#captain rex (mentioned)

[gothlovo]

oh this is devastating...

oh this is tragic...

oh this is heartbreaking...

oh the angst...

oh the bittersweetness...

I can't even register how beautiful the range of expressions and well formed dialogue is because it's so genuine

Something about names...

TL;DR agent 3 and 8 make up their own goofy names to make up for their increasingly apparent lack thereof.

(This comic takes place a couple of months after OE. I like to think that they became fast friends after the events of the dlc because they quickly realized they're the only ones who truly understood each other.)

[archivewriter1ont]

I like to think this scene is the moment Crosshair decided they were keeping the reg (not Hunter -- Crosshair. Because he's the baby brother and he gets what he wants). Crosshair is highly skilled and extremely irritating at times but he values loyalty, competency, and valor, and I think he saw all three in Echo right off the bat.

Crosshair was kind of the one who stuck beside Echo and General Skywalker during this arc. (I would like to point out that he shot threats off of Mr. The-Chosen-One twice in these episodes, thus proving his cool factor and my belief that Anakin was always slightly overrated.) He got a front-row seat to watch this broken, malnourished POW get jerked straight out of cryo just to 1) goof off and snark to his captain and general, 2) jump on a living dragon thing and just wing it like "Sure I can fly this why not" and 3) start popping airborne droids with ZERO armor and a borrowed (stolen?) blaster.

Of course Crosshair looked at Echo, then to his brothers, then back to Echo and went "He's ours now, deal with it." Echo reminded him so much of himself and his squadmates that he imprinted on sight.

[the-pixel-lover-extravagant]

The lack of clone troopers pin ups is a full blown epidemic

[clonehub]

Anakin asks Rex what life was like on Kamino and rex says "first, we'd wake up and say the pledge of allegiance to the Republic --"

"the what?"

"the Republic pledge? The Pledge of Allegiance?"

"what."

"hand on your heart, swear unending fealty to the Republic and its citizenry, to protecting its freedom?"

"rex that's not a thing that exists."

[the-bi-space-ace]

My partner had the cutest idea and I just have to share it with you.

Rex was so strict as a cadet. He tried hard to prove himself, stuck to the rules, made sure everything he did was in line with regulation.

However, a few command track clones took Rex under their wing: Cody, Wolffe, Fox, Bly, and Ponds. They knew Rex needed to relax a bit. He needed to have a bit of fun, not just stick to the regulations, so they kept trying to get Rex to play with them. Games like cards or more physical games like tag instead of having to run laps every time they did cardio.

Little baby cadet Rex was not having it. He was too nervous to step outside of the lines so they came up with an ingenious plan.

“It’s training, Rex!” Cody would say and he’d tilt his head to the side in suspicion.

“It looks like a card game.” Rex would throw back. Which is when one of the others would step in to say that it ‘tests your reaction time’ or ‘helps you strategize.’ He gave in, of course, and let them pull him away from responsibilities too many times to count.

He loosened up as he got older, realized that part of life is goofing off and having some fun. He didn’t have to be ‘perfect’ for them to still love him.

And imagine, down the line when Rex meets a trooper a lot like himself when he was younger. Someone who knows the regs front to back, can recite them without a second thought, and is tied at the hip with someone that would follow his lead anywhere. Someone who is still trying to prove himself and now wants to work extra hard in the 501st to be the best he can be.

Imagine the first time Rex strolls into the training gym and stops them in the middle of a spar and doesn’t like the way Echo’s back straightens like he’s about to get in trouble. Think about how he sighs and says:

“Boys, I think it’s time you got some more specialized training.” And Fives and Echo look at each other, confused but intrigued by what in the galaxy ‘specialized training’ even means. The only warning he gives is the same one he got from Cody as a cadet. “Don’t let me catch you.” before he takes off after them.

It’s tag. They’re playing tag. And it’s silly and a little stupid but by the time they’re done everyone is out of breath and they’re all half dead because their lungs are screaming at them but everyone is smiling and that’s really good enough for Rex.

He thinks of all the times a simple, silly game was called ‘training’ and he had to be tricked into it by people who love him and he knows he’ll do the same to make these two primarily Echo loosen up and get comfortable with their place in the 501st.

They have a lot to learn, but Rex knows they’ll make him proud. Whether or not they can win a game of tag- oh, wait, I’m sorry - whether or not they can win a ‘training exercise’ or a ‘spar’. They’ll get comfortable. And he’s sure there will be times they’ll make his life hell just like he did to everyone who helped him find his place.

It’s part of growing up and finding your people and figuring out who you are, your place in it all. Rex is more than happy to help.

[muyru-iru]

Fox: just b'é yourself

Cody: that's it? That's all I Gotta do to get a raise from my commander?

Fox: raise? No. I thought you wanted to ask him out

Bly: he totally does.

Wolffe: he's crushing him

Rex shrugging : that's his way of getting a date smh

Fox: like this? No wonder you get no bitches

[awkward-tension-art]

Choose (One-Shot) (Rex x Reader)

Just a one-shot involving Rex and a concerned Cody! This isn't proofread at all. like at all.

Caduceus series

Warnings: Mentions of clone trooper abuse, Mentions of clone trooper sexual assault, Clone trooper dehumanization, Cody is a concerned older brother, Rex x Reader, no use of (Y/N), not proofread at all, SLIGHT angst

“Vod’ika.”

Cody’s voice greeted from the office doorway. The 212th commander had concern written all over his face as he stepped inside the room. 

“I’m fine.” Rex didn’t look up from the data pad, “I understand there’s a flu going around the ship, but I’m fine. Kix already asked me how I feel for the 4th time today.” 

That’s what has tied you up for the last few days. Your position as 501st Doctor meant you had to juggle every injury and sickness in the medical bay. 

And it just so happened that some of the men caught some type of virus on the last planet. It was no more than a minor Infection that went away with rest, but it was highly contagious. Everyone, save Rex, Cody and a few others, had been in the medical bay on bed rest at least once in the last week. 

Thus, you and him haven’t spent time together the last few days. 

Which, admittedly, dampened his mood. 

Cody was in front of him, a stern frown on his face, “Vod’ika,” his tone was that of a superior, but his words were of a concerned brother, “You look like you haven’t been sleeping.” 

Oh here we go…

Rex put the data pad down on his desk and rubbed his temple. He knew Cody was coming from a place of concern, “It’s been busy. General Skywalk-“

“Why aren’t you at the barracks when you're on Coruscant?” Cody finally asked his question, “Fox is worried. So’s Gree.”

He was good in that regard, being the ori’vod. The eldest brother. Wolffe, Ponds, Gree, Bly, they all looked at Cody as the oldest brother. Even Fox would bow his head if the 212th commander snapped at him to do so. 

“I have been?” The captain looked at the commander in confusion. 

“Not every night. And I know you don’t spend that much time at 79’s.” Cody leaned against the desk, staring at him with his dark eyes, “What is going on? Is it…” he spoke your name, forgoing your title as Doctor. 

Damnit. Was I that obvious?

No. The ori’vode were just that good. 

“…yes.” He sighed finally, “It’s…something I do now, sometimes spend my leave in their home on Coruscant.”

The commander stared blankly. After a brief second he scoffed, “what…did they… tell you to say that?” Now there was panic. True worry as an older brother should, “Are they forcing you to…?”

“No.” Rex snapped, silencing him. The fact that Cody thought you able to…coerce him into such things…It sent a spike of anger through his blood. “you don’t understand. I want this.” The captain finished, “they suggested it, but I wanted it. To be with them.”

“You…what?” 

The captain looked at his ori’vod, “we are in a relationship.” He knew Cody would want details, so he continued, “…and I’ve been comfortable since the beginning. It’s something I want. they haven’t forced me into anything.” 

Truthfully, you seemed to give him all the choices. you let him control the pace. Control what happens. As if aware of the power imbalance and status you held as a nat-born.

Giving him the choice allowed for a more equal relationship. One he appreciated deeply. 

The silence was heavy. Rex looked away, feeling like he was back at Kamino, tears in his eyes, blonde curls stuck to his skin and being inspected closely by the longnecks. poke and prodded for any flaw. 

Flaws you didn’t seem to see. 

Cody’s eyes roamed over the captain's face. After more thick quiet, his tone completely shifted, “Have…how many know?” 

“General Skywalker.” He answered honestly, “And Fives. But other than that, just you. Though I believe commander Tano suspects, as does Kix.” 

“And…you’re happy?” Like a good older brother, Cody stressed, “are they…” 

“Gentle.” The captain responded, “Slow. Considerate to…my lack of experience.” 

’Good experience,’ he nearly added, bitterly. Thoughts and memories of being treated as nothing more than a toy by Kaminoans and other nat-borns poisoned his mind. 

“Why are you so tired then?” 

“Because I enjoy the nights we spend together.” Rex snapped, finally done with the questions. He did enjoy the small amount of domesticity you two shared. But…

Truthfully, it was hard to sleep in your apartment. It felt too…open. Too exposed. Without his many other siblings in their bunks around him, he felt…vulnerable.

He couldn’t rest too deeply with only him to protect you from danger. 

Cody jerked back, standing straight. He didn’t expect such an outburst from the younger clone, “No. That's not…needed.” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, “Wolffe and Fox…”

He rolled his eyes, “Wolffe and Fox need to mind their business.”

And Wolffe is a hypocrite. Rex nearly snarked, well aware of the commander's growing feelings for a former senator-turned medic in the 104th.

“Rex’ika…”

Little Rex.

“Cody…” The captain sighed, “I’m fine, really. We are…comfortable. You can tell Wolffe and Fox as much. I’m fine. This is a relationship I want.”

The commander looked him up and down again, “…I can’t believe you.”

“Ori’vod, please.” 

“You're not supposed to be vulnerable to them. To any nat-born.” There was a venom in his words. A deep hatred brought by fear. 

Tears. Panicked breathing. Cody had been called to a senator's office to discuss performance of the GAR. he returned to the barracks, blacks torn and armor put on incorrectly. 

The Clone Troopers were an exotic commodity now. And nat-borns with status were taking advantage. 

Rex wanted to be angry at his distrust of you. After all, you treated the commander's wounds during the times the 501st and 212th would work together. 

But…that was a different type of vulnerability. A broken bone could heal. A cut on the cheek could be wiped away with bacta. 

A broken mind? A broken heart? 

Cody feared you would stick your claws into Rex and pull him apart the same way others do to all the other clone troopers. All his other vode.

‘Our brothers are our family.‘ They’d whisper to each other back on Kamino, ‘family comes first.’

And yet, here you are, a Doctor of the 501st, determined and strong willed. You stole his heart. Gave him a purpose outside of battle. Outside of survival. 

There wasn’t much Rex could do to ease Cody’s worry. Afterall, he was the ori’vod taking care of his younger sibling. After a few moments, the blonde clone shook his head and spoke, “they’re different.” Was all he could say. 

What a weak way to defend you. 

‘The can’t be trusted,’ Fox’s bitter, hurt words echoed in his mind, ‘They view us as property. They’ll break your heart and leave you in pieces.’

He couldn’t help but sigh again, shaking his head, “I love our siblings, I do.”

“Who would you pick?” His ori’vod asked, tone hard, “Our vode or them?” Now he isn't speaking your name. As if tainted by poison. 

That question hurt…more than he could describe. His siblings or his love? 

His siblings or you.

His silence seemed to be enough for Cody. The commander frowned, “Rex’ika…”

“It’s fine.” Rex grabbed the datapad on his desk and stood, “It’s fine.” he repeated, making his way past the commander to the door.

It wasn’t.

Because honestly, he wasn’t sure what he would choose.

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-Five: Reformation

Chapter WC: 6,691

A/N: half this chapter and part of the next somehow got deleted and i crashed out but umm here's the rest. shorter chapter this week and next, then i promise we'll see our man and more 🙏

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Kamino, 21 BBY

Rex was right, of course.

Today is a big day.

Your shuttle touches down on the planet's surface, and the door opens to a blast of cold, wet air, the sound of the waves crashing against the platforms reaching your ears. You pull up the hood of your cloak and step onto the landing platform, your boots sliding on the wet duracreet, and a shiver runs through you. It's cold. And damp. And miserable. Exactly as you remember it.

You walk toward the entrance, your feet making a slapping sound against the duracreet, and you can't help but think about the last time you were here. Not too far from where you're walking, you had fought side-by-side with many of the clones that are about to become your men. And somewhere in the waters just beyond the edge of the platform, the bodies of hundreds of droids lay scattered across the ocean floor, their metal corpses slowly deteriorating into rust.

It's not a pleasant thought.

But it does bring a smile to your face.

You enter the facility, and the temperature-controlled warmth of the building immediately washes over you. The inside is much like the outside, utilitarian and austere. White walls, white floors, troopers in white armor marching past. It's a stark contrast to the chaos that's been the past few weeks of your life, and you would be grateful for the calm if it all wasn't so damn unsettling.

Water splatters onto the floor as you pull down your hood and wring out your hair, the sound of the droplets echoing through the cavernous space. The troopers that are passing by pause and turn, their heads tilting in your direction. You nod in acknowledgement, and they offer a polite salute, a brief, sharp movement of their arms, before continuing on their way.

In their wake, you see two figures approaching, and you let out a quiet sigh. One you recognize instantly, and the other, a Kaminoan, gives you a blank look that you can only interpret as distaste. Her eyes flicker to the puddle forming at your feet, and you resist the urge to scowl.

You had a feeling this meeting was going to be awkward.

"General Anathorn," Taun We says, her voice as stiff and cold as the air around her. "Welcome back."

You offer a small, polite smile and extend your hand, but the Kaminoan doesn't take it. Instead, she folds her long, slender fingers together and rests her hands in front of her, a detached, aloof expression on her face. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes, and you instead turn your attention to Shaak-Ti, who's watching the exchange with a look of barely-veiled amusement.

"It's nice to see you again," she says, and the warmth in her tone is a welcome relief. She inclines her head in greeting, and you do the same, your smile turning genuine. "Congratulations again on your promotion."

You bite the inside of your cheek, unsure of how exactly to feel about that particular topic, and you're saved from having to answer as the Kaminoan lets out a small cough.

"If you will follow me," Taun We says, her voice laced with annoyance. "We have much to discuss."

You fall into step beside Shaak-Ti, Taun We walking on her other side, the two of them speaking in low voices. You tune them out, taking the opportunity to study your surroundings. You wouldn't know that the clone army had nearly been decimated here a mere month ago. The place is immaculate, not a single sign of battle anywhere. 

Even the scars that had covered the exterior of the building were gone, repaired and painted over. An effort to retain the illusion of safety. A facade to hide the truth.

It's hard not to feel a bit envious.

The three of you step into a hall with glass panels on either side, giving you an unfettered view of the large room below. The walls are lined with glass tanks, each one containing a clone in the earliest stage of development. They float in the liquid, their limbs barely formed, their bodies curled up in a fetal position. 

You can't help but wonder how many of these infants are destined for the front lines and how many will never even see the inside of a starfighter. It's a sobering thought, and you tear your gaze away, forcing yourself to focus on Taun We's voice as her head turns, her white on black eyes meeting yours.

"The facilities have been updated since your last visit," she tells you, as if the last time you were on planet, you were sightseeing. "There have been several upgrades to the training rooms and the medical bays, and we've increased the number of security measures, as per the Chancellor's orders."

You give a slight nod, unsure of how to respond, and she continues, her tone shifting slightly.

"There's also a new simulation," she says. "One based on a recent campaign."

The words make you freeze, and you turn toward her, your eyes narrowing.

"Which campaign?" you ask. The corners of her mouth lift.

"Felucia," she answers, her gaze moving back to the hall. You bite the inside of your cheek harder this time, your fingers curling into fists, and Taun We lets out a soft, satisfied sigh, a hint of pleasure in her voice. "I understand it was quite...memorable."

Your eyes drift to the side as a group of cadets walks by, and you take a deep breath, pushing down the anger and frustration threatening to rise. It shouldn't surprise you that the Kaminoans and their trainers would pick a failed mission as a learning experience. That they would use it as a means to teach the clones about their limitations, about the cost of failure.

The truth is, the loss on Felucia wasn't your fault. Not entirely. The situation had been a clusterfuck from the start. Between the weather, the terrain, and the sheer number of Separatist forces, it had been impossible to maintain control. You had done the best you could, given the circumstances, and the fact that most of the 212th and the 501st had survived was a miracle. The fact that Rex survived was a miracle.

But the Kaminoans and the trainers would see it differently. To them, the mission was a failure, and you were a Jedi who shouldn't have nearly given her life for a singular clone. You have no doubt they're using it as a way to drive home the need for a clone to follow orders, regardless of the situation.

You grit your teeth and swallow the retort on the tip of your tongue, knowing that any argument would be futile. This is their world. Their creation. Their playground. You are just a guest here, making a mess and leaving stains that are difficult to clean up.

Taun We's voice continues, a drone in the background, and the anger fades, replaced by a sudden rush of weariness. This was a mistake. You shouldn't have come here. You should've tried harder to find another option. Another way. Anything.

The group of cadets stumbles as the one leading the pack meets your gaze and stops dead in his tracks. His eyes are wide, his jaw hanging open, and he's staring at you as if you're a mythical creature come to life. You tilt your head and smile, giving him a small, friendly wave.

The gesture snaps him out of his daze, and he nudges the boy beside him, pointing in your direction. His friend's head turns, and he too stares, his eyes bulging out of his head. Slowly, the cadets behind them look up, and one by one, the group turns, the whole squad watching you, their gazes locked on your face.

You give another smile, and the lead cadet raises his hand, returning the gesture. There's a moment of hesitation, a pause, and a flurry of hands follow, each cadet saluting you, the gesture stiff and awkward, but earnest.

The sight is enough to pull you from your thoughts, and a smile spreads across your face, a small, amused laugh escaping your lips. 

They're young, barely ten standard years old, their features still round and soft, their bodies not yet grown. But there's a spark in their eyes, a gleam of intelligence, a sense of humor and curiosity. They're cute. Like oversized tooka kittens.

Taun We turns, her eyes landing on the group. The sudden movement is enough to break the spell, and the cadets snap back to attention, their shoulders straightening, their hands falling to their sides. They're down the hall and around the corner before she has a chance to speak. You try to hide your grin, but it's difficult.

The Kaminoan lets out an annoyed huff, her eyes focused on the next set of cadets coming down the hall.

"I would ask that you refrain from interrupting the cadets' training," she says, her voice cool and detached. "It is imperative that they remain focused, and the distraction will only lead to mistakes and delays."

"My apologies," you say, struggling to keep the sarcasm from your tone. "I didn't mean to get in the way."

She doesn't reply. You let the silence hang between the two of you until Shaak-Ti's eyes find yours, and she gives a slight shake of her head, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"This way," she says, and you fall back into step with her.

You make your way deeper into the facility, the conversation turning to more mundane matters, like the weather, the state of the war, and the progress of the new armor that will soon be standard issue for the clones. By the time you arrive at the conference room, you're practically bouncing off the walls, torn between turning tail and running back to your shuttle or begging for the tour to end so you can get your men and get out.

"Your new brigade is waiting for you in hangar bay six," Taun We informs you as the three of you step into the room. "Your commander will be along shortly."

You let out a sigh of relief, grateful to be away from her. She gives a curt nod and sweeps out of the room, her long white gown billowing behind her. You turn to Shaak-Ti, and the two of you share a look.

"I think she likes me," you say, and then, unable to stop yourself from adding the extra bit of sarcasm, add, "What a warm welcome."

Shaak-Ti merely gives you a polite smile, giving nothing away. You've known her for a while, and you've learned to read her better than most, but the Jedi Master can be as impenetrable as stone. Still, you have the feeling she agrees with you.

She looks you over, her gaze lingering on your face, and after a moment, her smile softens. The look in her eyes is familiar. It's the same look that Yaddle used to give you. A look of kindness and warmth. Of pride and approval.

"What is it?" you ask warily.

She hesitates, and for a moment, you're convinced she's going to say something that will send your already fragile mood spiraling. Instead, she reaches out and places a hand on your shoulder, her grip gentle but firm.

"I sense a change in you," she says, her voice low, her gaze locked onto yours. "You seem...different."

The words catch you off guard, and your eyes widen, a nervous feeling twisting in the pit of your stomach.

Different.

A month ago, a day ago, even, that word would have set off a wave of panic. It would have been a reminder of what happened, the memory of what you'd seen, the realization of how close you'd come to disaster. It would have sent you spiraling down the same path you'd been on before, the same path that led you here.

Now, however, the word holds a different meaning. It's not an accusation or a condemnation. It's not an indication of weakness or a mark of shame. It's a sign of growth, of maturity, of healing. 

And for the first time since you've known her, Shaak-Ti's gaze doesn't fill you with dread. Her words don't bring back the memories of the Council's betrayal, the pain of their dismissal, the guilt of Yaddle's death. Instead, it's as if a cloud has lifted, allowing you to see her for who she is, and not the person you have come to resent.

"It has been a long month," you reply, the words coming out softer than you had intended. Shaak-Ti hums in agreement.

"I am sorry for what happened," she says. Her grip tightens, and her eyes flicker away, the shame and guilt visible on her face. "I had hoped the Council would have listened to you. That we would have shown more compassion, this time and the last. But it is no excuse. You deserved better. You deserved a chance to grieve."

You're silent, unsure of how to respond. You've heard the apology before, from Obi-Wan and the other masters, but none of them had meant it. They had said the words out of obligation, not understanding the weight and depth of what they were saying. They hadn't understood what it had meant, what it had done.

But Shaak-Ti does. And she knows it.

The truth is, there's a part of you that still hates her. She took your master's seat on the Council, she was one of the voices that condemned you, and she's been a member of the Order long enough to know that their treatment of you was wrong. That they had failed you.

But the more rational part of you understands that it wasn't personal. It wasn't her decision, and the Council's actions were in the best interest of the Order. As much as it hurts, as much as it infuriates you, as much as it makes you want to scream, you can't fault her. Not anymore. Not after everything that's happened.

So instead, you reach up and place your hand over hers, a small, grateful smile on your face.

"Thank you," you tell her. Her eyes return to yours, a surprised look on her face. "For the apology, and for the support. It means a lot."

"Of course," she says, and the corners of her mouth lift. "And I am glad to see you are finally taking our advice."

Her words cause your shoulders to stiffen, a surge of defensiveness bubbling up. But the look on her face stops you short, and a wry smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

"That was a joke," she clarifies, and you snort, a surprised laugh escaping your lips.

"Right."

"I see the past few weeks have been good for you," she says. Her eyes twinkle, the expression on her face one of amusement and pride. "Your encounter with Count Dooku must have been...illuminating."

Your face heats up, and you duck your head, an embarrassed flush creeping up your neck. You had told Obi-Wan the bare bones of what happened, and he, in turn, had passed the information onto the Council. After a great deal of questioning, of course. And no small amount of suspicion. But they had decided to take you at your word, and that was all that mattered.

Or at least, that was what you told yourself.

You knew that the Council, or a few of the members at the very least, were suspicious. You also knew it would come back to haunt you eventually, but for now, you were content to ignore it. At least until after you had your first mission with your new men under your belt.

"Uh, yeah," you mutter, clearing your throat. "It was definitely an eye-opening experience."

"You've always had a knack for finding trouble," Shaak-Ti chuckles.

"Trouble finds me," you correct, and her chuckle turns into a laugh.

"Regardless," she says. "I am glad to see you are finally moving forward. And not just in regards to the Council."

Her words cause your heart to skip a beat, and a knot forms in the pit of your stomach, the butterflies fluttering inside. You try to play it off, but the blush on your cheeks gives you away, and the knowing look on her face tells you that she's well aware of the effect her words are having.

She seems to stop short of mentioning Obi-Wan directly, and for that, you're grateful. The idea of talking to her about how the two of you had decided to distance yourself from each other is almost as uncomfortable as the thought of discussing the nature of your relationship with Rex.

You'd spoken to Obi-Wan at length during the aftermath of Dooku's offer, the two of you going through the whole conversation, the Council meeting, the decision to put your friendship on hold. He had been sympathetic and supportive, and while there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes, he seemed content to accept the new status quo. Or at least, appear that way.

As for the matter of Rex, neither of you had brought it up. Not once. You had declared the topic strictly off-limits, and while the air between the two of you had cleared, there was still a lingering sense of awkwardness and discomfort. You had decided that the best thing to do was to avoid the issue entirely. At least for now.

"Yes, well," you say, shifting from one foot to the other, trying desperately to steer the conversation away from anything resembling feelings. "There's still a lot I have to learn."

"And there's a lot you can teach," Shaak-Ti replies, her tone encouraging. "Your experiences have given you a unique perspective, one that is often overlooked. A valuable asset. And the men will benefit from your newfound optimism. I have no doubt you will lead them well."

The words are unexpected, and you're not sure how to respond. You hadn't exactly expected a pep talk, especially from someone like Shaak-Ti. But as much as it confuses and surprises you, there's also a sense of gratitude and relief.

"Thank you," you say. "That means a lot, coming from you."

"It is the truth. I have always believed in your potential. As did Yaddle."

Her eyes flick down to your belt, and they settle on the second lightsaber hanging there. It had taken a great deal of courage and self-reflection to decide to place it the clip where your shoto had once hung this morning, and it had taken even more courage and self-reflection not to immediately remove it again. 

It still felt odd and unnatural, but somehow, it also felt right. As if the weight of the weapon was exactly what you needed to bring you into balance.

"She would be proud of the Jedi you have become," Shaak-Ti continues, and you let out a humorless laugh.

"I'm not sure about that," you mumble. "But I'm trying."

She opens her mouth to reply, but the sound of the door sliding open cuts her off, and the two of you turn to see a tall, broad-shouldered clone stride through. He's wearing armor you've never seen before, a new design that's sleeker and more streamlined than the usual. His helmet is the most noticeable difference, the lack of fin and rounder, smoother silhouette a stark contrast to the familiar T-shaped visor. 

There's a flurry of activity in the hallway behind him, and the door closes, cutting off the commotion. The trooper takes a deep breath, the movement causing his chestplate to expand, and his feet snap together, his hand raising to his head in a crisp, formal salute.

"General," he says stiffly.

You blink, taken aback by the formality, the lack of a nickname or any sort of personal acknowledgement. You're not used to such a cold greeting, and you wonder if maybe there's been a mistake. Maybe you've mistaken him for someone else, or perhaps he's got the wrong room.

You feel a thread of amusement tug at the back of your mind, and the realization dawns on you. Of course. He's putting on a show, drawing out the reveal, making the entrance more dramatic than necessary.

You let out a huff, struggling to suppress a smile, and you give him a curt nod, playing along.

"You remember Commander Booker," Shaak-Ti says, turning toward the commander, a hint of a smile on her face.

He's still standing in the same spot, stiff as a board, and you can't help but feel a little guilty. The man had been waiting outside, listening for his cue, and you'd given him nothing. He deserves a reaction at the very least, and you offer him a smile, hoping it's enough.

"How could I forget?" you ask. "It's been a while."

"It has, sir," he agrees, his hand lowering to his side. "But the memories are still fresh. Especially the ones where you nearly got me killed."

You let out a bark of laughter, the comment catching you off guard, and Shaak-Ti shakes her head, a disapproving frown on her face. Booker's shoulders, however, are shaking with silent laughter.

He takes a step forward and pulls his helmet off, revealing a familiar set of dark brown eyes, a crooked nose, and messy hair. It's only been a few weeks since you've seen him, but he looks older, somehow, stronger and more confident

The helmet goes onto the table with a thud, and he runs a hand over his hair, pushing it back into a more controlled style. The smile on his face fades, and he takes a deep breath, his expression shifting into something more serious.

"Good to see you again, sir," he says, and the warmth and sincerity in his voice is a welcome relief. "I've been looking forward to this for a while now."

You let out a quiet snort and move forward, holding out your hand. "Likewise."

"You look good," he says as he accepts your handshake, his hand clasping your forearm. "For someone who's been through hell."

"Heard about that, did you?" you ask with a grimace.

"Just the highlights," he replies, shrugging. "I hear it was pretty bad."

"It wasn't pretty," you confirm. You release his arm, and he nods, his expression solemn.

"I'm sorry."

The words take you aback, and the shock must be visible on your face, because he continues, a serious, determined look in his eye.

"I'll make sure we inspect the ship thoroughly before we leave," he says. "I don't want anything like that happening again. Ever."

You manage a small, grateful smile, touched by the sincerity. The memory of the explosion, the fight, the aftermath, is still raw, and it's a wound that's barely healed. To have someone acknowledge it and offer to do something about it is more comforting than you'd expected.

"Appreciate it," you tell him. "And thank you."

Booker nods, his gaze moving over your shoulder. His eyes meet Shaak-Ti's, and he straightens, his expression hardening.

"I trust everything is in order, Commander?" she asks, and he gives a sharp nod.

"Yes, General," he replies, his tone formal and clipped. "The men are ready and waiting."

"Very good," she says. With a slight incline of her head, she turns to you. "It was a pleasure speaking with you. I wish you the best of luck in your new command."

"Thank you," you tell her. "For everything."

"May the Force be with you," she says, a warm, knowing look on her face. With that, she strides past you and heads towards the door. She pauses at the threshold, and turns back to Booker. "Please escort your general to the hangar bay. She has much to prepare for."

He gives a curt nod, and the two of you watch as the door slides shut, leaving the two of you alone. For a moment, you stand in silence, taking each other in. Then, Booker smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"So," he drawls. "What do you think of the new look?"

You let out a soft laugh, studying him. He seems taller than before, though you're not sure if it's the armor or just his natural build. The armor is lighter, the plates smaller, and the helmet is sleek and smooth.

It's a subtle shift, but you can see the difference in the way he's standing. There's a lightness, a speediness, a fluidity to the new armor that the previous one lacked. And while it still looks a bit bulky and cumbersome, it's a far cry from the clunky, clumsy appearance it had before.

"I like it," you say. You give him an appraising look and cross your arms, tilting your head to the side. "It's a bit more...elegant."

Booker lets out a loud laugh, the sound echoing off the walls. He shakes his head and leans over, plucking his helmet off the table and turning it around in his hands.

"Elegant, huh? I don't know about that." He looks up, his eyes finding yours, a mischievous gleam in his gaze. "But I'll tell you one thing. It's a hell of a lot easier to see out of. Not to mention move."

"Is that so?" you ask. He grins.

"We've already seen a decrease in troopers tripping over their own feet. And that's just the first day."

He holds the helmet out to you, and you take it, your hands wrapping around the edges. It's lighter than you had expected, the material smooth and cool to the touch. You study it, admiring the details, the sleek lines and sharp edges.

"It's a prototype," he tells you. "Not officially released yet, but the boys and I have been testing it out."

You give a noncommittal hum and flip the helmet over, studying the inner workings. It's not the most high-tech piece of equipment, but it's still a vast improvement from the original. You feel a small amount of relief that the GAR was finally listening to the clones and making some upgrades. It's about damn time.

"I, uh, didn't want to paint it yet," Booker says, and the slight hesitation in his tone causes you to look back up. "Wasn't sure what color you wanted to go with."

You find yourself staring at him, unsure of how to respond. The idea of choosing the colors for the brigade hadn't remotely crossed your mind. To be honest, you had forgotten that was something you were supposed to do. It seemed so trivial, so superficial. So insignificant compared to everything else that needed to be done.

But the look on his face, the anticipation, the excitement, is enough to remind you that this is important. To him, at least. And to the other men. 

You may not care about the color of your armor, but they do. They want to stand out, to be noticed, to be distinguished. And if choosing the colors is the first step in showing them that you care, that you respect their individuality, it's the least you can do.

You give him a warm smile and hand the helmet back. "Well, I'm sure we can come up with something."

"We can workshop it, if you want," he offers. "Once we're underway. Give the men a chance to put their opinions forward. See what they like."

The offer is unexpected, and you're touched by the thoughtfulness. You had been planning on making the choice yourself, but now that he's brought it up, the idea of including the other clones in the process seems far more fitting. And more than a little relieving. You've lived most of your life in white and beige robes, and the last thing you want is to subject the men to a similar fate.

"I like that," you tell him, and his smile widens.

"I'll let the boys know," he says. He tucks the helmet under his arm and moves towards the door. "I'm sure they're already thinking of ideas."

You follow him out the doors and into the hallway, and the two of you walk side-by-side, the conversation turning to the men, their training, their readiness for the fight ahead. Booker has already gotten a head start, having spent the past couple weeks drilling the new recruits. According to him, the boys are "ready for anything."

The pride and enthusiasm in his voice makes it difficult to question him, so you don't. You just let him talk, taking advantage of the distraction his presence provides. Tomorrow, you'll no doubt have a long list of things to worry about. But for now, you can just focus on getting through today.

"And they're ready to meet you," he continues. He flashes you a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "They've been waiting for weeks."

"Really?" you ask, surprised. "Why?"

Booker stops, and he turns to you, an incredulous look on his face.

"Uh, because you're a hero, sir," he replies, as if the answer should be apparent.

You let out a snort, amused by the comment. "That's a bit of an exaggeration."

Booker gives you a look, his eyes narrowing slightly, and the air between the two of you shifts. His posture becomes stiffer, his gaze more serious. You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling a slight sense of trepidation.

"No, sir, it's not," he says, his tone clipped and formal. "Not to me, and certainly not to my brothers."

You let out a quiet breath, the knot in your stomach tightening. You had been hoping to avoid this topic, at least for a few days. But it seems as if Booker isn't willing to wait.

"They remember what happened," he continues, his voice low, his eyes locking onto yours. "They saw what you did. They watched you throw yourself into the line of fire. They saw you save our lives."

He steps closer, and you take a step back, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. You had done what any decent person would do during the battle here. You had been trying to keep everyone alive, not play the part of the hero. And while you can appreciate the sentiment, you also know that the men have a tendency to make a bigger deal out of things than necessary. Especially Booker.

"They've been waiting for you since they heard the news," he says. His tone is soft, but his words are firm, unyielding. "They're excited. They want to meet you."

You give a small nod, unsure of how to respond. This is a new side of him, one you've never seen before. The man in front of you is different than the one you knew, and the sudden change is unnerving. It makes you feel like you're on unfamiliar ground. Like you're being judged.

Booker stares at you, his eyes searching your face, his gaze intense and penetrating. For a moment, neither of you speak, and you're unsure of what to do. If you should speak. If you should try to explain. If you should simply accept the praise.

After what feels like an eternity, his expression changes, the seriousness fading. A slow, easy grin spreads across his face, and he reaches up and squeezes your shoulder.

"I get it," he says. "But trust me, they're not looking at you like some kind of legend. They're just happy to have a general who cares."

You open your mouth, the denial on the tip of your tongue, but Booker cuts you off, giving your shoulder another squeeze.

"Just trust me on this," he says, his gaze softening. His grin widens, and he releases his hold. "The men are going to love you."

"Okay," you relent, the word coming out as a sigh. "I'll take your word for it."

The truth is, you're not convinced the men will even want anything to do with you. But if you're going to be their general, you need to set a good example. That means showing confidence, and that means believing in yourself, even if you don't. And if the men are ready, willing, and eager to fight for you, it's the least you can do to give them the same.

After another long look, Booker gives you a nod, and the two of you start down the hall once more. You're relieved the conversation is over, but you can't help the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. Something is bothering him. And judging by the look on his face, it has something to do with you.

You keep the conversation centered around the troops and what's expected of you in the coming days. As soon as everyone is loaded into your new Venator, the Oracle, you'll be following the 501st to Bothawui, where you'll rendezvous with the 212th and the rest of the fleet. From there, the plan is to hit Separatist outposts, supply lines, and bases, anywhere that needs your attention. And according to the Senate, that's just about everywhere.

The war is in full swing, and it's going to be a while before things begin to settle.

By the time you reach the doors to the platform overlooking the hangar bay, the sun has begun to dip below the horizon, pockets of warm, golden light seeping through the clouds. The sky is a brilliant mix of red and orange and gold, the colors shimmering off the clouds and the ocean, the whole world outside the window bathed in the dying rays of the setting sun.

As beautiful as it is, however, it also brings with it the realization that the time has come. There's no running from it now.

Booker steps aside, his hand resting on the keypad. He gives you a slight nod, and you take a deep breath, letting the calm of the Force settle over you. It's now or never.

"Ready, sir?" he asks, and you let out a small laugh.

"As I'll ever be."

"You're gonna be fine," he tells you, his tone confident. "They're going to love you. Just wait and see."

You give him a slight smile, hoping that's the case.

He pushes a button on the panel, and the doors slide open. The sound of hundreds of voices fills the air as you step through, your eyes sweeping over the mass of soldiers gathered below. It's a sea of white armor, rows and rows stretching and curving in all directions. They're packed in tightly, forming neat, orderly lines, the perfect picture of discipline and obedience.

They're ready for their commander, and you know it's only a matter of moments before they find out exactly who that is.

The thought is enough to send your stomach into knots. You're not used to being the center of attention, and the prospect of speaking in front of so many is unsettling. Especially since they'll be judging every word, every gesture, every movement.

You try to keep your nerves under control, focusing on the Force, on your training, on anything and everything except the fear. You have nothing to worry about. It's just a few words, and it's not as if the entire future of the Republic depends on them. No pressure.

As you step closer to the edge of the platform, you notice a few soldiers turn, their heads snapping up. You can see their gazes following you as you make your way to the railing, and as soon as you stop, the whole group comes to attention, the sound of boots hitting the floor filling the air.

There's a hush that falls over the room, and a shiver runs down your spine, a flutter in your stomach. You can't see their eyes, but the feeling in the Force is unmistakable. Excitement. Anticipation. Pride.

It's almost enough to knock the breath out of you.

For a moment, all you can do is stand there, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the emotions washing over you. It's as if a wave has crashed over the crowd, the energy rising, cresting, and breaking against the wall of the platform. You've never felt anything like it before, and it takes a great deal of effort to stay upright. To remain in control. To not collapse under the weight of it.

Booker comes to your rescue, stepping forward and raising his hand.

"Alright, men," he says, his voice ringing through the hangar. "Listen up! Our new general has arrived!"

His words are enough to snap you out of your daze, and you straighten, forcing the feelings aside. You take a deep breath, gathering your courage. This is it. No more delaying. No more stalling. It's now or never.

With one final glance at Booker, you take a step forward and raise your voice, hoping it's loud enough to carry.

"Thank you," you begin. Your voice carries through the room, and the men below go still, their attention completely focused on you. "Welcome to the 419th. I won't waste time. I know that, for some of you, this is the first time you've stepped foot off Kamino. For others, it's your first time seeing a real battle. But whatever your experience, whatever your history, we are all here for the same purpose. To serve the Republic. To bring justice and peace to the people of the galaxy. And I am honored to lead you."

The words come out stronger than you expected, and the feeling is surreal. You had been terrified that the moment would be filled with stutters and mistakes, but it's not. In fact, you barely feel nervous at all. The men below are listening to you, their focus completely on your words.

"We have a difficult task ahead of us, but no one of us is fighting alone. Every member of this brigade is important. Every life is precious. And every man is irreplaceable," you continue, a rush of confidence filling you. "Whatever challenges we face, whatever trials we must endure, we will face them together. We will overcome them together. And we will defeat the Separatists, together."

A murmur spreads through the men, and you glance at Booker, who's giving you a slight nod. His eyes are shining with pride, and the sight is enough to fill your chest with warmth. You turn back to the troops, a smile spreading across your face. And as the words leave your mouth, you find yourself actually meaning them. Actually believing them.

Because this time, things are different.

This time, you're going to win.

You're going to prove everyone wrong.

"Today marks the beginning of a new chapter in our lives," you say. "Today, we embark on a journey that will shape the future of the Republic. Today, we show the galaxy that the clone troopers are the heroes the Republic needs.

"And from this day forward, I will be standing beside you. In victory, and defeat, and whatever else may come."

The words are barely out of your mouth before the room erupts, a cheer echoing through the air. The noise is deafening, the sound rattling the floor beneath your feet. And the feeling is indescribable.

“Told you, sir!”

Booker claps a hand on your shoulder, shaking you slightly, and he's practically vibrating with excitement. You turn, and the smile on his face is enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're not sure how long it takes before the noise finally dies down, but by the time it does, you're grinning like an idiot.

You stand there, letting the moment wash over you, taking in the feeling. For the first time since Geonosis, you finally feel ready. You finally feel prepared. You finally feel like the leader these men need.

Most importantly, you finally feel like yourself again. And no matter what happens, you won't let these men down.

"Alright," you say, your voice barely audible above the noise. "Let's get started."

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[archivewriter1ont]

Echo and the Cadet Batch Chapter Eight: Reunion is Posted!

fantastic art by @littletroggo (let me know what your repost/credit/etc policy is I couldn't find it on your blog)

Merry Christmas all! My posting schedule will be a little different over the holidays but Cadet Batch should still be on track.

Summary of Chapter Eight:

The Bad Batch has an unexpected but much-needed and fluffy reunion with their lost brother Ninety-Nine while they try to figure out what to do next.

Some additional notes for this chapter:

1. The pacing with this feels very different from the kiddos chapters, but I've resigned myself to it being that way since these ARE the adults and the other chapters are literally chaos.

2. This is the chapter that started it all! So yes, I created this entire weird plotline to get to this part.

3. Hunter gets emotionally hammered in this chapter but I've always loved the idea that he stresses himself out so badly, trying to be the best older brother for his siblings, because he doesn't have one anymore. Ninety-Nine would have taken such good care of his baby brothers and losing him would have left such a void for the little cadet who was already struggling to be good enough.

4. Also, spoiler alert: Hunter will end up crying in a later chapter. He's just too in his head at the moment.

5. And due to the complexities of space physics (hereafter known as sphysics) the time on Kamino is proceeding at a different speed than time in the present where Echo is with the cadets. Don't ask me why...I'm not a sphysicist. 😁

I have some time off work for the holidays so I *might* slip in an extra chapter here and there. With that said, Meeting the Vode Part Three (the last part) will hopefully be posted this Friday as a belated Christmas present. Stay tuned!

[1-800-crscnt]

-jobs I think some clones would have in a post-war “clones are legally seen as people” universe-

Cody: plant + animal farmer. sees it as both a new experience/challenge (land, terrestrial plants and animals) but also slightly similar to what he was used to as a marshal commander. likes the hard work & care required for this lifestyle but cares more about the payoff of it all. will underestimate mint at some point.

Rex: fisherman of some kind. i don’t really have a reason for this, it just seems very likely to me. probably enjoys the peace and solitude it can bring after years of being in the situations he’s been in, but likes the learning aspect and self-sufficient parts of knowing how to fish. could also like the thrill of wrestling large fish that have bodycounts and going to competitions about it, maybe all of these options at once. possibly worries a lot about everyone else and is always sending them photos of him fishing so they respond with their own thing.

Fox: nice try. stays unemployed in a comfortable cabin in some isolated town and loves it. if he needs money, he’ll cash in on favors or do small favors for his brothers.

Wolffe: also tempted to stay unemployed, but gets restless + depressed, becomes a woodworker. doesn’t care about it at first since it’s just a way to get money and stay busy, but develops a liking towards the methodical work and the feeling of creating something very meaningful and/or beautiful with his own hands. ends up liking to create furniture for his brothers getting settled down as a hobby, but creates gothic decorations to sell as his main thing. possibly gets less depressed.

Bly: security guard, would quit, then become a geologist. liked how similar being a security guard was to being a marshal commander at times, but overall hated being reminded of how a lot of people saw/see clones. found more peace in geology bc of how delicate/patient/focused he had to be (helps reinforce his belief that he’s not a violent machine capable of nothing else), also loves learning and sharing knowledge in general. doesn’t really like working with other geologists, tends to not communicate being angry since he’s used to shutting up to get a job done. but he’s dealing. sort of.

Doom: would probably also be unemployed but because he keeps quitting any job after about a month. just can’t find anything that calls to him or keeps him happy, but knows his end goal is to have a life involving lots of plants. doesn’t enjoy being unemployed because he tends to see it as a personal failing on his part, ends up very stressed. Wolffe tries to give advice on just jumping right into plant stuff and making money off it, but Doom is hesitant to make something he loves into a job he might end up hating and quitting again.

Bacara: part-time piercer, part-time bounty hunter. likes to call them both his “piercing jobs” to the discomfort of nearly everyone else. prefers bounty hunting since he thinks it’s more necessary + familiar, but would give it up first if he was forced to only choose one (more stable pay + might live longer). backup plan is to fake his death (unnecessary & regardless of situation) and become a librarian or historian with a fake accent. sort of a nerd anyway, so this isn’t the end of the world for him, and likes how he can get away with dissociating more than he used to.

Neyo: surprisingly, professional racer. refuses to explain how he got this idea, his motives, and where the next event will be, but likes it when his brothers somehow show up. loves the exhilaration, risk (huge adrenaline junkie) and how his outfit looks. also likes the bragging rights. backup plan is to fake his death (again, unnecessary & regardless of situation) and secretly live with Bacara, becoming a chef because he likes working with knives + feeding hungry people fulfills his desire to be useful in some way. has yet to tell Bacara any of this, actually finds not saying anything about it really funny.

[arctrooperstitches]

Anakin: master I need to borrow commander Cody. Obi-Wan: why. Anakin: because I need a clone trooper other than rex to throw around with the force. Obi-Wan: no. Anakin: master please. Obi-Wan: no no and no. Anakin: fine

[one-hit-boy-wonder]

au where the clones are suddenly given powers powers based on their armour paint

the rest of the bad batch can puppet corpses (skeleton designs) and echo can astral project a million hands to slap anyone who makes comments about his scomp

jesse can summon kinetic shurikens in the shape of gears, dogma can do the same with a boomerang, hardcase has super speed as long as he moves in straight lines, and tup can turn into a puddle and slide around

fives can turn into a Rishi eel, Rex can turn into a shriek hawk (jaig), wolffe you get the idea

clones with the medic symbol like kix have healing abilities and cody, of course, has sunburst/light summoning powers

[13ag21k]

It is 5am AND I JUST REALIZED THAT KANAN BLOODY JARRUS HAS JAIG EYES PAINTED OVER HIS VISOR, WHAT? Did Sabine just bestow this symbol upon him due to his bravery and continous self sacrifice for the rebellion and his little found family? Does Kanan even know that she did this? Why doesn't Rex say anything about it? Why hasn't the rest of the crew noticed this? I'm in tears, does anyone know why is this so?

Look at him! Why didn't I notice this sooner?

HE WEN TO A MANDALORIAN PLANET, TO SABINE'S CLAN WEARING JAIG EYES ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?? HOW IS THIS NOT A BIG DEAL? He is like oh "hello" I'm a JEDI WEARING A SYMBOL BELONGING TO YOUR RACE BESTOWED UPON ME BY MY MANDALORIAN DAUGHTER. I CAN'T even process this.

Edit: Where is the scene where Sabine lovingly paints it over his visor and Kanan doesn't know how much this means to her and her people. This symbolizes how brave and courageous Kanan is, that instead of being underestimated for his lack of vision he should be feared and respected and that my friends is what makes a grown ass person cry.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Not to start beef on main but what was the POINT of creating and then endearing us to Rex, of making him such an integral part of The Clone Wars and Rebels as a protagonist and supporting character, making him not just Anakin's and Ahsoka's captain but also their friend and most loyal ally, if you're gonna fucking snub him from the plot completely?

[darthkote]

Rex headcanons Pt. 1

Revels in even the smallest shred of attention from those he loves, which typically doesn't exceed more than the Jedi and his brothers. I can imagine Rex, running on absolute fumes and aching to go horizontal after the latest campaign, giving in when Fives or Jesse (or anyone else) smile at him with hope reflecting in their eyes – hope of spending time together, sharing laughs and drunken confessions. It wasn't often he was granted the opportunity to stop being Captain Rex (Ori'vod, the Battalion called him) and let his guards down. Though not blessed with ease in conversation and a relaxed disposition that some of his brothers developed after leaving Kamino, Rex craves connection more than anything. He wishes to understand the secret aspirations of his brothers just as much as he wishes to know their deepest fears so that he may do his best to ensure they never happen.

In the same vein, Rex prides himself in his implementation of risk prevention strategies. But he blames himself when things go haywire. Like his Jedi general, releasing control and accepting loss are difficult for Rex. If he could take blaster bolts to bring back every fallen brother, he'd do it without thinking – and he'd wear each scar with pride. This doesn't stem from a place of pride or wanting to be a hero. It goes back, instead, to the isolation he remembers before finding those he belonged with, those who looked like him, spoke like him and understood the loneliness he'd felt and could not go back to. Instead, it was the dread that filled him each time he thought about the dreams of a brother burning out like yet another star from a dying system that kept his feet trudging through each battlefield. There was a hope that, after the war, the clones would be granted more humanity.

When graced with time, Rex will say a silent prayer for the brothers who perished so that he could continue their mission. At first, he keeps his helmet on to hide the streaks of dampness that leave trails through the dirt and grime on his cheeks. As the months and years go by, however, he removes his helmet so that his brother's identity is not the only one left unknown by the harsh world he died in. (The tears eventually hesitate to fall too, and he hates it.) The prayers usually are an angry jumble of chaotic thoughts accompanied by the hope that his brothers' souls will find peace now that they were not being forced to fight a war that wasn't theirs. Ahsoka realizes this and encourages Rex to meditate and let his anger go to the Force.

Since Saleucami, Rex has been preoccupied with thoughts of building his own home and family. He wonders if there could be someone out there waiting for him, someone he'd have the pleasure to know and protect of his own volition. He finds himself daydreaming about four walls that he can call his, that he can fill with the things he chooses – to eat warm meals in, rather than a bland ration bar. Ideally, it'd be enough land to have space for any brothers who wish to visit or stay.

When asleep somewhere he knows is safe, he finds himself dreaming of someone beside him. The apparition has no specific traits or physicality; it's just the idea of having someone close, someone near, that gets him to relax and begin drifting into a dream. He likes to run through the mental catalogue of planets he's seen, the foliage, the weather, and the people. Though when awake, he does his best to push the fictional future he dreamed of deep down into the pit of his stomach; the possibility of not having that someday causes fear to fill his heart. And fear, he's heard, ultimately leads to suffering.

[rexsoka-monthly]

April Fools!! Haha, unless… 🤭

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