#captain rex fics

[toomanyteefs]

Well the memes I did for my fic Snapback went over so well that I made a bunch for Do-Over too! Enjoy!

And here's a bonus from Bite The Bullet for good measure.

[tossawary]

Something I found surprising when revisiting the prequel trilogy is how much the clones aren't full characters in the movies. They're props. They're devices. The films give them the same weight and attention as they give the Separatist droids, really. The only two clone troopers I can easily name off the top of my head who get "named" in any way are Oddball and Cody, who are both just barely in "Revenge of the Sith", and interchangeable in their roles with any other background clone.

It's interesting when held up against "The Clone Wars" and other extension material, which had the time and inclination to say more directly, "Hey, these are people and what's happening to them is wrong." Like, obviously what's happening in Ep2&3 is wrong, the audience can draw that conclusion on their own, growing people as cannon fodder is a clear part of the greater tragedy if you take about five seconds to think about the situation here. Even without the element of the entire war being constructed and controlled by the main villain, the clones are a tragedy.

But, oh man, the movies themselves don't really care to focus on that. It's SUCH a background element. I had a "oh, yeah, Order 66 being programmed into a control chip was a later addition to / clarification of canon" moment while watching, because as far as Ep3 actually shows us (as was the initial intention by some, I know), Cody apparently knew the entire time that he might be called to fire on Obi-Wan Kenobi and was just waiting on the call. The "homogenous evil army" trope is... very much present and even more identical than usual here.

By the films alone, you can easily assume that the clone troopers have no love for any of the Jedi (whom we're meant to believe are relatively decent people) for a variety of reasons. Their upbringing and training on Kamino was presumably cold and brutal. They're (possibly enslaved) soldiers in an even more brutal war. This army is offered no development or individuality that makes the appalling Jedi Temple massacre out of character for any of them.

But when the various Clone Wars shows first turned the clones into individual characters and even protagonists, many of whom are shown to be good people and become friendly with the Jedi through years of teamwork in life-or-death situations, Order 66 became weird. "Wait, why would the majority of clones (all the clones we see in the movies, at least) just go along with this? What went wrong here?"

I get why TCW and SW canon settled on the control chips option and I find it interesting enough. The tragedy of it all makes me want to lie facedown on the floor. Darth Sidious is really winning at sheer evilness here.

On the other hand, there are some really fun and interesting "Order 66 was taught, not programmed" AUs to revisit here. Especially when some of the other (Legends canon now) contingency orders include what to do if the Supreme Chancellor is incapacitated or declared unfit, or even getting rid of the Supreme Chancellor and assuming control by lethal force if necessary. Presumably these orders existed as a back-up in case Palpatine wasn't elected to the seat in time for the war or didn't manage to get rid of term limits and was replaced as Chancellor at any point.

That really sounds like Palpatine's evil army of ruthless Jedi-Killers (unchipped) could have easily backfired on him if they'd ever decided all of these non-clones were unfit and organized to take power for themselves. I love any scenario where Palpatine's arrogant and overly complicated plans get him in trouble. The "homogenous evil army" often gets treated as a mindless mob, but while the clones may have some degree of emotional suppression, they're clearly very capable and not unintelligent, and they're not given many (if any) reasons to be loyal to the Republic. And it is FUNNY to imagine any Dark Lord's created army deciding that he fucking sucks at war (there's obviously a leak, why the FUCK are they losing so much ground to fucking droids) and they're overthrowing him for better benefits, so that they can create and run a more efficient Evil Empire themselves.

You could make this angsty as hell or a comedy, or both. I'm imagining the clones at the eleventh hour murdering Chancellor Palpatine with such brutal efficiency that it feels like its own kind of prejudice. And he gets revealed as a Sith Lord in the process (this was taken into account as a potential problem when planning the assassination), so there's an initial moment of: "I can't believe it! He was the Sith Lord in the Senate all along! How did you know?"

Cody: "Didn't."

Obi-Wan: "...Pardon?"

Cody: "This is a coup, sir."

Like, if we're going by what's shown in the movies alone, there's a clear Emperor Cody AU to be had here. Which can be played as a temporary (years long) measure to reinstall a Republic with proper checks and balances, while a bemused Jedi Order and Senate are held hostage, or the First Galactic Empire is established as per canon just with the clones running it and reaping the benefits. I'm currently enjoying thinking about the latter scenario as a dark comedy, in which Future Emperor Cody (or the clone of your choice) has to negotiate in his spare time with the various demands of his fellow clones. (Who are, let us remember due to the horror that is the accelerated aging, a bunch of teenagers at the oldest here.)

Rex: "I want Tatooine."

Cody: "The whole planet?"

Rex: "Yeah."

Cody: "It's a shithole."

Rex: "Yeah, but it'll make Skywalker so kriffing mad, so I'm calling dibs."

Cody: "Noted."

And if you want to write shipfic, there's always the AU of various Evil Army Clones meeting their love interest and then going, "Not evil anymore! Sorry, guys." Which could be angsty or another dark-ish comedy.

Cody @ the clone commander group chat: "WE'RE NOT GIVING UP ON THE 3-YEAR IMPERIAL COUP PLAN JUST BECAUSE YOU HORNY ASSHOLES WANT TO FUCK JEDI!!! STOP TALKING ABOUT THE POWER OF LOVE!!! STOP IT!!!"

[thatforkedroad]

Sun-hearted

[ao3] Anakin Skywalker is not human. The people around him try not to think about it.

----

Shmi had always known her son wasn’t like her. 

At first, she had assumed that the pregnancy had simply happened without her knowledge. Or that perhaps her mind had blocked out the event — a slave knew better than anyone how the brain killed the past to protect the present, to keep you surviving. 

But the more she tried to dig up the memory-that-wasn’t-there, the more she ran through scenarios, the more she realised that nothing that made sense. If it had been… any of her theories, she would have known, there would have been evidence, Watto wouldn’t have been so angry when he found out. Eventually, she realised she had to give up logic alltogether. Anakin’s father was not something knowable to her. He (it?) had been something else. Something impossible. 

A miracle.

The theory only grew more convincing as her pregnancy progressed. She began to sense things no human should have been able to. Objects falling before they’d even been knocked. Watto’s bad mood from two rooms away. Her baby’s strong soul, loudly proclaiming it would be a survivor. 

She held her new sixth sense dear for those nine months she had it — but not as dearly as she held her baby boy, to whom the sense really belonged. Her darling miracle baby boy, who always knew too much too soon, who read intentions as easily as he read schematics, and whose quick hands and quicker mind did the impossible on Boonta Eve. 

Slaves were supposed to cling to their miracles, so few and far between as they were. But a mother was supposed to do what was best for her son, and Anakin was her boy above all else. She let him go, hoping the Jedi would understand and care for his impossibility better than she ever could. 

(And as Shmi died, she did not need Anakin’s sixth sense to feel the anger running through his miracle veins. She did not need it to know what would happen next, either. 

She knew with all the certainty her slow-beating heart had that her son’s grief would raze the galaxy to ash.)

—

Obi-Wan knew Anakin didn’t fit in with the other younglings and padawans.

He wanted to believe it was just because of the boy’s upbringing, that it was only because he’d grown up in a much crueler, realer world to the others. Or perhaps it was because Anakin was already a padawan or because of how annoyingly easily it was for him to call the Force. Maybe they just heard the Council had tried to reject him. There seemed to be a few hundred thousand reasons that the children of the Temple would consider him an outsider — but one stood out like a sore and mythical thumb. 

There was no Chosen One or such thing as a child born of the Force. There was certainly no chance that the other children (even the ones who tried to accept Anakin with open arms) could sense otherness in his blood. He was just like any other Jedi, if a little more reckless. 

As Anakin and the other padawans grew, they grew together. He became like well-sewn patch on an old shirt — the difference was there, yes, but only noticeable if you were really looking. It was better for everyone if Obi-Wan stopped looking for the gap, so he did. 

Anakin had never seemed to notice it, anyway. 

(And as he watched Anakin’s slaughter of the Temple, the hot drowning of dread and horror and nausea was joined by a cold, parasitic realisation. The gap between Anakin and the other Jedi had never grown smaller; Obi-Wan had only grown more blind. 

Jedi were taught from a young age that they could not hold or control the Force, that they were to let it flow freely else they would face the consequences. Obi-Wan had been a fool to think that something made of one half Force and one half heartbreak could be held any more than its parent.)

—

Anakin grinned, and Ahsoka felt every clone in the hangar’s mood lift. Ahsoka couldn’t help but smile in return — and then he cracked a joke, and the worry and grief of the battle became a distant, shrouded memory.

It always went like this. They came back from the latest campaign dirtied, injured, and with a tiredness that ached into their very bones. They all wanted nothing more than to eat and sleep and mourn and not talk to anyone for several hours. But then Anakin — still riding the high of a good fight — would clap Ahsoka on the shoulder, make a stupid comment to Rex, and everything would feel fine. Better than fine even. 

Morale seemed so reliant on him that if her master was angry or sad or upset, so was the entire ship. When he was in a mood, meditation became impossible, no matter how at peace Ahsoka felt. She once considered that it was more than just moral, more than just his stupid jokes, but she had grown up in the Temple, raised on lessons of a Jedi’s few limits. A single man could not project his emotions onto an army. 

Anakin just had a friendly smile, was all. 

(And when Maul told her — warned her — of what her master would become, she did not listen. She could not listen. She thought only of his grin, and the sunny sureness in her chest that always accompanied it.

And so she fought for it again.)

—

Rex knew, theoretically, that General Skywalker was human. 

He’d seen enough medical scans from Kix (on the unusual occasion that the general submitted to care) to know that Skywalker’s biology was just like any natborn human’s. He didn’t have strange-coloured blood or an extra eye and all his (mostly-intact) organs were in the right places. The records showed that he was completely, one-hundred-percent human. 

Theoretically, this made complete sense. 

And it made sense he would seem slightly off. Rex had spent the first decade of his life surrounded entirely by his brothers and Kaminoan scientists; his idea of a ‘normal’ person was someone who looked and sounded identical to him, not a tall, barely-tanned Tatooinian with the wrong accent. Even if it hadn’t been, Rex knew Jedi were different from your average natborn. They could do all these crazy things that belonged in storybooks and myths, not the battlefield. Swaying people, moving objects (or clone captains) with their minds, seeing the future — if Rex hadn’t been trained to do so, he wouldn’t have believed a word of it. 

But if being a Jedi had been the reason, wouldn’t Rex have noticed the same thing with Commander Tano or General Kenobi? He understood that maybe Commander Tano wasn’t old enough to develop whatever it was General Skywalker had — but Kenobi was older, more trained in the Force. Surely Rex would have noticed the same thing, that same surely-not-quite-human feeling with him? 

Maybe he just spent too much time around the General. Maybe this thinking was just a part of having a good natborn friend.

He hoped it was, at least. 

(And when Rex heard of the attack on the Temple, he understood his hope was for naught. 

He and his brothers weren’t an isolated incident, he knew; Ahsoka had felt the deaths across the galaxy. He had no doubt the clones on the battlefield cut down their generals — who trusted them like they trusted their own right hand, who stood alone in front of a one-thousand strong army — with an alarming ease. 

But he heard reports of the Temple, of blue-painted clones massacring all there, and knew they couldn’t have done it alone. Only one Jedi was strong enough to take on a Temple of their own kind and win.)

—

Padmé wondered if her husband was made from the stars themselves.

It seemed like the only explanation, sometimes. How could anything mortal be so beautiful? How could anything born on solid ground hold that much love in its heart? He was impossible. He looked her in the eye and saw right through every mask she wore, saw that all she was at the core was an overworked girl from Naboo — and still beamed like she was the most perfect thing in the galaxy. He loved her for who she was, not what she could do for him nor for the stature of Amidala. That seemed rarer than stardust. 

She would see him and her breath would catch with something that had to be more than love. He stood by the window and stared into the Coruscanti night like he could hear every thought in the city-planet, his golden-brown hair catching the edges of the hundred-colour lights. She ought to walk up to him, hold him, tell him she loves him and pepper him with kisses — but all she could do was stare. In those moments, he was perfect and divine, and she could not interrupt them with her mortality. 

(And as Padmé lay dying, her life force dragged out by some dark presence, she thought of her star-husband. And she thought of the refugees she had once helped when their sun imploded. It should have been a lesson learnt; stars were beautiful in the night sky, warm in the summer, but dangerous. Able to end entire planets in their own cosmic pain. 

Some small part of her knew this when she first said I love you. But she could not listen. She saw only the star-beauty in his eyes and all the love he held in his sun-heart.)

—

Anakin Skywalker had long questioned whether he was human or not. 

But as Darth Vader looked down at his mechanical hands, heard his pressurised breathing, and ignored the pain that followed his every half-sedated movement, he found his humanity was no longer a question. 

[moxie-girl]

still workshopping some of these a bit, but here's the current mando'a name chart for the CCs (plus rex!)

green words are ones I took directly from the mando'a dictionary, yellow words are technically non-canon but are basically real words, orange are words I made up that could probably be real words, and red ones are the ones I just mashed words together and they don't always make the most sense

I'm taking constructive criticism on some of these names! If you have a better mando'a name for a character (esp. one w a red name) I'd be happy to hear it!

edit: other name lists can be found here: 501st 212th !!

[superlarva]

Sooo... I'm thinking of writing a fic about Rex obtaining a set of traumatized twins (Fives and Echo) and having to learn how to parent them (similar to Buir Basics, which gave me severe brainrot, one of my favorite fics, I love it). Would people be at all interested in that?

[vizslasaber]

FRIENDLY FIRE ──── i.

summary: after landing on the umbaran surface, you butt heads with your fellow general—but get along swimmingly with your temporary clone captain.

pairing: captain rex x female jedi!reader

word count: 3.9k

warnings: combat/action, mentions of injury + death, krell being a bitch, reader with a name instead of y/n because i hate it

a/n: it’s back!!! previously i posted this series on my main, @brrmian, but i changed that blog’s username and have mostly shifted over to fanart and general SW content. i’ve decided to dedicate this new side blog’s content entirely to fic writing under my old username, posting reader insert on here and everything else on ao3! this fic will be updated sparsely but definitely more often than it was on my main. i’ve changed a few things regarding the plot of this series specifically, and i like it a lot more now!!

series masterlist | click here to add or remove yourself from the taglist!

You hadn’t wanted to leave the Temple behind—you still don’t, even lightyears away from the Core.

When the Jedi Council had first made you aware of the plan to have you and a Master you’d never met capture an Umbaran airbase with troops that were not your own, you had put up something of a fight. What right, you demanded, did the Chancellor have the right to simply pull a Jedi from their sacred duty for a trivial air-to-ground assault?

The Council had either not wanted to answer this question or had not known how to, so now you stand on a transport gunship with two clone troopers and an intimidatingly tall Besalisk Jedi Master by the name of Pong Krell. Both of you are holding onto the grab handles hanging from the ceiling; you’re gripping the handle so tightly your knuckles are slightly pale, but Krell looks perfectly steady.

Of course he is, you think bitterly. He has four arms.

The atmosphere of Umbara is breathable but strangely thick—fog seeps through the blast door openings, and the lights inside the gunship’s passenger bay seem to have dimmed. Your lightsabers bump against your hips and you wince slightly as sounds of frantic gunfire reach your ears.

This will be your first campaign.

You have seen death before, on missions as a Padawan before the war—but never on this scale, if the reports of your already-knighted friends from the Temple are anything to go by. You only hope that you will be assigned your own battalion soon, so you don’t have to go running around replacing wayward Generals.

It’s hard, standing at the side of an imposing Master, not to feel like a Padawan. The skin behind your right ear burns with the memory of the braid that had been there just last week, waiting to be sheared off as you prepared for your ascension to Knighthood.

While your battalion assignment is pending, Master Windu told you as you stood in the center of the Council Chamber, the Senate has requested that we send two Jedi Knights to replace Skywalker on Umbara.

Master Krell is already on-world, assisting Master Kenobi, but he will need another Jedi’s help if he and the 501st are to take the capital in Skywalker’s stead, Master Plo explained, his hologram flickering as he called in from some faraway world.

All due respect, Masters, you remember asking as you willed yourself not to tremble, but why me? I’ve never been anywhere near the front. I wouldn’t be much help.

Believe in your potential, we do, Master Yoda said. An opportunity for you to do good, the Force has given you.

And that, it was decided, was that.

Even now, after meditating on your anxiety for practically the entire journey through hyperspace, your nerves feel impossibly frayed. The transport jostles, but you only sway slightly, arm already holding onto an overhead handle for balance. There’s a shiny new military-issue commlink attached to your right vambrace. A morbid thought, of calling in a medevac for injured soldiers with this very communicator, crosses your mind—but you let it dissipate.

The gunship suddenly makes a sharp dive, and your stomach swoops—you must be about to land. You spare a glance at General Krell, who has now let go of the grab handles and has crossed all four of his arms over his chest. For a moment, you’re almost tempted to ask how he manages to stay so balanced while the ship is moving, but then the blast doors slide open and the gunship lands in shadowy darkness.

The first person you see is Anakin Skywalker. He’s around your age, maybe a bit younger—despite having been knighted several years earlier, as one of the first Padawan victims of the Jedi Military Integration Act. Your Master, ever traditional even when the Order began to stray from its centuries-old teachings, did her best to keep you apprenticed for as long as possible, but even that eventually proved futile.

In the end, you and Anakin are practically of the same age, and yet he has infinite more experience than you. Uncertainty wheedles its way into your chest and slips a pin into your lungs; you’re holding your breath as you follow Krell off the gunship.

Being far shorter than the Besalisk, you have to jump down. When you hit the ground, you shiver at the misty atmosphere, watching as bioluminescent specks of dust fly up underneath your boots.

As the two of you approach, you hear the troopers of the 501st legion mutter amongst themselves, but you push it aside and focus on the pleasantries.

“General Krell. General Neridian,” Anakin says, smiling graciously. “My thanks for the air support.”

“Indeed, General Skywalker,” Krell replies, bowing politely. “The locals have proven to be more resourceful than we anticipated.”

“We managed to get here in one piece, though,” you add jokingly, and Anakin smirks, his eyes twinkling. You gesture to the troopers unloading the gunship behind you. “And we brought ration resupplies.”

Anakin nods appreciatively, then raises one eyebrow after a moment, looking slightly confused. “But—that’s not the reason for your visit.”

“No,” Krell admits. “The Council has ordered you back to Coruscant, effective immediately.”

“What?” Skywalker demands. “Wh-why?”

“The Chancellor...” you pause, searching for a word, before you settle on, “insisted that you return. The Council had no say on the matter.”

“That is all they would tell us,” Krell adds, though he doesn’t sound displeased.

“Well, I—I can’t just leave my men!” Anakin protests, and for the first time you notice the trooper standing at attention beside him.

He’s identical to all the clones you’ve met, of course, except for one detail—his hair is blond. You wonder vaguely if it would be polite to ask him whether or not it’s natural as you survey his armor. The pauldron on his left shoulder indicates a position of command, but he carries a sense of individuality in the Force that, despite your inexperience with working with them, you’ve come to realize every clone has. His helmet is painted with a distinctly Mandalorian sigil, but it’s not one you recognize.

His gaze is pointed directly ahead; he makes no eye contact with you. Probably just as annoyed at the change of plans as Anakin is, you realize.

Krell moves to speak, jolting you from your thoughts. You recognize Anakin’s agitation, however, so you calmly move to intercept.

“The Council would not just leave your troopers to fend for themselves—not that they aren’t perfectly capable of doing so, of course,” you add, which merits the barest hint of a smile from the trooper standing beside Anakin. “It’s just… well, the Senate needs a Jedi to be at the head of every campaign, and I guess they figured subtracting one of you would mean—”

“—adding two other Jedi,” Anakin says with a snort of derision. “Yeah… sounds like the Senate. But you guys’ll probably get it done faster anyway.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, sir,” interjects the trooper, and Anakin looks to him. “We’ll have this city under control by the time you’re back.”

“Generals, this is Captain Rex, my first in command,” Anakin says fondly, and you see something like pride show itself in Rex’s eyes. “You won’t find a finer or more loyal trooper anywhere.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you affirm earnestly.

“Yes, that is good to hear,” Krell agrees, then places a large hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I wish you well, Skywalker.”

Anakin simply nods at him, then stops beside you and says, “I hear you passed the Trials.”

You gesture to your hair, now void of a Padawan braid. “Apparently so,” you reply. “Funny, I didn’t think you were one to get swept into the rumour mill.”

A grin, boyish and bright, springs to Anakin’s face. “Nah, I’m always one for good gossip.” His expression turns softer, then, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. “Seriously, though… congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you say, but he’s already approaching the gunship and taking hold of one of the grab handles. The ship is off within seconds, and you can’t help but feel apprehensive as it flies away, up into the fog.

Taking a moment to gather yourself, you turn to Rex and offer a polite nod. He returns it, then says, “It is an honour to be serving with you, Generals.”

“The honour is all mine,” you return graciously, and Rex looks like he’s about to say something else, but stops when Krell begins to speak.

“I find it very interesting, Captain, that you are able to recognize the value of honour,” he begins, then—almost as an afterthought—adds, “for a clone.”

Silence.

Your eyebrows shoot up, and as Rex stares at Krell in shock, you feel your armored chest tighten—with frustration or shock, you don’t yet know.

“Stand at attention when I address you,” Krell snaps, turning to face the other troopers, and as Rex obliges, you narrow your eyes and step forward.

“Master Krell,” you start, your jaw tightening, “I do believe it would be far more... prudent to show respect to the soldiers who have so graciously agreed to undertake this mission with us.” You tilt your head questioningly, sending your ponytail swaying. “After all—we are the ones who just arrived.”

A ripple of white-hot anger moves through the Force with lightning speed, but it’s gone before you can take time to process it. Now, all you can feel is something akin to gratitude, trickling like a cool waterfall from where Rex stands, back straight and eyes ahead.

“They agreed to nothing,” Krell counters, and you blink as his wide upper lip curls back to reveal a row of dangerously sharp teeth. “Do not forget, young one, that we are the Generals they serve under at present.”

“I...” you pause, momentarily at a loss for words, then clasp your hands behind your back and force your jaw to unclench. “I haven’t forgotten that. But I also haven’t forgotten that the only way to succeed in this endeavour is to work together.”

“And with what experience do you so kindly bestow this advice upon us, Knight Neridian?” Krell asks, and the question is like a bucket of ice water down the back of your robes.

You swallow, and search for the words to say, but none come. Cheeks burning with shame, you stare determinedly at the ground.

The tension in Krell’s Force signature disappears, as sudden as the crack of a whip, and he draws in a deep breath. You look up as the pouch-like piece of flesh under Krell’s chin grows in size and he begins to pace.

“Nevertheless,” Krell brushes off, acting as though none of your words register with him, “there’s a reason my command is so effective, and it’s because I do things by the book.” He walks past a soldier in an ARC Trooper uniform who has the number five tattooed on his right temple. The trooper doesn’t move as Krell passes him, but you can see a vein on his forehead bulge.

“And that includes protocol,” Krell puts in. He turns to you. “Have all platoons ready to move out immediately.”

You bristle. “I—I thought we were to make decisions together,” you protest, raising your chin defiantly.

Technically, there’s nothing to defy, seeing as you hold equal rank with Krell—but the Council specified in their briefing that this was supposed to be a learning experience, an introduction to combat before receiving your own battalion. And something about Master Krell demands respect, or at the very least obedience, despite the fact that you’re starting to want to do everything you can not to give it to him.

Krell simply huffs and turns around, his yellow eyes flashing, and walks away, leaving you surrounded by a platoon troopers.

You frown after him. “Well, now I know why Master Venn wished me good luck,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Some of the troopers snicker, but you hardly notice.

Your former master, Esya Venn, had pulled you aside just before leaving. The look on her face had been nothing short of concerned, but you’d shrugged it off in the moment, even when she’d told you to be careful, Padawan. She never told anyone to be careful—it was simply a reflex to think twice about your actions around Esya.

But now you understand.

Scrubbing a hand over your tired face, you take a deep breath and turn to Captain Rex. “Shall we set off?” you ask, and he nods, promptly putting on his helmet.

“Move out, soldiers!” he shouts, starting down the path after Krell. “Come on, let’s go!”

You give Rex a grateful smile, and though you can’t see his face, you know he’s returning it. With one last glance at the battalion, you hurry to the front and fall into step next to General Krell.

It’s silent for some time. Krell doesn’t deter, no matter how dark it gets, and after a while you begin to grow uncomfortable next to him. The anger you’d felt in the Force earlier is dormant, but certainly there, and it makes chills erupt down your spine.

"I’m going to check on the Captain,” you say, and Krell only nods when you turn around and quickly find Rex, who’s walking about two meters behind where you previously were.

The Captain salutes briefly. “General.”

“Captain,” you reply politely, before glancing back at Krell. “I can’t help but notice that there’s—” you pause for a moment. Do these troopers know enough about the Force to have conversations with you about it?

Knowing Anakin, you realize, they probably do, so you clear your throat and continue. “I get a strange feeling from Master Krell,” you say quietly.

Rex’s shoulders relax just slightly. “How so, sir?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. “I don’t know, exactly,” you reply, then gesture vaguely in front of you, where Krell is half-visible in the murky fog. “The Force around him is unclear. It’s... hard to explain.”

“Hard to explain, as in it’s a Jedi thing?” Rex guesses, and you grin widely.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s a Jedi thing.” Reaching up, you curl a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I may not be a Jedi, sir,” Rex says after a moment, “but I think I know what you mean by strange feeling.”

“Quicken that pace, battalion!” Krell suddenly shouts over his shoulder, and you jump. “This isn’t some training course on Kamino.”

You sigh and raise your voice, turning to the troopers. “What General Krell means,” you call, pointedly shooting a glare at the Besalik’s back, “is that we must continue to make good time. Keep up the good work.”

Krell gives no answer, but you feel a ripple of frustration coming from his direction. There’s another thread in the Force, one of gratitude, but you can’t tell where exactly it’s coming from. You latch onto it nonetheless and file the feeling away for later, letting yourself make an easy pace just ahead of Rex.

“He certainly has a way with words,” you hear one of the clones say, and when you glance behind you out of the corner of your eye, you can see that the source is someone with similar armor to Rex’s. Another ARC, or someone of similar rank.

There’s a sigh. You think it’s from Rex. The troopers obviously don’t know you’re listening, so you direct your gaze ahead, keeping your pace steady.

“He’s just trying to keep us on schedule,” Rex explains, voice hushed and sounding a bit sheepish.

"By raising everyone’s ire?” the other trooper grumbles.

“Either way, he’s in charge,” Rex protests. “And we’ve got a job to do.”

“She’s in charge, too,” hisses the trooper, and you purse your lips, knowing he’s pointing to you.

Another sigh, again from Rex. “Just—treat them both with respect, and we’ll all get along fine.”

You’re about to turn around when your neck stiffens. It’s an instinctual reaction, like the Force tapping you on the shoulder—one that you’ve learned to interpret as a warning. Less than a second later, a loud screech echoes above your head.

“Ready your weapons!” Rex shouts, at the same moment you draw one lightsaber.

Faster than your eyes can process, a winged creature swoops down and grabs a trooper—but you don’t need your eyes. The cyan beam of your lightsaber casts a glow on the shadowy ground, and you jump upwards, landing on a large plant that allows you to swing from a vine and graze the blade across the wing of one of the creatures. It falls to the ground with another screech before flying away, relatively unharmed.

One to go.

You’re about to grab hold of a second vine and swing towards the other creature, but a flash of blurred blue and green makes you pull back—Krell beats you to it, landing on top of the creature and wrestling it to the ground.

“Wait—stop!” you shout as he draws his lightsabers, but it’s too late. He’s already skewered the creature mercilessly, and it lies dead on the ground, life blinking out of the Force in an instant.

You jump off of the large plant, landing on both feet, and hook your now deactivated lightsaber onto your belt. “Why did you kill it?” you demand, pushing past several onlooking clones.

“It is nothing more than a violent inhabitant of this area,” Krell dismisses, and you feel your jaw drop.

“But…” you start, at a loss for words. “The Code decrees—”

“The Code,” Krell says coldly as he turns to stare at you, “allows for self defense.”

You draw yourself up to your full height, switching off your lightsaber with a snap-hiss before hooking it back onto your belt. “That’s not what—”

Krell’s lightsabers deactivate loudly, cutting you off, and he returns them to either side of his belt before turning away and continuing on the path. “Anyone else want to stop and play with the animals?”

No one answers, but you feel your fists clench as if of their own accord.

This is going to be a long night.

Umbara’s plant life is fascinating. Observing the bioluminescent life forms is the only thing that serves a proper distraction from both the grumbling clone troopers and the pit of apprehension in your stomach. You’d been walking for twelve hours, give or take, and every time you’d tried to suggest a break to Krell, he’d snapped at you.

This can’t be allowed, you think bitterly, skipping over a glowing pink tree root, boots skidding on the dark purple ground.

You chew on your bottom lip and glance at the clones behind you. They are understandably worn out, and even with the extensive survival training Master Esya drilled into you as a Padawan, you were starting to get tired, too.

“Sir,” says a voice from behind you, and you jump, expecting in your exhaustion to see Krell—but it’s just Rex.

“We’ve been keeping this pace for almost half a rotation,” Rex points out, sounding vaguely nervous. “The men are... starting to tire. General Krell is...” he tilts his head, expressionless visor unreadable. “You know.”

You muster a smile, hoping you look at least a little like Master Enya, and nod.

“I know, Captain,” you say, and he shifts slightly, as though his blue-painted pauldron is uncomfortable. You can’t blame him. Running a hand over your ponytail, you blow out a breath and frown at the puff of air that appears in front of you. “Let me talk to him. Tell the men to start searching for a good spot to camp for a few hours.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Rex giving an affirmative thumbs up to the troopers behind him, but by then you’re already approaching Krell, clasping your hands tightly behind your back.

“Master Krell,” you start, and Krell turns his head just a bit. “I’ve told the men to scout for a place to rest. I reviewed the mission plan on the way here, and we can spare three hours without being delayed, possibly more—”

“The men don’t need rest,” Krell interrupts, and you feel your cheeks flush with anger. “They need resolve to complete the task at hand.”

“Apologies, Master,” you say, squaring your shoulders as frustration heats your neck and face. You breathe deeply. There is no emotion, only peace. “But I don’t think the men will be on their best game when we reach the capital if they don’t take some time to gather themselves.”

“That they need to ‘gather themselves’ is a sign of weakness,” Krell cuts in, stopping and turning to face you with a sneer. “That is not what these clones were bred for.”

Not far away, many of the soldiers bristle at Krell’s choice of words, but you keep your focus on the yellow eyes staring you down for the second time that night.

“They weren’t bred to be mindless droids, either,” you argue, crossing your arms over your chest and making sure to keep your voice even. “And in case you’ve forgotten, even battle droids need to recharge. If we march on the Capital without any sort of break first, I promise you, this mission will not go as planned. Exhausted and underfed soldiers are a guaranteed disadvantage.”

Krell studies you, a sneer forming on his lips. “I see you take after your Master’s incessant need to get the last word on anyone she disagrees with.”

You scowl. “I beg your pardon, but Master Venn is—”

He ignores you, cutting past where you stand and walking away. “Do what you wish, Neridian,” he dismisses, then walks away to stand by a glowing tree.

A sigh escapes your lips, and you close your eyes. It’s becoming harder and harder not to snap at him—but you know what the Order’s teachings require of you. Emotion, yet peace.

You grimace as Krell retreats to the back of the line, then turn back to the troopers nearby and give Rex a nod. The captain returns it in what you hope is a grateful manner, then calls for the men to make camp at the top of the ridge your group has been climbing.

By the time you gather all the troopers together, the battalion has put together a hasty campsite, with half the troopers having fallen into a fitful sleep and the other half keeping watch while eating as many rations as the limit allows. You frown and approach the trooper you heard Rex talking to earlier, his Force signature familiar from when you were eavesdropping. His helmet is now sitting in his lap, being meticulously cleaned with what little supplies the battalion has on hand.

You study the soldier. He has a tattoo on his right temple, and upon studying it, you realize it’s the same ARC trooper who’d been glaring at Krell when you stepped off the gunship. You wonder what significance the number five has to him.

Taking another step forward, you clear your throat. “Trooper,” you begin, and the soldier looks up curiously before abruptly shooting to his feet and snapping off a salute. You wave a nonchalant hand. “No need for that. I only wanted to ask a favor—can you gather troopers to stand watch? Six at a time, tops, and make sure they take turns so everyone can rest. That includes you.”

“You got it, sir,” says the trooper, and you smile.

“Sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name...” you say, then, and the trooper blinks.

“Oh, uh—it’s Fives, sir.”

“I see,” you reply, gaze flickering to his tattoo and back again. “Thank you, Fives.”

You retreat to your own tent soon after, shrugging off your vambraces and arranging them neatly next to your bedroll. This wouldn’t be the shortest sleep cycle you’d had, what with the nature of your apprenticeship at the temple—but not the longest, either.

From what you can hear inside your tent, the camp is silent. Slowly, you poke your head through the canvas flaps to find exactly six men—as you’d requested—sitting in the center of camp. Farther away, at the outskirts of the circle of tents, sits Master Krell’s hulking form. In spite of yourself, you frown.

“General?” asks a sudden voice above you; letting out an involuntary yelp, you scramble backwards before stopping at the sight of Rex standing near the entrance to your tent.

Embarrassed, you stand up, brushing off your cream-coloured robes. “Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I could swear I’m not usually so jumpy, I don’t know what—” you look up and stop short.

Rex has removed his helmet.

His blond hair isn’t a surprise this time around, but close up, you’re struck by how tired he looks. There are smile lines at the corners of his eyes, but his face is cast in exhausted shadows.

You wonder if a full night’s sleep is something he’s ever had, or if the training regiments on Kamino prepared him and his brothers for this kind of halfhearted sleep cycle. Curiously, you study him.

Rex’s eyes are golden-brown in the dying light of this shadowy planet. They’re the same shade as all the troopers in the immediate vicinity. And yet, as you stare into them, something in you stirs as your Force signature brushes against his—something you know you’re not supposed to feel.

“Er, General,” Rex repeats, jolting you from your faraway thoughts. “I just wanted to let you know—the scouts are detecting a clear journey from here on out. We have approximately four hours to kick back, as predicted.”

Hurriedly, you turn away and clear your throat awkwardly. “Very good, Captain,” you mumble. “Thank you. You’re—erm, free to go and rest.”

For a moment, Rex looks surprised, but he composes himself seconds later. “Thank you, General,” he says. “But I—”

“Not up for debate,” you interrupt, holding your hand up. Bemused, Rex blinks, so you shoot him a reassuring smile. “You said it yourself: the soldiers need rest. You’re a soldier, yes?”

Rex opens his mouth, probably to say something about him being a Captain, but you lower your hand to rest it on his shoulder. The kind gesture seems to quell him, so you continue. “Don’t exclude yourself in that. Rest well, Captain.”

When you turn and reenter your tent, you don’t catch the way Rex’s eyes linger on the closed flap for far longer than they should, heat prickling up his neck as the remnant of your touch burns itself through his pauldron.

“You too… General.”

series masterlist | next chapter >

taglist: @pinkiemme @the-lady-of-stars @anaklnky @sweetsunflowerkisses @sarasxe @buckethead-over-heels @frietiemeloen @leotatombs @revengeisaconfesionofpain @hoeneyhoeney @idoubleswearimawriter @inkstainedhandswithrings @rollyjogerjones @mandosboobiez @my-own-oracle @mikaslobby @neekid @bloody-valkyrie @spacegiirl @itspauvr @dindadjarin @xlovingheartsx @seriowan @lucyysthings @dont-trust-humanity @danger-xylophones @bonesaldente @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @gaylucanis @obaewankenobis @kriffclone @living-that-best-life @snojii @ur-trash-brock @illiniana @generaldumbbitch @raekixsworld @blueberry-9-pancakes @aquaamethyst96 @stormweather99 @arctrooper69

[feral-ferrule]

Rex gets a closeup next. From here

[batchedzine]

🍪 PREORDERS ARE OPEN!!! 🍪

We are thrilled to announce that preorders for "Batched: A Clone Fan Zine" are OPEN!

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Pre-orders will only run from October 1 thru October 31, so get your copy today!

There are not one, but TWO wonderful collections included in this project: The Batched Zine, which features some of your favorite canon clone characters The OC Showcase, which features art and fic of some original clone characters

🍪 BUNDLES:

We have 3 bundle options available to purchase (prices in USD): *SINGLE SERVING Bundle - $15.00 - Batched Zine PDF - OC Showcase Zine PDF - Recipes Printable - Printable Recipe Cards - Cookie Clones Phone Wallpaper *BAKER'S DOZEN Bundle - $25.00 - Physical copy of Batched Zine (88 pages, A5) - Batched Zine PDF - OC Showcase Zine PDF - Recipes Printable - Printable Recipe Cards *FULL BATCH Bundle - $35.00

This includes: - Physical copy of Batched Zine (88 pages, A5) - Batched Zine PDF - Batched Zine ePub - OC Showcase Zine PDF - OC Showcase Zine ePub - Printable Recipe Cards - Cookie Clones Phone Wallpaper - Three 3x3” Cookie Trooper Die Cut Stickers (Rex, Cody, and a Shiny) - Two 2x6” Prints (Bad Batch and the 501st) - One 2.5” Acrylic Charm (Hardcase)

IF UNLOCKED, THIS BUNDLE WILL ALSO RECEIVE THESE STRETCH GOAL ITEMS WITH THE ORDER: - One 3x3" Clone Trooper Soda Die Cut Sticker - One 2.5” Acrylic Charm (Delta Squad) - One 2.5” Enamel Pin (Trooper Vacation)

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After preorders close on October 31, we will be sending out the preorders to be printed. We will keep you updated via socials throughout the production and shipping processes.

Don't forget, this is a charity fanzine, so proceeds after production costs will be donated to Action Against Hunger

*This project is not sponsored by, endorsed by, or affiliated with Action Against Hunger, Lucasfilm Ltd. LLC, or The Walt Disney Company. All Star Wars canon characters, locations, and references contained in this zine are the intellectual property of The Walt Disney Company.

[mandos-mind-trick]

Kinktober Day 19 - Voyeurism

Summary: When you first met Rex, you wouldn’t have pitted him as the risky type. Little do you know he’s got a few surprises up his sleeve. 

Pairing: Captain Rex x reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, public sex, shower sex, fucking in the barracks, voyeurism, Rex is secretly a freak

A/N: Once again stepping out of my comfort zone with Rex. A bit nervous about this one honestly.

MASTERLIST

When you first met Rex, you wouldn’t have pitted him as the risky type. He showed up early to your date with flowers, held the door for you, walked you back to your barracks on the cruiser, and came the next day to the med bay to see you. He was sweet and polite. He called you ma’am until you gave him permission to call you by your name. 

The first time he held your hand, he asked if it was okay. He asked permission to kiss you the first time, even though you were close enough to breathe in each other’s air. 

It wasn’t until after you had sex the first time that he became a little more bold. Touching you when he felt like it, initiating without asking if you were sure you wanted it five times even after you gave him permission.

The first time he wraps his hand around your throat while piledriving you into the bed, you nearly pass out from shock. You’re sure that’s the moment when you fell in love with him. As soon as you clamped around him, cumming on his cock from the feel of his hand around your throat, something shifted in him. He became rougher, riskier. 

He explored different positions with you. He cuffed you to your bunk once. You’re not even sure where he got the cuffs from. You fucked in a supply closet, mid flight. He ate you out under your desk while you did paperwork. 

This new side of him that he was showing was thrilling, and you’re certainly not going to complain. 

It’s when he fucks you in the communal fresher after a long campaign when you realize the extent of his riskiness. 

It had been a spur of the moment decision after you had finished in the med bay, sent away to get some rest. You were dead tired, but the adrenaline and nervous energy was still pumping through you. You ran into him in the hallway on your way to your barracks after he had spent the last few hours filling out paperwork and doing reports. He looked like he needed some stress relief, and you were more than happy to get fucked to unconsciousness if it meant you could clear your head enough to sleep. 

He takes you to his barracks, the beds full of tired troopers, but none of them pay you any mind as Rex leads you past them. He takes you into the fresher, the door unlocked, allowing for any of them to walk in at any time.

All thoughts leave your head when he pushes you up against the fresher wall, tossing a leg over his shoulder before burying his face in your pussy. 

You fuck in the freshers, quick and needy before moving to his bunk. He hovers over you, blanket tossed over you both. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer to you. He kisses you, desperate and needy and still hard despite cumming in you in the fresher. He slips into your slick folds easily, both of you groaning quietly. You’ll never get tired of the feeling of him inside you. 

You shiver at the thought of getting caught by the sleeping clones around you. Any of them could roll over and see you under their Captain. A chill of excitement runs up your spine, your pussy clenching around him. 

His movements are slow and deliberate, careful not to make the bunk shake, or to make too much noise. You don’t need fast or hard fucking, not in this situation. The thought of fucking in a room full of people has you dripping and excited. 

He keeps his lips pressed against yours, swallowing the quiet sounds that escape as he rocks into you. Your bodies grind together, getting slick with sweat despite your round in the fresher. 

You turn your head to the side, lips parting in surprise as you meet the eyes of a clone in the bunk next to you. Fives, you think. You know most of them. You’ve seen them routinely in the med bay. He’s watching you, and judging by the subtle movements of the blanket covering him, he’s enjoying it. 

Rex’s hand covers your mouth as a moan escapes, your eyes locked with Fives’. As you become more aware of the room you can pick up other sounds. Muffled groans, creaking bunks, shifting bodies. 

They’re awake. They know. Rex knows. 

You don’t care. 

The General could walk in and you wouldn’t care. 

Not with the way Rex’s cock is twitching inside you. He’s close, obviously enjoying being watched just as much as you are. You wonder how often he’s been on the other end, how many times he’s woken in the middle of the night to discover one of the others with a visitor in their bunk. You’re no fool, you hear stories from other civilian medics about their clone lovers. You’ve never said anything about Rex, keeping him to yourself. 

Until now. 

You cum with a cry, Rex pulling back just in time for it to sound through the bunks. He presses his body into yours as he cums, filling your pussy with his cum. You’re both breathing heavily, echoing groans sounding through the barracks. 

You pull Rex against your body, wrapping your arms around him. He presses kisses to your neck as your head turns to the side, meeting Fives' gaze once more. A small smirk forms on your face as he lays there, lips parted and panting. You wink at him before turning your attention to Rex once more.

Ye ole Ragu list:

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[sadiecoocoo]

Thinking abt an au where Rex and the 501st adopts Boba instead of letting him go to jail… I feel like Rex has a lot of the mando genes urging him to adopt feral children

Fives would tease boba and say that he’s like a little angry tooka

Tup would be happy to not be the youngest anymore and would be really sweet to him

Hardcase and fives would both help him cause chaos

Echo would try to teach him some of the regs but end up letting him do whatever because he has cute little tooka eyes that works very well

Rex would treat him sort of how he treats the domino twins, but would probably be more openly affectionate and would make sure that he’s never on the field (he totally doesn’t steal boba from the barracks and lets him sleep in Rex’s quarters and holds him like a pillow… it’s okay Boba likes it, he missed having a dad)

boba would try to sneak out on campaigns, but the 501st all collectively agreed that clone or not Boba was their baby brother and he is not going to an actual battlefield

they also have a teensy bet on who boba actually listens to the most (it’s echo but Fives refuses to accept it)

Anakin, to Rex’s dismay, would teach him how to be a pilot

Ahsoka would help with any chaos

The 212th would try to get him transferred to them because they want a baby brother too but Cody would just say “we already have a baby brother (Wooley) and they’d probably kill us if we took Boba”

Plo Koon would start trying to get the Wolfpack placed in more campaigns with the 501st and Wolffe also starts helping with a bit of chaos (both Wolffe and Boba are biters and you can’t convince me otherwise)

A lot of them would ask what Jango was like and Rex would storm up and cuff them on the back of the head because “wtf this kid is still grieving give him a god damned minute”

And yes they put him in the center of the clone piles when Rex doesn’t steal him (Rex will join usually anyway)

But the bad thing abt this would be when one clone doesn’t come back… after the citadel Boba would’ve been devastated to hear about Echo. After Umbara he would’ve been crying himself to sleep from all the deaths. When Ahsoka left he would’ve clung to Rex or one of his brothers because what if they leave too?

Boba is a hurt child and needs his brothers to fully heal, but when he’s with his brothers he can still get hurt

[vodika-vibes]

I'm Here Now

Summary: Your relationship with Rex was never supposed to be real. It was always meant to be just fun, a way for him, and you, to blow off some steam. And then he gets deployed and you miss your period, and life changes for you forever.

Pairing: Captain Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 1358

Prompt: "You should have told me. We could have done this together."

Warnings: None

A/N: So, I tried typing this on my brand new tablet and I'm still working out the kinks, so if you see any typos, it's because of that.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist.

“Mama!” You smile at the little blonde boy standing at your feet, and then scoop him into your arms and pepper light kisses all across his face as he dissolves into delighted giggles.

You have been a single mother for three years, or close enough to three years that the actual timing doesn't really matter. Your son is handsome, healthy, and strong. 

He looks like his father, which is both a good thing since Rex is a very handsome man, and a bad thing, since Clones aren't allowed to have families. Your son's existence was enough to see Rex decommissioned, and you could never allow that to happen.

Which is why you finally accepted the transfer from Coruscant to Corellia. You gave up everything, and everyone, you've ever known simply to protect Rex, and your son.

You do feel bad about it. You didn't even get to tell Rex about Rin before you were on a ship heading to Corellia. Though, you did send him a message before you left Coruscant, apologizing for not telling him about your move in person. 

He must have been furious. He never contacted you again after you sent the message, after all.

“Are you ready to head home, little man?” You ask as you settle his weight on your hip.

“Wanna play more!” Rin announces as he grabs a handful of your shirt.

“More?” You ask, your voice light, “But if we go home, we can have cookies.”

Rin's brow furrows, and then he grins, “Cookies!”

You grin right back at him and turn to leave the park, happily listening to his story about something that happened at daycare earlier that day.

And, several hours later, after Rin is bathed and has had his bedtime story read to him, and is safely tucked into his bed, you allow yourself to fall onto the couch, exhausted. 

Being a single mom is hard.

Not having any support is hard.

But you wouldn't give up Rin for love or money.

You do wish that things could be a little different, Rin deserves to have a dad, but this is how the cookie crumbled and you have to make due with what you have.

You pull your hair out of the messy tail you've taken to wearing (you're so far removed from the party girl you used to be it isn't even funny), and sit up on the couch to pull your work laptop towards you.

You have some work you need to finish before you can wind down for the night. 

And then your doorbell rings. 

You release a heavy sigh, push your laptop to the side, and then head to the front door. 

Corellia is pretty safe, all things considered. Safe enough that you don't bother to check the door camera before you open the door.

The last person you expect to come face to face with is the man on the other side of the door.

Sure, you told Rex that you were moving to Corellia. And you even sent him your address, but in almost three years he never even reached out to you. So seeing him, of all people, standing in front of your door is a genuine shock.

“...Rex?”

The severe expression on his face melts into something soft and fond, a look that he only ever directed towards you, so far as you're aware, and it's like no time has passed at all.

“Hey, cyare. Can I come in?”

“Of course,” You move to the side, “Sorry. It's been a long day. And…I didn't think I'd ever see you again.” You admit while shrugging a single shoulder.

Rex steps into your home, and you see his gaze flicker to the children's shoes sitting, almost neatly, on the shoe rack. To the little boy's backpack sitting on the bench by the front door, and then settling on the child sized jackets hanging on a hook that sits at the perfect height for a child.

He doesn't say anything though. You watch as he removes his armor, sitting the different pieces on the floor, and then enters deeper into your home.

Rex pauses when he comes to a wall of pictures, pictures of you and Rin, mostly, though there are a few of Rin and some friends from daycare, and you watch as he lifts a recent picture of the pair of you off the wall.

And then a heavy sigh falls from Rex. “He's mine?”

You could lie. You could tell him that Rin belongs to someone else, anyone else. It would be the smart thing to do, the safe thing. 

But this is Rex.

“Yes.” You've never been able to lie to Rex, “His name is Rin. He loves dinosaurs and tookas and racecars.”

Rex hangs the picture back on the wall, and then turns to look at you, “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Clones aren't allowed to have families,” You say quietly, “If anyone found out about Rin, they would have killed you and taken him from me. I refused to let that happen.”

Rex looks pained for a moment, “You should have told me. We could have done this together.”

“I was going to. After he was born, after we were safe. But the more time I went without seeing you, the more risky it seemed.” You pause, “I'm sorry.”

“I understand why you did it.” Rex admits, “I'm not even mad about it. Disappointed, maybe. A little hurt, yeah. But I can't be mad about it. Not when you did all of this for our son.”

“I am sorry,” You repeat, “It was never my intention to cause you pain.”

Rex shakes his head, “How was the pregnancy? And the birth?”

You shrug, “Hard. Everything’s been really, really hard. Luckily, I got a raise when I transferred here, and it helped. He’s been in daycare since he was 6 months old.”

Rex turns to you and settles his hands on your shoulders, “But you’re healthy?”

“I am now, yeah. I was in the hospital for a bit after he was born, but time heals most wounds.” You flash a wry smile, “It’s not something I’ve been in a hurry to try again, though.”

His hands move from your shoulders to cup your face, and the softest sigh falls from you as you lean into his touch and your eyes flutter shut. How long has it been since someone touched you who wasn’t your own son? Years?

“You’ve had such a hard time, haven’t you?”

You open your eyes to meet his gaze. He looks so worried about you, you have to swallow the tears that threaten to choke you. “It was my choice.”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard.” Rex points out as he brushes the back of his fingers against your cheek. “You must be so tired.”

Slowly, you lean in and bump your forehead against his shoulder, “I’m so kriffing tired. All of the time.”

“Would you like some help?”

You pull back and stare at him, “I can’t ask you to stay.”

He smiles at you, soft and gentle, “I’m offering to stay. I want to get to know our son.”

“But—”

“You have to know that I was heartbroken when you left.” Rex interrupts, “This, us,” He moves his hands so that they’re resting at the base of your neck, “It was never just stress relief for me, and I know it’s the same for you.”

You feel your face heat, “How’d you know?”

He laughs and leans in to press his forehead against yours, “Do you think you can hide anything from me, cyare? You’re a terrible liar.” Slowly, as if giving you time to stop him, he leans in and brushes his lips against yours, “Can I stay?”

And, well, you’ve never been able to say no to him. “Of course.” You whisper, “For as long as you like.”

“Forever.” Rex murmurs, “I’m here now, and we can, finally, be a family. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

For the first time in years, you think everything is going to be alright. You just hope that Rin likes Rex.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

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[dystopicjumpsuit]

afesfefesfa i've not been doing the scrolling i normally would thanks to technology and the dash repeating the some posts on repeat for five minutes making it extraordinarily tedious so I had no idea your requests were open for the cuddle prompts until i scroled your blog, but! may I ask for 30, soft looks whilst cuddling (i have adlibbed the prompt i think?) with my beloved Rex?

Because I can never get enough of him <3

@eternal-transcience

A/N: Thank you for the request, Kim! I hope I was able to capture the softness you were looking for 💙

Pairing: Rex x Reader (GN, has hair long enough to tangle)

Rating: G (but as always, minors DNI)

Wordcount: 332 (yes, I did that on purpose)

Warnings and tags: fluff, cuddles, forehead kisses

Summary: You and Rex see things differently, so you try a different perspective.

Suggested Listening: 

This fic smells like: Alpine Vert by Gloss Moderne

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“I don't see it,” Rex said, his voice rumbling beneath you. He toyed absentmindedly with your hair as you lay perpendicular to him with your head resting on his stomach.

“How can you not see it? It's right there!” you insisted.

“Maybe it's the angle,” he suggested. “Come up here and show me.”

You sat up and stretched luxuriously, enjoying the sunshine. The back of your shirt was damp with dew from the grass as you rose, and it clung to your skin, cooling rapidly in the breeze. After weeks of the monotonous gray durasteel walls of a starship, you’d leapt at the chance to spend some time planetside.

White plastoid littered the ground around you: the top half of Rex’s armor, discarded when you reached the top of the hill where you’d lured him with the promise of a picnic—if a meal of ration bars and stale canteen water counted as a picnic (Rex insisted it did). You crawled closer to him and flopped back down in the grass, this time lying next to him with your head on his shoulder.

“See?” You pointed at the sky. “There's its head, and there's its back legs, tail, and front paws.”

He dropped a light kiss against your temple before replying, “I don't know how you can possibly look at that cloud and see a nexu wearing spectacles, walking on its back legs, while reading a holonovel.”

“Well, what do you see?” you demanded, tilting your head to look up at him.

He watched you, his eyes soft. “Someone with a better imagination than me.”

“That's not true,” you objected.

He smiled and continued as though you hadn't spoken. “Someone with a head full of stories and hair full of grass.” He reached up and plucked a blade of grass from your tangled locks, then wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to himself. “My favorite person in the galaxy.”

Well, you mused. How am I supposed to argue with that?

---

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[muyru-iru]

Fox: that's a mandalorian...

Cody: yes..Obi wan and Vos touched another ancient artifact again and time...travel exist? The force...i don't know man, it's the fifth this month ..

Fox: I wonder how y'all survive

Cody: now that's my question...i've heard from the Jedi healers that you shouldn't be alive!

Fox: ...I think the mandalorian is approaching

Cody: don't distract me! Fox! I'm worried!

Rex: no, seriously ...Kote...Fox is right...

Cody ships his head around: oh shit-

[dragonsandwolvesohmy]

Could anyone recommend some fics with baby clones, aka Tubies??? Not an au where a character gives birth to a clone character, but with Obi-Wan or Cody or anyone interacting with the tubes and newborns on Kamino.

Just craving little bitty clones.

[vizslasaber]

FRIENDLY FIRE ──── ii.

SUMMARY | The mission continues, and with it, your growing suspicion of Krell’s authoritarian methods. But the troopers relying on you—including Rex—lead you in the right direction: one of unyielding kindness, even when it’s hard.

PAIRING | Captain Rex x female Jedi!reader

WORD COUNT | 3.7k

WARNINGS | Combat/action, mentions of injury & death, Krell being a bitch as usual, gender neutral use of the term “sir,” gratuitous use of Mando’a, and one (1) curse word. Also, a Shakespeare reference because I’m a historian & couldn’t help myself.

A/N | Yay, chapter 2! As you'll probably notice, I changed the reader's story a little bit, and I like it better now as it adds more tension to the plot. Enjoy!

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST | TAGLIST | NAVIGATION | AO3

For once, you’re glad to have woken up early. It gives you time to get in a pep talk you know will motivate the men rather than bring their morale down, as you know Krell’s speech—which he gave upon arrival—would have done.

“Alright, men,” you call briskly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face as you pace back and forth in front of the battalion. “You would all do well to remember that it’s not just the safety of the Republic relying on our success—the other battalions have placed their trust in us. Generals Kenobi and Tiin will stop approximately two kilometers outside the capital city, waiting for us to get close enough to begin our initial assault.”

You glance at Rex, who’s standing beside you, and nod for him to continue.

The Captain steps forward. “We’re about elevens klick behind them right now, and fifteen klicks from the capital,” he says. “We’ve got to make good time—and it’s going to be hard, what with the enemies we’re sure to meet along the way. The native population doesn’t play around, and neither do their weapons capabilities. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” comes a unanimous shout from the rest of the troopers. They start to disperse, packing up camp faster than your eyes can follow, and you nod to yourself in satisfaction.

“Rex,” you start, then hesitate as he turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “Is it… are you alright with forgoing titles? I always seem to forget to use them.”

Rex looks almost torn—likely between protocol and what you’re asking—but eventually nods. “Of course, sir,” he says, then blanches. “I mean…”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I just don’t want to feel bad if I slip up.” He smiles slightly, one corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “As I was saying—do you have a chief medical officer that I can talk to?”

“Yeah, that would be Kix,” Rex tells you, then frowns. “Is… everything alright?”

“Yes, don’t worry.” You adjust one vambrace, looking out at the men, then at General Krell on the far side of camp, who’s been surveying the battalion tempestuously since you began to speak. ��I just… wanted to ask him something. About battlefield medicine.”

“Are you a medic?” Rex asks, shifting his helmet to one hand.

You grimace at the clinical, militaristic term. “Something like that.”

Rex looks doubtful, but motions to a trooper with an intricately buzzed haircut who's putting supplies into a pack. "Kix—get over here!" he calls, before nodding to you and leaving as he puts on his helmet.

"General," the trooper greets with a crisp salute, and you notice that his pauldrons have the universal sign for medic painted on them in a bright, obvious red. "How can I help you?"

"Actually," you say with what you hope is a courteous smile, "I was hoping to ask you the same question. You're the battalion's CMO right?"

Kix tilts his head. "Yeah..." he says. "I'm not the only medic, though. Got a whole team of 'em. We specialize in what we do, sir, train for it our whole lives, so I don't want to be rude, but—"

"Don't worry about that," you cut in, shaking your head. "I'm not a medic—I haven't been trained in combative tactics—but I am a healer."

"So, like," Kix pauses, searching for the right word as he does so, "a Jedi doctor?"

You snort. "That's... one term for it, yes." You watch as Kix moves the weight of his medpack from one shoulder to the other. "Force healing is an ability that a Jedi is born with. Not every Jedi can become a healer—using the Force to reverse the effects of an injury is not something that can be learned."

There's a pause as Kix nods slowly. "Reversing the effects," he echoes, fascinated. "Even bacta can't do that—it just speeds up the healing process. Sounds like we could use your help."

"Yes," you say. "That's why I wanted to speak with you." You let out a sigh, remembering one of the first things your master told you as a Padawan. "But it's not all-powerful. Just like bacta can only heal what is able to be healed, Force healing cannot create a life force where there isn't one. If someone is near-death, trying to bring them back would render me unable to defend myself from exhaustion."

"Right," Kix replies. "So no resurrection."

"No resurrection," you affirm, smiling. "But I can help. And I know triage."

"Oh, that's even better!" Kix exclaims, then holds out his wrist comm. "Here—we've got a medic frequency—" he waits for you to scan his comm to yours, and when the happy little chime sounds, he pulls away. "Thank you, General."

"Of course," you say as he turns to leave. "And thank you, Kix."

The battalion falls silent and prepares to move out—but just as you’re double checking your armour, a cold, sharp presence casts a shadow over you. Turning around, you make eye contact with General Krell, who's now standing just a short ways from where you and Kix were talking—like he was listening.

“Conspiring with the soldiers, General?” Krell sneers, putting a mocking emphasis on the last word. You raise an irritated eyebrow.

“Conspiring?” you repeat, glancing at the hastily assembling troopers. “They're hardly the enemy, Master Krell. I only want us to win this campaign as quickly and smoothly as possible." Before you can reign in your impulse control, you add, "And continuing to let the troopers rest will get us there faster."

“Rest is a luxury we cannot afford!” Krell snaps, and you jump in surprise at his excessive volume. He leans forward, acrid breath forcing you to resist the urge to cough. “The other battalions are far ahead of us, and you think we have time.”

“We do,” you reply calmly, despite your quickening heartbeat. “The men are keeping a good pace, especially with this difficult terrain. Fifteen clicks isn't far, especially with the supplies we have.” You purse your lips. “Now, I suggest we set off. Talking will slow us down as well, Master—and as you so wisely pointed out, luxuries are not something we can ask for.”

You walk away, then, and feel a rush of satisfaction enveloped in a Force signature that you’re almost positive belongs to Rex. Resisting a pleased smile, you let your hands drift to where your lightsabers are clipped to your belt before moving to walk beside Rex.

“Captain,” you greet, taking notice of the way Rex’s shoulders tense just slightly. “Shall we?”

“Yes, General,” Rex replies, voice clipped. He motions for the battalion to follow, and soon the two of you, along with a still angry General Krell, are leading the troopers through the unwelcoming terrain of Umbara.

The journey is precarious and—as much as you hate to admit it—tiring. Hours pass, and soon you’re almost to the checkpoint Rex had pointed out on the map, situated just outside the city’s heavily fortified border.

You stop for a moment, leaning against the glowing trunk of a colossal tree, and fidget anxiously with the tabards of your tunic.

“Sir,” Rex says, and you turn around. “We’re ready to bring our forward platoons in. What do you suggest?”

“We should continue with Anakin’s original plan,” you say quietly. “A surgical strike on the outer defenses—we must take great care not to needlessly damage any of the city’s buildings. I'd prefer minimal collateral damage when we’re done.”

It is a plan you’ve been turning over in your head since you’d landed on the Umbaran surface. Hopefully—and assuming there were no hindrances—it would succeed. Despite being overly idealistic, and sometimes a little too impulsive, Anakin is nothing if not a strategist—when he wants to be.

“If I may,” sneers Krell from behind you, and you set your jaw. “I do not think that General Skywalker’s futile plan will be necessary.”

In spite of yourself, you clench your fists at your sides. “And why not?” you grit out, not bothering to turn around as Krell comes to stand at your side, towering over your figure.

“Captain Rex and his insolent men have already brought it up with me, and I explained this to them as well. I hold the authority here, and I am ordering all platoons to execute a full-frontal assault,” Krell continues, seemingly unfazed by your irritated expression. “We will travel along the main route to the city and force them to yield.”

“Force them to—” you cut yourself off and draw in a deep, calming breath. There is no emotion, you remind yourself vehemently. There is only peace. “Master Krell. With all due respect, we can't just storm in there with no plan. Casualties will rocket if we try something that impulsive. I just don't think—”

“Need I remind you, General Neridian,” Krell interrupts scathingly, “that you are only one week into Knighthood? We may be of equal military rank, but I am a Master, and therefore hold precedence over your commands.”

“This isn’t about me or you,” you hiss, swiveling to face Krell as your patience is finally pulled taut. Ignoring the shocked stares you know the troopers have fixed on you, you cross your arms. “It’s about this campaign. It's about our mission, and it's bigger than us. So I suggest we agree to disagree, and carry on with General Skywalker’s plan—”

Krell clicks his tongue. “Losing your temper already?" He asks, and you could swear he's taunting you, waiting to see when you'll do something mortifying like raise your voice (but then again, he's done it several times already and it's only been a day). "How unfortunate. Perhaps the Council should not have been so adamant that you face the Trials so early."

You blink and take a step back. He's right, and you know it. You're one of the youngest Padawans to face the Trials in generations, as are all your peers, thrust into a rushed end to your training at the beginning of the war. So many of your friends—Darra, Galene, Ferus, and of course, Anakin, the most tenacious of them all—seem to have risen to this unique challenge with their heads held high. But all you can seem to do is flinch away from the ugly parts, the parts that remind you of just how unprepared you are for these new and daunting responsibilities.

Unclenching your fists, you swallow the bile in your throat and try to stop your hands from trembling. “The Council,” you say, voice tight, "made their choice. And so must I make mine." You turn to Rex, who's standing just behind you and gripping his helmet with both hands. “Captain—prepare the troops. We’re going with General Skywalker’s plan.”

“I…” Rex’s knuckles have gone white with how hard he’s clutching his helmet, and he looks strangely helpless. “I’m sorry, General, but—the regs state that General Krell outranks you due to his status as a Jedi Master.” He presses his lips together and averts his gaze from yours, cheeks red with what you know is anger. “I’m afraid that General Krell’s orders do indeed… take precedence over yours.”

Beside you, Krell looks more satisfied than you’ve ever seen him. The Besalisk turns to the battalion and crosses his upper set of arms over his chest.

“Troopers!” he barks, and the soldiers stand at attention simultaneously. “Prepare to move out!” He presses a button on his wrist comm, and a holomap flickers to life. “You will take the main road straight to the capital. You will not stop and you will not turn back, regardless of the resistance you meet. We will attack them with all our troops—not some sneak attack with a few men.”

You close your eyes and clasp your hands behind your back. There is no emotion, there is peace.

It feels less like a mantra and more like a meaningless, empty chant. Peace, you think despairingly, looks to be farther than ever.

"Sir." Rex clears his throat, making you look up to see him watching Krell like one might survey a blown fuse at risk of setting fire to a building. "Sir, General Neridian is right. This is practically a suicide mission. I don't think—"

“What you think, Captain, is irrelevent. You have my orders, and you will follow them explicitly,” Krell growls, then leans forward, turning to the Captain. “Do I make myself clear, CT-7567?”

Your eyes widen in shock and you glare at Krell, crossing your own arms over your chest to mimic Krell’s stance. “It’s Rex, General,” you snap. “Captain Rex. That’s how he introduced himself, if you've forgotten?”

Many troopers turn to you, and you can tell—even under their helmets—that they’re clearly surprised at your derisive tone. You ignore them, turn on your heel, and storm away, but not before you hear Rex mutter, “Crystal, General Krell.”

The path is lit with some form of concentrated bioluminescent light, making it easier for you to see where you’re going. The clones have the advantage of night vision built into their visors, which makes it hard not to envy them. That alone, that feeling so unbecoming of a Jedi is enough to make you feel a sting of shame, not unlike the feeling that so often came with a scolding from Master Venn when you were still a Padawan.

You wonder for the millionth time if you’ve been forced into Knighthood too soon. Of course, there is nothing to do about that now—every war needs warrior, after all—just like there was nothing you could do when Master Venn told you the news just one week years ago.

She was grim when she told you, and your stomach goes cold with the memory of how she delivered the news, like she was handing you your own death sentence. Now, you know why.

And some have greatness thrust upon them, you think bitterly, remembering how often Master Venn made you read ancient poetry as a Padawan, the kind so old it's still stored on dusty books instead of firmware.

“General.”

You turn to find that Rex has fallen into step with you and smile. “Captain,” you acknowledge. “Forgive me. I was just…” you clear your throat. “Lost in thought.”

Rex—now wearing his helmet—nods and turns his gaze to the path ahead. “Thinking about the plan?”

“No,” you admit sheepishly. “Just about—” you gesture vaguely to your surroundings “—all of this. This war, this strife.” Shaking your head, you fidget with the one of the lightsaber hooks on your belt, clasping and unclasping it. “How fast I've been thrown in, and whether or not it’s necessary.”

“Hm.” You can hear the frown in Rex’s voice. “If it’s any consolation, we clones have mixed feelings about the war, too.”

You raise an eyebrow and turn to look at him. “How so?”

He gives a one-shouldered shrug and turns his head away. “Just that… well, I’d rather do without all the lives lost, but... without it, we wouldn’t exist, would we?”

Frowning, you consider this. “I suppose you’re right,” you concede. “But it is the will of the Force that you came to be. And,” you add, shooting Rex a sly smile, “the galaxy would be very different if you hadn’t, hm?”

There’s a moment of silence, during which you get the feeling that the troopers behind you are listening to your conversation. Rex seems lost for words, until he clears his throat. “Me specifically, sir?” You nod, and Rex adjusts his helmet. “I—I don’t know. I’m just one man, aren’t I?”

“That may be so, Captain, but you’ve made more of a difference than you think,” you inform him. “I think I’m correct in assuming that you’ve saved General Skywalker’s arse more times than he alone can count.”

Behind you, someone lets out a surprised laugh, then tries to cover it up as a cough. You smile at Rex and continue.

“And even without that, you’re responsible for many of the Republic’s victories in this war.” You shake your head. “The smallest insect feeding off of a single flower’s nectar has an impact on the entire garden. In the Force, we are all an entire world, a whole galaxy. Never assume that you do not make a difference.”

You feel a ripple of shock, gratitude, and something else—something you can’t quite place—flow through the Force. It’s a refreshing change from the tension and stress of the mission, and you’re just about to open your mouth to thank Rex when—

A white-hot warning flashes in the Force, and there’s a split-second warning as you scan your surroundings for the threat. Then—

“Get back!” you shout, and the troopers in your immediate vicinity immediately scramble off of the path.

They’re just in time—the sheer force of the explosion is enough to knock you off your feet and send you flying backwards. You land on something hard and feel all of the air get knocked out of you.

“Mines!” someone shouts. “Nobody on the path move!”

You freeze as you realize that the surface you landed on is, in fact, Rex—specifically, his armour. Your back is pressed to his chest plate, and you can feel his nervousness as though it is your own, but neither of you move for fear of setting off another mine.

Your cheeks burn when Rex finally leans forward, void of his helmet—it must have been knocked off it the blast. He's close enough to your ear to whisper, “Left. Slowly.”

It sends chills down your spine, but you shake them off. Drawing in a deep breath, you oblige, easing left and onto your knees, so you’re kneeling beside a disoriented-looking Rex. He looks shaken, but quickly gathers himself and cautiously stands up as he scans the area for his helmet.

“Oz is down,” you hear one of the medics say grimly. “So is Ringo.”

Rex spares you one last glance before swooping down to pick up his helmet, brushing the dirt off the visor. He moves to inspect the dead troopers. “Can you sweep ‘em?”

For a long moment, there’s silence as the medics gently move the bodies aside—you respectfully avert your eyes, feeling the sting of grief from the other troopers—and set them down on the side of the path. You hear Kix declare happily that there are no injured despite the two casualties and smile to yourself.

There’s no time to bury the dead troopers, so you settle for approaching Rex and placing a hand on his tense shoulder, over his pauldron with fading and scratched blue paint. “Nu kyr'adyc,” you murmur. “Shi taab'echaaj'la."

Not gone, merely marching far away.

Rex turns his head, and this close, you can see his wide eyes through the visor of his helmet. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, then raises his hand and places it over yours. It lasts for a split-second; the next thing you know, he’s pulling away, talking quietly to Fives and Kix.

“Come on, men,” you call to the rest of the battalion. “We need to—”

Chills fly up your spine and you stiffen, just as a loud, shrieking sound engulfs the path and—BOOM! More troopers go flying into the air. There are shouts of Basic, Mando’a, and Umbaran, and the firefight begins, during which you realize—

An ambush. You draw one lightsaber to deflect an oncoming barrage of blasterfire, but it's not enough, and there's no cover afforded to the terrain.

“Shit," you mutter under your breath as you switch on your shoto saber, calling on your knowledge of Jar'Kai to deflect the bolts with both blades. You raise your voice and call over your shoulder. "We’re fully exposed! Retreat to the forest!”

“We can’t, General!” shouts a voice, and you turn to see a blue-painted helmet accented with a small red arrow: Fives. “They’re coming from all directions—” he grunts and fires another blast “—we don’t have any cover!”

You feel your blood run cold. There’s no way for you to retreat—and it’s all Krell’s fault.

“We need them to follow us!” Rex answers, standing with his back to yours as he fires his blasters rapidly. “If we can draw them out, we can see them—and if we can see them, we can hit them!”

“Good idea,” you breathe, even though you know it’s too loud for Rex to hear you. Raising your voice, you lift one lightsaber so the other troopers can see the path. “All squads, pull back now!” You close your eyes for a moment to call on the Force, then propel yourself upwards and leap through the air so you’re at the back of the group. “I’ll take the rear! Cover me—sword and shield maneuver!”

The troopers obey, and soon you find yourself at the center of a tight semicircle formed by clones, all firing mercilessly on the Umbaran soldiers. You bite your lip and shift to Soresu to parallel the blasterfire more easily, deflecting the barrage as quickly and efficiently as you possibly can.

Just behind you is an AT-RT walker, defending your flank. Beside you is a trooper with intricately painted markings on his helmet, firing a rotary cannon and shouting, “Ha-ha! Where you goin’? Get back here, you wimps!”

You grin at his sheer audacity. “Careful there, trooper,” you admonish playfully, deflecting another blaster shot.

“They’re falling back!” Fives shouts, then, and you can hear the smile in his voice. The troopers all holster their blasters while you hook your lightsaber onto your belt.

“CT-7567, do you have a malfunction in your design?” You turn around and raise your eyebrows as Krell approaches Rex, looking furious. “You’ve pulled your forces back from taking the capital city. The enemy now has control of this route. This entire operation has been compromised because of your failure!”

You feel your hands start to shake. “Master Krell,” you say, trying your best to remain calm, “I gave the order to pull back, not Rex. We were completely surrounded and couldn’t risk losing any more men.”

Krell, looking furious at worst and disgruntled at best, saying nothng. Seizing the opportunity to walk away, you turn on your heel and breathe through the anger, urging yourself to keep going, trying to find a quiet place to rest and meditate for just a few minutes.

And you do. Closing your eyes, you lean against the firm trunk of a glowing tree, wiping sweat from your brow. It’s quiet, and you can hear the steady chirping of crickets (or something else) in the phosphorescent grass.

“General Krell,” says a trooper’s voice. It’s more firmthan Rex’s—Fives, you're pretty sure. “In case you haven’t noticed, Captain Rex just saved this platoon. Surely you won’t fail to recognize that.”

Blinking in surprise, you start to return to the group, wondering if this is an argument you’ll be able to break up—but the hum of a lightsaber being drawn makes you stop in your tracks.

“ARC-5555,” Krell growls. “Stand down.”

You feel your mouth go dry and approach the other troopers. Krell is standing with his back to you, but you can clearly see the green blade of his lightsaber from where you stand, hovering next to Fives's neck. If only Esya could see this, you think, horrified.

Don’t make any sudden moves, your Master’s teachings remind you. He could strike, and then you’d be responsible for the death of yet another man.

Just after the tense conversation between Fives and Krell, the Umbarans returned, sparking yet another firefight—this one with more casualties than the last. You were forced to retreat with the platoons, exhausted and spent.

Now, you sit on the ground, leaning against a fallen tree trunk in a brief moment of rest while the troopers drive away a small squad of Umbarans. In your hand is a pocket holotransmitter, refracting a cluster of blue light in the form of Esya Venn.

“I feel your discomfort from here, young one,” the older Theelin Master is saying, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

“Impossible,” you scoff. “You’re all the way on Coruscant, there’s no way.” There’s a moment of silence, during which the hologram flickers. You add, “And I’m not so young anymore, you know.”

Esya smiles wanly—you notice the shadows under her normally bright eyes with a pang of sadness—and shakes her head, her long colorful hair swishing lightly.

“You're still young to me,” she says softly, gently. "And you're avoiding the subject."

“I’m fine, Master,” you sigh. “Really.”

"You must not know me as well as I thought," Esya replies primly, a hint of a smile showing through her stern expression, "if you think you can lie to me like that."

You sigh again, frowning down at the flickering hologram. "It's just..." you shake your head, staring off into the foggy distance. "I'm concerned about Master Krell's tactics. They're aggressive, nothing like what you taught me of strategy, and they don't take into account the fact that we need to strive for as little casualties as possible—on both sides."

"Hm." Esya crosses her arms. "I have heard of Master Krell's... unconventional style. Is there anything else that concerns you about him?"

"I mean—everything, really," you admit, lowering your voice. "He has a blatant disregard for life that I haven't seen in a Jedi in, well... ever. He refers to the clones by their birth numbers, not their names, and he sees the native fauna as just—objects. Nuisances." You place the holotransmitter on the ground in front of you and shift your sitting position. "I fear that, to him, no life is sacred."

"If that were the case, I do not think the Council would have granted him the rank of Master," Esya says, but she looks thoughtful, like there's something she isn't saying. "Who is the commanding officer?"

"His name is Captain Rex," you say. "He's Anakin's first-in-command. I think he's just as worried by Master Krell as I am, and..." you trail off, unsure how to voice your next thought.

"What is it?" Esya prompts, light eyebrows raised.

"There's something about him—about Rex," you say finally, reluctant. "It's like the Force is trying to tell me something. That—that he's important. But I can't figure out why." You huff, fighting back a frustrated scowl. "I wish the Force would just tell me. But the answer is so—so elusive."

"As is everything since the start of this war," Esya replies, shaking her thorned head. She fixes you with a fond expression. "But, Padawan... you must remember that the Force is not your enemy, but your ally. If you open your eyes, it will show you the way."

"Yes," you murmur, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. The sounds of talking from the group's position behind you make you frown. "I have to go. May the Force be with you, Master."

“And with you. Always,” Esya replies before cutting off the connection seconds later.

You stand, tucking the transmitter into your pocket, then make for the rest of the group and move to stand beside Captain Rex. He's observing General Krell talk to General Kenobi via comlink.

“The capital city’s too fortified,” General Kenobi is saying grimly. “We still need your battalion to help us take it.”

“Resistance from the Umbarans has been greater than anticipated,” Krell replies. “We’re holding our ground at the moment.”

You swallow, averting your gaze to your boots. Holding our ground… what does Krell think is happening? Surely he hasn’t failed to notice the heavy casualties your battalion is sustaining.

“We’ve gathered intel on an airbase to the west,” General Kenobi replies. “It is resupplying the capital’s defenses.”

Taking a step forward, you cross your arms over your chest. “Should we attempt to take control of the airbase, then?”

Turning to you, General Kenobi nods. “Yes,” he answers. “Doing so will sever the capital’s supply lines, allowing the rest of our forces to move in.”

“I’ll see to it that the airbase is placed under our control,” Krell says decisively. It sends a wave of nausea through your stomach.

“Remember, Master Krell; Knight Neridian,” Kenobi says, mouth pulling into a tight frown, “The entire invasion depends on your battalion.”

Krell nods and severs the connection, then turns to you. “Neridian, have those coordinates mapped when you’re finished here, and make sure all troops are ready to move out immediately.” He walks away, leaving you alone with Captain Rex.

You watch Krell retreat with a feeling of incessant dread. “Right, then,” you say to Rex. “What do you say the odds are that we finish this thing his way?”

“Good question, General,” Rex says, and you can hear the smile in his voice as he watches the Umbaran sky darken with more eerie purple clouds. "I guess there's only one way to find out."

NEXT CHAPTER >

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Ahsoka and Rex: Making moon eyes at each other for the entirety of the Siege of Mandalore Maul: Stares into the camera like he's on The Office

For Rexsoka Monthly's May prompt, You Should Tell Him/Her. There's an accompanying drabble on my AO3.