burning through his veins. With one hand still holding your head, he tosses the blood soaked gauze and quickly takes another from his medical table. Pressing the fresh swab onto the cut on your forehead, Kix hesitates when you wince. His gaze softens momentarily and mumbles an apology.

“We all have a job to do, Kix,” you hoarsely explain, “I wasn’t about to sit on the side lines as our friends took their last breath”.

Kix pauses after placing a plaster on the small wound and looks away from it to meet your serious expression with one of disbelief. “We all have a job to do, but it doesn’t mean we have to sacrifice ourselves for nothing”.

“For nothing,” you exclaim and push his caring hands away. 

His careless words cause your blood to boil as you look at him incredulously. In any other situation your stomach would have fluttered from his cute, wide eyed expression. Instead, knots twist your stomach as bile builds in the back of your throat.

“I would lay down my life without second thought to keep you and your family safe, Kix,” your voice breaks. “You and your brothers mean so much. Not just to each other, or to me, but to countless people across the galaxy. You have to understand that”. 

You reach out with a shaky hand to try to hold onto him, but Kix ducks his head and steps away from you.

His weak voice murmurs your name before he says barely above a whisper, “We are nothing, but a surplus of pawns”.

Kix darts his tongue across his lip and swallows the lump forming in his throat. Everything feels numb and too much all at once. Pin pricks sting his skin. The fluorescent lights cause a dull ache to pound against his head. His heart shatters, and the pieces slash him from the inside.

With a shaky breath, Kix turns away from you and begins to clean his medical table. “When one of us dies, one thousand more run onto the battlefield to replace us. Clones are nothing, but cogs in the Republic’s machine. You have to understand that. There is no reason for you to risk your life for one of us when there are a million of me,” Kix explains and pulls his gaze from the bloody scraps that stain his fingers to look over at you. 

Your heart pluments, and you open your mouth to try to reason with him. His raised hand and defeated smile silences you. “There is only one of you in this galaxy. I have no control over my life, or even how I die. The semblance of control I have is by helping my brothers and civvies when they need aid,” Kix’s voice subtly shakes as his eyes scan over your bandaged wound, “Do not put your life at risk for some clone”. Bile builds in the back of his throat as the memory of an assassin droid jumping at you and nearly cutting your life short. Just another reason he owes Jesse his life.

Your eyes sting as you look at the man who stands before you, completely unrecognizable in front of the one who has slowly been stealing your heart much to your dismay. Instead of the teasing, know it all of a medic, you see a man hiding behind the mask of his fallen brothers.  “You are so wrong,” you firmly breath out. “And if you can't realize how much you--or your brothers-- have to offer the galaxy for just existing as individuals, then you’re truly pathetic,” you spit out. 

As if your words cut him, Kix staggers a step backwards. Your steely gaze freezes him in place as you stand up from the cot. “Not because you are a clone,” you continue with a growing fire in your voice, “Because you are a coward of a man who would rather fall into society’s place and play the victim. I hear your lies, and I see right through you, Kix. You are afraid of what happens next after the war, so you’re pushing me away. You’re isolating yourself to put the blame on yourself and the situation rather than trying to make the best of it and make a difference”. 

Kix clutches the edge of the cold durasteel table. Your words tear down the reality he’s tried to come to terms with. His head spins as his lungs seem to be weighed down as he desperately tries to breathe. He opens his mouth to try to … explain himself? No, that doesn’t seem right. But there’s nothing to defend, right? 

“If you’re even thinking about trying to convince me that you’re right in this situation,” your voice trembles with anger, “I am walking out that door”. There’s a beat of silence as the two of you look at each other. Even with the ventilation fan whirring in the background, the air hangs heavy in a thick blanket. Kix turns his back to you to continue cleaning his workstation.

Without second thought, you turn on your heel and walk swiftly out of the medbay. A blistering heat washes over you, and only once weaving through the starship’s corridors do you feel like you can breathe again.

Fog consumes the battlefield, and the tense atmosphere weighs down on your shoulders. You peer around the boulder you’ve taken shelter behind. Blaster bolts cut through the thick blanket of mist. Surveying the area, your eyes widen when a red beam shoots toward you. With your heart pounding in your throat, you throw yourself backwards for cover once more. A flurry of embers kiss the arm you use to block the scorching rock fragments and debris flying around you from the blast. 

“We need you to infiltrate the ray shields three klicks North of your position,” General Skywalker’s voice crackles through your comlink. Echoes of reflected blaster bolts and battalion commands blend in disharmony behind his tired words.

“Easier said than done,” you yell through gritted teeth. Pushing into the balls of your feet and clenching your fists, you push from your crouched position and take off across the crumbled terrain. “I can’t see a damned thing,” you relay back to the battalion as you duck away from a blitz of crossfire, “Some guidance would be helpful”.

“I can spare Kix and Jesse, but we’re not exactly in a better position than you,” Rex grunts followed by a deafening explosion.

A spear of panic pierces your pounding heart. Why does it have to be Kix? Any other clone--hell, any other 501st trooper--would be better than him. 

Your feet slam into the barren wasteland as you push further into the battle. Troopers collapse all around you while clankers melt from blasters. No one is safe in this hellscape. Not man. Not machine. Not you.

You weave past the scattered soldiers, and some yell out to you in the haze.

“What are you doing?”

“Turn back now”.

“We can hold them off, fall back behind lines”.

“I told you not to do anything risky,” one voice rings clear in all the chaos. Footsteps fall in time with your own as you near the ray shields, now just ahead of you past the enemy defense.

“I’m following orders, Kix,” you wheeze. Your lungs scream for air as you duck out of the way of an onslaught of blaster shots. “Something you seem all too familiar with,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Why did you volunteer for this,” Kix hissed over his shoulder. He raises his gun to help his brother clear a path for the three of you to infiltrate the enemy’s inner lines.

With a haggard grunt, Jesse throws a shock grenade towards the surrounding droids to clear the last of the blockade. “If you haven’t noticed,” he yells, “we’re a bit preoccupied. Finish this spat when we’re in the next system, far away from this shit”.

Unable to tell if the surge of determination coursing through your veins comes from Kix’s words or the sight of possible victory, you break from the two troopers to push ahead. “I need you to flank my sides,” you say into your comlink, “we’re nearly to the center, and I’ll be able to set up the explosives. I just need you to keep the fire off of me”.

“Ten-four,” Jesse responds.

Through the roar of war, the static of your comlink rings in your ears. Filling you with dread, you hit it a few times to make sure it’s not broken.

“Kix?” you question. A gnawing pit of anxiety bubbles in your stomach when met with static. “Jesse,” you try the other channel, “Is Kix with you?”

Your skin tingles when you step through the shield barrier. Scanning the area, your eyes lock onto the target control area and power supplies. You sprint towards the control panel first, and you fumble with the protective plate before connecting the first explosive.

“What?” he asked in confusion. You hear heavy gunfire crackle through mixed with the trooper’s strained breathing. “No,” Jesse pushes out, “Saw him break off to your West when you gave the command. East generator is cleared”.

Each step you take to the East power supply is met with no resistance. With just a few strides, you reach the generator and connect the explosive to its side. Shifting your weight, you push off and run to the West generator. As blasters and explosive shells ring in your ears, your heart pounds. Prickles of fear sting your skin. He has to be there.

“Right behind you,” Jesse shouts, “Heard anything from Kix?”

“Radio silence,” you yell over your shoulder. When you face forward again, the fog billows and folds over itself as some of the enemy land cruisers shoot off into the distance. This could be it. At the thought of reaching the last moments of battle, you attach the last explosive and grab the detonator from your utility belt. Jesse stands tall as he shoots down any stray droid emerging from the shield barrier. With a click, you sync the charges and motion Jesse to move out.

“Kix, meet at the West cliff cave. The charges are set and prepped,” you shout into your comlink over the battle’s cacophony. Once again, only static hums in response. You shoot Jesse a look of confusion. Your com channels work fine, even with the frequency interference, so why was Kix suddenly unreachable? Is he really that petty to ignore com calls after our last conversation? You scoff and duck behind one of the boulder stacks inside the cave. Your heart pounds against its cage as you look over to Jesse on the other side.

“Have you gotten through to that idiot,” you shout with a shaky voice.

Jesse taps the side of his bucket a few times. “No,” his words slowly come out as he thinks, “But those droids will be getting close to the charges by now. I don’t think we can spare him anymore time”.

“What if he gets caught in the blast? We have to wait for him,” your response tumbles without thought from your chapped lips. 

“We have a job to do,” Jesse reminds you as he tilts his head. “Kix is smart. He knows about the charges, and he won’t do something reckless”.

You bite your lip and look at the detonator in your hand. A cold wave of uncertainty wash over you that stings your skin with the scorching blood coursing through your veins.

“Why are you hesitating? Set them off now, or we’ll all be in trouble,” Jesse yells. Panic pushes past his usually cool demeanor.

Your thumb presses down on the small button, and you shut your eyes as a deafening whirlwind overcomes the chaos. A powerful gust of wind pushes through the cave’s entry way bringing flames and debris with it. The heat swelters around you and constricts your lungs. Sweat drips across your skin. You try to steady your haggard breathing, but the smoke lingering in the air burns the inside of you with each inhale.

“Status report,” a static voice faintly calls out. Its location seems to bounce through the cave, and you can barely register it above the ringing in your ears.

“Jesse,” you call out. A cough accompanies your hoarse voice. Slowly rising to a standing position, you lean against the wall to your side. The world sways underneath your feet, which only makes your head spin harder.

“Over here,” a similar voice coughs from where you last saw your squad mate. “You alright?”

Your comlink chirps, and you carefully nod your head. “Probably. You?”

“Been through worse”. Without warning, a beam of light breaks through the smoke and fog settling around the two of you. “We’re alright, Rex,” Jesse explains through the shared channel. “Lost Kix though when we broke off to clear the surrounding area near the generators”.

“We’ll keep an eye out for him, but he’s probably already at the temp medbay. Hurry over and get checked out. We’re trying to evac ASAP. This place is making everyone uneasy, and it’s time for well deserved R-and-R”.

Your stomach lurches with your first step away from the wall. As your heart plummets, the sense of uncertainty freezes into dread, and your knees buckle. Rex didn’t know where Kix was? 

“Hey- hey,” Jesse shouts your name and rushes over to you. Just as you’re about to sink into the ground, his arms catch you and hold you up. “Kriffssake, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost”.

“I need to find Kix,” you say in a rush. Everything feels sharp to the touch as you try to pull yourself away from Jesse. “Something's not right. We need to find him”. 

Jesse’s arms tighten around you as he guides your struggling form out of the hiding spot into the remnants of the battlefield. “What’s gotten into you,” he huffs. “The two of you were just arguing in the middle of an onslaught of blasterfire, and now you’re worried about him?”

An unexplainable instinct urges you to try to fight out of Jesse’s hold, but your aching muscles only want to sink into his arms. Kix may be insufferable, but he follows orders. Regardless of who gives them. “Jesse, I’m telling you- there’s something wrong. Kix isn’t okay”.

“Even if he isn’t okay-which he’s not- why do you care so much all of the sudden?” Jesse prods as he pushes you past the rubble and heaps of scrap metal.

“I’ve always cared,” you nearly shout in frustration. Your body screams in pain as you continue to shift and throw your weight to break free. Even when the ARC trooper’s hold softens, he still keeps you from running off in search of…him. What is Kix exactly? A crush is too childish for the deep respect and admiration you hold for the medic. Friend is nowhere close to describing your teasing and heated relationship. The only word that comes to mind to describe the man -- who has soft, inviting eyes and a smirk you just want to wipe away with a kiss -- would be lover. An agonized groan rumbles in your chest as you fling your body weight completely forward. “You’re not listening,” you practically scream.

“Enough,” Jesse shouts and pulls you tight into his chest as the pair of you walk through the beginnings of the Republic camp. The plastoid armor digs into your back and knocks the wind out of your chest. “Coric,” he shouts, “need you check this one out. We took in a lot of smoke and might have some minor burns”. Stares from just about everyone in the camp lock onto the two of you. A tangle of collected calmness and frantic fighting. 

Before Coric can even ask what happened, you beat him to the first word: “Where’s Kix?” Nausea rocks your stomach as Coric takes you in with a careful look.

“Wasn’t he with you,” he slowly inquires. A crease of confusion digs across his forehead as his gaze flickers between you and Jesse.

At his words, you feel Jesse simultaneously lock up and loosen his grip on you. With weak knees suddenly trying to support you, you almost wish he would hold you tighter with the news. Silence settles between the three of you with an unspoken understanding. Kix never reported for medical duty. Neither his commanding officer or his medical chief knew where he was.

“Think you can hold on a little longer,” Jesse nervously asks, looking at you.

“Didn’t even want to be here in the first place. We need to find Rex and the general,” you reply and nod.

Jesse wraps one arm around you to support you and pushes the two of you to walk faster. Dust clouds kick at your heels with each determined step. You’re going to find Kix, bring him home, and give him hell for everything he’s put you through.

 Maneuvering through the aisles of cots and further into the camp, you see Rex and Anakin stand around a makeshift command table. Datapads and a small hologram console crowd the table as the two men speak in tense, hushed tones. Both wear a grave expression that does nothing to hide their concern.

“Rex,” both you and Jesse call out in a rush. Feeling the subtle tremors shifting his armor, you wrap your arm around Jesse to pull him into your side. Both of you lean into each other. Ragged breaths rise and fall from your aching chests. The two of you hold each other up as the commanding officers face you and take a sharp inhale. A choked sound of protest tears at your throat.

“Rex,” Jesse tries again. Anger flares underneath his skin and continues to stoke his anxiety when his ori’vod won’t look him in the eye. His lip curls into a snarl. “Where’s Kix?” he growls.

Jesse’s body twitches underneath your touch, and you find yourself pulling him back as he tries to take a step towards the general and captain. Holding him back, you press your feet into the ground to try to do the same for yourself. 

If it comes down to it, neither of you are concerned about stopping the other from running anymore. Now in agreement that something is terribly wrong, both of you are prepared to even give the commanding officers hell if needed to find Kix. The two of you try to give the others the benefit of the doubt that whatever consequence the mission’s success brings, it has nothing to do with Kix’s absence.

General Skywalker exhales a deep breath as he turns to the holo-console. With a press of a button, shaky helmet-cam footage from the battle plays in front of you accompanied by Kix’s shouts. “Always calling the shots, huh,” Kix mutters under his breath before following with, “Copy”. Your eyes flicker from where you disappear out of sight from the holograph to the West power generator that shows up a few moments later. 

“Just has to have the last word, kriffsake,” Kix mutters. His helmet scans the area as he approaches the West generator. “Maybe you should come down from your throne and walk amongst the common people for a day. Nothing’s fucking good enough to you,” Kix spits out. His boot kicks a rock tumbling as he rounds the corner to clear the area. “Instead of thinking you’re all knowing, try looking in the mirror. I bet you’d shatter at the sight of your reflection. A person who’s so desperate to prove their worth to others that they insert themselves where they aren’t needed. Even when it puts their life at risk,” he groans and hits the side of his helmet with his fist. The generator hums quietly as the battle rumbles around him, but the area is void of any life. No rubble littering the coarse dirt and rocks. Not a single stray piece of metal or plastoid lurks in the mist. No immediate threats to pull Kix out of his spiraling thoughts. “Calling me a coward when they’d rather sacrifice their life, so they can die a hero rather than fight another day to be a better person”.

Kix’s words knock the wind out of you, and you stagger a step backward. Bumping into Jeese, your chest aches as you choke on your breathing. Dust and realization sting your ears as tears prick at your lash line while you watch Kix check the boulder mass just beyond the generator. As he approaches the obstacle, a blunt impact crashes into his helmet causing the footage to fizzle through static snippets. His com connection cuts in and out as Kix’s shout of surprise quickly turns into noises of combat. Until the hologram fades into the table, and you’re left with his words echoing in your head.

As if a cord has snapped, you feel as if you’re disconnected from reality. Your body feels like it weighs nothing while you do everything to balance the crippling fear trying to push you to your knees. General Skywalker and Captain Rex’s voices sound like they’re systems away even though you could reach out with your hand to either of them at the moment. 

The only thought cycling through your head -- the only thought that burns itself into your memory -- is how Kix is missing and he thinks you're a coward.

At least that’s something the two of you could agree on.

You pull your gaze from the holoconsole and look Rex dead in the eyes. Rather than the collected captain you’ve worked with so often, Rex’s apprehensive expression and concerned eyes further stoke the rising flame of determination that courses through you. The sensitive pinpricks that sting your skin heighten the sensation of breaking through your consciousness’s fog.

“So, how are we going to bring Kix back home?” you demand. The finality of your words rings clear through the camp, and the four of you share a look of mutual agreement. None of you would be returning to the Resolute without the medic.

#clone medic kix #kix clone trooper #kix x gn reader #kix x reader #kix x male reader #kix x female reader #kix x you #kix x yn #the clone wars fics #the clone wars fic #the clone wars fanfic #the clone waars angst #clone wars fanfic #clone wars fic #clone wars fics #kix angst #the clone wars angst #clone wars angst #counselor mythos post #camp halfwit bulletin post

[thelullabyer12]

Those who must be protected

The Corusaunt Guard were on their own. They were perfect. They had to be. Other than the Commanders, they were all identical. As clones should be. If they were easily identifiable, the senators they served would hurt them. All the commanders had the scars to prove it. They got their fair share of injuries from prison riots but most of the damage came from those they needed to protect. 

Stone had a thick scar running down his bottom lip to his chin. A senator took a cup to his face after he dared to sit down. Stone remembered the blood on his lips, the only drink he’d had in hours, and the way his hands twitched as he wanted to block the blows. It would have been trivially easy but he didn’t want to be reconditioned. He never wanted to discover the sterile labs that could rip away his name and personality. He didn’t want to be left on the operating table. 

Thire had bruises around his neck for weeks after he fumbled a tray someone shoved into his chest. As the ceramic dishes shattered, so too did his windpipe. Long, thick fingers wrapped around his throat and his hand flew to the arm that held him. He was beaten to the ground, shards embedding into what little skin was exposed. He might have screamed. Even now, a gold outline was inked around his neck and he flinched when medics. brushed their fingers around his neck. 

Thorn had an outline of his armor on his skin. Boiling water was thrown on him, seeping onto his blacks, scarring his skin with perfect outlines where his armor lay. He remembered the way his skin was a deep pink then went shiny and tight as he healed. He remembered the cold baths he had to take, the lack of burn supplies, the brutal healing. Corries had no reason to be burnt. Why would they be prepared for this? 

Fox’s veins were lit up, small rivers elevated around his body. It was almost beautiful if it were not for the man Fox served directly under. If it were not for the screams that came from behind locked doors. If it were not the fact Fox was the only Corrie allowed to scream. If it were not for the blank look in his eyes. If. it were not for his aversion to the medbay, believing others needed it more. If it were not for everything. 

~~~

I shoto todoroki ed thorn lmao

Masterlist

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/thelullabyer12/686907751015809024?source=share

#commander fox #Commander Stone #commander thire #commander thorn #coruscant guard #corusaunt guard #star wars #star wars angst #clone wars #clone wars angst

[saixenjoyer]

Sometimes I wonder if during or post Vader-ification surgery Anakin ever thought about Echo. Like does he think about how he saw what Echo looked like coming out of that tube and relates that to his own experiences? They had similar injuries and similar procedures as a result. They were both taken apart and rebuilt.

#the clone wars #tcw echo #tcw anakin #darth vader #star wars #clone wars angst #not a ship post #I was sitting on the couch a few days ago when this got beamed into my head #I have genuinely stayed awake in bed thinking about this

[dexters-bluemilkshakes]

i made "the 501st goes to Target", "the disaster lineage goes to Target", "The Clone Wars Squad ™ (+Satine) goes to Target", "The Rebels go to Target", "The Original Trilogy Gang Goes To Target", “The Droids of Star Wars go to Target (chaos ensues)”, “The 104th go to Target” and now I give you:

The 212th go to Target.

cody: he went to target to get a resistance band to workout with. everyone else just tagged along and he was too tired to say anything.

after he grabbed the thing he came for, he made the common mistake of not leaving immediately and of course was sucked into the dangerous temptation of ✨browsing✨. while walking around in the store, he passed the hair product aisle. He didn’t need anything, his curls were healthy as ever, but he did see that pomade stuff obi wan was obsessed with, and bought that for him (obi wan paid him back later. he was so insistent that he doesn’t use the hair product that cody offered to return it and obi wan shouted “NO”. cody: 👁👄👁).

he looked around for a wristlet keychain in hopes to show the jedi council that they should make the jedi attach them to their lightsaber, to no avail.

he didn’t buy much else, other than a personal pizza at the café, and set out looking for his brothers to see if they were ready to go.

he genuinely shouldn’t have been surprised to see them all huddled around a cart full of snacks they picked out. somehow, they managed to pool enough money to buy 163.48 credits worth of soda, candy, and snacks. cody said nothing. his brothers deserved it.

boil: waxer put boil in charge of drinks, and waxer was in charge of snacks. they had just came back from a long campaign and there was a lot of cars games in the barracks at night. he made a few credits, which he was excited to spend.

waxer had a list written down of everyone’s favorite snacks, which he told boil he had to adhere to. boil would have preferred to just get what he wanted and then share, but waxer was insistent, so he relented.

a lot of people liked cookies and blue milkshakes. he was able to buy the cookies but just got blue ice cream for those who wanted to make the milkshakes themselves.

when he and waxer met up, they put everything into one big basket. they called over gregor and and they all pooled their money together and justttt managed to cover the cost.

the snacks lasted them two weeks as a battalion. boil did such a good job picking everything out that he was officially Snack Grabber from then on out.

also he 100% knew when gregor was hiding in the racks of clothing so he would aggressively sort through shirts on the other side and pretend to look for something while knowing he was smacking gregor with the shirts as he moved them.

waxer: he bought an ungodly amount of coffee. but it’s okay. at least it wasn’t all for him (this time).

while boil may think it’s dumb, waxer had a color coded list that was both alphabetically and categorically organized to be easy to find everyone’s snack preferences. he had a separate one for drinks.

before actually acquiring the drinks, waxer did some math on the back of a receipt with a space golf pencil to figure out exactly how many credits he would need to cover the cost of drinks, down to the decimal point. this way, boil could use the rest of the money to buy as many snacks as possible.

he also brought the exact amount needed to buy a box of wax strips to keep his head nice and smooth.

lastly, he bought a sticker mustache in case he ever needed to bear a passing resemblance of boil. for mission (*cough* pranking cody *cough*) purposes, of course.

gregor: he’s the type of guy to hide in the clothing racks and jump out and scare people. luckily for the galaxy, the only customers in the store at the time were his brothers. unluckily for his brothers, gregor did not play fair even for family. and even more unluckily for gregor, his brothers are soldiers. they have fast reflexes. and he got pushed backwards into the clothing rack. every. single. time.

he also liked ease dropping on the conversations of the employees passing by (he didn’t scare them cause he didn’t want to get kicked out). he went back to the barracks with so much gossip on bethany and zilde, and he has no idea who they ARE.

he was then responsible for weekly installments of bethany and zilde and would keep making up the story.

when gregor disappeared, someone else continued the story.

it was never the same

+bonus, they bring numa: (yes i’m well aware there is no way this could ever be canon but indulge me. this is my return to the target series after months. let me have my fun.)

so numa is absolutely the type of kid to try and climb into the giant ball basket thing. boil would say no and waxer would nod his head in agreement, but as soon as boil turned away, he’d lift up numa and put her in. when boil turned back around, he looked for numa in confusion. waxer tried to feign ignorance even as numa fell out of the pit through the bars.

after that, boil was very much on no-nonsense duty. he put numa in the seat part of the cart and pushed her around while waxer relayed the grocery list to him. numa was happy to sit and look around.

at the end of the day, they went to the starbucks and got her a hot chocolate and a rice krispy treat.

when numa was much older, and only had memories to smile upon, she found the taste of rice krispies too sweet to eat anymore.

#commander cody #the 212th #clone trooper boil #clone trooper waxer #clone commander gregor #numa #212th attack battalion #the clone wars #the clones #clone wars #clone wars angst #target #star wars

[crackedopen]

𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓮𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭, 𝓸𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓼- a Foxiyo angst one-shot

Hello there, 

As I’ve mentioned here, my mental health and university got caught on me and this led to me not posting anything both on my AO3, but also on my Tumblr. I’m sorry for that. 

Have this sweet painful Foxiyo one-shot as an apology, you can read it also on AO3.

(Obligatory TW for: gaslighting, mentions of erotic themes, torture, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of an assassination attempt)

Enjoy! 

The crimson red stilletos were now lazily propped up against the wall, leaving the souvenir from a 4 hour long meeting with The Council in the shape of tiny chaffs and scars on her ankles, dark blue against the cyan skin. The golden headband with two curved crescent moons at the front laying on the white and gold dressing table also left scars, in the form on the dull ache on both of her temples. She wished the traditional Pantoran garments weren't that heavy as she stood in front of the mirror and took of the nose stud linked to her earrings with a heavy chain.

Her royal purple shawl was looking at her from where it has been thrown across the chair, as if it was looking with annoyance.

You really fucked up as a Pantoran woman, Riyo.

The senator sighed.

Why am I not perfect, she asked herself before telling her faithful servant android to turn off for the night as it finished cleaning up.

There was a knock on the door. Riyo opened, tying a night robe around her waist in a hurry.

Her knees sank.

"Fox."

The bigger man in a civvie sherpa jacket scooped her up, kissing her without any tiny bit of patience.

Her eyes scorched his soul as they broke apart, gasping for air.

”Are you alright?”

"Yes. Very much so..." the guard purred low in his broad muscled chest visible from under a basic grey T-shirt "And you... Did you miss me?"

The Pantoran nodded eagerly.

"Yes. Yes, I did. I... I longed for you so badly. I thought my heart would break during that damned meeting. It took us four hours to finally decide what to do with The Chancellor. Four hours."

Fox's heart sank. The Commander was also on the brink of patience, sanity and consciousness. Everyone on Coruscant and in The Senate was.

And all of that because of one Sith Lord who was hiding all along under their noses, under the costly robes of The Chancellor of The Galactic Republic.

"Fox...." she mewled, her sky blue tattooed hand sliding across his chest, her own squeezing in pain and desire.

Her golden round eyes lined with smudged kohl meant only one thing.

The Pantoran almost squealed in an extremely non-senatorial way when the giant man picked her up like she weighted nothing to him (which was, frankly, quite probable), carrying her to her bedroom in a bridal carry.

Riyo purred, her hand caressing Fox's chest.

"I've missed you so much, Fox... I'm literally burning"

Fox chuckled, biting his lower lip not to hiss in pain. The boxing training was a pain in his ass today, so bad he could feel every singular thread of muscle under his skin taut with pain.

Just like that one time when a pale bony hand made his synapses scream, getting torn apart and shaken deep from the core by blue lightning creeping up and down his body. Forming spit and foam around his mouth, carving black and blue scars that could not be covered with exquisite ink he got to cover and adorn himself, to wrap his broken shell of a body in a cocoon of colors and shapes.

And the voices.

Oh, those were the worst.

"Well, I can say that too” he murmured, taking on a small smile, so small but yet so big it could hide all the anguish  “I feel like my training routine mixed with daily work in the Senate is kicking my shebs right now..."

Her purple lips curved in a soft smile.

"I can help~"

*

The elderly man’s blue (no, they were yellow, Fox was sure he saw a glimpse of yellow in those crystal-like irises, sick putrid yellow) eyes were cold, glacial, even though they burned. His smile cut through his soul like a spear thrown into his body, even though it was warm. Friendly.

No. There was nothing friendly about this smile. Small smile, making his pale wrinkled face even more distorted. Deformed, as if it was done by a dull knife.

Just like the one given to this poor blue-haired shiny by drunk civilians during a lonely patrol in the depths of the dark, rotting Underworld. The Commander flinched under the thick plastoid shell of crimson armor.

The boy would never smile again.

Long bony fingers like the ones of an ancient mummy tapped the smooth surface of an expensive goblet crafted of fragile Pantoran glass. Fragile like Her skin.

May Manda protect my Lady, Fox prayed, clenching the burly gloved hand so hard and making the whiteness bloom on his knuckles under the rough fabric.

“Commander CC-1010. Are you unwell?”

Trooper’s body stiffened, taking on the position coded into his muscle memory. Arms behind the back. Straight posture. Helmet on.

And by Manda, don’t move.

Don’t show him anything.

He already knows.

“By any means no, Sir Chancellor. I feel alright”

A non-existent thin brow rose up nearly to the nobleman’s disappearing hairline as his face froze in shock. A perfect parody of concern.

“Oh? Just alright, Commander?”

Boots crafted from red Nabooian bull leather made a slow rhythmic sound, like a distant sound of Kyr knocking on the door of a dying man. The costly dark blue robes flowed down the wooly carpet, deep dark navy of the ocean against the crimson of drying blood.

Crooked yellow teeth appeared from between the Chancellor’s thin lips in a snarl, stinking breath filling the filters in Fox’s helmet.

“Aren’t you grateful by what I do for you and your people? Don’t you feel just…. Just a tiny amount of satisfaction, a feeling that you owe me everything? The caf you drink? The armor that protects you disgusting lab-made body from getting mauled and crushed and shot at? Your brothers and sisters?”

Lab-made body.

Lab-made body.

The shell of flesh, bone and thick strong muscle that hosted the organs and bones. The living tissue that tasted punches and cuts, got licked by flames and lightning, swallowed blades and bullets and shrapnel. For Fox it was weird how it could still carry on after two and a half years of being in the Coruscant Guard. The Guard Chief Medical Officer also didn’t bother to hide his shock. The crimson Commander remembered the time Pierce had to physically drag him to his private quarters.

Ah. A common occurrence.

Fox wasn’t a fearful man. A one not incapable of emotions, yes. But not fearful, and most certainly- not a coward. No one who spends their days and nights carrying the whole Triple Hellhole on their back is a coward. But a sound of frail Pantoran glass being smashed against the wall into tiny little shards by enraged Chancellor’s hand would make even them shudder.

“Kneel”

The warrior did so, feeling his heart speed up.

The elderly nobleman in long flowing dark blue robes started circling him, each step crunching the pieces of broken glass under his heels.

“I must admit” The Chancellor hissed through gritted teeth “I’ve been blind. I’ve been blind to all the signs, all those things that have been happening under my nose. Blind and deaf to this… Peculiar relationship of Miss Chuchi and yours."

Fox saw the tips of scarlet leather shoes as Chancellor Sheev Palpatine of Naboo stopped right in front of him, gazing down at his unmoving kneeling body.

“I’ve been in love as a young man, you know? A short-time relationship with my father’s secretary. But, alas, the poor girl lost her charm and beauty and wit as sickness struck her. Oh, how she begged, how those sweet golden eyes pleaded me for comfort, for understanding.”

The older man bowed down, his lips against Fox’s helmet.

“Just like your lover’s, Commander Fox. Do you want to know what happened? How I comforted her?”

The soldier’s whole body tensed like he’d been turned into a stone by whatever magick in the Universe.

“I came to her chambers at dusk, and slit her throat. One single cut was enough to comfort her. Don’t weep, though, trooper. She was getting boring after all”

Fox felt bile fill the back of his throat, stomach acid biting his esophagus.

“Now, clean up everything. Leave no piece not picked. Or else my dear Red Guard will do the same to the dame of your heart just like I did to my Fiona of Naboo”

Droplets of red soaked into the expensive thick rug as the trooper’s thick fingers caught each piece. Each shard.

It’s either my blood, or hers.

*

Dull ache and rising, circling pressure in her lower belly, the soft feeling of something hot and tight hugging him. Hot breath gathering in the crook of her neck like steam against the window glass. Ragged moans of pleasure, limbs tangled in messy silk sheets.

And then bliss. And soon, the sound of a snoring man filling the spacious bedroom they share in her apartment.

Riyo got up, wary of her movements as she stepped into the pile of forgotten pieces of clothing and underwear they scattered all over the room in a rush of longing and chemistry linking their bodies together.

Cold bathroom  tiles stung the soles of her feet as she looked in the mirror.

The bacta Syntflax bandages were said to be the most recent and useful invention of Galactic science, at least that was what the medical droid said. Completely weightless, they healed even the harshest injuries of all kinds, then mending together with skin until they disappeared, invisible to the naked eye.

Thank Moon Goddess for that, the Pantoran senator thought as she laid the dressing on the edge of the porcelain sink.

The wide gash crossing her throat, now only a little bit darker than the light blue skin around it, should disappear in the matter of hours. Syntflax healed everything, even if it was caused by a Nabooian dagger.

#clone wars angst #star wars angst #star wars #foxiyo #commander fox #Fox #clone commander fox #clone trooper fox #commander fox whump #cc 1010 #cc1010 #riyo chuchi #fox x riyo #angst #hurt/comfort #hurt #Read on AO3 #AO3 fanfic #ao3 update #star wars: the clone wars #Clone Wars #star wars the clone wars #clone wars fanfiction

[alligatorpie1945]

"Twenty minutes later he’d made it back to his room with no memory of the journey and the taste of vomit stuck in the back of his throat.

No one asked what he’d done - it was an unspoken rule, never to ask - but Wrecker opened his arms and let Crosshair disappear into them without a word."

--Twelve Seconds by @eriexplosion

About a year or so ago I asked for fanfic submissions to be turned into comics! And this was one of them! I had actually started drawing this a year ago, but just now got around to finishing it!

It's a pretty heavy fic, but its short and really well written! Id suggest checking it out if your in angsty mood!

#the bad batch #fanart #tbb #star wars #art #tech #crosshair #wrecker #clone cadets #the baby batch #angst #fanfiction fanart #fan comic

[tragedy-for-sale]

I'm never getting over how sick he looks

It's a very dull looking scene, almost grayscale. That choice shows you just how sickening this mission is to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan is hunched over, head between his knees. He looks physically sick. Everyone looks to him, he can say 'no,' but how could he possibly deny them? His life is the Jedi, and in the pursuit of peace he's asked to do something he cannot but a Jedi Master can, without question, Obi-Wan Kenobi can and he must.

The second shot, that's the face of resignation. He can't even speak, you can see he almost opens his mouth but all he can do is nod. This is where we see the line of duty and the individual. When challenged, Obi-Wan chooses the light, at the expense of himself, at the expense of those he loves.

He knows Anakin will never forgive because when challenged, Anakin doesn't choose the light, he chooses who he loves. And Obi-Wan cannot tell Anakin that choosing those you love isn't the correct choice.

This is the hero sacrificing you to save the world, this is Obi-Wan sacrificing himself, sacrificing Anakin for the greater good. But what's so good about letting your best friend think you've slipped away into death, mere feet from his grasp? Where's the good in watching someone you love die?

Obi-Wan remembers watching Qui-Gon's last breath leave his body, he never recovered. Where's the good in knowing all the pain your about to put your best friend through? The good in always seeing your ghost?

#he looks so distraught #I cannot handle how sad he looks #star wars #clone wars #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #the clone wars #Hardeen arc #harden angst

[risingmoonyue]

Clone Wars AU where instead of chips, the clones are actually raised to be undercover as loyal soldiers knowing they'd betray the jedi ("traitors") on the order, and are all ready to complete their mission—

But uh. The jedi are really nice?? And kinda dumb??? And they reaaaally don't know how they survived this long when they are just so dumb and trusting and oh no they're attached.

There are many unfortunate realizations. The clones form a support group to rant about their stupid jetii because "—guys you don't understand he loses his lightsaber every two seconds and then smiles at me when I give it back and has decided since I have it so much I should know how to use it and this week he ordered chocolate for everyone what do I do—"

Bly be sitting in the corner, rocking because "Oh no she's hot"

Wolffe is sitting there holding in manly tears because Plo is a buir but he's a traitor but Plo is such a buir can he be my buir

Rex is like "listen I know Skywalker is supposed to be the one non-traitor of the bunch but like. He's crazy???? And the Commander is also crazy???? How am I supposed to keep up with them???? How much worse would they be without Kenobi????????? And I think Skywalker might actually murder us all if anyone touches the commander or Kenobi???????????"

And meanwhile Fox is all "I keep pulling this one weird jedi out of the dumpster and I can't get rid of him. How do I get rid of him, he's growing on me like mold and I hate it."

Meanwhile I cant decide if the Jedi know that somethings up with the clones and are keeping them close or if they just are genuinely like "man those guys are so great ❤️❤️❤️ I'd trust my life with them ❤️❤️❤️ if they don't tell me smth they def have a good reason ❤️❤️❤️"

#could this au be used for unending angst and feels and to make everyone cry????? yes #am I going to use it that way???? lmao no #I just think it's funny #text post #my writing #clone wars au #star wars au #star wars #clone wars #commander cody #commander bly #commander wolffe #commander fox #palpatine #plo koon #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ashoka tano #quinlan vos #aalya secura

[literallyjustanerd]

Are you as inconsolable as I am about never getting to see what happened to Cody after he went AWOL?

GOOD, YOU SHOULD BE. And also, here's a fic about what I'm choosing to believe happened next.

Relationships: Commander Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Commander Cody & Captain Rex

Summary: Marshal Commander Cody has gone AWOL. Alone and on the run, he has nothing to guide him but the memories he struggles to confront, and the family he hopes he can reclaim. But that is not the only path calling to Cody. Obi-Wan is dead, at least officially, and yet, he cannot help but to hope. Already living on borrowed time, taking both paths may not be an option.

Read chapter one here or follow it on AO3 - any and all feedback is greatly appreciated!

***

            Marshal Commander Cody of the esteemed 212th battalion of the GAR has pawned his armour for a few credits. Laid out the pieces before a seedy-looking merchant in the dim lower levels. Even haggled over the price like a common scrapper. Worst of all, he cannot even muster the dignity to feel ashamed for it.  Scarcely has half a rotation passed since he threw all his honour to the wind and went AWOL. But already he is learning that if he is to survive, there is little room for anything more in his mind than pragmatism and a healthy paranoia. Not that guilt and doubt don’t still try to muscle in on the edges. Once again, he is affronted with the conjured image of his holofile, the bold red stamps that would by now be plastered across every data signature: AWOL. Deserter. Enemy of The Empire.

            It isn’t as if he had woken up that day with the express intent of abandoning his post. Though admittedly it had been a long time since he’d woken up feeling anything like a loyal soldier. His final weeks as Marshal Commander he had felt more like a pawn in a particularly brutal game of dejarik than a respected military veteran. He could feel it in all his brothers. The lurking unease, like the prickling at the back of your neck when you sense a sniper’s barrel trained on your back. And yet, on top of it, a thick blanket of haze that made those feelings impossible to face, turned your thoughts away from them the moment you tried to approach. He would march through his day, carrying out the orders that were given, thankful for the brief glimpses of peace that obedience would afford. It became almost meditative at times. Though he knew it should alarm him to feel his sense of self shrink in favour of acting without thought or question, he couldn’t seem to rein himself in. But at night, in the quiet of the barracks, his mind would wander, seek out those places that made his skin crawl and set his teeth grinding. The inexorable human impulse to poke at an open wound, just to feel the pain thrill through your veins. To be brazen and treacherous enough to wonder silently in your own mind if The Empire is really acting in your best interest. That wound is one of the deepest, has never been allowed to heal over before Cody prods at it again. But there are plenty of other scabs to pick.

            The reports all say that he is dead. He. The general. His general. Cody has had to fight especially hard against the pains in his head to even think those words. His name is still out of reach. He knows it, knows it as well as he knows himself. It may as well be etched into his armour with every other dent and blaster strike, carved like his scars into his very skin, and yet not since the moment that Order 66 had taken effect has he been able to say it. Not to anyone, not even to himself. The night before he left for that last mission to Desix, he had lain with lips parted until he had lost track of the seconds on the chrono, trying to force his mouth around the words. No sound came, and yet his lungs had emptied as though he had cried it out loud. Even when he read the reports –which he did repeatedly, a solemn ritual under the cover of night– his eyes would slide off the name like oil. Nonetheless, he knew the facts. Or what The Empire had decided would be the facts. His general, his traitorous, treasonous Jedi general, was dead. Though no body had been recovered. And reports were inconsistent about who had witnessed the supposedly fatal fall. Cody had seen all the Jedi perform far more death-defying feats than surviving the battle on Utapau. Force, his general had even been declared dead once before and returned days later with barely a scratch. His stride unbroken and the same serene smile on his face that left Cody with a new knife in his chest every time he pictured it.

            Desix had been the final straw. The last fistful of dirt on the grave of his faith. Faith in peace, faith in The Empire, faith in anything he or his vode had done in the years since their creation. Ames had not been the least bit surprised when the order of her execution was given. She had expected it from the start.

Peace was never an option.

And yet, she had softened at Cody’s words, let Cody wax about war and survival and deliberation (where had he learned to negotiate like that?) and respected him enough not to shoot him when he laid down his blaster. She wholly expected The Empire to kill her without thought or mercy, and yet, the hope of a ceasefire, of safety for her people, had been enough of a lure to let her release Grotten. A hope Cody had given her, and a hope that earned her nothing more than a blaster bolt to the chest. Perhaps he was punishing himself for his foolishness on the transporter back to Coruscant. Or maybe he had finally been given the push he needed to muscle through the pain and face what he had known from the beginning. Huddled in the corner, aching joints lowered to the floor, he had trained his breaths deep and slow, and plunged headfirst into the roiling sea of his memory, fighting the swell to get down deep. At first he was fumbling in the dark, grasping for something, anything solid, and the screeching dissonance in his head almost made him abandon the task altogether. But then, a glint in the distance. Something to latch onto, anchored far enough below the surface that the waves no longer hit quite so hard.

***

            “How you do it, I do not know.”

Outside. Orange sky. Gentle breeze, slight chill. Quiet.

“I only do what needs done, sir. You’re the one the men look to for assurance.”

The laugh that follows is not right. Meek and cynical where it should be soft and melodic. Cody aches.

“Assurance, I’m afraid, that is more often an act than it is genuine, my dear.”

“Sir?” A hand atop his, a warm weight. Is it really there? Or had Cody merely wished so hard for it that his fantasies have leeched into memory?

“The war is nearing its end. I know everyone here can sense that.” A shaky intake of breath, a furtive glance stolen to the side. “I have felt something in The Force. I cannot be sure what it means, I only… I fear the end of the war may not bring the peace we hope for.”

Cody opens his mouth to speak. No words come. This is not right.  A shuffle beside him. A face no longer in profile. It is hard to look him in the eyes – like staring too long into hyperspace.

“All of this to say, when I find myself at ends like this, it’s you I look to. Whenever I’m in need of something safe, something steadfast. You’re… a rock in the storm. For me, for all the men. They need you.” A pause. In reality perhaps only a moment. In memory it is a lifetime.

“As I need you, Cody.”

Lilac sky. Quiet. The air is still. And as clear as crystal, it is there. The name laid out in memory, falling from lips that now refuse to find it.

“And you’ll have me, Obi-Wan. Always.”

***

            He had woken the next morning after scarcely little sleep, the sun still buried far beneath the horizon. Silently, methodically, he had risen, gathered his things, and walked for the last time from his barracks. He had not paused before his feet crossed the threshold. He had not looked over his shoulder at the towering buildings with their painted-over insignias and walled-up memories. His feet took him through the streets, moving like a ghost to the nearest bank of elevators, and he had watched level 5127 slide up and out of view. For the first few hours he had managed to convince himself that he might have intended on returning. Even as all of his meagre belongings clattered in his pack with every step. Listless, he’d spent some time first wandering the streets and alleys, aimlessly turning corners and weaving further into the shadowy arms of Coruscant’s underbelly. Then, as lights flickered on in what passed for dawn on the lower levels, he slipped through the doors of a tiny speakeasy, the kind he used to reprimand his men for visiting during shore leave. A booth at the back was dark and secluded enough to take the edge off his fear at least momentarily. He spent seventeen of his forty-two credits on spotchka before he allowed himself to regret it. Twenty-four before he was allowed to realise that they would soon send troops after him. And a full thirty before he could finally approach the truth: he was never going back, and this departure was long overdue. CC-2224 was a wanted man.

            All of which left him with one final, looming question. He knew of clone deserters. Many. Some of his closest vode had come up on the daily reports as having slipped away in the night or disappeared during routine operations. Where they went next, how they paid their way, who they became… Cody had no hope of knowing. He was a soldier to the core of his being: his mind didn’t flex the way some of his brothers’ did. He knew little of the streets, the real world outside his insular military mindset. He knew how to plan an operation to take down a smuggler ship, not how to talk his way onto one. But unless he could get off Coruscant, he was a dead man walking. An example to be made to the other remaining clones, like the few captured deserters he’d seen before. The ones he’d forced himself not to look away from. The storm in his mind still rages, the water rising, and his chest tightens against the fear of drowning. From the depths another name rises, another he has fought to keep in his mind.

Rex is out there, somewhere. Reports had come in of his activity. They did not name him, and yet Cody knew immediately beyond any shadow of doubt. He could recognise Rex’s strategies from a mile away – fiercely clever and confoundingly crazy in equal measure. The Empire kept it quiet, not wanting to let slip that his numbers were increasing and their activities growing bolder. Weapons shipments disappearing. Counterfeit chain codes distributed to fugitives. An entire Imperial Freighter hijacked, once. Though he knew he was supposed to feel only contempt for such treasonous actions, Cody hadn’t been able to conjure anything but pride in his vod’ika, even before deserting. Now that he is allowed to think like a traitor, Cody allows himself a smile, his first in weeks, at the thought of seeing his brother again. Knowing Rex, though, finding him would be no easy feat. He was more cunning than Cody in espionage, always had been. His comms were airtight, his trails nonexistent. Making contact would be tantamount to impossible. Although not quite as impossible as the other thought tugging at Cody’s mind, the other path he felt himself being swayed towards. Regardless, both were pipe dreams until he got some credits together and left this planet far behind.

            So it is here that Cody finds himself. It isn’t even an argument in the end. He had expected some trepidation as he tried out the thought of selling his armour. But propriety and nostalgia are weak arguments against self-preservation. It only made sense. He is instantly recognisable in his armour. It weighs him down, and it’s worth the most by far of anything he had to sell.

A worn-out chime rasps through the pawn shop to signal his entry, and he somewhat awkwardly weaves his way to the counter at the back. His movements are still impeded, despite stripping his upper armour off to leave only his blacks. A surly twi’lek greets him with little more than a bare lift of an eyebrow. Could be that he isn’t the first clone deserter to find their way to her. Could be her profession demands she keep an unwavering demeanour. Or, it could be the death stick dangling at the corner of her mouth. It certainly explains the haze and smell permeating the cramped space.

“Selling or buying?”

Cody hefts the pack containing his helmet and upper armour to the bench.

“How much for the whole set?”

After a clumsy attempt at haggling, he relents on a price that seems at least halfway fair. Even throws in one of his larger blasters to sweeten the pot, only keeping the smaller, more easily-concealed pistols to himself. The twi’lek catches him off guard when she asks him for his name. She must sense his panic, the slightest twitch pulling at her mouth.

“Don’t worry. Doesn’t get shared with the seccers,” she said. “Don’t even have to be your real name. Just something you can give if you come back.” Cody can’t picture that ever happening. And yet, after a beat of silence, he speaks.

“Dar’ruus.” Nodding sluggishly, the twi’lek scrawls the name down on a stained sheet of flimsi. He spends the first part of his pay picking up a shirt, a pair of worn pants, and a jacket. Second-hand but sturdy, some type of synthetic animal hide. Dark colours, easy to blend in. He fastens the jacket up to the neck and pulls on the hood, but still, he feels bare. Raw and exposed, like a tauntaun with newly shed skin. The twi’lek regards him with the same steady disinterest as when he’d first entered, barely moving as he approaches the counter to pay for the clothes and a few basic supplies. His armour still sits next to the till, not yet put away. Gingerly, he runs his blaster-calloused fingers over the helmet’s top fin one last time, as if in apology, though he is unsure to what or to whom he is apologising most. When his fingers reach the end, tumbling from the once-golden crest, he takes a long, deliberate breath. He sets his jaw, straightens his back to raise his chin above the fog of guilt constricting his lungs, and does what he always has done: put one foot in front of the other, and trust that the plan, whatever it may be, will catch up with him.

#sw tcw #star wars: the clone wars #codywan #sw tcw fanfic #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #post order 66 #clone wars fanfiction #clone troopers deserve better #clone wars angst #codywan angst #drabble

[soularsss]

hello tumblr i’m here to offer you clones angst

#digital art #artdump #digital aritst #star wars #star wars fanart #the bad batch #the bad batch season 3 #captain rex #captain rex fanart #commander wolffe #light angst #clones #fucking clones make me so sad #my art <3

[sabictlali]

I mean he’s not lying

#my art #obikin au #obikin #obi wan star wars #obi wan my beloved #obi wan and anakin #obi wan kenobi #anakin angst #sw anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars #star wars clone wars #clone wars #mace windu

[bloatedandalone04]

Cosmic Love

➪the one where you break anakin’s heart after he unknowingly broke yours.

Part 2

Warnings: angst af, emotional cheating (kinda ?), insecurities, self deprecating thoughts, anakin slipping to the dark side and being oblivious half the time, quite possible that the reader is depressed without knowing it

Word Count: 4k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine <3

You weren’t sure when things went wrong. You weren’t sure what happened. 

You were in love, you were sure of it, and so was he. The feeling of love still filled your every vein when you thought about the dark haired Jedi, so you knew for a fact that you were still in love with him. 

Anakin Skywalker.

Even his name had your heart racing. 

You couldn’t remember a time when you weren’t in love with him. It was clear that your feelings for him ran deep and had for a long time, long before you even knew what these feelings meant. 

It was only as recent as two years since you had labelled those feelings as love, and ever since then you two had been inseparable. 

Until now. 

The Jedi temple was large and had countless hallways and passages. It was easy to get lost in if you didn’t know your way around the place. It was also easy to walk in on things you maybe weren’t supposed to see. 

Like the way Anakin’s fingers brushed against hers as they greeted each other. Or the way his smile was bright, charming and kind, while hers was shy, genuine and showed the words she didn’t say.

He was slipping away, you feared. 

Or maybe you were.

Maybe you were giving her the chance she had wanted for years to slip in and steal the heart of the man you are in love with.

The man who was in love with you - is in love with you, right? 

Perhaps. 

You felt pathetic for the first time in a long time. Anakin never allowed you to feel anything negative about yourself as he put your worries to rest and helped you fight your insecurities. 

Whenever you felt that sickly feeling of unworthiness creep into your skin, he was right there next to you. He made sure that you always knew just how important and needed you are.

You had a connection and he felt it every time you became stressed or worried about something, and he was always the person who talked you down, both verbally and mentally. 

Was your connection fading?

Is that why you have begun to feel unworthy again, much like how you felt when you first allowed yourselves to fall in love? Is that why he hadn’t seemed to notice your mood that was rapidly declining and the way you would berate yourself in your head?

You weren’t sure anymore. You didn’t know where you fit into his life anymore as he seemed to be thriving every time he left the confines of your secret shared room. 

That room was just a placeholder for what your future plans were. Anakin had mentioned that he had been looking at apartments in the city for the two of you, a place you could call your own, a place where you two can just be together without a care. 

Without the prying eyes of the Jedi or the suspicious glares from the Masters. Without the possibility of falling for someone else. 

You missed him when he ventured outside the walls of your room. You missed him when he was right next to you. He was there, by your side, yet you still missed him. The distance that was steadily growing between you was present every time you were together, something he didn’t seem to notice.

Anakin was clueless of what was going on around him, he was powerless to stop the doubts and accusations that swam in an endless pool inside your head. To keep it simple; Anakin’s entire world was falling apart in front of him, yet he had no idea of the damage that was currently being inflicted on his relationship with you. 

He was oblivious to the ache you felt whenever he was deep in conversation with Padmè, the way your heart deflated bit by bit when he showed off new devices to the Senator, and the dull stab that pierced your being whenever he slipped up and told her stories that he had only meant to tell you.

In all honesty, the man was blind to how his actions were affecting you.

You wished you understood the feelings that overtook your body whenever you caught the two together. It was a heat nearly as hot as fire, a taste as bitter as anything else and a flicker of the thought of not being enough for the man you had been in love with for many years now. The same man who had only been yours for two years.

Though, to Anakin, he had been yours since the minute he set eyes on you.

You were fourteen when you met him, and he was sixteen. It was a few years later when the secret glances and wishful stares just weren’t enough anymore, and at the age of twenty one he had asked you to be his. Your nineteen year old self was ecstatic and clueless to the consequences that would come with forming a relationship with the Jedi, but at the time you didn’t care.

Now, at the same age he was when he confessed his feelings for you, the weight of your actions was finally catching up to you. 

You didn’t regret all that had happened in the last two years, no, not at all. In fact, they were the best years of your life. You just wished you had realized how doomed it was from the start.

Anakin was the brightest and most well-presented Jedi. He wasn’t allowed to form bonds or connect with people in the ways he has with you, yet that didn’t stop his heart from falling for yours when he was just a teen.

With that being said, the relationship had its issues from the beginning, back when the two of you were just relieved at knowing the feelings were mutual. It was never supposed to last.

That much was certain as you sat completely still on the bed, your legs crossed and your hands tucked away in the gap between your thighs. Your robe hung loosely on your form, the silk doing very little to stop the chills that grazed against your skin from the night air that creeped in through the open window. 

Your heartbeat was slower than normal as you tried to push away the negative thoughts that had plagued your mind for weeks now. Closing your eyes tightly, you thought back to past memories of your time spent with Anakin, back when you felt needed and wanted and desired. 

You thought back to your first kiss, the way his lips pressed to yours in a way that told you it was the first one he had ever shared. He had waited years for you, pushed away countless attempts to be the first person he experienced physical love with, all so he could say that you were his first.

His first love.

His first kiss.

His first time.

You remember that night like it was yesterday. Anakin was nervous but never allowed himself to show it as he was far too concerned with making you feel as comfortable as possible. His hand never left yours as his hips rocked into you for what felt like hours, the two of you being completely done for as your sounds mixed together to create a song that only belonged to you.

The night was full of love, need and warmth. Something you had been craving since the second your insecurities came spiralling back to you. 

The door opened, followed by the one that led into your bedroom. 

Anakin froze in the doorway, his gloved hand still on the knob as he looked at your tense form. He debated on whether or not to turn back around and apologise later for interrupting your meditation, but when your eyes opened to meet his he knew he was too late. 

So, instead, he closed the door, set his lightsaber onto the dresser next to it before crossing the room and reaching for the window. “It’s cold tonight,” he said as he pulled the window shut and covered the glass with the dark curtains. When you didn’t respond to him, and didn’t even look at him, he walked the few steps towards the bed and reached out to you. “You must be freezing-”

His words die on his tongue when you involuntarily flinch away from him, his dark brows coming together in a furrow. 

“What’s wrong?” He questioned, forgoing his original plan to dress himself in his sleep attire before joining you on the bed. Still covered by the long clothes he had been wearing all day, he sat beside you and tried his best to get you to meet his eyes. “Talk to me, my love.”

Your bottom lip quivered as you refused to look at him, your hands moving to rest on your knees. “I can’t,” it came out as a whisper and the lack of your usual cheery voice had Anakin’s eyes narrowing in worry.

“Why not?” He wanted to touch you but he also knew your limits. Right now you were well past the point of being completely closed off and he wasn’t sure what he would trigger in you if he were to take your hand in his, like he wanted to.

Keeping your eyes glued to the floor, you turn your head just slightly as a sinking feeling takes over your chest. “I fear I’ve fallen ill,” you say quietly, tears gathering on your lower waterline as you finally grant him the gift of making eye contact.  

“What’s wrong?” He asked again, his left hand coming up to gently rest against your forehead. You hate how easily you lean into it. “Are you hurt?”

You nod and close your eyes again, causing a few tears to spill down the length of your face. 

Anakin felt his heart drop at your movement, his hand falling from your head to rest on your shoulder. His fingers gently press into your tense muscles as he asks, “Where does it hurt?”

Not being able to answer him with words quite yet, you bring one hand up to rest against your chest, just over where your heart was beating rapidly now. 

He shakes his head as a quiet sob takes over your body and he quickly wraps his arm around you. Pulling you into his side and running a comforting hand through your hair, he tries to make sense of what little information you had given him. “I don’t understand, angel,” he nearly whispers, not wanting to upset you further as you were clearly in a very fragile state of mind at the moment. “What do you mean your heart hurts?”

Taking in a shaky breath, you pull away from him and miss the look of hurt and confusion that flashes across his achingly beautiful face. “I don’t feel like myself anymore,” you murmur, your words muffled due to the build up of saliva in your mouth. “I don’t feel loved anymore.”

If there was a sure way to break Anakin’s heart, you had just done it with your words. He shook his head quickly, eyes squinting as he looked at you. “How could you ever feel that way?” He asked and placed his hand on your knee, his brows further furrowing when you pulled away from him. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

“Because,” you whimpered, wrapping the robe around you tighter and bunching the fabric up in your hands. “It hurts, Anakin.”

He reeled back in surprise, your words having completely caught him off guard. “What are you talking about? I’ve touched you many times before, you’ve never acted this way then,”

Shaking your head, you watch as a tear slips from your eye and lands on the sheets below you. “I don’t think you could ever hurt me with your hands,” you trail off, further confusing the poor man beside you.

“Baby,” the nickname was one he rarely used and you knew he was beginning to feel scared, nervous and frustrated all at once as it rolled off his tongue without a second thought. “Talk to me, please.”

You repeat your earlier words, “I can’t,”

Your words and the way you had become so closed in a matter of seconds had his heart beating cautiously in his chest, its way of protecting itself and preparing him for the ache he had a feeling was approaching fast. “Please,” he begged, desperate for anything at this point.

He didn’t know what happened or what was going on in that head of yours, but he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. You weren’t giving him much to go off of and it was driving him wild, his head coming up with various outcomes of this conversation, none of which ended well.

When you didn’t answer him or show him any form of comfort, his body betrayed his mind as it seeked out a sense of normalcy and had his arm reaching out once again, this time his hand wrapping tightly around your wrist when his frustration became too much. 

You turned to him, your teary eyes meeting his scared blue ones. “I don’t see a future with you anymore,” you mumbled, keeping eye contact. Anakin reeled back again, his hand pulling away from your arm as it no longer rewarded him with the sweet feeling that always came when he touched you. 

“What?”

You swallowed harshly, your eyes looking down at the curve of his lips before settling back on his blue orbs. “I’m worried you’ve given your heart away to someone else. Someone who I don’t compare to,” you looked down at your shaking hands, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes to regain a sliver of strength back. “Padmè is a true gem, Anakin. I can see why she captivates you so much.”

Anakin couldn’t let you go on, not when he had no idea what you were talking about. “I don’t understand,” he shook his head, putting a pause to your compliments of the woman he considered a friend and that was it. “What is this about?”

You give him a little shrug, guilty eyes meeting his. “I’ve been feeling lonely, I guess,” 

He looked down as he tried to find the right words to say. A million questions swam around in his head, all of which he had no answer to. 

How had he not noticed this?

How long have you been feeling this way? Lonely, left out, neglected.

Why hadn’t he realised that you were lost and needed him to help bring you back?

He had sworn to both you and himself that he would never leave you alone to the point where you would begin to question his intentions and the meaning of your relationship that he held so closely to his heart. “Why haven’t you told me this?” He asked, then regretfully added, “What does Padmè have to do with all this?”

He wished he didn’t ask about that last part.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with her. Seems like the two of you have gotten quite close,” you answer the question and continue, “I haven’t seen you much lately, not alone, anyway. Every time I went in search of you, I’d find you with her, talking about the things you have only ever shared with me.”

Maybe you were selfish, but you pushed away all thoughts to keep him by your side. In reality, it was you slipping away from him, not the other way around like you had thought it was. 

Unbeknownst to you, the type of person you are is one who needs reassurance and guidance. Not all the time, not even often. Just every once in a while would suffice. The fact that you hadn’t had a heart to heart with Anakin in months, and the fact that he was MIA half the time, mixed with the return of your past worries only left you feeling abandoned and not needed. 

“I fear you’ve bonded with her without even realising it,”

“No,” he shut that down quickly, his legs moving before his brain could catch up with them. He lifted himself from the bed and stood in front of your shaking frame from your place on the edge. “No. No, stars, how could you say that?”

Your words felt like they were causing him physical pain and he didn’t want to hear anymore. 

You were the light of his life, the reason he fought so hard whenever he was sent away on missions, and the sole purpose of wanting a better future. In all honesty, Anakin couldn’t see a future without you in it. You are by far the most important person in his life and the one he couldn’t live without. It worried him at first when his feelings for you went beyond anything he had ever felt, but you whisked away his worries by peppering his face with kisses whenever he returned to your shared room after a long day and filled his heart with an almost overwhelming amount of love.

Your hands tore away any stress he took home with him in gentle caresses and your smile made any bad and dark day seem a bit brighter. 

Without a doubt, you are the love of his life, and he hates that you have begun to question that, as well as your importance in his life. “I can’t help it,” you say quietly, your voice shaking slightly. “The doubts have come back, Anakin. I can’t fight them on my own anymore. I tried, but I keep failing to feel that sense of belonging like before.”

Anakin fell to his knees before you, his hands reaching for yours and pressing kiss after kiss to the back of them. “Let me help you, please. I can fix this, I can save us, you just have to let me in…just like before,” he felt like a poor excuse of a lover at this point, his failure to realise that you were a shell of your former self now weighing heavy on him, but that didn’t stop him from getting on his knees and begging for forgiveness. A second chance. “Please, my love..come back to me.”

Your eyes shut tightly as more tears rushed down your face and you could no longer look at him. “For months I’ve been wanting to hear you say that,” you trail off, still not opening your eyes and further closing yourself off. “Now that you have….I still don’t feel any better.”

He was too late. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before grazing the back of your hand against the side of his face as he stares up at you. “I’m here. I’m still me and we’re still us.”

Even though it was clear you no longer believed that. 

His words should’ve been enough. You should’ve been reassured by now, but you weren’t. You weren’t sure why his words went right through you and you didn’t want to find out just how far you’ve slipped from reality. How far you’ve slipped from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his eyes stinging with unshed tears as he tried desperately to get you to meet his eyes. “My heart is yours, angel. It always has been and it always will be. There is no other person in the galaxy who will ever get me in the way you do. We’re meant to be together, my love. I know we are, you know we are. Why won’t you let me in?”

Your head shakes as you open your eyes, your hand turning in his grip and softly caressing the side of his face, something that never failed to bring him comfort. As soon as he felt his heart start to heal from your touch, all was dulled again as you murmured the words that will haunt him forever. “I’m sorry, Ankin,” you whisper, pulling your hand away all too soon and standing up, making his other hand fall from where it was wrapped around your waist. “We tried.”

Walking past him, you open the door to the room and make your exit. Anakin stands up quickly, his heart beating loudly in his ears as he follows you out like a lost soul trying to find its way back to its person. “Please, please, don’t do this,” he begs as the first of many tears leave his eyes. His hand wraps around your wrist and due to his strength, he successfully puts a pause on your escape. “I love you, more than anything else. Please.”

You tense under his heart broken stare and allow him to place your hand over his heart, where you could just barely feel the quick beats against your fingers. 

“Please, don’t leave me,” he whimpered, pressing your hand harder against his chest. “Please, it hurts.”

The thought of losing you had manifested into physical pain as he watched everything he ever knew be ripped away from his grasp. He was ashamed that the continuous stabs he felt to his heart were the same ones you had been feeling for months, causing you to suffer in silence behind closed doors. 

You hold back a sob as you bring both hands up to caress his face, pulling him down just slightly so his forehead was pressed to yours. Anakin resisted the urge to close the distance completely and kiss you with everything he had in him - his last resort as clearly his words weren’t effective at all - and show you that he really could not function properly without you. 

Instead, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and he pulled you into him so your chest was pressed to his. “I don’t wish to cause you any pain, Anakin,” you whispered, basking in your last moments with him. With a chaste kiss placed to his temple, you ignore the quiet whimpers that left his lips. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

You pry yourself away from him and quickly open the door, fleeing into the empty and dark hallway.

Anakin cried out, his hands reaching out for you until your smaller frame used its advantage of being much quicker than him and disappeared from his sight. He stumbled around the dark room, everything feeling a lot quieter and heavier now that your presence was fading away. He fell against the wall, his body giving up and causing him to slide downwards until he hit the floor with a painful thud - a pain of which didn’t register very well as he had become lost.

His head had seemed to dissolve any and all happy memories he shared with you, only being met with the few arguments the two of you had shared during your years together. They hit him harder than they did when they first occurred, something that sent jolts of pain to his entire being.

He would give anything to have this just be the result of another disagreement, one that left the both of you frustrated and angry, but still together. One where, despite your harsh tones, you were still each other’s person. One where you were left with the reassurance that everything would eventually work itself out, as long as you didn’t give up on one another. 

And Anakin Skywalker will never give up on you, even after you had just broken his entire soul and left before he got the chance to pick himself back up and fight for you some more. 

His eyes stay fixated on the tall window, his pupils dilating just slightly as he feels a particularly sharp stab to his heart, followed by a sudden urge to turn everything that surrounds him upside down in hopes to dull the emptiness that had formed within him. 

A darkness circled around him and it was something he had never felt nor seen before. All he knew was that it felt so inviting, so warm and as though it would provide Anakin the comfort he hadn’t felt since he returned home.

-

First time writing for Anakin <3 I'm in my Hayden era (for the 987th time) and currently resisting writing for his other characters.

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #star wars #angst #anakin angst #anakin skywalker angst #star wars angst #star wars x reader #star wars revenge of the sith #star wars attack of the clones #hayden christensen #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen gif #hayden christensen edit

[thelullabyer12]

Watcher

Alpha 17 was not a cruel man. Hardened, yes, but not cruel. He loved his younger brothers. Loved them almost as much as he hated them. 

His batch, the Alpha Batch, were the lab rats. The test subjects. The ones who no longer had a purpose but to protect and educate the newer models. He loved his brothers. But he resented them more. They could pick out their names. They could hide from the Kaminoans. They could blend in a sea of identical faces. 

“No!”, his head screamed, “You’re lucky. You knew Prime. You know Mando’a. You will never go in those labs.”

No, he thought, the kids were lucky, in their own ways. 

Strange, too. Like that too-little CC in Alpha 17′s batch. 1010. Double Ten, as he was nicknamed. Kid never seemed to have a problem with it. Then again, the kid never spoke. Only stared with those big brown eyes. It was kinda creepy. 

He just watched, expression alert as he took in every detail of his surroundings. He just didn’t speak. Alpha 17 sometimes wondered what was going on in his head. 

He saw the kid have night terrors once. The loudest Double Ten had ever been. He shot up with gaspy sobs, he heaving of his chest rattling his little ribs. Alpha 17 rushed over to him and scooped him into a bear hug. He sung Mando’a lullabies until Double Ten stopped punching at him with those small hands. The kid never screamed. Just panted and let the tears fall. 

Alpha 17 wondered how the Kaminoans didn’t find the kid yet. He was a good two inches smaller than the others in his batch. He didn’t speak. He was a good fighter, wiry and clever, and he scored very high on tests. Still, though, he was riddled with defects. And he was just strange. 

He looked out for the kid, of course. 

But damn if it wasn’t creepy as hell. 

~~~

Masterlist

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