#and ghosted the GAR when they realised

[the-starry-seas]

thinking about graffiti and rence again, and realising i have a fair number of clone OCs who defected from the GAR after being left for dead

[immagods]

Then there are the whispers of a clone frozen in stasis. A medic trying to save his brothers, only to wake up and realise he is the last, all his brothers are gone. They are just rumours. No one's sure if they are true or not, until one day.

One day where Kix sitting in a cantina in the outer rim, where he sees a group of people gathered around a holo. He pays no mind to it at first, that is, until he hears someone say a familiar name. A name he hasn't heard spoken out loud in a long time. A brothers name.

So he gets closer, and he sees what the group of people are looking at. It's the photo. The photo that Rex had hanging on the wall of his office, the one of him, Fives, Echo and Cody. The photo that Fives always said made him and Echo Rex's favourites. Kix remembers that holo, he remembers the battle when it was taken. Remembers it was just after Fives and Echo had gotten back from Arc training. Remembers that he was just behind the camera, waiting to chew Fives out; because 'even if you have ARC training now. It doesn't mean that you can go and do stupid risky shit all the time trying to impress the shinies.'

Kix is drawn from the memories of ghosts when he feels someone tap him on the arm. It's a young girl with big blue familiar looking eyes, and she says that she thinks it cool that he looks exactly like the brave soldiers she learnt about in school. She asks him if his grandfather was a clone, if he knew any clones, if he's heard any stories of the clones. Kix stares at the girl for a moment, thinking about another girl with curious blue eyes, before he answers her. He tells her that he is a clone, that he has so many stories that he can't even count them.

With wide eyes, the girl drags him closer to the holo and pointing at it asks him if he knows the clones in the photo.

And Kix, looking at the holo, thinks of the old mando'a that they used to say; Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. 'I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.'

So he tells the girl.

He tells her how they were his brothers. He tells her how he was apart of the 501st. He tells her how they fought for freedom. He tells her how they were always finding ways to laugh during the war. He tells her how they adopted the jedi into their family. He tells her how no matter how bad things got the clones knew they would be okay as long as they had eachother. He tells her their names.

The more stories he tells the more people listen. And word spreads. The Clones are not all gone. There is one left. And he's telling the stories of the clones, the stories that, when there where millions of clone alive no one wanted to hear. But they want to hear them now, they want to know the clones now. They want to know the worriors that fought for freedom and laid down the foundations for everything after. They clones story may be a tragedy, but it will not be forgotten.

The Vode will be remembered.

[immagods]

Then there are the whispers of a clone frozen in stasis. A medic trying to save his brothers, only to wake up and realise he is the last, all his brothers are gone. They are just rumours. No one's sure if they are true or not, until one day.

One day where Kix sitting in a cantina in the outer rim, when he sees a group of people gathered around a holo. He pays no mind to it at first, that is until he hears someone say a familiar name. A name he hasn't heard spoken out loud in a long time. A brothers name.

So he gets closer, and he sees what the group of people are looking at. It's the photo. The photo that Rex had hanging on the wall of his office, the one of him, Fives, Echo and Cody. The photo that Fives always said made him and Echo Rex's favourites. Kix remembers that holo, he remembers the battle when it was taken. Remembers it was just after Fives and Echo had gotten back from Arc training. Remembers that he was just behind the camera, waiting to chew Fives out; because 'even if you have ARC training now. It doesn't mean that you can go and do stupid risky shit all the time trying to impress the shinies.'

Kix is drawn from the memories of ghosts when he feels someone tap him on the arm. It's a young girl with big blue familiar looking eyes, and she says that she thinks it cool that he looks exactly like the brave soldiers she learnt about in school. She asks him if his grandfather was a clone, if he knew any clones, if he's heard any stories of the clones. Kix stares at the girl for a moment, thinking about another girl with curious blue eyes, before he answers her. He tells her that he is a clone, that he has so many stories that he can't even count them.

With wide eyes, the girl dragged him closer to the holo and pointing at it asks him if he knows the clones in the photo.

And Kix, looking at the holo, thinks of the old mando'a that they used to say; Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. 'I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.'

So he tells the girl.

He tells her how they were his brothers. He tells her how he was apart of the 501st. He tells her how they fought for freedom. He tells her how they were always finding ways to laugh during the war. He tells her how they adopted the jedi into their family. He tells her how no matter how bad things got the clones knew they would be okay as long as they had eachother. He tells her their names.

The more stories he tells the more people listen. And word spreads. The Clones are not all gone. There is one left. And he's telling the stories of the clones, the stories that, when there where millions of clone alive no one wanted to hear. But they want to hear them now, they want to know the clones now. They want to know the worriors that fought for freedom and laid down the foundations for everything after. They clones story may be a tragedy, but it will not be forgotten.

The Vode will be remembered.

I like to imagine that in the future, people remember the clones. After Palpatine falls for good on Exegol, imagine an explosion of freedom and knowledge in those days after the final defeat: imagine archaeologists and scholars plumbing the depths of Imperial and First Order records, trying to figure out what had happened so it could never happen again. And through it all they find the clones’ story woven into everything, until a new field emerges of Clone Studies, a loose alliance of military history buffs and research biologists and anthropologists and ethicists.

They catalogue the Kaminoans’ research; they review the clone memorials on Coruscant, on Zeffo, monuments as large as a massive wall or as small as a quiet statue, from people throughout the galaxy who were grateful for what they did. They study the great tragedy and betrayal of the chip, finally understanding the scope of Palpatine’s plans and bringing them out into the open, sharing the truth that the clones never chose to betray the Jedi Order and Republic they had served faithfully. They study old war vids and oral histories from people of long-lived species or whose grandparents remembered the clones; they build, memory by memory, a sense of the culture, the camaraderie, the brotherhood, the loyalty. They collect vids of battle songs and in-jokes and an interior language shared among them, springing up over the years.

They find and list their names, self-chosen or given by their brothers: Rex, Fives, Howzer, Echo, Tup, Gregor, Wolffe, Cody, Boil, Waxer, Cut. They study the clones whose differences defined them and knit them into a family whose ties could not be broken, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair, Omega. They study the discarded who nevertheless still had value - 99, Emerie, the clones who were culled in infancy for being wrong. There are specialists who devote their entire branch of study to the only male unaltered clone and his infamous exploits throughout the galaxy, so alike his father’s. They study the years of the clone rebellion, a fight that paved the way for the next wave of fighters and the next after them.

The clones are gone. That is undisputed. Their kind came for a little while, and then vanished, burning brightly; their tale was a tragedy, but one unique in all its seeming sameness. There are conferences and holovids and books. There are debates and research firing up young scholars about a time only their great-grandparents can remember.

In the future, after all the clones are gone, there are still stories.

[notthestarwar]

Snippet from: what the living do

Obi Wan speaks to ghost Jango about loss, fatherhood, and what the hell lies between him and Cody.

Obi Wan feels his brow wrinkle as he tilts his head again. He is so very close.

Curiosity distracts from his anger for a moment as he has a realisation.

"Did you name any of the other clones?" He asks.

Jango's spine is ramrod straight. He is as still as prey caught in the gaze of a hunter. He swallows. "Only Boba. "

Which Obi Wan had known, so why did he ask?

He is so close, he can feel the displacement of air. He can see the blurred shape of it just outside his line of sight.

He waits.

Jango frowns down at his hands. "The thing about babies is they don't really do a lot. There's a whole lot of waiting."

The look on his face is almost earnest. He is giving Obi Wan this look like he wants to convince the both of them of something.

"The clones though, they'd made them so they grew twice as fast. I wanted to be good, for Boba. I'd messed up so many times before, this I wanted to do right."

Obi Wan frowns slightly trying to understand the link...

Jango's eyes have faded in to something distant.

"I wanted to be the kind of Buir Jaster was. I don't remember my first Buire, they died before I was old enough to make any kind of judgement, so I don't know if they were something I'd want to be or not. But I knew Jaster and Jaster was the kind of parent any parent wants to be."

"I imagine my first Buire were good parents, cause I was broken up when they died, I missed them like it was something tangible. Even now, I feel it. The day I lost them, the part of my heart that had always loved them turned to stone, frozen in time and I've carried that ever since. They must have been good, to have had that impact. But I won't ever really know."

"It's a funny thing. Standing there holding your kid, a little person that's completely dependent on you."

"I looked in to his face, that first day and I just realised that I had no idea how to do it. I was a grown man, older than my Buire ever got to be, but he grabbed my finger and he held on so tight and in that moment I just knew I wanted better for him than the man I was in that moment, I wanted to be better for him and I had no clue where to start."

"I hadn't had a parent since I was 15. But stood there, in that room, I suddenly felt like I needed one. I needed someone to tell me how they did it. I wanted to be able to ask them, any of them, Jaster, my Buire on Concord Dawn; but I couldn't because they weren't there. I spent more years living without a parent than I ever did with even one, what kind of parent would that make me."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "That isn't very Mandalorian of me you know."

"We have this saying 'Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.' No-one cares who your father was, only what kind of father you'll be."

"My whole life, i'd had this idea that you don't need a parent to be a parent. That once you have a kid, you just have to love them and you'll be what they need, you'd be a good parent just from that love. But suddenly, it seemed like a lie."

"It shouldn't have mattered to me, but it did, it mattered more than I ever wanted it to. I just felt lost. Even though I knew I shouldn't."

"I stood with him in my arms and I just had this foggy image of who Jaster had been for me. This indistinct feeling of who my first Buire had been to me. I wanted to give him everything."

Jango fell quiet.

He swallowed. "I knew that if i wanted to be a good Buir, I would need to learn and I wanted to do it fast, before Boba started forming memories."

Continuing with a frown."I didn't want Boba to know that I hadn't been ready. It wasn’t like he was a surprise, I should have been ready, I should have prepared better, but here he was and I hadn't. His first day in the Galaxy and i'd already failed him."

"If you want to learn something well, the best way is to have a good teacher. Jaster was like that, he taught me so much; to fight, to politik, to lead. He taught me histories, he loved history, and he taught me Maths and languages; anything he knew, he taught me and he did it well."

"But Jaster was gone, and there weren't any parents left in my life to teach me, so I needed to teach myself. That wasn't a problem in itself. I've been alone a long time, if I want to know something, I need to work on it myself."

" I've always been good at teaching myself. If I decide to learn something? Then I'll learn to do it well. There is no alternative. I don't go in with half my shebs. I commit."

"It is difficult to get good at something without practice. Especially if you are self taught. Practice, that is the cornerstone of competence."

No.

"They'd said the clones wouldn't think like people but once they got to about 2 you could tell that they were close enough. It was pretty strange, them all looking like me and it wasn't just that, i'd been told they didn't think like people but you wouldn't know it to see them, they were all so much like me. Some of them, even more so than the rest."

Were Jango a better man, were this a different story, this might have been a turning point.

He saw himself in those children and maybe in another life, to another Jango, that might have been the start of something. He might have realised that the Clones were people, he might have realised that like all people, they deserved compassion. They deserved anything else. He might have done anything, to improve things for them.

This isn't that story.

"There was this one little clone, in the CC class, and he really reminded me of myself. I know they're all clones but this one in particular, just had something about him. So I took over some of his training. "

No

Obi Wan knows the end of this story, he has always known the end of this story. That doesn't make it easier to hear. It makes it harder. There is no hope hearing this story in reverse.

There is no redemption for Jango Fett. Not in this story. Any chance for that had passed long before Obi Wan ever met him.

"It's difficult seeing someone day in day out, talking to them, having that kind of closeness, without having a name to call them by. It feels weird, using a number. A code. it's strange but, it turned my gut a little bit, to call him by a code. So I picked a name for him. "

He wants to put his hand over Jango's mouth. Like if he can stop him saying it, it won't be real.

He is beginning to see this thing between Cody and Jango for what it is. He wants to undo it. Make it unreal. He can see it like a shot put, dropped from a height and cold in his gut. He can't stop it. It's already happened.

"You named him." He said numbly.

Jango gave a slight nod. "Kote."

[cl-01-kestis]

Hopeless - Sergeant Hunter x Female Senator!Reader | Part 1

Summary: After involving yourself in a heated love affair with the sergeant of clone force 99, you return to your loveless marriage and underestimate how badly you’ve messed up.

Warnings: mentions of sex and nudity, cheating, a smidgen of toxicity

You knew you messed up the moment you showed up at the senate, looking whimsy and exhausted as you slipped into one of the pods and sat down just to collect your thoughts. You could sense the stares you received, people wondering why a woman with such high status was turning up to work without her hair and makeup done professionally, like usual.

How badly had you messed up? Super fucking badly. You could feel the terrible ache between your legs and also in the muscles of your thighs as you sat yourself down slowly, arms shaking as they gripped the armrests. They all reminded you of the sins you acted out the night before, with a man that wasn’t even your own husband.

You winced at the thought, but felt your skin burn at the memory. Your mind denied how you felt but your body deceived you, and hummed happily at the flashbacks.

This wasn’t an ideal situation, not for your sake anyway. You had priorities, an excellent career, constant work and… a husband. A husband you hadn’t seen in a few weeks due to working away from him. He was working as well, somewhere in the outer rim where trouble was boiling and he had to take care of it.

You felt the guilt, it was cold and unforgivable. You deserved to feel this way; ashamed, dirty, and disloyal. You broke your marriage vows the moment your lips crashed against another pair that wasn’t your husbands. You could still taste the liquor ghosting on your tongue as you remembered how those lips tasted. You could still smell that musky smell on your clothes, even though they were fresh on.

Maybe it would be a good idea if you just forgot about it. Never ever think about it again and focus on your career and try and fix your marriage with your husband. But lying to him didn’t seem like a good idea either, so what could you do? You couldn’t tell him, god no.

But it wasn’t your fault, right? Your marriage was already falling apart, your husband never made any efforts to see you and also never tried to pursue a physical relationship with you. The only time it ever happened was on your wedding night, after that it was non existent. Maybe you were trying to make excuses for yourself, but you craved to be desired and lusted after. You fantasied about someone wanting you just as much as you wanted them, and making you feel loved and cared for. But in reality you never got any of it, you were just an accessory.

Which is ultimately why you done what you did. You ended up in the outlander for some piece and quiet, minding your own business and sipping on some spotchka to clear your head.

That’s when he showed up. A man you could only assume was a soldier, dressed in red and black armour, approached you at the bar with a charming smile and a flirtatious sparkle in his dark eyes. He had intention when he introduced himself and then asked for your name, ordering another spotchka for you and one for him. You were surprised he didn’t know you, especially if he worked for the GAR, but you saw it as an advantage.

You introduced yourself and talked with him for hours after, flirting back and forth and realising this was more than just a simple face at the bar. He was intelligent, witty, exceptionally charming, and charismatic. He was everything you wanted in someone, and he made your heart flutter even just by looking at you. There was electricity when he touched your hand with his and asked if you wanted to leave with him. You couldn’t deny him, for you wanted the same thing.

So he stayed the night in your apartment nearby the senate, tangled with you for hours on end and making you feel pleasure in ways you’ve never felt before. He was kind enough to stay the morning after - this morning - and wake you with kisses. You felt euphoric as you woke, wrapping your arms around him and kissing him back. Maybe it was you being in the moment, or maybe it was actually happening, but you felt affection for the man who you spent the night with.

Now his name is all you can think of as you sit pitifully in your chair.

Hunter. Sergeant Hunter of clone force 99. The name you were crying out many times the night before plagued your mind as you tried paying attention to the senate negotiations. They just began, meaning you had to take the stand soon and involve yourself in the discussion before people got suspicious.

You cleared your throat, adjusting the collar of your senator dress which done no justice for your body heat. The dress was a tight fit but it was modest, covering up your chest and any other assets which made you look rather appropriate. You always tried looking your best for the senate, even after you got no sleep the night before and covered up the bags under your eyes with makeup.

But clearly that wasn’t enough, the looks you received told you otherwise. You just wanted to shrink up and hide, but your position made it impossible to do so. Your limbs felt like jelly, your head hurt, and you were in no shape to take the stand. You could barely maintain attention to the topics being discussed, never mind taking the stand.

As you continued grumbling to yourself, the distant echo of a familiar voice tore you from your thoughts; Padme Amidala. Probably the only other Senator you could fully trust and never have any issues with. You knew Padme back when she was a Princess, you were 10 years older than her and a mentor to assist her studies. Now a days, the two of you always managed to meet up whenever a senate was about to take place, so this was her visiting you now.

Fixing yourself up, you turned around in your seat and found Padme approaching your pod, clearly she was talking to someone. You didn’t bother to check who it was and stood up from your chair, smiling wide as she turned to look at you. Padme walked up to you with her arms open and invited you in for a warm embrace, her chin resting on your shoulder as she hugged you tight.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Senator (Y/N)” Padme greeted kindly, patting you on the back before pulling away and taking your hands in hers. “You as well, Padme, have you brought company?” You asked curiously, raising a brow as you tried taking a peek at who was outside of the pod. Padme chuckled and nodded her head.

“A clone sergeant, he and his squad are assigned here to do a safety check before the negotiations lift off, so I gave him a tour” The younger Senator spoke cheerily, her hands squeezing yours delicately as she glowed with sincerity. Padme always had a good heart, she never changed.

“How generous of you, although i expect nothing less from a woman such as yourself. May I meet him?” You asked politely, keeping one of your hands in Padme’s whereas the other was behind your back. She nodded excitedly and tugged on your hand to lead you out of the pod, turning her attention to behind her as she walked out with you near.

“Sergeant Hunter, I’d like you to meet my old friend, Lady (Y/N) Verbenti” Padme gestured to a figure standing outside of the pod and inside the circular corridors in the shape of the Senate building. You looked up with a frown on your face, mishearing the name that slipped from Padme’s lips, but the moment you saw that red and black armour, you knew it had to be him. Out of all the people, out of all the clones, it had to be him. It had to be his squad that were assigned to this mission. God, you really fucked up.

At first you said nothing, staring right into the Sergeants helmet which stared right back at you. You felt a lump form in your throat, a cold sweat sweeping over the length of your body as you regained your posture and pulled up a smile.

“Pleasure to meet you, trooper” You swallowed thickly, struggling to keep up the kind and naive facade as you bowed your head slightly and waited for his response. Hunter, stiff as a stick, cleared his throat and sent you a short nod of regard, standing straighter than before and keeping his chin up.

“Pleasures all mine, my Lady” His voice was just as you remembered it from this morning, deep and gruff, but it was modified by the vocoder in his helmet. You felt a shiver sneak down your spine as you heard him speak, but thankfully it wasn’t visible to Padme who was happy that the two of you met, blissfully unaware about what was happening.

“Now that you two have met, I’ll continue my tour, it was lovely seeing you” Padme reached over and gave you a kiss on the cheek, which seemed to snap you out of your trance and send her an awkward smile.

“You too, Pads” You patted her shoulder and bid her a short farewell, before she walked away and not noticing the elongated moment between you and the clone.

Hunter looked at you a moment longer, his body still tense as he processed that it was really you standing in front of him. Just as he was about to speak, you raised a hand to your lips and shook your head, immediately shutting him up.

“We don’t have time to talk, I’m afraid” You sighed, lowering your hand from your lips and fiddling with the lace seam of your dress.

“Later, then?” The sergeant suggested in a gravelly voice, and all you could do was nod. Hunter walked past you, but you didn’t look away from him. Your gaze followed him and he looked back at you a few times before catching up with Padme and covering up any signs of disappearing.

You sucked in a deep breath and exhaled quickly, holding your face in your hands as you tried hiding the tears that were quickly developing under your fingertips. This wasn’t an appropriate time to cry, you still needed to attend the Senate negotiations and place your input, but right now you needed to find a nearby bathroom and fix yourself up.

[hobiiwan]

mirror • cpt. rex

pairing: captain rex x gn!reader

warnings: post-order 66 angst, hurt-comfort but i thrive in the hurt

w/c: 1.6k

notes: i'm back with lots and lots of feelings bc i've been ghosted and it's 5 am so i should probably sleep but i hope you enjoy :D

lovely gif credit to @pieklalat!

Framed by distant moons and even further stars, the night sky never seemed more vast. If you closed your eyes, it didn’t take much to picture a Republic Star Destroyer slicing through the atmosphere of the moon whose gravity became inescapable, with you in it.

Glancing over your shoulder at where Rex had made camp for the evening, you could tell he was thinking it too. Though his eyes were closed, it was clear as watching a holofilm; reliving the searing heat of plasma bolts, shot from the blasters of his brothers, the ones he had served beside for years—the same ones he had buried just hours prior.

It felt as though there was a vice wrapped in a deadlock around your heart, constricting your chest until it threatened to collapse in on itself. You exhale sharply, willing yourself to push past the hollow ache of the now-dulled Force connection, the flashing faces of the clones and Jedi who had perished under the Order—the fear they had felt in their final moments. It was now your fear that you would never escape it.

The price of surviving the command settles atop your shoulders, making a home. A bitter, weighted reminder that you are here, alive, when you shouldn’t be—when you aren’t supposed to be.

You collapse onto the ground next to Rex, which pulls him back to the present. His eyelids flutter as he blinks slowly, once at you, then back up to the stretching expanse of the inky black overhead. He lets out a sigh, leaning up on his shoulders to cast a weary glance at his surroundings. “How long was I out?” He questions.

You reply with a thoughtful hum, “Not long. You need the rest, anyway.” It’s true. The day’s events have undoubtedly taken its toll on the both of you. But how does one go about resting after being hunted to the death?

“I’ll take first watch. Get some sleep, cyare.” He says, now sitting upright and then you know there’s no point in fighting it. You both need rest, but with the way Rex’s frame is pulled tense as a bow, his hand twitching ever-so-slightly towards his blaster, you know there’s no way he’d rest easy.

So, you offer him a victory, albeit a minute one. You pull his unarmed hand into yours and close your eyes, feeling the way he lets out a shaky breath, releasing some tension along with it. A victory—you’re still here with him.

Neither of you can be certain how long you stay that way. The low croon emitting from the transceiver is the only sign that time actually passes. Neither of you complain about the noise, either. It didn’t need to be said that the silence—this silence, was much too loud.

You do try to sleep, Rex gives you credit for that. Though, after turning for the fifth time (he counts) you give up and sit up beside him. He’s got his knees pressed to his chest, one hand curled tight around his blaster. In his other, his thumb rubs circles against the back of your hand. The answer to whether it soothes you or himself doesn’t matter.

Wordlessly, your head lowers to his shoulder, propped gently against the curve of muscle.

“Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a singer?” You murmur, glancing at the transceiver. You don’t recognise the singer on broadcast, though you do take note of the melody, slow and mellow.

Rex watches as you even try to hum along, as offbeat as you are.

“No,” he huffs something short of a chuckle, “you didn’t.”

He knows what you’re trying to do, sees it clear as day. Yet, as he watches your feet tap to the tempo of the ballad, he can’t stop himself from humouring your attempt to comfort him.

You nod eagerly, eyes widening as if to express your candor. “I was about to be one, too! Then the Jedi came and…”

Rex waits as you trail off, then clocks the far-off look in your eyes. He picks up where you left off. “Would you sing for me now?”

You return in a split second, your lips pulling into a bashful smile as you avoid his eyes. “I’m definitely rusty by now, I don’t want you losing your hearing because of me.”

The Captain nudges you teasingly, grinning when you break into soft laughter. “It would be an honour, though,” he quips.

He wonders how much of you has been hidden behind the mantle of a Jedi’s title. Who would you have been had you not been brought into the Order, raised from young to be one thing, and one thing only? Who would he be?

Once again, Rex is dragged out of his thoughts. This time, you’re tugging him to his feet. It takes an effort and a half, which you currently lack in your fatigued state.

As he looks up at you questioningly, you motion to the transceiver, dropping his hand to raise the volume. It’s enough to provide a comfortable backdrop instead of a desperate attempt to quell silence.

“Dance with me,” you propose softly, “please?”

“I don’t know how to, mesh’la.”

As if pointedly ignoring his feeble protest, your hand remains outstretched, beckoning his participation.

Maker, he’s only ever seen couples dancing on holofilms and is even more certain he has two left feet. But gazing up at your expectant self is like looking at a promise of escaping the sorrow he now knows as reality.

Really, it’s all up to him.

Rex swears he feels three times lighter from the way you beam in delight when he fits his palm into your smaller ones and helps you lift him to full height.

He stands awkwardly, clueless as to where his hands should go, how he should move. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Below him, you soften at the uncertainty tainting his features. Taking mercy on the poor man, you lift a hand to cup his cheek, garnering his attention.

“Put your hands on my waist,” you murmur, eyes twinkling when Rex’s hands fly up to root himself to you. Your own arms loop behind his neck and he takes it as a sign to pull you into his chest, no stranger to the position.

“and now we sway.”

Such a simple command, yet Rex feels like a fish out of water. His limbs are stiff, like the serenity of the movement is a stranger. To an extent, it is.

When you take over, moving him to the beat instead, he gratefully surrenders, allowing himself a moment of tranquility.

The only sounds that reach him become the silky notes of the singer and your soft, steady breaths. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend to be in a distant galaxy, where he is not a clone and you are not a Jedi, where the war is nothing more than a brash concept and his brothers are alive and well.

Rex doesn’t realise he’s crying until your thumb smooths away a tear rolling down his face. His eyes stay closed as he wills himself to keep pretending, but he can’t.

He is still a clone but you are no longer a Jedi. His brothers are gone.

You hold him when he finally breaks, cradling his head close when his shoulders tremble with the force of his sobs. His tears soak into the collar of your singed robes, but you truly can’t find the will to care—not when the man you love is falling apart, barely held together by the threads of your embrace.

“It wasn’t them,” he chokes, shaking his head, a wretched attempt to convince himself, “—it couldn’t be.”

At that, you’re positive your heart shatters. Stars, he doesn’t deserve this. You wish with all your might to take the pain away, to rewind every clock in the galaxy and then the next, but all you can do is watch.

“It wasn’t,” you nod, lowering your forehead to press against his, “not the real them. You know they loved you.” And by the Maker, you know.

Rex’s hands clutch tightly at your robes, as if letting go of that would mean letting go of you. The last tether to what is now his past, his only constant.

What if you hadn’t made it off the ship? What if Ahsoka hadn’t gotten the chip out of him in time? What if he had hurt you?

He briefly registers your voice calling his name, cutting through the despondent scenarios that could have, by any deciding factor, become his present.

“Rex, my love,” you plead, “please look at me.”

When he raises his eyes, he finds that yours are a mirror of his own. The anguish that parallels his agony. He feels you, your presence. He’s never understood much about the Force, but he thinks this is pretty damn close.

“I’m here,” you whisper. The promise of those two words anchor you both. “‘M not going anywhere.”

You mean it. If you believed it before, there was no chance in any star in the galaxy that anyone would be able to tear you away from him now.

For the current moment, you weren’t sure if there was a place to go, even if you wanted. Less than twenty four hours ago, you had been anticipating the end of the Clone Wars. Now, it feels like you’ve been thrown onto the losing side.

“What do we do now?” Rex asks, but you both know there isn’t an answer. There’s no precedent to go off of.

Two of the finest leaders in the GAR and the Jedi Order are lost, with no one left to follow them.

There’s nothing to do but move on.

“We keep living,” you say with a heavy sigh, burying your face into the crook of Rex’s neck, “we live for them. We’ll find a way.”

You always do.

[crispyjenkins]

Rexobi. I really just wanna see Rex and Obi-wan drinking together and complaining about the disaster that is Anakin Skywalker. They decide to team up to get anakin to calm the heck down and to talk about his feelings. Anakin doesn’t realize what’s going on but gets the idea he needs to play matchmaker with his master and his captain. He thinks he’s the smart one but he’s really not

(i have once again chickened out of your full prompt and instead give you the leadup to rexobi getting anakin to talk about his feelings. 

i uhhh may be unable to think of anything but a rexobi au à la this post by @norcumii and @dharmaavocado about roleswap-ish senior padawan obi hella vibing with this mutant clone that can’t get above the rank of captain even as an arc trooper because the kaminoans are Like That, and qui-gon is going spare, because between anakin somehow being allowed to be in charge of a whole battalion and obi-wan picking fights with every single seperatist leader, he and cody never get a moment of peace. and like. just obi and rex being dumbass 20 year olds trying to deal with a general/master like anakin in the middle of a war. i don’t have TIME for that though

thank you for the prompt as always, i think this is the only rexobi/obex prompt i’ve ever gotten and this ship is criminally underappreciated. like?? kadavo?? anyways here’s whatever this is)

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 Not for the first time, Rex wishes Kote were the one here dealing with this, because “how to comfort your favorite Jedi” hadn’t exactly been covered in ARC training – actually, Alpha probably withheld the information on purpose, the fucker.

  But Kote is on the other side of the galaxy with the 187th and just as upset they’re not here in Rex’s stead: it’s barely a month off General Kenobi returning to his own face, and Rex knows his vod would strangle the entire Senate if given even half a chance for deploying them separately on their general’s first mission back after the Hardeen... incident. 

  And Fett’s Ghost knows Rex’s own general is going to pitch a fit when he finds out Rex is here instead of taking leave like the rest of the 501st, but Kote certainly wasn’t about to let Kenobi go all the way to Alderaan unguarded so soon after his supposed death; and honestly, Rex would have been offended if they had asked anybody else to do it. Thankfully, Kenobi hadn’t seemed offended when Rex had shown up at the Jedi Temple’s flight hangar before he could take off; instead, he had been rather amused. 

  Even luckier, Alderaan is barely a day’s jump from Coruscant, so they don’t have to spend too much time awkwardly pretending that Rex hadn’t attended the man’s funeral in Kote's place (that he would have attended anyways), or that Rex doesn’t know Anakin hasn’t spoken to his former master since their debrief to the High Council about Cad Bane. Which Rex should absolutely not know in the first place, but Anakin is his friend, for better or for worse, and Ahsoka thinks her master airs far too many of his grievances to his captain.

  It isn't until their cruiser is making the descent over Alderaan that Kenobi finally addresses the tension between them, which only proves that Kenobi is well aware of it, but had put it off as long as he could. It's a humanising observation, that Rex wishes he could have had when he isn't the only vod in a ten mile radius that isn't the pilot, because at least then he wouldn't be the sole receiver of the soft smile Kenobi gives him as he joins Rex to wait by the shuttle's access hatch.

  Rex thanks his progenitor's laughing corpse he has his bucket on, because all he can do is stare. 

  "You are worried about Anakin," Kenobi says matter of factly, though not unkindly, and Rex lets out a breath that's almost a laugh. 

  "I promise I am far more discrete with my thoughts in the field, sir."

  Kenobi chuckles warmly, tucking his arms behind his back to watch the planet under them grow larger as they approach. "Do try not to worry so much, my dear, this will all resolve itself in time." 

  It's hard to stare right at his gentle assuredness, so Rex looks away. "You have far more faith in his ability to forgive than I, sir."

  That laugh strains at the edges. "Yes, well, I'm afraid some of my lessons seem to have been... lacking."

  Rex has regs carbon-printed on his brain, he knows that even without the direct chain of command, the soft push and pull of his relationship with Kenobi, the steady, serene growth of it, is... problematic, for so many reasons that he wouldn't know where to start. Not least of all is rank, how much more important a Jedi is than a replaceable CC-track washout, but, well, Rex had washed out for being too emotional, so it's not as if he's exactly unused to reacting to things inappropriately for a good little soldier.

  "It's not my place, sir," he murmurs, remembering Kadavo, remembering Umbara, remembering the hand Kenobi had laid on his shoulder for far too long after the Blue Shadow virus, and has Rex really been this gone since then? "just say the word and I won't mention it again. But just because Kote isn't here doesn't mean you have to... shoulder all of this alone."

  In fact, it's wildly not his place to make such an offer, however implicit, but that month on Kadavo did happen, and Rex isn't so self-deprecating to believe he  hadn't had a heavy hand in helping Kenobi make it out on the other side as well as he did. He doesn't think so little of the bond they had formed then, to believe that Obi-Wan is unaware of it. 

  Not when he smiles at Rex like that, like he's a warm cup of caf after a week in the trenches, like Rex is... worthy of such sincere affection. 

  As the shuttle settles around them and the pilot announces their arrival over comm, Obi-Wan simply says, "I did not for a moment believe I was, my dear."

-

  "You and Rex seem close."

  Normally Obi-Wan can feel Anakin coming from an entire corridor away, but he also knows Quinlan has been teaching him a few Shadow tricks, so he isn't entirely surprised when Anakin appears at his elbow in the empty bridge looking like a smug necu.

  Aside from eating firstmeal with Kote in the mess, Obi-Wan hasn't even seen Rex today, much less interacted with him: as he understands it, Rex is trying to round up the remaining 501st shinies that are running around the Negotiator, so Obi-Wan really doesn't know where Anakin had gotten that notion. Recently, at least. 

  Anakin rolls his eyes and scoffs, leaning back on the railing next to him and crossing his arms. "Please, Master, even Snips has noticed."

  Obi-Wan refrains from telling him that anyone with a modicum more self-awareness than him has noticed. Be that as it may, "This is one of those times where I truly don't know what you're trying to say, my dear: I have been close with Rex since he was in the 212th."

  It isn't even an exaggeration, that there had been... something between them before Anakin whisked Rex away to his own battalion after his knighting, though back then it had been nothing more than friendship. If he recalls correctly, and he does, the cleanup of the Ryloth capitol had been the first time since then that they had worked closely, while Anakin had been on the ground with the locals and Mace had been with General Syndulla, and Obi-Wan had found he still quite enjoyed the way they worked together. Their time on Naboo combating the Blue Shadow virus had only endeared the captain more to him —he does remember a slip in propriety in his relief that Rex had been rescued safely with Padmé and Ahsoka, a hand left too long on the captain's shoulder until Kote had called him away— enough that Obi-Wan had been both relieved and horrified that it was Rex there to support him on Kadavo.

  "Cody said Rex was the one to go with you to Alderaan; you sure nothing 'happened' while you were there?" Anakin chuckles to himself like he's being incredibly clever, like there isn’t a hickey visible over the collar of his under tunic.

  Obi-Wan raises a brow slowly and refrains from rolling his eyes. "Despite what you may believe, Anakin, not everyone leaps into committed relationships after life-threatening situations." Not that Alderaan had been life-threatening, it had actually been as close to actual leave as Obi-Wan has had the entire war.

  "Please, it took Padmé and I ages to–" 

  Anakin seems to swallow his tongue, then, face rapidly going purple, and it really is a miracle the entire Republic doesn’t know about his marriage; the GAR certainly does.

  Sighing, Obi-Wan checks the chrono and decides it isn't too early for another cup of tea. "If you have a specific question about my relationship with Captain Rex, I do wish you’d be direct, my dear."

  Anakin splutters. "Relationship?!"

  "Great Maker, Anakin, you’re easier to spook than a half-starved blurrg." He pats Anakin’s arm, his sonbrother floundering for anything other than abject confoundment, as Obi-Wan turns away from the bridge to go locate both tea, and his commander to hopefully finalise their newest mission orders. "Don't worry," he calls over his shoulder, "I'll actually let you come to the wedding, unlike someone."

  Not that Obi-Wan has any such plans, Maker knows he and Rex have yet to address their feelings in the first place, but he'd be lying if part of him doesn't want to conspire with the captain in question —and perhaps Ahsoka— to see just how far they could take this before Anakin realises they're stringing him along. 

 Remarkably, Rex is waiting by Obi-Wan’s office with a flimsi cup of tea and a harried smile that promised quite the day chasing after shinies, and Obi-Wan decides conning his former apprentice can wait.

Mando’a: vod/e — “brother/s”, “comrade/s”, “sibling/s”, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brother/s”

[alderaani]

conceal don’t feel

Summary: Fox removes his helmet in front of Riyo for the first time, and she very much likes what she sees. | AO3 

Pairing: Foxiyo, no warnings.

A/N: I’m not even really sure where this came from, but it has been all my brain wanted to write for the past two days, so.......here she is.

Riyo knew what it was like to fall.

It was a rite of passage on Pantora to climb the cliffs outside the capital, the only high point disturbing the tarnished gleam of the marshlands for hundreds of miles. It usually took adolescents several tries to reach the top and Riyo had been no different, just one of many amongst the blue-and-purple sea of her peers. She’d been fifteen then, straddling the cusp of adulthood and desperate to prove herself. How funny, now, that she wanted to peel back a decade and tell that young girl to slow down, not rush, to cling on to her youth.

The day of her climbing she’d been so impatient, so sure that she would be among the first to reach the top. It had lasted as long as it took to leave the ground before all ambition had been wiped away, the world narrowing down to the tips of her fingers, the pads of her toes and the way she sought out crevices in which to place them. She wasn’t the first to fall, nor was she the last. The memory was sharp and clear, like the cold air near the top of the ridge, where the birds took flight from their nests and swirled, screaming, around their earthly intruders. She’d hesitated a beat too long, her fingers sliding on the slick rock, and then there had been the lurch of her stomach dropping out, the white noise of terror supernovaing inside her skull. The split second of free-fall, of feeling totally and utterly weightless, before gravity had set in. The sudden finality of the drop, of the way the air rushed through her horrifyingly empty fingers.

The ropes had caught her, of course, along with the eager, guiding hands of her friends, and before long she’d been stood on the peak, feeling the wind corral the backs of her legs and pull teasingly at her hair, victory surging in her gut. But the feeling had stayed with her - that long, eternal moment, like a drawn in breath.

It was the sort of thing most people didn’t experience twice. But now here she was, staring into Commander Fox’s face and stepping into free fall.

“Senator?” He was saying, his hands firm and solid on the curves of her shoulders. Her poncho had gone awry in the bomb blast that had shattered her windows and put the Senate into lockdown, and he pulled up the edges and tucked them round her almost absentmindedly. She shivered at the feeling of his gloved fingers brushing over her naked skin, despite the blunt efficiency of the touch.

“Senator Chuchi?” The commander repeated, his hands going tight. “Senator?”

When she didn’t reply, unable to do anything but stare, he released one of her shoulders in favour of putting his commlink to his mouth.

“I need a medic here stat. Think the Senator’s going into shock.”

That was enough for her to shake her head, feeling the scrape of her hair pieces against her scalp where they’d gone awry. Pulling some sort of composure together out of the rubble was harder, though she did her best seeing the worry in those brown eyes.

Was this always what he looked like under that helmet? Was there always so much feeling, fleeting and raw across his naked face? She was so used to having to parse out his emotions from the slant of his shoulders, the tight motions of his hands, the hard shape of his voice, that so much bare skin was almost overwhelming. 

“Sorry, Commander, I’m well,” she murmured. His eyes were a brown she’d seen literally a thousand times, but somehow were completely different. The full lashes, the little creases developing at the corners, the flecks of gold sitting bold at their centres. The hard, piercing gaze that was all Fox, breathtaking without his helmet in the way. It was almost worth the ruin her office had been turned into to have seen the strong line of his jaw, the soft streaks of grey hair developing at his temples. His lips looked chapped and raw, and a not-insignificant part of her wanted to touch them with her thumb. 

“Senator, you’ve been staring at me for five minutes,” Fox informed her flatly, voice deep and scratchy with a bass that the vocoder must usually filter out. “And - kriff, you’re bleeding.”

“What?” Riyo reached up to touch her face, then squeaked when Fox caught her wrist and reached into his utility belt for a tissue, which he used to dab at her hairline. There was a flash of pain as it came away dark, and the cold night air funnelling through the open window sharded against her bare skin, sending shivers wracking through her body.

“Oh,” she breathed, as Fox cursed and pressed the tissue back down. As he shifted she caught sight of a thin line of red beading on his cheekbone and tilted her head. “You’re bleeding too.”

“Just stay still, Senator,” Fox said, ignoring her comment in favour of glancing over his shoulder and shifting so that his body was between her and the door. His uncovered curls lifted as a fresh gust of wind blew in, his shoulders hunching. She saw him glance at his helmet more than once, resting by his feet with the visor shattered, and considered how odd this must be for him too as she let herself be manhandled away from the window to one of the plush green chairs in the corner, stained now and blackened with soot. 

“I’ve never seen your face before. It’s very nice,” she said before she could help it, fighting the urge to clap her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, or to phrase it like he’d picked it at a store. 

Usually she was so careful around the Commander, so choosy with what she said. Riyo had learned early on that blunter commentary would make Fox withdraw, turning him back into a professional pillar of plastoid and paint. Too many nights of him leading her escort back to her apartment had gone by in silence before she’d mastered the knack of weedling him into polite conversation, like luring a baby loth-cat into the open. 

She liked him - liked the way the harsh things seemed to roll impassively off his back, the way he turned to stone should anyone cross him or his brothers, the plainness of his feelings when you knew how to look. She didn’t know why she’d felt so compelled to learn his tells, and he hadn’t invited her in as much as she’d bothered to knock. Commenting on his face, bared without permission, felt much more like picking the lock and forcing entry to the tight facade he so carefully maintained.

It seemed to be a night for surprises, though. Fox just tilted his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You’ve seen several of the Guard, before, yes?”

Riyo nodded, then winced as it sent pain skittering down her neck. Fox noticed, of course, and moved one hand to support the base of her skull while he continued to press down on the wound. Now that he’d mentioned it she could feel the blood trails tickling as they dried down her cheek. 

“Then you have seen my face, Senator. I got the standard GAR issue, same as everyone else.”

She shook her head before she could think better of it, and realised suddenly that she was trembling, shivers wracking up her arms. Perhaps the Commander was onto something with his assertion of shock. 

“Now that’s not true at all,” she murmured, aware that she was setting herself up for another fall but unable to stop the words tumbling out. “Now that I know it, I’d recognise yours anywhere, Fox.” 

His brow crinkled, concern burning bright in those pretty eyes, and she realised, distantly and unable to care much, that she’d never called him by name before. Not without ‘Commander’ attached, at least. He raised his commlink again. 

“What the Sith-hells is taking so long, Oops? Get your shebs up to level fifty now,” he hissed, then pressed down firmly when she shifted again. “Please stay still.” 

“I’m cold,” Riyo said quietly, closing her eyes briefly until Fox made a low sound and shook her, just a little. 

“Come on Senator, keep talking to me. Are you sure there’s no medkit in here?” He asked.

Riyo gestured at the still-smouldering remains of her desk. “There was one in the third draw down.” 

Fox cursed, soft and sharp, and despite the cold and the way her head was swimming, it made her giggle. 

“Sorry Commander,” Came a panting, tinny voice. “I’m in the stairwell now, moving to your location. It’s chaos down here, ‘m gettin’ run over by half the karking Senate.” 

“Tell him corridor 847 is always empty,” Riyo murmured. “The maintenance tunnel half way down pops out just opposite my aide’s office.” 

Fox raised an eyebrow but dutifully relayed the message, getting a laugh and an affirmative from the medic on the other end. 

“Don’t give me that look,” she said, instantly regretting it when Fox’s expression shuttered. “No - I mean - you can laugh. I suppose it’s silly, but sometimes it’s the only way to avoid Senator Bronn. I climb in there with a datapad and pretend I’m out until he leaves. Courageous of me, isn’t it?” 

Fox’s forehead creased. “Is he giving you trouble?”

Riyo laughed weakly. “No, no, it’s very kind of you to worry, Commander. He just likes to talk too much and orders the worst food - some sort of delicacy from his home, I think, but they taste awful. And it would cause offence to refuse.”

There was a short pause before Fox’s lips stretched into a small grin, his head ducking as if to hide it from view. 

“So you hide in the maintenance halls?”

Riyo couldn’t help the answering smile that burst onto her face, even as her cheeks went hot. Their gazes met, and the jolt that ran through her was electric before she forced herself to look away. She swallowed thickly. 

“I’ve never liked confrontation,” she shrugged. “So where I can, I avoid it. Perhaps not the best trait in a Senator.”

Where Fox’s hand still cupped the back of her neck she felt the gentlest pressure, the quick sweep of a thumb against the dip of her spine. 

“Seems like we could sometimes do with more of that to me,” he said, voice soft but still amused. At this distance she could see the light stubble on his cheeks, a small scar on the bridge of his nose that had paled with time, the deep purple shadows ringing his eyes. 

Riyo stilled, lost again in the thrill of every little detail, and still hadn’t responded by the time they heard a thump and a yelp from outside the door. Fox rolled his eyes, but she could see the tension drain out of his shoulders.

“That’ll be Oops.” 

She smiled. “A promising name.”

Fox smirked. “He’s one of our best, Senator. I’ll let him in.” 

The cold rushed back in from the moment he let her go, but she could almost still feel the imprint of his hand on her skin, the weight of his eyes on her. Fox stood from where he’d been kneeling next to the chair, then turned to go to the blast door.

Riyo cleared her throat.

“Commander Fox?” 

He turned, the emergency lights slanting red over the bridge of his nose. 

“I meant it - what I said. You do have a pretty face. And I’d recognise it anywhere, GAR standard issue or not.” 

It seemed awfully important that he know, right now, before this moment ended, even though she couldn’t articulate why. She had to let him know that it mattered; that for however little it was worth, considering what she was and what the system she was part of made him do, she could see him. 

“I think that may be your head wound talking, Senator. But...thank you.”

He raised his hand towards the control panel, his head ducked, but as he pressed a button and the lights went green, Riyo could see the shy, bashful smile forming on his lips. 

She could only hope that he’d deem her worthy of that great privilege again.

taglist: @simping-for-fives @leias-left-hair-bun @nelba @iscream4clones @dom-i-nic @battletales | list here

[galacticgraffiti]

Hello dearest Gala 💛 it has been such a pleasure getting to read Veman’alor and I would love to hear your bonus feature director commentary about Boba and Alor’ika’s conversation about certain Mando’a terms at the end of Chapter 14.

Send me an ask to hear some director's commentary on any of my fics

First of all, I am so sorry it took me literal weeks to get to this, I've been a little overwhelmed. But now, let's dive into their relationship and my thoughts on it.

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The relevant excerpt:

“What does… there is this word you keep using. Well, not really a word. A root, I would assume. It’s in so many words you say and I never know what it means.” “What do you mean?” he squints. “When we first met, you called yourself… veman’alor. And then when Din came, you called him the Mand’alor. And last night, you called me alor’ika. Is that… are those words related? What do they mean? I can’t stop thinking about it. I have never heard any of these before, they’re not words that Intayc ever mentioned to me.” Boba is quiet for a while, his hands restlessly ghosting over your back while he stares into empty space. “You are right, cyare,” he finally says. “Alor is the common root. It means… something like ‘leader’. Djarin… he is the Mand’alorby right of victory. He won the darksabre in combat and so he is the leader of Manda’yaim, the planet you would call Mandalore. I am… I would be the rightful ruler by birth. Veman means- something like true, or real. Heritage does not matter as much in Mandalorian culture as it does in some monarchies. We have a saying… Gar taldin nayc jaon’yc; gar sa buir, ori'waadas'la.Skill in combat is most important in our culture, more important than bloodline. I could challenge Djarin for the throne of Mandalore, but I do not want it… for now. But of this planet right here, of Tatooine, I am the rightful ruler. I bested the old ruler in combat, even if he did not put up much of a fight. So that is my title. And you- should you accept your role as my… my riduur, you would become alo’riduur, the king’s wife. Until then, you are my alor’ika, my princess… ‘little leader’ is what it means literally. Does that answer your question?” “Oh.” You inhale this flood of information. Your heart stumbles when he says until then like it is a set thing, like it is inevitable that you shall be married. You want to ask him about it, but your cowardly heart won’t let you. “Thank you for explaining. That… that was more than I had hoped you would tell me.”

My (admittedly very ramble-y) commentary:

So, I while writing Chapter 14 realised that I had never actually had her ask what veman'alor meant, so she would not know exactly what the word implies. I kept on pushing the explanation back because it never seemed to fit the conversations I was devising. But I knew that I wanted to put some semblance of first 'I love yous' in the next chapter, so it felt important to discuss this before we went there.

Since there already was quite a bit of Mando'a in this chapter, I thought it would be a good point in time to bring this up. Also, to be honest, I just really fucking love that language and will seize any opportunity to talk about it.

I am assuming that most fans, though not all, will have heard/read the term 'Mand'alor' at least, but since the rest (specifically veman'alor and alor'ika, as well as alo'riduur for this chapter) are terms that I myself made up, I thought it would be fun to explain my thought process and the linguistics behind those decisions.

I don't know if it makes sense to have Alor'ika recognise the rootword - I know not everyone thinks about language as much as I do - but I indulged myself and let myself put that in, like a little piece of myself I was giving her.

I am so fascinated by language in general, and by Mando'a specifically because it ties so inherently to Mandalorian culture - like the kov'nyn, or the fact that 'loving' is expressed by kar'taylir darasuum, 'knowing forever', or the fact that we know the Mando'a word for Soldier (verd) and army (akaan'ade), but not the word for 'to ask' which arguably should be more common, but it is not - simply because of the culture. (Also not to go down a rabbit hole here, but akaan'ade itself is a fascinating word because it is a composite of akaan (war) and ade (children), so the Mando'a word for army literally means 'Children of War' which is as disturbing as it is fascinating.)

ANYWAYS as you can tell this scene was pretty much just as excuse for me to ramble about Mando'a and Mandalorian culture. I did think it would fit, especially in the context of Alor'ika wanting to know more about Boba and where it comes from. And I think it signifies that he trusts her - he teaches her about his mothertongue and thus about his culture. She, slowly but surely, is no longer an aruetii because Boba chooses to accept her into his life and to share parts of himself he probably has never shared before.

Finally, I felt like, at some point, I should at least mention marriage so it would not seem completely out of the blue once I finally got around to it, because in my head, that was always the general direction. Boba, to me, seems like a man of tradition as well as slightly possessive. So I thought once he finally realised he was indeed in love, he would like to make it official.

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Very sneakily adding some folks who may be interested in my weird little brain: @book-of-baba-fett @fivesarctrooper @rowansparrow @maygalodon @thefact0rygirl @djarrex @imtryingmybeskar @solidago-sempervirens @ashotofspotchka @milf-obi-wan-kenobi @ahoeformando @thesithformerlyknownaskenobi @maybege @corrabell @rescuethewretched

[shouldntcryoverit]

Repetition

Captain Rex x Reader

I’ve been so stressed with work and personal things so i haven’t really thought about writing - so i’m doing this, partly because it’s fun, but also because i feel bad for ghosting 💀 anyway hope everyone’s doing okay and my asks are open!! 💘💘💘

———————————————————————

Your head hurt as if it were buried under at least a feet of thick snow. It was the type of hurt that made your ears ring, and your body ache and groan in harmless melody with that of the rising sun that made it creak each morning. Your eyes felt eternally heavy and cheeks almost sullen. The life had been drained out of you; and you were watching it with minimal interest as it danced in front of you like a puppet on strings, smiling only once or twice at the playful apparition.

It didn’t take long for the sun that pooled through your open window to wake you, and when you did, you awoke with a bitter taste on your tongue. There was something perfectly serene about mornings, or at least there was now that the day was often filled with war and chaos. Perhaps it was the timely arrival of a new day: young and reborn, or maybe it was just the apricity of an oppressive sky. It was still true, except that serendipity hadn’t felt pure in such a long time, not since the camaraderie of the GAR soon grew bittersweet. The gruelling fact still stood; that once the sun settled strongly in the sky, and you’d showered and eaten, the blissful beauty of the morning would be instantly forgotten as it was no different than that of yesterday’s. Some things were meant to be forgotten, others relished and remembered. Too many things fell far into the depths of repetition, loosing their magic with each thoughtless example.

The routine that you followed was simple: wake, refresher, breakfast, work. It was simple and you liked it that way, but the blandness didn’t help the sour taste of the ache in your swollen mind. You were at the second step, though had taken a minute to find a missing item that you’d only just remembered to have misplaced. You found it under the sink, and after placing it back in it’s rightful place, felt yourself growing in even more discomfort. Did it have to stay there, or did you only make it? It stared at you and you sucked your teeth, undecided in it’s gaze. Maybe it was right; maybe you didn’t have to live in such binary.

The thought itself sparked your furrowed brows to lift slightly upon your face, and your body to spring up as if it hadn’t bloomed for each year’s harvest. You left your routine in bits torn up on your floor as you grabbed your jacket in the hallway and fled, out of the door, down the stairs and into the chaos that followed. It was as loud as it always was - but this time you didn’t grumble internally at how Coruscant needed better traffic systems, only smiled at how people did live in such disagreeable harmony.

It was a blur, the journey, slightly more exhilarating than what you were used to. The travelling in itself was short and sweet; you had done that on purpose, to be closer to something that was readily becoming something that would take up so much of your care and time. You never complained once about that specific element, in fact you saw it as a blessing to be a part of something so monumental. When you did arrive at the barracks and dropped the bag you’d forgotten to pack that morning down beside you on the floor with a flushed face, something was different. Amongst the familiar smells that welcomed you, and the chatter among clones that rose up and down as each clank of an engine sputtered, you realised what specifically was missing. An idea blessed your senses at the very smell that welcomed you; if everything else was so simple, why couldn’t that be too.

You knew he’d be somewhere, he always was, but finding the Captain of the 501st was sometimes an impossible feat. You ran and ran down hallways and darted in and out of rooms, waving haphazardly at the distantly recognisable people you stumbled across. Your fast walk grew into a light jog as adrenaline pumped through your veins, then it tumbled and dispersed into what could’ve been a sprint!

It hit you like a brick. Or he hit you actually. The plastoid chest that was now encroaching on your blinking vision was the reason for your dramatic stop, and as you rubbed the light pain away your eyes traipsed upwards to your obstacles’ face.

“I’m so sorry!” Rex laughed breathily. He took your elbows and guided you to a sturdier footing as you grumbled at the pain now diminishing.

It took you a minute to compose yourself, and when you did your cheeks reddened at the recollection of the last few minutes.

“Ack, don’t be. Good morning aswell.” Your humor was as dry as it always was, and Rex loved it just as he always did.

“Mornin’ huh? What’s got you runnin’ so fast?” His smile didn’t fade, and it even lasted long enough to wear off on you. The fluttering in your stomach returned after less than a second of his presence it was almost embarrassing.

“I- uh, I had a strange morning. I decided, well not really decided I had a thought and followed it- anyway I thought- I just- I wanted to see you?” Your babblings ended in a question - your real decision had been just as disarrayed.

The Captain tilted his head to left in confusion. “What?” He tired, another breathy laugh leaving his lips.

“I don’t want things to be so” you gestured furiously, before giving up and hand picking words instead “preordained! Everything’s black and white.”

You stopped talked and winced, you weren’t helping yourself at all at this point.

Rex remained confused, though his expression did change slightly to a more compassionate look than judgemental.

“I like you, Rex, and- and I want to be able to say that.”

Your admission made it difficult for you to meet his eyes, but when you did, he was smirking smugly.

“What?”

“Nothing” He grinned, “I just wanna know what happened this mornin’ that made your mind change up so fast.”

You couldn’t help yourself but chuckle at that; it had been eventful.

“C’mon, I’m hungry and it just so happens I like your company too.” He took your hand (though the joke in his tone made it hard to see it as a romantic gesture, however much you wanted to) and guided you to the canteen doorway.

You stopped and he turned at the change in your speed. You met his questioning eyes with bold ones.

“You know i meant it, I like you, Rex.”

“I do too.”

His smile was growing, as was the warmth in your heat. You returned your position by his side, and as you did he pressed a smiling kiss against your forehead, which you jokingly pushed off with a hearty laugh. A mature conversation could wait until after breakfast.

———————————————————————

I hope you liked this (likes n reblogs vv much appreciated!!) i’m honestly not sure what i was doing 😭 i had no plan this time oops! i haven’t proof read and i’m too tired to do so, so i’m just gonna hope this is actually worth anything 🥴💘

[hunterscoffee]

The Pain of Love

Oneshot Masterlist Boba Fett x Reader Warnings: Angst… and it unedited... Word Count: 689 A/N: I’m addicted to Boba Fett now...

"Cyar'ika," he mumbled, deep voice coated in sleep. You hummed in question as you turned in his arms to face him. He moved his face closer to yours, placing a gentle kiss on your nose. 

"What's the matter?" you whispered softly, eyes still closed as he pulled you closer to him, breathing in your warmth as you nestled your face into his neck, the muscles there pushing against your cheek. 

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum or'atu," he said, words spilling naturally from his lips. You sighed deeply in content. 

"Why do you say that every night? Even when we're fighting." you whispered into his neck, he shivered as your breath tickled him, you smiled at how wrapped around your finger he was. 

"Because I'm scared of tomorrow, losing you, leaving you in this world," you couldn't see it but tears threatened to spill down his cheeks at the thought of never seeing you again. 

"I promise I'm never going to leave," you slid your hand up to the nape of his neck, playing with the hair there as you pulled your face away from the crook of his neck. "But, you can't promise that I'll never lose you, we'll never know if they'll be an us tomorrow but that doesn't scare me because there was an us today and an us yesterday and an us the day before that and everyday there is an us is the best day of my life. You might leave me forever and I'll miss you more than you'll ever know, but I'll be okay because you'll be with me in my memories and dreams."

"I love you so much," his grip around you turned impossibly tighter, "I promise to try my hardest to come home to you no matter what." 

"That's all I need," you murmured, pressing a shallow kiss to his lips, the weight of sleep still heavy on you. 

He left you. And it felt worse than you had ever thought it would, you cried every day, barely having energy to leave your bed. The bed was the worst reminder of his death, his spot still smelt like him, but it was cold, you wore his clothes around your house, wanted to feel him for as long as you possibly could. You didn't dare sleep in his spot out of fear that as soon as you did it would make his demise real. You only left the house for the market place when you were low on food, every single time you expected him to miraculously be sitting at the table, or napping on the couch, some terrible radio station playing. You had just come back from a trip to the market. You stuck your keys in the door but it just swung open before you could unlock it, causing you to bite your lower lip and draw the blaster you kept on you ‘just in case’ from one of the bags. You left the shopping at the door as you poked the gun through the crack between the door and its frame, then slowly opened it until your eyes met with him.

“Put the blaster down, little one,” it was his voice too.

“Maker, Boba?” you huffed, eyes filling with tears of happiness, scars covered his face, the hair you loved running your fingers through was gone, but it was him and you’d love him no matter what he looked like.

“Hey Cyar'ika,” he smiled that smile that made your heart melt, and it was all it took for you to throw yourself at him. Needing to feel him, touch him to make sure he was real. He closed his arms around you and you took a deep breath, trying to inhale his scent.

“I lied,” you whispered into his neck, “living without you is hell.”

“I’m so sorry I left you,” you felt something wet hit your cheek and you realised he was crying. You pulled him closer, hand moving to the nape of his neck, fingers ghosting over where his hair used to be.

“I love you so much,” you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to savor this moment as best as you could.

[the-starry-seas]

I'mma be greedy and ask if I could know more about "I'm what's left when children go to war" because fuck that's a great title...

yeah it's the perfect name for a clone fic innit?

so I have an OC group of clones called Ghost Squad. lieutenant Harlow and two shinies were the only ones left out of their entire battalion after the worst deployment in the war, and none of them were handling it well! the shinies had a mental breakdown and decided to run away from the GAR. Harlow realised that they would never make it on their own and whisked them away.

along the way they realise that there's a lot of clones out there who went missing or were believed to be killed in action, and set out on a mission to find them. they call themselves Ghost Squad because they ghosted the army.

finding the other clones is a long, hazardous, emotionally draining journey. but at the end of it, there's eight clones forming a core group that goes out on search-and-rescue. they bring dozens of clones home to a remote location in the Outer Rim, on a planet covered in forests, lakes, and places to build an autonomous retirement community. they call it Sanctuary.

i'm what's left when children go to war is the story of the core squad finding each other, the place that will eventually become Sanctuary, and the nearby Mandalorian clan who help them build their home and readopts some of the Ghosts back into the culture they were raised in. it's a very intriguing time for all involved (clones have just as much of a competency kink as Mandos do, as it turns out).

there is quite a lot of trauma and struggle and hardship in this one, and a lot of realisations that they came to rescue a brother too late. but there's also a reunion between batchmates that makes everyone cry, and a happy ending! and a really adorable wedding.

the title is from Pray by The Amazing Devil btw!

[vod-ika]

Clones; A Sociologic Rant

I’m pretty sure I could base a whole sociologic thesis off of this show I have so many thoughts this is LONG.

So the fascinating thing about clones is that over and over it’s emphasised in show that they are considered property/cannon fodder/disposable, and at the same time it’s shown that they understand that claim, and still go so far out of their way to control some kind of their own independence.

I occasionally have a hard time separating show and fanfiction (fuck canon it’s my world now) but even in show, the allusions to modern militaries, the decorating of armor, the personalisations such as accents, names, and specific groups (Domino Squad) all point to an entirely unmitigated, completely developed culture inside the Republic. So this is basically a list of things I’ve seen, wondered about, or headcanoned in TCW.

- I would just LOVE to sit down with Filoni or Lucas and a sociologist and just Talk about how, if this army was real, what all would the Kaminoan’s have programmed in their heads (mental stability, coping mechanisms, stamina, self-preservation instinct, etc,) and how would it work in real-time, on and off the battlefield. What kind of programming went on in those eight to ten developmental years that ensured that loyalty was innate, the knowledge of property was omnipresent, and that they believed they weren’t allowed to own anything? What did they do to them to make sure that they would never want to form an uprising???

- “We are only as good as our weakest link” is repeated in team events endlessly, something that can extend to both skill and health. How deeply engrained are checkups, both mental and physical? I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that day in and day out clones, regardless of rank, are able to listen to and watch brothers die and Not have that affect them.

- Were they programmed with “protect the Jedi” in mind, or was it just, “bam. here is your CO, they outrank you so you have to respect/protect them?”,  and then one of them jumped off a building with no armor and their captain had a heart attack? With the whole “Jedi were peacekeepers now they’re generals” thing I feel like the Senate just took two pieces of a puzzle that don’t actually go together but fit anyways and shoved them together and now they’re just kinda staring at each other like “the fuk u doin here”

- HEALTH. IS SO. IMPORTANT. When you know that any injury severe enough or illness overlooked long enough could result in you being swiftly and carelessly replaced by someone who looks Exactly like you, how much more of an emphasis is put on health, bodily wellbeing, and injury prevention? Clones are human, and while they’re very highly trained, strong humans, they’re still human and skin is skin. (Applying real logic to a cartoon) Seeing clones in things like explosions that they potentially survive, but lose a limb or two always made me sad because, to The Republic/The GAR/ Kamino, what good is a crippled clone? To Kaminoans, their life’s purpose is over and you might as well treat them as a lame horse. Fuck Kamino.

- I just realised something. When most modern soldiers deploy, they deploy with the intent to eventually be replaced because they have served their time wherever they are, and are being replaced by a new wave of soldiers. Clones deploy with the intent to die and be replaced until the battle is won.

- When Marines or Infantrymen or Sailors ship out, they always have duffel bags or those gigantic green laundry bag stuffed with clothes and personal items. Now, we know that clones collect personal items, and assumedly have multiple pairs of blacks (or no sweat glands) but I have yet to see any kind of carrying devices other than crates and small backpacks like for small Hutt babies or explosives. Do they have to leave everything behind when they’re op-hopping to their next planet? Are there barracks left behind that hold the ghosts of personal blankets and magazine clippings? Or is there a mountain of green laundry bags just off-camera?

- Naming culture, good god. So, you’re fresh out of boot, and you’ve got your number still. You’re like, “dope. I’m CT-1234. I’m a GAR mortarman. Go time.” Then, some dickhead is like, nah you’re called Sparkles now lets go prank Gogo and Jazz. Naming is WILD, and I’m mostly drawing from fanfiction for this. Either you’re named for some major or heroic or kickass reason like Tracer or Wolffe or Fireball, or you’re named for the most mundane thing like your number ends with 22, so you’re Twos or there are checkers on your armor so now you’re Check. either way it is a personal choice that Specifically defies the number they were assigned at decanting. Even Dogma had one for fucks sake.

- Painting armor. You know that time had to be taken to sit quietly and detail on that eel, or those lines, or that decal. Did it do anything to better the Republic? Did it win any battles or save any precious Jedi? No, but it happened anyways. People like to discuss why we play video games; there’s no societal, familial, or interpersonal benefit, only benefit to the one playing. There’s no societal, familial, or interpersonal benefit to painting armor, only benefit to the one painting. Fuck Kamino. 

- Vocal inflections! The places they’re deployed affecting their speech patterns! I personally have a wild mashup of regional American accents because of the time I’ve spent traipsing, so how does being deployed planet after planet affect clone speech patterns??? Who rolls their r’s and who doesn’t? Are there transfers from other battalions whose accents are indiscernible because of where they were last deployed? Or ones who just have a whole additional vocabulary of local language? I’m three states away and the Louisiana accent blows my mind. Imagine that, but a whole fucking star system away???

- LINGO. Military lingo, planetary lingo (see above), sign language etc. give me different forms of communication outside Basic, used in both the formal and informal settings. (name calling in ASL/BSL during a briefing, talking about shinies in front of their faces in a language they don’t yet understand, talking about Jedi in front of their faces in a language they don’t understand.) Clones are told all that they are is property but damn if that property isn’t going to be able to talk shit about you to your face.

- To add on... Mando’a???? Is it innate? Is it learned? Did Jango Fett personally sit every clone ever down and teach them how to say Cat and Dog and Yes and No? Does every clone know it, or only those who sought it out? Literally it’s the most impersonal personal thing. “You, a thing who was made for combat, who looks exactly like millions of others, know one language of BILLIONS in the galaxy, purely because the man whose hair we based your genetic makeup off of knows it.” like WHAT

- HELMETS. BEING. SO. VERY. PERSONAL. Everything you see, speak, hear, smell is filtered through that bucket on your head. Are HUDs customisable? Is wearing or touching someone else’s bucket a no-no? Who’s watching telenovelas on guard duty?

- Speaking OF helmets: When your waking hours are constantly covered by your bucket, how do bodily “tells” betray what your face can’t? People acclimate. How common is it to be able to read your brother’s emotions like a fucking book based purely on how squared his hip is in parade rest, or which shoulder is higher than the other at attention?

- Or even just armor. Dude, that is literally the only thing between their skin and certain death by laser bolt. You ever talked to an athlete? And how picky they are about what cleats they wear or what goggles they use, or what percentage Gatorade their water is? We’re incorrigible. Imagine that, but the choice made results in how mobile you are, or how much laser to the shoulder you can stand.

- Time is so fucking short and they all must know that. I think I’ve used the line, “the average lifespan of a clone is measured in months, not years,” and boy does that fucking hit. How do you handle life when you were made to be snuffed out by it?

To conclude, I have many thoughts about the minute details of a working army that is comprised of identical people created, raised, and sent off to die for a war they didn’t start. Sounds a little ridiculous when you say it out loud, but between the show itself, fanart, and fucking fanfiction, it’s a little hard not to attribute human nuances to the show that exemplified my childhood. I’m an adult and it is my very highly specifically adult choice to psychoanalyse this show, and you can bet I’ll throw hands with Disney at any time.

“When my creator cares not how I face death, only that it is for them, how do I use the time death allows me? Cruel is my maker to have given me eyes to see and ears to hear the world, but denied me the chance to explore it. I can only hope that those who follow see what I could not, and that eventually a painting of all the world will be born through the eyes of the many.”

[libradusk]

Utterly Devoted | Kix

Word Count: 4,370

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x Reader

Summary: You and Kix demonstrate to each other just how deep your devotion lies

Warnings: Explicit smut, tender sex with lots of feeeeeelings because I’ve made this man suffer through the previous chapter, eating pussy as a thank you gift because why the fuck not is there really a better way to start your morning when you’re stuck in the middle of a shitty war, some soft pillow talk to top it all off.

a/n: This is a belated bday gift to @morganas-pendragons​! Hope you enjoy the Kix pipe hehe

Its also a continuation from this chapter of my Touch Starved series, consider this the smutty sequel that touches on some of the events that happened the night before.

Tagging: @thatonesakudere​, @kaminobiwan​ and @simping-for-fives​ (Send me a message if you wanna be tagged in any of my future fics!)

The first thing you notice when you awaken is how groggy you feel, it's as if there is a solid weight pressed against your body and mind, it fights with your half-delirious state of being in an attempt to drag you back down to slumber.

The second thing that dawns on you is that you are not dreaming and there is indeed a heavy weight slung over your chest, but his name is Kix, and he’s currently snoring into your shoulder with the rest of him draped around you like a loth-cat in a sunbeam. He’s also currently dominating the majority of the bed space, which was cramped to begin with, yet you can’t help but smile and relent into the warmth he offers with little more than a roll of your eyes that he won’t see.

It's just nice to see him so peaceful. You can’t confidently recall the last time you had seen him with anything less than a crease to his brow, and a sleep-deprived scowl poisoning his handsome face in the rare moments he allowed his composure to slip. This is nice, it's warm and safe and feels like home for you both despite the hell you had both endured barely a full 10 hours earlier. You’re determined to grasp onto this ribbon of tranquillity for as long as the galaxy permits you to.

The buckling pain that bites down your side when you twist too suddenly to get a better look at him is a painful reminder of that. You force it down in order to run a gentle touch over his cheekbone as he too begins to stir awake, as if the bond you have forged has demanded that he too be pulled from his slumber to meet the morning air alongside you. Two violet rings of exhaustion circle under his eyes as they flutter open to meet your own. Your fingers glide to brush against the one decorating his left socket on impulse. It takes a moment for him to swallow down his disorientation before his vision focuses completely. You note the spark of confusion that flashes across his expression before it dawns on him that no, this isn’t a dream and yes - you are settled in his arms in the same position you had been the previous night when he had curled into your chest until his tears had ceased soaking your shirt’s fabric.

There's a hint of shame that trickles into those tired eyes then and you smile openly in the hope that it will quash any guilt squirming in his gut before it forces him to voice it. 

“Good morning, my love.” The sound of your voice is soft and still swaddled with drowsiness. It still manages to pull the corners of his own lips into a sleepy smile, and there's a twinkle in his honey-coloured gaze as his eyes open wider now. The sight of it settles oddly in your stomach, it's the first time he’s looked like himself in a while, the realisation of that fact hurts a little, but you try to focus on the happiness that bubbles alongside it instead.

You’re both alive and you’re together - you’re lucky in so many ways to be squashed into this tiny GAR-issued cot with the man you love. It’s a privilege so many others would kill for, and right now all you want to do is sink into him and forget all about your injury and the God-forsaken war that has caused it.

You lean forward to press a kiss against his forehead, right where the crease of his frown usually sits - thankfully, it's absent this morning, replaced by a honeyed mixture of amusement and adoration as his eyes drift over the sleepy bliss that dances upon your face.

“Good morning yourself.” He waits until you pull away to speak, words tumbling out in a deep purr. They catch in his throat before he clears it of any remaining evidence that indicates he had spent the previous evening crying in both relief and frustration at your situation.

You thread your fingers around the back of his skull to stoke across the seam where his hairline meets his nape. The action is meant to be comforting, but it appears to stoke something deeper in his eyes as he sighs into the contact, tilting his head back in such a way that makes the rumble that echoes through his throat all the more prominent. Kix attempts to keep the lazy smirk on his face as he peers at you through heavy, dark eyelashes, but there's a hazy lust swimming beneath them now. It pairs itself beautifully with the spread of blush peppering his cheeks and the tips of his ears. The whole combination taints his attempt at playing off his bravado with an unmistakable bashfulness that has you smiling even wider against the pace of your own quickening heartbeat.

Your fingers continue to wind teasing little circles down his neck as you still to watch his reaction, lying in wait and thinly veiled curiosity to see what his next move would be. Kix watches you with just as much intensity, tongue jutting out to wet his lips for a moment as his blush grows darker under your touch. His grip around your middle flexes with uncertainty as he cocks an eyebrow when you drag your hand down to rest on his shoulder, digits drumming against the muscle in silent anticipation.

The air between you has shrugged away it's quiet serenity now, what has sunk in to replace it is much more charged, but still apprehensive of crossing the final line with the fear that the other was not completely open to the idea of embracing it, considering all that had unfurled the night before.

He kisses you then, shattering it. The press of his lips is hungry, and carries a hint of the same desperation they had tasted of the previous evening when he’d told you he loved you between the salty bite of tears and yearning. But even so, this is different, because he’s yours and the pain attached to his confession feels long spilled now. By the second time your lips meet, you’re openly sighing into his mouth and you catch the hitch in his own breath as you do so. The fire is all but blazing in his brown eyes when you finally part, though you only get the chance to stare completely into its flames for a moment before he’s pushing himself up to loom over you, fastening you down against the mattress with little more than the press of his hand against your own beside your head.

“How about I help you wake up properly, hmm?” Gone is the tiredness in his tone. His voice reaches you in a husky, thickened wave that wraps down your spine in a shiver. A quiet giggle of delight leaves you as you stare upwards at him, and his smile cracks wider to reach his eyes at your reaction. It sings of the old Kix, the real Kix, and that knowledge warms your heart even deeper than where mere lust could ever hope to reach it. There's still a nagging hint of concern tugging at the corner of your soul however, even despite the heat licking between your thighs at the thought of having him completely. It reminds you that you’re still concerned about his well being considering everything he had endured as of late, as well as the fact you were very much still sore from your own physical injury. Kix seems to read your thoughts because in the second of silence that separates the two of you, his expression softens in time with his voice.

“I’ll be gentle with you, I want this too, so much.”

Another kiss, this one soft and prolonged, whispering adoration and assurance into the very heart of you.

“I love you.”

You seize the forbidden fruit and completely melt into his embrace.

The next thing you know, you’re stripped bare and writhing beneath him as he kisses his way down between your thighs. He’s attentive to each catch of your breath and the buck of your hips when one of his hands ghosts over a particularly sensitive patch of skin in the dip of your hip bone. You have to remind yourself to breathe each time his lips edge further down your torso, the muscles of your abdomen rippling beneath his teasing caresses and the fan of his breath as he chuckles to himself at how you squirm at the slightest indication of him travelling lower, towards where you crave him most. Kix is as naked as you are, having wasted little time tearing off his blacks alongside each article of clothing he stripped away from your own body. His hand was quick to recapture your own in its grasp once he had you exposed to his satisfaction. Your fingers remain caged amidst his own, held hostage while his other hand continues to grope and explore the expanse of your flesh, only breaking their journey to bat away your own free hand each time you reach out to attempt to grasp at him.

“Ah, ah, ah, nope,” His voice is playfully frustrating as he reprimands you, another chuckle slipping through it when you finally relent and flop down in exasperation at his refusal to let you touch him in return, “this is about you, lay back and let me take care of you, cyare.”

You’re about to clap back at him with a sarcastic rebuttal when the sensation of his breath over your core rips any remaining shred of coherency from you. You briefly register him mutter something about ‘thanking you for everything’ and the feeling of him hauling one of your thighs over his shoulder before the sound of your own moaning echoes in your ears. It forces you to clamp your trembling free hand over your mouth in an attempt to keep your noises of delight secret from the rest of the base. It’s counterpart remains laced with his own as he pulls it down to rest near your hip and squeezes it reassuringly to ground you both from floating away with the clouds of lust permeating the room.

Kix groans against your folds as he drags his tongue over your clit in long, drawn out stripes, clearly revelling in the taste and slickness coating his lips. You can feel the scratch of his stubble brush against your inner thigh with each movement of his jaw and it only heightens the fire spreading across your nerves further. It takes a good minute before you can find the strength to push yourself up to lock eyes with him from where he’s stationed between your legs, the heavy-lidded expression decorating his face only pushing you further towards your peak. He looks positively love-struck as he lathes his tongue against your cunt, relentlessly switching between circling your clit and teasing the tip of the slick muscle inside of your entrance in such a way that has you seeing stars once your head tilts back once more, never quite letting you adjust to one pattern before catching you off guard with another. You lift your hips and grind against the pressure his tongue lavishes on you, chest heaving with the threat of a quickly approaching climax, one that’s only spurred on further when Kix’s chest rumbles with a shuddering moan as your slick runs down his chin and onto the sheets below.

It's dizzying almost, and he has you sobbing and babbling sweet nonsense into the pillows when your first orgasm hits you with a shock that threatens your vision white. Kix remains between your legs even as you begin to come down from your high, rubbing soothing circles into the twitching flesh of your thigh as you take in heavy gasps of warm air to steady your breathing.

“You ok there, cyare?” The warmth bubbles upwards to your chest once you register the care cradled in his words.

“-Mmhmm,” You’re more than ok, despite the tremble in your legs you feel fucking elated after his display of ‘gratitude’, but the intensity of your orgasm has left you feeling so dazed it takes a substantial deal of effort to simply nod your head as you remain slumped against the pillows and crumpled sheets. 

Kix waits patiently for you to regain composure, his fingers dancing over your hip now as he admires you in your afterglow. You suddenly feel a little shy, spread out, spent and wet beneath where he cranes over you, but the feeling quickly fades as fast as it surfaces because it's Kix and he makes you feel safer than anyone else in the universe.

“I’m great, actually,” Your voice is somewhat raspy from the strain of your moaning, but Kix still grins at you like you’ve just serenaded him instead. The sight of it flusters your words all over again, “‘wanna - want to make you feel good too though, want you, Kix.”

His blush deepens further as the air appears to leave his lungs through his nose at your blunt confession. He swallows thickly, and you can see the remnants of your wetness glistening around his mouth in the dim light.

Now it's your turn to smirk.

He’s lost for words for a moment before he can bring himself to crash down and kiss you again. This time you can taste yourself on his lips and the knowledge of what you’ve shared only makes you groan louder and buck your hips against him, finally released from the cage of his bicep around your thigh. You can feel the length of his cock, hot and heavy and desperate as it skims against your stomach and smears a trail of precum across your skin. His hands remain planted at either side of your head, holding his weight up on his forearms so as not to crush you or potentially aggravate your injury any further. The care he takes in handling you softens your heart, but you note the hesitation stiffening his muscles.

“...Hey,” your tone is as soft as your eyes as you reach up to cup his cheek and force his gaze to yours, marvelling in the way the heat of his body so quickly envelops your own, “I’m not going to break. It’s already healing thanks to the bacta so you don’t need to worry. Please.”

“...Ok.” He keens into your touch as you once again rake your fingernails over the seam of where his tattoo meets his hairline, you make a mental note to remember the reaction such a mindless gesture draws from him. When his eyes reopen to lock with yours, they’re practically swimming with a gilded stream of desire. “I love you.”

You don’t have a chance to repeat the declaration back to him before the words are stolen from you and replaced by a stuttering moan as he pushes into you. Your head hits the pillow the same moment he bites a mark into the curve of your throat and stills his hips against yours, completely submerged within your cunt until his pelvis kisses your own. You both moan in tandem as you flutter around him, split open and stretched in the most delicious way with his pubic bone grazing your clit. 

You’re sure you hear him bite down on a whimper as you give an experimental buck of your hips, his eyes closing the moment you wrap your legs around his middle to force him impossibly closer still. Kix’s hands fist the sheets beside your head, and you’re confident you’ve never seen a man look more beautiful than he does in this moment. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth and you crane your neck upwards to press a kiss to his chin, a silent plea for him to move and drag another wave of pleasure from your body. Broad hands fly to cup your face the moment he begins a slow pace inside you, the weight of his body falling to his elbows as his eyes snap open to watch for your reactions. He feels incredible, pulling out nearly all the way before snapping his hips back to meet your own each time in long, deep thrusts that have you moaning obscenely each time he comes to the end of you. He steals each sound from your lips with a series of sloppy open mouthed kisses, showering you in stumbled words of praise in a mixture of basic and mando’a. 

The bed creaks beneath the force of your bodies, and at this point you’ve all but abandoned your attempts to keep quiet in favour of whispering just how much you love him and how good he makes you feel. You cling to his shoulders as he fucks you deeper into the mattress, holding onto him just as tightly as he does to you - it's a wordless promise that you aren’t going to disappear and abandon him, that you’re his as much as he’s yours.

“-Feel so good, so good to me cyare, always been so good to me-”  his gritted-out praise tightens the coil in your stomach and all too soon you feel the familiar creep of another orgasm approaching you. His hands skim over your chest, stomach, face, before settling themselves with one cradling the back of your head whilst the other snakes downward to rub at your clit in tight little circles that have your eyes rolling back into your skull.

His praises fall off into a string of hurried curses as his hips begin to stutter to an erratic pace, however, his eyes never leave your own all the while. His jaw is clenched tightly, pulled taunt like the muscles in his arms as he angles his thrusts to drag against something delicious within your walls that has you mewling in delight. Despite the intensity of his actions, he’s still so gentle, so attentive in how he handles you. Ever vigilant to note each reaction you make to his touches and taking care not to jostle your still-healing body too violently.

“Fuuuck… Fuck! I love you - look so pretty like this, so perfect - just wanna stay like this forever.” His words are borderline incoherent now as he resigns to losing himself inside you, punctuated by rattling groans and a sigh that gets knotted in his throat as the emotion of the moment washes over him time and time again with each thrust. 

The moment he dips down to moan into your open mouth as he sheathes himself completely to the hilt once more, you let go. You topple over the edge into a second orgasm that's so strong that it tears a silent scream from your lungs and forces fresh, hot tears of relief to gather in the corner of your eyes, body and mind wrecked in unison from the over stimulation of it all.

Kix follows you into climax straight after, succumbing to the way you tighten and flutter around him as he attempts to fuck you through your orgasm until your toes are curling against where they rest on his lower back. His hips falter and he all but whines as he stills inside you abruptly, eyes finally screwing themselves shut as he pulses within you and paints your insides in thick, hot ropes. He keeps your lower body close against him even after his breathing begins to even out and his cum has long since began to drip out of you from around his softening cock.

You feel thoroughly spent now, limbs heavy and head spinning with the force of the orgasm that had just claimed you. Kix is the first to shift properly, withdrawing from you slowly with a kiss and a low groan that you feel more than you hear. The medic takes a moment to give you a quick visual once over, but you swat at his shoulder in mock annoyance despite the fatigue clinging to your joints. He relents, flopping down beside you and taking up an embrace the mirrors the one you had awoken tangled within that same morning. 

“I love you.” You swallow thickly around the words as you gaze at him, despite the lull of your afterglow, they come easily to you and you relish in how normal it feels to say them, to be held in his arms as if you were the only two souls awake in some private little galaxy you had created together. “I love you and I want to stay like this forever with you, Kix.”

His eyes hold a different tiredness now, this one is satisfied and soulful and free from worry - at least for a little while. You hope that this happiness lasts for him, he deserves it more than anyone else you know.

“I love you more, mesh’la.” His fingers reach up to brush against your cheek before pulling you in for a tender kiss, humming in contentment before parting slightly to mutter against your lips, “m’just sorry I don’t have much more to offer you than my charming looks, taste in brandy and my unofficial record for being the fastest at stitching up an incision in the whole GAR.”

You snort into his neck in response to the ridiculous quip before nuzzling your nose against his pulse. He squirms a little at the tickle of your breath against him and you make another point to remember the location of the sensitive spot for a later date.

“But honestly,” his tone drops to something more serious and your eyes wander back to lock with his own, a ghost of a frown pulling at your brow at the change, “you’ve always had to put up with a lot when it comes to me… you’re only going to have to deal with more where loving me is involved-”

“Kix, stop.” You’re firm as you catch his hand in your own, squeezing it to stress the finality of your statement before gracing his knuckles with another light kiss, “Nothing is easy at the moment and loving you is the one thing that's come so naturally to me. I don’t want anyone else because simple or not, they aren’t you.”

He smiles, wide and true before he begins to slowly encroach towards you to steal another kiss-

Until the shrill beep of your comlink shocks you both apart. 

You shoot the device a glare, grumbling in annoyance as you untangle yourself from Kix to fish the offending item out from where your clothes lay in a crumpled pile on the floor. He chuckles into his fist and you give him a sideways glance in warning before raising the comlink closer to your face, winching slightly at the brightness flashing from the thin strip of its display. 

“Hello?” The annoyance bleeds into your voice before you can think to stop it, a cold pang of panic shoots through you at the realisation that you forgot to check who it was contacting you before accepting the transmission.

“Good morning, am I right to assume that Kix is with you currently? It’s just that he was supposed to be present in the medical bay this morning to relieve me from my shift and yet here I am still - and I happened to bump into a trooper that claimed he saw you bundle him into your room yesterday evening.” It’s Officer Eir, and judging by the dryness coating his tone, he’s in a foul mood and more than aware of why Kix is late to tend to his duties despite the concern he had shown towards your lover the evening prior. You suppose the lack of sleep would do that to anyone.

Your cheeks automatically swelter with heat, quickly beginning to regret trusting the Medical Officer with the closeness of your bond with Kix. The man in question looks mortified at the circumstances he’s found himself in, but he still cockily mentions for you to tell Eir ‘hi’ despite fully knowing that the irritated clone could easily hear him over the line. You can envision Eir’s deadpan blink from all the way over in the medical ward.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I even wasted my time thinking about calling Kix first. I’m glad that you made sure he wasn’t alone last night, but need I remind him that stimshots are too important to waste on a hangover… or any other activity related fatigue that doesn't benefit the Republic.” You hear a sigh from over the comlink, the digital rendering making it sound crackled and disjointed - but it still makes you feel as though you’ve been singled out for committing a heinous crime all the same. “...I’ve taken the liberty of finding him a spare pair of scrubs, because I know he won’t want to risk returning to his bunk late while there are Jedi milling around.”

Kix raises his eyebrows thoughtfully, clearly touched that his fellow medic took the time to cover for him despite no doubt being desperate to lay down his head and rest.

“Um, yeah ok Eir I’ll… pass on that information to him - goodbye.”

You’ve never hung up on a call so quickly, and you hope to the Maker that no one had somehow managed to intercept your communication line. Kix still carries a bashful flush of his own, but it doesn’t stop him from grinning boyishly before another quip leaves his lips.

“Should’ve told him that I’ve already eaten breakfast too, bet that would have flustered him even more than you.”

The comment earns him a sweaty pillow to the face.

You still send him on his way with a ration bar all the same, taking a silent delight in how unsteady his initial movements are when he rushes to slip out of your door and down the hallway. He flashes you a wink and the hint of a loving gaze before slipping back into the role of a disciplined soldier once more as his long legs carry him away.

After he’s gone, you take a moment of private reflection to delight in how your spirit seems lighter and your heart feels fuller than it did yesterday.

Cyare.

You would never grow tired of hearing that fall from his lips.

[empiresmostwanted]

Hi!! From that quote prompts list, a few that stood out for me were “it’s a brutal world” and “what are you humming?” for Rex? Im imaging either a mechanic/civilian reader or a shiny new clone trooper is accompanying the 501st on an off-world mission and they are sitting by the campfire late at night, a little shaken by the battle earlier in the day. Rex notices and goes to comfort them, and perhaps there is a singing motif??

Also! I loved Sabacc Face and im making my way though your other works this weekend 💕

Thank you so much @maulpunk for the prompts 😘

I'm sorry it took me so long to write, work has done a number on me this last week or so. Grrr. But I was happy to get back to writing this, although I must apologise for straying a little from the parameters of the request (it turned out to be a little too angsty for a singing motif, oops). I hope you like it all the same!

(P.S. Thank you so so much, I'm thrilled you liked Sabacc Face. It was a lot of fun to write, I hope it was just as fun to read!)

posted on AO3 | the prompt list | my writing

Words: 1.5k | Warnings: Post-Umbara Arc, Grief/Mourning, Angst (and lots of it, sorry-not-sorry), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, a certain Besalisk's name is briefly mentioned (okay, I am sorry for this one)

GHOSTS IN THE UMBRA

20BBY

☾

CT-0292 couldn't sleep. When he closed his eyes, rounds of blue plasma bolts flashed through the darkness behind his lids. Hands, his own hands, held a DC-15 carbine aloft, and one single finger under his control pressed on the trigger, mowing down the Umbarans in their disguises.

But they hadn't been Umbarans. They'd been his brothers.

A strangled sound escaped him, somewhere between a gasp and a sob that he caught in his throat. His chest ached with the effort to hold it, the urge to release it. And it ached as if his brothers had occupied a place there, the loss of them leaving the muscles of his heart to constrict around empty space.

He blinked away sharp tears, then pushed off the weighted blanket – its presence more suffocating than soothing – and climbed out of his rack. He gathered up the armour stacked in a neat pile from the foot of the bunk's frame and applied it, piece by piece, from foot to neck.

If he couldn't sleep, he might as well be useful. He'd never been very good at keeping still.

Around him, his brothers lay in their cots; some slept, restless, while others remained painfully conscious. From his own squad, only himself, Wil (Private), and Ridge (Private) remained. The others, along with their sergeant, had fallen to General Krell's lightsaber.

All was quiet. And Ridge was nowhere to be seen.

0292 shook his head, lightheaded, the back of his neck prickling. After checking his blaster was fastened to his belt, he tucked his helmet under one arm and crept through the rows of bunks like a ghost, leaving the sterile barracks behind.

For a moment, he stopped outside the blast doors as they sshhed to a close behind him, and took a deep breath. Had he caught the scent of rain and salt water in the air, it might have grounded him; but this planet was as unfamiliar to his nose as it was to his eyes and ears. With the tang of metal in his nostrils and on the tip of his tongue, he set off across the floodlit compound.

Beyond the sensor wall, he spotted the warm glow of a natural fire flickering in the perpetual dusk, its light peeking through the mist and the dense formation of local flora. He frowned. Patrol taking a break, perhaps?

CT-0292 made his way to the airbase's entrance. As he approached the gate, he passed skeletons of Umbaran machinery looming out of the fog, and squads of troopers pacing as silent as wraiths.

The planet was reclaimed, but no one had come out of the campaign unscathed.

At the gate, two troopers bearing the colours of the 212th stood guard, blasters held across their bodies, and faced the darkness beyond. With the sight of their armour came a fresh wave of guilt, at once hot and cold, that settled in the pit of his stomach. He cleared his throat upon approach; one started as if he'd been shot, and the other patted him on the shoulder.

"Easy, trooper," said 0292, holding out a placating hand. "Just passing through, lending a hand to patrol. That them over there?"

They followed the direction of his pointer finger, to the small fire burning gold in the gloom. The one coiled as tightly as he himself nodded, and turned back to him. "They're taking it in turns to sweep the perimeter."

"Thanks." He inclined his head, and stepped over the threshold of the airbase.

As his footsteps tapped a muffled rhythm into the damp earth, the chill air cooled the sheen of sweat on his forehead, and pressed cold fingers to the nape of his neck. With a shiver, he donned his helmet and activated its spot-lamp, before succumbing to Umbara's gloaming.

*

CT-0292 walked through the forest of Zabrak Spines, their bioluminescent ridges reaching towards the sky and cutting through the umbra like angry wounds. The glow of giant red thorns shrouded the woodland in an unsettling pallor.

Every small noise was amplified in the stillness around him: the snapping of twigs beneath the feet of tiny creatures, the whooshing of spectral wings overhead, and what seemed like footsteps somewhere behind him, approaching – but when he looked over his shoulder, there was nothing there. Each sound sent a spike of cortisol through his body, and he tried not to hyperventilate to the beat of his pulse.

The immediate threat from the Umbarans had been neutralised. But he and his brothers had found out the hard way that this shadowy world kept its secrets close.

You're out of the woods when you're out of the woods, his instructor back on Kamino used to say. It had seemed redundant to him then.

"What's that you're humming, trooper?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked back and came face-to-face – or helmet-to-helmet – with Captain Rex materialising out of the fog, easy to identify by the jaig eyes and the modified armour.

The captain removed his bucket, brow furrowed in concern, and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Relax. I didn't mean to startle you," he said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "It sounded familiar, the song you were humming."

"I didn't realise I was humming it aloud," the trooper admitted, face heating as Captain Rex fell into step beside him. "I was thinking of my instructor, back at the facility: she smuggled her own radio into Tipoca, and she'd play it for us during downtime. That one was her favourite, I think. I don't know the words, though. Just the tune."

"Ah."

They walked for a way in companionable silence, each lost to their own thoughts. Confronted once more with the familiar face of his brothers, CT-0292 replayed the moment of terrible realisation, and the skirmish with Krell. The Jedi – if one could even call him that – might have been dealt with on a permanent basis, but his reach would extend far beyond his death.

"Couldn't sleep, either?" asked the captain, dragging him out of his own memories.

He shook his head.

Rex sighed. "It's a brutal world out there."

CT-0292 couldn't be sure if he was referring to Umbara, or the entire galaxy. 

"I admit," he began, "I wasn't expecting to kill other people. I've been training to take down and disable battle droids for nearly ten years, and I thought I was ready, but this …"

It didn't even begin to cover the atrocity of slaughtering his own, knowingly or not.

They heard the voices of their brothers before they saw them, hushed and sombre. Upon stepping out of the forest, they found themselves in a small clearing, lit from above by towering plants, incandescent with pink and purple and blue light, and lit from within by a humble campfire. At least ten troopers were gathered around it, talking in lowered voices amongst themselves.

Rex came to a halt on the edge of the clearing, and stopped 0292 with a hand on his arm.

"If it's of any comfort," he said, "every one of us here is feeling the same right now. No campaign is easy, no life lost is worth less. But this mission has taken its toll more than any other. You say you're not ready, but I recognise the blue bird painted on your bucket. I saw you take charge of your squad when Sergeant Jax was killed, and you kept the rest of them alive. There might well be a promotion coming your way."

A promotion. He'd always harboured the hope of making his way up the ranks, proving his worth and ability along the way. Seeing the captain in action, the way he was respected and admired, had only solidified that desire. But he hadn't entered the GAR as a sergeant, or a captain. It had never really occurred to him before now that someone would have to die for him to take their place.

But he nodded, and said, "Thank you, Captain."

"What's your name, trooper?"

"CT-zero-two-ni—"

"Your name, trooper," Rex clarified. The smile on his lips belied the sadness in his eyes.

CT-0292 removed his helmet. "It's Vaughn, sir. My batchmates called me Vaughn."

"Then welcome to the five-oh-first, Private Vaughn. Over there are your brothers. It won't always be easy, but whatever happens, we look out for each other. And I know you barely got to see General Skywalker in action, but I can promise you that he – and Commander Tano – are nothing like Krell. You'll see."

"Thank you, sir."

Captain Rex clapped him on the arm, then strode off across the clearing, towards the campfire. Vaughn followed, kicking up the smell of damp earth and decaying foliage, sickly sweet in his nostrils. He was pleased to see his squadmate, Ridge, among the ranks of troopers around the flames, and another who'd introduced himself as Sterling just one rotation prior.

"Room for two more, boys?"

☽

Thank you so much for staying to the end! Even though I enjoy reading some good ol' angst, it's definitely tricky to write, so it was nice to stretch those muscles for this prompt. Hope you liked it 💜

[yjwhatif]

What is going on with Bart?! (Part 1)

Ok I am definitely the only one who thinks this - but there is something weird going on with Bart in the last episode - or more specifically post X-pit... let me explain.

Bart is a pretty underused character throughout S3 and doesn’t play any major part in the final episode, yet there’s one moment that grabs my attention every time I see it - and that’s the moment when Bart elbows Garfield in the middle of Jeffs really important speech.

Jeff: Like the Outsiders, we must live in each other’s spotlight

Ok yes that is kinda a very Bart thing to do - his way of complimenting Gar for his achievements leading the outsiders - but it’s the fact that he doesn’t react in a regretful/apologetic way when Gar calls out in pain - he just stands there grinning at his clear injured friend and doesn’t bat an eyelid. (Also, does anyone else think Bart has a really evil/sadistic look to him in this shot - because I do and I can’t help but find it odd.)

Another thing about this scene is that not only is Bart front and centre in the panning shot of heroes (which I’ll come back to in part 2) - but he is completely separated from the two people he is usually paired with onscreen - and that’s Ed and Jaime who are both placed together at the very back of the shot. Now when I say ‘usually paired with’ I mean ALWAYS - excluding ’Homefires’ (though that is the first ep to show Ed’s in S3 - so I say it still counts) Bart is either next to Ed or Jaime or both - l know because I checked.

That is until they all come out of the pit - then something seems to change with the trio, for Bart appears to constantly isolate himself from the other two...

Now you probably think I sound mad, that I’m just reading too much into it the layout (as usual) but it’s there - it’s subtle - but it’s definitely there. Like I’ve highlighted with the season as a whole Bart is usually stood with E/J - it highlights his connection to them and establishes their specific friendship in comparison to the rest of the characters. Composition is important - especially in seating arrangements.

At the beginning of ‘Into the Breach’ Bart takes the front most central seat which draws attention to him - being the speedster he is he is always running headfirst into any situation with confidence - so he is at the very front of the ship and closest to the action. Then he has Ed sat in the seat next to him - this allows for them to share a two shot and again reinforce their connection - which they definitely have (see my post about Ed’s powers - there’s a few). This quick shot tells a lot - the angle even gives the impression that Bart is closer to Ed than Vic, which increases their divide - he doesn’t know Vic or maybe trust him yet, unlike he does with Ed. While Vic seems closer to Blue because we know they’ve previously made a connection offscreen - “Bluebeetle taught me that one”.

Yet fast forward to the scene at the premiere building post x-pit and thinking they’ve lost big time - when you look close there is a definite dynamic change between the trio. Though they are still grouped together, they are actually divided - the chairs divide them - whilst Ed and Jaime share the same sofa, Bart is on his own and thereby isolating himself from his friends. But not only that, look at the way he’s sat compared to everyone else - he is the only one with crossed legs. Whilst the others all mimic the same body language - hunched over, hands on knees, legs apart - they are all united in their defeat - but Bart is alone.

Noticeable again after Vic and the others return, Bart is on his own, the furthest away from the group - he is now the one hiding at the back - which is a big change from the shot on the bioship. Something has changed for him - he can’t connect with the two people we know he cares for.

It continues into ‘Nevermore’, this time on the bioship the trio are to the back - the dynamic they last had on the ship has altered massively. Ed now sits on his own side completely separated from Bart and Jaime - this may account for his own feelings of guilt (see my Outsiders in turmoil posts) - he feels he needs to distance himself because of his own failures. Yet he is still in line with Jaime - like in the all the previous shots post pit, he remains on equal ground with Jaime. But for Bart, he is disconnected and hiding at the very back - he has lost the confidence to be front and centre on missions and with his friends - but why?

They all experienced the pit, yet Bart seems the most affected (in a subtle sort of way) - from confident and eager, he’s now isolated and hidden away. And yes, these are very subtle moments that you don’t notice - but because this is animation that makes the subtlety more important - because these are conscious decision being made and agreed upon - they are not random acting choices like in live action.

Now my final notice for this part 1 post - because this has become very long - is the scene just after Vic disappears to follow Granny - I’ve only just noticed this whilst gathering pics for this post and it’s actually blown my mind.

So I’ve always found this moment strange because to me it feels like Bart is almost blaming Ed for everything - and when you look at the shot it does look like everyones giving him evils. I don’t think that is what’s happening but I can imagine that’s what Ed thinks is happening. However what I realised this time round is that that is the real Bart we hear - not the one we’ve followed in S2&3 - but the cynical one of the future. For 10 seconds Bart finally breaks character and drops the mask to reveal his true self - the realist of the apocalypse. Maybe this is why he’s distancing himself - he didn’t come to the past to have fun and joke around - he was a kid with a job to do - and just because he’s done it doesn’t mean he should lose focus. Maybe the pit reawakened the ghosts of his past - the lives lost because of the apocalypse - the lives that could still be lost if that future still happens because he was too distracted to notice the signs.

Barts psyche has always been what fascinates me about his character - because the happy goofball we see isn’t even the real Bart - thats Wally and Barry he’s imitating - Bart has spent 3 or so years living in the guise of what he wants people to see - what he thinks they expect to see in the grandson of Barry Allen - which is mad. This is why I want more Bart - I wanna see what isn’t being shown to us - and I think the x-pit might just have unlocked that possibility. 🤞

- To be continued in Part 2 -

Other Posts:

- Ed’s Powers - ‘Into the Pit’

- Outsiders in Turmoil 1-6 can be found under the tag outsidersinturmoil