#Anakin Skywalker Commander Expansion

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Anakin Skywalker Commander Expansion Packaging Art by Jake Murray

[speaknow-sw]

•| ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ |•

Content : fight, killing, death, whipping.

A/N : Chapter one guys, so excited to introduce that version of Anakin. It’s kind of a knightfall Anakin, or unburnt Vader. I tried to write as good as I could but I remind you, I’m not English. Enjoy.

• | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪ : ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ | •

The Colosseum roared like the mouth of the gods, hungry for blood.

THE GATES OF THE COLOSSEUM CREAKED OPEN, revealing the sun-soaked expanse of the arena. The light hit like fire, reflecting off the gilded helmets of the Roman guards stationed at the edge of the sands. Anakin stepped forward, bare-chested beneath his battered armor, the leather straps across his shoulders darkened with sweat and blood. His sword rested in his hand—a weapon as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

The crowd roared with anticipation. Thousands of voices thundered through the stone arches, shaking the ancient bones of Rome itself. They didn’t care who fought, only that blood would be spilled.

Anakin’s eyes were dark beneath the shadow of his helmet. His expression was unreadable—cold, calculated. He moved like a wolf in a den of lions, his footsteps steady, his presence commanding. His opponent stood across the arena, waiting. A seasoned gladiator, scarred and broad, wielding a spiked mace and a shield emblazoned with a Roman eagle.

The man sneered, raising his mace in a silent challenge.

Anakin didn’t flinch. He didn’t smile. He merely rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles coil like a serpent. His opponent was bigger, stronger. But size didn’t matter. Strength didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered in the Colosseum was who walked out alive.

The signal was given—a sharp blast of the horn—and the fight began.

The other gladiator charged first, his heavy footsteps pounding across the sand. The mace swung toward Anakin’s head with brutal force, aiming to crush his skull in a single strike. But Anakin was faster. He ducked low, the air whistling as the mace sliced through the space where his head had been.

He pivoted on his heel, slashing upward with his sword. The blade caught the other man’s shield, sending a reverberating clang through the arena. The force of the blow made the man stumble, but he recovered quickly, slamming his shield forward like a battering ram.

Anakin took the hit to his shoulder, pain blooming across his body, but he didn’t fall.

Instead, he stepped back, circling his opponent with measured grace. His eyes locked onto every movement—the way the man’s shield arm trembled under the weight, the slight hitch in his step. Every weakness was a thread to be pulled, unraveling the illusion of invincibility.

The mace swung again, a brutal arc aimed at Anakin’s side. This time, he sidestepped with ease, his sword flashing like lightning. The blade skimmed across the other man’s thigh—a shallow cut, but enough to slow him down.

The crowd’s cheers grew louder, a frenzied chant echoing through the Colosseum.

“Skywalker! Skywalker!”

Anakin ignored them. He wasn’t fighting for their approval. He was fighting to survive.

His opponent lunged again, swinging the mace in a reckless, desperate arc. Anakin caught the weapon on his sword, the clash of steel ringing in his ears. The impact jarred his arm, but he held firm, twisting his blade to lock the mace in place.

For a moment, they stood locked together, muscles straining, sweat dripping into the sand. The other man’s eyes narrowed, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“You fight like a man who wants to die,” the gladiator growled.

Anakin’s lips barely moved. “No. I fight like a man who’s already dead.”

With a sudden surge of strength, Anakin twisted his sword, breaking the lock. The mace was wrenched from the other man’s grasp, falling to the ground with a heavy thud. Anakin didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, his sword aimed for the man’s exposed chest.

But the other gladiator was quick, raising his shield just in time to block the killing blow. Anakin’s blade glanced off the shield, sending sparks flying. The man swung the shield like a hammer, smashing it into Anakin’s ribs.

Pain exploded in Anakin’s side, but he didn’t falter. He twisted away, his feet kicking up sand as he regained his footing. His breath came in short, harsh gasps, but his grip on his sword never wavered.

The other man was breathing hard now, too. Blood dripped from the cut on his leg, staining the sand beneath him. He glanced at his fallen mace, then back at Anakin, calculating his next move.

Anakin saw the hesitation. He saw the fear creeping into the man’s eyes.

It was over.

Anakin moved like a predator, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. His sword cut through the air, a deadly arc aimed at the man’s shield. The blow was relentless, driving the other gladiator back step by step. Each strike was precise, calculated to wear down his opponent’s defenses.

The shield splintered beneath the onslaught, cracks spreading like lightning across the wood and metal.

The crowd was on its feet now, screaming for blood.

Anakin’s sword struck one final time, shattering the shield completely. The other man stumbled backward, weaponless and defenseless. He fell to his knees in the sand, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Anakin stood over him, his sword raised.

The arena fell into a tense silence, waiting for the killing blow.

The man looked up, blood smeared across his face. “Mercy,” he whispered.

Anakin’s grip tightened on his sword. His heart pounded in his chest, a relentless drumbeat of rage and grief. He saw ghosts in the man’s eyes. Ghosts of those he had killed before. Ghosts of the life he had lost.

There is no mercy in Rome.

With a swift, decisive strike, Anakin brought his sword down.

The blade cut through flesh and bone, clean and final. The gladiator crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Blood pooled in the sand, dark and endless.

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, their cheers echoing off the stone walls. They chanted his name, hailing him as a hero, as a champion.

But Anakin felt nothing.

He sheathed his sword, turning his back on the corpse. His gaze lifted to the crowd, scanning the sea of faces. They cheered for him, but they didn’t see him. They saw a legend. A monster. A weapon forged by Rome’s cruelty.

But somewhere in the crowd, a pair of eyes watched him differently. Eyes that didn’t cheer. Eyes that saw through the mask of brutality to the man beneath.

Eyes that remembered him.

Anakin’s footsteps echoed through the Colosseum as he left the arena, the bloodstained sand stretching behind him like a trail of ghosts.

The Colosseum loomed like a monument to blood and ruin, its arches casting jagged shadows across the sand. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and iron, the echoes of battle lingering long after the last sword had fallen. The crowd dispersed slowly, their cheers fading into the streets of Rome, leaving only ghosts behind.

You walked unnoticed through the emptying arena, your form shrouded in the guise of a noblewoman. Mortals glanced your way, but none truly saw you. They never did. To them, you were a passing shadow, a face soon forgotten. But you moved with purpose, your sandals barely disturbing the blood-soaked sand beneath your feet.

The gods had cursed you to wander endlessly, to carry the weight of a legend that time had tried to bury. For centuries, you had drifted through mortal lives, whispering forgotten stories into the ears of poets and scholars. You were the goddess of legends, doomed to remember what the world sought to forget.

But now… something stirred. Something ancient. Something long buried beneath centuries of dust and stone.

You paused at the edge of the arena, your gaze drawn to the sands where blood still pooled. The echoes of swords clashing and bodies falling seemed to resonate in your bones. And beneath it all, beneath the noise and violence, you felt it—him.

Remus, Anakin.

The name lingered on the edge of your mind like a half-forgotten melody. You hadn’t spoken it in centuries. You had buried it alongside your grief, locking it away in the ruins of memory. But now, the weight of that name pressed against your chest, as if the past was clawing its way back to the surface.

Your eyes scanned the arena, searching for the source of that ancient pull. You knew it wasn’t just the place that stirred these memories. It was someone—a presence you hadn’t felt since that fateful day beneath the twin hills where Rome was born.

And then you saw him.

He stood near the gladiator gates, the torchlight casting flickering shadows across his battered form. His armor was streaked with blood, his sword still hanging at his side. His dark hair clung to his face, damp with sweat. His gaze was sharp, unyielding, even as he limped slightly from the battle’s toll.

You felt the air leave your lungs.

It was impossible. Unthinkable.

But there he stood—Anakin.

He didn’t know you. Not yet. The curse of mortality had stripped him of his memories, erasing the bond you once shared. But his soul… his soul was the same. Wild, restless, defiant. His very presence radiated rebellion, a man carved from the bones of the earth and tempered in fire.

You took a step closer, your heartbeat echoing like thunder in your ears.

The gods had whispered of this moment. They had told you that Anakin would be forgotten, his real name wiped from history, while his brother’s legacy endured. But they never said his soul would be lost forever. You had carried hope through centuries of loneliness, a fragile ember that refused to die.

And now that ember flared into a blaze.

Still, doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind. Was this a cruel trick of fate ? A shadow cast by your own yearning ? Or had the gods truly given you another chance to rewrite the legend that had condemned you both ?

Remus—Anakin—turned slightly, as if sensing a presence beyond the mortal realm. His gaze swept over the arena, passing by you without lingering.

But something made him pause.

He was more beautiful than you remembered. The years and centuries had softened the memory of his face, but now, seeing him in the flesh, it was like waking from a dream you hadn’t realized you’d been trapped in. His hair, once trimmed short and once shiny as the sun above your head, had returned in this life as wild, golden curls—disheveled and unruly from the fight, falling into his eyes with a carelessness that no Roman noble would dare. Those eyes… gods, those eyes. Blue as the sky above the Tiber at dawn, fierce and unrelenting, they seemed to pierce through the veil of time itself. He also looked older. Older than when he died, barely a man, still harboring a cherubic face with rosy cheeks and dusted lips. Now he was breathtaking. 

His features were sharp yet regal, a strong jaw dusted with stubble, the high cheekbones of a warrior carved by fate’s cruel hand. His lips, stained with the faintest hint of blood, were set in a line of defiance. He bore the scars of a gladiator’s life—scratches across his broad chest, bruises blooming beneath his armor—but they only added to his allure. He was mortal, yes, but he stood with the bearing of something more, something ancient. He was a man forged by violence, yet he carried the weight of tragedy in every line of his body.

His stature was commanding, taller than most of the men around him, with broad shoulders that seemed made to carry the weight of the world—or your sorrow. There was something about the way he moved, even in exhaustion—graceful yet lethal, like a lion prowling the edges of the arena. He was strength and ruin in one.

And you couldn’t look away.

To the Romans, he was nothing but a slave, a fighter to bleed for their amusement. But to you, he was everything you had lost. Everything the world had forgotten.

His eyes, darkened, narrowed as they met yours. There was no recognition in them. No spark of memory. Yet something ancient flickered there—something deeper than conscious thought.

He frowned, his expression unreadable, before turning away and disappearing through the gates.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest.

He was here. Alive. But he didn’t remember you.

Not yet.

And as you stood alone in the shadow of the Colosseum, you whispered the name the world had forgotten.

"Remus." No… Anakin, you chastised yourself.

The winds carried the name across the empty sands, a prayer to the past. A prayer for what was to come.

Something ancient stirred in the air—a curse left unfinished, a legend waiting to be rewritten.

The crowd gathered at the Forum, eager for blood. Romans thrived on spectacles of cruelty, drawn to suffering as moths to flame. But this was not a battle to the death. There would be no swords, no shields. This was punishment. A public reckoning. And at the center of it stood Anakin, stripped to the waist, his back bared to the lash.

The whip cracked through the air like thunder, and the first strike split the silence. His body jerked, muscles tightening, but Anakin did not cry out. He refused to give them the satisfaction. His back already bore scars from past punishments, reminders of Rome's endless cruelty. This was nothing new. He had endured worse.

The lictor struck again, the leather biting into flesh. Blood beaded along the fresh wounds, trickling down his spine. Anakin clenched his jaw, refusing to show weakness. His pain belonged to him alone; he would not let Rome take that from him. The crowd murmured in approval, reveling in his suffering, their eyes alight with morbid fascination.

But then, his gaze found you.

You stood at the edge of the crowd, cloaked in fine robes, your face pale with horror. You hadn’t come to witness this cruelty. You had come seeking answers, hoping to understand the mortal who haunted your dreams. But now, watching him bleed beneath Rome’s lash, you could barely breathe. This was Anakin. This was the man you loved—suffering from a whip.

Yet Anakin did not see love or recognition in your gaze. He saw judgment. He saw cruelty.

His lips curled into a bitter sneer, and his eyes darkened with hate. His expression hardened into defiance, as though daring you to look away. His gaze was unrelenting, full of fury and accusation, as if to say: Are you entertained ?

Another lash tore through the air, ripping his skin. He grunted in pain, his shoulders trembling under the strain. But his eyes never left yours. His anger burned, hot and unyielding, as though your presence stoked the fire within him.

To Anakin, you were just another Roman aristocrat. Another cold-hearted noble reveling in his suffering. Your beauty only made it worse. He hated himself for noticing the way the sunlight caught the strands of your hair, or the way your eyes shimmered with emotion. He loathed himself for wondering what your voice might sound like, for imagining your hands on his face, soft and kind.

But he buried those thoughts deep beneath his rage. You were a Roman. You were his enemy.

Finally, the lictor lowered the whip. Anakin’s back was slick with blood, the wounds raw and open. The guards dragged him to his knees, shackled his wrists, and hauled him away. The crowd dispersed, satisfied by the punishment, but your feet remained rooted to the ground.

As he was pulled past you, his gaze flickered toward you one last time. There was something in his eyes—pure hatred. 

Back in the dim confines of his cell, Anakin leaned against the stone wall, his body aching from the beating. His wounds burned, but it was nothing compared to the rage simmering in his chest. His thoughts circled back to you, unbidden and unwanted.

The Roman woman.

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you ?

He hated you. He hated your kind. The Romans had taken everything from him—his freedom, his dignity, his name. His Master selling his body to the highest bidder of the market for a night. And yet, your face lingered in his mind like a delicious curse. He remembered the horror in your eyes as he was whipped. He remembered the way your lips parted, as though you wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

But hate was easier. Hate was safer.

So Anakin closed his eyes and vowed to forget you.

Yet in the darkness of his cell, he dreamed of your face.

The night brought no peace. Shadows of memory chased you through sleep, weaving dreams from fragments of a life long past—a life you were cursed to remember when all the world had forgotten. A life where Anakin loved you.

You saw him again as he had once been. Young, wild, and full of life. The fields of the Aventine stretched endlessly beneath a golden sky, and the wind carried the scent of wildflowers. His laughter echoed in your ears—low, warm, and unguarded, the way only he could sound. He ran ahead of you through the tall grass, turning back every few steps to beckon you closer.

“Come,” he whispered in your dream, his voice the anchor of your heart. “There is still time.”

In the fields, he knelt before you, hands rough from a life of toil, but gentle as they wove a crown of flowers. His fingers moved with care, weaving stems together until he lifted the delicate circlet and placed it atop your head. You laughed at his crooked handiwork, brushing a stray lock of golden hair from his face.

“You look like a goddess,” he murmured, his gaze soft with devotion.

“And you,” you teased, pressing your forehead to his, “look like a boy playing king.”

His lips found yours then—sweet, tender, tasting of summer and wildflowers. His kiss was gentle, unlike the harshness of the world around you. In those moments, you had been free. With Anakin, there were no rules, no gods, no fates woven by unseen hands. There was only love.

But dreams cannot hold forever.

The fields faded into mist, and the warmth of his touch slipped away like sand through your fingers. The laughter died. The golden sky darkened into the cold gray of stone walls. Rome replaced the Aventine. Blood replaced wildflowers.

And then, there was him again.

You saw him as he had been that day—standing tall, in the Colosseum, sword in hand, drenched in blood and defiance, older... His gaze, blue as a storm-tossed sea, had found yours even as he was punished. There was no tenderness in his eyes, no softness. Only fire. A fire that burned you even now.

“Ani,” you whispered in your sleep, clinging to the name like a prayer. But no. He was not Ani anymore. He was Anakin now—a man forged in iron and rage, a soul reborn into chains.

You woke, breathless, your hands trembling with the remnants of your dream. The gods' curse weighed heavy on you, a burden you had carried for centuries. You were the goddess of legends, the keeper of stories lost to time. And your curse was to remember the one story no one else did—the story of the brother who had been forgotten.

The gods watched you still. Their eyes followed your every step, their judgment lingering over you like a shadow. But you no longer cared for their wrath. You had loved Remus once, and now, you saw him again, alive in the mortal body of a gladiator.

"Anakin," you whispered to the night, letting go of the wrong name. Letting go of the past that weighed too heavily on your heart.

You vowed to approach him. To see him again, to make him remember who he once was, who you had been together. Even if the gods punished you again. Even if the world itself crumbled beneath your feet. You needed his touch, you craved him, his scent, his voice…everything about him made your skin tingles and your heart ache.

Because you would find him. Even if he had changed. 

Even if it meant your ruin.

Roma de cineribus nata est, et tu fusa manus eras. 

Rome was born from ashes, and you were the hand that spread them. 

[enigmatist17]

Kind of a sequel to this post based off AU art done by @chiliger

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"...nearly made him jump 20 feet into the air. He was not amused."

The laughter that filled the air was loud enough to cover the snort of amusement that Cody let out as he sipped his drink.

"I hope you got a vid of that, Kenobi never gets scared as far as I know." Wolffe sat forward with a grin, his elongated canines startling some nearby natborns that were passing by 79's. It wasn't often a lot of the commanders were on Coruscant at the same time, and in honor they were gifted the expansive table that overlooked the street and hyperlane outside the bar.

"Oh yea, copied it the second he stalked off to his quarters." Cody chuckled, sitting back with a crack of his neck.

"So, he still talk to you like a nervous shiny when he sees your teeth?" Bly smirked, stealing the last of the bar food that Fox had ordered some time ago.

"Not as much, but if he thinks I don't feel the way he watches me all the time, he's mistaken."

"So...are you going to take your shot?" Fox took a swig of his drink, quite firmly in the drunk-but-not-overly-so department. "Because if not..."

"Don't..." Cody growled, and bares his teeth at Fox as the others giggle and laugh at the display.

"Please, Foxy here has his own prey." Rex snickered from his corner of the table, using Ponds as a support to stay upright. He may or may not have had more than a few drinks, and may or may not be finding this entire situation hilarious. "More than one I've heard too?" Rex is sent into some proper laughter when Fox's much louder growl and bared teeth silences a few nearby tables, officers and various troopers freezing as they seemingly await some sort of standoff before realizing it had nothing to do to them. A quick glanced shows that Fox is focused on someone at his table and not on any of them, and slowly conversation resumes save the occasional look their way.

It was never wise to be around a higher ranked officer when they're facing off over someone they had feelings for.

"Careful Rex, might end up arrested until you're sober." Bly snickered, and Fox snorts in amusement as he relaxes back into his seat.

"I am just Fox right now, and I am going to keep drinking until I forget what the GAR is." Fox waved for a fresh round, Cody patting his shoulder with a nod.

"Then let's keep the stories coming eh? Maybe scare some of the others again. Should get you plenty drunk eh?"

Fox grinned, and raised his glass with a hum.

By the end of the night they're the last ones in 79's, so drunk and unaware the music had died down and people had left they failed to see a group of amused men sitting at the main bar.

"How much longer do you think it'll take?" Anakin Skywalker grinned, sipping a water as he watched the commanders burst into laughter about something.

"A few minutes, Ponds appears to be slowly falling asleep." Plo Koon hummed, using the bar as a seat in his meditation pose.

"I do hope so." Obi-Wan Kenobi was trying very hard not to blush as he listened to Cody talk about an encounter they had shared a few weeks ago. Mace Windu was staring at him, and he was going to be damned if he let the man have a single inch of blackmail material via his reaction.

"What, all the glittering teeth over there setting you off?" Anakin snorted into his drink, jumping out of the way when a bar stool is thrown in his direction. The noise attracted the attention of the drunken crew, who finally seemed to realize that there were Jetti in a very empty bar, and attempt to stand at attention.

Instead, Bly and Wolffe trip over their own feet, and without Fox and Rex grabbing them, they would have fallen flat on their faces.

"At ease, at ease." Plo chuckled, moving to stand as the group stumble their way down towards the bar. "We thought you may want some assistance, you all are quite inebriated."

"That means drunk." Bly snickered, and everyone but Wolffe starts giggling as their Jetti watch on with some soft chuckles among them.

"Come, you can stay in the Temple tonight, it's much closer than your barracks." Windu waved his hand to start turning off the last of the lighting the owners had left on, Plo and Anakin becoming some support for the drunk men to remain upright. Cody suspiciously was the closest to Obi-Wan, hugging the man from behind and all but melding them together.

"Hello sir." Obi-Wan is very aware that Cody is dragging his feet, the others already out the door by the time the two of them had made it even halfway across the room. "Didn't see you waiting for us."

"It's quite alright." Obi-Wan coughed, nearly jumping again when Cody presses his face against his neck. "Cody?"

"Mhm?"

"May I ask why you're uh, so close to my neck?" Obi-Wan bites his tongue when he feels Cody hum, the noise rumbling in his chest.

"No reason." The clone purred, and mumbles something Obi-Wan can't catch.

"Come, there should be a vehicle for us to use." Obi-Wan knows the others have already gone, and is grateful that Mace in particular isn't there to tease him. He goes to say something else, but whatever words that were forming in his mind are suddenly scattered when Cody presses a kiss to his neck. The man is letting his canines purposefully drag as he kisses a trail along Obi-Wan's shoulder, pushing away thoughts of wanting to do more as he finally pulls away from his flustered general.

"Coming general?" The drunken man grinned, stepping around so he could get a look at the wide-eyed Jetti.

"....you are an absolute bastard." Obi-Wan's voice is strained as the two finally leave the bar, Obi-Wan locking the door as Cody stumbles to the nearby speeder. "Passenger seat Comm-dear."

Now it was his turn to see the way Cody looked back, reminding him of a fresh-faced solider the way he stumbles into the passenger side of the speeder.

Obi-Wan is grinning the entire ride to the Temple, and Cody has his face in his hands at being the one to be an embarrassed mess upon their arrival.

Oh well, there's always next time.

[contentment-of-cats]

An Axxilan's progress

When he joined the Axxilan Defense Forces, it was not out of any great sense of patriotism. Axxila had been mined over two thousand years to the point where entire continents were unstable, the air so polluted that you needed a full resp-suit to breathe. It was a ghost world, and Firmus' da's dying wish had been to see his son off of it.

It was the pirates who insured that Pollus Piett did not even get to die of the disease that was killing him, peaceful and quiet in a bed and tranked to the eyeballs. Instead they let him cough out his lungs in a bloody foam, in agony, unable to dodge the kicks and blows. Then Firmus took a A510 shattering cannon and blew those ships and their crews to smithereens. He ordered no quarter, kill them as you find them, and take the heads of living and dead. The Axillan Defense Fleet was born.

The pirates did not take kindly to this development but Firmus was shortly taking ships, cargoes, and many heads. He despised the Republic openly for not protecting the worlds that supplied it, lavishing resources on the Core and Colonial worlds while ignoring the Expansion, Mid and Outer Rim worlds. The Cuitric Hegemony was openly Separatist, and Republic took some notable beatings from their Hegemony forces, which by that time included Captain Piett. Eventually, Piett and other officers were convinced by Anakin Skywalker and Pensar Luc to turn on the Hegemony and CIS. Piett and nine other captains brought down the Hegemony in three weeks and in a furious eight-month campaign defeated the CIS. He and the others declined to join the GAR, though in Firmus' case he did not meet the minimum height requirement - being too short by four inches.

At the start of the New Order, Luc was appointed as moff of the Sector and he created the Axillan Antipirate Fleet with loyal, steady officers to keep the peace inside the Hegemony's borders. The Imperial Navy made an offer to Line Captain Piett, who declined by pointing out that he was still short. The Naval Chiefs convened, and for good measure dropped the height requirement to five feet nothing.

Piett did not bite, but went about quietly doing his job.

The Empire eventually moved to incorporate and standardize the AAF into the Imperial Navy, thus getting him anyway. At first, Piett served in the 7th Fleet aboard his Arquetiens-class Chokehold under then-Rear Admiral Sartan. It was his speed, chasing down pirates and smugglers, and he was damned good at it. Shortly he moved up to command of one of the first Imperial-class to come of the ring at Kuat, and named her the Enforcer. Then, for reasons unknown, Death Squadron came knocking. That particular task force already had a reputation of running through officers the way the mess ran through pit'za on Zhellday.

Piett declined and when that wasn't good enough asked Sartan what would ensure that the 'no' would stick.

"Well, my lad, short of punching your admiral in the jaw-"

"Sir, I am being perfectly serious here."

"I know, Captain. Now. As I was saying." The man caught Piett with his gaze and slowly tapped one gloved finger on his jaw. "Short of punching your admiral OOF!"

The sound of a body hitting the floor is like nothing else. Piett was gently cuffed and taken away, pled guilty, and was demoted to lieutenant commander - but Sartan still kept him in the hot seat on the White Widow. Death Squadron was informed of Piett's demotion and unavailability as he was now demoted below the requested rank. Thank you and long live the Empire.

That could have been the end of it, but of course it wasn't.

[newstfionline]

Friday, August 23, 2024

Labor Dispute Halts Rail Freight in Canada, Raising Supply Chain Concerns (NYT) Rail freight traffic in Canada came to a standstill early Thursday as the country’s two main rail companies locked out about 10,000 employees, a move that could cause supply chain disruptions in the United States and serious economic consequences within Canada. The move follows months of contract talks that failed to reach an agreement. The two companies, Canadian National and Canadian Pacific Kansas City, said before the lockout that their extensive routes within the United States would continue to operate, but many businesses there are likely to be affected. About 6,500 containers enter the United States by rail from Canada every day, according to the Railway Association of Canada, an industry lobbying group. That includes cargo from Asia and Europe that lands in Canadian ports. Rail shipments into Canada from the United States will also be halted.

Biden Approved Secret Nuclear Strategy Refocusing on Chinese Threat (NYT) President Joe Biden approved in March a highly classified nuclear strategic plan for the United States that, for the first time, reorients America’s deterrent strategy to focus on China’s rapid expansion in its nuclear arsenal. The shift comes as the Pentagon believes China’s stockpiles will rival the size and diversity of the United States’ and Russia’s over the next decade. The White House never announced that Biden had approved the revised strategy, called the “Nuclear Employment Guidance,” which also newly seeks to prepare the United States for possible coordinated nuclear challenges from China, Russia and North Korea. The document, updated every four years or so, is so highly classified that there are no electronic copies, only a small number of hard copies distributed to a few national security officials and Pentagon commanders. But in recent speeches, two senior administration officials were allowed to allude to the change—in carefully constrained, single sentences. “The president recently issued updated nuclear-weapons employment guidance to account for multiple nuclear-armed adversaries,” Vipin Narang, a nuclear strategist at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology who served in the Pentagon, said this month before returning to academia. “And in particular,” he added, the weapons guidance accounted for “the significant increase in the size and diversity” of China’s nuclear arsenal.

Panama starts returning migrants on US-funded flights (BBC) Panama on Tuesday started repatriating undocumented migrants on flights financed by the United States. The move comes less than two months after José Raúl Mulino was sworn in as Panama’s president. Mr Mulino campaigned on a promise to “close” the Darién Gap, the dangerous stretch of jungle which more than half a million migrants crossed last year on their way north from South America. The Biden administration said it had agreed to pay for the flights as part of its efforts to deter irregular migration. A group of 29 Colombians with criminal records were the first to be returned on Tuesday.

German warship blasts Darth Vader anthem in heart of London. ‘No deeper message,’ navy says. (AP) Germany’s navy says there was “no deeper message” in the choice to blast the famed Imperial March—Darth Vader’s theme song in the “Star Wars” films—from one of its warships as it cruised down the River Thames through London this week. A bystander captured the spectacle Monday on video, which quickly went viral on social media. The song selection made waves across Europe. The warship was in the area for training and dropped anchor in London for a normal supply stop, the German navy said. “The commander can choose the music freely,” the navy said in a statement Thursday. “The choice of music has no deeper message.” There’s no word whether Anakin Skywalker himself was aboard.

This superyacht hotspot for the uber-wealthy is heating up—and becoming more dangerous (CNN) The storm that sank the “Bayesian,” a luxury yacht anchored off the Sicily coast, was sudden, violent and deadly. The superyacht, which was carrying 22 people, sank in the early hours of Monday morning, near the port of Porticello, claiming at least five lives. Rescue operations have been hampered by the difficulties of reaching the vessel, which is resting on the sea floor approximately 165 feet deep. The incident has shocked many. The Mediterranean, prized for its crystal clear, tranquil waters, is a prime summer destination for the very wealthy and their superyachts. But these waters can still be dangerous—one of the reasons thousands of people die every year trying to migrate across it. Many believe the yacht was struck by a waterspout—one of several types of tornadoes. The coast guard reported the yacht was struck by a tornado, and a waterspout was reported to the European Severe Weather Database around the same time. Storms that day resulted in at least two dozen waterspout reports across Italy.

Poorly trained recruits contribute to loss of Ukrainian territory on eastern front, commanders say (AP) Some new Ukrainian soldiers refuse to fire at the enemy. Others, according to commanders and fellow fighters, struggle to assemble weapons or to coordinate basic combat movements. A few have even walked away from their posts, abandoning the battlefield altogether. While Ukraine presses on with its incursion into Russia’s Kursk region, its troops are still losing precious ground along the country’s eastern front—a grim erosion that military commanders blame in part on poorly trained recruits drawn from a recent mobilization drive, as well as Russia’s clear superiority in ammunition and air power. Commanders say the recruits have contributed to a string of territorial losses that enabled Russia’s army to advance, including near the city of Pokrovsk, a critical logistics hub. If it falls, the defeat would imperil Ukraine’s defenses and bring Russia closer to its stated aim of capturing the Donetsk region. Russian soldiers are now just 10 kilometers (6.2 miles) away.

Myanmar households crippled as currency tumbles to record low (Reuters) A rapid depreciation of Myanmar’s currency is pushing up the prices of essentials, including food and medicine, crippling ordinary households in the Southeast Asian country wrecked by civil war and a crumbling economy. The Myanmar kyat has been extremely volatile in recent days, plunging to a low of 7,500 to the dollar in the black market last week from 5,000 earlier in the month, according to four foreign exchange traders. The plunge followed reports that the Myanmar junta was printing more kyat to prop up the currency, two traders said. The kyat has since recovered to around 6,000 to the dollar in the black market while the central bank’s official reference rate was 2,100 on Tuesday, with an online market trading rate of 3,400. But prices of essentials have not come down, six residents said. The kyat’s fall, rising transportation costs and disruptions in border trade have sent costs of some medicines and groceries soaring in Myanmar’s main cities in recent weeks, they said. “It used to cost about 25,000 kyat ($11.94) per week for our household groceries until about a month ago but now it costs about 40,000 kyat,” said a 27-year-old housewife from Naypyitaw, Myanmar’s capital.

Hundreds of Ultra-Orthodox Israelis Clash With Police Over Draft (NYT) Hundreds of ultra-Orthodox Israeli men protested outside a conscription center in Jerusalem on Wednesday and clashed with police officers amid rising national tensions about a court decision ordering a draft for the insular community. Israel’s military began sending conscription orders last month to ultra-Orthodox men aged 18 to 26 after the Supreme Court in June ordered an end to exemptions that had been in place for decades. Military service is mandatory for most Israelis over 18, with some exceptions, such as for most Arab citizens. Before the ruling, over 60,000 ultra-Orthodox religious students of draft age were also formally exempt from service. The Israeli police said that they had sent reinforcements to try to maintain order, and Israeli news media reported that officers had sealed off several streets, used water cannons to disperse crowds and beaten some protesters with batons. The protest highlights the increased friction between Israel’s mainstream secular society and the ultra-Orthodox, the fastest-growing part of the population. Many ultra-Orthodox see full-time Torah study as crucial, arguing that this scholarship is what has ensured the survival of Jews for centuries.

The War in Gaza Is Making Thousands of Orphans (NYT) The war in Gaza is taking children from parents and parents from children, undoing the natural order of things, rupturing the basic unit of Gazan life. It is making so many orphans in such chaos that no agency or aid group can count them. Medical staff say children are left to roam hospital hallways and fend for themselves after being rushed there bloodied and alone—“wounded child, no surviving family,” some hospitals label them. Neonatal units house babies whom no one has come to claim. In Khan Younis, a volunteer-run camp has sprung up to shelter more than 1,000 children who have lost one or both parents, including the Akeilas. One section is dedicated to “only survivors,” children who have lost their entire families, except perhaps a sibling. There is a long waiting list. Amid the bombing, the constant pell-mell evacuations from tent to tent and apartment to hospital to shelter, no one can say how many children have lost track of their parents, and how many have lost them for good.

Copper and robbers (Wired) In most places, power companies are a pretty dull business. But in South Africa they are under a literal assault, targeted by heavily armed gangs that have crippled the nation’s energy infrastructure and claimed an ever-growing number of lives. Practically every day, homes across the country are plunged into darkness, train lines shut down, water supplies cut off, and hospitals forced to close, all because thieves are targeting the material that carries electricity: copper. The battle cry of energy transition advocates is “Electrify everything.” Meaning: Let’s power cars, heating systems, industrial plants, and every other type of machine with electricity rather than fossil fuels. To do that, we need copper—and lots of it. Second to silver, a rarer and far more expensive metal, copper is the best natural electrical conductor on Earth. We need it for solar panels, wind turbines, and electric vehicles. (A typical EV contains as much as 175 pounds of copper.) We need it for the giant batteries that will provide power when the sun isn’t shining and the wind isn’t blowing. We need it to massively expand and upgrade the countless miles of power cables that undergird the energy grid in practically every country. In the United States, the capacity of the electric grid will have to grow as much as threefold to meet the expected demand. A recent report from S&P Global predicts that the amount of copper we’ll need over the next 25 years will add up to more than the human race has consumed in its entire history. “The world has never produced anywhere close to this much copper in such a short time frame,” the report notes. The world might not be up to the challenge. Analysts predict supplies will fall short by millions of tons in the coming years. No wonder Goldman Sachs has declared “no decarbonization without copper” and called copper “the new oil.” In the past four years, the price of a ton of copper has shot from about $6,400 to more than $9,000. That, in turn, has made electrical wiring, equipment, and even raw metal fresh from the mines into juicy targets for thieves.

[talesfrommedinastation]

I shouldn't compare apples to oranges, BUT I can't help but wonder what each female character from 'The Expanse' would have done if they found Anakin Skywalker stomping around after murdering a whole village and leaving their bodies to rot under the sun:

Chrisjen Avasarala: She would absolutely dress him down verbally, use words that would peel paint off the wall, and then have him tossed into a UN Black Site so she doesn't have to look at him.

"If you're going to commit war crimes, Anakin, have the goddamned sense to make it useful! Did you at least get intelligence from these Sand People before killing them? Christ, you are a goddamned fucking idiot, like Holden!"

Naomi Nagata: She'd cry, call in help to get Anakin away from her and get some meds into him. Then file a restraining order. Held into place by Amos because Why Not.

"How could you murder these people, Anakin! This is horrible! You're no better then the inners who killed all of those people on Eros! Get away from me! You are no Belta!"

Sgt. Bobbie Draper: Everyone's Favorite Martian would pin him to the ground in her MMC Goliath armor and scream at Anakin while paging her superiors.

"What the FUCK, soldier? I'm sending this to high command! This is bullshit! Do not touch me - I'll break your wrists if you do!"

Camina Drummer: Give him her Sultry Stank Face and lead him to A Certain Door on The Ship That Only Goes One Way.

"You killed how many innocent people? Mmm, just like Dawes and Inaros. Understood. Now. Let's talk about this, privately. In this airlock. You...on the other side of it. Good. Tenye wah chesh gut, paxoníski."

::yeets his ass out into space::

I just came across a post someone made where they basically just said that Padme telling Anakin “it’s human to be angry” after he commits the Tusken Massacre is fine because she was “empathizing with him” and also criticizing the SW fandom via satire for criticizing Padme for that and saying that there was still good in him.

So one thing I need people to understand before they ever start getting on the- “you can’t criticize Padme, she did nothing wrong, she was just in love” -soapbox, is that her and Anakin’s love story is inherently toxic on both ends.

There is no version of their story that ends well if they stay together.

Anakin is a narcissistic abuser*, and Padme is an enabler of his behavior.

(*Keep in mind, when I say “Anakin is an abuser,” I mean the emotional abuser sort—as he doesn’t ever physically harm her until RotS)

This post is primarily about Padme, though, so I’ll just make another post analyzing Anakin—if that’s something y’all would be interested in.

—————

Think about it, though.

Anakin commits mass murder, including the murder of literal children, and Padme—someone who the fandom loves to point to as being morally perfect—basically says that it’s fine because being angry- (and committing mass murder because of it ig) -is normal.

She even rewards him by marrying him like, what is it, a day later? And she never tells anyone about it because god forbid Anakin face any consequences.

Anakin almost beats a man to death and then blames Padme for her own assault, she says he scares her and they need to take a break…but then she goes back to him soon after and apparently forgets all about the whole- “almost beating a man to death” -thing and is so excited to raise a family with him.

Because growing up in a household where their father regularly gets incredibly angry, and physically violent when he is, totally won’t traumatize the kid or anything! Raising children with a child-murderer totally isn’t cause for concern!

Anakin takes part in a genocide, massacres the Temple, ONCE AGAIN MURDERS CHILDREN…and she’s still begging him to stay with her so they can raise their perfect little family on Naboo.

And apparently he’s still a good person.

Right.

—————

Anakin never receives any consequences or pushback from Padme for his actions/behavior and, on the rare occasions she does push back, she goes running back to him—plowing over her own boundaries—almost immediately because she refuses to let go of her own delusional fantasies about their relationship.

That is what people are criticizing for, not for falling in love in the first place.

Anakin has his own set of issues that make the relationship toxic, but Padme also takes part in that toxicity by enabling his behavior—and people are well within their rights to criticize her for it, just like they should criticize Anakin.

[djarrex]

Coalescent | Part Two

miniseries ML | part one | part two | part three | read on ao3

Part Two: Ambivalence

Rex must navigate through the uncharted as the unexpected begins to unfold.

Happy Miniseries Monday! Here’s a nice beefy turning point part two for you all :’) ty @rowansparrow for beta-reading!

EXPLICIT | 18+ ONLY | pining. jealousy. sexting. m masturbation. shenanigans. angst. sweet moments. about 9.4k words.

Shore leave comes and goes. Days, nights, weeks are spent in the vast expanse of space and unfamiliar terrain. Then shore leave comes again, just as it’ll go again. But for now, Rex takes it and holds it close, knowing that his feet only have a limited time on the Coruscanti ground before he’s once again somewhere in the Outer Rim – flying through the brilliant blues and whites of hyperspace. The only other place Rex truly feels safe other than on Kamino or when protected in the lanes of hyperspace onboard a Jedi cruiser is on Coruscant – and just being planetside within the bustling capital city grants him a breath of relief, even if only for a short while.

As usual, much is needed to be taken care of before Rex can bask in the time off. Having just docked about an hour ago, the captain’s presence was already requested at the Senate Complex for debriefing – Generals Skywalker and Kenobi expecting him.

While en route to the Senate, plans changed, as they often do. Rex’s mantle of Anakin Sykwalker’s second-in-command means that, more often than not, some adaptations are needed to be made, and quickly. Over the years he’s grown accustomed to the lack-of-planning and improvisation, which is really what the entire five-oh-first is known for – notoriously so. 

It could be worse. In Cody’s eyes, though, it can’t get much worse. 

And when General Skywalker had commed his captain with the request to meet him inside the Senate building before the debriefing, Rex had little doubt that he would be standing guard outside of Senator Amidala’s office. 

Better than at my barracks.

“I’ll just be a few minutes. Keep an eye out for me, will you, Rex?”

Yeah, yeah. 

“Of course, sir.”

He doesn’t actually mind it so much; it’s just that it’s never only a few minutes. It’s been several at this point, but that was to be expected. The average is fifteen.

Trying not to lean against the wall, Rex holds his helmet between his arm and side with his other hand on his hip, eyes constantly scanning the corridor from left to right. He feels awkward, as he always does when standing guard for his general’s ‘meetings’ with the senator from Naboo, and is trying not to shuffle back and forth – trying to stand as straight and composed as he can, which is something he never has a problem doing in other, less awkward situations. 

Another minute or so goes by when the sound of approaching footsteps rounds the corner to the left. Rex’s head snaps in that direction, his eyes doing little to hide their widening at the recognition of the person who is walking towards him. 

She’s caught with surprise upon seeing him – that smile – and with her hand that’s enclosed around a cup of caf, she raises it in greeting. The other hand holds a cup of caf as well, keeping it close to her chest.

Caf. 

Two cups.

“Rex, how are you? It’s been a little while.” Her steps quicken as she approaches, stopping mere feet from where he’s not letting himself lean on the wall behind him. He greets her and tries not to glance down at the cups in her hands – tries not to think about who they’re for as the wisps of steam swirl above the dark liquid.

“I’m fine. Just got back.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks, gesturing to their surroundings with her occupied hands but still sporting the same, elated smile.

“I, uh– ” he looks around, rubbing at the back of his head and straightening his shoulders when he feels his slight hunch in stance. “Waiting for the General.”

She nods and peeks around his pauldron, catching a glimpse of the nameplate on the wall just beside the controls. 

“Senator Amidala’s office,” she notes with admiration. “I hear she’s lovely – a true voice of the Republic.”

“That she is,” Rex agrees. “One of the few who care for us clones.”

She frowns – brows pinching in discontent. “I’m sure that can’t be true.”

Changing the subject, Rex decides to finally acknowledge the cups of caf she’s carrying. He nods at them. “Needed double the boost, I take it?”

Even though Rex knows who they’re for – unfortunately had to hear all about it the last time he was out with the boys – he brings it up anyway. Anything to keep him engaged as he waits for the General.

“You could say that,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “I’m actually delivering the boost to someone who needs it far more than I do.”

If anyone were to need an energy boost, it’s Commander Fox. 

“That’s very nice of you,” Rex says genuinely. 

She smiles – tilting her chin down as if suddenly bashful. “Well, I better get the caf to its destination before it gets cold.” Her chin gestures towards the right, where she’d been heading before stopping to chit chat with Rex. 

Rex bows his head respectfully, not taking his eyes off her as she walks away – a crush-ridden di’kut. As she disappears around the corner, he can’t help but think about the caf’s unnamed destination – her destination. There’s no doubt in his mind that she’s heading to a certain Corrie Commander’s office, especially since she turned the corner that leads to the corridor of which it’s located. 

She never did mention Fox’s name, though. In the back of his mind he theorizes that perhaps she’s trying to spare him in a sense – doesn’t want to flaunt her trysts with Fox in front of him. Although it’s unnecessary, Rex feels oddly comforted by it – but perplexed at the same time.

Another several minutes go by when she rounds the corner again, hands now empty and folded behind her back. As she approaches, he notices the slightest swell in her lips, appearing to be flusher than they were just a little bit ago.

The implication not only has him having to swallow down the disappointment and jealousy burning in his throat, but the indecent image that flashes in his mind makes him shift his weight between feet, furtively adjusting the slight discomfort pulsating at his groin.

“Oh! You’re still here,” she observes, deftly and subtly straightening out her top.

He nods, bringing up his arm and checking the time displayed on his communicator. “Indeed I am.” 

“I would have brought you caf too, If I’d known you’d be here.” She gestures to the side with her thumb. “I’d be happy to bring you some now. I’m still on break.”

He hums, grinning and shaking his head in dismissal. “I do appreciate that, but there’s no need.”

A moment of silence falls between them – her shoe dragging across the floor. 

“If you'd like, we could grab some later?” Rex’s heart skips a beat and she then hastily adds: “I mean, only if you’re able to.” 

He doesn’t need to think about it.

“I would like that.”

“Okay,” she says giddily. “You wanna meet out front, after I get off? 1800.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be there.”

When she disappears around the corner Rex finally lets out the breath he’d unknowingly been holding in. His heart still racing, he checks the time and creates a schedule in his head that should fit the remaining things he needs to do today before he’d be returning to meet her. Still stationed outside the senator’s office and with only a few hours until then, he continuously checks the time every thirty seconds or so, until finally the door slides open – Rex straightening his stance just as General Skywalker steps out, the door quickly shutting behind him.

His dark robes only slightly disturbed, Anakin raises a brow – looks around the corridor then back at Rex.

“Who were you talking to out here?”

“Huh?” Rex blinks at him. “Oh, uh, no one, sir.”

“Rex,” Anakin teasingly drawls.

Shouldn't be any harm in sharing. There’s nothing to hide.

“She’s a medical assistant that works several stories below, sir. At the Medcenter.”

“Oh?” Both brows are raised now, folding his arms across his chest and smirking. “And you know her how?”

The memory of Rex’s first sight of her comes just as quickly as it goes, making his heart flutter and groin tingle. He hopes his internal frenzy goes unnoticed by the Jedi. 

“Met her while the boys and I were out one night, about a month ago.” Rex holds back a little quirk threatening to upturn his lips. “I’ve run into her a few times since then.”

Only slightly taller, Anakin leans towards him. “You wanna tell me about her?”

Rex clears his throat, mentally clambering for a change in subject – and probably not too subtly. “With all due respect, General, shouldn’t we get to the debriefing? General Kenobi is already over there.”

Anakin grins. “Okay, Rex.” He brushes by him, waving at a relieved Rex to follow. “C’mon – wouldn’t want to keep Obi-Wan waiting.”

-

Sitting on a bench on the grounds in front of the Senate, Rex pulls out his pocket comm and checks the time. 1730.

He sighs. He’s a little early. 

The sun has started to lower, casting a warm glow on the towering statues and waving flags that line the grand walkway to the entrance of the mushroom shaped building. Before Rex’s eyes the skylanes above begin to become denser – the speed of traffic slowing. He keeps himself busy by watching the speeders above, imagining what it would be like to be able to go wherever he pleased – to just drive – not being bound to duty. He wonders what people truly do, if they’re not fighting for the Republic or working to keep the cogs of democracy moving. Such thoughts have plagued his mind before and he figured that it’s best to push them aside, not granting them room to linger dangerously in his mind for too long. 

Maintaining his posture seated on the bench, Rex fiddles with the buttons of his deep blue shirt – incessantly straightens the material by tugging on the hem. His shoes seem too shiny – his pants a little tight. The entire outfit feels entirely wrong even though he knows he looks presentable. It feels wrong and undeserving – to be donned in something normal. Before leaving the barracks, Rex had looked at himself in the polished slab of durasteel that they use as a mirror, checking to see if the clothing fit him correctly probably more times than needed. It was a strange sight – being dressed in something other than what normally marks him as a clone soldier. 

He had to admit though – then and even now, as he contemplates every decision he’s made today that’s led him to this point – he looks good. 

The outfit is one that General Skywalker was able to get for him. Of course he’s thankful for the pants, button down, and shoes; it was all obviously more casual than wearing his armor or feeling naked and vulnerable in just his undersuit – it's just that it was a bit embarrassing to ask for it all. 

For pretty much the entirety of the debriefing Rex had contemplated what he was going to wear and how he was going to acquire it. He’d then realized that there would be no other way to look presentable unless he reached out to the one person he knew would assist – even knowing that he’d never hear the end of it.

So after stepping out of the wrapped-up debriefing, Rex had pulled his general aside, pitching his voice low.

“Sir. Can I, uh, ask for a favor?”

“Anything, Rex.” Anakin crossed his arms, rubbing at his chin the way General Kenobi so often does. “Let me guess… does it have something to do with that medical assistant you were speaking to earlier?”

“You could say that.” Rex scrubbed a hand down his face, quickly looking around to ensure no one could hear him. Even so, he lowered his voice. “Sir… I need something to wear.”

Anakin was grinning – a hand placed on Rex’s shoulder. “Say no more.”

Still sitting on the bench he can still hear General Skywalker’s “Make good choices, Captain!” that he’d called out to him as he was leaving with the bag containing the loaned outfit – heated face and trying not to peek to see who may have been around.

He checks the time again. 1745. 

He’d be lying if he said he isn’t nervous. He’s intimidated. Intimidated – Captain Rex. It’s a feeling he definitely is not used to and it’s making his foot tap anxiously against the duracrete. She’s involved with someone else – to what extent, he doesn’t quite understand – but signals have been shot off in Rex’s direction for him to either catch or get hit with. It’s clear yet it’s not. She seems interested yet she’s blowing Fox in his office and she has been sidestepping the signs that show involvement with the commander whenever Rex is present. 

What am I doing…

“Rex?”

Her voice pulls him out of his funk and he’s quickly standing and turning to greet her – everything on his mind jettisoned into the vast expanse of space. Her brows raise upon seeing him, mouth falling open and eyes widening as she looks him up and down.

He shuffles awkwardly, suddenly very self-conscious and regretting every single–

“Wow,” she exclaims. “You sure clean up nice.”

“Oh, uh–.” He rubs at the back of his head, curving his pressed lips into a smile. “Thank you.”

She smirks, glancing down at her shoe as she drags the toe of it against the ground. A quirk of hers. “So, where are you taking me, Rex?”

It takes mere seconds for him to scramble. “Oh! I thought you– aren’t we going for caf?”

“I’m just messing with you,” she chuckles, brushing his elbow with her fingers. “C’mon. I know a place.”

They end up at a small, hole-in-the-wall shop, smelling of roasted beans and berries. The walls are painted a darker color, almost black, and are accented with lanterns strung in a zig-zag pattern from one end to the other. Hand paintings cover one of the far walls, of various flora and fauna that Rex can’t place. The chandelier that hangs from the ceiling in the center is made with old bean cans, holes drilled into the dented and bent-up canisters that allow the light to shine through. 

It’s cozy – welcoming. 

Only one other couple is present, two Twi’leks, who are seated by the entrance. Rex noticed them upon walking in, and they shot him a curious glance, more than likely recognizing him as a clone trooper even in his current attire. He pays them no mind, instead following behind his companion as she leads him to the counter, looking over her shoulder and grinning at him.

Approaching the counter to order, he’s totally lost. It seems like a million items are written on the large board, little drawings and symbols detailed beside each one. He half-listens as she orders but decides he’ll have the same. She pays without a second thought – already counting the credits in her hand and passing them to the barista before Rex heard the total. He does happen to have some credits with him – ones he’d saved for a rainy day. 

Too late.

“How’d you come across this place?” Rex asks as they take a small booth in the back, steaming hot mugs in their hands. The top layer is thick and the opposite color of the caf he’s used to and he’s almost hesitant to try it. But it smells delicious and fills his nostrils with a smell that’s fitting to the setting and current company. 

“Found it my first week here,” she starts to explain after taking the first sip from her mug, crinkling her nose from the temperature. “It’s cozy and welcoming – made me feel right at home when things were scary and new.”

“I like it,” Rex says. “It’s quaint.”

“That’s why I like it, too. Not many people know about it.” She takes a sip – foam clinging to her lip. “Now don’t go telling the others about it,” she teases.

Rex chuckles, gesturing to his own lips as she licks along hers. “Don’t worry. The last thing a place like this needs is a Fives coming in and dancing up on the tables.”

She snorts – nearly spits out her sip. 

They drink their caf, Rex surprisingly starting to enjoy the foamy, creamy beverage rather than simply tolerating it. With every sip a light tickle clings to his upper lip and he sneakily licks it away before bringing the mug down.

“I’m overdressed,” Rex points out. 

“Now what makes you say that?” she pokes, gesturing to the beverages in their hands and the surrounding atmosphere. “You’re fine, trust me. Do you wear ‘normal’ clothes often?”

“Not at all.”

“Well, how does it feel?”

“Weird,” he replies, and they both break out in laughter. 

“You do look handsome, though. Never thought I’d see you without your armor.”

Unsure of how to respond other than to offer her a grateful smile, a natural break in conversation then fills some time as they continue to drink their caf. Rex looks around the shop, at every little detail, appreciating the dedication the owner had put into a place like this. He never really had considered that caf could come from somewhere other than ground-up and sealed in ration packaging, let alone served in a plethora of creative ways. 

They finish their drinks at the same time, taking the last sips and pushing the mugs towards the center of the small table.

I could drink another one of those.

“So…” She drums her fingers against the edge of the table. “How long until you ship out again?”

Rex closes his eyes in thought, replaying what details he can remember that had been discussed earlier about the next mission that he may or may not have heard while a teensy bit distracted. “Tomorrow evening, now. 2200 hours.”

Her lips purse together. “For how long?”

“Not sure. We’re heading back out to the Outer Rim, so it could be anywhere from a few weeks to a couple of months.” 

She nods and looks off towards the mural on the back wall, swishing her lips side to side – pondering.

“This might be a weird question,” she starts, fingers threading together. “But would it be at all possible to… contact you, while you’re away?”

Rex considers her question, pulling out his pocket communicator and giving it a look. “It would be, I suppose. On a private frequency.” She bites her lip and it hits him. “Oh– you… you want to…?”

She laughs. “Yeah, I mean, if you’d be up for that. I enjoy talking to you, Rex.”

He beams then bites his lip to keep it together – to maintain his eager enthusiasm. “Yes, yeah, I can give you my frequency.” 

-

Several days have gone by since Rex’s little outing with her. In the small breaks between the mission-mindset soldier and the battle strategizing captain, he would remember how nice it felt to have been able to sit across from her like that, conversing casually while in a cozy, relaxed setting. During a few of the more difficult and mentally strenuous moments of this mission, Rex would even go so far as to imagine himself there again – clutching a mug of magical, abnormal caf and gazing into her warm eyes. 

Every of the last several nights, alternating between a bunk and a tent depending on where his battalion had ended up, Rex has patiently waited for her to make contact. He’d given her his private frequency – something that only a handful of people have – something that he’d only trust a handful of people with. She seemed grateful and excited to have a way to contact him while he was away, but even so, Rex finds himself losing hope that she’ll make contact. 

Then while settling down for the evening, unpacking his personal belongings and getting as organized as he can for his own peace of mind, a message comes through and is displayed on the screen of his ‘pad, sent by an unknown, unsaved frequency. 

345-GCJ-90-X-5: Just randomly thought about you wearing that button down in the middle of a battle while holding a mug of caf. It’s quite humorous. 

The unique greeting makes him smile like a damn fool, and before typing out his reply he changes and saves the contact name into something more endearing – inputs the first name that comes to mind. 

Rex: That is nowhere near regulation. 

Cyar’ika: Glad you can take a joke. 

Rex: At least I’d fit in because of its color.

Cyar’ika: Because your armor is painted blue. Funny.

More days then go by – weeks. It's gotten easier to talk to her – not having to feel the inadvertent intimidation of her eyes looking into his. They fall into an almost natural rhythm, messaging one another around the same time every few days, and Rex for the most part is able to reply in the evenings once settled in for the night. Their conversations are mostly brief, a simple back and forth consisting of sharable updates from his mission and small anecdotes from her work. 

It starts to feel like he’s known her forever. 

About three weeks in, Rex can feel that this mission should be wrapping up soon. Separatist forces have fallen back and the civilians have since been successfully relocated to a safe, unthreatened sector of the planet. His duties have lightened now that the threat isn’t severe, rewarding Rex with a little extra downtime between strategizing and working on reports. Knowing he is able to just relax for the night fuels his desire to converse – to keep it going with questions and honest answers.

They’ve been going back and forth for about a half an hour. She tells him what she ate for dinner because he asked. When she asks the same, his answer isn't as exciting. She asks him how his day was. He asks her the same. Mundane questions soon branch into genuine inquisitions. Rex grows bolder with the questions he’s wanted to ask for a while now – the ease of conversation casting a light on his curiosity – leading him to where they are in the exchange now.

Rex: Can I ask you about your husband?

Cyar’ika: Sure.

Rex: How did he die?

Cyar’ika: It was an infection. 

Cyar’ika: A lot of people from our village had suddenly and inexplicably gotten ill and my husband threw everything into trying to treat them.

Rex: He was a medic?

Cyar’ika: Yes. 

Cyar’ika: A caring, dedicated one at that. Inspired me to follow in his footsteps. 

Rex: Sounds like he was a good man.

Cyar’ika: He really was. 

He stares at the screen, contemplating his next message. Several moments go by as his curiosity strengthens. 

Rex: What caused the infection?

Cyar’ika: Contaminated water supply. We didn’t realize what it was until a lot of lives were lost, including his.

Rex: I’m so sorry.

Rex leans back against the pillow and stares up at the peak of the tent. He wishes he could be there for her as she recounts the loss – hold her and offer his sincere expressions in place of the words that he has trouble finding. Bringing the ‘pad up to his face, he sees another message has popped up.

Cyar’ika: I still don’t understand it. He didn’t come home for days and wasn’t even experiencing symptoms as the others were, so when he didn’t wake up on the fourth morning, it was completely unexpected.

This is one of those moments where Rex is worried that what he wants to say will be taken the wrong way, because all that comes to his mind is the connection of what dots she’s given him. For a man bound to his duty – his life tied to every aspect of it – Rex unwittingly puts himself in her late husband’s shoes. 

Rex: Maybe he knew he was sick and hid it from you.

The response is quick.

Cyar’ika: What do you mean?

And Rex knows if he truly had been in the medic’s shoes, with a wife at home who would no doubt worry about him if she would have known that he really was experiencing all the symptoms as the other victims – he too would’ve kept it under wraps so that he could continue doing his duty.

Rex: Sounds to me like he was putting his duty above all else, but mainly, he didn’t want to worry you.

A minute goes by without a reply. A sick feeling swirls in his gut.

Rex: Apologies. I’m overstepping. 

Cyar’ika: No, it’s okay. 

A small wash of relief.

Cyar’ika: I’m getting tired. 

Cyar'ika: Be careful out there, Rex.

Silently scolding himself with his head in his hands, Rex processes what he’d just done. The conversation didn’t have to end like that – but because of him, it did. Respecting her implicit request, he sends her one last message. 

Rex: Always. Good night.

-

A day goes by. Night comes again. After having cleaned off in the nearby river, Rex is back in his tent, now unclasping the pieces of his armor and stacking them in a neat pile. Retrieving his ‘pad from his private things, he sees a message on the screen that came in only fifteen minutes ago.

Cyar’ika: Rex?

Rex: I’m here. Everything okay?

She doesn't respond right away, and Rex takes the opportunity to change into a fresh undersuit. Climbing into the little bed on the floor, he waits only a moment longer until her reply pops up.

Cyar’ika: This is going to sound strange.

Rex: Try me.

Cyar’ika: I’ve been thinking about what happened to my husband.

He goes to type when another message appears.

Cyar’ika: I just need someone to talk to right now. 

Rex: I’m here. Back at camp for the night.

Cyar’ika: I’ve thought a lot about what you said the other day. 

His fingers hover over the characters, dancing in the air as he decides how to respond.

Rex: I’m sorry for overstepping. It was not my place.

Cyar’ika: Don’t apologize, Rex. It gave me a lot to consider. 

Rex: What do you mean?

Cyar’ika: How could I have been so blind? 

Rex: Don’t do that to yourself. You weren’t blind. 

Cyar’ika: He told me not to visit him while he was working and I never fought him about not coming home. I didn’t even notice that he was dying. I should have known something was wrong.

Rex: It’s not your fault. 

Rex: He didn’t want you to know. 

Cyar’ika: He knew he was dying and didn’t want me to know that?

Rex: What he wanted was to protect you, cyar’ika. 

He leaves it at that, and it stays unanswered for a good couple of minutes. It isn’t until Rex gets the next message that he realizes he’d let the name slip through the fumble of his fingers. 

Cyar’ika: ‘Cyar’ika’? What is that?

That's what she is to him now – perhaps since their first genuine interaction. That’s what Rex hears in his head when she comes to mind. The nickname rings and bleeds into him – eclipses the name she was born with.

Rex: It’s a term of endearment. 

Cyar’ika: I see. I’ve never heard that before.

It’s clear to Rex that if she’s never heard it before, then it’s not something that has come from Fox’s mouth when addressing her. It’s foreign and new to her and Rex knowing that he’s the first person to introduce it to her, even though threaded within a voiceless conversation, gives him a boost of what he could only describe as hope.

Cyar’ika: Can I ask you something?

Rex: Shoot.

Cyar’ika: How do you know that my husband was protecting me? He lied to me.

The mood changes back. He has an opportunity to lie to her here – to say something with the sole purpose of either making her feel better or to lead the subject into something else – but he won’t. 

Rex: It’s the same thing I would have done, cyar’ika. 

Cyar’ika: You would lie to me, Rex? 

Rex: If it meant protecting you while I did my duty, then yes. 

Men bound to duty. Men with pieces of their hearts pledged to another. Men who’d do anything to protect those they care about. 

Men like her late husband – and Rex.

Cyar’ika: You would protect me?

Rex: Of course. 

Cyar’ika: So, I’d be safe with you?

Rex: You would. You are.

Cyar’ika: Can I ask you something else? Something personal?

Rex: Go ahead, cyar’ika.

Cyar’ika: When was the last time you’ve been with a woman, Rex?

The question strikes him as odd at first, but after revisiting the previous several messages, he recognizes them as a lead into this very subject. She’s getting a feel for him – dipping her toe into something he so very badly wants to give her without the need to dance around it. 

Rex thinks back to his last encounter with another – the last time he was intimate with a woman. It’s probably been close to a year, and even then, after it had just happened, it was nothing to linger on. He’d just gotten back from a devastating mission and the sex was quick, sloppy, and over too soon. What it was – it was release. A way to expel his frustration with himself because of the how the mission had fucked him. 

After that – after feeling dirty and shameful for the way he’d handled himself so poorly in response to his own self-doubt – Rex learned to deal with his shit in different, less harmful ways. 

Rex: It’s been a while. Haven’t gotten out much. 

Anxiously, he adds:

Rex: Maybe I’m just waiting for the right one to come along.

Cyar’ika: Is that right? What does ‘the right one’ mean for Captain Rex?

Cyar’ika: Someone like me? 

Cyar’ika: I’m just messing with you…

He can practically hear her laugh – the sparkle in her eyes. It makes him grin.

Rex: You’re not too far off.

Cyar’ika: I need to ask you something else. Be honest with me, okay? 

Cyar’ika: Do you think about me?

His heart is pounding.

Rex: Yes.

Less than a minute goes by.

Cyar’ika: Have you thought about me in other ways?

Osik. Of course he has – more times than he’d like to admit but does he flat out say it? His fingers try, delete, and retry a few different responses, finally landing on something simple. Rex has gone this far and there’s no reason to tread lightly around the full, unadulterated truth now. His heart is practically drumming out of his chest as he sends the message and quickly tosses the ‘pad from his hands.

Rex: I have.

Several long seconds later, he picks it back up.

Cyar’ika: I've also thought about you.

Something new sparks in Rex – makes his heart beat heavily but with a different meaning. 

Rex: Tell me what you’ve thought about.

Cyar’ika: I’ve imagined what you look like underneath all that armor. The closest I’ve gotten to knowing was when we went out for caf that one night. 

Cyar’ika: You looked damn good that night, Rex.

He smiles and chuckles to himself. He did look good. The outfit had begun to feel more like him as he became more comfortable in it – with her putting him at ease. 

Rex: I’ve imagined the same thing. Thought about your body a lot, especially after seeing you dance. 

Cyar’ika: Oh, I’d be happy to treat you to a private dance, Captain. Would you like that?

Taking a deep breath through his nose, he chews his lip. The first moment he laid eyes on her was when she was dancing – Rex putting himself into her partner’s place behind her and holding her close. 

Rex: I would. 

Rex starts to type out how he’d like more than just a dance, but quickly deletes the characters to make room for a different reply just as her next messages pop up.

Cyar’ika: What if I said that I’m thinking about you right now? 

Cyar’ika: I’m just laying here. I wish you were next to me.

A new type of tenacity kindles within him. Desire-fueled intrigue pools in his belly – takes the reins. 

Rex: Oh yeah? What would happen if I were next to you right now?

Cyar’ika: Well, you’d see that I’m hardly wearing anything. I just took a shower before I messaged you. 

Rex: I’m sure that’s quite a sight. It’s a shame I’m across the galaxy, mesh’la. 

Cyar’ika: Would you like to see?

Before Rex can send his rapidly typed and eager affirmation, an attachment comes through.

Cyar’ika: -attachment: image-

Rex opens the attachment, and his jaw nearly falls from his skull. From the angle of the image, she took the holo going down her body from where her face is, and she’s laying on her back, surrounded by disturbed sheets but torso not at all covered. Right in the bottom center of the image are her laced-covered breasts, and moving upwards is a matching pair of lace underwear seen before the sheet is draped along her thighs – the hand not holding the device draped over her stomach just below her bra. He’s never seen so much skin on her and it’s taking every ounce of control to not do something about what lies in front of him on the screen.

He then realizes it’s been over a minute of him ogling over her body.

Rex: Wow. Gorgeous, cyar’ika. I wish I were next to you, too. 

Oh, how badly he does.

Cyar’ika: Rex?

Rex: Hm?

Cyar’ika: What would you do to me if you were here with me right now?

With that question in mind, Rex reopens the attachment. His eyes take in every single detail as shown in the image, unsure of where he’d start. It’s all so perfect. He’d want to be everywhere at once. Take his time. Map her out.

Rex: Mesh’la, I wouldn’t even know where to start. 

His message goes unanswered for a while, so long that Rex begins to think she’s fallen asleep. Fifteen minutes go by of him being unable to rip his eyes away from the image as he fights the urge to reach his hand into his briefs when a message finally appears.

Cyar’ika: -attachment: image-

He opens it.

And this one sends a wave of pricking arousal through his entire body, making his cock twitch and chest tighten.

This one includes her face – ties it all together. She’s looking into the device the same way she looked at Rex in his dream – the sultry smile and warm, lustful eyes. The device must have been propped up somewhere because it’s a whole body shot. She’s kneeling on the bed, hands looking to be in the middle of running down her torso, fingers stopped just at the band of her lacy underwear, threatening to tug them down in the slightest. 

Cyar’ika: I'm thinking about you right now, Rex.

He’s playing with fire – stoking it. The hole has been dug to the planet’s core and Rex is looking out of it from the very bottom. He’s stuck thousands upon thousands of feet below with no chance of escape.  

In truth, he doesn’t want to escape.

Rex: Tell me what you’re thinking about. Everything.

He’s lost in it. Completely drowning and not willing to come up for breath. 

Cyar’ika: Your hands all over me. Touching me. Feeling me.

Cyar’ika: Your lips, too. I bet they’re soft and warm and know exactly what to do.

Cyar’ika: And your arms. You’re so strong I bet you could handle me in ways that I can only imagine. 

Rex shuts his eyes, picturing himself doing the very things she has described in rapid succession. His mind takes him right to her – caressing her skin – trailing appreciative kisses down her body – holding her close. Deep, measured breaths have his chest caving and expanding with restraint. He's throbbing in his briefs but he won’t touch himself – not like this with her on the other line. It doesn’t feel right. Not when he can’t give her something in return.

He types and sends a product of amativeness – fingers moving quicker than he can think.

Rex: Next time I’m there, you’ll see. 

He looks over what he just sent – satisfied. With it though, Rex is flooded with ideas on how he’ll make good on his promise. In moments he’s practicing self-restraint – not wanting to send her anything that he’d regret when in a more sober state. 

Right now, the hunger within him is screaming for a way out. It’s practically clawing its way into the way his limbs threaten to act on their own accord. What remains of Rex’s composure is thrown into one last message.

Rex: I need to get some sleep. Good night, mesh’la.

What he needs is relief.

Cyar’ika: I’ll be waiting for you, Rex. Sweet dreams x

Throwing the ‘pad to the side, he chews his lip, shutting his eyes and trying to push the images away. Instead of fading, newer and obscene scenarios begin to blossom behind his shut eyelids. The allure creates an intoxicating pull, dragging Rex’s mind into the darkest depths of desire. Impossible to escape the carnal crevice, he subconsciously burrows deeper, allowing the imagined sensations to wash over him. 

Now that he’s ended the conversation, he’s free. Rex shakes his head against his pillow but doesn’t do anything to stop his hand from sliding down his abdomen – fingers tapping against the waistband of his bottoms. He’s never felt her bare skin on his, but right here and now, he imagines how her hand would feel gliding through the band on his briefs – brushing against the maintained hairs – wrapping around his cock. As he conjures the scenario, his hand acts it out, handling himself the way he’d want her to. 

Don’t tease me, mesh’la. 

Rex frees himself from his briefs, already achingly hard and throbbing in his hand – precum glistening at the tip. Releasing himself, he spits on his palm, then grabs his cock once again and stimulates it with a few, slow, experimental strokes. His entire body shudders at the blend of mental images coinciding with the touch and he bites back a groan of relief – too long since he’s had the opportunity to work one out – too long since these sensations have overtaken him. 

With the fictional image playing out before him, Rex pumps himself with his spit-slicked hand, providing extra attention and friction to the underside where he’s most sensitive. Wearing the same lacing garments as in the images from tonight, he sees her tilting her head at him with mischievous eyes upon taking notice of how he sighs and gasps as she finds that spot.

Just like that, pretty girl… 

Beads of sweat form along his brow – scrunched in focus. Her little hums of praise echo in his ears and he works his hand quicker, fisting himself from base to tip, offering a squeeze to the latter every several strokes. Warmth floods his clenching abdomen – a tingling shooting to his toes. A seductive smile remains on her face as her eyes peer up and lock with his, whispering for him to let go – to let go for her. 

I’m gonna–

He’s outside of his body. A wash of euphoria – the swell and burst. Thighs twitching and heart rate elevated, Rex cums into the hand cupped over the head of his cock. 

It doesn’t end quickly – hips bucking into his hand for a solid minute – breathing held in an attempt to control it. Rex shivers at the overstimulation as he works out every last bit with little squeezes and short, rapid strokes to the head. A brief cloud of shame descends upon him but lifts in a matter of moments when he realizes that she, too, may have just done the same thing. 

“I’m thinking about you right now, Rex”

Without needing to look back on their conversation he’s able to scroll through her messages from memory, sighing heavily at just how intense their chat had become in the matter of minutes. She thinks about him – in those ways. Rex has never been in a situation quite like this before and as he tucks himself back into his briefs, he starts to think about the intentions – the possible future. She wants him – and just as sure the galaxy is immeasurable, he wants her. 

Smiling to himself, a layer of tension lifts from his body, accompanied by any remaining irresolution and hesitance. They want each other. It’s mutual – that much has been revealed.

Scheduled to be back on Coruscant within the next few days, Rex decides he’s going to do something about it.

-

Rex has not been able to get her out of his mind, and as soon as he’d confirmed the docking schedule and debriefing itinerary while en route to Coruscant, he reached out to her.

Rex: I’ll be back tonight. The boys are wanting to go out. I hope you can be there.

Cyar’ika: I’ll be there. See you soon x

This time, Rex didn’t pass up the invite when earlier in the day his men had brought up going out for drinks later.

He’s practically strutting into 79’s, feet lighter with a form of swagger that comes from the promise of seeing her again in this new light. He’d decided earlier that he’d forgo the top half of his armor – the cuirass, vambraces, rerebraces, and everything else in between. A fresh, clean undersuit clings to his abdomen, chest, and arms and yes, it was intentional – a perceptible prelude for what should happen later. 

Rex is going to sit with her – offer her gentle brushes and glances – make it known throughout the entirety of their time here that later he’s going to slowly break her apart piece by piece and study every aspect of her before putting her back together again. She’s waiting for him, more than likely seated with the others in their booth. His heart is pounding. He’s eager and excited but also can’t help the touch of nerves that come with something Rex has never dealt with before. This is all so new to him but he wouldn’t want to learn it any other way with any other person.

Making his way through clusters of officers and shinies, Rex’s sight of the boys in blue becomes set. He can’t help the dorky grin that stretches his lips when he sees her, sitting beside Fives at the end of the booth with a glass of something colorful on the table in front of her. He steps a little quicker, still having to weave through other clones gathered together by similar colors painted in various designs on their armor. She turns and smiles upon noticing him and his heart is racing but then everything stops. A splash of red enters the wave of blue in the same moment. 

Fox comes from out of left field, a hand settling on her shoulder and her eyes leave Rex to instead greet the commander. Rex’s smile fades. 

“Rex!”

Blinking himself back into a good mood, Rex forces his smile to return when seeing Fives waving at him, calling him over to join them.

Fox just happened to get there before me. It’s fine.

Fox has taken the seat beside her. Rex instead slides in beside Jesse across from them. From the inside center of the booth, Kix and Hardcase greet the captain, sliding him a full glass of beer as he settles in. 

Taking a slow, long sip, Rex looks at her. For the first time in a month – after all their wall-crumbling talking and sharing – he’s in front of her. A month of at first braving the situations to falling into the comforting rhythm as the weeks went on. A month of longing to see her – and here she is.

She’s here – squeezed beside Fox.

It’s fine. I’ll get my chance.

Except as the minutes go on, soon bleeding into close to an hour killed sitting there drinking, talking, and laughing – the same thing every time – Rex gets the sense that no, he won’t be getting his chance tonight. Something doesn’t feel right. She and Fox are speaking as if they’re one in the same person. They’re addressing the others like they’re glued at the hip and fuck, the way they’re seated that close to each other, squeezed in after three other members of the Guard have joined, they really do appear to be glued at the hip.

Feeling slightly irritable now, and not wanting to showcase that to her or the others, Rex keeps his mouth shut. Sips his beer. Lets the alcohol lift the bad mood from his bones. Listens to everyone else. Tries not to glance at her. 

He hides his hurt in a way that shows it, if anything. 

The guys start to discuss dancing – the music tracks becoming bouncier and fluid. Jesse then leans in towards the left, acknowledging Fox with a smirk. “You going to be dancing tonight, sir?”

Kix snorts. “That wasn’t dancing,” he sing-songs, elbowing a snickering Hardcase. 

“This one really knows how to move,” Fox says appreciatively, stretching his arm and draping it over her shoulder.

That wounds Rex.

Her eyes flash with something Rex can’t place, and looking away just as quickly as Rex had glanced, Fives speaks his name. Try as he might to push his complete focus to Fives, Rex then catches a glimpse of how Fox has now leaned closer to her, lips almost brushing her ear – saying something to her for only her to hear.

It stings.

“Want another round?” Fives asks with a mild look of concern carried in the weight of his expression. Rex only half hears the ARC, instead inadvertently focusing on the two sitting too fucking close to each other. Her lips press into a line in what Rex reads as an attempt to hide a cheeky grin in response to his words. She looks to be leaned into Fox’s side and when did the music get this fucking loud.

“Maybe later,” she dismisses whatever Fox has said to her, quickly turning her attention back to Rex as she notices that he’s looking. 

All the flashing and thumping is making his head spin and an unpleasant simmer is rising in his throat – muddles the sting of alcohol. The lights, suddenly blinding, puncture straight into his skull. Rex looks to Fives, rubbing the back of his neck to call attention to the signs of a budding headache. 

“I’m gonna get some air.” 

Rex’s head does hurt. His heart aches now, too. Something has lodged itself between his ribs – pierces him with every step. He feels her eyes on him as he’s sliding out and it burns him all over – reaches behind his own eyes.

He doesn’t recall leaving the group until the cool air hits him as he practically pushes a cluster of inebriated officers out of the way of the doors. Making a beeline to the edge of the platform, the hum of music follows him out, dulling as he steps further and further away until it’s only a distant vibration. 

Rex braces himself against the railing. Every single message that they’d exchanged while he was away comes back to him, the words flying across the dark screen of his shut eyelids. It was naive of him to think that she wouldn’t still be hanging out with Fox – fucking him – while spending many evenings talking to Rex and easing his walls down little by little throughout the duration of his deployment. Once they’d collapsed, after the ground had halted its quaking and the dust had settled, he let her in. It was easy and effortless at that point and all Rex wanted to do was let himself be consumed by her. From the emotional, more personal conversations to the mundane ones, hells, even to the sexual one – Rex found himself at the very bottom of the hole. He dug it himself but the labor wasn’t nearly as strenuous with her facilitation. 

The music from inside seeps into the air as the doors open then close again.

“Rex, what’s going on?” her voice calls. He hears her footfalls quicken as she half-jogs to his position. Of course she followed him out. He was almost anticipating it – but still turns his head over his shoulder and towards her unprepared and blanketed by the weight of regret.

“Nothing. Just needed some air.”

She crosses her arms. “You’re a flimsy liar.” 

He shakes his head, dropping it between his extended arms. 

“I guess I was expecting things to be different,” he explains quietly, talking down into the open air below. “After what happened between us while I was away.”

Her lips form into a line and her eyes flicker to the entrance as the door opens for a couple entering, the music filling the vast platform air for brief moments until the door shuts again. 

“Things are different with us now. We both came here with the intention to pick up where we left off.”

“That’s why I came here,” Rex corrects, setting his chin into his open palm, elbows now resting on the railing. “I came here to–” He cuts himself off, but resumes after a breath. “To be the one.”

“Is this about Fox?” She frowns. “Rex, Fox offered to pick me up and bring me. It was my understanding that he was one of the ones you’d mentioned wanting to go out tonight?”

“It’s not about who you came with,” he sighs. “It’s how close the two of you are.” He points in the direction of the club. “And tonight, you two were very close.”

Rex feels the burn of tears building but blinks them away, once again turning his face away from her sight. 

“I can’t be here right now,” he mutters, standing up straight with his back kept to her. “Take care, mesh’la.”

As he starts to walk away, getting no more than a few steps, she softly asks: “Why are you being jealous?”

Her words lack venom but sting him all the same. His heart drops into his stomach – hurt seeping deep into his marrow. When he does turn back to her it’s obvious on his face – the unshed tears – the defeated body language. Seeing this depicted has her instantly knitting her brows and frowning with remorse.

“I’m sorry. That was unfair of me. Listen, Fox and I… I mean we– we’re not– it’s not like that, believe me.” She approaches him, tentatively reaching for his arm. “With you, it’s diff– ”

“You don’t know what you want.” He cuts her off and steps back, shaking his head. “I don’t think you even realize what you’re doing.” 

She opens her mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. Rex continues – words flying out of him before he can think.

“Just because we’re clones doesn’t mean that we don’t have feelings,” he snaps. “We’re people. We have hearts. We get hurt when we’re used and we’re not fucking expendable.” 

“I…” Her voice breaks, hands falling to her sides. “I’m sorry, Rex.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He shakes his head, turning his back to her once again. He continues, voice lowering as he speaks more to himself than to her. “For letting myself get this far.”

Rex has nothing left to say – needing some time to gather his thoughts away from everything and everyone and this place. 

Without another word or spared glance, he leaves her there on the platform. 

-

Rex didn’t sleep well last night. 

That was to be expected though; the first nights back on Coruscant are always odd, especially when transitioning from sleeping on the ground on the same planet as the enemy to being back in his own barracks fortified by the full force of the Republic. With each deployment and subsequent leave, the bunk seems to somehow always feel more uncomfortable than before. In addition to that, the hurt Rex felt last night wounded him far worse than the blaster shot to his chest had. He couldn’t get any of it from his mind – the conversations, the proximity, the laughter shared between them. Every little detail replayed in his head on repeat for hours until finally, thankfully, the exhaustion claimed him.

And he could be plagued with the thoughts of her and everything this morning, but Rex instead channels his focus into carefully disassembling his DC-17s one at a time, separating each piece for inspection and cleaning. He hasn’t yet stepped foot outside his barracks but he knows it’s still pretty early – the sun not yet casting its full light on this sector of the planet. He’s hungry and tired and exhausted from pushing back the hurt – from wrapping thick blankets of blame around himself while condemning every single decision he’s made as of late.

When stressed or feeling defeated, he works with the only two things that are always on his person or in his hands on the field of battle. Rex knows his blasters in and out – knows every bolt, spring, and lever like the back of his hand. The pistols ground him – remind Rex that the difference between life and death can be the thinnest of lines and the teensiest of moments. He brings each piece up to his face – examines them closely. Careful, ungloved, expert fingers twist, unfasten, and pull apart the smallest of bits. Nothing goes without inspection.

“Mornin’, sir.”

So absorbed in the pieces in front of him, Rex doesn’t budge when Fives enters the barracks, carrying his helmet at his side and approaching the captain with a concerned smile he doesn’t look up to see.

“Fives.” Rex addresses him briefly, not stopping what he’s doing to even shoot him a glance. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, went out there, you know,” Fives tells him, successfully grabbing his attention with last night having just been brought up. Rex’s chest tightens all over again – hands pausing and eyes shutting. “Wanted to check on you, but you must’ve just left." Fives sighs. "She was crying.”

Setting the piece he’s holding on the table, Rex runs his fingers across his head – through the prick of buzzed hairs. He feels terrible for leaving her alone like that and for letting it even get to that point – but he has only himself to blame. This could have all been avoided if only he'd left it alone – climbed out of the hole while he still could. It wasn’t possible to, though. Rex realizes that – knew it from the beginning.

Sucked into the memory now, it’s hard for him not to wonder what happened after he left her there – if she went back to the only other person she could.

The answer may gut him but he needs to ask.

Did she go home with Fox?

"Did she stay for much longer?" 

“I walked her home shortly after I found her.”

…Walked her home…

Something heavy falls into Rex's stomach – eyes flashing with a dull flame. His face screws into one of anger and pain and Fives' own eyes widen at the reaction – his comment taken completely the wrong way.

“Osi’kyr, no, not like that!" Nearly dumbfounded and with an amused scoff, he shakes his head and backhands Rex's shoulder. "Rex, I made sure she got home safe.”

The flame is smothered. Rex softens, picking up a blaster piece and running an oiled cloth along it meticulously. 

“Sorry, for–” He cuts himself off. “Thank you for doing that.”

Nodding, Fives circles around the small table and takes a seat across from him, hands folding on the tabletop.

“She, uh, asked me for a favor. To tell you something.” Fives raises his brows, giving Rex a chance to shoot him down before he continues. “Asked me if I could tell you that she'd like a chance to explain everything, before you’re off-world again.”

Rex doesn’t meet his eyes, instead occupying himself with cleaning his blasters – the oil residue a familiar and comforting aroma. He doesn’t respond, only nods subtly with every one of Fives’ words, taking it all in but having nothing to add – unsure of how to feel.

"Rex.” Fives leans forward, extending his arm and laying a hand on Rex’s wrist, making him pause. Glancing up at him, Rex meets his eyes that read pure sincerity. “I think you should hear her out."

-

@rowansparrow @thefact0rygirl @book-of-baba-fett @pinkiemme @maulslittlemeowmeow @literallydontlook @misogirl828 @fett-djarin @imaginativefanatic @bitwhizzle @rexandechosandwich @rain-on-kamino @whore4rex @spaceydragons @moonstrider9904 @gotomarvelgal @writingbylee @jesjestraverse @sparklypizzahologram @nyravioppri

[dracowars]

frostbitten | anakin skywalker

pairing: anakin x jedi!reader

word count: 3,2k

summary: where anakin and y/n find themselves in a situation that forces them to confess their true feelings

a/n: another anakin one shot, i hope you like it!

warnings: angst, claustrophobia

universe: star wars

 “Anakin, you and Y/N continue to the north. Ahsoka and I take on the more southern areas. As soon as you notice something suspicious, let me know immediately via your comlinks”, Obi-Wan explains the plan to you in a loud voice in order to talk over the loud and angry snowstorm roaring around you. Nodding, you put on the fur-trimmed hood of your snowsuit and follow Anakin back to your Freeco bikes that you parked there shortly before to do a briefing with Obi-Wan.

You feel like you have been in the vast expanse of snow on Hoth all day long as you are fighting your way through its blizzards in search of a secret base of the Separatists. The Republic was able to locate plans of the Separatists, which show a base on this cold ice planet. Unfortunately, it does not show where said base is located and now it is up to you to find its concrete location.

“Stay close to me. Who knows what might awaits us out here”, Anakin orders while getting his bike ready to go. Holding your hands in front of your face to prevent the heavy snow from obscuring your view, you stomp through the deep snow to your vehicle and sit inside. You wait until Anakin does the same and then follow him through the desolated ice desert of the uninhabitable planet. Due to the snowstorm, you can only see a few meters ahead, which makes this whole mission a lot more difficult.

After driving through the endless snow for several minutes, a white mountain comes into view in front of you and Anakin gives you a hand sign, signalizing you to stop. Bringing your bike to a stop and opening the cockpit, Anakin is already by your side to help you out with an outstretched hand.

“What is this?”, you ask in amazement after thanking him, taking a few difficult steps towards the icy mountain, something that seems like a cave in the thick layer of ice finally coming into view.

“I do not know”, Anakin sighs and pulls a portable scanner out of his coat to scan the area. “But I think we will find out any moment.”

As you continue to walk towards the snow-covered mountain with heavy steps, however, you miss a small hole in the deep snow and your foot gets stuck in it. You can only manage to escape with Anakin’s help, but from now on he suddenly keeps a secure hold on your arm to not let it happen again, his gentle touch giving you butterflies in your stomach that you try to keep under control

Like you do with all of the feelings, deep down inside of you, that you have for this man.

“Did I not tell you to stay close to me?”, he reprimands you briefly but does not loosen his grip as you walk through the entrance into the small cave. The whistling of the blowing snowstorm outside becomes quieter, and you take a look around, taking off your hood, which was covering a little bit of your view. Freeing your snowsuit of snow, your gaze wanders through the cold cave.

“No signs of the Separatists yet?”, you ask when Anakin’s scanner still does not provide you with any information about what is hidden in this mysterious ice cave.

“Does not seem like it, but we should be careful. I have a really bad feeling about this”, Anakin says, concentrating while going further into the cave. You follow close behind him and the further you go, the colder it suddenly gets again, the blizzard outside raging even louder than before, the wind bouncing off the solid walls, creating a sinister echo.

“Look at this. These corridors do not look like they were created by nature, do they?”, Anakin mentions, who has let go of you in the meantime, only leaving a warm feeling on the spot where he touched you. You look around the corridor with interest and gently place your hands against the glittering walls of ice. With your eyes closed and with the use of the Force, you try to find some clue when you suddenly perceive a crack. And another one. And another.

“Do. Not. Move”, Anakin says in a hushed voice.

Not moving a single muscle in your body, you look at him. He is standing very close to you but keeps his look at the ground under your feet, which no longer looks as stable as it did before. Fine cracks in the ground emanate from your feet and spread through the entire corridor. Holding your breath, you try your best to hold still.

“Anakin-“

As soon as the simple mention of his name leaves your lips, a much louder crack disturbs the silence and suddenly the ground beneath you collapses. Screaming, you helplessly fall into the depths, but Anakin manages to pull you to him while falling down. With a loud thud, you land on solid ground, accompanied with a huge layer of ice and snow, and roll a few meters across the ground until you finally come to a stop. You are lying on top of Anakin, who is still tightly pressing you against his body to protect you.

With your head and entire upper body on his chest, you can feel his racing heartbeat. Groaning in pain, he grabs his head and you too need a moment to cope with the heavy shock you just went through.

“Are you- Are you hurt?”, he asks you worriedly while trying to sit up in pain, automatically pulling you with him.

“No, I do not think so. And you?”, you answer his question and scan his body to find any possible injuries. Anakin shakes his head, snow, that was caught in his brown locks, flying through the air. As he is just about to say something, already opening his mouth, his breath suddenly gets caught in his throat as he looks around. You follow his gaze and only now do you notice that you are in a large hangar several meters below the ground.

“What the-?”, Anakin speaks up again, getting up from the ground before pulling you back onto your shaky legs as well. There are numerous deactivated spaceships around you, as well as all kinds of battle droids. However, you do not get to look around more closely when you hear another crack above you and shortly afterwards further layers of snow fall on you. Anakin blocks the snow from you with his body, his arms slung around you, covering your head, after pulling you close to him.

“It is far too dangerous here. Come on”, he mentions and without letting you reply, he quickly pulls you away from the holes in the ceiling and under the thicker walls of ice, which appear more stable, right where the battle droids are.

“That is almost an entire army in here”, you whisper to Anakin, fearing that the droids might hear you and then activate themselves. “The plans were actually correct. There is indeed a secret Separatist military base down here!”

“But it seems to be abandoned, don’t you think?”, Anakin notices as he takes a closer look at one of the battle droids, examining the enemy of which you have already destroyed countless on the battlefield. “The Separatists have much newer technology in their droids than these have.”

Feeling very uncomfortable about how close he is to those droids, you grab his arm and pull him back.

“Great, we found the base now, so let us find an exit and get out of here, Anakin. I do not think we should stay here any longer than we have to, please”, you admit, and Anakin senses the fear that surrounds you, which is probably the reason why he agrees. Looking across the hall, you are on a lookout for a possible way out of this cave.

“There is a door over there”, Anakin points out and you sneak there with careful steps, past the deactivated droidekas and command droids. When you press the buttons on the door, it jerks briefly, creating an unbearable high-pitched squeak, but then stops, not moving any further after that.

“Great”, Anakin rolls his eyes before taking out his lightsaber, ramming it into the door before slicing a way out for you both through the heavy resistant door. You quickly do the same and start cutting through the door with your own lightsaber as well. When your hands touch at the top all of a sudden, you quickly pull your hands away. Anakin uses the Force to pull the cut-out part out of the door and set it aside.

Forcing yourself through the hole, you find yourself in another corridor that does not look much different than the one through whose floor you broke earlier, which is why you feel uncomfortable again. You carefully move and when you arrive at an intersection, Anakin grabs your hand to stop you. One of the paths is blocked, which is why you are forced to take the other one.

“This is a pure minefield. Everything in here is collapsing”, he explains as you continue to cautiously move through the underground passages, glued together as to not lose each other.

“Maybe that is why they left everything behind”, you mutter. “And we walked right into the trap.”

“What use would that have for them?”, Anakin questions when he tries to activate his commlink again. However, you both seem to be so deep under the ground that you no longer have any connection, and therefore have absolutely no chance of contacting the outside world.

“I do not know, maybe that they successfully kill two Jedi with it”, you respond snappily, which is why he looks at you with a frown. “What? It is true.”

“If you keep on thinking this negatively, then yes, they will probably really kill us”, he replies with an annoyed undertone in his voice.

“Oh sorry. I did not choose to be here either”, you roll your eyes at him, but when he does not reply and just walks on, you follow him quickly, too scared to walk around alone. Shortly before you reach him again, you are forced to stop because of the cracking of the ice above you. Anakin notices it as well and when in the next moment the ceiling threatens to break down directly down on you, he reaches you just in time and throws himself on top of you.

Together you fall on the cold solid ground, Anakin’s body acting like a protective shield over you as you two are buried under huge parts of the ceiling. The noises around you do not stop at all while new masses of snow come down every second and finally lock you in on both sides.

Even when the echoing noises subside, you do not move an inch, but you can feel your hearts beating quickly against each other. Your breathing is irregular and it feels like masses are pressing on your body, crushing you beneath them. Your vision has gone completely white due to the snow, making it very hard for you to breathe with the snow everywhere. Slowly and weakly pressing your hand against the thick layer of snow above you, squeezing your eyes shut in order to transmit all of your remaining strength into the Force, it eventually floats away as you create a safe bubble around you before sliding it aside and let go of it. The forces affecting your body disappear in an instant and you take in a very deep breath, desperately gasping for air.

“A-Anakin?”, you stutter out, your body aching. He does not answer, and your vision suddenly blurs before everything around you turns pitch-black.

When you gain back your consciousness at some point, you feel an incredible cold surrounding you, but nothing has changed. Anakin’s lifeless body is still on top of you, also ice cold. Adrenaline rushing through your veins, you push yourself up with him and quickly lay him down on his back.

“Anakin? Anakin, do you hear me?”, you ask frightened and firmly shake his motionless body. Quickly, you press your cheek against his chest and sigh of relief when you hear his very weak but steady heartbeat. His body is freezing, and you do not hesitate to take off your gloves and put your hands against his cheeks, hoping that your own body heat will warm him up at least a little bit.

“Come on, wake up. Don’t do this to me”, you silently beg him and keep trying to warm his cold body up, shaking him over and over again. Because of the extreme cold, you are not able to feel the tip of your fingers anymore after some time and your teeth are chattering, but you do not give into the cold. You are a Jedi, you can’t give up and you won’t, concentrating on the tiny bit of warmth that is still within you.

“If you do not wake up now, I will never be able to tell you how I feel about you!”, you yell at him and, as if on cue, he suddenly stirs awake, coughing while gasping for air. Startled, you stare at him for a few seconds before bending over him again.

“Do you hear me, Anakin?”, you ask again and he frowns when hearing your soft voice.

“Y/N?”, he breathes out softly and his eyelids slowly flutter open.

“Yes. I am here”, you confirm. He looks at you exhaustedly before sitting up with your help, groaning in pain. His body is visibly trembling from the cold, his lips discolored bluish, almost all the life vanished from his face.

“Why is it so damn cold?”, he stutters and wraps his hands around his body until he notices that you have taken off your gloves. “Are you crazy?! Put these on again!”

“I warmed you up”, you explain when he puts the gloves in your hands and you put them back on over your freezing cold hands. “We are trapped, Anakin. We can’t get out of here. Obi-Wan will never find us and we will freeze to death.”

“Hey, hey, hey. Take it easy, okay? We will make it out of here, I promise”, Anakin replies immediately, taking your face between his hands, forcing you to look into his beautiful eyes, preventing you from having a panic attack. “I promise I will get us out of here.”

Holding back the cold tears that have formed in your eyes, you nod and break the intense eye contact. You rub your arms with trembling hands, not making you feel warmer at all, maybe even turning it colder.

“Come here”, Anakin finally orders and spreads his arms to invite you in. You look at him puzzled, not knowing what he is suggesting. Interpreting that he only wants to comfort you, you refuse.

“N-No, it is okay. I am fine-“

“Body heat is our only chance”, he interrupts you and ruthlessly pulls you into his arms all of a sudden. He presses you close to his body, warming you up right away whether it be for his body heat or your burning cheeks due to the sudden proximity to him. Leaning your head on his shoulder, sitting against the wall with your back, your bodies are pressed close together.

“Why did you do that?”, you ask him out of nowhere as he takes your hands between his to warm them up as well. Because of the cold, your breath is visible in the air.

“Why did I do what?”

“Save me.”

“I can’t just let the snow bury you. I would never forgive myself.”

“You would sacrifice your own life.. for me?”, you ask incredulously and look at him, his eyes switching back and forth between your sparkling ones.

“Yes”, he answers briefly and suddenly something in his expression changes before he turns to you completely, his grip around your hands tightening even more. “I want you to listen to me. If we should really never get out of here, then I want you- I need you to know something.”

“A-Anakin?”, you stutter out and your pulse skyrockets, hoping that his words suggest exactly what you wanted to hear so badly for years now.

“I know we have our problems and I know that we are forbidden to, but.. Every time I see you, I get so nervous and do not even know what to say. My heart beats so much faster at the sight of you and I.. I admire you in so many ways”, Anakin confesses and looks deep into your glistening eyes, his hand gently removing the powdery snow from your hair. “I have to think of you every single day, you are always on my mind. I can’t concentrate when you are around and I-I had to admit this before it was too late.”

Speechless, you look at him, tears of joy shooting into your eyes.

“You do not have to say anything, you do not have to return the feeling either”, Anakin quickly continues when he does not get any reaction from you. Only when a gentle smile forms on your exhausted face does he stop rambling.

“You would not believe me when I told you how badly I wanted to hear these words out of your mouth”, you softly giggle, your lungs breathing in the cold air causing you to cough weakly. “I feel just like you, Anakin. I feel the same way when you are around.”

“Y-You- Really?”

“Yes, and before we die, I want you to know this. Anakin, I am deeply, truly in love with you. I have always been”, you cough, and your eyes feel heavier by each second as the cold slowly gets the best of you.

“I love you”, Anakin says in a shaky voice. Gently leaning forward towards you, he puts his lips on yours in a kiss that you both have longingly hoped for all this time. Your first and probably last kiss before none of you can longer withstand the extreme cold and your bodies shut down.

With your heads leaning against each other, breathing so slow that it is already dangerously close on the edge of fading and your skin color as white as corpses, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka find you only minutes later.

When you slowly gain back your consciousness a little later and open your eyes slightly, blinded by an uncomfortably bright light, you need a moment to remember what happened and why you just woke up with an oxygen mask covering your mouth and nose. Before the panic can set in, however, you feel a slight pressure, barely noticeable, on your hand and you turn your head to the side carefully, only to see that Anakin is lying next to you on a stretcher, his eyes full of exhaustion as he gently smiles at you, too weak to keep his eyes open. You gently squeeze his hand and return his reassuring smile and before you know it, the exhaustion overtakes you again as well and you drift off peacefully, thinking about the only person who has ever meant something to you.

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XXIV

Part I - - - - - - - - - - Part XXI - - - - Part XXII - - - - Part XXIII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Ahsoka watched normal space slip away with a numb sort of disbelief.

Somehow she couldn’t quite accept that her Masters would actually—she felt small and selfish to even think that this was them abandoning her, considering Obi-Wan’s life might—but still—she was rapidly exiting the inner-rim and Obi-Wan and Skyguy were...somewhere else. Even after breaking orbit, she had childishly half-expected one of them to jump out with a wild explanation of how the whole thing was a huge misunderstanding, or a crazy scheme—or—some kind of explanation. And now she was back in hyperspace, on her way back to the front, alone. Master Skywalker’s presences felt closed off, and far-away—she hadn’t even sensed Master Kenobi on Coruscant.

She hadn’t even gotten to see him...

She was startled out of her slowly sharpening melancholy by the sudden clasp of a hand on her shoulder.

“You alright there, Commander?” Rex asked softly. Ahsoka stiffened her spine. Right, Obi-Wan and Anakin hadn’t just disappeared on her—she wasn’t actually alone, and she had a duty to the men who were here.

“Just thinking about crushing some Clankers,” she replied over-brightly. “How’s the Resolute holding up?”

“Same hiccup with gravity in the kitchens during the jump—it seems they didn’t have time to actually fix the issue when we were in dock, but we were prepared for it so it wasn’t too messy,” Rex replied, hands falling into a loose grip behind his back as slipped into his ‘Captain Reporting’ voice. “A few odd issues with our communications systems, but I’ve got men on it; I’m told it’s nothing to worry about, and should be back to normal by tomorrow. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Ahsoka nodded. “And the troops?” she asked lightly.

Rex was silent for a moment. “Perhaps we should speak somewhere more private,” he responded finally. 

“Of course.”

She followed him from the observation port to an unused briefing space a few decks down, cheerfully greeting each vod they passed, all of whom radiated relief at the sight of the familiar Jedi commander. Another pang of guilt passed through her. She should have already been greeting the men, not wallowing in self-pity. They knew even less than she did about their missing Generals. She had to be more of Jedi than usual, not less. What would Skyguy think of her moping? What would Master Kenobi—

She smiled at another passing group, one of whom she recognized as a Snow Wolf. 

“Commander Tano!” he cried. “We had heard rumors—” Another soldier shut him up with an elbow to the gut. 

Ahsoka smiled harder. “At ease, Mit,” she said, relieving him from his hasty salute. “I know there’s rumors flying around about, ah, General Skywalker’s and General Kenobi’s special assignment, but I’m sorry to say that you guys aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”

Mit and the others chuckled briefly at the admittedly weak joke.

“Rex and I have to be off now but It’s a long flight to the Expansion Zone; I’m sure I’ll see your faces again,” she said with a snappy two-fingered salute, striding off before they could work up the courage to ask any follow-up questions. 

“As you were,” Rex ordered, and the Captain and Commander continued on their way.

Finally they stepped into the quiet room, door snapping shut. Ahsoka composed herself for a moment, plastering on a confident smile before turning to face Rex.

“What did you want to talk about, Captain?” she asked, falling backwards into a seat and looking up at the Captain with careful casualness.

Rex pulled off his helmet. His expression cracked Ahsoka in half.

“You don’t have to do that with me, Commander Tano. I know General Kenobi’s not on a mission,” he said quietly, voice as sad as his eyes. “Cody and I—and I think Waxer, we’re the only vode who’ve been read in on...what Kenobi tried to do.”

She looked away from that pitying, pitiful gaze, eyes suddenly burning. 

“The last direct news I got was more than two days ago,” she finally said, giving up on the act and slumping forward as Rex set his helmet gently on the table. “Skyguy called me to ask a bunch of weird question and told me...you know. I felt Master Kenobi’s presence earlier this—kriff this was just this morning...” she trailed off.

“Language,” he corrected automatically. She chuckled wetly and absently pulled out a chair for him with a wave of her hand. He settled into it stiffly.

“I found out the night of,” Rex admitted. “They called Cody to ask about—about possible toxins. I think they were just searching for any kind of explanation. They let me visit him yesterday—”

Ahsoka hunched further and Rex paused for a moment before continuing awkwardly.

“It just looked like he was sleeping—healers said he was physically doing fine, so. I’m not a medic, but he’s definitely really well cared for.” Rex cleared his throat. “In terms of General Skwalker, I, uh, got a message from him the night before it happened about something completely unrelated, then nothing for three days, then a message before dawn this morning saying he had to ‘step down due to personal failures’ and he ‘trusted me to lead the 501st in his stead.’ Wrote that he needed to ‘earn his current rank.’” 

Ahsoka’s head snapped up, intense focus charging the room. Rex let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“I commed him right back, and he said that it was ‘partially about Obi-Wan, but more about past wrongdoing’. He apologized for abandoning me and the rest of the 501st, but told me he had to work on ‘his judgement’ before he could trust himself to act as General. The official memo about their temporarily absence from the command structure, for ‘undisclosed reasons’ came out about 5 minutes after we talked. Along with the promotion of Krell and General Tiin.”

“He messaged you this morning? He stepped down voluntarily?” she asked, feeling betrayed all-over again. “What the kriff?”

“Did he—he told me he was planning on comming you once you were closer to Coruscant...” he asked, looking at her hesitantly.

She let out a frustrated snarl, chair falling to the ground with a clatter as she began pacing the room. “Well he didn’t!” she ranted, attempting to stalk off her frustration. “Something more must have happened, and the council doesn’t want us to know what! What you saw on the loading dock was all the information anyone gave me! For all I know they’re both dead!”

Rex inhaled sharply and the padawan attempted to backtrack her words. “No, I don’t mean that, I can sense Skyguy he’s just—distant.”

“But you can’t sense General Kenobi,” he said grimly. 

“I don’t have a direct training bond with him,” she replied severely. “And he’s good at shielding, and he’s usually—it’s not like he’s the loudest Jedi, you know?”

“You said you felt his presence this morning?” he pressed. “General Tiin and Krell did too, I think. Tiin seemed relieved at first but then—”

“He disappeared,” Ahsoka said quietly. “It’s like he reached out and then—it wasn’t even like letting go he just stopped.”

“Krell said he died,” the Captain reported matter-of-factly.

Ahsoka flinched. “There are—there’s other explanations. He might have just pulled up his shields really abruptly. It—I’m not saying it’s impossible, but I’ve felt Jedi die before and it doesn’t usually feel like that.”

Rex shifted awkwardly. The tortugan padawan paced back and forth, trying to release her helpless uncertainty into the force.

“Do you think it’s possible they might be on a special assignment?” he asked wearily. “I mean, it makes more sense in some ways that General Kenobi was just setting up some really intense cover for himself, and—and—General Skywalker got—accidentally wrapped up in it.”

Commander Tano rubbed her temples. “I wanted to think that too...I mean, it would be a pretty messed up choice of cover story, but...I really don’t think so” she said finally. “Skyguy was trying to put on a brave face when he talked to me but he was pretty—I’ve never seen him so destroyed—I mean getting shot down on the battlefield is one thing, but losing someone because—because you didn’t tell them how much you appreciated them, or because you added to their alright insane workload just through your presence—”

Suddenly Rex was in-front of her, chair scraped back and hands on her shoulders. “I’ve been through this was Cody, and I’ll go through it with you again as many times as it takes—you cannot blame yourself for this.”

She looked away. His hands tightened. “I’m serious,” he said emphatically. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you and Cody are the best of the best—if there was any warning sign to see, any enemy to fight, you would have identified it, fought back, won. I’m sorry, but the whole high council was surprised too, and they see him often enough! It’s—the whole situation’s kriffed up but it’s not your fault.”

“I know,” Ahsoka said quietly. “I’m sorry Skyguy stepped down on you—”

“That’s not your fault either—”

“Yeah, I know, you’re repeating yourself Captain—”

“Well, it’s hard to tell if you’re listening sometimes—”

Ahsoka gasped theatrically. “Is that anti-montral sentiment? I think it might be, after special Kamino sensitivity training too—”

“More like anti-anti-helmet sentiment. Seriously you’d think—”

“I’m a Jedi and I practice ataru. Armor would just—”

“—’slow you down’ I know, I know.”

Ahsoka giggled and the two of them found themselves wandering over to the small viewport, watching stars distort and stretch as they sped along the hyperlane.

“Have you—are you familiar with Krell?” Rex eventually asked.

“Not really,” Ahsoka admitted, wrinkling her brow. “I know he’s a pretty talented duelist—he’s got his own four armed Jar’kai style that’s apparently almost impossible to do anything against, but I’ve never actually gotten to see it in action—I don’t remember him hanging around the temple much growing up, and I’m not really certain where he’s been stationed during the war. I guess Master Windu assigned me to 501st duties so specifically so I wouldn’t bother him too much for sparring practice while he’s figuring out his duties? What’s your read on him?”

Rex radiated discomfort and Ahsoka eyed him cautiously. 

“I haven’t—seen him on the battlefield. I’m sure he’s very capable. He’s not the most...respectful Jedi I’ve met.”

Ahskoa smirked. “Well, that shouldn’t be too much of a problem, right? If he gets the job done? I mean once you got a jetpack you made it your personal mission to throw Anakin of a cliff as often as possible! And Kix stole all of Anakin’s pants after he kept escaping bacta and messing up Medical.”

“I don’t mean respectful like that, Commander,” Rex said quietly. 

“What do you mean, then?” she asked, feeling a prickle of unease. 

“It’s nothing to worry about right now, but I’d—appreciate if we could talk about your...impression after our limpet meeting with the Negotiator tomorrow morning.”

“Of course, Captain. We’re—we’re in this together, right?” Ashoka replied hesitantly. For the first time that conversation, she reached out to him, softly placing a hand on his arm and desperately trying to press her tangled feelings of friendship, loyalty, and gratitude through the force. 

Rex smiled, seeming to get the message. “Yeah Commander,” he responded hoarsely. “We’re in it this together.”

Part XXV

[skysaunter]

             𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙸𝚁𝙾𝙽𝚈 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙿𝙰𝙻𝙿𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙴: 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙿𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙰𝙳𝙾𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙰𝙽𝙰𝙺𝙸𝙽 𝚂𝙺𝚈𝚆𝙰𝙻𝙺𝙴𝚁, the 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐍𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑, had become the very foundation upon which vader built his empire.

throughout the clone wars, anakin skywalker had emerged as a paragon of valor, his daring exploits and unparalleled piloting skills capturing the hearts of countless beings across the galaxy.  recognizable, steadfast, revered—his very visage became the ideal face for the nascent regime.  being a young, rather handsome widower with two adorable little newborns only added a poignant layer to his public persona, and the tragic loss of his secret wife, the late senator padmé amidala, spun well into a narrative of personal suffering and resilience.

it certainly made for a gripping sob story, one that evoked sympathy and understanding from the masses.  the public, predictable as ever, had eaten it up, conveniently overlooking the atrocities committed in the name of a new order. however, the hope for an era of peace proved fleeting, dissipating within mere days as vader’s uncompromising nature revealed itself.  negotiations stumbled, punctuated by eruptions of violence, and the lingering wounds inflicted by sheev palpatine’s treachery against democracy, cast doubt upon the very legitimacy of his reign.

             the emperor’s distaste for proper diplomatic negotiations didn’t help to ease concerns, either.

the senate had devolved into a quagmire of corruption during the clone wars, a breeding ground for incessant debates and clandestine agreements that thwarted progress.  vader had long since grown weary of duplicitous politicians and their endless verbal fencing, the constant battles fought with empty words and broken promises, which harkened back to his days as a jedi general, shackled by the constraints of the council and the republic’s bureaucratic blasted red tape.

the jedi taught peaceful solutions and to uphold the principles of justice and fairness, but diplomacy and kindness had their limitations, and those with relentless greed and ambition never hesitated to undermine progress for personal gain.  warfare had taught him that strength was the only language that certain individuals understood.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊: change did not come to those who merely wished for it.  peace could never be a simple prayer; it demanded audacity, sacrifice.  progress exacted its toll.  and if he must embrace the mantle of darkness to herald a new era of peace in the galaxy, then he alone would become its grim harbinger.

and so it began mere weeks following his ascent to power, on the desert planet tatooine, within the bustling spaceport of mos espa, and it began with an eruption of fire.  for eight days and eight nights, tatooine succumbed to an inferno as vader liberated countless souls trapped in the chains of oppression.

𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘 was a benediction seldom seen by the enslaved; therefore, he extended no kindness to those who preyed upon the vulnerable and weak.  wealthy, insufferable masters met their fate in the clamor of frenzied mobs.  the hutts, the insolent handful arrogant enough to remain planetside, made their graves under the ashes of their burned palaces.

vader took; he seized, and he conquered, forging the bedrock of peace and prosperity with hands soaked in the blood of those blind to reason.  his methodology was a pitiless, vengeful specter, a bleak departure from an era of vain pleasantries, yet it yielded undeniable triumphs.  with crime ruthlessly quelled, infrastructure initiatives thrived, and the economy, buoyed by these novel directives, experienced notable periods of expansion.

for all the fear vader inspired and the disdain for his heavy-handed methods, few truly hated him, and plenty more respected him, willing to lay down their lives at his command.  yet, it wasn’t enough.  not even his relentless crusade against the festering criminal underworld, left unchecked by the feckless republic, fulfilled that which he kept tucked in the darkest crevices of his mind, what the jedi had so readily shamed him for harboring: attachment, longing, love —

             ❝𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙾𝙽’𝚂 𝙸𝙽, 𝚂𝙸𝚁,❞ jesse’s tinny voice burst through the comlink in an eruption of static.  ❝bot-un’s looking good, but plett’s well is another story.  it’s gone, sir.  the whole settlement’s gone—completely wiped out.  plett’s well is one of the bigger settlements here on belsavis, but crank said tick’s coordinates led to an empty plot.  he sent us visuals.  doesn’t match our records at all.❞

vader’s gaze cut across the holographic projection of belsavis’s topography.  the planet’s renown lay in its entanglement with the rakatan infinite empire, an ancient civilization steeped in advanced technologies.  sparse records remained of the lost race, yet their legacy endured in the formidable rakata-made tech and the existing penitentiary, once a stronghold for formidable force wielders and artifacts alike.  however, despite its rich history, the planet held little allure beyond its historical weight.

❝what intelligence do we have from the people of bot-un? someone there must have seen what happened to the settlement.❞

❝it’s been tough finding anyone willing to speak up.  the friendly ones all say the same thing: they don’t know a place called plett’s well.❞ jesse paused for a moment.  ❝honestly, they seemed genuine.  no one looked like they had anything to hide.  i’ll keep you updated.  jesse, out.❞

across the holotable, rex lifted a brow, his arms folding over his chest as he regarded vader with well-meaning concern.  ❝sir, you think this may be related to what you sensed a few rotations ago?❞

❝it’s no coincidence.❞ vader had come upon a peculiar stirring in the force—a presence that defied classification, neither wholly dark nor light, but altogether different.  with a flicker of interest, he’d extended his mind, probing the depths of the force for any sign of the novel presence and — found nothing.  whatever it was, it had quickly hidden itself with intent. and now, as his consciousness extended and brushed against the boundaries of the unknown, he felt again a familiar ripple—a split-second contact that thrilled his pulse.  unlike the smothering embrace of the dark or the blistering glare of the light side, this presence was a paradox—a confluence of energies, maddeningly inscrutable…

             ❝sir?❞ it was knox this time.  ❝got a lead: haldus alniyat.  he’s deep in with the iron ring slavers.  spotted him sprawled out in the open where plett’s well ought to be.  crank damn near turned him into roadkill…  i reckon he’s got some intel, sir.  asked him about plett’s well, and he just grinned at me.  said he got ‘hungry’.  gave me the creeps.  we’re transferring him to the box for interrogation.  knox, out.❞

@skysaunter steps into the Anthem Anatheme,

The planet is frigid. A simple enough statement, one that felt true enough where no further elaboration was required. Yet, life found a way, it thrived even, blossomed into the settlements carved like ghastly wounds across the vast expanse of an endless blinding white.

Some might call it a glimmer of hope, others saw opportunity. Others, such as the foreign serpent which had traveled on starlit wings, a jump between the very cosmos until they blurred into a single arrow shaft of direction. Spacial travel was one walk of a doorway into another and with no destination in mind, no great Light to call upon their devious inhibitions it was a true, unquestionable, shot into the dark.

Now there was indeed the aspect of what unknowns might come to face them now that they had gone such a great distance to escape the culling hands of the Lights they sought to manipulate, but those dangers came with the territory, and an Ahamakra was nothing if not able to adapt. First contact was always a sticky, ravenous mess. No way to hide, not until a feast, face first into conflict often foretold the presence of these great dragons.

Larger than life and most space fairing craft it is a massacre; dead lay strewn, the living scattered and afraid. But, there again, is a glimmer of hope. A spotlight amongst carnage of a soul begging for the mercy out of such a towering monster. What a thoughtful gift upon themselves to have a so very willing participant. The heavy bone plating protecting tender flesh beneath folds out and their many grotesque eyes gaze down, feasting before the meal on that which would give them the strength for far worse to come.

Let me live, let me leave.

YOUR WISH IS GRANTED, O' FEARFUL MINE.

Their body falls, and, in its place?..

Weeks pass by with the faint resonance of something quite unnatural blanketing the landscape. It was no challenge to prey upon the soft underside of those who had been isolated, forsaken. Words whispered across small settlements of a lone figure which could be found traversing the spaces in between, unprepared, seemingly lost to the whipping winds and deathly cold. But, if one were bold or perhaps so very desperate, the mirage would stop and listen. However the phantom of a long dead soul was not one to offer wisdom, or even give thanks if granted safe passage. The very few who made return subsequent an encounter spoke of their greatest desires having taken shape right before their eyes. All good and well, until it wasn't.

One who may be called the head of a settlement went out with the intent purpose of finding this strange being for themselves, not for any malicious cause, but to settle a debate. Nothing but the tales of dehydrated, starved, smugglers who wanted something tangible to place their insanity upon. When they found the singular figure's silhouette against the back drop of an age old crashed hull, the stories were far less exaggerated than they had assumed.

Their wants, numerous and bountiful, spilled forth like the guts of a fresh hunt. Riches and power, an end to those that wanted to steal and kill, the idea of prosperity. What a foolish lust for opulence. For everything that the ringleader wanted, would come in time, and with a heavy price for each subsequent prize. Riches rained down in form of a stray cargo ship crashed nearly upon their doorstep, the occupants suffering from an inescapable sickness that would take the lives of many. Those who did survive were not long to last.

Despite being surrounded by wealth, and the power over the few, with no one to contest their word, the bargain had been complete. A far cry from the intentions but a hearty feast for the serpent which hid right before their very eyes. And thus the beast laughed, as accusations flew through the air for its treachery despite following every single desire as proclaimed. Anger and resentment drench the air as if made into a palpable poison but the stranger held no dismay. All their power and willingness to flaunt it meant nothing.

And by a slip of many tongues another deal is struck, marked by a sharp echoing laugh.

I should have never sought you out, if I could, I would take it all back and never look back!

IF YOU COULD? YOU CAN. JUST. MAKE. IT. SO. O' BEGGAR MINE.

A long pause sets before them, trembling words, and those who remain no longer exist. Every living thing which had ever met, heard, or known of those within that smuggling settlement no longer have memory to draw from. It ripples outwards like the shattering of crystal still water, all encompassing, a swell that leaves the monster fat with delicious ill fated mirth.

Not even the buildings which once made the circular clearing look lived in, remain. Greenery dominates the stretch of safety, foreign wildlife run amok. What reason did any have now to visit? Perhaps to claim the seemingly free locale for themselves, a slice of life away from what chaos had been plunged into the heart of the galaxy. In its center the faux form of a lone smuggler rests, sprawled across their back, content for now to rest upon the rays of warm suns.

[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.”

[saltyladynightmare]

Jiliu AU Part 1

Next, Masterlist

A/N:

This is an...expansion of Half Midichlorians by StephanieStephanie on ao3, AKA delicioushologramperson here on tumblr. Credit to them for the idea and most of the skeleton I have for this idea. I did get permission (look, manners and everything), so...yeah. I also took the idea of Ahsoka’s fighting style as a ‘Saber Form from Tano and Kenobi also on ao3. I renamed it. Kinda. I did not ask permission (no manners, bad—thievery). There was another AU on ao3 that gave me Ideas. I do not remember it. Credit to them anyway.

This AU Jedi critical, but what else is new.

I Must Earn my Salt.

...warnings:

Blood loss, blaster burns (my beta said it was graphic? idk, I’ve been reading Vader things lately...), Anakin Skywalker (bad people skills, self critical thoughts even if I’m making him get therapy), the clones’ situation in general, off screen death, mentions of being buried alive, injury. War. Destruction of ancient cultural sites.

Have my deformed brain child. I’m tired of sitting on it.

~~~~~~~~~

Who is the moron who came up with that battle plan? And was it more insulting that they thought it would work, or that it was actually working?

All Anakin was absolutely certain of was that his men were dying, Kix was more then a little angry, Anakin did not like this at all.

The air was full of bright orange smoke that contrasted with the deep water blue paint Rex had picked for Torrent oh so beautifully, for all that Anakin wasn’t in a position to appreciate it. He couldn’t see eight feet in front of him, and he was getting shot at by enemies who could see him but he couldn’t see in return. On top of that, he was behind enemy lines with a pair of injured shinies, his second in command, and a fuming Kix with half a medpack. Altogether, they had Anakin’s two ‘sabers, Rex’s DC-17s, Kix’s sniper rifle and assorted blades, medical and otherwise, and whatever the shinies had left from their standard issue gear. One of them didn’t even have his own DC anymore, he had picked up two of the droids’ blasters.

Note to self: discuss possible changes to ‘standard issue’ gear with Rex, because Anakin was not impressed.

Something far off behind him and to the right exploded, snuffing out the bright Signatures of more then twenty of his men. With their deaths tiny shards of pain stabbed into Anakin’s mind, sharp and delicate as shattered glass. He blinked the spots from his vision on habit, for all the good that did him.

Not for the first time, Anakin cursed the fact that droids don’t actually have Force Signatures for him to lock onto as targets.

His Kyber Crystals sang their agreement, even as they manipulate the steady stream of Force he was feeding them, moving his blades intuitively. Somehow they help his next three defections hit marks, if the racket somewhere to his right was anything to go by.

Ha!

Of course, that was the exact moment a bolt comes out of nowhere, and since Anakin was busy blocking five other bolts from hitting the small squad he was defending, it streaked toward his leg unhindered. The options were either let one of the other bolts go, likely hitting one of his men or worse— the explosives they were working with, or taking the hit.

Anakin took the hit.

The bolt burned through his tunics, under tunic, and legging to sear a hole into his thigh, and it’s all he could do to not gag on the smell of cooked meat even before his nerves scream their abuse. He shifted his weight to his good leg, and calls it good enough. He needed this to get wrapped up.

“How are we doing, Rex?” Anakin forced out through his teeth, ears buzzing. Was it from the blaster burn or the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything in the eight hours he’d been on the field? He didn’t feel hungry.

“Detonators are set, sir, just trying to get the switch to link.” Rex’s voice crackled horribly through the ear piece Anakin had only put on for this mission on a hunch. If it weren’t for the little wireless headset, Rex would have had to be right on top of him to be heard. As it was, Rex’s frustration is audible as well as felt in the Force behind Anakin.

Kix’s stress nearly over shadowed Rex, but Kix had always been good at broadcasting his displeasure, so what else was new.

“It’s not syncing.” Rex’s voice broke through the buzz again.

Well, shoot.

Why is it always sync tech that fails at the worst possible moment?

“Can we tie down the button on the dead man switch so it gives us a chance to retreat?” One of the two shinies who had beyond all reason survived this impulse mission even though they had, without fail, been in the wrong place at the wrong time from the very beginning of the battle voiced. All they had to show for the experience was a boat load of trauma, some interesting injuries, and a grumpy Kix fussing at them. Rex had called that one ‘68, if memory served.

“Unless you have a suggestion for how we would ‘tie down the button’ trooper, I suggest you think of something else.”

Well, there is always the Force.

Now there’s an idea.

How did Anakin get into this situation, anyway? The day had started so well.

He blamed whoever released the orange smoke. Whatever droid or Seppie did that was going to meet a swift end of his lightsabers. Or, if he was feeling particularly vindictive, he could just, throw them into the air, and let them find their own way down. That could be fun.

Messy but fun.

The Force screamed a warning, and something bounced a few feet in front of where Anakin had planted himself between the droids and his men, before coming straight at him.

He shoved at it with the Force before it even registered with his forebrain that it was a grenade, and flung his awareness through the air in a net around him, hoping, trying, praying that he would maybe catch— not his men—!

It blew five feet away from his hip.

Kix’s irritation hitched, and the shinies flinched. Rex’s attention snapped up, before he went completely still, astonished.

Anakin peeled his eyes open, not sure when he had closed them, and forced himself to look.

The shrapnel hung in the air before him in a jagged sphere. A quick swipe of awareness over his men showed they were unharmed, if spooked. Kix bristled, and mentally swatted blindly at him.

Anakin smiled, and flung the shards at the next flare of danger. The swell of warning cut off before it could manifest into anything...inconvenient. It was times like that Anakin almost wanted to know just how Sensitive Kix is, and the only thing holding him back was that it would draw attention to Kix he really couldn’t afford. Anakin wouldn’t, couldn’t, do that to him.

Another round of bolts come at them, and Anakin moved to intercept them. He deflected two bolts, and blocked the rest, his bi-colored ‘sabers a whirl of solid blue light. Orange fog swirled around his knees, liquid warmth dribbled down his injured leg.

Wait— Anakin shot a look down, because blaster burns don’t bleed by virtue of being a burn, as in cauterized, burned closed.

He hissed, and glared at the offender. Something dark and metal glints in the flashes of his moving lightsabers where it had no business being buried in his thigh. Right on to the edge of the burn. The blood was warm, and pulsed out of the injury with every beat of his heart. His leggings stuck unpleasantly to his skin, wet and dirty the way only fresh blood was.

The shrapnel had probably nicked an artery then. Anything else wouldn’t bleed this much and anything worse would bleed more.

They were out of time.

“Set it to the dead man’s switch, Rex,” Anakin ordered. He batted three more bolts into the ground. “We’re going with the shiny’s plan.” The-shiny-who-might-be-‘68 flared bright in surprise. The other shiny, the one who hadn’t lost his DC, wasn’t much better. Rex was behind Anakin, and wearing his helmet besides, but Anakin didn’t need to see his face to get the look he shot at Anakin at that.

“And how do you plan on making that work, sir?” Kix growled.

Anakin deflected another bolt back to where it came from, and flung himself back to where his men where huddled around the first bomb in a long line of bombs they had spent the last three hours planting through the droid infested catacombs.

He flashed a smile at Kix even as he braced his horribly bleeding leg with the Force. “With the Force of course.” Kix didn’t so much as glance at his leg. Score five hundred something for dark clothing. Take that, Obi-Wan.

If Rex and Kix weren’t in battle mode, Anakin was very sure at least one of them would have face palmed. As it was, Anakin could almost feel Kix roll his eyes. It was only Rex’s impressive will power that kept him from vocalizing his own irritation with this latest plan. Instead, he handed the switch to Anakin, even as he stabbed at the detonator screen aggressively with one finger. “Sir.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Anakin jammed his thumb down on the cheery red button that could kill a stupid number of his men if he miss timed this, and forced himself to focus on prepping himself for the run ahead of them. He funneled most of his attention and energy into slowly inching the shard out of his leg, sealing his leg up while the metal bit acted as a sort of plug.

He had only managed to get a patch job seam formed in the punctured artery that was spurting his life blood uselessly down his leggings, when Rex’s attention focused back on him, indicating he was done. Anakin was now holding the thing between his men and a heck of a lot of explosives under their feet.

He had not thought this through.

Too late now. Anakin would definitely need to practice those impulse control exercises. Here’s to hoping his leg would hold up. And that the rest of the 501st had managed to get far enough away. Anakin squeezed down on the button with the Force, and lifted his thumb.

He pretended to not notice both shinies sag with relief they didn’t all get blown to bits.

Anakin handed the switch back to Rex, and points to what felt like it held the least danger. Thankfully it was toward the rest of his men, and not the other way. “We go that way. I’ll bring up the rear.”

Rex clipped the switch back to the detonator, and nodded sharply. “Yes, sir,” he said, then reached for might-be-‘68. “Come ‘ere, shiny.” The Captain snagged the slightly smaller clone under the arm pits, and hauled him up, careful with the leg Kix just finished treating. Anakin watched with more then a little amusement as Rex slings his younger brother over his shoulders, before he checked the charge on his pistols like it was nothing. Anakin grinned out right as maybe-‘68 sputtered in outrage at the manhandling. All Rex did was pat the other on the thigh plate. “Quiet down, or you’ll bring the clankers down on our heads.”

While Rex did that, the shiny who hadn’t lost his DC rifle rolled to his feet, while Kix checked the wrapping he’d done on DC Shiny’s arm, tugging on the gauze keeping his arm tied across his ribs. Satisfied, Kix checked his rife, before signaling he was ready. A second later, DC Shiny did the same.

“On three,” Anakin said, holding up his flesh hand. With the Force, he eased the shrapnel all the way out of his leg, while maintaining his hold on the button. He folded one finger down. The shrapnel fell out, and unleashed a new trickle of blood that Anakin was really going to need to do something about. He folded the next finger down, and folded both legs under himself. His men coiled. His last finger goes down, and they’re off.

Kix took point, which is surprising with how Rex usually sank his teeth into that responsibility. It probably, Anakin figured, had something to do with how Rex was carrying a shiny, while Kix was carrying a half empty medpack. DC Shiny kept himself glued to Kix’s side doggedly.

For his part, Anakin focused on trickling a thread of healing power into his leg in a hope that it would keep it from worsening, bracing that same leg so it would hopefully come out on the other side of this in some sort of working order, and holding the button down. Mostly, he was just trusting the Force would warn him loudly enough for him to do something if they were attacked.

Each step jarred his injury, and Anakin wasn’t sure how much of the sticky wetness on his leg was new anymore. Chills crawled down his spine. Anakin huffed out a shaky breath, heartbeat pulsing in his ears and behind his eyes.

He was running out of time.

Absently deflecting the odd blaster bolt, Anakin scanned around himself, only half desperate.

Calm down. You can’t do anything if your panicking.

Kix swore, and DC Shiny yelped, both skidding to a halt, before Kix is shouldering his shiny to the right. Rex tripped and almost goes sprawling with ‘68(?) throwing off his balance, but Anakin reached out and scooped them both up with the Force. He adjusted his speed and moved to follow Kix’s new direction, holding Rex up until the flare of shock eased. One, two steps later, Anakin set Rex down, and he hit the ground running, because he’s just that good.

It was then that Anakin saw what Kix was avoiding.

It was the base of one of the strange hill mountain things, huge, looming, and perfectly hidden by the smoke. They were common to this region, of this planet Anakin couldn’t actually pronounce the name off.

They were in a wide swath of flat land. Breaking up the scenery were giant pillars of solid rock high enough to drag across the sky, topped with trees, and wrapped in vines and particularly stubborn bushes. The locals called them mountains. Anakin was not inclined to argue with them. Before the CIS had come, deep rivers flowed between each pillar.

The river beds were empty, drained in the droids’ quest for easy access to the long sealed off catacombs carved into the bedrock below. Dead fish, and rotting plant life filled the air with their stench just as well as the orange smoke did. The only upside Anakin could find to the whole thing is that meant he didn’t have to smell plasma bursts from blasters, or the smell of blood-wet dirt that haunted his dreams as his men bled out, out of his reach, out of his range of help.

The catacombs didn’t go under the mountains. They likely wouldn’t be impacted by the string of explosives he and his men had planted, that he was holding at bay with the Force and grinding teeth.

Four more men died in a burst of agony. B2 droid, then.

Anakin made a snap decision.

“I’m taking us up. Brace yourselves!” He snapped, clipped both of his lightsabers to his belt, then leaped forward to grab Rex around his armored middle. Maybe-‘68 swore creatively as Anakin picked Rex and his shiny burden up with one arm. It was quick work to snatch Kix and DC Shiny up with the Force, and easy to launch himself up the side of the mountain. Rex and probably-‘68 were in his arms, and by virtue of physics were brought up with him, and his other two men were dragged along behind him thanks to a carefully maintained Force hold.

Someone gasped loudly, and one of the shinies shrieked. Kix actually hissed at him. Rex froze solid as his mind went blank and the strongest blast of true fear Anakin had ever felt from him battered against Anakin’s shields.

Orange swirled violently to the side from the force of their passage. The face of the rock formation blurred on his left, green, grey, black, and Anakin was almost sorry he didn’t have the time to actually see what this place had to show.

They cleared the fog suddenly, and for a few stunning seconds, it was peaceful.

The orange fog laid like a blanket on the land for as far as the eye could see. From the fog, more of the strange mountains loomed, silhouettes against the afternoon sun and shadows fading into the natural haze in the distance.

The air was clear, up there. Clean and crisp. The only sounds was the whistling of passing air in Anakin’s ear.

Even the Force was quiet in that moment.

Then the rush of cliff face vanished, replaced with empty air, and the moment snapped.

Anakin flipped midair to break his upward momentum, and— crashed.

He, maybe-‘68, and Rex tumbled across the top of the finger mountain. Anakin’s vision whites out, but he still had the presence of mind to slap a net of Force down on the three of them before they tumbled off the other side to fall to their deaths. He also, miraculously, managed to keep hold of Kix, DC Shiny, and the switch.

Brilliant. If only everything went so well, Anakin’s life would be so much easier.

He released the pressure on Rex and probably-‘68, before bringing Kix and DC Shiny down. DC Shiny stumbled, tripped, and face planted gracefully. He laid there silently for a moment before slowly peeling himself off the ground. Kix lands solidly on his feet and remains upright with no visible struggle, because he was, like Rex, awesome like that.

Anakin temples throbbed, and something crawled at his hairline. He swiped a sleeve over his forehead aggressively, then blinked.

Sweating. That was a symptom of excessive blood loss. So the the headache that was stabbing at the top of his head.

He did a quick systems check, and ticked off one by one the more mild symptoms of blood loss shock, or whatever fancy word Kix would use. Headache, sweating, fatigue, though that one might be worse because he’d been on the move for several hours with very little by way of a break.

Oh, he wanted a nap.

Later, he promised himself. You can sleep for a solid eight hours when this is all over.

Anakin forced himself to his feet.

The world spun.

He added dizziness to the list of symptoms, then called up the Force to pin him upright. None of his men gave so much as a hint in their Signatures that they noticed his blunder. Good.

He checks his hold on the switch, before closing his eyes to scan the valley floor with the Force.

Men were still on top of the catacombs. The catacombs full of bombs, whose switch Anakin is holding onto with his mind. Not Good.

Think Anakin!

Anakin snapped his head around to lock eyes on his Captain who had recovered from his earlier shock, and was checking on the shinies with Kix. Rex’s helmet turns in Anakin’s direction before he can call. “Are your comms still jammed?”

There is a pause that stretches out for forever, even though Anakin can feel that Rex is flipping through all of his available frequencies. “Yes, sir.” Rex reported. “I’m only getting feed back from the five of us.”

Something brittle rattled, deep deep down in Anakin’s mind. He ignored it with the ease of long practice. Nothing a nap and low casualty counts won’t fix. Maybe some tzai. Yes. He just needed to get through this first.

“Then I hope they can forgive me for this.” Anakin turned, and raised his arms, palms out. A wave of dizziness crashed over him, and he closed his eyes to let it pass. Once he felt steady again, he cast his awareness out like a net, pinpointing the location of each of his men. It was the work of a moment to grab a double handful of them and send them flying up to the peak of the nearest pillar.

The resulting blare of terror sliced at Anakin’s hold on the Force, and it was all he could to not drop them. As it was, he couldn’t quite set them down as carefully as he was hoping to.

He brushed an apology, sorry-need-for-haste, over each of their minds briefly, before turning to gather more of their brothers. He barely registered the sparks of surprise that replace the fear from before.

For the next set of Vod’e that he grabbed, he pressed a warning against their rather impressive shields, before scooping them up to deposite them onto another pillar. The shock terror was less that time, but no less sharp, and they settled faster in his hold, so Anakin figures that it would have to do. He’d have to talk to Rex about a protocol or something for this sort of thing later.

Anakin picked up more of his men. Then some more. He very quickly lost count of those he had taken up. Sometime when he was doing that, some bright soul had ordered a retreat, and it had spread like wildfire thought the short wave comms they had been forced to use from the moment their boots hit dirt side. Anakin had been more then happy to pick up the stragglers, and wounded who would otherwise have slowed them down.

There were still too many of his men on top of the catacombs when the Force thrust the image of a group of B1s looking curiously at the detonator Anakin had been so carefully keeping a mental finger on.

No more time, no more time— Anakin scrambled to do more quick math, sloppy, incompetent, risky for the lives of his men—

He blared out a warning into the Force, something even someone totally Force blind would pick up. He reached for as many of his men as he could, more then he could reliably hold, and yanked them into the air. Simultaneously, he — let go.

He let go of the dead man switch, setting off the line of explosives he had risked the lives of Rex, Kix, and half a squad of shinies for. The bombs he had paid for with the blood of three of them. The bombs went off, one by one, a wave of destruction that would swallow his men. He let go of the coil of Force holding him up, holding his blood in. He barely noticed when he dropped to his knees, or the flare of worry from the men lunging forward to hover over him. He locked onto the tiny stars of his men’s Force Signatures, and moved.

Grab, yank, drop. Again and again, more men then Anakin could bother keeping track of, faster then he has ever done before. And for a short eternity, it worked. He didn’t feel a single Vod die.

Then the wave caught up to the men left in the river beds, and once again, Anakin’s best was not enough.

Seventeen died near instantly. More were sucked down into the ground, and trapped. Some were horribly injured in the process, others were simply pinned. Their pain and fear ripped through the Force like a serrated blade.

Anakin’s body jerked, and toppled back. He didn’t hit the ground, which was odd, but he had more important things to be doing.

He jabbed fiercely at the ground that had eaten his men. He moved boulders, and molded drying mud. For more then one Vod he set bones, and laced a thread of healing around crushed arteries. He went on, until the Force itself grayed out, and dumped him back into his useless body.

The world rang. The ground tipped and spun underneath him for all that Anakin wasn’t moving. Ridges of rock pressed against his back through his tunics. What kinda felt like a lump of grass was under his left hip. It was the effort of moving a pair of small mountains to make his eyes open again.

Rex hovered directly over his face, bucket off. Those big brown eyes were wide with some sort of strong emotion Anakin found he couldn’t actually name. His Captain was pale, and his mouth was moving soundlessly.

It slowly dawned on Anakin that he wasn’t getting so much as a hint to what Rex was feeling through the Force, and the emotion was unidentifiable because Anakin hadn’t actually had to read anyone’s emotions with his eyes in literal years. He was out of practice.

This was officially the fourth worst day of Anakin’s life, he decided. Exactly what his self esteem and general enjoyment of life needed.

Can’t read people’s faces. What a skill to loose.

Yeah, that needed to change.

Anakin squeezed his eyes shut and reached for the Force. Everything slammed back into place, bringing his hearing back with the flood of fearworrydesperationwith that tingle every clone’s emotions left to trail down his spine.

“-eed you to open your eyes again, General.” That was Kix. “I need to know where else you got hurt, sir.”

Was that a question? Anakin made his eyes open to see what was going on.

Rex was still above him, still worried. Anakin blinked at him in greeting, then forced his eyes down to where Kix was running his hands over Anakin’s torso searchingly. DC Shiny, he noted, was keeping an uncomfortable amount of pressure on his sliced thigh. It probably hurt worse then it would have otherwise thanks to how DC was forced to press the heels of his hand into the edge of the blaster burn right next to the shrapnel puncture.

“‘S only m’ leg, Kiz.” Anakin told him.

Fantastic. He was slurring now. Death will soon follow.

Fox wasn’t going to be happy with him.

Anakin shoved that away. He was going to make this count.

Kix was talking. Something about past experience making him doubt Anakin’s words. Rude. Hide one blaster burn one time, and have it held against you for the end of time. Lesson learned, Kix.

Anakin ignored Kix in favor of getting Rex’s attention back from where it had moved to the medic. He lifted the arm that felt the most responsive— his flesh and bone left because there is no justice in the galaxy, he is a right-y for goodness sake— and tries to hook the clumsy fingers into the neck of his chest plate. He only managed to smack ineffectively at his...blue shoulder fin thing. Regardless, he was successful in getting Rex’s attention.

“Rez. Rez, they— some of ‘em ‘re still ‘live. Th’re s’ill ‘live, Rez, don’ leave ‘em.” Something flickered in Rex’s eyes— and oh, Anakin really hoped he would forgive him for slurring his name— and in the Force before hardening into that fire-foraged determination that had seen him and his men through the first four months of the war.

“I’ll handle it, sir.”

“Th’ livin’ mus’ honor th’ dead.” Anakin pressed further. He clumsily pressed the impression on fire to the skin on Rex’s face.

That made Rex narrow his eyes. Kix paused in his digging though his medpack, and DC sent a flare of shock through the Force. Anakin wasn’t supposed to know the Vod’e had ways to honor their dead brothers, much less what that involved for the bodies of the deceased.

Anakin didn’t know why he wasn’t supposed to know when they did it right in front of him after every battle, but he had let them believe they were getting ‘away’ with it. It hadn’t done anyone any harm by continuing it.

It was Protocol to get Jedi with life threatening injuries to the Temple. Anakin wasn’t convinced this was a life-threatening anything once they got the bleeding thing under control, but he was also aware Torrent was looking for any excuse to get rid of him.

They could do what they liked. They were stuck with him. That said, he wasn’t about to let them throw one of the few customs they had allowed themselves while he was around to the fire pit just so they could have a mission without dragging his sorry carcass after them.

Anakin tried to explain past the fuzz, and the creeping black edges of his vision, “Couldn’ help ‘em.” He arm dropped from Rex’s armor to flop uselessly across his chest. “S’rry.” He offered the horrible excuse of an apology like it meant anything to this older brother who had last so many.

Rex’s face did something that Anakin couldn’t figure out, before he frowned down at him. “I understand, sir.” Anakin decided to trust that he did understand.

“General,” Kix said from where he was helping DC Shiny peel his blood sticky gloves off Anakin’s thigh, “I need your heart rate to slow down. I need you,” he turned to look Anakin in the eyes, “to go to sleep.”

Sleep.

Anakin blinked.

Sleep was easy. But. But. But. Kix had said something else. Anakin fumbled around for the memory.

Slow heart rate. Yes, Anakin could feel that, the rapid beat in his ears and skull. And...sleep. Sleep comes with nightmares. Nightmares meant fear, and fear made everything faster, not slower.

Anakin could do better.

A healing trance didn’t have heart racing nightmares.

Anakin smiled fuzzily. “‘Kay, Kiz. ‘Kay.”

Anakin closed his eyes, and dropped into the Force. He knew no more.

[obi-wkenobi]

Whumptober 2021

Day 2:  garotte | choking | gagged

Read below or on A03.

They had been retreating when it happened. Himself and the 212th above Hareth’s atmosphere, and Anakin and the 501st on their ground patrol. Everything had been going to plan, the Separatist battalion had swiftly departed after their defeat and he and Anakin had been stationed to clean up the mess.

Anakin had assured him that they wouldn’t be much longer during their last transmission a few hours ago, except Obi-Wan hadn’t heard from him since and he was now unable to reach him over comm.

He was observing a holomap, futilely hoping that an explanation for Anakin’s disappearance would present itself within the blue hue when an urgent, “General!” caught his attention.

Obi-Wan spun around to see Cody hurriedly striding up to him, his expression worried. “We’ve just received a transmission from Strum of the 501st, he’s reporting an explosion. Various land mines planted by the Separatists before they left the planet, Sir.”

“Any reports on the number of survivors?” Obi-Wan asked tightly. 

“No, Sir.”

“I want all available LAAT’s and medical frigates ready, we’ll be going down as soon as possible, Commander.”

“Yes, Sir,” was the diligent reply. 

Obi-Wan moved to turn away when he noticed Cody’s reluctant grimace. “What is it, Commander?”

“Sir…” Cody swallowed thickly and flicked his eyes around the busy bridge of the Negotiator. “The report states that General Skywalker was in the middle of the most volatile configuration of the mines.”

Obi-Wan schooled his expression as much as possible, but he knew alarm still rippled across it anyway. Anakin. He had to get to Anakin.

He gave a small smile. “Thank you for informing me,” he rasped, before desperately prodding at his comm and dialing Anakin once again, dread causing his fingers to shake.

Come on. Anakin, come on. 

Silence greeted him on the other end, as he had known it would, but he still spoke into the crackling connection anyway, “Anakin, can you hear me? Anakin—”   

---

Anakin woke up choking, struggling to breathe.

He gasped in air and immediately inhaled something coarse and gritty, the texture filling his mouth and suffocating him. He coughed and struggled and blinked through the nauseating black dots that danced across his vision. Breathe. He needed to breathe, but every time he tried only ash, mud, and dust filled his lungs.

Moving was impossible. He could taste a flood of blood in his mouth, an anguishing pain pulsating rhythmically from his trapped legs, a wrenching constriction in his chest.

Slowly, he twitched his fingers, eventually nudging them through the dry earth and finding his crushed thighs. They were damp and sticky, with a distinctly bloody consistency. He hissed as he probed around the wound, finding a thick durasteel pole puncturing the skin. His fingers skimmed until they found the exit wound, feeling the jagged and sharp end of the rod, tacky with his blood.

Blackness crowded in at the edge of his vision, fuzzy and disorientating. His head ached with offbeat throbs of pain, and each second the Force slipped further and further away. Blinding panic began to creep up on him. He was stuck and he couldn’t breathe, each shallow breath barely enough.

He needed help. He couldn’t breathe. Help.

“Anakin, can you hear me? Anakin—”  

Obi-Wan?—

The noise was muffled, but there was no mistaking that Courscanti accent. His comm, he needed to get to his comm—he had to—

The path of his fingers from thigh to mouth felt horribly long, each movement weighed down by the smothering dirt, running across his palms in solid clumps. He had to hurry, blood continued to fill his mouth and soil strangled each harsh breath.

He didn’t want to die here, alone.

“Anakin, Anakin—are you there?”

Finally, he fumbled along his wrist comm and choked out a broken sound. 

“Anakin—the 212th are on their way down to the planet. There was an explosion—I need you to transmit your coordinates, I’m too far away to find you but the remaining members of the 501st can get to you.”

The remaining members—how many of his men had died? 

“Obi-Wan,” he gasped, stifled and barely coherent. More soil clogged his throat and he gagged, unable to swallow around the dry earth. “Obi-Wan, I can’t bre—”

He tried to heave in air, but it only served to make him choke on blood and dust, a hacking sound reverberating from his chest as he suffocated.

“Anakin! Padawan—”

Not your Padawan, came the instinctive thought, before terror once again settled beneath his skin. I’m only Padawan when he’s angry or worried, and if Obi-Wan is scared...I really am in trouble.

“Anakin—please, send your coordinates," came the frantic plea. 

He traced his comm with trembling fingers, pressing any and all buttons as unconsciousness flickered across his eyes. 

For some reason, Anakin hadn’t thought he would die like this. He had always thought he would go out in a blaze of glory, or when he was old and in the arms of Padmé.

Padmé...would Obi-Wan be the one to tell her?

Anakin closed his eyes, sorrow blooming beneath his sternum.

---

He woke up in the Halls of Healing. Blinking open his groggy eyes, he was greeted to the sight of a medical droid watching over him. He took a moment to breathe deeply, feeling the welcomed expansion of his lungs as they pulled in air. It hurt slightly, but the pain told him what he hadn’t thought would be possible—he was alive, he was safe.

“What—” he mumbled, licking his cracked and dry lips. “Why am I here?”

“Kix almost declared you dead when he and Rex found you.”

Anakin blinked slowly and looked towards the familiar voice. Obi-Wan stood and walked closer to the bed, his brows furrowing in distress.

“Master,” he croaked.

“You’ve been unconscious for a number of weeks...you’re very fortunate to be here.” 

Anakin observed him lazily, noting the worried creases on his forehead and the tense line of his shoulders. Affection made Anakin’s voice emotional when he spoke, “I’m okay, Obi-Wan.”

“Yes, well…” Obi-Wan replied awkwardly, relief slackening his face.

I’m okay, Anakin thought in disbelief. He wasn’t trapped, choking, anymore.

”Did anyone—” he stammered, “did anyone else come by?”

Obi-Wan stared at him, intense and intent. “She knows that you’re safe, Anakin.”

He sighed and closed his eyes, too tired to fret over what Obi-Wan knew.

“Let yourself rest,” Obi-Wan murmured. “You’ll still be safe when you wake up.”

Anakin hummed, finally relaxing as sleep came to claim him.

[shouldntcryoverit]

the art of discordance

a captain rex x jedi fic during clone wars era :))

no warnings i think uh yeah hope you enjoy let me know ig...

next chapter

CHAPTER ONE -

A new general. That’s what the rookies had heard, though Rex was reluctant to believe the Jedi Council had the guts to replace Skywalker. After a good few months, the captain had learnt of his general’s unique ‘disposition’, and getting a new general to step in was what he least expected.

That was until the ship landed just outside their camp and she walked out. Even from his position sitting further back on some crates, Rex could make out the figure, identifying her as one of the jedi knights, though which one escaping him. Perhaps the rumours were true.

He watched as she walked closer, hands placed purposefully and eyes wandering over the other two jedi in front of her. The commander crossed her arms defensively, though her master seemed unbothered by her arrival, excited even.

“master?” Ahsoka coughed

“oh snips!” Skywalker bleated with the same enthusiasm he had wagered throughout the interaction “this is Jaida Reyes”

“the one from your padwan stories?” Ahsoka said with smug conviction

“my reputation precedes me” her accent was crisp and calm, though her tone radiated a coolness that Ahsoka couldn’t help but feel distanced by “though i’d rather be known for my skills with a lightsaber than helping Akin steal from Obi-wan”

Ahsoka held back a snicker as Rex walked up to the three, absent minded as he double checked his comm.

“General Skywalker, we have the new coordinates” His attention tried hard to divert to the new face.

“ah thank you” Anakin turned to his friend “this is my captain, Rex”

Rex nodded at his introduction.

“i’m the new co-general, General Reyes” her face settled into the beginnings of a smile, but faultered and remained her neutral, placid gaze.

The young jedi watched with focused eyes as they walked the short distance towards the briefing tent. Already her presence seemed to spark rumours among the men, and she watched as the younger looking troopers sent her inspecting looks. It was to be expected, honestly she never wanted a big formal introduction, but she didn’t know that her arrival would breach the news so quickly.

When they arrived, the tent was half full. An open and decorated holo map was in the centre, with at least two clones at each marked entrance point.

“Boys” Skywalker called “we have a visitor”

She rolled her eyes slightly at the flamboyant gesture, but stepped forward anyway. “I’m General Reyes, apparently Skywalker wasn’t trusted enough to run his own battalion, so i got called in” Her hands rested behind her back, but a small grin encroached her face as the snipe made a few troopers smirk.

“excuse my fellow jedi, she’s never been good at taking second place” Anakin fired back, earning another set of grins.

Reyes crossed her arms as her smiling face resumed the same placcid one she’d kept previously. “i have heard nothing but good things, and i look forward to serving with you.”

The Captain moved forward from the side of the room and clicked to change the holo map, it made a small beep as he did.

“The 212th met a settlement of droids over this side of the ridge. Last report was that they were able to move forward at the threat subsided.”

“so what does that mean for us?” Jaida’s brows furrowed as Rex layed the plans out for her. Already her mind was scoping escape routes and vantage points, but she remained seemingly unbothered by the conflict describes. Rex couldn’t help but feel unmotivated by her apparent lack of interest.

“our initial plan was to take out the last forces left on the planet after the seppie defeat, but intelligence believed the 212th accidentally did it for us”

She scoffed “so we’re here for a clean up?”

“hope you brought something fun to do” Ahsoka scorned.

The efforts were limited within the first hour. Already the men were tired of the same scenery and nothing but expansive flats. The sun stood high in the sky, illuminating the landscape in a orange hue. It wasn’t hot nor cold, everything about the mission mediocre, something Reyes particularly hated. It wasn’t just her with an annoyance, she could sense the captain’s distrust. She understood it, only hoped it wouldn’t comprimise her efficiency.

As if nothing interesting was ever going to happen, a yell from a trooper a little further ahead broke the methodical thump of the machinery.

Soon followed was the sound of gun fire. Each shot was slow, until finally the enemy was visible.

“Find cover!”

“you did say you wanted action” Anakin quipped, earning an actual chuckle from her usual pursed lips. It almost caught Rex off guard.

It was unavoidable, the lack of cover meant the men were almost completely exposed, accept for the three jedi that stepped forward, sabers ignited.

Reyes was a new sight, though she didn’t look out of place on the battle field. Her lighsaber was different, instead of the usual one blade, hers had two, both green and glowing as she tactically spun it round and round, catching blasts as if it were sport. Even her fighting style seemed new, she fought with elegance and structure, each blow purposeful and strong.

Her focus was planted entirely on the enemy ahead, so much so that she failed to notice the trooper settling down beside her.

“karking droids, never seem to die” she muttered, deflecting a few more blasts.

A muffled laugh came from beside her and the familiar blue and white etched her vision.

“I’d get used to it general” a trooper grinned

Jaida turned and grimaced, an offering of acceptance. As she refocused her mind to the task at hand, a thought slipped through.

“trooper, get those three and come with me”

Her request caught the clone beside her off guard, but he complied none the least.

The five of them rounded behind the line of defence, all the way to their republic.

“uh, sir, what are we doing?” a soldier with a hand print on his chest asked, gingerly as the new, seemingly scary, general climbed onto the side.

“if i can prime the ignition gear and jinx the starter cable, I can force it into their ranks and it’ll, with any luck,” she popped her head up with a half devilish grin “turn them all into scrap parts”

It was the trooper with the cog on his helment that relaxed first “heh, they teach you that at the temple?” he quipped

“nope” she gestured for them to cover her as she popped open the side “they taught me it on florrum” she said with a smirk, before diving back into the mess of wires and sparks.

Jaida’s plan worked, and effectively too. After a very short battle, the men finished their sweep and prepared to bid the timeless campaign fairwell.

Once back on the ship, most clones settled down for the trip back to Coruscant, and Reyes followed suit, though only subtly checking that everyone was well and okay, before continuing her sweep on the ration packs. After she deemed her check satisfactory, she retreated to the command rooms. The door slid open and revealed Rex standing over a report, absent minded to say the least. His shoulders tensed momentarily as the door swooshed, and she noticed the sour taste that seemed to flood his tongue when he met her eyes.

Jaida cleared her throat, and planted fists against the table, propping herself up.

“i’m sorry, we lost men” Jaida spoke calmly, slightly softer than her usual tone.

“with all due respect sir, you don’t seem all that bothered.” Rex mentioned.

“captain” “it’s not something i’ve grown accustomed too yet” Jaida countered, though her argument didn’t cause Rex’s stance to loosen. She cleared her throat

“i’ve lost people before, and I know what it’s like to loose someone in battle, though i don’t know what it’s like to loose your brothers. i did not want this” her tone was instructive, but it softened all the same and her true compassion fell through.

Rex paused for a moment and met her eyes again “i shouldn’t have blamed you, my apologies, general”

“relax, captain”

“it’s uh, Rex, sir” he corrected. It was when he lifted his hands to the side of his helmet that Jaida realised she had never actually seen his face. It came off, and revealed a strong jaw and cheek bones, all toned perfectly set. His eyebrows arched above his eyes, a slightly different shade of golden brown than his brothers. Of course the main difference was his hair colour, short and stark blonde.

“Jaida” her response made Rex frown ”if i have to call you by your name you have to call me by mine. Jaida” she explained

“sounds fair”

“good” she smiled for the first time, and Rex liked it.

————————————

The night after an assignment was always filled with either anecdotes or silence, a relief or devastating. Jaida watched as the men loitered around crates of rations and equipment, all with distant smiles; tired.

She had previously been stuck at the medbay after the medics caught sight of her, a few gashes on her cheeks the real cause - nothing bacta wouldn’t heal, but she learnt quickly of their head medic, Kix, and his ability to scare even Jedi into looking after themselves. After making peace with the captain, a warmth had begun to spread about her.

Now, she stood against the cold duraplast walls of the Resolute, picking aimlessly at the scarce red dirt left on her hands.

“You okay Jay?” the question broke her mindless thought.

“yeah, i am” she looked up to her friend knowingly, Anakin grinning as he always did.

“Generals!” a trooper with geometric tattoos called out “come sit with us”

She turned her head sharply and gazed over the haphazard array of lounging clones

“I ought to check the ration packs” she tried to excuse.

“you should take one sir” Another clone encourage lazily “deserve it after that rescue”

She blinked for a second, unsure if it would make more sense to agree or deny. Before she said yes or no, Anakin had already collected her on his way to his own seat in the game.

Jaida sauntered over and handed each clone a bar before taking one herself, sitting down cross leggedly just as graceful as she did anything.

“sir, i don’t like it” she spoke between chews “name’s Jaida”

“well, Jaida, general’s told us a little about your career together, got any stories?”

“many” Jaida gave the first ghost of a smile any of them had seen from her yet, however small it may have been, and lent backwards against another log “Anakin ever told you about the time we climbed to the very top of the temple walls?”

[detroitbydark]

Previous part (as well as fan art and fic?!) can be found here

Chp 12

Character: Commander Fox x Mouse (reader), Padme Amidala, Bail Organa

Warnings: idiots in love, mild pining

Summary: The one where Fox knows what to expect but is still incensed when it happens. Bail Organa is a good bro to everyone. Padme Amidala is rocking motherhood and is not so subtle in her matchmaking attempt.

A/N:  I apologized in advance but your gonna see that I'm working to make things better I promise! As always thanks to my lovelies @skdubbs​ @crimson-dxwn​ and @thelastbattlecry​ for being my sounding boards/betas/listening ears.

-----------------

Naboo was beautiful. Not in the way that a rare gem or a fancy painting was, where one appreciated their grandeur because that was expected. Where they were looked at clinically and picked apart for sport.

No, Naboo was beautiful in a way that made Mouse's heart clench. The overwhelming majesty of the lakes and waterfalls bringing a tear to her eyes the first time she’d laid eyes on them. She’d never seen so much water, so much green. She could scarcely believe she wasn’t experiencing a fever dream in the claustrophobic bacta tank back on Coruscant. Even now, after two months, the view from the Naberrie’s Lake home (more like a palace than any home Mouse has ever imagined) gave her pause.

It was, in short, heaven.

The summer months had left the temperature near to perfect and the waters had receded from the great pastoral valleys, leaving them open for exploration, picnics and gathering wildflowers.

Mouse found herself sleeping most nights with the door to the small balcony off her room open, the not so far-off sound of running water lulling her to sleep. The nightmares had not gone, a twisted version of a reality she’d lived, but she rarely woke up screaming anymore. Instead she came to with a racing heart and thin sheen of sweat decorating her skin. She was haunted by the voice of Palpatine, the flash of light as Fox fires on her, the image of him being lifted and strangled by the force wielding Anakin Skywalker. It still happens like clockwork, the dreams. She just no longer has it in her to scream.

The senator had noticed the deep circles under her eyes quickly. She was a good woman, Padmé, and while Mouse was unsure whether she’d call her a friend just yet she did know she enjoyed speaking with her. Upto the birth of the babies, they’d taken daily walks, short sojourns along the estate’s lands. It was often the time Padmé had her husband speaking with his healer. Mouse was eternally grateful, as she wasn’t comfortable in the Jedi’s presence. To have him walking with them through the millaflower fields would have soured the experience. She liked to think Padmé realized such things without her saying it. When she did speak of her husband, there was a carefulness to her words, as if she had to think each one out to paint him in his best light. Mouse hasn’t spoken about Fox to anyone, and she wonders if she did would she feel the need to tread carefully? She doesn’t think she would.

Mouse's relationship with Padmé changes after the birth of the babies a short two months after their arrival.

Luke and Leia join the galaxy on a stiflingly hot night during high summer. Heat lightning flashes and grumbles in the distance as the doctor works to bring the children safely into the world. They hadn’t planned for two. Anakin paced the room, like an agitated Nexu, checking in with his wife after each pass. Staff and visitors were at a minimum, so Mouse volunteered to help as she could. It was still a state of the art set-up, one fit for a former queen, senator, and much loved daughter of Naboo. There was little to be done but sit at the Senator’s side and blot her head with a cool cloth while she worked, grunting and pushing through the labor like tackling an obstacle in her way on the senate floor.

Leia comes first, a squalling indignant thing already full of life and the need to tell everyone about it. The nurse attending offers her to Anakin while Padmé continues to labor. Mouse sees the fear in his eyes as he shakes his head, his eyes already trailing back to his wife. Mouse holds the bundle of blankets and moves out of the way, gesturing for the young Jedi to take her place near his wife.

“She needs you.” She says softly, fighting back the urge to tremble in his presence.

“Ani?” Padmé’s voice rings out, for the first time uncertain. That’s all Skywalker needs to go to her side.

Mouse watches as he takes her hand in his, kisses her fingers, tells her she’s doing great, that she’ll be fine. It feels voyeuristic watching them so she focuses on the little girl in her arms, who stares up with bright blue eyes. Mouse melts.

Luke is the wildcard, the surprise no one knew to expect. He’d been hiding behind his sister until just days ago when her last scan had shown an extra heartbeat and an extra head. Now he was malpositioned and the doctor has to manually correct it. Padmé makes an awful, wounded noise but pushes nonetheless when she’s finally given the clear to. The boy makes his entrance as a bolt of lightning cuts through the sky and the lights flicker. He’s quiet, and smaller than his minutes-older sister. There’s a tense period where he makes no sound at all, and a collective breath is held until he begins to make a soft plaintive noise before he’s laid against his mother’s chest. Mouse offers the wrapped baby to the nurse and she soon joins her brother. Mouse has to turn away as Anakin leans in and kisses his wife.

When she sleeps that night there is no nightmare. She dreams of her own swollen belly, a baby kicking away while Fox’s strong arms wrap around her middle and hold her protectively. She can feel his full lips as they press against her temple. She can feel the rumble of his voice.

The beginning of our family, cyar’ika.

She wakes with a choked sob and doesn’t sleep the rest of the night.

—-

“Run it by me again, Chancellor.”

It felt like they’d been in the black forever. The jump to the small outer rim was no milk run. Fox glances out the window again as they break atmo and the black of space turns to the bright blue of Naboo’s sky. He was ready to be off the ship. He’d never tell his brothers, would rather die than admit it, but he hated hyperspace travel. It wasn’t just the jump in or the fall out of it either. It was the whole damn thing. It was unnatural. He was meant to have his feet on terra and that was all there was to it.

The itinerary had them making a quick stop in Theed to take on supplies, then another bit of travel - this time in the blue instead of the black - to reach their destination, the Lake District.

“Commander, relax. This is a pleasure cruise,” Bail enthuses smoothly, “nothing to worry about.”

“Then why me and not one of the other boys? Thire would have been fine for this.”

Bail rolls his eyes. “Thire is a stick in the mud and I much prefer your company and conversation.” Bail explains “I’m going to spend a couple days doting on my new godchildren and discussing a few matters with their lovely Senator mother, some of which you may have strong opinions about that deserve being heard.”

The last bit grabs Fox’s attention. “I don’t remember that being mentioned.”

“Oh I didn’t mention that some of your brothers will be meeting us for an impromptu - and off the books - meeting on clone personhood?”

Fox purses his lips undercover of his bucket. “No you hadn’t sir.”

Fox had learned quickly that Bail Organa’s style of governance was worlds different from the previous chancellors. The secrets Sidious kept had been dangerous to the republic, his vode and the Jedi in particular while Bail’s all seemed fairly benign and were really only used to surprise and throw Fox from a dour mood.

“Well it seems I must have forgotten to put it on the official itinerary for our visit.” The older man’s eyes sparkle with mischief.

“It seems you did, sir. I suppose it’s already been planned. It would be a shame to lose out on such an important meeting.”

Personhood. That was one of those dreams all clones shared but few ever mentioned. It seemed silly that it should even be an issue to begin with. If none survived the war it was a useless conversation to have, wasn't it? Now, with Sidious no longer pulling his dark strings, the Seppies were beginning to fall apart. They’d already fallen on Felucia and Utapau. General Grievous was dead and Count Dooku had gone to ground, but he couldn’t stay hidden forever. Maybe the idea of life after war wasn’t such a dream. It was tangibly within reach.

“Who’s joining us for this little shindig?”

Bail smirks again, “I’ve left the guest list to the Marshall Commander’s discretion.”

Fox can’t hide the excitement in his voice, “Cody?” It has been ages since he’d seen his ori’vod. Before the second battle of Geonosis and well before Mouse had -

Mouse.

Because that was a wound that refused to heal. Kriff - it wouldn’t even scab over! It merely festered and hurt like nothing else Fox had ever felt. Whoever had said out of sight, out of mind needed to keep their head on a swivel because Fox was pretty sure if he ever saw them he’d break their jaw.

Mouse was still a guest of the Senator’s. He wasn’t proud to say he’d been keeping tabs, but it was one of the only things that kept his anxiety at bay when it came to her. Unlike with Fives, the bottle didn’t seem to do it. The pair of times he’d taken to finding out what was in the bottom of a bottle of Corellian whiskey he’d found nothing but nightmares and guilt.

Bail gives him a smile as the ship comes in for a landing, the capital of Theed rising up around them, always warm and inviting.

Fox vows to try not to think of seeing Mouse. He breaks it in five minutes.

——

To say Padmé Amidala’s wardrobe was expansive was an understatement. Like saying Coruscant was home to a lot of people.

What had once been an entire guest suite had been turned into a makeshift dressing room and closet for the former queen. Padmé was unapologetic in regards to the sheer amount of clothing she possessed, explaining that it had been expected she never wear the same outfit twice and that, honestly, she just really liked clothes.

It made her more human in Mouse’s eyes, less like the self-possessed politician and more like the young woman she was underneath all the finery.

Mouse supports little Leia’s head as she dozes in the sling across her chest while Padmé does the same, bouncing slightly from side to side on her toes to calm a fussy Luke.

“How about this one?” Padmé questions, pointing to an ornate, layered gown. It reminds Mouse of a confection, fluffy and frosted with layers upon layers of petal pink fabric.

“A bit much for a dinner party? You think?”

Mouse had never had much in the way of fine things, had never really needed them, but when Padmé mentioned that the new Chancellor would be coming and she would really like her to come to the dinner she’d had Mouse help plan, well she really couldn’t say no. Now it was important to find something to wear. It seemed since Padmé was not quite ready to leave the concealing gowns of her early pregnancy behind, Mouse bore the burden of her need to dress and accessorize.

Padmé hums quietly to Luke as he begins to drift off. “You’re probably right. Maybe something a little smaller, more cocktail appropriate?”

Mouse isn’t entirely sure what that entails but she nods in agreement. She’s discovered that even a month and a half postpartum Padmé was still a force to be reckoned with when she got on something. Motherhood hadn’t softened her drive - if anything, it had brought it to new heights as she made plans and strived to make the galaxy a place where her children could grow and thrive.

They’d been spending more time together, Mouse becoming a makeshift mother’s helper while Padmé balanced new motherhood and keeping up with her senatorial duties. Anakin, Padmé had confided, was slow to take to fatherhood and while he seemed to love the twins, he became frustrated easily. He’d increased his visits with the healer, but Padmé wondered if part of it was the loss of Jedi Order. General Kenobi had visited a handful of times since they’d arrived, but Padmé worried it wasn’t the same.

She didn’t mention Sidious but when she spoke of betrayal and upheaval Mouse knew what she spoke of.

She felt bad thinking it, but Mouse wasn’t unhappy with the children’s father’s absence. His nearness to her still left her uncomfortable and remembering the way his eyes had glowed amber and the hate that had been etched into his features as he’d used the force to-

“Remind me again why this is important?” she asks as the new mother begins pulling out more dresses. Mouse works Leia from the sling and cradles her near while she ambles over to her nearby bassinet. Leia was the simpler of the two babies while Luke seemed to require a bit more coddling from his mother. She wondered in the personality differences between the two. She places a thin blanket over the sleeping babe before going back to the pile of dresses that had been laid out.

She holds a deep emerald green dress in front of her and Padme's brows knit together assessingly. “Next,” she chirps as Mouse grabs a blue dress that shimmers in the light flooding through the room's large windows. “Maybe pile. Definitely. Tonight is important because I said it’s important,” Padmé says digging back in the closet. “Obi and Cody arrived earlier this morning.” She glances one more time before sitting on a nearby settee. Luke is awake and beginning to fuss and Padmé quickly works open the front of her dress to allow the hungry infant to nurse. “Have you met General Secura?”

Mouse shakes her head ‘no.’ She’d heard of the twi’lek though and wonders if she might ask her some questions she had. She’d begun sponsoring little Me’kar and wondered what it would take to keep a child of another species in touch with her own heritage if she were to be adopted by a human. Not that she’d been thinking about adoption-

“You’ll like her. Her Commander Bly will be with her. They’re very… close.”

Mouse can read between the lines. Close. Close like she and Fox had been maybe? More so? She’d heard battle forged bonds that were unbreakable, maybe it also could form a love connection that could withstand the burdens of both war and the Jedi’s vows.

She and Fox hadn’t had anything so deep.

She tries the lie on herself again. It still doesn’t sit true. Maybe another hundred times and she’d start believing it.

“The Chancellor will be here in a few hours-“ As Padmé continues to speak, Mouse digs through the pile. A red dress, slick and satin smooth catches her eyes. The skirt feels cool under her fingers. Padmé stops mid sentence as Mouse works it from the pile. The neck is scooped shallow from shoulder to shoulder across where her collar bone would be and a thin golden chain connects the apex of the straps and offers to drape and dip low between her shoulder blades. It would do little to hide the scars on her left arm and shoulder, but Mouse wasn’t self conscious of them the way most would think. Though she could never speak of their true nature she didn't once regret them.

“- seven hells... I forgot about that one. It’s perfect,” Padmé enthuses, again reminding Mouse of truly how close in age they actually were. “Please, pick that one?” Luke grumbles as his mother’s bouncing interrupts his meal. “Hush sweetling,” she soothes.

“It is very pretty.” Mouse hums quietly as she holds the dress in front of her and turns in front of the mirror.

“Some earrings, a pendant maybe… oh a tiara!”

“Earrings will be fine I think.” Mouse can feel her cheeks heating up. Padmé chuckles softly. “What’s so funny?”

“I just realized that color matches the Coruscant Guard colors perfectly. I wonder what Commander Fox will think of it?”

Mouse feels the color drain from her face. Her voice comes out as an ungainly wheeze, “Fox?”

“Yeah, have you met?” Padmé is giving her a wondering look. “He’s not as bad as people make him out to be.”

“Oh- uh- we’ve met.”

“Really?”

There’s a twinkle in the senator’s eye, something that clues Mouse into the fact that the woman in front of her just maybe wasn’t as clueless to the state of her relationship with the Guard Commander as she let on.

“It’ll be nice to catch up or something won’t it?”

Mouse nods. Or something.

——

Fox feels a little cheated. All the times he’d accompanied Senator Amidala to her home world not once had she brought him to the Lake District. The Chancellor looks at home, unswayed by the beauty as he marches through the open halls with confidence. Maybe it was because he was Alderaanian, Fox thinks. He’s never seen the Chancellor’s home but he’d heard its beauty was unrivaled. After taking a glance out the tall transparisteel window looking out directly at one of a half dozen waterfalls he’s sure that it can’t be true.

“Sir? Should we wait for an escort?” Fox asks as Bail takes a sharp turn down another hall.

“No worries, Commander. If I know Padmé she’ll have set up shop in her office. The day is still young and she’ll be hard at work.”

“Sir, she’s just had a baby- two babies. Surely she’ll be taking it easy.”

Bail barks out a very unchancellor like laugh before he levels his eyes at Fox. “If she’s not in her office, I’ll eat my boots for dinner.”

“Laces and all?” Fox can’t help the way the corner of his mouth draws up, though he tries to smother it. Bail raps the back of his knuckles twice across the armor of Fox’s chest before pointing one finger at his face, his own smile broad and for the world to see.

“See, I knew that stick wasn’t as far up your ass as everyone says.”

“Don’t go telling everyone. I’ve got a image to maintain.”

Bail’s bark of laughter echoes down the hall. “And this is why you’re here and not Thire.”

It was new and fascinating to see the Chancellor in this different light, more relaxed than he ever was on Coruscant with its many eyes and wagging tongues. Not for the first time since he’s begun working closely with the Alderaanian, Fox thinks that he truly does enjoy his company.

Fox adjusts his bucket under his arm, hesitates for a moment as to whether he should replace it or continue to carry it. He’s not sure of the proper protocol in this situation. It was one he’d never been prepped for back on Kamino. What was one to do when addressing a senator on maternity leave in her palatial lake house?

He decides to leave it off and immediately wishes he’d put it on as they push through large wooden doors into the senators office. Like everything else, it’s beauty is unimagined. Sumptuous wooden bookcases filled with flimsy tomes fill the shelves, natural light spills in from windows showing off a pristine late afternoon lake with the sun just beginning to set behind the waterfalls surrounding it.

All of that fails to capture his attention because there’s his Mouse swaying gently from side to side smiling down at a cooing baby. Her hair pulled back into a messy bun with tiny tendrils escaping, framing her face in fly-aways.

Karking Naboo could get sucked up by a black hole for all he cares. Mouse is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon sun spilling across the room.

She looks so relaxed, so natural cooing to the infant in her arms - until she looks up and catches him staring.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting but it wasn’t the look of surprise, her eyes thrown wide before cool indifference washes over her.

This wasn’t a holoromance. She wasn’t going to run into his arms and he wasn’t going to dip her low, kiss her passionately, and promise undying love. Not that he hadn’t thought it in that perfect split second moment of her inattention.

She holds the baby close, protectively as Bail moves to embrace Senator Amidala, herself holding an infant.

“Bail!” The young senator’s smile could light the senate halls for a standard rotation. “It’s so good to see you. I was just finishing up.” Fox pulls his eyes away from Mouse long enough to assess the amount of flimsy and datapads stacked across the senators desk. She was nowhere near done.

“And Commander Fox!”

He startles slightly as the petite force of nature insinuates herself in front of him.

“I’m so glad you could make it. Have you seen Cody yet? I know he was pleased when he heard you’d come.”

Fox shakes his head, his eyes drawing magnetically back to Mouse. He used to be able to read her like one of the flimsy books on the senators shelves but now? Now he doesn’t know what he’s seeing, a whole new language he has no experience translating .

“Commander” she offers after a moment, her voice tight but bright in a forced kind of way, “it’s good to see you. You look well.”

Fox swallows hard. “As do you. I hope your stay has been well?”

The infant in her arms turns and roots against the top of the plain dress she’s wearing and Mouse turns her attention away from him, mumbling some pleasantry dismissively. It feels like a slap in the face.

“I’ve got nothing for you sweet girl.” She hums to the baby who is beginning to make plaintive, angry noises, “Padmé I believe miss Leia is hungry again.”

The senator sighs quietly before moving to swap children. She looks at the two men in her presence. “You’ll have to excuse my children,” she jokes, “they don’t know the meaning of office hours yet.”

Bail gives a hearty laugh. “I’m shocked, with you as their mother.”

“They must get it from their Dad,” she offers cheekily, “Boundaries are not his strong point.” Fox watches as Mouse heads for the door with the other infant.

“I think I’ll go deposit this one in bed. Maybe he’ll get some sleep without his sister pestering him.”

Padmé nods as Mouse leaves and Fox fights the urge to follow after her. Like a child himself, he wants her attention. He runs a hand through his hair roughly as he watches the empty door frame willing her to come back. They could try again, start from scratch. He would put himself on his knees and beg for her forgiveness.

Something angry flares in his chest.

Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard didn’t beg. No, Commander Fox was the man everyone looked to for leadership. He would not beg. He’d stand in front of her and dress her down like one of his petulant kits.

She didn’t get to just walk away from him, give him the cold shoulder. Did she not realize he sacrificed a bit of his soul just to send her here? That the wound it left became a little more infected each day?

No, she probably didn’t. She’d obviously moved on and he was the one that was left idling in the past.

——-

“Bail already knows his way around the estate, obviously.” Padmé laughs. The chancellor had excused himself a short while before and blatantly refused Fox when he’d attempted to follow after.

“I’m an old man,” he’d said though he was nowhere near the age Fox would seem old , “and I need a nap and a holo with my wife, neither of which I need your supervision for.”

That left Fox in the senator’s good company as she led him through various halls to the guest wing. Wonder that! A whole wing set aside for people who didn’t even live there. For a clone who’d spent the better part of his life bunking with dozens of brothers, the thought was beyond what he could comprehend.

Padmé readjusts the baby in her arms not for the first time as they talk.

“I could take the little biter for a few minutes if you’d like.” He offers not thinking she’ll take him up on the offer. Who would let a clone handle a baby that was damn near galactic royalty?

Apparently, Padmé Amidala.

“Oh that would be amazing!” She stops and turns toward him and before Fox really has a clear idea of what’s going on, he’s got an arm full of ik’aad.

Fox freezes for a moment and stares down at the little face staring back at him. Her eyes have a depth, he thinks, far beyond her few months. When he looks back to her mother, the senator is stretching her arms with a contented smile. Leia squirms in his grip.

“Well hello princess” he murmurs softly as he cradles her closer. She offers a gummy yawn in return and Fox is surprised he doesn’t melt into a puddle right there.

Padmé claps quietly. “Oh! You’re a natural!”

Fox gives her a lopsided smile. “She’s a baby, not a thermal detonator.”

When he glances up Fox sees just a flash, a far-off look in the senator's eyes. “You’d be surprised to know not everyone takes to it so easily. Maybe you’re just meant to be a father?”

“Padmé, you know that-“

“Screw the regulations,” she says with a steel to her voice he’s only heard a handful of times, “You’re not a droid. You're not a thing, and if it’s the last thing I do, the Republic will do right by the men we’ve made fight our war.”

Fox raises a brow. “You know, I was going to say it usually requires a partner to have a baby.”

Padmé’s face flushes a pretty shade of pink. “Well at least you know where I stand.”

“With all due respect, I’ve always known where you stood.”

The pair continue down the hall taking a sharp right before Padmé is pointing to a door.

“This one is yours,” she states as Fox begrudgingly passes Leia back to her mother. There was something incredibly soothing about holding the little girl and he misses that feeling the moment she’s gone.

Padmé points at other doors down the hall. “Commander Bly, General Secura, General Kenobi, Marshall Commander Cody…” she rattles off, pointing to a seperate room for each. She does a lousy job of biting back a smile as she points to the last door, conveniently across from his own. “Our little Mouse.”

Fox can’t help but shake his head. “I feel like I’m being set up.”

“You are,” Padmé agrees sagely.

“I regret to inform you, after earlier, I believe that ship has really and truly sailed, hit hyperspace even.”

Padmé gives him a skeptical look before peeking down at her daughter. “Men are the silliest creatures,” she educates the infant before glancing back up at Fox, “but not all of them are lost causes.”

Fox chuffs softly.

“I was once told that the Force controls everything around us,” Padmé says earnestly, “but as I’ve grown I’m not sure that’s true.”

He’ll bite. “Well what mystical force controls our destinies then?”

“Hope, Commander. All life,” she looks down at her daughter, her eyes shining when she looks back up, “is built on hope.”

[everythinggeeky]

a fronte praecipitium, a tergo lupi | Anakin Skywalker PART I

“A precipice in front, wolves behind”

Suitless! Darth Vader x dark side! reader

Warnings: angsty, some domestic fluff, slight canon divergence, anakin never gets crispy, references to sex (it’s sfw tho)

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Anakin has been increasingly distant in the last few weeks and reader has noticed. Suddenly, Anakin makes a proposal that reader can no longer resist. She never expected the horrors that followed.

Part II

masterlist

A/N: this is part one! requests and tag lists are open! this gif makes me feel a certain way

“Has anyone told you that you look absolutely ravishing?” Anakin spoke up, stepping into your quarters after a long day engaged in battle. Sears from a lightsaber scattered his robes, a heavy tatter covering one of his shoulders. You looked him over with concern, your gaze landing on his face.

“Well, not today,” you grinned, leaning up to peck his lips.

“My darling, you look stunning, as usual,” he smiled against your lips.

“Thank you. How was your mission?” you asked as Anakin followed you to the lounging area of your quarters.

“without a hitch,” Anakin responded, brushing his hands over the robes that would have said otherwise. Typical Skywalker hubris.

“Good, I can’t have my Jedi getting hurt out on the battlefield now, can I?”

“I’ll always come back home to you, dear,” he gingerly kissed the top of your head.

“You better.”

You fixed a warm and comforting meal for the two of you as you relaxed together on the couch. Resting your bowl on the table in front of you, you got comfortable for the evening. Laying your head on Anakin’s chest, you carried on a normal conversation, asking about the current war effort against the separatists, how Anakin was active in the war, and so on. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for the next few hours, your breath synchronizing with each other.

Anakin shifted uncomfortably in his seat underneath you. You sat up briefly in your spot to give him space to adjust. He pulled you back into his chest instead.

“So I’ve been thinking…” Anakin leads quietly, filling the empty space.

“About what, dear…?”

“I’m leaving the Jedi...I’m leaving the Order,” he continued, gaining confidence as he uttered the words aloud for the first time.

“What?”

“I’m leaving. Will you come with me?”

“Anakin...you’re speaking madness.”

“This could be our time. I have the ability to have true power as no other Jedi has ever known. And I want you to rule with me.”

You stood, searching his face for any sign of a decision that was already made before he had stepped into your room tonight.

You can see the distraught in his eyes. He is standing on the ledge of a precipice so far above the ground and he is ready to launch himself into the abyss.

A man stuck between two sides of the force. 

Without another word, Anakin walked away from you to stand on your balcony, looking out onto the vast expanse of the Coruscanti skyline, contemplating his future within the Jedi Order. Was this where he belonged? In the most recent weeks, he felt otherwise; the thought lingering in the back of his mind since he was a padawan.

Suddenly, Anakin reaches his hand out to you, asking you to be his empress. Your eyes flicked from his open palm to his face, his expression softening ever so slightly.

“Y/N...the power you could have by my side…”

“Ani...I can’t…”

“Why not? If you do, you’ll be by my side forever.”

“I thought you loved me,” you pleaded, “and if you did, you wouldn’t do this.”

He had gone cold and you should have seen it earlier. In the weeks past, Anakin had increasingly pulled himself away from you and from his work as a Jedi. Had you been paying attention, you might have noticed it. Judgment clouded by love, you had considered it. A poor choice of actions on your behalf, nevertheless.

You mulled his words over in your mind. You were devoted to Anakin and vowed to love him forever, even if the Order forbade it. If you were to follow him, you could be free. Free to love him and act upon your passion without consequence. Of course, there were things you didn’t agree with about the Order and you now recognized the internal turmoil it caused Anakin.

 You raised your hand from where it rested by your side, “forever?”

“Forever.”

Hesitantly, you placed your hand in his, confirming your allegiance to him. Anakin grinned wickedly, pulling you into his chest, cupping your face tightly, kissing you hard. In a moment of pure passion, your hesitation drowned away. After a few moments, Anakin pulled away.

“I’ll speak to the Chancellor tomorrow. He has a great plan in store for you and I. True, unabashed power.”

“All I care about is you, Anakin.”

“You’ll never have to worry again, sweetheart.”

You and Anakin went to bed late that night following a dizzying, passionate lovemaking session where Anakin pledged his allegiance to you as his empress.

You weren’t prepared for what followed in the days ahead. Darth Sidious had executed Order 66, slaying all the existing Jedi. You were told to go into hiding until Anakin and Sidious had considered it safe for you to return. The following days were lonely; harrowingly lonely. You received no update on the success of the command, nor on Anakin’s condition. 

About a week later, you received notice that it would be safe to reunite with Anakin, now known to the galaxy as Darth Vader. When the guards had arrived at your secret location on the star destroyer, you could sense the cold in the room. The guards parted ways and Anakin walked through them as their Emporer’s apprentice. Heavy armor weighed down his frame, affecting his gait. Now a man shrouded by power, he came home to you to envelop you in the same way he had before he left.

Dropping the mask to the side, he rushed to you, pulling your body to his body with ease.

“Darling, I missed you so much. I was so worried about you,” Anakin muttered into your neck.

“Worried? I was worried about you…” you pulled him tighter to you, memorizing his new powerful form.

Anakin was the first to pull away. You took one more look at his armor.

“Is this your new look…?”

Anakin raised his arms, “for the Empire, sweetheart.”

“Empire?”

“Yes, my new empire...our new empire…” he corrected.

Nodding to yourself, “ours,” you manifested looking to the floor.

“Are you having second thoughts…?”

“Anakin...what the guards told me...all this death...murder…I don’t think I can do this.”

He cupped your face into his hands, “don’t worry about that. Think about what you and I can achieve together.”

Anakin releases you, allowing you to rest in your original position. 

You thought over your decision, reminding yourself of the opportunity that lies with the Sith. This was your moment to be free in your feelings and act upon your passion. Anger was accepted and was utilized to gain an advantage over the enemy. As a Sith, you could love Anakin openly and use that passion to take down those that try to stand in your way. This new future could be where you and Anakin belonged; he clearly had felt that it was.

“Darling, I have a gift for you. Something that is very important to your new role as my empress,” Anakin said, pulling a sleeve from his belt, handing it over to you.

“What is it?”

“Open it and find out. It’s for you.”

You shed the velvet sleeve from the hilt of the lightsaber. You tested it out in your hand, tossing it back and forth from one hand to the other. It was sleek, black, and featured an decorative floral engraving in the main hilt of the saber.

“It’s beautiful, Anakin.”

“I designed it myself. Go ahead, try it out.”

You stepped back a reasonable distance before igniting the blade. An angry red extended from the hilt, to which you grinned as you examined your new weapon.

“I think it suits you,” Anakin smirked.

“I do too,” you twirled the saber once, before disengaging the blade.

“Of course you’ll need training, but I have time set aside to do so. It’s critical to your role that you be trained to fight in order to execute the missions we have planned for you.”

“Planned for me?”

“Of course, you are not just ornamental, sweetheart. The Empire has a great plan for you.”

“Thank you, Anakin.”

“You’re welcome. Now, this weapon is everything. Do not take it lightly.”

“I see Obi-Wan has left his mark on you…”

Anakin’s demeanor changes in an instant, “Do not…! Mention his name,” he spits.

You shuffle back, fearful of the man Anakin has become.

“I’m sorry.”

He ignores your apology and walks to the window that borders your new quarters on the Star Destroyer. Looking out onto the expanse of the galaxy, he takes a moment to collect himself.

“The man I was in the past no longer exists. I am Darth Vader.”

“Anakin…”

“Only you are allowed to call me that. When we’re alone.”

“Are you asking me to lie to the galaxy about my love for you?” you eased closer to him.

“Quite the opposite. Act upon it. You’ll have a mission next week. There is a rumor of a rebellion in a distant system. You will be deployed there on a secret mission to receive intel about what they know about the Empire. You will crush the rebellion before it has any strength,” Anakin speaks coldly.

“Of course.”

“We will begin training this week.”

Later that week, when Anakin had returned from another mission, he finally deemed it time to train you to use your new lightsaber. Of course, you were an exception to the regularly accepted lightsaber users. Many looked on with jealousy; the apprentice’s girl is what they had chosen to call you for the time being. Soon enough, they will bow down to you and call you queen, as you deserve.

Anakin first started with the basics, gradually increasing the difficulty of the skills and maneuvers he had taught you. Later, he left you to train with the remotes, as he once had as a Jedi padawan. You would have thought that the Sith would have had a more rigorous and brutal training program, one that required a similar sacrifice as receiving your title.

You pushed the stray strands of hair that threatened to interfere away from your face. Settling yourself into the soles of your boots, you slash through the program of the remote with ease. When Anakin enters the room again, he looks impressed. Shoulders pressed backward, posture high.

“Very good, my empress. Soon enough you’ll be ready to do the Empire’s highest bidding.”

You grinned, standing tall, confident in your new role by Anakin’s side.

“The galaxy soon will see what true power looks like. It’s you. With me by your side.”

With a nod, Anakin disengaged the program. 

“Go rest, the days upcoming will be taxing.”

“Yes, my lord,” you semi-bow, leaving the training facilities to head back to your quarters to refresh.

Anakin returned a few hours later, once again shedding the mask and cape that covered his shoulders. Carefully storing them away in the bedroom. He walked over to you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. 

“You did well today. I was proud,” Anakin said softly.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he pecked your cheek softly.

You cupped his face gently, and he leaned into your touch. Here, he felt safe and free to be the man he left behind in the ashes of Mustafar. Here, it was just you, and him, and your love for one another.

Anakin pulls back from you, inviting you to relax for the evening. Had you known any better, you wouldn’t have noticed any distinct difference from your life before the Sith. Now, Anakin is covered in just a few more scars with a little more darkness covering his heart. Still, there was a space for you. A space set aside for just you. 

And maybe that spot was a little bit softer than the rest of Darth Vader.

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