#i just finished clone wars I suffer i cry

[alexiadraws]

ahsoka freaking tano

#ahsoka tano #star wars #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #ahsoka #sw #dont let this flop like i did on twitter plz girlies #i just finished clone wars I suffer i cry

[lightwise]

Ahsoka's Choice

(Content warnings: long post, implied depression and wanting to give up on life, mention of suicide prevention week). 

Life is not supposed to be a battle. I genuinely believe that it is not meant to be lived in survival mode, or be something to dread, or feel like a Sisyphean hamster wheel, climbing the same mountain over and over but going nowhere. 

And yet. 

It so often does. 

The good becomes so entwined with the bad that you can’t separate them anymore. 

Or even see any good at all.

Life is lived by placing one foot in front of the other, but our gaze is meant to be forward, not only down. 

There have been a number of excellent takes on the in-universe meaning behind the Clone Wars flashbacks, Anakin’s lessons, and Ahsoka’s choice in Shadow Warrior. How Ahsoka has been keeping herself small, living in survival mode, haunted by the fear of her past, by what Anakin became, by her fears of becoming that herself or inadvertently leading others down that path, by survivor’s guilt, by the inability to move forward.  (Please check out the excellent analyses below):

Anakin and Ahsoka learning to fight for the light

Recovering from PTSD and trauma and not letting the terrible things win 

Overcoming the legacy of war and death

Running from childhood trauma

Ahsoka choosing to live 

Ahsoka remembering who she is

However, without getting too detailed, I want to take a more metaphorical look at this episode and how it struck me personally.

My tagline is Daughter of Light. Ahsoka has been an extremely meaningful character to me since I first fell in love with Clone Wars several years ago, for her determination, her steadfast dedication to justice and kindness, and her strength in forging her own path in the midst of many difficult and undeserved circumstances. And this episode knocked me back in my chair, mouth open, trying not to cry at those four words: I choose to live.

The last few years have had some unique struggles in my life that have felt relentless at times, worn me down mentally and emotionally, and kept me in a state of difficult striving just to stay afloat on all fronts (financial, health, mental, etc.) I have honestly not wanted to stay afloat at points. And I’m still dealing with many of the effects of some of what I’ve been dealing with. 

(I am fine in this moment, btw. This post is reflective of where I have been, and some of what I have felt. So please don’t worry about me if you read this, it is meant to be encouraging more than anything. But I am acknowledging and honoring the struggle that it sometimes takes to exist and keep going when life is difficult or doesn’t turn out the way you expected, or is simply just too hard and too exhausting for a bit too long. It is also suicide prevention week, and therefore extremely timely for this episode coming out). 

“You lost a fight. Trust me, you lost.” - You can’t mince the reality of the situation, or pretend it’s better than it is, or that it doesn’t exist at all.

“So you do remember. That’s good, that means you still have a chance to live.” 

“Tell me what’s going on.” - She wants answers. She wants to understand what is happening to her so that she can know how to face it, so that it can be dealt with quickly. 

“I’m here to finish your training.”   

“It’s a little late for that.” - Where were you when I needed you. If only I had known what I know now a little sooner. All of this could have been prevented, things could have gone differently. 

“One is never too old to learn, Snips.” 

“What’s the lesson, Master.” - Alright, I guess we’re doing this. 

“Live…or die.”   

Choosing life—it means literally, and spiritually, and it means a life that is actually filled with wholeness and connection and purpose, not just an existence eked out in survival mode. And as much as I hate it, you have to engage with the pain and the suffering, you have to fight through them, in order to get there. You don’t get out of survival mode by not fighting, even when all you want to do is lay down in defeat.

“I won’t fight you.” 

In a vacuum, this is a decent sentiment. Maintaining one’s peace and refusing to give in to extraneous anger or regret is often a good thing. But that’s not the context here. It’s a negative, passive kind of choice, in this scenario at least. It’s choosing the lack of something, not the positive of something. I won’t fight…but what will you do instead?

All the lessons that Anakin begins taking Ahsoka through, forcing her to engage him, to keep going, to figure out ways to survive even when she doesn’t want to, when the cost feels too great, when her life has been handed to her against her will, is to get through to her the best way he knows how. To break her out of the isolation and defeat she has inhabited. To give her a path forward into momentum and purpose. 

They spar—Ahsoka still with only one saber, half her strength. He pushes her back, and then cuts the ground out from under her feet. And she falls.

“Why are we here?” - Why am I having to learn this lesson again. I thought I had already dealt with this. Why am I having to feel these emotions again. Why do I have to put my time and energy on this same problem again and again.  

“You tell me.”

“I don’t understand.” - She’s still trying to have logical answers before she can move on. We don’t always get them. If you wait for everything to make sense you’ll be waiting forever. 

“That’s your problem. This is your training.” - The casualties of war. Her mistakes. Her failures. Her guilt. Her grief. 

“The battle’s not over yet.” But oh how I sometimes want it to be. 

“This isn’t what I trained for.”  - This isn’t what I expected life to be like. This isn’t what I signed up for. This can’t be what all the effort of daily life adds up to. There has to be a whole greater than the parts. 

“I’m teaching you how to survive, and to do that, you’re going to have to fight.” 

“What if I wanna stop fighting.” - What if it’s not worth it. What if all the effort expended never actually leads anywhere that’s worth being. What if I’m too tired, too depleted to keep going.

“Then you’ll die.” 

“My part of that legacy is one of death and war.” - But what if that’s all there is? What if that’s all my life will ever mean, is struggle and loss and pain. 

“But you’re more than that. Because I’m more than that.” - But I’ve seen and felt horrors larger than life…how do I keep from drowning in them.  

“You’ve learned nothing. Back to the beginning. I gave you a choice. Live or die.” - You can’t stop from drowning in them. You can’t take the struggle out of life. You can’t take the pain out either, or the mistakes. But you can get back up. And you can keep going.  

“No!” - It shouldn’t have to be this way. It shouldn’t have to be this hard. 

“Incorrect.” - But for now, it is. It may not always be. You won’t know until you get there. 

“You lack conviction.” - I’m tired. I’m so tired. I don’t want to have to do this anymore. 

“Time to die.” 

Finally, technically defeated as both of her sabers are wrenched out of her hands, she takes Anakin's Sith blade and uses it against him. There’s a time when the way to get through difficulty is through sheer anger and force of will—I won’t let this thing beat me simply because I’m too mad to let it, I’m too bitter or resentful to stay down any longer…but while that can give you some fuel to get moving, eventually it will keep you stuck in place. 

And then, she tosses it away. And with ferocity and passion and acceptance in her voice:

“I choose to live.”

Living doesn’t mean Ahsoka has to kill the phantom of Vader that still haunts her or continue the cycle of violence. She doesn’t have to fight because that’s the only way to survive. The choice she makes to live, is accepting that living might involve fighting, it might involve pain, it might involve darkness…but that’s part of what makes it life. But it’s not the only part. It will always be so much more than that. So much better than that. The darkness doesn’t get to defeat the light. You get to choose not to let it. 

I choose to live. 

You are not just the bad things that have happened to you. You are more than your traumas and your history and your mistakes and your regrets. You are more than those who came before you. You are more than what has shaped you, dragged you under, torn you apart. Your history is not your identity. Your pain is not who you are. Even when it’s all you can see or feel. Even if it’s all you’ve known, and the life you want always feels out of reach.  

Life shouldn’t be a battle. We shouldn’t always be struggling or barely keeping our heads above water in survival mode. Sometimes letting yourself slip beneath the surface is necessary. You have to surrender to the waves, and accept the reality that more will come, before you can ride them. Just try to breathe in the process. 

Finally, there’s one other thing that brings Ahsoka back to the land of the living. It’s not just her choice alone. It’s other people not giving up on her. Searching for her. Refusing to give up hope. Jacen hearing what is really going on, telling his mom to listen, really listen. Friends working together to pull her out of the ocean. Huyang bringing her a cup of tea and a blanket. She is resuscitated and rehabilitated by others. By her community.

Let’s choose to live. Together. 

Hopefully, we can always make it worth it. 

#very long post #mental health #tw depressing thoughts #ahsoka #ahsoka tano #ahsoka series #ahsoka show #ahsoka spoilers #ahsoka series spoilers #ahsoka show spoilers #anakin #darth vader #anakin skywalker #ahsoka the gray #ahsoka the white #overcoming adversity #overcoming trauma #tw death #some light ramblings #somelightramblings

[lemongingerart]

Artillunis DTIYS contest entry

Finally! I finished my entry for #artillunis600DTIYS, AND on time 😅 I absolutely love Elise's art and content so much, I honestly was already planning on drawing Lune. I've been feeling nostalgic about my very first OC as well lately, who lives in the same era, so this DTIYS was just perfect! Drawing wise I still don't feel like it’s how I want it, but I just keep staring at it, and no tweak is satisfying, so I decided not to dwell too much on it. I tried some different stuff and get quicker in lineart, but it took longer instead 🥲 anyway, it was another fun journey! Swipe for details and timelapse! So here's the official re-introduction of my already 24 year old OC Laeïda Ylena 💁‍♀️ (stars, I'm old 😂)! Yes, she was kind of my Jedisona, but I changed her story a few times and made bad things happen to her so we're not that related any more 😆 She was born in 47 BBY and knighted in 27 BBY.

Laeïda has always been the quiet, exemplary and kind Padawan. She wasn't a prodigy, but she felt at home in the Jedi Temple. She was knighted and shortly after sent away on a mission together with a fellow knight. Things went south, things happen that change both of their lives and leave her delusional (oh, and pregnant). She eventually ends up on Corellia, trying to rebuild her life and getting as far away from the Jedi as possible. Especially with the war breaking out. That's when she felt a ripple in the force, a cry for help from a fellow light side force user. Should she help out? Would she take the risk to expose herself and endanger her daughter? She cautiously scans the shady supply lane, and spots a young woman sitting in the corner, her arm burned from a grazing blaster shot. The long braid revealed her Padawan status, reminding Laeïda too much about what she went through. She also heard stories about Padawans becoming generals in the clone wars, and remembered the reason she left the Jedi. She just couldn't let her suffer out there in the cold, and ran to the Padawan. The girl was still dazed from the shot, so she helped her stand and brought her to safety in the nearest abandoned building.

More details under the break!

Tumblr doesn't want to add videofiles together with images and it makes me mad. I will make a separate post for the timelapse!

#artillunis600dtiys #starwarsoc #starwarsocs #jedisona #jedi oc #starwarsjedi #starwarsfanart #clipstudiopaint

[lady-byleth]

Sooooo, Shepard had a clone right? Knowing how much Cerberus likes to go above and beyond, there's a high chance that there's more than one. And the one we meet was comatose until needed, which she never was...so what if there's a whole bunch of clones in various stages of growth that just got frozen after Shepard went rogue

And after the war Miranda decides to see if she can find the rest and uncovers a whole storage of clones. Most of them are dead, either due to complications during development or because of cryo getting interrupted during the war

But one is still alive and asleep, so Miranda tells Shepard, who has only recently been released from the hospital, and takes her there so she can decide what to do with the clone herself.

Of course Garrus is there too cuz he's not letting Shepard out of sight until he's 100% sure she's not gonna get herself blown up again

Tali, Liara, Joker and EDI obviously can't be dissuade from joining either - EDI makes a compelling argument about having to test her new body that is actually complete bullshit, she's just curious - and James and Cortez just tag along because everyone else is going and it's about clones and the have Experience.

Javik comes too, cuz he's bored and Liara made vague comments about there maybe being Cerberus agents to fight, and Kaidan has a Bad Feeling about all these knuckleheads being in one room together so he comes along to keep the peace. That's a lie actually, he's just happy to be here.

Samara somehow shows up too, though no one actually contacted her cuz no one knew how. She just heard "Shepard" and "Cerberus" and decided "that could be trouble" and here she is

Grunt would have loved to go but Wrex tells him if he can't go then Grunt can't either cuz that would be unfair.

Jack has the kids to take care of and Jacob has his kid to take care of, so they're not able to come but promise help should there be some Cerberus agents that need blowing up.

Zaeed just sends a photo of himself at the pool titled "I'm fucking retired".

So Miranda ends up having to fly a huge group of people to that lab she found, which she grumbles about but she's not fooling anyone anymore.

As it turns out the facility is completely abandoned and powered down, except for the emergency power in the lab that's supposed to keep the clones alive. They check the whole place before they descend into the basement, looking for the one pod still active that Miranda found

They move past a bunch of pods with clones ranging from young girls to women the same age as Shepard and it's both fascinating and horrifying at the same time.

Shepard for her part seems to take it pretty well though she does stick close to Garrus who slings an arm around her shoulders to steady her. Tali links arms with her and Shepard gives her a small smile.

The active pod is in the far back and, at first glance, looks empty. Liara immediately grabs the data pad sitting beside it and flips through the many charts and notes on it, frowning in thought.

She mumbles something about "no growth hormones administered", gasps a small "oh" and holds the pad out a little so Miranda can read along with her as EDI starts typing on the console attached to the pod itself

"Oh!" she says after a moment, as if to echo Liara. Joker steps up next to her, trying to make sense of what she's looking at.

"What? How evil is it gonna be?"

EDI doesn't answer but turns to Shepard, a strange sparkle in her eyes that wasn't there when she first got a body. She looks both delighted and amazed. "Shall I open it?"

Shepard looks at the pod, worries her lower lip for a moment. Garrus squeezes her gently, Tali hugs her arm closer. The rest of their group closes rank around her, steadying her with their presence.

They're all here for her, no matter what. So she nods.

"Do it."

There's a low hissing sound and a blast of cold air, fog rolls out of the pod as the lid slides open slowly. For some reason Miranda and Liara look almost giddy, though Liara has to keep pushing Javik's hand down because he keeps trying to aim his gun.

James is standing on his tip toes to see into the pod before its even fully open and almost falls over when a very unexpected sound suddenly echoes through the room.

It's a crying voice. A baby's crying voice.

Samara immediately bolts forward, the instincts of a mother taking over, and she bends down into the pod and emerges with what's indeed a baby.

"Holy shit!" James looks flabbergasted.

"Holy shit..." Cortez doesn't look any better.

"Holy shit, indeed!" Somehow Kasumi is here too.

Samara rocks the little girl in her arms, scrutinizes her closely and smiles.

"Yes, I feel a strong resemblance to you," she says, gracefully moving to a completely stunned Shepard.

If you've never seen a galactic hero speechless, suddenly confront them with a baby clone of themself and that should do the trick.

The baby of course doesn't know that, she's just screaming, probably cold and scared and disoriented. She's squirming in Samara's arms, oblivious to Liara, Miranda, Tali, Kaidan and - surprisingly - EDI who are crowding around Samara to catch a glimpse, cooing already

Samara doesn't even try calming the little girl down, she has other ideas. Before Shepard can refuse Samara deposits the baby into her arms, adjusts her grip and then steps back, an almost mischievous tilt to her serene smile.

The baby calms immediately, big eyes the same color as Shepard's blinking up at a face that will he hers one day.

Shepard is motionless, looking like someone just slapped her with a frying pan...until the baby suddenly starts squealing in delight.

The unease melts from Shepard's face, a slightly confused but warm smile replacing it, and she gently shifts the baby closer to her chest, speaking to her quietly.

Little feet kick with delight, small hands reach out to grab at her face, and careful, scarred fingers brush plump baby cheeks and Samara watches with obvious satisfaction as her friends crowd around Shepard to continue cooing at the little girl now laughing happily

Shepard doesn't see it, focused on the baby as she is, but James just bursts into tears at the adorable picture while Cortez tries to console him without looking away. .

Joker is sniffing a little bit too but instead of staying in the background he loudly says "brittle bones coming through" and pushes to the front of the group. The baby immediately steals his cap. He is delighted. EDI is delighted that he is delighted.

Javik pretends very hard not to be mesmerized by the first human baby he's ever seen. He's failing miserably, much to Kaidan's amusement.

Garrus sticks to the sidelines, arms crossed over his chest, a thoughtful expression on his face. He remembers London, the half joking half serious conversation about adopting kids after the war is finished.

He'd shelved the thought in favor of focusing on recuperating, fixing what the war had destroyed, and building up Shepard who had to wrestle with severe injuries, PTSD and survivor's guilt without the distraction of a galactic war to keep her from realizing how much she was suffering.

But...it had been months, life was slowly returning to some semblance of normalcy - as much as was possible after the heavy losses - and Shepard was getting better. Therapy was going well. She would never be fully free of what she'd been through, but she was determined to get better and Hackett had arranged for the best help in the galaxy.

She was getting better. And restless. She had started spending more time with the orphans, playing with them, teaching them.

She'd always loved children. And Garrus had been very serious about starting a family with her, not so much about the cross species babies that biologically wouldn't happen.

But here was a baby that Shepard already had a connection with, a baby that she obviously already adored. He hadn't seen her smile like that in a long time. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Yes. This could be good.

He feels Samara sidle up beside him, smiling knowingly. "You should suggest it," she says.

Garrus nods, shoots her a smile. "Yeah, I think I will."

#mass effect #shakarian #long post #garrus vakarian #commander shepard #me3 spoilers #I guess? #I mean it's a joke dlc

[spectral-musette]

She touched his face, fingertips light along his temple, nails delicately scraping through the short beard on his cheeks, lingering on the cleft in his chin before resting on his mouth.

“I thought…” she began, but then choked on a soft sob as the tears began to run down her cheeks.

“I thought you would be angry,” he said instead, nuzzling his cheek against her hand and then kissing the palm.

“I am furious,” she assured him, tenderly. “I am incandescent with rage.” Her lips were against his, her breath uneven in his mouth.

Directly following the Deception arc (Clone Wars Season 4 episodes 15-18), Obi-Wan asks for Satine's forgiveness for letting her believe he was dead.

Just over 2000 words, M in AO3-style rating, probably part of a longer work if I can ever finish it and think of a title.

. . . . . . . . . .

Obi-Wan had not protested very much when Padme offered him the use of her family’s lakeside retreat in the aftermath of the attempted abduction of the Chancellor on Naboo. He had, however, expected a slightly more modest structure than the sprawling villa he’d found upon his arrival. Despite the droids on staff, the place seemed empty, hollow, as though it still echoed with the voices and laughter of a happy family. So fresh from his undercover work, he wasn’t sure isolation was the best remedy for his rumpled spirits after the ordeal, but arrangements had been made, and he supposed he could make the best of it for a few days.

In some ways, he was eager to leave Naboo. The memory of Qui-Gon’s death still cut like a keen-edged blade here. But perhaps that meant he should stay, to meditate on his old grief.

Painful as that prospect was, at least it sounded more surmountable than returning to a Temple that had been mourning him.

He’d have to, eventually. Anakin’s (justified) expression of betrayal and Ahsoka’s wounded demeanor still stung, and he didn’t look forward to repeating these painful scenes with other dear friends, with Luminara, or with Quinlan. But until the GAR red tape was untangled (at least a few days), he was still officially dead, and granted all the freedom of a wandering ghost.

He felt a little like the ghost of his old self after a quick swim as he climbed out of the lake onto the patio by the house. He sat heavily on the flagstones, still warm from the sun even as the stars were coming out. The constellations of Naboo seemed startlingly familiar considering the few times he’d seen them. The span of nearly 15 years felt short tonight. Perhaps it was the mere stubble of hair on his skull, shorter even than a padawan’s. Perhaps it was the ache of his old Master’s absence. He tried to ground himself in the present; as he toweled off his wet limbs, the ugly burn scars from his duel with Count Dooku shone pale in the moonlight, and his face still hurt from the dreadful biotech that had transformed him into the Mandalorian marksman.

It was always Mandalorians, wasn’t it? Proof that the Force possessed a sense of dramatic irony that the brethren of the woman to whom he’d lost his heart seemed to continually haunt him.

The guilt of it weighed like a stone on his chest. The mission had dragged on far too long for Satine not to have heard news of his apparent death. He had hoped it might all be resolved before… Well, it had been an unlikely hope, anyway. Padme almost certainly told her immediately.

There hadn’t been anything for it. To ask for permission to tell Satine the truth before the charade would’ve been tantamount to confessing his feelings for her. Had there only been the censure of the Council involved it might’ve been one thing, but any careless word to the Chancellor’s staff could’ve proven disastrous for Satine and the gossamer-fine line she walked to keep peace and authority on Mandalore. He’d been keeping her safe even as he wounded her.

Just like the old days, pulling her out of harm's way, or shielding her with his body.

Only this wasn’t an accidentally scraped knee or bruised arm. Perhaps it was vain of him to assume, but he knew how deeply she cared for him, how intense her feelings ran…

He’d tried composing a message to her so many times. Even still in the guise of Rako Hardeen, when he caught a moment’s rest, he’d gone over it in his mind, lulling himself into an uneasy sleep as he tried to find the words to ask her forgiveness.

In the end, a forthright Forgive me, was the best he could muster, hastily sent to her private channel as soon as he’d gotten access to a comm unit at the conclusion of the charade. If you’ll listen, I’ll try to explain, but nothing will excuse what I’ve put you through. Know that I am so very sorry.

She hadn’t replied. He checked the comm unit again as he pulled his undertunic over his head, the rough linen soaking up the last of the lake water on his back, seeing only his own message, stark and insufficient.

He didn’t blame her, truly.

He’d slept since sending it, through the afternoon, reveling a little in the luxury of resting when he felt tired, regardless of the local daytime cycles. And he dreamed in disjointed flashes, mostly of her… her grief, her melancholy, her ire… of the glint of tears on her dark gold eyelashes, the quaver of anger in her beloved voice.

He wasn’t sure if he ought to just sleep again, now that night was here. Weary as he was, he felt he could sleep for days.

He heard the door from the house to the patio open. He didn’t look immediately, as it seemed likely to be one of Padme’s droid caretakers, there to ask if he required food or clean linens. But there was no whirring of servos, and the footsteps on the flagstones sounded too soft. He caught a whiff of an achingly familiar floral scent just as he turned.

She must’ve been too much in his thoughts already, his mind too clouded with guilt and regret and weariness to clearly sense her presence.

But Satine stood, silhouetted by the dim illumination of the house, resplendent in the scarlet gown she’d worn the night they’d met in secret on Coruscant, though her hair was loose about her shoulders, pale and shimmering in the moonlight. For a moment she was utterly still, then she merely raised a hand to her mouth, stifling a soft gasp.

He scrambled to his feet, keenly aware that this was not the state in which he wished to appear before his lady. His trousers were still sopping, his undertunic open to the navel, and his hair had barely grown in longer than the stubble on his jaw. But her eyes were only on his, and shining with tears. She took a few steps towards him, then swayed a little. He lunged to catch her around the waist; the last thing she needed on top of all the rest of the suffering he’d caused her was bruised knees. She twined her arms around his neck, and his knees gave a slow surrender too, such that the pair of them sank to the flagstones, wrapped in each other’s arms.

She touched his face, fingertips light along his temple, nails delicately scraping through the short beard on his cheeks, lingering on the cleft in his chin before resting on his mouth.

“I thought…” she began, but then choked on a soft sob as the tears began to run down her cheeks.

“I thought you would be angry,” he said instead, nuzzling his cheek against her hand and then kissing the palm.

“I am furious,” she assured him, tenderly. “I am incandescent with rage.” Her lips were against his, her breath uneven in his mouth.

He tasted it in her kiss, a fleeting note of bitterness and sorrow amid the heady sweetness of her relief and joy, the fire of her desire.

“I am so very sorry,” he repeated, abject.

“Oh, I hope so,” she replied, breathless.

As usual, Satine had the last word, as neither of them could speak for some time after that.

. . . . . . . . . .

She lay on her side, half propped up on her elbow, her head against the pillow and her hair spread across it in a tangle of pale spun gold. The bedclothes were pooled around her waist, and he deeply felt the intimacy and vulnerability they shared in that moment. He thought this image of her would be vivid in his mind for the rest of his days, however long that might be: the pale morning light on her bare skin, her flushed cheeks, the glint of unshed tears in her eyes, the soft swell of her breasts with her sharp, uneven breaths as she tried not to cry again.

Finished with his abridged account of the awful ordeal, he reached out to run the backs of his fingers along her arm.

“Say something,” he begged.

She sat up a little more, her hair falling across her face as she wrapped her arms around herself and turned away from him.

“It might be… easier to accept, if you’d done it for the sake of someone … worthy of all this pain. To protect Anakin or Ahsoka or Padme or…”

“Satine, I can’t decline a mission to protect the Chancellor simply because I dislike the man.”

“It isn’t a matter of dislike. There’s something… so… wicked about him. Manipulative and scheming. Don’t say it’s because he tried to put troops on Mandalore, and don’t you dare say it’s because he’s a politician.” She turned back to him, her gaze challenging.

“No,” he agreed prudently. “I won’t say that. I don’t disagree with you. He’s been a mentor to Anakin and to Padme for as long as I’ve known him, but I can’t help thinking it’s always been somehow for his own benefit. He steered Padme to get himself elected in the first place, and his grip on the office has been white-knuckled since. I can’t very well blame him for the war, but despite his lipservice towards peaceful resolution, the GAR keeps swelling its ranks.”

“I’ll blame him. Unfortunately, there’s no evidence to confirm it aside from my gut feeling.”

He placed a hand on her waist, his thumb tracing around her navel. “I’ve learned to trust your gut feelings. But dislike him, distrust him or not, my duty is to the Republic.”

He started to pull his arm back, but she gripped it by the elbow. He slid his hand to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

“What of your duty to me?” Her voice was quiet, but not without a note of beskar.

“Is it duty?” he asked. “I thought it was love.”

“Perhaps it’s very Mandalorian of me,” she said, “that we hold our most sacred duties to be to those we love.”

“Satine, I cannot put my devotion to you above the will of the Council or the good of the Republic. Not while I serve the Jedi Order.”

He almost expected her to pull away in anger or distress, but she shifted closer, pressing her face against his shoulder. “I know that. I’ve always known that. But it hasn’t hurt like this before.”

“Not since I left?” he suggested, burying his face in her hair and holding her tightly.

“No. Not even then. It wasn’t losing you, it was letting you go. This was… like I had died too.”

The guilt of it made his stomach turn. “I am so sorry, Satine. If there had been time to find another way… to spare you this…”

“The worst of it is that you knew how it would hurt me,” she accused. “And you still did it.”

“I knew,” he confirmed, regretful. “The Chancellor insisted on knowing everyone who was privy to the plan, and I had no time to even find the opportunity to disobey. I thought… the risk of revealing that you should be told…”

She let out a breath, hot against his skin.

“I think I’d have much rather run that risk than think you were dead.”

“If I’d had time to think it through, perhaps I’d have decided differently. But everything was snap decisions, and my instinct was to protect you.”

“And I can’t even be angry at you for that.”

“Of course you can be angry,” he soothed.

“Oh, what good does it do?” she demanded, lifting her head, fair brow furrowed. “Just wasting time quarreling when we have so little time together anyway.”

“Then you forgive me?” he asked humbly, kissing her forehead.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, stroking his cheek. “I know that I still want you, though.”

“Then I am yours,” he promised, kissing her fingertips.

“At least it’s not an offense that’s very likely to be repeated,” she reflected, shaking her head a little.

“Not very,” he agreed.

“I feel like I ought to extract some promise… some penance. But I expect you’ve punished yourself enough.”

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back. “The thing itself was terrible too. Not that I’m suggesting that what I went through can compare to-”

“Hush, darling,” she scolded. “It can be terrible on its own.”

“Sometimes I thought my death might end up not being a lie after all,” he said softly.

“Do you want to tell me?” she asked, her fingertips light across his brow.

He shook his head. No, he didn’t want to see how it would pain her, to think of him in danger, forced to behave as an utter villain. “Not now. Not more than I already have.”

She kissed him then, deep and ardent. “Then forget, for a while,” she said, breathless, her lips still brushing his. “Let me forget again. Make me forget.”

She hitched her leg around him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he shifted onto her, into the blissful oblivion where she was the center of the universe and the Force sang in resonance with their love.

#Obi Wan/Satine #obitine #Star Wars fic #Clone Wars fic #I wrote a thing #long post #Obi Wan Kenobi #Satine Kryze #guys I am so bad at titles #I have been trying to write something about this for ages

[deewithani]

having a baby with Jesse <3 ;)

When I tell you I screamed and started planning a fic. I love stories where our clone boys get their happy ever after. This got me out of my writer's block, so thank you, thank you, thank you @kaorikoizumi for this ask!

Starlight’s Gift

Rating: G

Pairing: Arc Trooper Jesse x F!Reader

Approx. 1.1k

Warnings: Pregnancy, general discussions involving birth and child care. Pure tooth rotting fluffy slice of life. I'm not sorry, and I hope you enjoy 😁

“WAAAAHHHHH!!!!!”

Your peaceful slumber had been shattered for the thousandth time in two weeks, ever since your (grumpy/loud/hungry/sleepy) beautiful son had blessed the Galaxy with his arrival. He was precious, truly, and he was his father's pride and joy, but all you wanted was a few more minutes of sleep.

“I've got him, love. You get some rest.” Jesse mumbled sleepily. He pulled you in close, breathing in your scent before rolling over and out of bed, ready to face the squalling infant that was currently waking up the neighborhood.

Two years ago your world was much different. The end of the war had truly been a blessing that you could have never imaged. The GAR was engaged in some of it's toughest battles and experiencing some of it's hardest losses when the truth behind the violence became known. According to Jesse, his Jedi general discovered that Chancellor Palpatine himself had been playing both sides against each other. After a small skirmish he had been taken into custody. Without any leadership, the Separatist movement folded in on itself. The war ended almost instantly.

What was left were a multitude of soldiers scattered among the stars. At first the Senate and Jedi didn't know what to do with them all. With no war there was seemingly no purpose, but there was great need across all corners of the Galaxy. Systems needed help rebuilding and help surviving. People needed a hand getting on with the work of living. The clones who were deployed to protect and fight for the Galaxy were now being deployed to help rebuild.

This was how you came to meet Jesse, who was sent to your world to help re-establish normal trade and travel, which had been made a priority after the swift end of the war. Many were suffering, your own people included, and you volunteered to help whenever help was needed. It was during one evening of volunteering where you met him. He was in full armor, minus his helmet, giving direction to the assembled crowd for the first task of the evening. You were so struck by his commanding presence, not to mention by the giant gear tattoo on his bald head, that you didn't realize you had been staring until he stared back, raising an eyebrow before the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. Heat quickly rose to your cheeks in being caught, but the moment ended quickly, and Jesse continued providing guidance and answering questions as if nothing at all was out of place.

It took you a week to gather up the nerve to invite him home for dinner.

That dinner turned into many dinners, then starlight walks, which turned into holding hands, kissing, and breakfasts after late nights. Whispers were shared, regrets of the past and dreams of the future, and you both came to realize that the other was who you had been waiting for.

And then one day the work on your planet was finished, and Jesse and his men were being deployed elsewhere. So you made a decision. You packed up your things and you followed him to the next stop, and then the next, finding work and lodging as you went, even going so far as sleeping in a tent on one occasion. As long as you were with Jesse, you would follow him wherever he was sent.

Finally, gratefully, moving slowed, and you and Jesse had been able to stay in one location for a few months. His work morphed into something resembling a normal job, with standard hours and occasional days off. Then the big change happened. The Senate voted to officially recognize clones as sentient beings, and the GAR began the process of transitioning soldiers to civilian life. The former soldiers were able to go and do as they pleased, and many did just that, scattering to the far ends of the Galaxy, taking up trades, searching for bounties, opening clinics in underserved locations, following paths they only ever dreamed of and never believed they would one day walk.

Jesse chose to walk his path with you. You took his hand and entwined your life with his, one starlit evening much like the evening you first met. You swore to love and cherish each other, until the day your stars no longer shined together, even if it wasn't as long as you wanted. You were thankful for each day, as each day was a gift more precious than the glittering jewels that graced the fingers of others. Jesse was your jewel, and he held infinitely more worth in your heart.

When you found out you were carrying his child he was ecstatic, and shared his happiness far and wide with his brothers. A steady stream of well-wishers visited your small apartment, bringing gifts, stories, and elbow grease, helping your small family of two ready itself to become a family of three. You both wanted for nothing and were surrounded by love on all sides.

When the baby came you learned just how much of a jewel Jesse truly was.

Labor took a worse toll on you than you had expected. You spent hours in labor, your cervix refusing to dilate. Eventually it was decided that you needed outside assistance, and after a quick surgery your son came screaming into the world, much like he was screaming now.

Jesse was a natural from the first day. He was prepared for every little whimper and cry that came from the tiny bundle. When fat tears fell down his chubby cheeks because he was refusing to sleep, Jesse was ready with a soft blanket to wipe them away and a gentle shoulder to lay his head. On nights like tonight, when you were tired and still a bit sore, he was up, changing diapers, feeding a hungry belly, and soothing a baby that sometimes seemed to cry for no reason. But Jesse always knew. He picked up tasks that you generally handled, with no question and no complaint. He knew what you both needed, without asking, and took care of it. He was your partner in all ways.

As you lay in bed you watch him through the light of the street outside your bedroom window while he changed the diaper of this new little life, your heart swelled. When he was finished, he carefully lifted him from the crib and crossed the floor, where they both rejoined you on the bed.

“I think our son is hungry. Do you want to feed him? I can get a bottle if you're too tired.”

“No, I've got this. You're so good to me, you know that?” Jesse hummed in response, then placed the bundle in your arms. As he latched Jesse put his arm around you and pulled you close. You closed your eyes and hummed a tune your mother sang when you were just a small child, silently thanking the Maker for the gifts that were given to you for your keeping.

~~~~~

Taglist: @ashotofspotchka @gummywurme @bobabitch88 @the-empress-strikes-back @tacticalsparkles @rebelpitstop

#arc trooper jesse x reader #cw: mentioned medical procedures #cw: mentioned breastfeeding #cw: pregnancy #clone trooper jesse x reader #jesse x reader #clone wars fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

[one-real-imonkey]

For your CG ask - what if Fox gets Fed Up (sleep/caffeine deprived or smth - your pick) one day and goes: “you know, I’m probably dead meant walking, might as well drag them all to hell with me” and verbally flays the Senate alive. Padme is cheering him on, Bail is laughing so hard he’s got tears in his eyes, Palpafart’s complexion matches his office - the whole nine yards. Imagine the Chaos.

I adore this, but it could go two ways.

On the one hand you have the comical one where this super sleep deprived not sure where he even is Fox who sees someone demeaning one of his siblings and his eye twitches, something in him just snaps, he chugs an entire thermos of Caff and just goes for it. He just starts outing things and wrecks the Siths entire plans. It’s comical and chaos in a funny way. Watching the bad guys panic and the good guys celebrate.

But you know me and I love angst.

So, on the other, more angsty hand, similar premise but dark.

He’s talking about the atrocities committed against the guard, things his vode on the frontlines never knew about because there was nothing they could do and the vode in the Guard didn’t want them worrying, even if it means they had to take the brunt of jokes about their sitting about doing nothing while the ones on the front lines were dying. He outs every single Senator who claims to be pro clone Rights but refers to them as it and treats them worse than their droids or pets, makes them kneel and dehumanises them and threatens their very lives for something as simple and unavoidable as sneezing or coughing, and every single thing Palpatine did, including mind control and using them for personal hits and anything else he wanted. (Go as dark as your mind takes you for how evil Palpatine is)

How clones were designed not to break in battle but they weren’t trained for this and how the shinies wake up screaming, how they have missing gaps in their memories and constant headaches and all of it.

How they’ve had to create their own little support systems and how they have to give shinies flash training on how things work or they’ll end up suffering through hells. How their med bay has a separate section that’s closed off that’s just for the shinies or elder vode who need somewhere to sit and cry and maybe be hugged.

About the lengths they had to go to just to protect vode who were different, but then, what did it matter if the clones used he or she when the Senators mostly used it, except for the risk of what would happen if those pronouns were used outside of the barracks because it was almost worse than Kamino for deviations and no-one wanted to be singled out (for one reason or another) except the commanders to take attention away from their younger siblings.

He calls the Senate out for what they’ve done.

The Senators are horrified, either because their crimes, the ones they didn’t consider crimes because clones aren’t people and who are they ever going to tell that’ll believe them over a Senator, have been outed to the galaxy, or because they had no idea something so genuinely deplorable was happening under there noses in somewhere they considered at least mostly respectable. The ones like Bail and Padmé who could never have dreamed something so evil could be happening.

Not tears of laughter but tears of horror.

But in the end it’s a good thing.

An election is called. The senators backing or working with Palpatine are all voted out by their people, Palpatine loses on Naboo and also the Chancellorship, the Clones and Jedi are no longer forced to fight or serve, without Palpatine there is a peaceful resolution to the Separatists leaving with trade deals established and the invasions and war halted. Mandalore is no longer being influenced by the Sith (death watch) or backed by the Republic for any one faction (new mandos). The war and conflict is over, the thousand year plot brought down by one clone broken by their situation and desperate to protect their younger siblings.

Palpatine is taken out by a sniper (who may or not be a clone outraged by the fake war and worse what the bastard was doing to their siblings in the guard) and the Order never goes into effect because the call for election is made the SECOND Fox finished his rant. Palpatine tried to take Fox with him, but the other Guard commanders (realising that Fox’s headaches and memory gaps always came after his meetings with Palpatine) refused to let him near their brother.

Cody and Wolffe and Rex show up a little while after the initial broadcast (as soon as they could) and pull Fox into their arms begging him to explain why he never told them how bad things were. This is followed by cuddle piles and comfort, something that’s happening across the guard with all the returning clones finding their siblings and making sure they’re ok and happy and safe.

The Jedi are finally allowed to open up the lower levels of the Temple to house the vode who want to stay, and to help any who wanted to leave and find something else out there, finally allowed to back out of the fighting they never wanted to be part of in the first place but Palpatines War Clause not only drafted them but made it impossible for them to back out without the punishment that goes with desertion, finally allowed to take the breaks they were denied so they can heal their minds and bodies.

The galaxy heals.

So basically it’s super angsty but has a sweet ending.

———

(Thank you for sending this it’s brilliant and I love it)

#star wars #i-am-ct-5555 #ask response #corrie guard #coruscant guard #commander fox #fox deserves better #fox deserves to rant #padmé amidala #bail organa #sheev palpatine #clone wars #angsty prompt #angsty au

[whatanoof]

Cal Kestis Headcanons that No One Asked For

So I’ve slowly been going through story mode of Jedi: Fallen Order, and I’m about to go to the Fort Inquisitorius so I haven’t even finished yet but I’m absolutely in love with Cal Kestis, so here are some hc about him, romantic and non-romantic.

SPOILERS FOR JEDI: FALLEN ORDER

Cal x female!reader

You both love it when you play with his hair. The first time was almost an accident on your part, because you were just sitting behind him on the bunk while he’s tinkering with his saber and staring at the back of his head. It’s so red, and you’d honestly rarely seen such a bright color naturally occurring, much less growing out of a human head? Your hand brushed a strand almost of its own volition, and you both just froze. He slowly turned to look at you, and you almost stopped breathing because Did you just mess up did you just fuck up the relationship oh shit shit shit--. And he just whispers, “Uh, could you do that again?” And you’re in such a state of shock and relief that you just scoot back on the bunk and gesture at your open lap. Cere walks in on the two of you later, him dopey and almost asleep with his head in your lap, your fingers running through the silky strands. She doesn’t say anything, even when Greez points out the two small braids that you left at the nape of his neck.

He’s so competitive. Like come on, this man refused to back down from  two or three separate fights against fully-fledged Inquisitors and one insane Jedi Master while he was still technically a Padawan. So he won’t let you beat him. At anything. You’re watering the latest seed that he brought back from a planet? Bam, he’s got Greez’s special plant food and he’s giving every single one of them a five-course meal. If you’re a Jedi, and you’re meditating in the back of the Mantis? You open your eyes after ten or so minutes and he’s right there in front of you, doing that little concentration face that you fell in love with so easily. If you’re a Jedi, you’re evenly matched in almost everything that you do in terms of abilities, and you teach each other where you’re not. Greez is terrified of watching you two spar, because you don’t hold back, but you’re also so equal to him in skill that it’s a whirl of light and blocking known attacks. 

Him and BD-1 were a package deal, but as soon as you were welcomed aboard the Mantis, Cal couldn’t believe how easily the little droid warmed up to you. Of course, BD sticks with Cal and is his right hand man on adventures, but Cal no longer occupies 100 percent of BD’s free time. You refuse to tell Cal exactly where, but you found a spot right behind BD’s “head” where if you scratch it, the droid is on the ground and kicking a leg in the air in happiness. If you’re a mechanic, you can usually be found in the back, tinkering with BD’s processor to make it run more efficiently, or oiling his joints again, or designing new paint jobs for the happy little droid. Either way, you’ve stolen a decent fraction of the droid’s affection, and none of the Mantis crew has any idea how you did it. It’s actually the first thing that urged you and Cal to start spending more time together, and you remember BD’s happy little hops after you’d finally kissed Cal for the first time.

There is absolutely no backing for this, but I think that Cal can sing. Nothing fancy, of course, it’s not like there are vocal lessons available on Bracca or in the Jedi Order, but he can carry a tune. It’s sometimes the only way you can fall asleep on the Mantis, because even though Greez and the crew make it cozy, it’s not home. But as soon as you’re curled up in the twin-sized bunk, and Cal starts humming to you, you’re out before he’s finished the chorus. Sometimes the songs are happy, but they’re often little ditties that he heard from the clones before Order 66, or mourning songs that fellow workers on Bracca would sing during the night when the rain was pounding on the metal and creating a natural rhythm and harmony for the tired mechanics. They’re songs of lost love, fallen brothers, and vague longings for newer, better lives. You fall asleep to his soothing voice, but you often wake with an ache in your heart for the suffering and pain that Cal has experienced and witnessed in his short life.

He’s ticklish. He hates that you know. He hates that you told Merrin, and now she can blackmail him into getting her favorite foods from supply markets. But you love the childish giggles that you’re able to pull out of him when you finally corner him and run your fingers over his neck. Tickle fights always end in make-out sessions.

+18 NSFW under the cut

So... Cal never had the chance to understand wanting intimacy before you, sexual and non-sexual. He was terrified the first time he looked at you and didn’t recognize that strange feeling in his chest. He’d never felt it before, was there something wrong with him? Was he sick? It takes a sit-down with Greez for him to figure out what’s going on, and it’s even scarier than the possibility of illness. Jedi were forbidden to love, it had always been a taboo in his mind, even if he had never had the opportunity to find out what it felt like.

He pushes it away at first. He ignores the flutters in his chest when you’re laughing with Merrin at dinner. He denies the complete shorting out of his brain when he accidentally brushes too close to you while trying to get to your shared bunk. 

He has his first wet dream, and wakes up absolutely throbbing with the memory of the dream that involved you and him and way too little clothes for his repressed childhood. He tries to grit his teeth and go back to sleep, but it’s too uncomfortable, and he can’t get the image of your body out of his mind. Jedi Masters always gave their Padawans the sex talk, and Jaro Tapal was nothing if not a good Master. So Cal knows basically what he has to do to relieve the tension so that he can get a little more sleep. He just doesn’t expect to lose control of himself to the point where he grunts your name when he comes. His heart just about stops when he hears the bed above him creak, and he yanks the sheets over his head until he’s sure that you’re not awake. He gets up early the next morning so that he can clean up without fear of you catching him.

After you get together, Cal is even more scared of the relationship. He had checked with Cere, and though she skews more traditional in her beliefs, she knows that Cal’s trauma and overcoming of it is more than she could hope to understand. Maybe this relationship could bring a stability to his life that nothing else could provide. She cautions him on the power of Dark Side, and how the fear of losing love dragged many great Jedi astray. But she also trusts you, and she knows that you would never do anything to hurt him. She hadn’t missed the lovesick puppy eyes you’d been sending his way.

You start out promising to take it slow. Neither of you had much experience in the areas of relationships and dating, much less sex, so at the beginning, you make sure to clarify that there’s no pressure to rush through anything. It’s mostly just spending more time together, slowly exploring each other. You both learn about each other’s pasts, and spend time talking through the different experiences, rationalizing and comforting each other. Before you even begin to experiment in bed, he’s become your best friend.

When you finally do, it’s short and sweet and perfect for two people who are trying to take their relationship slow. You teach him about what you like, and he gasps out in between moans what feels good and ohhh, what feels even better. 

Okay, a bit of a time skip here, but after Cal’s more experienced, he is a sucker for you riding his thigh. He’s built and strong, so the ridge of muscle beneath you and rubbing against every single spot that sparks delicious warmth in your belly brings you to climax so much more quickly than you could have expected. He loves looking up at you, mouth open and eyes half shut in ecstasy as you chase your high, your heat leaving sticky wetness on his thigh that only serves to make him harder. He’ll grind his leg up if only to hear that heavenly little squeal and whimper that he can get out of you. You’re beautiful to him even on the worst days, but when you’re above him, sweaty and on the brink of coming all over his thigh? Stars, you’re the most glorious thing he’s ever seen, and he rode a shyyyo bird over the untouched forest of Kashyyyk.

Sadcanons. Don’t read if you don’t want sad feels tonight

There is no denying that Cal’s not a whole person at the beginning of the storyline. He definitely regains some of himself back, but there are parts of him that I believe died with the clones and died with Jaro. There are times where he has nightmares, and when he wakes up, he doesn’t want to be with anyone. Even you. He’ll lapse into silence for hours and days at a time, staring at the blank wall while you try to get him to eat or drink something because damnit it’s been days and he hasn’t so much as moved. Your heart breaks at every sign of his damage, because you know that there is only so much you can do to help. This is a journey that he has to complete independently, though it doesn’t mean that you won’t be here for him when he wakes up.

You trace his scars to comfort him. He’s insecure about them, and is terrified of the memories that they bring back. But when you’re there, loving even his jagged edges, it’s all marginally better and he can bear to live with himself a little more.

He comforts you too. Whatever your background, the Clone Wars and the Purge gave everyone a little bit of damage, and you were no different. He holds you when you’re crying, and comforts you after your nightmares. He’ll purposefully pick a happy song to sing when he knows that you’re down, and he never fails to make you laugh through the tears.

His psychometry allows him to understand your trauma better than you could hope to understand his. Before you even allow him to sense your past, you make him promise to not internalize any of it. You know that he would, though it makes no logical sense. He promises. 

Oops I made myself yearn. Now back to our regularly scheduled program of single life. School’s kicking my ass right now, but this made me feel better so I can’t complain too much.

But in all seriousness, I recommend this game 10/10. The Star Wars content is absolutely impeccable, the graphics are gorgeous, it gives me a thrill in my chest to know that every single second is canon. Cal is a beautifully written character, and even though his story breaks my heart, it’s written so well. He doesn’t lash out in anger, rather internalizing his fears and pain in a way that I can relate to, and he’s scarily powerful. It’s a feel good story for me despite the pain, and I’m looking forward to finishing it this weekend!

#cal kestis #headcanons #cal kestis x reader #smut #fluff #angst #cere junda #greez dritus #nightsister merrin #jedi: fallen order

[libradusk]

Ignited | Rex

Word Count: 8,388

Pairing: Captain Rex x Reader

Summary: After an unexpected crash landing on Felucia results in Rex becoming entangled within a particularly sticky patch of foliage, an even stickier situation unfolds between the pair of you.

Warnings/Content: Explicit smut, as in the longest smut fic I’ve written so far, Rex gets a face full of Sex Pollen tropes (and by extension, slight dub-con by virtue of that?), AFAB reader (though no gender is explicitly mentioned), oral sex (reader receiving), hintssss of cock warming + breeding kink because that’s what I’m here for baby, can’t lie there are clear feelings involved because I’m too soft for this MAN.

a/n: This is set during the events of “Bounty Hunters” from season 2 of TCW, except instead of fighting pirates the reader and Rex end up boning down.

I took some liberties (I guess??) with the writing of the ship and also Clone Trooper equipment for plot purposes but let’s be real that’s not why any of us are here rn. 

I’ve had this + a sequel planned out forever so its such a relief to finally have finished part 1 of this behemoth at least.

And now, at last - have part 2

When the command that would reassign you to the Felucia Medical Base had first been issued, you were none too happy about it. You had become quite content with your duties amidst the 501st, as well as the closeness you had cultivated with its men, enough so that you were incredibly reluctant to see an end to it all. Despite the severity of the war currently plaguing the Galaxy, and their especially heavy involvement in fighting for the Republic side, the 501st always seemed to find a way to rekindle your optimism in a multitude of ways that were unique to them. It was refreshing. You considered yourself incredibly lucky to be surrounded by so many individuals, soldiers and Generals alike, who never failed to treat both you and each other as though you were each true individuals in their own unconventional family unit.

But alas, your luck had finally run dry. As instructed by the forces commanding both you and your unit of staff, you were now to stay at the base to re-establish its connections, as well as to provide a befittingly intricate report as needed.

Orders were orders.

Didn't mean you had to like them though.

You glare out into the darkness of space as that thought continues to swarm around your mind. The ship you’re currently situated upon cuts smoothly behind the one piloted by General Skywalker himself. You secretly thank the stars that you don’t have to share a vehicle with Anakin, considering how you’ve witnessed his reckless flying techniques numerous times over in the time you’ve known him. But even so, you can’t help but silently curse your own ship for being the object responsible for pulling you away from the only sense of true belonging you’ve felt since joining the army. All you can hope for is that the medical station isn’t too heavily damaged despite losing contact with the base of operations, and that by some miracle you can pull some strings to get reassigned back to your boys before your work within Felucia’s orbit threatens to drown you.

The dark expanse beyond the transparisteel viewpoint appears vast and inviting, as though beckoning you to sink into its velvet depths. You imagine the tenderness of the reprieve it could offer you in your fantasies, transporting you to a place where you could surround yourself with pleasant memories and little else.

Running away from your obligations would only ever get you so far, but for a moment it was blissful to relax into the thought of it. It made the ache of reality twinge a little less painfully in your chest.

You feel the warm weight of a pair of hands on your shoulders before your eyes unglaze enough to register them decorating your reflection. Captain Rex stands to attention behind you, the gentle hold of his palms atop your shoulders being the only aspect to break the picture of discipline his stance holds as he follows your gaze out to the stars. He allows his touch to linger for a moment more - to anyone else it would likely appear as no more than a colleague extending a gesture of camaraderie to a solemn looking comrade, but you know that to him it probably feels like the greatest of sins. His helmet obscures his expression, but you can hear the swish of his kama as he fidgets ever so slightly in place and you wonder if his thoughts are as overcast as your own.

This unspoken attraction, tiptoeing the line of propriety with each affectionate jest or brush of skin against armour in the corridor… it had all been going on for months now, to the extent where even Rex’s own men were beginning to whisper through the cracks in his resolve. Though now it seemed that this too would be forced to come to an end, snuffed out before it ever truly had a chance to bloom. The taste of that knowledge is sour on your tongue as you bite down on it to quash the sense of mourning that had suddenly washed over you.

It's exceedingly difficult to not take it as a form of punishment, even though you know that’s not the case. Really, you should be honoured to be appointed in charge of the station, but the fact that you had no way of knowing if it was even salvageable until you arrived there did precious little to alleviate the miserable affair this had all devolved into.

Your shoulders feel naked without his touch now and you realise that you’re yearning more than ever now that your hypothetical future with Rex is about to be torn away from you in less than an hour’s time. You find yourself wondering once more what expression graces his face beneath the visor, if his eyes lingered on you instead of the stretch of space beyond where his reflection could reach. You decide to indulge in your little fantasy for just a while longer, war was a tragic business, and you would continue to take what respite was offered to you while you still could.

“We seem to have lost you to the stars again, Officer.”

Rex’s low tone jolts you out of your starry-eyed daydream, your reflection’s gaze refocusing back at you in the windowpane as the void of space framing it fades out to a grey in your peripheral. The smile in his voice is obvious to you, even with the helmet’s barrier. It's familiar, warm but a little sad as it wraps the playful quip in a mask of enough stoicism for it to slip under the radar of the few troops that share the ship’s interior with you both. They’re mostly shinies, picked to accompany your team alongside the Captain as an escort, just in case trouble awaited your group once you reached the medical station itself. You already had the company of two Jedi Generals and their Padawan, but you weren’t about to complain about having Rex present alongside them either.

“We’re approaching the Felucia Medical Station now,” Obi Wan’s voice crackles through the ship’s communicator and closes the window of chance for you to quip back at the Captain. The Jedi’s usually calm voice prickles with an apprehension that rises the closer his much smaller ship gets to the seemingly derelict station, “something is wrong… brace yourselves- !”

Time appears suspended around you the moment the first flash of streamlined grey cuts through the darkness surrounding your ships. You have little chance to throw more than a glance towards the ruined medical station orbiting Felucia before the knife-like structure of several vulture droids cut dangerously close to your ship. 

“We need to move and evacuate, now!”

You aren’t sure if it's Rex’s voice or your own that echoes against the blaring siren of your ship as it takes the first hit of fire. The durasteel beneath your feet threatens to distort with the force of it, and you feel your breath stutter in your lungs as you’re shaken violently. You stumble to cling to a nearby surface while simultaneously shoving a rather shell-shocked member of your team down towards where the ship’s escape pods are located, eyes squinting through the flash of crimson beating off the walls around you. Your gaze locks on to Rex as he stands by the doorway, ushering the last few stragglers through it with a determined wave of his hand. The dark visor of his helmet flashes dangerously with each pulse of the alarm light, bathing his white armour in a bloody glow that darkens and spreads in time with its screeching. It dawns on you then, that this might very well be the last you see of him after all, even without setting foot on the medical station itself - this, as bitter a circumstance as it is, seems much more twistedly befitting.

Another blast collides with your ship, this one buckling the wall directly behind Rex and warping the exit’s frame with the force of it. You hear Rex cry out, the sound shocking straight through you as he’s thrown forward in an explosion of sparkling wire and twisted durasteel. The sight of him struck down to his knees is enough to shoot another bolt of adrenaline up your spine, and you launch yourself towards him despite the unsteadiness of your own legs in supporting you. He’s still very much conscious, but clearly injured as you grit your teeth and drag him to his feet, all but throwing the pair of you through the sparking blast door and towards an empty escape pod as the remnants of your ship begin to hurtle further towards Felucia’s surface.

---

Your landing is less than graceful, with your pod catching its underside on a particularly sharp jut of rock on its decline and sending itself skidding across the swampy ground. The impact of the connection sends your head spinning once more, and you’re forced to take a few minutes to regulate your breathing and ensure that your vision is no longer swimming before you can open your eyes and dare to venture outside. You flex the fingers on both hands before stretching out each of your limbs on instinct, relieved to find that somehow, nothing appeared to be broken and at worse you had suffered a few mere bruises despite a landing that would have made Skywalker himself proud.

The humidity of Felucia’s climate hits you the moment you step out of the ruined pod, legs carrying you with all the grace of a baby Krugga deer. It clings to your clothes as you survey the damage dealt to what remains of your escape pod, though it chills down the back of your neck severely once it dawns on you that Rex is nowhere to be seen within the wreckage. In a burst of panic you jog forward blindly, calling out for him through a raspy throat even as you stumble into a particularly sticky patch of flora that coats your uniform in a sweet-smelling gunk. Your hands fumble across your torso before settling on the blaster strapped to your hip. You grip the trigger with clammy fingers as you force your eyes to focus completely and scan your surroundings, ears ringing with the calls of nature and unseen creatures around you.

Despite the bustle of the jungle-planet’s ecosystem all around you, you find yourself completely alone.

No troops, no supplies, no Jedi and no Rex.

Your blood suddenly feels cold despite the heat rippling across the horizon line. Each thump of your heart grows louder with every second that passes, drumming in your ears like a foreboding death march as the breath begins to skip in your lungs. It's just about drowned out the ambience across the clearing you’re frozen in when you finally hear it: a faint string of cursing in mando’a paired with the sound of very human struggling not far from where you are.

The sound of your footsteps pounding the earth reaches you before your breathing even has the chance to even itself out again.

“Rex! Oh thank goodness-”

You find the Captain entangled in an odd-looking shrubbery of fuchsia coloured thorns. The trooper’s helmet lays on its side, just out of reach as he struggles to free himself. The frustration is evident on his face as he attempts to contend with what is clearly an injured shoulder. Relief gushes through you all the same, and you waste no more time in helping him free himself. 

You note the heaviness of the air around where he was trapped moments ago. The plant’s loosened pollen seemingly floats around its glossy flowers, its pinkish smog burning down your throat all the way to your belly as, despite your better judgement, you give in to your exhausted lungs and inhale too closely to it. The sensation is not unlike chasing a shot of Corellian whiskey, your head feels foggy just from the time it takes you to untangle Rex from the vines’ clutches. 

Rex’s voice drawls out like his gullet is coated with honey as he groans in pain. His eyes appear largely absent even as he weakly gestures to his utility belt and the familiar prickle of panic begins to bite at you once more. You rummage through his pack and note the half-used tube of bacta tucked away within it, which you fumble to apply to the exposed wound on his shoulder. The gash glares angry and bloody from the tear in his blacks as it peers out from the gap between where his pauldron and chest-plate meet. You cringe as his entire body buckles at the touch of your fingers against his skin once you carefully tug off his armour, taking care to try not to jostle him too much in the process. Each swipe of your fingertips against his body, injured or not, has him reacting like he’s received a kick to the gut. The panic melts into a simmering worry once you finish seeing to his more obvious wounds. You take solace in the knowledge that the bacta will no doubt work on the worst of his abrasions, but the way he’s now shivering and clenching his jaw with that same hazy stare sparks a new sense of concern within you. 

“... Are you sure you can stand? You still seem in pretty bad shape.” 

He coughs into his fist a few times before pinching the bridge of his nose in an obvious attempt to clear his vision and mind. His eyes are heavily-lidded when his gaze drags over to meet with your own.

“... yeah, I-I’ll be fine, heads just still spinning from where I was thrown out the ‘pod.”

Your eyes widen at his words and your fingers flex with the instinctual drive to check over his heaving body for any signs of internal damage or fractures. Even through his discomfort, he seems to read your expression before the accompanying words can leave your lips.

“Nothin’s broken, can tell you that much. This… foliage, whatever it is, broke my fall. Though I dread to think how much longer I would’ve been struggling in it if you hadn’t found me when you did. Thanks, by the way.”

A sigh of relief rushes from you at his reassurance, though you can’t help but eye him sceptically as he grits through the pain to shake out the stiffness in his joints. You pat his back comfortingly as you look towards the distance, newly set on locating yourself a less obvious place of shelter for the night than what the remnants of the escape pod could offer to you both. The Separatists would pick the two of you off easily if they were to find you in such a vulnerable state, but Rex still needed a sheltered place to rest in order for the bacta to heal his wounds all the same. With another sigh and the exchange of a few words of encouragement, you urge him to walk forwards into the underbrush. You take care to keep him close in your peripheral as you bundle up his removed armour under one arm and keep the blaster raised in your other, eyes keenly trained on your surroundings all the while in case you were to spot another one of your separated allies, or in case of more insidious forces raising their heads.

---

Your prayers seem to be answered in record time, as the pair of you manage to stumble on a cave far enough away from your crash-point for you to consider it safe. It’s discovery couldn’t have come at an any more pinnacle moment, as Rex’s shivering has only worsened in the time that has passed, so much so that now you can’t even reach out an arm to support his heaving shoulders without the contact of your body heat against his own sending him spiralling into another fit of quivering, cold sweats. The situation is only made more daunting with the fact that you have yet to stumble on any of your lost allies, Jedi or otherwise, and at this point the ground itself feels as though it is pulsating under your boots with how high the heat has risen.

Quickly, you usher Rex towards a nearby patch of bushes as you step forward to survey the cave for signs of life, heart hammering in a combination of nerves and exhaustion drawn from trekking under the Felucian sun. Finding it satisfyingly empty, you beckon the Captain forward. No sooner does Rex gingerly set himself down with a grunt does his comlink finally crackle to life. Anakin’s voice sounds distorted and broken as it strains from the trooper’s wrist and you can’t help but fixate on the beads of sweat that trickle down Rex’s neck into the collar of his blacks as he lifts his arm towards his flushed face.

“-Rex, Rex! Do you read me, Rex?-”

“...Yeah General Skywalker, I hear you. Signal’s spotting something terrible, sir, but it's better than nothing.”

You hear a muddle of voices dancing amidst the static and move drop down to where Rex slumps against the cool surface of the cave wall. Your body brushes against his as you lean closer, and his breath hitches audibly despite it being the uninjured side you come into contact with.

“Everything ok there Rex? You sound in a bad way.” It’s Obi-Wan’s concerned tone that echoes across the cave space this time, and Rex shakes his head despite the General having no way to see his reaction.

“N-no I’m fine, just took a hit when the vulture droids took down our ship is all. I’ll be fine, I’m not alone.”

“I’m here with Captain Rex, General Kenobi. We still haven’t been able to locate the rest of the group we initially set off with, but we’re safe and sheltered for now.” You duck closer to Rex’s suspended wrist, doing your best to ignore the heat of his breath fanning over your cheek as you speak into the communicator. You can feel his eyes on your profile, but keep your own fixated on the blue lines decorating his forearm plating all the while. “Rex is… His shoulder is injured. I’ve treated it with what I have available, but the medical supplies perished alongside our ship and it might be at least a night until we can judge if he’s well enough to set off through the wilderness again.”

There's a thoughtful hum from the other side of your communication link and you can only imagine that Kenobi is currently cupping his chin in thought at your words. A voice you recognise as Ahsoka’s chimes in before the Jedi Master can speak once more, the volume of her voice indicating that she must have snatched Anakin’s wrist close to her face before anyone else had the chance to interrupt her.

“We have most of the others here with us! Your pod can’t have landed much further away right- hey!-”

“As I was going to say before Ahsoka here decided to interrupt, you’re hopefully not much further away from where we currently are. I’ll send over our coordinates so you can hopefully use Rex’s equipment to track to our location. We seem to have stumbled upon some kind of farming settlement, we’re going to see if we can get some help from them once we get a little closer.”

For the first time since your crash-landing, the weight sitting across your chest eases a fraction, and it manifests into a small smile of relief that brightens your face in the fluorescent glow emitted by Rex’s comlink.

“Amazing! I’m so relieved you’re all ok, I’ll admit I feared the worst once our ships began to go down.”

“Please Officer, you should know better by now than to doubt my flying skills after everything you’ve seen so far-”

“Really Anakin? I’m not so sure that's the most reassuring statement you could have given, considering your reputation... Anyway, stay safe you two and try to reconnect with us as soon as possible. I’m sending the coordinates over now.”

There’s a faint beeping sound as what you assume to be the coordinates in question sync themselves up with your own location, and it isn't long before Rex lets slip a low groan of frustration as he eyes flicker to the small display screen on the inside of his wrist. Your newfound optimism drops at the sound.

“What is it?”

“It's gonna take at least a full day and a half on foot to get to where Generals Kenobi and Skywalker are, and that’s with us both operating at full capacity.” Rex punctuates his frustration with another pained hiss as his shoulders lurch forward towards you. Your hands instantly jut out to support the weight of him, resting firmly on his chest so as to avoid latching onto his injured shoulder. The full body shiver that wracks through him is apparent under your palms, as is the way his breath catches in his throat as you move a hand to press against his clammy forehead.

He’s boiling. There’s no way you can allow him to move from the cave as his condition currently stands. This is no simple case of blood loss and fleshwounds, whatever toxin present within that plant is currently forcing itself through his bloodstream with a vengeance and is clearly the main culprit behind his discomfort. You feel somewhat lightheaded yourself, especially in such close proximity to him. There’s a creeping heat fluttering across your skin despite the coolness the cave offers. It's been slowly gnawing at your flesh since you first came into contact with Rex’s botanic prison, and you can only imagine the intensity of how it's affecting Rex in comparison.

“Don’t make that face at me, I’m gonna be fine.” He speaks through gritted teeth as he furrows a brow at your expression, attempting and failing to appear strict as he pants up at you from where he sits slumped against the wall.

“You need to rest at least. Come here and let me check your vitals.”

I need to make sure this isn’t affecting you as seriously as it seems. You choose your spoken words cautiously as you slowly begin to strip him of the remainder of his armour, leaving him in just his blacks and boots. He protests weakly for a moment before giving in to your careful touch, resigning himself to simply instructing you on how to undo the more complicated latches keeping the plating in place and watching the movement of your fingertips dance down his body.

Somehow he’s burning even hotter beneath the plastoid, his breathing becoming shakier with each layer that is pulled away from his body. When your thigh brushes up against his own when you lean across him to place his thigh-plate on the rest of the armour-pile, he throws his head back and groans. The sound shoots straight through you despite your attempt to resist it - guilt crawling in to join it in quick succession. 

“...m’sorry-” he glances at you bashfully beneath heavy lashes, pausing to wet his lips between a shuddering sigh as his head lolls back against the stone behind him, “-I’m just, just burning up - my body is on fire and I don’t know how to stop it.”

You take a deep breath of your own before opening your dry mouth to speak again.

“I-its ok Rex, You’re going to be ok, I promise. Here,” you reach down to where his utility belt sits beside him, unhooking the small canteen of water and raising it to his lips, “drink, you need to get some fluids in you.” 

He takes the flask from you with fingers that hint of a tremor ghosting across them. You watch his reaction as he chugs it down, noting sadly that it hardly seems to bring him any relief. With an inward sigh, you refocus your attention to checking over his vitals, alerting him before your hands make contact with his body once more.

His muscles continue to twitch under your touch, but you’re relieved to find that despite his elevated body temperature and sensitivity, there are no glaring signs of toxin poisoning or major threat in his system. You reassure yourself that his condition likely stems from his body’s reaction to an unfamiliar substance, but it being one that didn’t appear to have any threat of being fatal to him. Even so, you make a decision to set off in search of the others as soon as you were possibly able to so that he could at least receive more in depth medical aid, cursing once again that the medical supplies destined for the ruined base perished in the attack on your ship.

As soon as you pull away, a sound leaves him that's akin to a whine and the heat of your own cheeks intensifies almost unbearably.

“...I should go find something to make a fire with. Try and get some rest, ok? I won’t go far I promise.”

You shrug off the jacket you’d slung over your shoulder the moment the atmosphere had become too hot to handle, flicking it out to the side to shake off any loose pollen before draping it warily over Rex’s torso. It's less of an effort to keep him warm, his shivers are beyond any help of this kind now, but you hope it's perceived as a caring gesture all the same. Perhaps it could serve as some semblance of a pillow if nothing else. You try to ignore the way his fingers instantly ball up in the fabric like a lover’s grip on the bed sheets.

It's strange, seeing him reduced to this, a side of him that you’ve never even caught a glimpse of beforehand when you thought you knew the Captain so well. You aren’t entirely sure how to act around him at the moment, because he seems so vulnerable and so sensitive to each brush against his body, leaning towards you each time like he can’t bear to be without contact despite the heat licking across his bones.

So you run away, just for a moment, just to give yourself enough time to process what's unfurling before your very eyes and the reasons as to why it's occurring. The humidity in the air is still stifling, even now the sun has begun to dip lower in the sky. A shivering sigh you didn’t even realise you were holding in is knocked from your lungs as the evening air enters them. It twists across your audience of none and sounds impossibly loud despite the bustle of nature all around you. 

You somehow feel even more lost now than when you had started.

---

By the time you’ve loaded up on enough wood to make a decent campfire the temperature has dropped considerably. It breathes over your clammy skin mercifully, but does little to quell the heated thoughts plaguing your mind still. You waste no time in assembling a fire at the cave’s mouth. The sweat clinging to the back of your neck has cooled to a shivering kiss at this point, it dips its fingers down your spine as a breeze edges by you and licks across the flames. Rex’s groans of discomfort have lowered in pitch now, and they creep out from between the stones to settle deep in your stomach despite your increased attempts to bat them away. The uncomfortable heat building between your legs threatens to shackle them next to the fire, but the concern in your heart urges you forward to check on your injured soldier despite the heavy hesitation standing in your path. A particularly loud yelp proves to be the final push you need to shove you forward to a stumbled sprint.

What you find causes the remaining firewood in your hands to clatter noisily around your ankles. It splinters off towards the darker reaches of the caves to sit broken and forgotten while you stand slack jawed at the sight before you.

Rex lays writhing beneath your jacket, the material now wrung between the whitened knuckles of his fist as he bites down on it to try and smother his whimpering. It's become less of a blanket and more of a crude gag of sorts to cage his groans against. His blacks have been shed, they sit crumpled and hastily discarded across the cave’s floor. Rex is bare to your eyes, a tangle of panting breath and glistening, naked skin that almost appears to glow with the faint light of the campfire in the near distance. It serves to bathe him in copper, gilding his taunt muscles in a way that only emphasises the pure heat rolling off every inch of his body.

Your eyes rake over the whole shivering mess of him before you can bear to strip them away.

Your name all but wails from his lips once you can finally focus on how his gaze has locked onto you with a hunger - expression strained and apologetic, yet clouded with wide blown lust all the same. There's an echo of guilt that stirs your guts into knots, it screams at you as it bubbles over.

You should not be seeing this.

And yet you cannot look away now, your eyes drifting further down the valley of his stomach to where he grasps at himself. His wrist curls with each desperate jerk of his fist around his cock.

The coil winding inside you snaps to something hotter, yet your voice still fails you. It remains useless with an even greater intensity as he raises the same, glistening hand to smear it over his abdomen in a sparkling trail. He groans out your name again, something intelligible stumbling along behind it. The words are as jumbled as your thoughts.

“Mm-sorry. I tried to fight it but - but its too hot, m’burning-” Rex’s words slur together in a gasp. “Can’t, just can’t… fuck… I need you, need this, always needed…”

He trails off with another shaking moan as his hips canter and buck, body once again reminding him of the heat crawling over every one of his nerves.

“...I can’t, Rex.” He looks almost pitiful, but you can’t help but answer in a voice that’s stern, yet also too small in that moment for an officer of your capabilities. You try to keep your eyes trained on his upper half as you step closer, unsure if it's a thinly contained lust or concern fuelling your steps in that moment. The heat in your stomach billows higher the closer you get, and fuck - the waves of heat swelling from him seem almost contagious now.

Rex whines into your jacket in protest, and you can't help but ponder if this is truly the same steadfast soldier you thought you had known for months.

Against your screaming better judgement, you kneel down to check shaky fingers against his forehead. He leans desperately into the contact, but as quickly as the relief can flash across his face, it dies - replaced by a furrow of his brow and the straining of his arms as he so clearly fights to keep them pinned at his sides as you inch closer. There’s a new ache twisting in your heart over seeing him attempt to cling to the last shred of his composure, you think you can even make out the sparkle of frustrated tears gathering behind his lashes now.

“Oh, Rex…” Your words are carried on a whisper. The absurdity of your situation would have made you laugh if you were to have stumbled upon it in some sleazy holo-vid or novel, yet seeing the outcome of it play out in real life with someone you care for is gut wrenchingly frightening. 

How long was this going to plague him? The thought of him twisting with an agony you cannot relieve makes your heart ache defeatedly, posture slumping to further accommodate the emotion burdening your form.

You sweep your hand down the slope of his cheekbone in an attempt to soothe him. His pulse thrums in his temple as your fingers skim over it in their path from his forehead. Surprise jumps in your stomach as he suddenly cocks his neck in order to softly catch your fingertips with the plush of his lips, pressing against them in a kiss that seems far too soft for how evidently worked up he is. The gentleness of the gesture contrasts with the harsh sigh of air that expels through his nose when your touch drifts away.

Those newly dangerous eyes lock with yours again, but he remains completely still now aside from the occasional shivers fluttering over his shoulders and the laboured rise and fall of his chest. You feel like you’re going to drown in them, but your legs refuse to step away. His gaze begins to roam as you stand paralysed beneath it, raking over your expression before settling at last on your lips. His tongue darts out to wet his own before he opens them to speak again, the vibrato of his voice feels damp against your skin despite the fact you’re no longer touching him.

“Please.” 

His eyelids droop as he pushes the top half of his body forward into a bastardised mock-bow in front of you. Amber eyes cling to your own once again, their pupils still blown but his voice now regaining the sense of clarity that had been lost to him before.

“Please, I want this, I need this so badly-”

Your resolve finally snaps and you all but bruise his mouth in a kiss that sings of longing as much as it does unbearable desperation. You grasp his jaw tight in a clammy hold as your teeth clash together with the force of it all. His growl carries over your tongue once you slip the appendage into his mouth, though you can only bask in the tiny victory for a short moment before you’re all but choking on your surprise as Rex pounces and drags you down to the cool floor alongside him. It's as though he’s become revitalised by your touch and taste, arms caging you beneath a look so possessive that it shoots straight between your thighs. You can feel just how strong he is as he leans down to kiss you once more, the press of his broad chest against your captured self stealing the air from you in more ways than one. It's a body that has been engineered to fight and kill, one that is genetically identical to the thousands of brothers that take to the field alongside him each day of the war. Yet now as you battle against the force of him to run your fingernails through the blonde buzzcut atop his head and over the uneven surface of his scarred shoulders, you note that it's decorated with parts that are unique only to him.

There is only one Rex, and in this moment, you are as much his as he is yours.

And you want to help him through this, you do.

Your hands have barely begun to skim over the constellation of scars painted across his back before they’re pinned above your head as Rex begins to clumsily strip you, his teeth now finding purchase in the curve of your neck. Your head begins to spin again as your shirt is torn over your head and flung across the floor, both your undergarments and bottoms soon following alongside it. A gasp slips from you the moment your newly bare flesh makes contact with the chill of the cave floor, it pulls a shiver across your naked shoulders that only intensifies further when the heat of Rex’s mouth attaches itself to your skin again and again in a delicious contrast.

It's maddening, the pace he’s moving at. It’s as though he can’t dedicate too much time to one specific area of your body before his lust demands he move on to taste another. His palms are wide and impossibly hot against you as he grips your thighs with a battle hardened grip before spreading them unceremoniously. You yelp in surprise and push yourself up on your elbows the moment he does, limbs beginning to shake the moment hot breath fans over your core. There's a flash of what you believe is concern that darts across his eyes then, but it soon hardens as he takes in the sight of your parted lips and the flush that has spread down your throat. Rex clearly tries to keep his eyes trained on your expression as he lowers his attention to your cunt, but the moment the taste of you hits his tongue he can’t help but groan in relief, eyes fluttering closed as they threaten to roll back into his skull.

His closely-cropped hair gives you little to nothing to grip onto as the first wave of pleasure stutters over you, and you resolve to bunch your fists into the fabric of his blacks beneath your hips for support. He’s a messy eater, just like his kisses were moments beforehand. His teeth even threaten to graze you a few times as he nips at your inner thighs between each lathe of attention he flicks against your folds. It causes you to yelp in mild alarm each time he does before the sound is buried beneath your moans once more as soon as he finds a rhythm that he can work against you. Despite the way he’s currently growling into your pussy, he’s still clearly lucid enough to squeeze your thigh in what you think is apology each time, though the indents his nails leave behind beg otherwise.

Rex lazily fucks up into his hand as he tastes you, each vibrating groan stretched from within his throat only shooting further into your core. The flush in his cheeks blooms deeper now, and it peppers across the top of his chest in a ruby hue that only burns darker in the low light of the campfire. He looks beautiful, even in such a state as this, and you can’t help but cry out his name as he switches between sucking at your clit and circling it with the rough pad of his thumb.

“S’good.” Rex’s voice slurs as he whispers against you, letting out another deep groan of his own as he pushes a finger into you and watches you clench around it, your head falling back with a broken gasp. You can hear him audibly swallow at your reaction, it melts into a purr as he pulls back to marvel at his handiwork after bestowing another lingering swipe of his tongue across your thrumming bundle of nerves. A thin strand of slick and spit trails breaks away with the detachment of his lips and you moan at both the sight of him and the loss of his mouth’s contact. His other hand comes to rub circles into the muscle of your thigh and you can feel the precum slicking his fingers smear across your flesh before quickly cooling across the heated surface.

“So, so good for me. So gorgeous.”

His tone is gentle, reverent almost. It contrasts sharply with the way his hand inches to squeeze your inner thigh as the other curls a finger experimentally within you. It truly feels as though the tables have been turned on you now, and it's your turn to muffle the sob that bubbles up your throat with your hand, back arching at the feeling of his thick finger stretching and rubbing the inside of your walls and the praise rolling off his tongue. The pace of his wrist is slow enough to have your toes curling, but not enough to push you over the edge to where you desperately needed to be.

He appears to forget his desperation for a moment longer, continuing to sit back on his haunches to admire your expressions with a hint of a lopsided smile as you all but fuck yourself on his hand. Another strangled moan leaves you then, and it's this one that finally seems to break whatever trance he has drifted off into, the hunger filling his eyes once more to take the place of the love-sick adoration that had graced them before. You drawl out his name needily, that all too familiar heat that you had first experienced when you found him on Felucia’s surface blazing over your nerves with a higher intensity than before. He finally snaps once again and lurches forward to bite into another kiss, hands now taking a bruising hold on your hips. Your chest hitches with the emptiness you feel once his fingers leave you, though the press of his body above your own makes quick work of ceasing your squirming. His skin is boiling, the full weight of him almost suffocatingly hot and heavy as he brands you into the cave floor. You find your legs hooking over his hips on instinct, hands gripping onto his biceps in an attempt to ground yourself from the sensations bombarding you. The ambience of the outside world has silenced itself to you now, all you can focus on are the wet sounds of your mouths meeting in a series of breathless kisses and the beat of your pulse in your ears.

You inadvertently bite down on his bottom lip as he begins to rut his lower half against you, resulting in another low growl and an increased force in the jerk on his hips. Both of you moaning at how the length of his cock slides against the slick of your sex with each grinding movement. 

“Rex… please.” You are the one begging this time, uncurling your newfound grip on his shoulders to begin creeping it down his abdomen. He allows you the freedom to do this, but keens into the crook of your neck once your fingers wrap around his cock and begin to guide it blindly towards your entrance. “Please, please, please…!”

Your mindless mantra cuts off abruptly as he finally presses his hips forward and sheathes himself completely within you in an aching push. The action knocks the wind from your lungs and stretches your mouth wide in a silent scream, but your eyes never leave his own the whole time. Despite the sudden rush of relief and the cloud of pheromones threatening to blind you, beneath his wall of tightly wound muscle and feral lust you sense a tinge of nervousness still. Shakily, you reach a hand to cup his cheek tenderly as you attempt to adjust to the size of him all the while.

“Fuck.” It’s all you can manage to spit out as he slowly begins to withdraw from you, the head of his cock scraping against your walls in a way that has your head lolling back and vision spinning. He’s a stretch, but he slots so perfectly back inside you with each purposeful thrust in a way no other has ever done before. It’s a real struggle to catch your breath before Rex begins canting his hips forward with an instinctive fever, his hands pulling up your lower body to meet with his thrusts as you lay limp with pleasure beneath him. His cock throbs so intensely that you can feel it, even through the harshness of the pace he’s set. The pattern of his hips is largely uneven, jerking between quick, shallow thrusts to slower, deeper movements that sink his cock so deeply within you that your clit kisses against his pubic bone in a way that has you clawing at his shoulders once more. You can’t tell if this is due to inexperience or the overwhelming pleasure shooting through him as you attempt to grind upwards against him, but the way he sinks his teeth into your neck in such a way that you know he’ll leave a mark reminds you that you don’t care either way.

Rex’s entire body purrs against you as he releases a hand from your hip to paw at your chest, mouth trailing sloppy kisses from the quickly forming bruise on your throat to paint your collarbone in shades of puce and violet. Soon you’ve all but folded around him like a love letter, one that is signed with strings of mumbled mando’a painted across your skin with each thrust that shakes your body. You’re confident your nails are leaving their own angry red marks across his shoulder blades as you try to tug him even closer and arch up against him when he pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It’s all so messy and primal, with the heat of him crawling into your very lungs with each gasp he pushes out of you as he splits you open.

The wet slap of your bodies meeting is almost obscene as it echoes around the cave, the sound only punctured further with the whines and groans of the people responsible for it. Your head leans back into the cooling embrace of the stone floor once more, content to lose yourself to the hazy pleasure swimming in the air as Rex’s thrusts pick up in intensity.

You’re snapped out of your lustful fog when his palm cups the side of your face with an unexpected tenderness that conflicts with the fortified hold he has looped around your lower back. Your eyes snap back open to full alertness, and instantly meet with a gaze that is so focused that you feel it could cut down to peer into your very soul itself if it wanted to. Rex’s expression is almost predatory despite the tenderness with which he cradles your cheek, teeth obviously clenched along with every muscle in his jaw and upper body - and yet his eyes themselves look upon you as though you are the most beautiful being in the Galaxy despite your sweat-slickened face and the thick tears of pleasure that threaten to slip down your mottled cheeks.

The way his blonde tint of hair halos around his head and the shadows dance over the chiselled contours of his body make him look more myth than man, glowing and golden and impossibly powerful above you. But a strangled moan of your name as he brushes his thumb against your cheek reminds you that he is indeed as mortal as yourself.

You’re coming before you can even realise it.

Your orgasm is the type that whites out the world around you until only you and Rex remain, rolling over your whole body in waves that have you clenching around him so hard that his own movement is forced to still with the intensity of it, the weight of him locking you into place beneath him. Your legs quiver so hard that they border on aching as you throw your arms around his neck and scream silently into the crook of his shoulder, ears ringing in such a way that drowns out everything bar the sound of your lovemaking.

The spike of your pulse is so loud that you nearly miss the way he all but shouts your name as he reaches his climax right behind your own, the syllables encased within the stream of a low moan. His voice dips in a way you’ve never heard from him before as he releases deep inside of you in impossibly thick ropes that warm you from the inside out. It's choked on its own emotion as his hips give out a few weak, final thrusts that force more of his cum to pool out from your twitching cunt. He sobs something you can’t decipher into your neck as he loops both arms around your torso to tug you close, but you still feel the words humming over your oversensitive nerves with a vibration that bubbles into goosebumps across your shoulders and back.

The chill of the cave floor is soothing rather than biting against your spent limbs, and it only beckons forth your fatigue more as you relax against it. Your lower half remains practically sat in his lap, buried to the hilt even as your orgasm tapers off into a pleasant buzz. His cum continues to dribble down between you in syrupy trickles as you attempt to catch your breath, chest still heaving and hips burning in the most delightful way.

Rex’s head remains nestled in the crook of your neck even after you manage to raise a shaky arm to brush your digits across the fuzzy texture of his hair. He nuzzles against the particularly dark mark he had sucked into your flesh, panting words of endearment against you all the while.

“So perfect, just wanna keep you here - fuck - stay inside of you forever.”

It takes more strength than you would like to admit to raise yourself off the ground enough to coax him out from under your chin. You brush a feather-light touch across the line of his jaw before you steal away a kiss that’s the most gentle of the night, it's one that sings of untold feelings and creeping thoughts that sting when you pull back.

Even so, it's lazy and loving and Rex groans appreciatively into it, a sigh escaping through his nose as though you have breathed the life right back into him.

Lust quickly creeps back to cloud his vision once he props himself up to stare down at you again. His gaze openly flows over the sight of you splayed out and still stuffed full of him. A rumbled growl bubbles from behind his teeth as he worries them over his swollen lower lip, the sound shooting straight to your cunt once more and causing you to roll your tired hips against his without even thinking. An affectionate chuckle slips past his smirk and his face creases into something more familiar, more befitting of the Rex you had always known - though the fire in his eyes still continues to burn with the intensity of the man who had just fucked you senseless minutes prior.

“Sorry, Cyar’ika,” Rex’s voice is thick and ragged as he speaks, his accent sharpening the words almost dangerously. Warmth blooms and spreads within your chest, the feeling sliding downwards in tandem with his hands against your sides before they eventually settle firmly on your hips with a familiar grip.

“I’m not quite finished with you yet.”

#captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #captain rex #rex x reader #clone wars reader insert #clone wars imagine #this took forever #it just kept going before i could stop it #mine #rex

[the-last-kenobi]

A short fic, for broken hearted people

Ahsoka left.

And then Anakin left.

And for awhile, it was just Obi-Wan Kenobi against the galaxy, or so it seemed. He was given command of the 501st as well as the 212th, and suddenly everything was just so exhausting. He told himself every day, every hour, why he was fighting. Reminding himself that the point was so much bigger than him.

But it was a hard thing to fight alone.

Ahsoka left, and Anakin left.

...And then Ahsoka came back.

She was different now, quieter, her eyes colder. She was not afraid to criticize the Council or her elders but she was also not afraid to offer them compassion, or admit her own faults.

She was so very nearly ready for Knighthood, they simply did not know what to do with her.

But she did.

“Anakin isn’t coming back,” she said, the words painful and honest, like still-healing scars on tender skin. “He’s not ever coming back. Master Obi-Wan, will you be my Master?”

Obi-Wan looked at her and saw himself asking that question of Qui-Gon Jinn — who had said no — and of Anakin asking that question of Qui-Gon Jinn — who had said yes — and of Anakin asking that question of Obi-Wan himself — who had said you will be a Jedi, I have promised to train you — and wrenching free of all these unsatisfied ghosts he said “Yes,” almost before she had finished speaking.

And Ahsoka smiled.

There was no pleasure in sharing the burden of war with his new Padawan, of delegating trials and tasks to her, of letting her run the 501st almost entirely alone, of watching her rush off without him sometimes, wondering if she would come back this time.

Anakin, after all, had not.

Ahsoka had left and returned.

Anakin had left and never looked back.

But it was easier, far easier, than fighting alone. Once again there was someone to teach, to protect, to share quiet moments of sorrow and comfort and cups of tea with, someone to cherish.

It was easier to believe in the fight when he had someone to fight for right by his side.

And then Anakin returned.

But not in the way any of them had ever hoped.

The Clones turned as one force and fired on their commanding officers, on their allies, on their friends.

Jedi died in a great and terrible wave, and Obi-Wan Kenobi and Ahsoka Tano, fresh from their successful strike against Grievous, fell to their knees in their Temple quarters, blinded by agony.

Two cups of tea shattered on the floor.

They hadn’t even stopped to shower yet, hadn’t seen the Healers.

And boots were marching and blasters firing and Jedi were dying, dying, dying above their heads as an army of friends with eyes like droids marched into their home, tramping on their corpses without care.

“Obi-Wan—” Ahsoka gasped.

“Padawan—”

They ran.

Deeper into the Temple, deeper into the trap, left with nowhere else to go.

Master Nu was dead in the hallway and two of Ahsoka’s classmates were shot in an upper corridor and toppled over the railings, falling, falling, shattering on the floor.

A child cried.

Without word, without thought, Master and Padawan turned towards the sound and discovered a terrified group of younglings, most of them younger than eight, some of them so small that they squirmed and squalled in the protective arms of other children. The eldest was a Padawan, her braid so short it barely reached the edge of her soft-curved jaw.

“Hello there,” said Obi-Wan, and he was so gentle, so soft, so patient, an anomaly in the sounds of murder and marching feet coming from all around them. “Are you lost?”

“We can’t go up,” said the small Padawan. “And we lost my Master.” Her breath hitched, and she met Ahsoka’s eyes, her face saying everything she didn’t dare say before the other children. Acting like the adult she was not.

“We’ll stay with you,” promised the Padawan-who-had-returned. “Come with us.”

Down, down, deeper.

Into the trap. Into the dark.

Hoping for mercy that was not coming.

Ahsoka stifled her cries of pain as she leaned against the wall, the burning injury to her ribs making each breath an effort. The small Padawan was a few feet away, in the dark, clutching two toddlers in her lap.

Ahsoka held a human baby in her arms. A boy. She couldn’t even see what color his hair and eyes were in the dark, didn’t even know his name, but she held him close to her rattling chest and rocked him as he whimpered.

The other children were pressed close, all around. A few of them cried silent tears, perhaps unable to understand why they were crying, simply overwhelmed by the miasma of death and betrayal heavy on the air, a howling phantom they were far too young to understand.

Outside the door, footsteps marched closer.

And then there was a hum, and blue light spilled beneath the frame.

“Stop,” said a familiar voice. “I will handle this.”

“Anakin—” Obi-Wan said, his voice shattered, bent and broken, less familiar than the harsh coldness of his brother’s tone. “Anakin, please. The children, Anakin, at least the children.”

“You have thrown in your lot with traitors,” said the Padawan-who-had-not-returned. “The Jedi must die so that there can be peace. I will bring peace. I am strong enough to do what you couldn’t do.”

Ahsoka closed her eyes and breathed in deep. Past the pain, past the suffering.

She knew what to do.

She and Obi-Wan had agreed.

Outside the door, that flimsy barrier between themselves and the hand of Death, she could feel Obi-Wan joining his mind with hers, helping her along, even as the sound of clashing sabers cut the silence.

Crash. Crash. Crash.

Ahsoka began to sing.

Softly, softly, a lullaby from the crèche, a song so familiar that every Jedi knew it, had been weaned and raised and rocked to sleep by its sweet rhythm.

The children settled.

She sang, and sang, and the Force seemed to sing with her, and Obi-Wan sang with her, and the younglings fell asleep.

Small heads cushioned on each other’s laps, on folded arms, against the walls. Tiny lips parted in soft breaths. Round cheeks and soft arms shifted, tiny feet kicked out and then settled.

The small Padawan crouched beside Ahsoka, blinking slowly at her in the dark.

“You’re putting them to sleep,” she accused, her young voice so uncertain. “Forever.”

Ahsoka nodded. Felt her lungs aching as her wounds began to overtake her, felt her eyes burn with anguish too exquisite for words.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, to sleep.”

“They won’t wake up,” the Padawan said. Understanding was beginning to dawn in her young face, the round cheeks stiffening as she frowned.

“No, they won’t,” agreed the Padawan-who-had-returned. “They won’t see anything else. They’ll sleep, and go on sleeping.”

“I’ll stay awake with you,” said the small Padawan, voice blurred by tears.

“I won’t stop you,” said Ahsoka, reaching up with one trembling hand to trace the child’s face. “Brave little Padawan, you go your way. Follow your Master in your own manner.”

When Obi-Wan’s voice fell silent and the door erupted inwards, and the golden-eyed child of cruelty and greed stepped through, so handsome even in his selfish rage, this is what he saw:

A room full of sleeping children, innocent and quiet and unmoved by his presence.

A small girl with a saber like sunshine, a mocking contrast to his burning eyes, standing protectively between them and the devil.

A familiar young woman with burning scars down her chest, an infant pillowed in her trembling arms, and unforgiving blue eyes that met his without fear, singing, singing, still singing, undaunted.

He slaughtered them all, but he saved the singing woman for last, strangled the air from her throat, choking off her voice.

But she did not stop singing, even as her blue eyes dimmed.

And she did not sing alone.

~

Twenty years later, when out of the ashes of the Republic two twin children with the name of Organa but the eyes and smile of his dead wife rose up against him, Darth Vader heard, for the first time, the song that had gone on unbroken inside his broken soul... stop.

His moment of relief was shattered when Ahsoka’s voice laughed softly inside his mind, when her hope and amusement shot through him so brightly it felt like pain, when Obi-Wan’s voice said —

“Look at the children who do not sleep, Anakin. Will you cut them down, too?”

~

#star wars #my writing #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #order 66 #jedi purge #genocide #infinite sadness #cw murder #cw genocide #singing #the force

[obaewankenobis]

for forever — obi-wan kenobi

pairing(s)  :  obi-wan kenobi x reader ( mostly focused on obi-wan’s character, not the relationship because i am a hoe for this man )

summary  :  after the fall of the jedi order, you can finally be together. alternatively, obi-wan needs therapy/deserves happiness.

word count  :  2.1k

warning(s)  :  character death, a bit of angst i guess but it’s mostly fluff.

notes   :  roughly edited so i apologize if things don’t make sense, i honestly came up with this on a whim and have No Idea what was going through my head when i wrote this. the povs also switch a lot but enjoy </3.

       The sand bit at his fair skin, the grainy winds of Tatooine ruffled through his auburn locks, peppered with strands of grey, as Obi-Wan Kenobi stood, rigid and grief stricken. Kind wrinkles framed his eyes, eyes weighed down by exhaustion and desolation, the memory of a thousand wars flickering in the brilliant blue reflection. Without speaking, the woman looking at him from afar knew he had suffered a lifetime of hardship and grief, his aching heart not given a moment to mourn the loss of those closest to him. The mahogany cloak billowed around his body, covering the burnt, tattered tan robes he wore, as the wind picked up, signaling there would be little time before the twin suns set and it was much too dangerous to be outside. Snuggled between the lone man’s arms, swathed in soft cream blankets to shelter him from the cruel and unforgiving weather, was a baby. With sea blue eyes and the sparse tufts of pale blonde hair, the newborn was the mirror image of his father — that in itself was bittersweet.

       Fire. That was all Obi-Wan could remember, the smoldering lava confining him and his enemy — once his friend, his brother — inside a tight circle of flashing blue and blazing rage. Now, things were blissfully quiet, as if the universe was trying to give him peace of mind after what it had taken from him. With heavy shoulders and hollow eyes, Obi-Wan was a shell of who he used to be: a great warrior and an excellent negotiator, all gone. His last mission was here, on Tatooine, to deliver the baby to his aunt and uncle: Owen and Beru Lars. Then, he would spend the rest of his years wasting away in a sandy prison, languishing in his defeat.

       “Is it true?” The woman from afar, who had taken to staring at him from a distance, finally approached him, awaiting his answer with bated breath — Beru. Is it true? The words reverberated in his head, as the reality came crashing down upon him. The woman in front of him needed certainty, she needed answers, answers Obi-Wan could not give her.

       “Yes,” came the final reply. Who knew a single word could hold such heavy meaning? Yes. An entire government who’s history spanned hundreds of years prior collapsed within a single day? Yes, that had happened. His religion, who he had devoted his entire life to and poured his soul into, gone? Yes, decimated without a sliver of mercy. The baby’s father, the hero of the galaxy, the crown jewel of the Jedi Order, killed? Yes, murdered in cold blood.

       Beru finally brought her attention to the boy nestled within the robes of the man. “Is he . . . ” She seemed to only speak in half questions, as if finishing the sentence would make it a harsh reality, and leaving the query to hang heavy in the air would somehow leave her life in a fairytale.

       “Yes,” he replied again, nearly choking on his words as the boy let out a tiny coo, as if he sensed they were discussing him.

       “Oh.” There was a pause, a flicker of hesitation, before the woman decided to continue her pattern of half inquiries to form her own story. “May I?” With shaking arms, Beruu reached forward to take the boy from Obi-Wan’s grasp and welcome the baby into her own warm embrace. Part of him didn’t want to let the child go, for once he did he would have no real connection to his past life. Letting go of the boy meant letting go of everything, from his first steps in the Temple, to his meeting with his apprentice on Naboo, to the countless, sleepless nights in a war torn galaxy, it would all be gone. The woman’s tender smile and patient gaze was nearly patronizing, she was trying to sympathize with something she couldn’t possibly understand. No one could. A wave of fury washed over him, trapping him in a cage of his own emotions. Obi-Wan had never felt such an intensity roll over his body, preferring to keep his temperament a tranquil, emotionless pit. But this raw, uncontrollable fury was soon washed out with an even more overpowering bout of sorrow, shaking him with such force it made his knees wobble and threaten to give way. For over thirty years he was taught emotions were the enemy, by being detached and aloof he would survive, and look where that had gotten him.  

      Another soft cry from the baby jerked Obi-Wan back into the present moment, as his tiny arms reached for the woman, drawn to her sunny kindness and comforting aura; he realized a place to call home or a comforting shoulder to cry on was never something he could offer as the baby grew older. The woman made a small clicking sound with her tongue, looking up at Obi-Wan with an expectant gaze, and yet his grip on the baby remained the same. Although his mind seemed desperate to listen to logic, to reason, his body remained motionless, following the dull ache and painful longing in his heart. The battle between his mind and emotions lasted a fraction of a second, and at last, as it had time and time again, his mind won.

       Like he had done all his life, selflessly sacrificing himself for thee good of the galaxy, he let go.

     The woman took the baby in her arms, and began her journey back to her homestead, pausing just slightly to exchange one last parting smile and a word of comfort. “I think someone wants to see you, Master Kenobi.” With that, Beru began walking, a happy baby in her arms, to her husband, just as the sky merged from clear blue to salmon pink and hazy orange, the twin suns beginning to disappear over the horizon rapidly. As the light dimmed and dusk settled in, the man could make out the shadowy figures of Beru and Owen Lars, holding Luke Skywalker in unmoving content.

       Here to see me? Obi-Wan frowned, reflecting on the woman’s words. This was not his home, his very identity was supposed to remain a secret, who could possibly want to see him? Unless . . .

       No, that was impossible. He had mourned your death just as he had mourned every other Jedi’s death the moment their own clones turned against them, and he would not allow even a tiny sliver of hope to crawl its way back into his heart. Because in the end, he could only cling to the belief that things would get better, and false hope in such a desperate time would be his undoing.

—

       You wondered how long you could stand in the shadows before he noticed you, standing awkwardly by his dewback as he delivered Padmé and Anakin's son to his new family. Like Obi-Wan, you had suffered the loss of everything and everyone you knew, your entire life destroyed in the span of a second, and all you could do was stand there, watching everything burn. The Jedi robes you once wore with pride, robes that were once a symbol of humility and hope across the galaxy, now put a priceless bounty on the head of anyone who wore them.

       “Obi-Wan?” The name was dry in your throat, mouth parched and lips cracked due to the harsh Tatooine heat.

       Though he was always subtle, you could see his entire demeanor change, the way his shoulders became straighter, the way his hands, once balled up into fists of worry, were now relaxed and laying loosely at his side. In a moment, he had turned around and closed the distance between the two of you, caramel boots growing dull and scuffed as he stepped through the unforgiving desert surface beneath him. “You’re alive,” his voice came out in a hushed, cautious tone, disbelief still tainting the edges. “I thought — Yoda and I — the only ones left — ” his words grew more jumbled with each passing phrase that left his lips.

       “But I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” you cut him off, the calm gentleness of your tone making him stop in his tracks. Slowly, each movement pained and deliberate, you stepped closer, inching your way forward until he was right in front of you. Neither of you could look away; with the Jedi Order dead, there was no reason to hide in secrecy now.

—

       To realize he was not alone was comforting, but to know it was you he could seek company in was freeing. In that moment, with the distance so close between your bodies, Obi-Wan dared not breathe, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out the smallest of breaths — this was all he had ever wanted, and still, despite everything, it was something he believed he could never have.

       He wouldn’t allow himself to believe it. Not after he spent all those years repressing the desire that burned so deeply within him it began to rot within his heart, trapped with no release in sight. At one point, he had every reason to deny the yearning stirring within him, but now? Now there was no war, no Council, no code, no nothing to stop himself from unleashing decades of pent up turmoil within him.

       And stars, it was suffocating.

       He couldn’t do this.

       “You know you don’t have to push me away any more.” A suggestion more than a factual statement; voice thick and barely audible.

       Was this a dream, a fantasy meant to be chased after in his sleep? Or some sick, twisted premonition the Force was trying to convey to him? So many nights he had spent languishing in his loneliness, dazed in a delusion that remained but a figment of his imagination.

       “I know.”

       “What?”

       “The Jedi are no more. We . . . We don’t have to pretend we don’t have  — ” The words were bittersweet on his tongue; even with no one there to watch and scold him, he could not betray his way of life so easily. That everyone I have ever loved, I have watched die in my arms? And throughout all of that, I have never been tempted by the dark side, but if I lost you, I would be afraid of my own morality? Those were not easy thoughts to formulate into a coherent sentence — there were no words Obi-Wan could say that would even begin to describe how he felt.

       Instead, in a tender gesture of vulnerability, he reached out through the Force, and all at once it came crashing down on him.

       This feeling . . . it was all consuming, and he was drowning, struggling to keep his head above water and not surrender to its frosty depths. He was submerged in an endless stretch of icy ocean water so frigid and numbing, that he felt nothing and everything all at once. It was terrifying to think — and let you know — you held so much power over him, but in the same instance, he felt at peace, like a weight he had dragged around for decades was finally lifted off his shoulders. I love you, rang as bright as the city lights on Coruscant and as clear as a Nabooian waterfall. I love you.

       “I love you, too.” He heard your voice in a soft whisper, swelled up with emotion as you took in everything. Chills erupted down his spine; he couldn't quite tell if it was from the inky blanket being tugged across the sky as dusk descended into nightfall, or if it was the four word phrase that left your lips.

—

       “I cannot live without you,” Obi-Wan let out a shaky exhale, breath fanning across your face just slightly, your foreheads making contact in the lightest movements. You felt dizzy, in a dreamlike trance, for you had never been this close to him. You could see every horror he had survived in his glassy blue eyes, notice every perfect imperfection that blemished his skin and made him all the more real. In a moment, his face had become blurred as he closed the distance and finally, finally, his lips were on yours, and you connected in a long awaited, eternally sought after kiss. You could feel his hands, calloused but gentle, cupping your face, as your own fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, the kiss grew more fervent and needy, every rule you had ever lived by crumbling as you melted deeper into his touch.

       After a long moment, you broke away, breathless, your face still tantalizingly close to his.

       “I will never leave you, Obi-Wan,” your lips parted in a determined vow, a promise you would keep to your dying breath. The Jedi were dead, and yet you never felt more alive.

#obi-wan x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi #star wars #angst #probably should edit this #obi-wan needs a hug #and some therapy too #post order 66 #revenge of the sith #prequel trilogy #star wars prequels #one shot

[nanagoswife]

Please, Don't Go. - Chapter 6

Summary: Flashbacks come back, but with a twist for Obi-Wan. An encounter happens...

W/C: 3.6k

Warnings: Where do I begin? Descriptions of a man burned alive, angst, murder, mention of blood and burned skin, injuries, suffocation, dark thoughts, I think that's it? (There's a reason I posted a heads up)

A/N: This does have a reference to Karen Miller’s Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Wild Space. I don’t mention the character’s name in this because it may be considered a spoiler? I don’t know. But, it’s a legends book anyways😅 anyways, the reaction Obi-Wan has is actually the same as it is with a little spice added. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy.

- - -

As he held you, you eventually fell asleep in his arms. You more than deserved it. So, he took the time to admire your sleeping form.

Obi-Wan was determined to commit every detail to his memory. The slow rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair fell around you, how warm you were against him. Most of all, he wanted to memorize how peaceful you looked despite recent events. A small smile was on your lips as you were in the comfort of his arms. It was a smile that he didn’t think he would see for a while before he came to talk with you.

That’s when he began to think about what you had shown him. There was nothing that could’ve prepared him for that. Your worries ran way deeper than just your personal situation. You were worried more about your planet, your people, rather than your family. It was truly selfless, yet he still dreaded the fact that you were carrying that burden this whole time.

At first, he started to think of situations that he may have seen that were similar. In truth, there was not much. He’d seen slavery and torture, even been a victim of torture, and there was only one scene that he had seen from you that he had once witnessed. A truly horrid image, let alone witnessed experience. It made him glad that it was only an image for you.

Pained screams filled the air. A pang of guilt pulled on Obi-Wan as he looked to his master. Their eyes met with a mutual feeling. They had both failed to keep the man safe. The two of them still advanced as they could possibly still save him.

That thought was wiped away quicker than a varactyl finishing a hundred meter race. His eyes first settled on the flames licking at the grassy ground. There must’ve been fuel around the small area before catching onto the stake where the man was. He was suspended on this stake and Obi-Wan had no time to try and see how. Instead, the man’s restarted screams broke this thought. The young man watched in horror as the flames quickly consumed the man attached. The agony filled screams, the sight of fire burning a blistering skin, and Maker, the smell.

He wanted to find the people had done this, but he wasn’t able to. The feelings he was having were against the Jedi Code. That wasn’t the only thing stopping him, though. What he was witnessing had frozen him to place and he thought about how that could be him if they captured him. No, it’d be worse. This man was only speaking against working people to death, whereas Obi-Wan would not only be defending this stance, but he’d be trying to send them to jail at the very least.

After that day, he had been plagued by the sight. Everytime he tried to sleep, he was constantly visited by the scene over and over. It had gotten so bad that he refused to sleep at a point. He was nineteen when he had seen this and nothing he had seen before this had shaken him so badly.

If he were being honest, he still was visited by these dreams every now and then. The only difference was that now he had come to terms with it and it wasn’t as horrifying anymore. Not when it was something he constantly re-lived for many years. Thank the Force that Qui-Gon helped him then, and still occasionally does.

Momentarily, he was broken from his thoughts as you shifted the slightest bit, making yourself more comfortable and burying even further into his chest. A smile crept across his lips as he watched your still peaceful expression. He pulled the blanket higher and draped them around your shoulders so that it would provide further comfort in the chilly room.

Then, he started to think about that moment again. Only, this time, it wasn’t the man. In fact, the person wasn’t a man at all. The person now on the stake was you. Accompanying the rest of the vivid details, he was now imagining your agonizing screams as the flames consumed you. He imagined how he watched you die and had no other choice but to stay in place as he was also constrained; held by two guards who forced his eyes to meet yours.

As he watched, something in him snapped as your screams had ceased. The connections, the bond the two of you shared was broken. You were gone. An unbearable pain filled him as he realized that he couldn’t even hold you one last time. You didn’t deserve the excruciating death that you had been subject to.

An anger bubbled in his chest as he thought about how those men had done that to you. They didn’t even let him say goodbye. Instead of being afraid, his anger took over him. He was determined to find the two culprits and make them suffer. Nothing but revenge filled his mind as he knew they were not far away.

In an act of blind rage, he broke the restraints that bound his hands with the force and easily fought off the two that had held him in place. Neither of them had his lightsaber, but that wasn’t a problem.

He made his way to where the two fiends were surely enjoying their recent endeavors. When he opened the doors to the building they were in, the inside was suddenly an entirely different place. The surroundings looked like some sort of hallway with multiple red shields on the way to the end. There was a glance of someone in front of him behind one of the red barriers but it quickly dissipated and the entire inside of the building changed once again.

Though he was confused as the building was once again the actual one, his eyes landed on the two men. They were quivering in terror as he advanced. There was something about it that actually pleased him.

Then, everything was a blur. All he could catch glimpses of were moments where his knuckles were bloodied, some point he had his lightsaber, and then one where he was force choking one of them.

When it was over, the two were in an unrecognizable heap in front of him. His breathing was heavy as he stared at it, lightsaber still ignited.

An overwhelming sense of grief and dread for his own actions overcame him. He crumpled to his knees and started to cry. What had he done that led you to your fate? What took over him that played out this moment? He held his face in his hands as so much conflict flooded through him.

“Obi,” he heard your soft voice accompanied with a gentle shaking motion. Opening his eyes, he looked into your eyes that were filled with concern.

“Are you alright?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Your words confused him until he noticed his rapid breathing. Not only that, but you brought a hand up and wiped tears away from his face. When had he even fallen asleep?

“Was it what I showed you? Because, if it was, I’m so sorry that-”

“Shh, no it wasn’t that,” he reassured you as he brought a hand to your cheek and rubbed comforting circles into your cheek. “I… I just had an old nightmare.”

You met his eyes and you immediately knew he wasn’t telling you the full truth. The two of you had spent so much time together that you could each read the other well. So, he knew he wasn’t going to get by this.

“Obi-Wan, you were making sounds. It sounded like you were in pain.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. There was no way he could keep this secret. “There was something that you showed me that I once witnessed,” he said as you gently traced patterns on his chest to comfort him. Then, he told you everything. That mission on Antar 4, then how it all shifted to how it was you instead of the man he had witnessed. The only thing he left out was what he saw when he first opened the door to the building. He would bring that to Qui-Gon.

You listened intently and continued your subtle actions that soothed Obi-Wan’s painful retelling. After he finished the dream, you pulled him to you and caressed the back of his head as his face went into the crook of your neck.

“Oh, Obi. It was only a nightmare.”

“What if this is a way the force is showing me that I’d give in? I don’t know what I would do. Y/N, I’m scared,” he blurted out, still pressed against you.

The admission almost shocked you. At the same time, you understood because it also scared you. “Obi-Wan, it’s alright. It wasn’t real and I won’t leave you in life, or in death. I’ll still be with you.”

This seemed to calm him down. His breathing became more even and he began to relax.

“I do want to ask you one thing.”

He brought his head from its spot against your neck and moved so that he met yours, “Of course.”

“Please, don’t go to the Dark Side because of me. Promise me that you won’t seek revenge or act on it if anything like that happens. I want to be your strength to continue on, not your weakness.”

Obi-Wan’s beautiful blue eyes looked into yours with immense adoration and care. Slowly, he nodded.

“I promise.”

-

Months had gone by and nothing happened. The most dangerous situations they had gone through was occasionally tripping over something. It made the two Jedi more suspicious rather than relieved.

You were also suspicious of it all. Just before this being sent into hiding, you had been attacked by bounty hunters. So why weren’t they trying to find you. It couldn’t be because you all had actually found a planet that good to hide on.

At the moment, Qui-Gon was out trying to contact your brother to find out what was going on. On top of the suspicious quiet, there had been a message saying that conflict was quelled enough that it was safe again.

“Shouldn’t this be good news,” you asked more warily as you watched Qui-Gon disappear into the bushes.

“We need to make sure it isn’t a trick. This could be someone else that would put your life more in danger for their own gain,” Obi-Wan replied. He was waiting very patiently for Qui-Gon to fade far enough to know it was safe.

You were thinking the same thing when you turned around to face Obi-Wan. For a few moments, the two of you stood and waited until he finally nodded the all clear.

Quickly, you made your way into his arms. It was simply a hug, but the two of you felt like it would give something away to Qui-Gon. The two of you were sure that he was catching on to a few changes, like sitting next to each other closely or going out to watch the stars often, but that was all.

Mainly, the two of you would wait until Qui-Gon was gone, or Obi-Wan would sneak into your room after his master was asleep.

The most unforgettable night was only a week ago. It was one of the nights that Obi-Wan didn’t have to go out to get supplies and Qui-Gon went due to contacting your planet as well.

That night, the moon was high and full and positioned perfectly in the clearing of trees that it shed just the right amount of light. That night was already special, as it was the day that your father had been coronated and married your mother.

You were celebrating on your own as you looked up at the stars. Obi-Wan was currently repairing something so he couldn’t come out. So, you sat in the usual spot against the rock, singing songs written in honour of your parents and of the events. They were played every year and were joined in a planet wide celebration. People from around the planet were allowed into the castle’s entrance yard and in the surrounding city for the whole thing.

It was a beautiful demonstration of unity. What went wrong?

“Y/N?”

You jumped as you didn’t notice that Obi-Wan was standing right beside you. You were so swept up in your memories along with humming the songs that you were unaware that he had joined you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s alright.”

For a moment, the two of you were silent. Obi-Wan stayed standing and looked up at the same patch of stars that you were currently studying.

“What song was that?” His question took you slightly by surprise. Embarrassment filled you as well as you had never sung in front of, well, anyone. Maybe in front of your family and Kenth, but no one else.

“It’s one of the many songs played to celebrate this day. To celebrate my parents. This particular one was for them to dance to. A waltz of sorts.”

You went silent as you remembered watching your parents dance to this. It was a tradition that they would dance to this alone. No one else joined in. It was just the two of them and sometimes you and Davin would join. Only really when you were very young though. That’s when you had an idea.

“Do you dance Obi-Wan?”

“Not often.”

“Would you like to?”

The two of you met the other’s gaze. His face softened as you looked at you and he couldn’t help but nod his head. “Only if you tell me about this celebration.”

At that, you smiled largely. Obi-Wan offered you his hand and helped you stand. He easily brought you to his chest and placed a hand on your waist. You rested your hand on his shoulder and couldn’t help but trace little patterns.

“I didn’t know Jedi could dance,” you said jokingly.

Obi-Wan chuckled, “Well, we do have to mingle during social events often enough.”

“Fair point,” you chuckled.

Then, the two of you started to dance, Obi-Wan leading you to a rhythm only he knew. Like promised, you told him about the celebrations that were always held. You told him how the whole week was a holiday and how it was a festival of sorts. The whole time, you described everything from the food to the decorations. You even told some stories about how you forced Captain Baize to dance with you.

Forcing Kenth to dance wasn’t the only thing you would drag him into, though. There were games, puppet shows, and so many people who came with beautifully decorated pots, clothing, tapestries, and so, so many sweets and deserts. Since you always needed a guard, you dragged Captain Baize everywhere. Sure, he did enjoy coming with you, but he was always hesitant to start. In the end, he knew that you wouldn’t take no as an answer and that he also really wanted to see what was brought in.

As you regaled Obi-Wan with every detail, his smile never dropped and he never broke eye contact with you. He was enjoying how bright you were while recalling these memories. Seeing you like this, he committed the moment to memory. Your smile made you even more beautiful than you already were.

A snap in the distance took his attention from you. You also looked in the direction it came from. Obi-Wan separated from you and guided you behind him. His hand moved to hover over his lightsaber.

“Obi?” you whispered.

“It’s not Qui-Gon. If something goes wrong, be prepared to run.”

For many offputting, silent moments, Obi-Wan was on high alert. Occasionally he would shift you around to a position to better protect you as he sensed the movement of a being. He tried to search for more. Dread filled him as there were two more that he sensed.

Before anything could happen, Obi-Wan sent a message to Qui-Gon through the force. It wasn’t of words, but it conveyed the danger that was rapidly approaching.

“Well, well, well,” said one of the bounty hunters as he emerged from the brush. “Come on out boys. It’s only the padawan.”

You heard the others laugh maniacally as they all followed into the clearing. Immediately, you recognized them all. They were the men who had been after you all those months ago when you first met the Jedi. Their leader was Zacrick Moorlin.

Obi-Wan instinctually guided you further behind you so that his full body blocked you. If it were the last thing he did, he was going to make sure that they wouldn’t get to you. He consciously used the ship’s ramp as protection as well as he could. He wasn’t taking the chance of someone sneaking up from behind.

“Look at how protective he is. Is she really that important?”

“She’s more important than you think,” Obi-Wan snapped. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“Oh you won’t? Oh we’re so sorry. We’ll just pack up and leave then,” Zacrick replied scornfully. “No. We’re leaving with her dead or alive.”

You saw as Obi-Wan’s shoulders tense at the remark. Carefully, you placed a hand on his back to try and calm him. If anything were to happen, being that tense would not allow him to properly fend them off.

Your gesture worked. You could feel as he loosened and even became more attentive.

“Now, padawan, I would suggest stepping aside before we force you to.”

“That’s not happening as long as I’m alive.”

“Then we’ll change that.”

Zacrick made a gesture and the other bounty hunters pulled out their blasters, Obi-Wan igniting his saber, and they started firing shots that were easily deflected. The shots didn’t last long, but it was long enough for Obi-Wan to not notice that Zacrick had disappeared.

Before Obi-Wan could search for his energy, the other two began firing again.

“Y/N, ru-” he was cut off as he turned to see that Zacrick had you, an arm around your neck.

There was a knife in the bounty hunter’s other hand and fear pulsed through Obi-Wan. That knife was too close to your stomach.

“Let her go,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Obi, it’s okay,” you said, your breath being squeezed out of you as the arm around your neck tightened.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but let his face soften when he looked at you. He wanted to comfort you as much as you were trying to comfort him. Zacrick looked between the two of you and was hit with a realization.

“Oh, so the two of you care for each other, do you? Isn’t this perfect.”

Panic rose in Obi-Wan’s heart as the knife was brought up to your arm and was placed just under the sleeve of your short sleeved shirt.

“In that case, you get to watch.”

The whimper you made as the knife dug into your arm sent a pang of pain through him. He was about to do something until he felt an electric pulse shoot through his body.

“Like he said,” one of the other bounty hunters said, “you’re going to watch.”

His head was forced up by his hair and he had no choice but to watch as your blood began to spill around the knife. He saw as Zacrick tightened his arm around your neck, cutting off all air.

Moments later, your eyelids fluttered closed. Once you lost consciousness, the bounty hunter carelessly let you fall to the ground in a heap.

Obi-Wan didn’t care, he was going to get to you. Surprisingly, they let him go to your unconscious form. He took you in his arms and immediately examined the cut on your arm after checking your pulse. Relief flooded him as the cut wasn’t too deep and your pulse was still even. The relief only lasted a second as anger overtook him. They could’ve killed you. They could have cost you your arm.

After placing a brief kiss to your forehead, he carefully laid you to the ground before standing. His breaths became quickened as only anger filled him. How dare they do this? How could they be so careless? Why did they force him to watch?

As he turned towards the three bounty hunters, fear filled their eyes. Suddenly, he used the force and lifted Zacrick in the air as he crushed his windpipes. It felt amazing. The force seemed to have a new electric flow through him. It rippled in him and made him feel stronger.

“Obi-Wan!”

The voice startled him. Qui-Gon was running out of the forest but stopped a few feet away from his padawan.

“Control your feelings, padawan. Let him go,” Qui-Gon said sternly.

That’s when Obi-Wan snapped back to reality. What was he doing? Revenge was never something he should’ve acted on. No matter what this man had done, this was not the course of action. The worst part was that he liked it until Qui-Gon snapped him from it.

As the bounty hunter was let down to the ground, all three of them quickly ran. If that was how only one would act, they didn’t want to see what both of them could do together.

Obi-Wan was breathing heavily, almost as if he were choking himself and not the bounty hunter.

“I- I don’t know…”

“We’ll discuss it later. For now let’s make sure the princess is alright.”

Obi-Wan nodded, he was almost distraught. The thought of making sure you were still alright brought him out of it.

This was not going to be an easy conversation.

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003

#obi wan x reader #obi wan x you #obi wan kenobi #obi wan #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan fic #obi wan fluff #obi wan imagine #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan x y/n #obi wan star wars #padawan kenobi #ewan mcgregor #qui gon/obi wan #qui gon jinn #Please Don't Go #obi wan angst

[ladykatakuri]

Goodbye`s

So, like many others, I have been affected by the TBB finale and it "inspired" me to not only finish the Omega one shot i already posted, it also had me write down this small drabble on Rex and i started something on Crosshair after the final episode.

Character: Rex

Pairing: None , it is about Rex and his thoughts / feelings

Word Count: 823

Warnings: It is a lill angsty i guess and no fluff or so.

Summary: Now, standing here, with the pire burning and his old general finally at peace, Rex could finally say goodbye to his old life.

He was there when his general would come up with yet another crazy plan and then see how it would end up in victory for the team. He believed in his general, especially because, even though he would end up having to do some of the most insane things in the battlefield, he and his brothers knew that the general had their backs.

He was there when his general finally became a master to his own padawan. And this padawan was perfectly suited to his general. Both were a far cry from all the other generals he had served with, perhaps only general Kenobi was the exception, though this general came with a different set of instructions.

He was there when Order 66 was given and he had to struggle against following orders and acting on his own feelings. He almost lost against the order, were it not for the former padawan of his general that came to his rescue.

He had to bury far too many of his brothers, had to say goodbye to too many friends and even his only home he had ever known.

Had he been force sensitive he would have described the force flowing around his general and his padawan as a warm, chaotic embrace. Slowly the flow around his general changed and it became a cold, cruel chokehold.

Now he stood some distance away from a ceremony to say goodbye to his former general. The way he had seen his general change from a free spirited man that loved, despite the Jedi way of life, and cared, even for the clones under his command, into a man that became coldhearted and cruel, murdering even younglings, felt as if his own heart was crushed inside of his chest. Anakin Skywalker turned to the dark side and became Darth Vader.

With the help of Ahsoka, his inhibitor chip was removed and he went in search of others that had either failing chips, went against orders or might be saved even with a working chip. He found some that could be saved and some that were beyond saving. Each was a stab to the heart, despite the outcome of the confrontation. Each brother lost, was a part of his soul that went lost as well. Each brother saved was a part of his own soul saved. Small moments of luck and happiness were what he lived for and his two closest brothers, Wolffe and Gregor were responsible in part.

Together they observed as the galaxy went through great changes under the leadership of the emperor. Darth Vader, no longer the young general he so admired, his right hand man. It was a time of great suffering for many and Rex finally decided to no longer stand on the sidelines. He joined the rebellion, to go against the empire and to set free the people that have been suffering for so long. In memory of his long lost brethren he would do anything in his power to ensure their deaths were not for nothing.

He did what had to be done and though he had shed his old armor, he wore the armor of rebellion and the crest of his old battalion in his heart. This was for all who deserved peace in times of oppression.

To his great surprise, one of the young rebels leading the fight for freedom was the son of his former general. An even greater surprise came after the war ended and he heard that there was a twin sister. The legacy of the good man he once knew lived on in these twins. He could see the kind heart in the young man and the determination in the young woman. They held their own in great strength, a trait they shared with both their parents. Rex felt pride for the two people who could not be here to see it themselves. He was proud of the young ones in their place and celebrated their victory in their names and that of his lost brethren.

Now, standing here, with the pire burning and his old general finally at peace, Rex could finally say goodbye to his old life. Anakin Skywalker had come back to his old self just before he passed and had his time with his son. Seeing with his own two eyes, he managed to say goodbye to his family he always longed for and never had the chance to have.

With the smoke rising, Rex unclenched his fists as he said his final goodbye and turned around to join in the festivities on Endor. He would congratulate all the hero`s, mourn for the fallen and then return to his new home where he would meet up with old friends and old memories. Rex was finally, truly free to live and be his own man.

There was just one regret, If only he had listened to Fives and acted upon it….. What if….

@loth-wolffe@nahoney22@uponrightful@hellothere-generalangsty@chaoticvampirejedi@kin-rokku@reluctant-mandalore@cyroku@zinzinina@moonstrider9904@m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

#Rex Drabble #Goodbye`s #rex the clone wars #Rex Rebels

[captainkappa]

So i finished the final season of The Clone Wars for the first time and

holy shit

Like, the only other season that gets close to being considered better than all that is the 5th season and even then, i think the final arc of season 7 knocks it out of the park with all those gut punches

like, we get emotion! that sticks! clone wars is so hard at letting emotion stick bc everyone fucking quips. the pro to this is you really know when shits serious because theres no jokes. and that final arc we got to see rex cry!! i was not expecting visible tears!!

like they let order 66 be sad and im really glad they just let the siege of mandalore and order 66 be painful

and everything with maul!!! and what he was dealing with!!! ive never been more happy they revived him than in that scene in the throne room with ahsoka, youve got the fight and him wanting!!! to work with her to defeat sidious!!! can you IMAGINE if that fucking happened??? wheres that fic please place it into my inbox

AND i just remembered maybe the most important part (besides rex crying) is that i KNEW ahsoka and rex were gonna live. ive seen rebels, i knew they came back, but i was STILL on the edge of my seat. i dont know whats to thank for that, what part of the writing or characters or what but did not suffer from midquel syndrome at all for me

#i was feeling kinda awkward about sharing my thoughts on the season on discord #thankfully tumblr is Void Enough that i dont feel im taking up space with my opinions everyones probably heard before #bc im a year late to the party #and i currently have #'delete all messages i send to public discords' syndrome bc anxiety #which is annoying bc i wanna talk about clone wars!! #and i wanna do it with people!! #star wars #sw

[wwheeljack]

You answered my Crosshair question perfectly, thank you so much! Now I'm wondering, what would the other tbb boys think of their younger and adult selves? I know you said you're struggling with writing, so maybe this will be a good way to take a break? Please take your time answering, thank you!!

!! Another message hhhhh (I love the one you sent me about grumpy Crosshair, as that was a good thing for me to think of last night)!! Thank you so much for giving me a distraction and a way to try and think of the boys, Empress!!

Going oldest from youngest of the remaining three:

Wrecker:

Cadet!Wrecker would be absolutely in love with how awesome and powerful he'll be as an adult. He sees how he's his brothers' emotional rock, and how much he will risk for his family, and Cadet!Wrecker strives to be that man every day of his life.

He'd freeze a little seeing how much his injury affects him, but also would see that Wrecker willingly risked his life to save Tech. Cadet!Wrecker is, truthfully, the one who was the steadiest in growth from when he was a kid to a full-grown soldier. Wrecker definitely had to make improvements to his temper that he works on as he matures and ages, but he is the one who changed the least.

He's their emotional rock, after all, and their oldest brother - no matter the fact Wrecker doesn't ever want to lead, he still takes responsibility and will do what needs to be done to support his brothers. In all truths, Wrecker is the only one of the brothers who Hunter will look to for support, since Hunter feels he cannot pressure Tech with his own worries, and Hunter sometimes needs his oldest brother's support.

Cadet!Wrecker would beg for his older self to be open about his own hurt and feelings with his brothers, as he sees how he hides his pain and feelings behind a smile and a reassuring "Heh, I'm all good, Tech!" when Wrecker is anything but alright...

And Adult!Wrecker?

Adult!Wrecker would see how his life goal has always been to support his brothers, and to care for them indefinitely. He'd be proud of how hard cadet!Wrecker worked in his classes, even when Wrecker struggles with always concentrating on his schoolwork and would rather work his energy out in the weights room or during a simulation.

If there is one thing Adult!Wrecker would wish he could change about his cadet years, it would be how he acted when Crosshair first arrived into their unit. Wrecker was unaware of how his loudness and brash excitement made Crosshair feel very nervous, and thus made it harder for Crosshair to accept Wrecker and Hunter - so he'd encourage his younger self to give Crosshair time. To allow Crosshair to come to him when Crosshair actually felt comfortable with his loud brother.

Hunter:

Oh, Hunter... :(

Cadet!Hunter would look at his older self and just see the stress he's going to be under during the war. How his older self makes so many mistakes early on in the war because of how scared Hunter is - how Hunter constantly thinks he has to be strong and can't show his weakness/vulnerabilities to his brothers.

Adult!Hunter makes so many mistakes that Cadet!Hunter would never have imagined himself making, be they failing to communicate openly with Tech, or allowing his stress to further Hunter's arguments with Crosshair in the later years of the wars... Cadet!Hunter sees what the war does to him... how the war closes him off and makes Hunter so focused on what he could lose (his brothers) and how to prevent that... that Hunter forgets he needs comfort to..

Cadet!Hunter would be begging for adult!Hunter to allow himself to open up to his brothers about his many nightmares of losing his brothers... Anything to let Hunter remember he deserves comfort too...

And Adult!Hunter?

Hoo boy... Adult!Hunter would see how open he was, how hard he worked to comfort his brothers, and that he would seek out comfort from Wrecker before the war. Then he'd remember what the war has done, with the lingering prospect of losing his family hanging over his head and influencing his decisions and how he acts around his team?

Of all of them, Hunter is the one who really needs a hug... He always gives his brothers the time to worry over them and hug them... and forgets he needs the same in turn. Adult!Hunter would see how hard he was always trying to protect his brothers as a cadet, and that he was able to be open with them! That he doesn't have to close himself off and act so serious all the time... even during a war.

Adult!Hunter would likely sit down and cry as he remembers how much the war has taken from him, without ever actually stealing one of his brothers from him :/

Tech:

Oh boy. Tech has the most development from me, and thus... well... He has a lot of thoughts on himself...

Cadet!Tech would see how happy his adult self really is with his brothers and be proud! Proud that he escapes Sullo Pria physically and finds a family of brothers who would do anything (including kill) to protect Tech. Cadet!Tech would be somewhat flustered and surprised to see how close he becomes with Crosshair, and how their relationship is one of silent support - and he'd be so excited that he! That Tech could make friends!!!

But then Cadet!Tech would see what Tech's really doing to himself during the war and he'd want to yell at his older self to stop! Because, as the war progresses, Tech starts to shut his emotions away, to better serve his brothers.

He pushes all of his emotions down and represses them so that he cannot provide a distraction for his brothers due to his emotional self, and that leaves Adult!Tech suffering silently as he pushes his grief and sorrow and stress and fear into a tiny part of himself that he has to build up to keep himself from being a distraction.

Adult!Tech honestly believes his emotions are dangerous for his family, and that is why he represses them for so long. Once he saw how easy it was for his brothers to "weaken" because of Tech's emotions and distractible nature, Tech decided he had to fix those "bad" parts of himself by suppressing every single emotion he has inside him.

So his brothers see their youngest brother calm and level-headed and the calm glue of their family... when Cadet!Tech and Adult!Tech both know that he's struggling inside. Cadet!Tech would be very frustrated with his older self, and he'd try to make logical statements to how unhealthy it is to suppress your emotions... but Adult!Tech believes he is making the correct decision to help his brothers...

Then Adult!Tech...

Well... my Tech has so many thoughts on how he was raised, because those first four years continue to influence his ever decision to this day...

If he could change everything, Tech would make it so that he was never given to Sullo Pria... even if it meant he never met his brothers, or met them in a different manner then he did and thus had a different relationship with them. He is so convinced that she made him the weakest point of the team (and he has been acknowledged as Crosshair's weakness by the Kaminoans, which will be addressed when I eventually finish the cadet!Crosshair fic), that he'd do anything to change that... without ever realizing that his arrival to the team changed them all for the better.

Adult!Tech thinks he has to improve himself however possible, and he'd look at his younger self and regret everything - not being able to stand up to Sullo Pria, being oblivious to the fact it wasn't normal for her to beat him as much as she did, nor was it normal for Kaminoans to become so possessive of the clones they were tasked to train. Tech's goal has always been to protect and help his brothers in anyway he can, and if that meant changing his past so that he wasn't so "weak"... he'd try it.

He doesn't see how much his brothers need him, need their sad, broken nerd who needed affection and companionship and brothers who would risk everything for him, because Tech doesn't believe he is that to his brothers. He can acknowledge that his brothers love him, but he does not believe that he could ever be the force that saved his brothers and gave all three of them purpose.

But... if Tech could not change that much of his past, he would scream at his younger self to stand up for himself against Sullo Pria... even if she killed him, because he hurt his brothers by spying on them (against his will)... and because Tech knows that no good comes from how she raised him.

All Tech sees is that she made him emotional, when she wanted to remove his emotions, destroyed his confidence and thus always makes him second-guess his brothers words, and that her influence remains inside him even after the war... Tech finds himself to be a liability and he wishes he could change that part of himself as a cadet so that his brothers didn't have to spend their time worrying about him so much...

Tech seriously needs to realize how important he is - unchanged, just as he came - to his brothers... but I really have no idea how to approach the idea and have it work with my self-doubting Tech who has no self-confidence in anything but his intelligence... and who always doubts that he really means anything to his brothers.

How do I write that, and make it so he finally understands? It's an idea I keep trying to think of a solution to... and I have not found one yet...

#theeasternempress #I have had so much fun thinking of these situations! Thank you for talking to me as hhhhhhh!!!! #You made me think of Wrecker and Hunter especially so that was very helpful #and now it's a little more clear how many mistakes adult!Tech makes in his misguided belief that he has to be who he really isn't to make #his brothers happy #He's unaware of the fact his brothers love him because of the fact he's so shy and sweet and has those emotions #that he locks away during the war #Tech makes mistakes and he doesn't realize that... in a twisted way... Sullo Pria's influence made him a better person #Because she beat him and hurt him my Tech refuses to seek out violence first #He's a pacifist and would be much happier tinkering or repairing and creating things to help people #because he wants to be exactly the opposite of what Sullo Pria wanted him to be #The horrible way she treated him made Tech a much better person because he refuses to be like her #and tries so hard to be better than her #yet Adult!Tech doesn't see that as much #he just sees how much he is a distraction to his brothers in the war #and he wants to 'fix' that #Wrecker Cross and Hunter don't realize how well Tech has hidden the fact that he is hiding his emotions #and if they did? They'd do everything they could to remind Tech that they love him for the person he was when he came to them #they don't want him to change himself for THEM... they want him to be their baby brother #:( #Tech Cross and Hunter make so many mistakes throughout their lives... #Soft!Batch struggles a lot but! Soft!Batch tries :(

[generallynerdy]

One life, I thought—a thousand deaths (Jon Antilles & Fay)

Summary: On Queyta, Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the only one to escape Durge and Ventress. One of the four legendary Masters, Jon Antilles, emerges from a lava stream despite knowing he’s going to die. He’s so sure of it that he crawls his way to Fay’s side, wanting to spend his last moments with the woman who he considers his Master. But she has other plans. Plans to make certain that Jon Antilles lives past today.

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, On-Screen Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, there’s both sorry, Self-Sacrifice, The Curse of Immortality, holy shit i made myself sad dude Word Count: 2,191

Prompt: Angstpril Day 2 - Sole Survivor

Author’s Note: listen I know nobody knows about these characters that are in literally one comic but I have FEELINGS about them okay?? Jon is meant to be a badass mysterious enigma but he screams sad boi and Fay is like...the greatest cryptid Jedi ever, I love her. So, of course, I decided to make them and Knol and Nico suffer. (Also I know Obi-Wan survived the mission but the Sole Survivor still applies because Jon is the sole survivor of the four legendary Masters, just in case that wasn’t clear.) I just finished this today, so the editing is minimal.

Read on AO3

*

Using the Force as a shield is, in theory, one of the easier skills a Jedi utilizes. That is assuming, of course, that the Jedi in question is in good health, a decent mental state, and isn’t under a severe amount of stress. If said Jedi is, say, three feet into a pool of lava, already bearing grievous injuries and the weight of the deaths of two close companions, and feeling the fading life of another, the simple task, understandably, becomes something of a problem.

Jon has finally managed to pull the Force around him like a blanket. It protects him from the bubbling lake around him now, but the first few seconds he couldn’t pull it off were torture.

As it turns out, lava burns. It burns like shame, like failure, like the nightmares Jon used to have about his Master abandoning him on a planet in Hutt space for getting just a little too mouthy. And it hurts nearly as much.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He makes a rule of not cursing, but right now feels like an appropriate time to break it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He claws at the charred remains of his robes. Contrary to popular belief, lava doesn’t melt initially, as Jon now knows. Instead of melting, he burst into flames for the few seconds it took to pull himself together, though they felt like an eternity. Red, throbbing burns litter his entire body, his hair singed but miraculously intact thanks to his hood, which is entirely ashes now. The pain consumes his thoughts, making his shielding start to flicker in and out.

And then, through the debilitating agony, a touch of something familiar.

Jon’s eyes fly open. “Fay,” he whispers.

Her light is dimmer than it should be, not flickering in and out mischievously like it usually does. But still, she makes an effort to reach out, to check on him. It sends a sob up his throat.

“Hold on, Fay, hold on.”

Clenching his fists, he opens himself up to the Force. His actions are ones of faith, not of desperation, and he lets it flow through him as he takes a deep breath. The idea of using one of his Master’s abilities would normally make him nauseous, but the disgust doesn’t even cross his mind this time as he prepares to teleport. He thinks of that open, flat space of rock that Obi-Wan and Fay ran to, their enemies close behind. Focusing fiercely on that distant image, he pulls on the Force and folds the two points—

Jon collapses on solid ground with a heaving gasp.

Every inch of his body protests the change, especially his knees, which burn when they make contact with the ground, but somehow he manages to ignore his own complaints.

Fay isn’t far, or she shouldn’t be, at least. The distance between them seems gaping when he tries to move.

Still, her light is fading fast. And he wants to be by her side.

So, Jon Antilles crawls on hands and knees, dragging his body across sharp stones and past bubbling streams of lava. He aches with each movement and cries out when it becomes too much, but he persists regardless. Something in him knows it may be the last thing he ever does.

Finally, he sees her.

She’s sprawled out, her chest hardly moving as her breathing becomes shallow. Her near-golden hair is filthy with ash and her eyes are dim. She’s hardly herself, Jon thinks, and feels his stomach sink.

Hundreds of years the great Master Fay has lived and breathed. Hundreds of years and he’s going to watch her die today.

“Jon,” she calls out weakly.

He pulls himself to her side, grabbing her hand with his own shaky ones. “I’m here, Master.”

They only met when he was a teenager, but he feels as if he’s known her all his life. They’ve travelled the Outer Rim together, following the Force, for decades now and he’s never regretted a second of it. In all but title, Fay is his Master. She was always better than Dark Woman, even when the bar was six feet under. The only record with both their names will be at the Temple, where the dead are listed, a handful of mission reports with other Jedi, and the stories the younglings share of the 4 legendary, nomadic Masters.

“Knol and Nico,” Fay breathes out, “they’re one with the Force.”

Jon grimaces. “Yes. And the Force is with us.”

She laughs, breathy and half-choked. It’s an old lesson, familiar and grounding. “And so too are they,” she adds.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?”

“Gone, with the cure.” She smiles just a little. “The Republic fights another day.”

Suddenly grim, he squeezes her hand. “But not us.”

A pause.

“But not us.”

The silence overwhelms them. The wind whistles in the distance, carrying with it nothing but smoke and ashes. Queyta isn’t the best place to die, Jon thinks absently. He would rather it have been someplace with flowers.

“I wish it could’ve been Jedha.”

He almost jumps at her voice, but her words jarr a surprised laugh from his sore lungs. “Jedha? I thought you hated cold planets.”

“Oh, yes, but not that one. Force, I should have taken you. The Force there is so...so strong, so pure, you can feel the kyber from the surface,” she explains, staring straight up at him. If anyone else were to gaze so intensely at his scars, he’d be uncomfortable, but she’s safe. She’s family. “And the Guardians of the Whills are so kind. I met a young one of theirs some decades ago. You two would’ve gotten along.”

Jon laughs a little. “You’re always looking to find me friends, Fay.”

Her smile turns sad and she lifts a hand to his face, letting it rest on his cheek. “You’re so young,” she whispers. “Too young to be so lonely, Jon.”

He shuts his eyes, lets himself be comforted by her touch. When he opens them again, she still has that gut-wrenching look on her face. He places his hand on top of hers, unsurprised at how cold they are despite the blistering heat.

“I’m not lonely,” he promises.

Jon doesn’t say that it’s because of her, Knol, and Nico, but Fay picks up the thought anyway. Her eyes fill with tears.

“I have watched so many I love die.” Fay’s voice wavers as she says it. He realises that it’s the first time he’s ever heard it do that. To be honest, he’d thought it was impossible. “Taken by age, by Darkness, by foolishness. Never have I met a soul as good as yours, Jon. And never a Jedi so worthy of love.”

“Fay…”

She shakes her head. “Your Master did not deserve you. The galaxy did not deserve you.”

Pulling her hand away from him, Jon squeezes it. “You did,” he says firmly, though his voice cracks.

“I hope so,” she admits with a rueful laugh. “I hope so.”

He smiles weakly. “I wish you’d found me first. But I thin-I think the Force knew when I needed you to save me. Because you did save me, Master. I could never thank you enough.”

She takes his word silently, holding his hand even tighter. “You never needed to.”

“Thank you,” he says now, even though it’s useless.

Fay’s grey eyes meet his pale ones and suddenly, she’s distressed. “You’re so young,” she repeats.

But Jon can see that she means something else this time.

“Not too young to do my duty.”

“Too young to die doing it.”

Jon thinks of Tan Yuster, one of four Padawans to die on Geonosis. The Jedi have experienced great loss these past months since the beginning of the war and so many so much younger than Jon have died in battle, the clones included. Of course, to Fay, they all may as well be children.

“I will go proudly into the Force,” he promises her. At your side.

Fay’s expression twists. “No.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think we have a say in it.”

“The Force let me live this long,” she says suddenly, as if it’s a realisation, “longer than I should have. Obi-Wan is gone, I’ve done what good I can, except...you’re here. Why are we here?”

“To say goodbye,” Jon offers.

She shakes her head, then tries to sit up, struggling until her would-be Padawan helps pull her up. “I’m done with goodbyes.”

“What are you—?”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his question. Fay presses their foreheads together and grabs his hands with a newfound energy that terrifies him. Chills go up his spine when her presence in the Force covers him like a blanket. Warmth climbs up his hands, then his arms, and with a glance down he finds that his skin is healing.

“Fay, no!” he cries, trying to shove her away.

She only tightens her grip. “Stay still, Jon.”

She sounds more like herself, certain and unwavering. Jon would be happy-crying if he weren’t horrified. He tries to drag himself out of her grip, but she’s impossibly strong. Her healing creeps up his entire body, soothing his burns, though scars remain behind.

“No, no, no—FAY! Fay, stop it!” His screams turn to sobs. “You’ll die, stop—!”

“I already am,” she says, just as certain in her abilities as her fate. “But you don’t have to.”

Trembling, his attempts are weaker now but still there. “Please, please,” he begs. “Not without you!”

Tears stream down her cheeks. She allows herself a moment of weakness; she opens her eyes and meets his tearful gaze, remembering the teenager she first met. He was so scared and so brave. And for a moment, she’d thought he must be a ghost. But no, he was just a boy. For the first time in a long time, she had let herself build a bridge between them, like Knol and Nico before him, even knowing she would have to watch him die one day.

Now, she thinks with fierce stubbornness, she won’t have to.

It feels like her life is leaving her for him, though she knows it’s just fading into the Force. It’s to it that she speaks, the cosmic energy she’s dedicated her long, long life to.

“If anyone is deserving of the time you’ve given me,” she gasps out, “it is Jon Antilles.”

She doesn’t see the horror in Jon’s face, but she can feel it in his quiet Force-presence, so subdued. He hides himself on purpose and it truly breaks her heart. His light is so strong. The galaxy is all the better for his existence.

“I don’t want this! Fay, I don’t—let me die, please—”

Fay only lifts her head and kisses his forehead, the sort of gentle gesture a mother might give her son. “One day,” she promises. It rings with truth, with the strength of the Force behind it. “But not today.”

Jon cries out and tries to rip himself away, but freezes when pure light washes over him. The warmth he’s always associated with Fay soaks into him, healing all his wounds in an instant and rejuvenating his fading energy. Stars burst before his eyes, like he’s seeing into the very universe beyond Queyta, beyond what he’s meant to see with his petty Human eyes. In another instant, it’s gone and Fay is slumping over.

She falls to the ground with a thump, a noise that jolts Jon back into focus.

“Master!” he sobs.

He pulls her up from the ground with the sickening realisation that she’s a complete deadweight. She’s limp in his arms, already paling. Desperate, Jon pushes her hair out of her face and finds...nothing. Her eyes are dull. With his fingers on her wrist, he can’t feel a pulse.

“Fay?”

The steady beat of her Force-presence is gone, a gaping hole in his universe. Their bond, one strong enough to resemble a training bond, is shattered, a physical pain that throbs in his skull.

Jon begins to hyperventilate, his sudden gasps for breath burning his now-perfect lungs.

“Come back,” he begs Fay’s corpse. “Fuck, please. Please, come back.”

He pulls her into his lap, clutching her robes like a child being left behind for the first time. It doesn’t hurt to move anymore and, thank the Force for it because his entire body shakes with the force of his cries.

Overwhelmed with grief he’s never experienced, Jon wails into Fay’s shoulder, rocking back and forth. The agonizing sound rings across the valley, a noise like torture.

It’s only now that he feels the frayed edges of his bonds with Knol and Nico.

He screams again, his vocal cords protesting it sharply.

The last time Jon was this alone, he was a child. And now, he’s right back where he was before he met his three closest companions. Except now, now, he knows what it means to love and to lose. It aches. It aches like nothing he’s ever felt.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely. “I can’t—I need you. What do I do? What am I supposed to do?”

He never gets an answer.

*

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

Masterlist

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