#holotable

[getthrawnin]

"A good Navy is not a provocation to war. It is the surest guaranty of peace."

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Jedi padawans asking people if they have games on their holo

[iconac]

revan sleepwalks. they did it often as a child, though it faded as they grew older and had stopped altogether in their teenage years. older jedi on dantooine used to have to take care, as they would dress themself and wander out of the enclave and into the fields, sometimes into someone's farm. on coruscant it was an easier affair to manage, as they typically ended up in the room of a thousand fountains, in the kitchens eating food, or they would simply wander the halls until they were found.

onboard ships and out traveling during the early years of their training, they would be sure to lock the doors of whatever quarters they had. in the absence of that, they would actually restrain themself, binding their wrist with a simple length of rope to something heavy.

after the brainwashing, however, lyn sleepwalks and it used to scare the shit out of everyone on the ebon hawk, bastila especially; she would experience a vision of revan only to wake up with a start to find lyn looming in the doorway, seeming to look right through her, and for those brief moments of before gaining full awareness she would think that the ruse was up and rean had returned, ready to exact their revenge for what had been done to them. post-kotor, revan never fully recovers from the condition, and after periods of high stress they will often have bouts of sleepwalking. while the close quarters of the ebon hawk made it impossible to hide their condition, they don't enjoy advertising that they do it.

[escritosdemundo]

Una mirada sobre el dolor y la muerte. Vivir con finitud. Sufrimiento existencial y cuidados paliativos de Silvina Dulitzky, por César Holot

En la introducción a su Origen de la Tragedia, llamada “Autocrítica”, Friederich Nietzsche se pregunta: “¿Acaso es el cientificismo nada más que un miedo al pesimismo y una escapatoria frente a él? ¿Una defensa sutil obligada contra la verdad?” Sin embargo, estamos ante una propuesta que se responde negativamente a esta pregunta. Silvina Dulitzky se atreve sin miedo a esta verdad. Una verdad…

[lightasthesun]

Comprehensive Lexicon Guide for First-Time SW Fic Readers:

Flimsi/Flimsiplast = Paper

Flimsiwork/Datawork = Paperwork

Stylus = Pen

Datapad = Tablet

Comlink/Comm = Communication Device/Phone

Binders = Handcuffs

Chronometer = Clock

Spectacles = Eyeglasses

Chrono = Watch

Conservator = Refrigerator

Caf = Coffee

Nerfburger = Hamburger

Blue milk = Milk (literally blue)

Hubba chips = French Fries

Sweet roll = Doughnut

Flatcakes = Pancakes

Tabac = Tobacco

HoloNet = World Wide Web

Holovision/HoloTV = Television

Holodrama/Holovids = Movie/Videos

Holocamera/Holocam = Camera

Holomap = three-dimensional map

Holojournal = Newspaper

Holocube = Picture frame

Holotable = Projector

Holoscanner = X-ray machine

Holojournalist = Reporter

Flatholo/Holograph = Photograph

Sonic Damper = Active Noise Cancellation

Refresher/Fresher= Bathroom

Sonic Bath = Bath

Sanisteam/Sonic shower = Waterless Shower

Hydrospanner = Wrench

Hydro Flask = Water Bottle

Power Cell/Energy Cell = Batteries

Authorization Chip = Decryption key

Datatape = Disk

Datastick = Flash drive

(Personal) Com Code = Phone number

Datachip = SD Card

Synthflesh = Synthetic skin

Glowrod = Flashlight

Sparkstick = Match

Slugthrower = Gun

Slug = Bullet

Vibroblade = a blade that can vibrate at high frequencies, increasing its cutting power and penetrating ability (tactical knife)

Rangefinder = Rifle scope

Turbolaser = Cannon

Ion pike/Vibropike = Spear

Electro Staff = Stun baton

Blaster = Pistol/Rifle

Stun Blaster = similar to a Taser

Landspeeder/Airspeeder/Speeder = Car

Turbolift = Elevator

Slideramp = Escalator

Starfighter = Fighter jet

Rotorcraft = Helicopter

Hoverpack/Jetpack= Jet pack

Speeder Bike = Motorcycle

Skylane = Traffic lane

Railspeeder/Hovertrain = Train

Power Chair/Hoverchair= Wheelchair

Windscreen = Windshield

Podracing = Car racing

Dejarik = Chess

Sabacc = Poker and Blackjack combined

Galactic Rebels = Combat simulator

B'shingh = Dungeons and dragons

Jizz = Jazz music

Wailer = Singer (ie. Jizz Wailer)

Cantina = Bar or Pup

Para Sailing = Paragliding

Aurebesh = Alphabet

Credits = Money

Sleeping Pallet = Bedroll

Naming Day = Birthday

Youngling = Child

Galactic Basic Standard/ Basic = English

Medkit/Medpac = First aid kit

Hypo = Syringe

Medic/Healer = Doctor

Medcenter = Hospital

Bactapatch = Bandaid

Nanoweave = Fabric

Transparisteel = Glass

Plastifoam = Packing material

Durasteel = Steel

Plasteel = Plastic

Duracrete = Concrete

Slicer = Hacker (slicing = hacking)

Identikit = Passport

Minder = Therapist

Synthleather = Vinyl

Viewport = Window

Cooling Unit = Air-conditioning

Honeydarter = Bee

Slythmonger = Drugdealer

Spice = Drugs

Stimpill = Caffeine pill

Power Socket = Plug

Cutters = Scissors

Cycle = Day

Standard Cycle = 24h

Standard Week = 5 days

Standard Month = 35 standard days

Standard Year = approx. ten months

Tenday = literally ten days

Cigarras/Smokes = Cigarettes

Click = Kilometer or 'a moment'

Parsec = a unit of distance

Tweezers/Clanker/tin head/tinnie = Droid

Separatist = Seppie

Promise Ring = Wedding Ring

Body Glove = Jumpsuit

Slicksuit = Wet suit

Civvies = Civilian clothing

Carbonite = a metal alloy used to freeze a person in a state of hibernation

Hyperdrive = device that allows a starship to travel faster than lightspeed

Moisture vaporator = device that can extract water from the air, commonly used on tatooine

Glareshades = Sunglasses

Gasser = Gas Oven

Repulsorlift = technology that can create an anti-gravity field and is used for levitating heavy objects

Heating unit = Heater

Utility Droid = Roomba

Sunbonnet = a Clone trooper helmet

Bad Batcher = a defective Clone Trooper

Banthabrain = birdbrain/ a stupid person

Bantha fodder = waste of space/nonsense

Blast! = word of exclamation

Blasted! = s.o in anger or annoyance

Blaster-brained = dimwitted

Blaster fodder = cannon fodder

Blast off = Piss off

Brainless = Stupid

Bug/Bugger = used to refer to Geonosians

Forceforsaken = godforsaken

Full of Poodoo = full of shit

Poodoo = Shit

Kriff = Fuck

Jedi scum = derogatory term for jedi

Kark = derogatory expletive

Larty = LAAT/i gunship

Laserbrain = insult

Meat droid = derogatory term for Clone Troopers

Redrobes = Palpatines guard

Rookie/Shinie = newly recruited Trooper

Scum = insult to refer to bounty hunters/rebels

Sharpie = Sharp-witted

Sithspawn/Sithspit/Hellspawn! = expletive

Sleemo = Slimeball

Son of a bantha = insult

Wizard! = Cool

Spaced = dead

Hutt-spawn = Bastard

Karabast = exclamation of dismay

Stang = Crap

Buckethead/Bucketbrain = derogatory term for Stormtroopers

Bucket = Helmet

Nat-born = Natural Born

Roger Roger = affirmative/copy that

Droid poppers = EMP grenade

Sitrep = short for situation report

Backwater Planet = any planet that isn't part of the core system

Holocron = device that can project a three-dimensional image of a person/object and is used for communication or entertainment.

Kessel Run = a risky Operation. Commonly used as a metaphor in impossible situations.

Thermal Detonator= device that can create a powerful explosion like a grenade or bomb

Ray Shield/Energy Shield = creates a (protective) barrier

Rebreather = device that allows a person to breathe underwater or in toxic environments

Phrases:

Wild goose chase = wild bantha chase

That's bantha shit = that's bullshit

As slippery as a greased Dug = untrustworthy

Credit for your thoughts = penny for your thoughts

Cut the poodoo = cut the crap

to get your gills in a twist = get upset about something

Holy mother of meteors = holy mother of god

Oh my skies/ Oh my stars = exclamation of surprise

Stars' end! = exclamation of disbelief

What in the blue blazes = exclamation

When Geonosis freezes over/When it snows on tatooine = extremely unlikely

Who pissed in your power supply = who pissed you off

Blast it = damn it

By the maker = exclamation of surprise

Great karking Dragon = expression of disbelief

Lothcat got your tongue = equivalent of 'cat got your tongue?'

Sod it = expression of frustration

[moodymisty]

Based off this post sorry I fucking HAD to

Warnings: Vaguely NSFW, Sicarius walking in on you and Guilliman

Why must all his men break protocol? Sicarius wonders if the Codex is merely kindling to them, if they are so willing to break the sacred rules so easily.

Titus, Uriel, and now new men of second company have decided to be a pain. He only hopes reporting this to Guilliman himself will prove to be enough of a threat to his men and whip them all back into shape; Both current and future troublemakers.

In his frustrations, so wrapped up in his own mind on how to deal with this consistent issue, he fails to do a proper knock at Guilliman’s door. Instead he simply walks in, slamming the controls with more force than needed.

Within moments he freezes, as a musky, heavy smell hits his nose and the full noises of the room echo in his ears without the soundproofing in the way.

“Roboute!”

You squeal, hands wrapped tight in the short crop of Guilliman’s thin blonde hair. Most of his head and face are obscured by your skirt- and thighs, which wrap around his head like a vice. The holotable is on but unused, symbols placed randomly from your accidental touches as you sit on the edge.

Sicarius stands frozen, unable to will his body to move as his ears are suddenly filled with the sounds of you and his primarch’s moans- accompanied by then odd, wet sounds of whatever his mouth was doing. What is only two seconds is plenty to him, given how fast his mind moves in comparison to a baseline.

He… was aware of all the basics of sex and reproduction, but the intricacies of pleasure beyond that were spotty at best. He had no need to delve into such useless things, unlike some other, less proper Astartes.

He was also unaware you could do such things with your mouth.

How beneath a primarch’s holy stature; Guilliman’s words have guided armies but now he’s on his knees in penance and using his tongue like its just a-

A loud scream rips through your throat as you spot him and sit up, and Sicarius’ two seconds of internal thought is interrupted as you see him frozen in the doorway with a hand still on the door’s controls.

Guilliman of course is instantly on the defensive hearing your scream, rising to his feet- and removing his hand from his trousers - before reaching for his blade.

Until he realizes it’s Sicarius.

Guilliman relaxes with an angry look on his face; Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before using the same hand spread flat outward to try and shield some of you from Sicarius, and reserve some of your modesty, while you adjust your clothes.

“Did your time in the warp remove your ability to announce yourself before entering, Captain Sicarius?”

Sicarius is angry at his primarch now, and has zero care for you behind him hot faced and attempting to cover yourself to some level of decency.

“I, I did not think it was needed, my primarch. I have an urgent issue that needs addressing.”

Guilliman angrily breaths through his nose, and Sicarius can see the veins in his neck.

“Go. Leave. Whatever you came here for I am sure it can wait until we both forget this encounter ever happened.”

They are both painfully aware that each other have eidetic memories, but they can only hope this moment somehow slips from their minds.

“Yes, my primarch.”

Sicarius finally manages to get his armor to move, and Guilliman sighs. Sicarius swiftly takes two steps backwards and closes the door, facing it at it closes.

He stands there for a moment, the image of his primarch on his knees between the legs of a simple baseline, and a hand doing something in his trousers is seared into his mind. Why is his primarch doing such things when there is work to be done?

“Are you alright Captain Sicarius?”

A marine says as he walks by, looking at his dead expression as Sicarius turns to face him. He points the door.

“Is Primarch Guilliman busy-“ Sicarius quickly speaks, cutting him off.

“Yes he is busy, do not disturb him.”

Sicarius has a far off stare that makes the random Astartes look at him oddly.

“I need to leave. Do not go in.”

Sicarius walks off, rubbing his hair with his gauntlet and grumbling to himself.

[wickerwax]

limited intel (Codywan First Kiss Bingo 1)

The rain is pounding on the thick plasti-canvas roof of the tent when he wakes, but it isn’t what wakes him.

Their make-shift war-room and bunk combo is quiet under the drumming water but the single cot next to his is empty, and one of the little motion activated lights by the entry flap is dimming. When he reaches a hand out, the misery-thin synthwool is still warm.

Condensation is sleeting the inside of the near wall of the tent.

Cody is considering his options when the cover flaps back and General Kenobi re-enters. He doesn’t seem to notice that Cody is awake and watching him, just walks to the table and sits heavily on one of the stools. Being that simply not moving has never once been a winning strategy against his General, Cody feels his curiosity and faint concern curdle into alarm.

His General’s broad shoulders slump, very slightly. His back rounds. His robe is damp. Cody watches a drop of water escape the thick wave of his hair to plink against the holotable.

“Sir,” he says, quiet, and watches Kenobi’s spine turn to beskar.

“Commander,” he responds, equally quiet. “All is well, the watch is undisturbed. You may continue to rest.”

Cody sits up. General Kenobi sighs. “Truly, Cody, nothing is wrong.”

“Respectfully, sir, but if that were true we would both be sleeping.” Cody is nettled enough to already be moving to his own stool at the table. He takes a close look at his General in the faint light of the renewed motion sensor but -

If it weren’t the middle of the night cycle, if he hadn’t woken suddenly and seen the faintest chinks in this man’s composure already, he would never have thought something was amiss. Kenobi is bright-eyed and steady, even the dampness curling his hair only making him look warmer and more real, the drip having ceased to be within moments.

He smiles at Cody. “Not so, Commander, for here we are. No alarms, no issues, just a spot of unexpected wakefulness.”

And it – it almost fits. Having woken for no real reason, his General would have checked with the watch that all was well. Might choose to sit and poke at the battle plans or flimsiwork for a bit if he had felt too awake to sleep.

His posture falling defeated though, just- doesn’t fit right. They’ve been in this together for over a year and he’s seen Kenobi in all manner of states but the man doesn’t lose his composure easily, doesn’t falter – has seen him beaten and bruised and all-but-unconscious from exhaustion and he simply moves with it all. The slump – the bend-

It doesn’t fit right at all.

He raises an eyebrow and Kenobi’s smile fades. He studies Cody across the table and he has never feared that bright, clear gaze but in this moment he does wonder what he sees. What he’s looking for.

He can only be what he is. Cody gazes back.

His General breathes out slowly. “Ah, Cody. This will sound foolish to you, no doubt, but it’s the rain.”

Another long look. Cody doesn’t react beyond a short nod. He waits.

Kenobi rests his chin on one hand and waits back. He finds himself studying the fan of his eyelashes when he looks down, the silver feathering in at his temples, the lines curling from his eyes to meet it. The sensor light blinks out, leaving them in the dark.

His patience is vast but it is not a Jedi’s. He breaks first. “It doesn’t sound foolish to me, sir.” Kenobi sighs. “Kamino was not a joyful place to grow up – you would not be the first in my experience to associate the rain with unpleasant things.” And it has to be that and not the noise level because he’s seen his General sleep through a Skywalker explanation – to Cody and Rex, since General Kenobi had been with Skywalker for the experience. He’s seen his General sleep through a Ghost Squad squatting competition then, and they only knew the meaning of quiet when it was mission-critical.

“Obi-Wan, if you would, Cody. Or Kenobi. We’re neither of us on duty, as far as that goes.” He makes a motion with his hand and something moves near the door. The sensor light blooms again. A piece of flimsi returns to the table.

He looks faintly pained and Cody can bend this much. “Kenobi, then,” he says, “but I still don’t think you foolish.”

He looks far too grateful for such a small thing, fingers smoothing his moustache as some tension Cody couldn’t have picked out before, but notes for its absence, leeches away.

“No,” he says, thoughtful. “No, you wouldn’t at that. Did Kamino ever have troubles with...flooding?”

“Flooding?” Cody repeats, because drowning, being washed away, the whip and crack of the storms being the last you see of anything – that’s familiar. The idea that the Kaminoans would allow the chaos of the storms to breech what they had deemed sterile? That- “Not as such. Not by rainfall.”

But he can’t imagine the Temple had a flooding issue either. Outside, the rain continues to beat down.

He frowns at his General, who has turned his face to the entrance flaps and is watching the small puddle forming there from his breaking the seal to check with the boys on watch. The furrow in his brows is too deep for what could be swept away, soaked up, by a wayward sock. ”Have you had experience with floods, si- uh, Kenobi?”

His General does not look back at him. “I have.” he says, barely audible above the thrumming background noise. “It is...an unkind way to wake. To lose shelter. Not the weather, you understand, but the-” he stops, sudden. His hand on the table clenches.

He does not pick up the sentence. Lets it hang, the drawn-breath tension of it rising as surely as water does.

Cody does not know what to do with this thread left unwoven and unclipped. General Kenobi’s face in the pale glow is still serene but his knuckles on one hand are white.

The light shuts off.

This time, Kenobi does not move to reset it.

In the dark, even his enhanced vision only barely makes out the shape of his General. He gets an impression of faint motion, makes out barelythe gentle rasp of hair on skin and suspects Kenobi is rubbing at his face on his off-side. “It’s late, Cody. We should get some more rest.”

Among his brothers, there is so much they don’t say. What is the point in saying most of it? They were bred and built for war and dying in it is expected. Personhood is – complicated. Talking is difficult.

But they lean, and hug, and wrestle. He has seen his General with other Jedi and certainly there is contact there too, if more reserved with an audience – but his General is not a public man, for all he is a public figure.

He reaches out and catches the hand still resting, tense, on the tabletop. General Kenobi catches his breath and Cody squeezes those chilled fingers. “We can rest now, and in the morning check our set-up for anything that might be vulnerable to the rain. We might need to, uh – dig-”

“Drainage.” Kenobi murmurs, and the table isn’t so big but he’s definitely imagining the warm breath on their joined hands – he knows that from the unmoving shadow. He imagines it anyway. He imagines it’s his own breath.

“Drainage.” Cody agrees. They don’t have a lot of building material spare but they’ll have something they can use to reinforce the bottom edges of things. They tend to set up their sites as carefully as possible given time and intel constraints – including elevation concerns – but sometimes being too high and visible is worse than the extra cover some measures lower down. They hadn’t been told to expect heavy rain but this planet isn’t a particular flood risk that he read. It’s worth checking anyway – for peace of mind.

At least it wasn’t pure dirt underfoot, they have growing ground-cover to help out with the ever-unpleasant mud possibility.

Kenobi’s hand turns in his and squeezes back. “Thank you, Commander.” he says and it’s – candle flickering in a window warm. It’s not having to requisition more armour – more men - because they didn’t lose anyone. It’s finding that Waxer saved him a serve of the good caf on a particularly crap morning.

Cody does not squeak. He might shift on his stool and the poor mass-produced thing complains at the motion.

“It’s...nothing, General. Kenobi.”

He gets another comforting squeeze, and then his General is loosening his grip, rising to stand and Cody follows him up, stepping around the table automatically – grabs at the relaxing hold without thinking about it and they’re not in the sensor field so-

He finds himself, abruptly, standing in the dark close enough to his General to feel the warmth of his body – no shielding armour in the middle of the night, no – still holding his hand.

“Cody,” Kenobi says, and he sounds amused, and this time the flutter of warm breath against his skin is not his imagination. If he could see-

If he could see he would have to turn himself in for reconditioning, probably. He can pretend, right now, that this is just a peculiarly vivid dream.

It’s not. It’s not a dream. Kenobi tilts his head and Cody knows because he knows him but also because the angle of the warmth against his face changes and he tightens his grip – little gods help him, he doesn’t mean to but he tightens his grip and-

Kenobi makes no move to pull away from him, allows him the trespass he is committing on his fingers -

A hand cups his cheek as his General sighs faintly. He strokes his thumb over Cody’s cheekbone and it burns, it sends a shudder working down his spine – he makes some kind of tiny, choking noise under the never-ending drum of rain. Kenobi seems to hear it anyway. He drops his hand from Cody’s face despite the gut that drops with it and says, “You don’t need to worry about me, my dear Commander. It is an old worry, and far less rational than I appreciate. All is well.”

All is not well. Cody now knows the touch of ‘sabre calluses on his cheek.

“Ken- Obi-Wan,” he says, hoarse. They are off-duty. He would forgive this intimacy. He is forgiving how Cody is clinging to their one real point of contact – he reached out as a comfort, and now cannot make himself give it up so soon. “Obi-Wan, I-”

He doesn’t know what he wants to say, and Obi-Wan’s hand twitches in his anyway.

“I want to help,” he finishes, helplessly. “I want to be – a comfort. To you.”

Impulsive, as this entire experience has been impulsive, he draws their hands up. He cannot see the hand his is wrapped around but he feels well enough to curl the fingers of his free hand around Obi-Wan’s wrist. The pulse there is drumming as fast as the rain overhead. Cody’s Jedi is not afraid, but he doesn’t dare think what he might otherwise be.

He lowers his face and presses his lips to the back of his own hand. Blind, he cannot see the expression on Obi-Wan’s face – knows it is one he has not seen before. Knows the not-seeing is a mercy. Knows he would not be able to forget it, when his hand jerks in Cody’s grip and his pulse spikes against Cody’s thumb. And Cody is so aware of how little he would have to move his lips to brush over his thumb – taste his skin, the faint salt he imagines there, the hard edge of his nail against his bottom lip. He breathes out, instead.

“I want to help,” he repeats against his own skin.

“You do, Cody.” It should not be a shock to hear his voice so close and so low. The rain and the dark have closed them in together, like passing secrets. “Every day, I swear it. You do.”

Neither of them can see but he feels those blue eyes on his skin all the same. Holds on to it even as he disentangles himself, lets Obi-Wan – lets his General go. As they move the few steps to the cots, as the rustling of sub-par blankets settles.

He strains his ears over the rain to hear his General breathing. Knows he isn’t asleep, not like that, not so fast. He sounds it though – deep and measured and even. Only – he’s shifting slightly in place, the blankets too scratchy to not betray it. Restless.

Cody finds himself curled with his hands tucked near his face. He listens, and listens, and listens, and if he kisses the back of his hand one more time – there’s no one there to see.

@codywanfirstkissbingo First up: sensory kiss

[mae-lou-ron]

For Granted

Summary: Your beloved Gregor returns from a weeks-long mission for the clone underground, and after a long night filled with debriefings, he can’t wait to show you just how much he missed you while he was gone.

Pairing: Captain Gregor x f!reader

Warnings: 🚨 NSFW - SMUT AHEAD 🚨, 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content and language, established relationship, mutual pining, cockwarming, unprotected PiV, edging, delayed orgasm, praise, soft!Dom Gregor, pleasure!dom Gregor?, oodles of fluff, Gregor can't keep his eyes (or hands) off you, color system safe words (only green used), aftercare, this is what I call a plot/smut/plot sandwich.

Word Count: 4,700

A/N: GOBBLE GOBBLE GREGOR GIRLIES. Happy to report I am posting this way earlier than I thought would be possible. (I finally did it @jetii, @captn-trex @lonewolflupe— again thank you for your constant inspiration and encouragement) This is the first smut I’ve ever posted and I guess decided to just go for it. I don’t know what to tell you, I just feel like Gregor would be such a soft and needy little pleasure dom. Okay, bone apple tea my fellow feral goblins. DO NOT PERCEIVE ME.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late—very late.

The away team shuttle had touched down hours ago, but before you could greet Gregor properly, Rex had swooped in and intercepted him before he even made it down the gangplank. Their mission to the ruins of Tipoca City had proven successful, and Rex wanted to know everything.

For nearly two weeks, they dove beneath the old cloning facility's wreckage, searching the depths for anything that survived the orbital bombardment—especially for anything that could help them better understand the inhibitor chips. As you observed him from across the holotable, you noted the exhaustion that marked your beloved's features. His bloodshot eyes had dark circles beneath them, and though he tried his best to stay alert and focused, the weariness was clearly setting in. Yet, despite his current state, Gregor's gaze kept finding its way back to you, his lips curving into a small smile whenever your eyes met.

You listened and updated the data banks while Rex thoroughly questioned Gregor and his team about their operation. When Rex was finally satisfied with what was recovered, the meeting adjourned. As you gathered your things, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Gregor, hoping this was finally the moment for your long-awaited reunion—but he remained deep in conversation with Rex, their heads bent together. You sighed inwardly but couldn't help glowing with admiration for him.

He was probably the most lighthearted of his brothers, but Gregor showed unwavering dedication to his work—particularly when it involved Rex. After all, Rex had orchestrated Gregor's rescue from the Empire by sending the Bad Batch to extract him, saving Gregor from the Empire's grim plans for clone troopers like himself.

Rex's relentless pursuit to understand and neutralize the inhibitor chips strengthened Gregor's dedication to the mission. For Gregor, helping Rex wasn't just about loyalty—it was about preventing other clones from enduring the same fate. This devotion extended to everyone Gregor held dear, including you. He had become not only your lover but your best friend and closest ally in the growing clone rebellion. You had become one of the few anchors in each other’s lives that had been plagued with uncertainty.

From your first meeting, you were irresistibly drawn to him—and he made no effort to hide his magnetic attraction to you. Even now, his keen eyes would seek you out first whenever he entered a room. True to form, Gregor's gaze shifted to you over Rex's shoulder again, silently expressing his longing to be near you after so many days apart. You caught his eye and flashed a playful smirk, pressing a fingertip to your lips before extending it toward him. He would always wink in return. Though your relationship was no longer a secret, you both treasured this little ritual—a wordless exchange of adoration between the two of you.

Back in your quarters, you changed into your sleep clothes and settled into bed. Propped against pillows with your data pad in hand, you intended to review the new data decryptions while waiting for Gregor's return, hoping he might have more enticing ways to keep you awake. But the warmth of your bed and the quiet hum of recycled air lulled you to sleep with surprising swiftness. Your eyes grew heavy, thoughts of him blurred behind your lids until you drifted off.

A short while later, you stirred from a light sleep when you felt the bed dip. With gentle hands, Gregor retrieved your fallen data pad and slid under the covers behind you. His strong arms enveloped you, drawing you against his chest.

"Stars, I've missed you, my darling," Gregor sighed into the space between you. Your eyes fluttered open as his lips pressed into the back of your shoulder, sending a thrill down your spine.

The familiar spicy scent of him filled your nose—he must have hit the fresher before coming to bed. You hummed contentedly and turned within his arms to face him, your lips curling into a sleepy smile. "Missed you too," you murmured.

Gregor's tired eyes were filled with warmth and adoration in the dim light. His hand gently cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. "Sorry I'm late..."

"S'okay," you leaned into his touch. "You're here now, and at least I know you're not just another dream," you said into his chest as you yawned.

Gregor's heart thrummed at your words. The thought of you dreaming about him stoked the ever-present desire he seemed to hold for you. "How's the burn?" he asked instead, softly moving his hand down, fingertips skimming over the fresh scars on your hip.

"All healed now. Rex was right, of course," you grumbled. The former captain had benched you from field work due to the blaster fire that grazed you on your last mission. Though you'd insisted it was healed enough, Rex wouldn't budge. You knew he was right, but being sidelined grated your nerves— especially since it was your intel they were operating on.

"You really scared me for a minute there, you know," Gregor whispered, his voice lilted with emotion as his fingers traced the newly healed scar.

You kissed the tip of his nose and gave him a knowing smile. "You should know better than anyone, love. It takes more than that to keep someone down," you murmured, covering his hand with your fingertips. A pitchy chuckle escaped him as he pressed his forehead to yours, recognizing the echo of his own resilient spirit in your words. But his face fell incrementally as he found his next words.

"I still wish you could have been there, on Kamino," he confessed, his voice solemn. He didn’t have to say anything, but you knew how strange returning to Kamino was going to be for him. He had his brothers with him, but you’d hoped to be there for him too.

"You just wanted a chance to see me in my swimming gear," you quipped instead.

Gregor's eyes sparkled as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth with a quiet rumble. "Can you blame me? Thinking of you in any state of undress was all I had to keep me sane out there," his words and lips danced against your cheek.

You squirmed in his embrace as his hand trailed up and down your body, fingertips once again sweeping over the swell of your hip. "But I always love seeing my cyare like this…" he added, his warm hand giving you a playful squeeze, referring to the teeny tiny shorts you often wore around your shared quarters, just for him.

“Oh? And why is that?” You said with a raised eyebrow, feigning ignorance at how his eyes would habitually follow you around whenever you wore them. Not to mention the mischief he would promise when he saw you wearing any of his clothing, and tonight you had grabbed one of his shirts to sleep in.

“Because it’s what you’re comfortable in,” he sighed contentedly as his fingers slipped under the hem, grazing the soft skin at the small of your back.

Being under his focus with such reverence made your heart pound in your ears, his magnetic touch constantly drawing you in. Your fingers traced the line of his jaw. "Will you just kiss me, already?" you whispered, forgetting your teasing.

Gregor hummed as his lips met yours, sweet and gentle, his hands rediscovering every curve and contour. You melted into his radiating warmth, the steady rhythm of his heart. When you nibbled his bottom lip, it earned you a deep moan and a roll of his body against yours. Your fingers wove through his damp hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, his tongue moving softly against yours.

Your lips danced together in a sensual rhythm, exploring and tasting with unhurried devotion as his fingers threaded through your hair, cradling the back of your head. Each sweep of his tongue against yours sent shivers down your spine, the kiss deepening with an intensity that made your toes curl and your heart race. Through every tender touch, he conveyed how deeply he'd missed you, and a familiar heat had bloomed between you fueled by days of delayed desire. The warmth of it coursed through your veins, spurring you on.

Eager to feel his skin against yours, you tugged off your shirt and pushed at his. Gregor chuckled softly and obliged, pulling off his shirt with deliberate slowness before tossing it aside. Under your fingertips, his body felt electric as you traced the familiar scars adorning his soft, golden skin. A shiver ran through him at your touch, and he groaned when your lips found his shoulder.

"Darling, I need you…" he purred, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts. His voice dropped lower, thick with desire. He paused, eyes intense and yearning as they locked with yours. "I've thought of you every night. Your kiss, your smile, the sounds you make for me." His fingers gripped your hips possessively, sure to leave marks. "Tell me, meshla," he breathed. "Did you think of me too?"

You let out a soft whine, your head falling against his chest as a breathy "Yes," escaped your swollen lips.

"Tell me..." he implored, his body rolling into yours once more. "Did I hear you say you dreamt of me?"

"Of course I did," you confessed softly, leaning close. Your lips brushed against the shell of his ear as intimate desires and details of your self-indulgent dreams tumbled from your lips. Gregor shivered, your warm breath tickling his skin. His fingers flexed as he strained to catch every hushed syllable. These whispered words were for him alone.

His chest rumbled with a deep, guttural sound. "Cyare," he whispered, the word dripping with honey.

You lifted your hips as he slid your shorts down your legs. Once free, he swooped in to kiss you again, this time with more fervor as his hands roamed your newly exposed skin. He swallowed the soft gasp that escaped your lips when his fingers dipped between your legs, growling appreciatively at how ready you were for him.

You whined at his touch, your fingertips curling around the base of his neck. Gregor sighed, his breath hot against your shoulder as he trailed kisses down to your collarbone. You heard him chuckling quietly as his fingers teased your sensitive flesh. "…and I’ve barely touched you yet,” he teased.

You huffed in response and started pushing his shorts over his hips, firmly grasping a handful of his taught backside in the process causing him to hoot and giggle softly. "I told you what I’ve been thinking about… come here…" you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. Once free of his own clothing, you hooked your leg around his waist, drawing him to you. Gregor hissed at the contact, his hips instinctively rocking against yours. You felt the head of his length glide along your entrance and up to your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

Gregor let out a deep hum, gathering his self control. "I can't say no to you," he grunted, slowly sliding his length back up and down a few times before notching at your entrance. His lips met your forehead as he eased into you. You bit your lip as your body welcomed him, eyebrows furrowing at the sudden fullness. Despite the delicious sting of him at first, you craved him—eager for more, for all of him. But Gregor picked up on your body’s signal and paused. His head came back to regard you, eyes filled with concern and love.

"Cyar'ika," he whispered tenderly. His thumb traced your cheek and trailed down to your lips. You smirked, drawing the digit into your mouth with a soft moan, swirling your tongue around it. Gregor's eyes locked onto yours, awestruck at the sensation. "That's it…good girl," he purred, the wolfish smile that followed his praise sent a shiver down your spine. He withdrew his thumb from your mouth with a quiet pop, and brought it between your bodies, using the wetness to circle your clit.

Your body quivered, soft moans and whimpers escaping your lips as he continued his feather light touches, sending more of that delicious heat coursing through you. Your walls fluttered with pleasure, silently urging him to fully sheath himself within you. As his hips finally met yours, you both exhaled deeply, savoring the intense connection of being completely joined together.

"Let’s stay like this for a little while, hm?," he murmured against your hairline between soft kisses. "I just want you close," he breathed, his hand trailing tenderly along your spine.

You hummed in confirmation, melting into his affection. "I love you," you sighed, fingers combing through his hair. Your bodies fit together perfectly, hearts beating as one, breaths mingling in gentle pants. Being with Gregor, it never felt like enough—you both craved an impossible closeness. These tender moments were precious, when he held you like this, driven by his pure need to feel you around him, to eliminate any space between you.

"And I love you." Gregor's kiss was so tender it made your head swim. His lips traced reverently across your skin, each caress a silent vow, his heart full at how perfectly you melded together. When the kisses and touches naturally grew more heated, you felt him stir within you as your bodies instinctively began to move. With gentle purpose, Gregor rolled you, pressing your back into the mattress and caging you in with his large frame. His lips found that spot on your neck as he began a slow, intense rhythm that drew a litany of soft moans and whimpers from you. Your nails trailed down Gregor's back as he pressed against that sweet spot deep inside you. He dragged his length almost completely out before thrusting back in, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Stars… cyar’ika, you…" he panted, his movements becoming more deliberate. You wrapped your legs around him fully, urging him deeper, whimpering in is ear to do it again. The tension between you reached its peak all too quickly, weeks of anticipation setting your every nerve ending on fire. Gregor murmured sweet praises against your skin, intent on bringing you there together. You teetered on the edge, your body trembling with each slow thrust. "Gregor," you breathed in a desperate plea. "I'm..."

“I know,” he grunted. “I’ve got you…” He gentled his movements to a pace he knew would send you over. He felt your entire body tense, arching into him as your climax struck you with a sudden intensity. A shuddering moan escaped you as your hand in his hair tightened, tugging at the strands. He couldn't hold back any longer—the way your walls fluttered around him, squeezing him so tightly, your grip in his hair, the sounds you were making—it was all too much, and he gladly fell over the edge with you.

His hips jerked as he moaned your name, pressing flush against yours as he found his release inside you. You held him close while you both trembled and panted through waves of pleasure. His hips rolled gently against yours through the aftershocks. As the hazy bliss settled over you both, Gregor began dotting your face and neck with tender kisses.

“Gregor…” you protested lazily, lips curling in a fond smile. He always melted into his softest self in the afterglow.

He chuckled quietly, nuzzling your neck. "What? You know I can’t ever get enough of you…" His lips brushed against your skin, making you tremble slightly. You were grinning ear to ear now, despite your half-hearted protest.

“That makes two of us,” you said huskily, floating down from your high.

You lay tangled together in peaceful silence, your breathing and heartbeats gradually returning to normal. The gentle rise and fall of his chest against yours created a soothing rhythm that made you feel completely at ease. A while later, when your combined arousal began to slip down your thigh, Gregor shifted, preparing to retrieve something to clean you both up.

“Don't you dare," you warned teasingly, tightening your entire body around him, making his breath hitch.

“Cyar’ika…” he said in a low, playful voice, twitching inside you. “Careful now…”

You smirked, loving the way his voice dropped an octave. "Or what?" you challenged, your eyes gleaming with mischief.

Gregor chuckled, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "Oh, my darling," he chuckled lightly, his hand sliding down your body and gripping your ass, making you burst into giggles, "You love playing with fire, don’t you,"

"Mmm, I do when it encourages you to ravish me all night, love," you said with a dramatic flair, unable to hide the mirth from your voice, reminding you of the intimacy you’ve built with Gregor. It was fiery and magnetic, but always fun. You loved to push each other’s buttons to see how far you could go. After all, you cherished these quiet moments together when there was no need to rush.

Gregor groaned at your words, his grip on you intensifying. "Oh, you're in for it now," he rasped as he swiftly rolled onto his back, pulling you over with him to straddle his hips. He sat upright and curled his hand around the base of your neck, pulling you into a searing kiss. The sound that escaped you at this new angle was absolutely sinful, making him twitch inside you once again. He immediately began a gentle pace, guiding your hips into his shallow thrusts. You gripped his shoulders tightly, seeking an anchor amid the electricity firing deep within you. Your oversensitive bundle of nerves dragged against the base of his length, making you grind down on him more desperately.

Sensing your growing urgency, Gregor gently slowed your movements. His hands caressed your sides soothingly as he looked up at you with adoration. "Shhh cyar'ika, look at me…" he murmured, his voice low and tender. Your eyes fluttered open to gaze into his, dark and warm and focused on you. "I know, it feels so good." His voice strained, thumbs traced circles on your hips as he guided you back into that slower, more deliberate rhythm Gregor loved to torture you with. You whimpered at the change of pace, but soon found yourself melting into the languid, sensual motion. Gregor's eyes never left your face, enjoying watching you give in. "That's it, just feel," he whispered. "There’s no rush. I’ve got you…"

Gregor's movements periodically slowed to a halt, prolonging the intense pleasure building between you. Each time, he held you close, guiding you both toward that long-awaited peak. His arm snaked beneath you, holding you to him with effortless strength, preventing you from taking him completely. He knew exactly how much to give, bringing you to the edge over and over. He savored the sounds you made during the slow, frustrating dance, careful not to overstimulate as he kept you balanced on the edge of a knife.

Your body trembled, every nerve ending alive and hypersensitive, your breaths came in short, desperate moans. You clung to him, nails digging into his back and his scalp as you fought against the overwhelming urge to let go, somewhere between savoring every exquisite moment of him inside you and every cell in your body screaming for release. Gregor felt your body go rigid and quiver, he glanced down noticing how tightly your toes were curled, then up to your eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

"Cyar'ika, what's your color?" he managed to say through the haze. He himself was hanging by a thread.

"Green," you groaned gently. "Please, I need..."

Gregor's eyes snapped open at your words, his grip on you stuttering. "Tell me what you need," he nearly growled. "I need to hear you say it, cyar'ika."

“Please...” you breathed. “I need to come."

With a low groan of approval, Gregor knew he’d pushed you to a new limit, and captured your lips in a soft kiss, slowly lowering you down fully onto his length once more. "Then come for me, my love, let go…" he murmured against your lips as he loosened his hold on you incrementally, encouraging you to writhe against him at your own pace. He swallowed the moans that escaped your throat as you did so, your fingers tangling in his hair again as you finally let yourself go.

He held you to him as your body shook, waves of ecstasy sweeping through you, your inner walls pulsing wildly around Gregor's length. He buried his face in your shoulder, his own climax following yours as he thrust himself deep inside with a low, guttural sound. You clung to each other, riding out the lingering tremors, your core gradually relaxing its grip on him. Hearts raced and chests heaved as you both savored the moment. With one more gentle rock of his hips, he pulled you down, creating a delicious pressure that sent one final, intense ripple of pleasure coursing through you, reducing whatever composure you had left and turning you into a whimpering mess.

“Thats it,” he soothed as you collapsed against him, head lolling forward as he secured you against his broad chest. You hummed contentedly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as your breathing slowly steadied. Gregor's fingers continued their gentle caress along your skin, calming your tense muscles and fluttering heart.

“You did so well,” he praised. “We haven’t gone that long before,” he grinned at you, giggling softly, a sheen of sweat on his skin.

You chuckled softly, feeling an ache in your hips and knees. "Mmm, I think we both needed that," you murmured, wincing slightly as you shifted your legs around his frame.

“Here, I’ve got you,” he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips as he helped you shift positions, knowing your joints sometimes didn’t love it as much as you did.

His strong arms cradled you as he maneuvered you off him, finally slipping out and eliciting a soft sigh from you. He bit his lip, barely suppressing a groan as he glanced at the evidence of your passion. Once you were settled, he quickly jumped out of bed and disappeared into the fresher, returning moments later with a warm cloth.

His fingertips trailed up the outside of your knee, reminding you he was still there. You smiled and opened up for him to gently clean you up. His touch was tender as he took care of both of you. Once finished, he tossed the towel aside and crawled back onto the bed and got to work on massaging the soreness from your legs.

You sighed contentedly as Gregor's skilled hands worked out the tension in your joints. "You're too good to me," you murmured sleepily. He responded with a soft chuckle, his touch gentle yet firm as he eased away any lingering discomfort. “Love, I know you’re exhausted, come here…”

He chuckled and planted tender kisses on each knee before settling beside you, drawing you close against his chest. You nestled into his warmth, savoring the lazy patterns he traced on your back with his fingertips.

You tilted your head up to press a gentle kiss beneath his chin, savoring the closeness. “I’m so happy you’re home…”

Gregor sighed contentedly. “Me too.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should bring up his time on Kamino. The topic always felt delicate, and you didn't want to stir up difficult memories. But his peaceful expression gave you courage.

“How was it being back there?" you asked softly.

“Well, the first few days were…strange, but not in the way I thought they would be,” he confessed quietly.

“How so?” You pressed a chaste kiss to the side of his neck, absentmindedly inhaling his scent.

“Some clones considered Kamino their home, but I’ve never really felt more at home than I do here. With the underground. With you.” His voice stuttered on the last few words.

You felt your heart swell, and you pulled him closer, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Good, because I feel the same way…”

Gregor's arm tightened around you, and you felt him release another contented sigh against your hair. In this moment, everything felt exactly as it should be - no missions, no war, just the two of you finding solace in each other's arms. You held one another close, happy to be back in one another’s orbit.

"Darling..." Gregor's voice took on a somber tone as he tightened his arms around you. "I received new orders from Rex tonight." He paused as you tilted your head back to look at him, his expression serious. You felt your body tense, preparing for the worst. "And, well, it’s not just that," he continued, his lips curving into a frown.

“What is it?” your hand brushed his disheveled hair out of his eyes, your heart clenching at the thought of him being gone again so soon, without you. Rex had yet to clear you for your injury, and you felt your stomach drop at the thought of being left behind on base again for another mission.

Gregor took a deep breath, as if to steady himself. "I know it's short notice, but... I told Rex you’d have no problem shipping out by midday tomorrow..." He gazed at you intently, his trademark mischievous smirk betraying his attempt at a somber expression. He was a terrible liar.

Your eyebrows shot up at the realization.

Now his face was in a full grin. "Mhm...you’re coming with." He quipped. “Though I’m sure Rex wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stay behi—”

“No!” you trilled, propping yourself up onto your elbow. “I’m ready,” you insisted.

“You don’t even know what the mission is yet, love,” he chuckled, it was hard to resist mirroring your excitement.

“I don’t care,” you sighed. “I’ve been cooped up…it’s boring when everyone is gone,” you groaned.

“Don’t you mean it’s boring when I’m gone?” Gregor teased.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hide your smile. "Maybe," you admitted, snuggling back into him. "But don't let it go to your head." Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest as you soaked up the warmth of his presence, grateful to soon be back to doing what you do best.

Gregor laughed softly, his chest rumbling beneath your fingertips. "Have we met?," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. As you lay there, wrapped in each other's embrace, a sleepy silence settled over you both. The anticipation of being briefed for tomorrow's mission hummed just beneath the surface, but for now, you were content to simply exist in this moment.

“You’re a terrible liar, by the way…” you said as you curled into him. He just chuckled softly as you let your eyes close, feeling the tendrils of sleep start to curl around you.

Soon, the familiar weight of Gregor's body and gentle rhythm of his breathing lulled you into a peaceful state. His fingers continued their soothing caress along your back, growing slower and more languid as sleep began to claim him too. The last thing you remembered before surrendering was the gentle press of Gregor's lips against your forehead and his whispered "Ner cyare..." You mumbled a sleepy response, already half-lost to dreams of tomorrow's adventures.

[phoneycam]

(brainrot 5(?))))

Soulmates experience the same nervous or involuntary tics at the same time.

It all starts as an innocent inside joke from the 212 troopers. How their high officer where the best and one of the key proves of it was how in tune they are with eachother. That thought slowly evolved with every interaction they were able to witness until it turned into a kind of game, trying to understand just how deep the synchrony went. Space bingo if you will.

1.

Ever since he decided to have a beard, he touches it. at first it was because of the new sensation, later to show it of as one should do, then to display knowledge in hopes to seem more wise and finally evolving in his "in deep thoughts" pose.

It was on the early battles when it first happened. The clones weren't comfortable enough yet to being openly without their buckets and so, the moment both officers moved to rest their chin on their hand, Cody hit his helmet causing him to make an aborted movement pretending that he was trying to adjust it when the general turns to look at him. There is a pregnant pause around the holotable before Obi-Wan turns back to the holotable and the commander has to survive the rest of the meeting with the constant snickers from his brothers inside his helmet.

2.

In times of high stress situations he tends to scratch the back of his head, particularly the place where his padawan braid was, an unconscious tick he picked first from his time in Melidaan. He got to overcome it over the years when he came back to the temple, only to pick it back up after Qui-Gon died and he became a knight.

The first time the troopers note it is in Christophsis. Anakin is being he's usual reckless self causing Obi-Wan the go grey early with his invisible ship against a hole separatist fleet, and he doesn't even realize he's hand moving up to pass it over the back of his head, nor that his commander repeated the exact same movement at the exact same time, too distracted with the fight in sight. The other troopers on the bridge however? they did notice.

3.

This one happened before they where about to land in a highly unknown planet with an astonishing lake of information. They were walking into a trap, not that they knew at the time that.. or well.. not until both General and Commander deepened their frowns and mumbled quietly "I have a bad feeling about this". This time they did notice it tho and turned to look at eachother with a surprised look while the soldiers around them are gapping with a collective thought of "Oh kark we are so doomed" and "lmao check another one for the team."

4.

A defect of using a helmet for so long, is that you start forgetting how to keep a straight face and our dear commander, starts slipping his controlled mask especially when faced with stupid decisions. This is one of the main reasons him and Anakin do not get allong well. Because one of the first times they were all reunited strategizing their next move, Anakin decided to offer his brilliant idea and almost cried when faced with the pure power of the combined disgust Obi and Cody were inadvertently showing.

Ahsoka and Rex thought it was hilarious, Obi-Wan had to apologies multiple times before his formed padawan stopped sulking and demanding Obi-Wan to spend less time with his commander and the rest of the troopers just checked another mark.

5.

Kamino has never and will never be an easy place to live in. The facility was a nightmare and no one knew this better than the clones themselfs, between the kaminioan, the trainers and the Alpha batch, life was a challenge and any little quirk can be a dead sentence if you're not careful enough. Cody knows this and learns to deal with it.

It's in the middle of a peace negotiation with the local authority when they noticed it.

It was a small group for this mission, just Cody, Obi-Wan, Boil and Waxer accompanying a Coruscant team of negotiators. The prime minister of the planet was being unpleasant during the whole meeting, with nasty comments, senseless demands and baseless accusations towards eveyone. All bark, no bite.

The jedi was leading the negotiations putting him in front of everyone with the commander by his side; Waxer and Boil standing just behind them notice a pattern pretty quickly. Everytime the minister said something bad about the jedi or the clones, both of their officers would each start drumbeating their fingers with their thumb. A small thing that no one else could notice because their hands were behind their backs, but remarkable enough for the troopers witnessing it as a checkable tic.

6.

Dex notice the next one.

Obi-Wan likes to take every clone he can to visit Dex's reastaurant at least once, but the most regular companion is always the cammander. Not that it bothers him, in fact, he is rather fond of the good commander, but he can't help but notice how everytime the principal door opens a little bit harder than needed, they both will tense up and inmediatelly look at eachother.

And yeah idk, i just think it's neat as an idea. I can imagine a lot more of little scenes like these. Maybe some time latter both realize, maybe they know, maybe they will purposely start doing some to just mess with the troops, maybe it would save the galaxy somehow... just saying..

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-Three: Determination

Chapter WC: 13,883

Chapter Warnings: drama!!! some wound stuff, obligatory emotional turmoil tag even though we all knew that was coming

A/N: I am back! I was able to build up my draft chapter backlog again, starting with this one. It's a lot, but we can all rest easy knowing this will be the last one like this for a while.

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???, 21 BBY

The moment the two of you step into the hallway, it becomes clear that this isn't a minor glitch or an unexpected turn of events.

The alarms are still blaring, and the ship's computer is still repeating the same message over and over again, and the emergency lighting has turned the hallways into a sea of red and black, making it difficult to see where you're going. Rex and you hurry towards the bridge, following the trail of panicked troopers and harried officers as they rush around, trying to get the situation under control.

Halfway there, a group of troopers rush past you, and one breaks away, waving the others on as he jogs towards you and Rex. You spot the Republic cog on his faceplate and feel a flood of relief.

"General, Captain," Jesse salutes, sounding a bit breathless. His helmet is slightly askew, and his armor is covered in dust, his boots scuffed and dirty. You watch as he glances down and freezes, and it’s only then that you realize Rex is still holding your hand.

"Jesse," Rex greets, not letting go, and you do your best to keep a straight face as Jesse clears his throat. "What's going on?"

"There’s been an explosion in the engine bay," he answers quickly. Rex's grip on your hand tightens, and Jesse gestures down the corridor, his voice rising over the alarms blaring. "One of the hyperdrives blew out and triggered the failsafe on the others.”

"How did this happen?" you ask sharply. You have no idea what the technicalities are behind hyperdrives and how they work, but it doesn’t take a genius to understand the implications of Jesse's words. A single failure means that the ship is now stranded in the middle of nowhere. A series of failures means something else entirely. "Are we—"

"It's going to take some time to figure out the cause, General," Jesse interrupts, his voice tight. He glances around nervously and drops his voice to a low whisper, his words almost lost beneath the roar of the alarms and the chaos surrounding you. "But I think someone set off an explosive charge on purpose."

“Sabotage?” Rex repeats incredulously. He looks at Jesse in shock and lets go of your hand, stepping closer, his voice rising above the noise. "Are you sure?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Jesse replies grimly. "We're lucky the blast didn't kill anyone."

"We need to get to the bridge," you say quickly, and Jesse nods, motioning for you to follow him.

You and Rex fall into step beside him, the three of you weaving through the chaos, dodging around the crew and the troopers who are rushing in the opposite direction. You reach the doors to the bridge and wait impatiently as they open, the three of you stepping through, and the alarms cut off abruptly. The room is eerily quiet after the loud commotion of the corridor, and it takes a moment for your ears to adjust.

The bridge is a hive of activity, with everyone doing their best to deal with the emergency, but as soon as you enter, all eyes are on the three of you, the expressions ranging from fear and worry to anger and confusion. Anakin and Ahsoka are standing around a holotable with Admiral Yularen and a handful of technicians, their voices raised in anger, and their attention shifts to you as you approach.

“It’s about time you showed up," Anakin snaps, his jaw clenched, and you frown at his tone. His eyes move between you and Rex, his lips curling into a sneer. "We're in the middle of a crisis here. What took you so long?"

The immediate urge to defend yourself rises up inside you, and your hands clench at your sides, a surge of indignation rushing through you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rex tense and shift on his feet.

He glances at you, and the two of you share a look, a silent conversation passing between the two of you, a reminder to stay calm. You take a deep breath and force your expression into a mask of calm.

"What's the situation?" you ask, ignoring Anakin's question, and Rex moves closer, standing beside you. His presence is reassuring, and you can't help but think of what happened just minutes ago. What might've happened if the two of you hadn't been interrupted.

A flush creeps up your neck, and you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. There'll be plenty of time to think about that later.

"We're in trouble,” Anakin growls.

"I'd gathered that," you reply dryly. Ahsoka and Jesse glance at each other, the former rolling her eyes, the latter shaking his head. Rex shoots you a warning look, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes as well, turning back to Anakin. "Do we have a damage report yet?"

"Most of the main systems are offline," Yularen replies, his voice calm and collected, a stark contrast to the anger and frustration emanating from the two of you. "And we've lost contact with the rest of the fleet."

"What does that mean exactly?" you ask. Yularen takes a deep breath and glances at Anakin, who waves his hand impatiently, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He turns back to you and gives you a grim look.

"We're trapped in the middle of nowhere," he answers flatly. "At the current speed, it'll take us over two months to reach Kamino, and that is if we make it through the Rishi Maze.”

"Is the hyperdrive salvageable?" Rex asks, his eyes moving between the admiral and the techs, who are all shaking their heads. He sighs and rubs the back of his neck, his brow furrowing. "So what's the plan?"

"We're going to have to repair the ship and wait for help," Ahsoka says, her hands on her hips, and you can hear the frustration in her voice. You look at her, and she meets your gaze, her expression hardening. "I'm working with the maintenance crews to fix the engines. It shouldn't take more than a few hours."

"We need to figure out why this happened," you add, turning to Jesse, and he nods, his expression solemn. "Did you find the source of the explosion yet?"

"Not yet, sir," he replies.

"I'll help with the investigation," you offer. Jesse and Rex exchange a look, and you can sense their unease. Jesse frowns, his eyes narrowing slightly, and his gaze moves between the two of you. "What?"

"With all due respect, General," Jesse says carefully. He looks at Anakin, and when the other man doesn't speak, he continues. "This may have been an attempt to assassinate a high-ranking officer. If it was, the investigation will need to be handled with discretion. Someone on board this ship might be the culprit."

"And by handling the investigation discreetly, you mean not including the person being targeted in the investigation," you retort, crossing your arms over your chest, and Jesse winces. Rex sighs and steps forward, his hand reaching out to grasp your shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. You shrug him off and glare at Jesse. "That's not happening."

"If it was an attempt to kill you, General, it's possible that the attacker will try again," he explains, his tone apologetic. He hesitates, and when you don't respond, he squares his shoulders. “It would be safer if you were to stay on the bridge."

"He's right," Ahsoka adds. She meets your gaze, her eyes full of concern, and her voice is gentle. "You'll be safer up here."

"I can handle myself," you snap, and Ahsoka shakes her head.

"We know that," she replies. She motions to the holotable, and her mouth curves into a small smile. "But let us handle this. Okay? We'll figure out what happened. I promise."

"Fine," you mutter, and Rex gives you a sympathetic look, his hand returning to your shoulder. He squeezes it once more and turns to Jesse, his expression shifting from sympathetic to stern.

"Let me know if you need anything," Rex tells him.

"Will do, sir," Jesse nods. He looks at Ahsoka and tilts his head towards the door, and she falls into step beside him, the two of them heading towards the exit, their voices low and urgent. You watch as they leave, and a pang of regret shoots through you.

"This is bad," Anakin mutters. You glance at him, and his eyes meet yours, the irritation and anger gone, replaced by weariness and worry. He sighs and runs a hand over his face. "Sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"It's okay," you sigh, and he snorts, giving you a wry smile. You shrug and look away, a grimace twisting your face. "Well, it's not. But I get it."

"Thanks," Anakin mutters. He shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck, his gaze moving between you and Rex. "Can you two make sure everything is under control? I need to go speak with the Chancellor."

"Of course," Rex answers. Anakin gives him a curt nod and turns away, marching towards the door with Yularen at his heels. 

You watch them go, the unease in the pit of your stomach growing. The thought of having to stay on the bridge while everyone else does their best to fix the situation makes you want to scream. The desire to run off and search for the culprit is overwhelming, but you know better than to do that. 

And even if you didn't, Rex wouldn't let you.

"You're not happy about this," Rex murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

"No, I'm not," you admit. You turn to him, and he raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smile. You narrow your eyes and poke his chest. "This is not funny."

"I didn't say anything," Rex chuckles. You glare at him and cross your arms over your chest, and he gives you a sympathetic look. He lifts his hands and rubs them over his face, letting out a tired sigh. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For earlier," he says quietly, and a rush of heat floods your body. "I shouldn't have said what I said."

"Rex..."

"It was inappropriate," he says, cutting you off, and the guilt in his voice makes your heart ache. His head drops and he rubs the back of his neck, a small frown tugging at his lips. "I...I don't know what I was thinking."

"Hey," you say, and his eyes snap up to yours. "It's okay. It's...we're both stressed and worried. We're dealing with a lot right now."

"That's no excuse," he mutters. His brow furrows and his gaze drops, and the shame and guilt that emanate from him are so strong that it takes everything in you not to reach out and pull him into your arms. But you can't do that. Not here. Not now. And not until the two of you have talked about what happened.

"Look, we'll talk about it later," you tell him gently. He glances at you and nods. "Okay?"

"Yeah," he sighs, and you can feel his mood shift, the tension and stress melting away, replaced by a quiet resignation. His shoulders slump, and a resigned smile spreads across his face. "You're right."

"I usually am," you joke. Rex rolls his eyes, and you give him a quick grin before looking around the bridge. "Alright, we should—"

"General," a technician interrupts. He gestures towards the holotable, and you walk over, Rex following close behind. The image of a star chart is projected above the table, and the technician taps on the display, zooming in on the image. “We’re receiving a distress signal from a nearby planet. It's coming from the surface."

"That's odd," Rex mutters, his brow furrowing. He leans closer and studies the image, his head tilting to the side. "There aren't any habitable planets in this system."

"Maybe it's automated," you suggest.

"Possibly," the technician agrees. 

He taps a few more buttons, and the image changes, showing the planet from above. The landscape is covered in a dense, gray fog, obscuring most of the details. You can just make out the outline of a single structure, surrounded by a ring of large, craggy rocks. The technician points to a small, blinking dot on the display. 

"The signal is coming from a small outpost on the planet. The inhabitants appear to be human colonists, but it's unclear who they are."

"It could be Separatists," Rex murmurs. He looks at you, and you can see the concern in his eyes. "They could've staged this attack and then fled to the planet. They could be waiting for us."

"Maybe," you reply. Your eyes return to the display, and you frown, a familiar feeling tugging at the edge of your senses. There's something about the planet that's nagging at you, and you can't quite put your finger on it. "There's only one way to find out."

"Are you suggesting we send a squad down there?" Rex asks, shaking his head. "We can't risk a confrontation. We don't have the manpower or the resources to handle another fight."

You look back at the image and nod slowly. The more you think about it, the more certain you are that the feeling is the Force telling you that there's something important on the planet. You take a deep breath and meet his gaze.

“No, I’m suggesting that I go down there," you tell him, and Rex's expression turns incredulous, his eyes widening.

"You're kidding," he says, a note of disbelief in his voice. He straightens his back and shakes his head. "No. No way. You're not going down there alone."

"Yes, I am," you argue, and Rex glares at you, his hands moving to his hips. At your side, the technician shifts uncomfortably, his eyes flicking between the two of you. "There's a chance that whoever's down there might need our help. If they do, I have a duty to assist them."

"Your duty is to stay here," Rex counters. "On the ship. Safe and sound. Away from any potential danger."

"Don't be dramatic," you scoff. "I'll take a ship, go down there, check it out, and then come right back. Simple."

"Simple," he repeats. He lets out a frustrated sigh and looks up at the ceiling, shaking his head. "Nothing is ever simple with you. You know that, right?"

"I'm aware," you reply dryly. Rex huffs and rubs the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to the floor. His expression is strained, and he's doing his best not to look at you. He knows that if he does, you'll be able to convince him, and he doesn't want that.

You wait, watching as he tries to come up with an argument, but it's obvious that he's struggling. He knows that the odds are against him, and the longer he stays silent, the more difficult it is for him to find a valid reason. Neither of you are willing to concede.

"Please," you finally say, and his eyes flick up to yours, his brow furrowing. You meet his gaze and offer him a small smile. "I have a feeling that I should go down there."

"A feeling," he repeats. He lets out a deep, weary sigh, and his shoulders slump. "Fine. But I'm going with you."

"No," you protest, but Rex shakes his head.

"Either I go with you or you don't go," he says firmly. He folds his arms across his chest, his expression hardening. "Pick."

"You're not serious," you retort, but Rex doesn't budge, and a heavy silence fills the air. The technician shifts awkwardly and clears his throat, looking back and forth between the two of you.

"I can arrange for a shuttle," he offers, and Rex gives him a curt nod.

"Thank you," he says. The technician hurries away, leaving the two of you alone. Rex looks at you, and his expression softens, his lips twitching upwards. "Don't argue."

"I'm not arguing," you retort, and he snorts, shaking his head.

"You always argue," he points out. He glances around the bridge, and his eyes settle on a group of troopers gathered near the far wall. "I'm going to see if anyone's willing to volunteer for the mission."

"We're not telling them about the distress signal," you tell him quickly.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want anyone else to go down there," you explain, and his eyebrows rise.

"You want to keep this a secret?" he asks, his tone disbelieving.

"I'm not trying to keep it a secret," you reply, and his eyebrows rise higher. You let out an exasperated sigh and shake your head. "I'm trying to protect them. If the Separatists are down there, they're going to be heavily armed and dangerous. I'm not sending anyone else down there."

"And if they are, and it's a trap?" Rex counters.

"Then, I'll have you," you retort. You tilt your head to the side and smile. "You'll keep me safe, right?"

"Always," he says quietly, his expression growing serious. The two of you hold each other's gaze, and you can sense the conflict and worry radiating off him. After a moment, his eyes move to the side, and he rubs the back of his neck, his expression shifting into a frown. "We should get ready."

"Agreed."

The two of you turn and head for the exit, falling into step beside each other. As you step into the corridor, the alarms blare once again, and you wince, the sudden loud noise catching you off guard. The red lighting flashes and casts a crimson glow over the hall, and the computerized voice calls out over the alarms.

"Attention. Attention. This is an emergency..."

Rex shakes his head and grumbles under his breath. You give him a sympathetic look and reach out, squeezing his arm.

"Come on," you murmur. He nods and follows after you as you make your way through the ship toward the hangar where the shuttle is waiting. It's not a long trip, and you don't say anything along the way, the two of you lost in your own thoughts. The unease that has been building inside you grows with every passing second, and by the time you reach the hangar, you're certain that this is a bad idea.

"Rex," you start, but he cuts you off, grabbing your arm, pulling you to the side. A group of troopers rush past, their armor reflecting the red glow from the lights, and the two of you stand there, watching them run by. When they're gone, he lets go and sighs.

"Whatever happens down there, we stick together," he tells you. You nod, and his hand reaches out, gripping your shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Got it?"

"Got it," you reply, and he smiles and lets go, taking a step back. He turns and walks away, heading for the shuttle, and you follow after him, doing your best to keep the doubt from showing on your face.

The Twilight is already prepped and ready to go, the ramp lowered, the engines sputtering. The idea of taking Anakin's prized freighter without him knowing isn't exactly appealing, but it's not like the two of you have a choice. And besides, it's not like you'll be gone for long. You'll just take a quick look, check out the situation, and then get the hell out. Simple.

"Sir!" A voice calls out as you and Rex scale the ramp. Jesse jogs over, his helmet tucked under his arm. "What's going on? Why are you leaving?"

Rex looks over at you and tilts his head towards the entrance of the hangar, gesturing for you to go ahead. You nod and step inside, moving towards the cockpit, leaving the two of them alone. As soon as you're out of earshot, you slow down, stopping just outside the door, listening to their conversation.

"We're going on a mission," Rex answers. You hear the clink of his boots against the durasteel decking and a small thump, probably him setting down his helmet.

"What mission?" Jesse asks. You lean against the wall, watching as he frowns and looks at Rex, his expression skeptical. "General Skywalker said we should stay here and fix the ship."

"Something's come up," Rex replies, and Jesse's frown deepens. He glances towards the cockpit, and you move further away, pretending to inspect the wiring. You watch as his eyes narrow, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Does it have anything to do with why you were late to the bridge earlier?" he asks. Rex hesitates, and Jesse's gaze moves back to him, his expression turning suspicious. "Sir, did something happen between you and the General?"

"It's none of your business, Jesse," Rex tells him sharply. You wince, and Rex glances towards the cockpit, his eyes locking onto yours, his cheeks flushing slightly. He gives you a tight smile and looks away, clearing his throat. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. There's...there's a lot going on."

"Is she in trouble?" Jesse presses, and Rex sighs, shaking his head.

"Not yet," he answers. "But there's a chance she might be, so we're going to check it out."

"We?"

"Yeah," Rex replies. He takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his head, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I'm going with her."

"Of course you are," Jesse snorts, and Rex looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Sir, with all due respect, this is not the time for the two of you to be sneaking off together," Jesse says, his voice rising slightly, his tone growing agitated. Rex winces, and his eyes move to you again, and you can feel the guilt radiating off him.

"We're not sneaking off together," he tells Jesse, his tone firm. "And even if we were, that's not any of your business. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Jesse replies. He pauses, and you watch as his eyes move back and forth, his mind working furiously. "Well, if you're going, I'm going too."

"That's not—"

"I know, I know," Jesse interrupts, holding up his hands, and he gives Rex a small grin. "The General doesn't want anyone else involved. But if she's in danger, it's my duty to protect her. If you're going, I'm going."

"It's dangerous," Rex warns.

"We're soldiers. That's our job.," Jesse replies. He shrugs and gestures towards the shuttle. "And besides, I can't leave you two alone. You might do something stupid."

"Like what?" Rex scoffs, and Jesse smirks.

"Oh, I don't know," he says, his tone casual, but there's a hint of a teasing edge to his voice. "Do I really need to spell it out?"

Rex scowls and looks away, his cheeks reddening, and Jesse lets out a small laugh, shaking his head.

"Don't worry, sir," he assures him. "Your secret is safe with me."

"There's no secret," Rex grumbles. Jesse rolls his eyes and claps him on the shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look.

"Whatever you say, sir."

The two of them start up the ramp into the shuttle, forcing you to dart into the pilot's seat. You pretend to fiddle with the controls, and a few seconds later, they enter the cockpit, both men looking at you expectantly.

"All set?" Rex asks, and you nod.

"I think so," you reply. You glance between the two of them, a frown forming on your face. "Jesse, why are you here?"

"He's coming with us," Rex says, and you can feel your frown deepen.

"I said that no one else was coming with us," you argue. Jesse shrugs and sets his helmet on the console.

"With all due respect, General, I'm coming anyway," he tells you. His tone is polite, but the stubborn set of his jaw and the determined look in his eye make it clear that he won't be easily swayed. "You might need backup."

"We'll be fine," you snap, and Rex sighs.

"Let him come," he says quietly. His eyes lock onto yours, and when you see the pleading look in them, you give him a frustrated huff.

"Fine," you mutter.

"Good," Jesse grins, and you roll your eyes.

"Whatever," you grumble, and you start flipping switches, the engines roaring to life, the controls lighting up. The three of you strap yourselves in, and you grab the controls, guiding the ship out of the hangar and into space. As soon as you're clear, you tap the coordinates for the planet, and the autopilot takes over, guiding the ship towards its destination. 

You turn to Jesse, who's busy checking his equipment, and point at the viewport. "This is a reconnaissance mission. We're going to take a look, check out the situation, and then get the hell out. Got it?"

"Got it," Jesse agrees. You glance at Rex, who gives you a small nod, and the three of you settle in, watching the stars streak past the viewport. After a few minutes, the planet comes into view, the gray mass looming in front of you. You frown and peer out at it, watching the fog clouds roil and swirl. Something about the planet gives you a strange, uneasy feeling, and you can't shake the feeling that this is a bad idea.

"General," Rex says softly. You look over at him, and he raises an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

"I'm fine," you reply, and his eyes narrow. He doesn't believe you, but you don't want to worry him. Or Jesse. Or yourself, for that matter. You push the feeling aside and gesture towards the planet. "Let's do this."

The shuttle descends, the planet growing larger as it approaches. You lean forward and watch as the fog begins to part, revealing the surface. As you get closer, the details become clearer, and the gray landscape stretches as far as the eye can see. There's nothing green or brown or blue, just the same endless gray expanse. The only landmark is a small cluster of structures near the edge of the horizon.

You frown and press the controls, the shuttle changing course, angling towards the buildings. You scan the area and let out a soft sigh. There's no sign of life anywhere.

As the shuttle continues its descent, the fog closes in, and the ground becomes obscured. The buildings loom ahead, and you adjust the course, flying over the structures, circling around. The shuttle's scanners sweep the area, searching for any signs of life, but there's nothing. No movement. No heat signatures. No signs of any living creature.

"It's deserted," Rex says quietly. He glances at you, and his expression hardens. "Are we sure this is the right place?"

"Yeah," you reply. You look out the viewport, watching as the structures pass by beneath the shuttle, and the uneasiness inside you grows. The Force is telling you that there's something important on the surface, and the feeling is growing stronger with every second. "We should land and check it out."

"That's not a good idea," Jesse protests. He leans forward and points towards the edge of the fog. "We can see the outpost from here. We can scan it and get a better look without putting ourselves at risk."

"There's something here," you tell him, and Rex gives you a sharp look. You shake your head, ignoring his concern, and focus on Jesse, doing your best to keep the doubt from showing on your face. "We need to find out what it is."

"General—"

"Jesse," Rex interrupts, and the other man sighs. He rubs the back of his neck, a frustrated look on his face, and he glances between the two of you.

"Alright, alright," he finally relents. He unbuckles his harness and stands, grabbing his helmet, pulling it over his head. "I'll do a quick sweep, and then we can head back. Sound good?"

"Perfect," you smile, and Jesse grunts, walking past the two of you, heading towards the ramp. You wait until he's out of earshot before looking over at Rex, and the moment your eyes meet, the concern radiating from him is overwhelming.

"Please, tell me that you're not feeling the same thing I'm feeling," he says quietly, and the desperation in his voice sends a pang through your heart. You hesitate, and he sighs, running a hand over his face. "Great."

"Rex..."

"What's the point of the Force if it can't warn you about these things?" he mutters, shaking his head. He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching, and his hands grip the harness tightly.

"It is warning me," you tell him, and his eyes fly open, meeting yours, his expression full of disbelief. "I can feel it. The Force is trying to tell me something. I just...I don't know what it is. I just know that I need to go down there."

You unbuckle your harness and stand, and Rex follows suit, his movements stiff and robotic. He pulls on his helmet and checks his blasters while you pull the rebreather over your nose and mouth. You give him a reassuring smile and rest your hand on his arm, giving it a light squeeze.

"I'm going to be fine," you assure him, and he shakes his head.

"No, you're not," he retorts. He looks at you, and you can sense his fear and frustration and anger. "Nothing ever goes right when we're together. Every time. Every damn time."

"Hey," you say sharply, and he huffs. "That's not true."

"It is," he mutters. His head drops, and his shoulders slump, the tension and anger leaving him. He lets out a tired sigh and turns towards the open hatch. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"It won't," you promise, and he scoffs, his brow furrowing. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Jesse returns, and the two of you turn towards him. He gives the two of you a quick look and holds up a finger.

"Okay, I did a quick sweep, and it looks like the place is empty," he reports. He taps the side of his helmet and shrugs. "Nothing on the thermal either. If anyone's down there, they're well hidden."

"We're still going," you say, and Jesse lets out an exasperated groan.

"I knew you were going to say that," he complains. He looks at Rex, and you can tell that the captain is rolling his eyes behind his visor. "Is she always like this?"

"Yes," Rex replies dryly. 

He tilts his head towards the hatch, and Jesse lets out a resigned sigh, leading the way down the ramp and onto the ground. You follow after him, stepping onto the gray surface, your boots sinking into the wet dirt. Rex is right behind you, and the three of you begin making your way towards the outpost.

The fog is thick, and it's difficult to see more than a few feet in any direction. You pull the hood of your robe up, the fabric covering your head and the top half of your face. The ground is uneven and soft, and the air dank and cold. 

A few steps into the fog, the visibility drops to almost nothing, and you find yourself relying on the Force to guide you. It's disorienting, and after a while, you're not entirely sure where you're going. Jesse's at the front of the group, and Rex is at your side, his blasters at the ready. Every few steps, the three of you stop and listen, scanning the area for any signs of life.

There's nothing.

The only sound is the muffled crunch of the ground beneath your boots and the soft rustling of the fog. It's unsettling, and you find yourself moving closer to Rex, his presence calming your nerves.

You can see his helmet tilt toward you, and you can sense his unease. He doesn't want you out here. He wants to turn around and go back to the ship. And if it were up to him, that's exactly what he would do.

But it's not.

You're the one in charge.

So, the three of you continue walking, the outpost growing closer and closer, the structure looming ahead of you. The gray stone walls are covered in moss and vines, and the wooden gate is open, hanging from its hinges. The interior of the compound is obscured by the fog, and you pause, your senses on high alert.

There's no sound. No movement. No signs of life.

"Jesse," you murmur, and he glances back at you. "You and Rex search the perimeter. I'll check inside."

"I don't think—"

"Just do it," you order, cutting him off, and he huffs, shaking his head.

"You heard the General," Rex says, and Jesse gives him a curt nod. "Let's go."

The two of them turn away and move along the edge of the wall, disappearing into the fog. You watch as they fade into the grayness, and then you take a deep breath, drawing your lightsaber and activating it. The blade ignites with a hum, the yellow glow illuminating the fog, and you step towards the open gate.

As you pass through the entrance, a chill runs down your spine. There's a feeling in the air, a dark energy surrounding the area. It's familiar, but you can't quite place it. It's a feeling that you've experienced before, but not here. Not in this place.

You pause, listening, searching for any signs of life, and when the silence continues, you step forward, heading towards the center of the compound. There are a handful of structures, most of which are dilapidated and falling apart. A few of them are nothing more than piles of rubble, the walls crumbling, the roof caving in. 

You've only taken a few steps when something out of the corner of your eye shifts. A dark shape moving in the distance. Your eyes dart towards the source, and you watch as a shadowy figure emerges from the fog, its movements slow and deliberate.

"Jesse? Rex?" you call out, and the figure stops. You take a cautious step towards it, and it vanishes.

"General!"

You turn towards the sound of Rex's voice, and the figure appears again. It's standing behind you, and when you look back, it's gone.

"Rex!" you shout, and you hear him calling out for you, his voice getting closer. The figure appears again, further away. It's tall and humanoid, its limbs long and spindly. It's facing away from you, and when you try to follow, it vanishes once more.

You hear a faint noise coming from the direction the figure disappeared. A soft tapping sound. It's faint and distant, but it's there. You turn towards the source, and the figure appears again. You make out the shape of a cape, a hood, and your hand tightens on your lightsaber.

"Hey!" you call out, and the figure spins around, the fog swirling, obscuring its features. The tapping sound continues, and the figure takes a step towards you. "Who are you? What do you want?"

You take a cautious step forward, and the figure vanishes, the tapping fading away. You wait for a moment, listening, and then the tapping returns, the sound growing louder. It's coming from somewhere close by, and when you try to follow the noise, the figure reappears. You spin towards it, and as soon as you do, the noise stops.

"This is ridiculous," you growl, and you take a step towards the figure, but before you can reach it, it disappears. The tapping returns, the noise even louder, the sound echoing off the walls of the buildings. It's close.

You move quickly, sprinting after it, your heart pounding. You can hear Rex and Jesse calling out for you, but you ignore them. The fog swirls and twists, and you follow the sound, the tapping growing louder and louder. It's coming from inside one of the buildings. You skid to a stop and look up. The building is smaller than the others, and the doorway is barely big enough for you to squeeze through.

"Come on," you murmur, and you push the door open, slipping inside. The tapping stops, and the room is completely silent. You look around, searching for any sign of the figure, and when you don't see anything, you let out a frustrated huff. "I know you're here. You wanted help. Well, I'm here. So, let's talk."

The silence stretches on, and then the sound returns, the tapping louder and faster than before. It's coming from below. From beneath the floor. You look down and realize that the floor isn't made of stone or wood. It's metal. It's a hatch.

You kneel and press your ear to the surface, the tapping getting louder, the noise echoing off the metal. There's a muffled thumping mixed in with the tapping. It's a steady rhythm. Like a heartbeat.

You grab the handle and yank, the hatch sliding open, revealing a ladder leading down into a dark pit.

"Oh, for Force's sake," you mutter.

"General! Where are you?"

"Rex!" you call out, and the noise stops, the silence deafening. "I'm over here."

You look down the ladder, and a few seconds later, Rex and Jesse emerge from the fog. They jog towards you, their blasters drawn, and when they get close enough, they slow down.

"What are you doing?" Rex asks. He looks down at the hatch and back to you, holstering his blasters and placing his hands on his hips. "You weren't thinking of going down there alone, were you?"

"...Maybe," you admit, and Rex's helmet tilts skyward.

"Of course, you were," he grumbles. He glances at Jesse, and the other man shrugs.

"She's got a death wish, sir," Jesse tells him. Rex lets out a resigned sigh, and Jesse leans closer, giving you a disapproving look. "Don't do anything stupid."

"When have I ever done anything stupid?" you ask. Rex and Jesse both snort, and you frown, crossing your arms over your chest. "I don't think I like your attitude."

"We don't like your attitude," Rex retorts. He crouches and peers down the hole, and when he looks up, the annoyance in his voice is clear. "Well, we're not doing this without a plan. Or at least without some kind of idea about what's down there."

"It's some kind of tapping," you reply, and he gestures for you to elaborate. You huff and shrug. "There's a rhythm to it. And I keep seeing a figure in the fog. It's humanoid."

"A figure?" Jesse repeats, and he and Rex exchange a look. You raise an eyebrow and tilt your head to the side, waiting for one of them to speak. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head earlier?"

You scowl, your hands curling into fists, and you're about to tell him exactly what you think of his comment when Rex steps between the two of you. He holds up his hands and shakes his head.

"That's not helping," he says firmly. Jesse grumbles under his breath, and Rex glances over his shoulder at you. "What do you want to do?"

"I'm going down there," you tell him. You step towards the ladder and start climbing, and when Rex starts to protest, you hold up a finger, silencing him. "You can either come with me or not. Either way, I'm doing this."

Rex hesitates, and when he looks at Jesse, the other man just shrugs. He lets out an exasperated sigh and nods.

"Fine," he mutters. He points at Jesse. "Stay up here. If we're not back in thirty minutes, call for backup."

"Copy that," Jesse replies, and Rex climbs onto the ladder, following after you.

You descend into the darkness, the sound of the tapping getting louder and louder. When you reach the bottom, you step off the ladder, and Rex lands beside you. His helmet scans the room, and he reaches out, his fingers closing around your wrist. He pulls you behind him, his body shielding yours.

"Be careful," he whispers.

"Always am," you murmur, and his helmet swivels to look at you. You can feel his skepticism and amusement radiating from him, and he shakes his head, turning back to the darkness.

"Sure, you are," he chuckles. "I've seen the scars."

"That was one time," you protest, and he snorts, taking a step forward.

"No, it wasn't," he retorts.

"I thought you liked how reckless I am," you tease, and his helmet tilts, a low, rumbling growl escaping from the speakers. You bite your lip to keep from laughing, and when he turns his head, you give him a sweet smile. "You said it. Not me."

"That's not what I said," he mutters.

"Yes, it is," you laugh, and his hand tightens on your wrist, pulling you close. You stumble forward, bumping into him, and he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you against him.

"Be. Careful," he growls, his voice low and dangerous, and the sudden change in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. You look up at him and lick your lips, your mouth suddenly dry. "Promise me."

"I will," you whisper. The intensity of his stare is overwhelming, and you find yourself frozen, your breath catching in your throat. "I promise."

"Good," he murmurs, his voice softening. He releases his grip on your waist, his hand sliding up your back and resting between your shoulders, gently nudging you forward. "Come on."

The two of you walk side by side through the darkness, the sound of the tapping growing louder with every step. As the two of you move further into the tunnel, the darkness begins to give way, the walls illuminated by dim red lights. You glance at Rex, and he gives you a quick nod, gesturing for you to keep moving.

"It's an escape tunnel," he mutters. He moves closer to the wall and examines the lights, his helmet tilting towards the ground. "Probably goes all the way to the outpost."

"Why would they need an escape tunnel?"

"Maybe they were hiding from something," Rex replies. He stands and glances around the room. "Or someone."

The two of you continue walking, the tapping growing louder, the tunnel narrowing. You reach a junction, and the sound is coming from the left, the path sloping downward. Rex hesitates, and you nudge his arm, pushing him forward. He lets out a resigned sigh and follows after you.

As the two of you walk down the slope, the tapping becomes deafening, the sound bouncing off the walls. It's coming from a closed door up ahead. Rex draws his blaster, and you ignite your lightsaber, the yellow blade illuminating the area. The two of you reach the door and pause, listening. There's no movement, no sounds other than the tapping.

"You ready?" Rex asks, and you nod. He raises his blaster and places his hand on the door handle. "On three."

He counts down, and then the door swings open, revealing a small, dimly lit room. It's empty, and the only furniture is a table and chair. There's a tarp draped over the wall behind it, and the tapping is coming from beneath.

You glance at Rex, and he takes a cautious step inside. When nothing happens, he holsters his blaster and moves towards the tarp.

"What are you doing?" you ask, and he waves a dismissive hand.

"Just stay there," he orders.

You frown, your eyes narrowing. "Don't tell me what to do."

Rex sighs and shakes his head, grabbing the tarp and pulling it off the wall, revealing a series of monitors and control panels. There's a microphone on the table, and the source of the tapping is revealed. It's a small, cylindrical device attached to the microphone, and when Rex picks it up, the tapping stops.

He sets the device on the table and looks at the monitors, his helmet tilting to the side. You move towards him, and he points to the screens, showing you the messages and audio files.

"Someone was trying to lure people here," he murmurs. He flips through a few more files and lets out a disgusted huff. "Whoever it was must have figured that a fake distress call would bring us running."

"So, this is a trap?"

"Looks like it," Rex replies. He looks down at the device and tilts his head to the side. "And, judging by the fact that there's no sign of whoever put this here, I'm guessing that they got away. Guess we scared them off."

"Yeah," you mutter, and he turns to face you, his helmet lifting, his visor scanning your face.

"I know that tone," he says softly. You raise an eyebrow, and he folds his arms over his chest. "What is it?"

"I just..." you begin, and you trail off, letting out a frustrated sigh. You shake your head and lean against the table, rubbing your forehead. "This whole thing feels...off."

"Off?"

"It doesn't make sense," you tell him. "Why would anyone set up a fake distress signal and then leave? It's not like they could've known that we would come. Or even if we would. For all they knew, no one would hear their signal. Why waste the time and energy putting this all together?"

"Maybe they panicked," Rex suggests. "Maybe they didn't think things through."

"Maybe," you reply. You push away from the table and pace around the room, frowning. "But something about this feels...familiar. Like I've seen it before."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," you mutter. You stop and look at him, shaking your head. "It's just a feeling. A hunch. And I can't explain it."

"Okay," Rex says slowly, his voice hesitant. He pauses, and then he walks over to the tarp and grabs it, throwing it back over the wall, covering the monitors. "We'll talk to General Skywalker. See what he thinks. Maybe he can make sense of all this."

"Yeah," you agree. You walk past him, and he follows, the two of you heading back towards the ladder. The tapping starts up again, the sound echoing off the walls. Rex's hand reaches out, resting on the small of your back, his fingers pressing against the fabric of your robe. You look over at him, and his helmet tips toward the source, his voice low and soothing.

"Ignore it," he murmurs, and the two of you start walking, the sound fading away. "It's just a recording."

"I know," you whisper. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, and as the two of you walk, his hand moves lower, his fingers brushing over your hip. The gesture is subtle, but it's enough to make your pulse race, a shiver running down your spine.

Your eyes flick to him, and Rex pulls away, clearing his throat.

"Sorry," he mutters. His voice is rough and strained, and he glances away, his hand running over the back of his neck. "Didn't mean to, uh...yeah."

You watch as he hurries towards the ladder, and you follow after him, biting back a grin. His flustered state is adorable, and the sight of him embarrassed and fidgety makes your heart melt. For a man who was inches away from kissing you only a few hours ago he's certainly acting shy.

"Don't worry about it," you call out, and Rex lets out a soft snort. He glances over his shoulder, his helmet tilting to the side, and you shrug. "I don't mind."

He looks at you for a long moment, and then he climbs onto the ladder and begins to ascend. You watch him go, a small smile on your face, before you shake your head.

"Get it together," you whisper to yourself. There are more important things to focus on than Rex and his adorable antics. Like finding out who was behind the distress signal.

With a determined huff, your hand grabs for the first rung of the ladder, but something stops you. You pause and listen, your senses heightening. There's something wrong. The tapping has stopped.

And then you see it.

The shadow.

It appears at the edge of your vision, the dark shape moving along the wall. You spin around, and it vanishes, the shadows stretching, enveloping the space. The red lights flicker, and when they do, you can see it.

It's humanoid. Tall. Spindly. Dressed in black. A hood covers its face, and a cape billows out behind it. The same figure that's been following you. The same one that attacked you ten years ago, the same one that you saw on the footage the night Yaddle died.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," you growl.

A low, raspy laugh fills the air, and the figure turns and walks away, disappearing into the darkness. You run after it, sprinting down the tunnel, watching as Dooku's retreating form vanishes into the blackness.

You reach the junction, this time taking the path to the right. You follow after him, the tunnel sloping upward until you reach another door. You draw your lightsaber and open it, the bright glow of the yellow blade illuminating the room.

Dooku is standing in the center of the space, his back to you, his hands clasped behind his back. He's wearing a long black cloak and a hood, and the light from your saber casts his shadow across the walls, the edges of his image elongated and distorted.

"You're pretty spry for an old man," you tell him, and his shoulders twitch, a low chuckle escaping his lips. He turns to face you, and when his hood falls, his features are illuminated.

"Still the same reckless girl," Dooku says, and he tilts his head to the side, his voice filled with amusement. "Always so eager to prove yourself."

"I don't have anything to prove to you," you retort, and his eyes narrow. His lips curl into a sneer, and his head lifts, his expression becoming haughty and condescending.

"Don't you?"

"No," you snap. You take a step towards him, and his smirk fades, his eyes narrowing. "But I'm curious. What are you doing here? Don't you have an entire army to run?"

"I could ask you the same question," Dooku replies. He looks at you and chuckles, shaking his head. "But I think we both know the answer. You came here because you felt something. A connection to me. To the Force."

"That's not true," you protest, but he ignores you.

"You wanted answers," he continues, his voice soft, his tone almost gentle. "Answers that no one else can provide. Answers that you desperately need."

"I don't want anything from you," you growl, pulling your shoto from your belt and igniting it. The twin blades flare to life, their glow reflecting off his skin. "Just stay still, and maybe this will hurt less."

Dooku takes a step towards you, and your stance shifts, your body moving into a defensive position. He chuckles and holds up his hands, stopping a few feet from you.

"Really, dear girl, you should learn some respect for your betters," he tells you, and you let out a frustrated sigh.

"I'm done playing games," you snap, and before he can react, you attack. 

You lunge towards him, swinging your lightsabers, and his blade ignites, blocking the blows. You press the attack, pushing him back, and he counters, the two of you trading strikes and parries. He's skilled, his movements graceful and elegant, and the longer the fight continues, the more he seems to be enjoying himself. It's as if your actions are fueling his pleasure.

"You've gotten better," Dooku tells you. "I'll give you that."

"Yeah, well, last time, you didn't fight fair," you retort, and he smirks.

"Neither did you," he counters. His lightsaber flicks, the blade moving in a blur, and you barely block the strike, the tip of his weapon grazing your shoulder. The fabric of your robe tears, and you hiss, the burning sensation making your blood boil.

"Bastard," you snarl, and the two of you lock blades, the light from the glowing swords reflecting off the walls, casting shadows across the room.

"Temper, temper," he tuts. He presses his weight into the hilt of his lightsaber, and the heat from the blades grows hotter, the tips of the hilts burning against your palms. "It's unbecoming."

"I'm not interested in a lesson in decorum from a murderer."

You shove him back and swing, forcing him to jump away, and you chase after him, unleashing a series of strikes and thrusts. The two of you dance around the room, the light from the sabers reflecting off the walls, and the battle quickly devolves into a duel, both of you matching the other's attacks, neither of you gaining an advantage.

As the minutes pass, your frustration grows, and the anger and hatred inside you builds. You lash out, and Dooku dodges, the tip of your blade cutting through his cloak, the fabric fluttering to the ground. It's a small victory, but it's enough to spur you on.

"That was expensive, you know," he drawls.

"Good," you snarl.

The two of you continue your dance, and as the fight progresses, his attacks become more vicious. He pushes you harder, his strikes growing quicker and more precise, and your defenses crumble, leaving you open. 

The tip of his blade slices through the sleeve of your robe, and the skin beneath burns, forcing you into dropping your shoto. You grit your teeth and parry, deflecting the next strike, and when the opportunity presents itself, you kick him in the stomach, sending him stumbling backwards.

"Is that all you've got?" he taunts.

"Stop talking and fight," you snap. You launch yourself at him, slamming into him and sending the two of you tumbling to the floor. You land on top of him, and you grab his collar, dragging him to his feet, slamming him into the wall. "Tell me why you're here."

"I have my reasons," he replies. His voice is calm and composed, his expression blank, unfeeling. You grip his collar tighter, and he lets out a soft chuckle. "You want to kill me, don't you? Go ahead. Try."

Your hand tightens, and you pull him away from the wall and throw him back, sending him flying into the opposite wall. He crumples to the ground, and you march towards him, your lightsaber raised.

"Stop. Talking," you growl. You level the blade at his throat, and when your eyes meet, his expression changes. A cold, cruel smile spreads across his face, and his gaze becomes sharp, calculating.

"I knew it," he murmurs, and your grip on the hilt of your lightsaber wavers, a wave of unease washing over you.

"What are you talking about?"

"You've changed," he tells you. His eyes narrow, and he leans closer, his breath tickling your cheek. "You are not the same Padawan I knew."

"I've learned a few things since then," you mutter.

"Oh, yes," Dooku chuckles. He tilts his head to the side, and his eyes move over your face, his voice dropping to a murmur. "I can see that."

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and a shiver runs down your spine. He's staring at you like he's seeing you for the first time. His gaze is piercing, his expression calculating, and you can't help but wonder what he's looking for. Whatever it is, he seems pleased.

"Why did you kill her?" you demand. Better to keep him talking. The longer he's distracted, the more likely it is that the others will arrive and help you deal with him. "What did she ever do to you?"

"It's not about what she did," Dooku replies. His voice is soft, and his eyes flick to your lightsaber. "It's about what she could have done. The potential that she represented."

"What are you talking about?"

"There's no need to be coy," he tells you. His eyes return to your face, and his gaze is almost hungry, his lips curling into a smirk. "I know you've figured it out."

"She was in your way," you say. His expression changes, his smirk fading, and his gaze hardens. "She knew too much. She knew you were planning on betraying the Republic."

"Close," he murmurs. His head tips to the side, and his gaze sweeps over you, a look of admiration in his eyes. "But not quite. You've come so far, but there's still so much you don't understand."

"Then enlighten me," you snap, and his brow furrows, a confused frown forming on his face. "Tell me why. Why did you kill her?"

Dooku’s eyes narrow, and his gaze becomes distant, as if he's seeing something far beyond the room. He doesn't seem to be aware of the fact that he's about to die. As if he's reliving some memory, some experience that is only known to him. For a split-second, he looks almost vulnerable. And, in that instant, you feel something.

He's afraid.

And whatever he's afraid of, it has nothing to do with you.

"It's not just about her," Dooku says, his voice a low murmur. You frown and lean closer, your lightsaber still pointed at his throat, and when his eyes refocus, they lock onto yours. "Do you know why I left the Order, young one?"

"Because you're a power-hungry monster?" you suggest, and he shakes his head.

"I left because they refused to see the truth," he replies. The intensity in his gaze is unnerving, and you swallow, doing your best to keep the tremble from your hand. “I left because the Jedi are flawed."

You stare at him, unsure how to respond. Your anger and hatred are still there, but there's something else, too. He’s not saying anything you don’t already know. The Jedi are flawed. They are imperfect. And yet, somehow, you know that what he's saying isn't coming from a place of malice or spite. He's speaking the truth. Or, at least, what he believes to be the truth. And, for some reason, that scares you.

"You're lying," you tell him, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

"The Council is weak. The Order is blind. They've lost sight of what it means to be a Jedi," he continues. He shifts, the tip of your blade brushing against his skin, but he doesn't react. "They've become nothing more than a band of soldiers, fighting for a Republic that's dying."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that the Order is corrupt. That the Republic is broken.” Dooku leans forward, and you can't help but notice how close his throat is to your lightsaber. All it would take is a twitch, and his head would roll. You could end it. Right now. The thought is tempting, but something holds you back. You want answers. "The war is pointless. And, no matter what happens, we will lose. We are fighting a losing battle. The Republic is finished. 

"Your master knew this. Yaddle was one of the few who believed in the true purpose of the Jedi Order. One of the few who understood the truth."

"That's not—"

"She was a good person," he interrupts. The warmth in his expression takes you by surprise, and a pang of guilt hits you, making your chest ache. He looks at you, his brow furrowing. "Don't blame yourself. What happened was necessary."

"Necessary?"

"She was wise and strong, and she saw things that others could not," he explains. His tone is soft and reverent, his gaze distant, almost wistful. "And she cared for you very much."

Your heart skips a beat, and a lump forms in your throat, a rush of emotions flooding your system. You bite the inside of your cheek and clench your jaw, trying to ignore the pain and the fear and the sadness, but it's too much. The pressure in your chest is overwhelming, and you can feel the tears stinging your eyes.

"What does that have to do with anything?" you ask, your voice breaking. You can't bring yourself to look at him, and your vision blurs, tears filling your eyes.

"She would want you to survive," Dooku says, his voice gentle, his gaze locked onto yours. "No matter what."

The pressure in your chest grows, and a tear escapes, rolling down your cheek. You try to wipe it away, but it's too late. He sees it. And, somehow, his expression softens even further, a look of understanding in his eyes.

"You and I have more in common than you think," he murmurs. You blink, your eyes widening, and he gives you a knowing smile. "We both understand the truth. We both know what it means to sacrifice. We've both witnessed the corruption and hypocrisy of those we once trusted. And we've both experienced the pain of betrayal."

"The Council didn't betray me," you say, and his brow furrows, his head tipping to the side.

"Did they not?"

"No," you reply, the conviction in your voice wavering. "They didn't."

"I think we both know that's not true," he counters. "They abandoned you. They let you suffer and struggle alone, and when you needed their help, they turned their backs on you. Just as they did with Yaddle."

"The Council had their reasons," you insist. "They did what they thought was best."

"For themselves," Dooku retorts. His eyes narrow, and a look of disdain crosses his face, his jaw clenching. "Not for you."

"You're wrong," you tell him, but even as the words leave your lips, a part of you knows that he's right. The Council didn't believe you. They didn't believe in you. They let you flounder, and they never did a thing to help. Even Obi-Wan had abandoned you, and while he'd tried to apologize, it hadn't changed anything.

"You know it's true," he says, his voice barely a whisper. He stares at you, and you stare back, your mind racing. "You feel it. Deep down, you know I'm right."

"I'm a Jedi. I can't turn my back on them," you say. "Not when there are innocent people suffering."

"And yet, you're here, chasing after a ghost, searching for a reason to hate the ones who hurt you," Dooku replies. You open your mouth to protest, but he raises a hand, silencing you. "I am not judging you. I understand. You have been betrayed, and you are in pain. I can sense it. It radiates from you, filling the air."

"You have no idea what I'm going through," you mutter.

"I can assure you, dear girl, I do," he tells you, and his eyes move over your face, studying you, his gaze curious and contemplative. "You remind me of myself. We are alike, you and I. We both seek justice and answers. We both question the world around us, and we both understand the sacrifices that must be made in order to achieve peace."

"I'm not like you," you say. You shake your head, and a bitter laugh escapes your lips, your heart pounding in your chest. "I'm nothing like you."

"Aren't you?"

"I'm not a murderer."

"You've killed before," Dooku counters. He stares at you, his expression unreadable. "And, if given the chance, you would do it again."

Your grip on your lightsaber falters, and the blade lowers, the tip scraping against the stone floor. Your eyes meet his, and the weight of his words settles over you, a feeling of unease and dread filling the pit of your stomach.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you tell him, but the lie is obvious. You can hear it in your voice, feel it in the way your heart races, and Dooku smiles, a hint of satisfaction creeping into his expression.

"You may not have the blood on your hands, but it's there," he murmurs. He stands and steps towards you, his hand resting on your shoulder, his touch gentle, almost comforting. "There are no more lies between us. We know the truth. We see what the Order has become, what the Republic has become. We see their flaws and their faults, and we know what must be done. The question is, are you willing to do what needs to be done?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head, but he squeezes your shoulder, his grip tightening.

"You can't hide from the truth," he says. His voice is soft, his tone soothing. "You can't ignore it. The Force brought you here, to me, because we are kindred spirits. We are alike. We understand each other."

"Stop saying that," you snap, and his fingers dig into your shoulder, his eyes boring into yours.

"You have been betrayed," he says, his voice cold and clinical, his eyes filled with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. "You are alone. And you are angry. The Order has taken everything from you, and now, they are taking your life. They have failed you, and they will continue to fail you. They will not stop until you are dead."

"I'm not going to let you manipulate me," you tell him. You push his hand away and step back, your lightsaber raised, and he lets out a resigned sigh, his gaze never leaving yours. "You murdered Yaddle, and you tried to kill me. That's all there is to it. I'm going to kill you."

Dooku doesn't react. He just stares at you, his gaze intense and steady. A part of you expects him to try and reason with you, but he doesn't. He doesn't argue or try to change your mind. He just looks at you, his eyes moving over your face, studying you.

"Maybe," he allows. He straightens his back and squares his shoulders. "But not today."

With a flourish of his cape, he steps towards you, his lightsaber igniting with a hiss. The crimson blade hums as it slices through the air, and you react, your own blade coming up to block his attack.

The two of you dance around each other, trading strikes and parries. The battle is brutal and fierce, both of you giving it your all.

It's only after a few minutes that you realize that Dooku isn't even trying. He's playing with you, using his skill and experience to taunt and provoke you. And, while his attacks are strong, they are easily blocked or deflected.

He's not taking this seriously.

He's toying with you.

He wants to see what you're capable of.

As if he's testing you.

"You're holding back," you accuse. He slashes at your chest, and you step to the side, avoiding the blow. You lunge, your blade arcing towards his head, and he blocks, the humming blades locking together, the light from their tips illuminating his face. "I can feel it."

"Of course, I am," Dooku replies. He spins, and the two of you lock blades, his eyes locking onto yours. "I have no wish to hurt you."

"You're a fucking liar," you snarl, and he pushes you away, sending you stumbling backwards.

"On the contrary, I am the most honest man you will ever meet," he says, and the arrogance in his tone makes you bristle.

You swing at him, and he steps back, dodging the blow. His footwork is perfect, his movements fluid and graceful, and the longer the fight goes on, the more confident and relaxed he becomes.

It's like he's in a different world.

He's not fighting you.

He's playing a game.

"I should've known that this would end in tears," he sighs. He lunges, his lightsaber sweeping towards your head, and you duck, the tip of his blade slicing through the air above you. "You aren't ready."

"Shut up," you snap. You step forward and swing, but he's faster than you, his body twisting out of the way, his cape billowing behind him. The fabric brushes against your cheek, and he kicks, his boot connecting with your hip.

The force of the blow sends you stumbling, and you nearly fall, your balance shifting. You grit your teeth and brace yourself, your lightsaber moving into a defensive position.

"You're still angry," he tells you, and he shakes his head, his eyes narrowing. "I can sense it."

"Of course, I'm angry," you retort. You slash at him, and he blocks, his blade coming up to deflect your strike. "You tried to kill me. You murdered Yaddle."

"That's not what I meant," he replies, and before you can react, he lunges, his blade coming down. You scramble, barely managing to hold onto your saber and bring it up in time to block his next strike.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're not angry at me," he says, and you freeze, his words sinking in. Your eyes widen as he tilts his head to the side, his gaze moving over your face. "You're angry at yourself."

"Shut up," you growl, but the anger in your voice is fading, a sense of dread filling the pit of your stomach.

"You're still angry that she died," he continues, and you can't bring yourself to speak, a lump forming in your throat. "You're angry that she left you. You're angry that she never came back."

"Stop," you whisper, but he ignores you, his gaze boring into yours.

"You're angry that the Order betrayed you. That they left you alone," he says, his tone sympathetic, almost apologetic. "You're angry that the Jedi refused to believe you. That they turned their backs on you. And now, they expect you to fight for them."

"They didn't abandon me," you insist, but even as the words leave your lips, the image of Obi-Wan's retreating form flashes in your mind, his last words echoing in your ears.

"Didn't they?"

"They just...didn't listen," you say. You blink, a tear escaping, rolling down your cheek. "They didn't...understand."

"Because you wouldn't tell them the truth," he replies.

His voice is soft, gentle. It's soothing, and for a split-second, it feels like he cares. It feels like he understands. And a part of you wants to believe him. A part of you wants to trust him. But another part of you knows that he's manipulating you, trying to trick you.

And it's working.

Dooku takes another step forward, his shadow stretching across the floor, the light from your blades flickering in the dark.

"You were afraid. Of the power you wielded. Of the truth. Of yourself."

He's closer now, and you can't bring yourself to move. To resist. To do anything but stand there, staring at him.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "For what I did to her. For what I did to you."

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. You can't breathe. Your chest is tight, and your lungs are burning, and you can't bring yourself to move.

"You can't run from this," he says. His eyes meet yours, and he shakes his head, a sad smile forming on his lips. "No matter how hard you try. No matter where you go. But if you let me, I can help you."

"Help me?"

"You're not a Jedi. Not anymore," he tells you. He moves closer, and you take a step back, your body acting on instinct, trying to get away from him. But he follows, his steps measured and slow. "Not after what happened."

"You did this," you whisper, and he lets out a soft chuckle, his expression changing, a look of admiration and pride on his face. His eyes flicker to the scars stretching across your hands, and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"No," he says. "I didn't. You did."

He's only a few feet away now, and the shadows stretch, wrapping around him, engulfing him. The air grows cold, and the light from the blades begins to fade, and the darkness grows, consuming everything.

"We can't control our power. Our emotions. They control us," he tells you. "You know that better than anyone."

You close your eyes, and for a split-second, it feels like the darkness is wrapping around you, cocooning you. It's warm and safe and familiar. You want to stay here, to let go and just drift away, but a small part of you is screaming. A small part of you knows that something isn't right.

Something pulls at your senses, tugging at the edges of your awareness. It's like a whisper, a soft murmur in the back of your mind. A feeling. An emotion. Fear. Worry.

And it's growing.

"They took everything from you," Dooku says, and your eyes snap open, your vision focusing on his face. He looks different now, older, his skin withered and wrinkled, his hair thin and gray. The warmth in his eyes is fading, replaced by a look of disdain and disgust. "But you can take it back."

He's holding out his hand, his fingers splayed, his palm facing you. It's an invitation. A temptation. And you know what it means. If you accept his offer, everything will change.

You look at his hand, and your gaze flickers to his face, to his eyes. They're darker now, colder. They're not the same. And you know that whatever he's offering isn't real. You're not sure if it ever was.

You stare at his hand, and your mind races, a million thoughts flashing through your mind. But, as the seconds pass, one thought becomes clear, one word echoing in your mind.

"No."

"Very well," he sighs. He steps towards you, his voice calm and level. "If that is your decision, then I have no choice but to—"

You reach out, calling your shoto, and it flies into your open palm, igniting with a loud snap-hiss. Dooku's eyes widen, and his lightsaber springs to life, the red blade humming, the light from the weapon casting shadows across his face.

"Don't," he warns, but it's too late.

You launch yourself at him, and his lightsaber comes up, blocking your blow. The two of you trade strikes and parries, the sounds of the clashing blades echoing off the walls. You spring up, swinging your blade, and he blocks the attack, the red and yellow blades hissing and crackling as they grind against each other.

"You're making a mistake," he tells you.

"I'm done listening to you," you retort.

You push him back, and he stumbles, catching himself, his gaze narrowing. The two of you square off, and the anger inside you burns hotter, brighter. Your fear and frustration fuel your rage, and you attack, unleashing a series of wild, erratic strikes, each blow more vicious and brutal than the last.

Dooku counters, his expression becoming serious, his movements growing quicker, more precise. He's no longer playing games, and as the fight continues, you can't help but notice the look of concern in his eyes. He's worried. He's afraid.

He's afraid of you.

He should be.

Because in that instant, all of your fear and pain and rage converge, coalescing into a single, blinding thought.

He needs to die.

You rush towards him, and he meets you, the two of you locked in a deadly dance, your lightsabers flashing and hissing. You press the attack, driving him back, and he blocks your strikes, his blade moving with a grace and precision that leaves you breathless.

Your vision blurs, and the sounds around you grow distant, muffled. It's like the whole world is fading, dissolving, and all that's left is him. His eyes. His blade. And the opportunity that's presenting itself.

A chance to end this.

To kill him.

The two of you are locked together, neither of you able to break free. You push harder, your muscles straining, your bones creaking. Your body is on fire, burning from the inside out, and you can feel the sweat rolling down your back, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

The pressure is unbearable. You can feel his blade digging into your own, cutting into the hilt, and you know that if you don't act soon, you'll lose. You grit your teeth, and his lips twitch into a smirk.

"You can't beat me, girl," he sneers, his voice low, taunting.

You open your mouth to retort when the sound of blasterfire erupts in the hallway outside. You glance towards the door, and when you do, Dooku shoves you, sending you stumbling backwards. He lunges towards you, and your instincts kick in, your blade coming up to block his strike.

The hot sting of pain erupts in your hand as his blade slices through the hilt of your shoto, severing the weapon in two. You watch in horror as the halves fall to the ground, the plasma blade sputtering out. Dooku kicks them away, and you back up, your remaining lightsaber raised, the bright glow casting shadows across the walls.

"I offered you a way out," he tells you. “I will not suffer even a Jedi like yourself to live in ignorance."

He steps towards you, and as he does, a series of blaster bolts slam into the door. The hulking form of a B2 teeters and falls backwards, taking the door with it.

The room fills with smoke and dust, and you cough, waving your hand in front of your face, trying to clear the air. You can barely make out the shadowy shapes of Rex and Jesse as they enter, their blasters raised.

The two men take aim, and Dooku reacts, the crimson blade of his lightsaber blocking the incoming barrage. He turns, his cape billowing out behind him, and the red beam of his weapon flashes, deflecting the shots, the bolts ricocheting off the walls.

Jesse ducks and rolls, and as he does, Rex runs towards you, his arm wrapping around your waist. He pulls you away, dragging you behind him, his body shielding yours. As the two of you move, Jesse unloads, the volley of shots forcing Dooku back, the barrage keeping him on the defensive.

Rex grabs your wrist and tugs, pulling you towards the exit. As the two of you rush out into the hallway, a series of explosions ripple through the room, the stone walls trembling. You look over your shoulder, and Dooku emerges from the cloud of dust and smoke, his blade flashing. Jesse fires again, but the Count deflects the shots, the bolts slamming into the walls.

"Move," Rex barks, and the three of you take off running, racing down the corridor. Dooku gives chase, and the crimson beam of his lightsaber streaks through the air, the heat from the weapon scorching the stone.

You run as fast as you can, your chest heaving, the rage inside you burning hotter with every step. He killed Yaddle. He murdered her. And he was the one who attacked you. He was the one who tried to kill you. Now, he's trying to kill you again.

"I'm going to kill him," you growl, and Rex's grip tightens, his voice low and harsh.

"Don't," he snaps. "Focus on getting out of here."

"He has to die," you snarl. You pull against him, but his hold on you is iron-clad. "Let me go. I'm going to kill him."

"No," Rex growls, and you glare at him, a fire raging inside you.

"I have to do this," you tell him, your voice cracking, your hands balling into fists. "I'm going to make him pay."

"You can't," he snaps. He tightens his grip on you, his fingers digging into your skin, and he pushes you ahead of him, guiding you forward. "Not like this."

The three of you round a corner, and a series of blaster bolts slam into the wall to the side, sending fragments of stone and debris flying. Jesse spins and returns fire, and as the two men exchange shots, Rex takes advantage of the distraction, grabbing your arm and yanking you towards him, the two of you stumbling into the next room.

"I can," you insist, and Rex grabs your shoulders, shaking you.

"No, you can't," he snaps. "Look at me. You can't do this."

His tone makes you stop, and you look up at him, a flicker of doubt creeping in. His helmet tilts towards you, his visor scanning your face, and his hands move up, cradling your cheeks.

"I need you to listen to me," he says, his voice urgent and pleading. "I know how much Yaddle meant to you. I know what she was to you. But if you go after him, you'll die. You can't beat him. Not alone. Not like this. Please."

"Rex—"

"Listen to me," he interrupts. He moves closer, and you can hear his ragged breathing through his helmet. "I'm begging you. I need you to be here with me. I need you to come home."

His words strike a chord, and the anger inside you begins to ebb, slowly giving way to something else. Something deeper. You stare at him, and his head tips forward, his visor resting against your forehead.

"Come home," he repeats, his voice barely audible, and your chest aches, a lump forming in your throat.

"I..."

You can't finish the thought. You can feel the fear in his voice, the pain, the desperation. He's scared. Terrified. And it's because of you. Because he cares about you. He needs you.

You swallow hard and nod, and Rex presses his forehead against yours, his body relaxing with a shaky sigh.

"Thank you," he breathes. He strokes his thumb along the line of your jaw, and when he pulls away, his gaze holds yours, his voice laced with regret. "We'll get him, I promise. But not like this."

"Okay," you whisper, and Rex nods, his helmet tilting towards the ground. You place a hand on his chest, waiting for him to meet your gaze again before you speak. "I trust you."

He looks at you for a long moment, searching your eyes. Then, he nods, his shoulders straightening.

"I'll make sure we get him," he tells you. "I promise."

You give him a weak smile, and he pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you, his body enveloping yours. He squeezes you, his grip almost crushing, before he pulls away, his helmet nodding to the doorway.

"Let's get out of here," he says, and you follow him, the two of you sprinting out of the room, leaving Dooku and his men behind. Jesse catches up to you, his blaster still raised, and the three of you continue running, heading back towards the main corridor.

As you race down the hall, Rex's words linger in your mind. He was right. Dooku was too powerful. If you went after him now, there was no way you would survive. And even if you did, what would you be fighting for?

Vengeance.

It wasn't enough. It never would be. Not for Yaddle.

But she wasn't all you had left. There was another reason.

You didn't want to die.

You didn't want Rex to lose you.

You didn't want to hurt him.

So, you ran. You ran as fast as you could. And as you did, a single word echoed in your mind, repeating itself over and over again.

Home.

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[kazoosandfannypacks]

summary: sabine and ezra finally share their first kiss. unfortunately, it’s on a broadcast to every rebel cell in the galaxy. chapter word count: 1131 a/n: hey remember back in november when i said "wow based on how long it took me to post chapters 3 & 4, we'll probably get chapters 5 & 6 around March 2025. apparently, that wasn't a joke; it was a prophecy. shoutout to the funny and clever @kanerallels for betaing! taglist: @laughingphoenixleader @accidental-spice @kanerallels  @piraterefrigerator @jedi-nurse @dootchster  @lucasbridger @redroverrider  @light-umbra   @commander-tech  @jedimandalorian @notanodinarygirl  {if you’d like to be added to or removed from my Sabezra taglist, let me know!}

also on ao3!

Jetpacks and Sketchbooks Are An Introvert's Best Friend

 Leaving a party is hard enough when you're just a guest of honor, but when you're a guest of honor and also the main focus of the hottest tea the rebellion had spilt since the second fulcrum revealed his identity? That's even worse.

 Fortunately, Sabine was not only a guest of honor and also the main focus of the hottest tea the rebellion had spilt since the second fulcrum revealed his identity, but also, she had a jetpack.

 The jetpack, combined with her Mandalorian training in stealth, provided her a perfect opportunity to make a hasty escape back to The Ghost, and the ship's empty corridors would've provided her a perfect opportunity to plan out the conversations she'd have to have once the ship was no longer empty.

 It only would have, though, because it was interrupted by a message on the comms— not just her regular commlink, which she'd been ignoring entirely in light of the days' events, but the direct frequency for her family on Krownest, used for special emergencies, or plans for upcoming banquets, and the like. Today was a rare exception where she hoped for a family emergency, hopefully one that had knocked out their base's entire network except for this comm specifically, meaning they'd heard nothing of the day's events, and required her to return home as fast as possible and avoid, for the foreseeable future, any more conversations with certain blue eyed Jedi padawans that made her weak in the knees.

 Unfortunately, the minute she saw the smile on her brother's holo-face, she knew her family was perfectly fine— and she wasn't.

 "What is it, Tristan?" Sabine asked.

 "Nothing," Tristan said, "Just wanted to see my big sister one last time before the ol' buirs get to her."

 Sabine covered her face behind her hand. "I take it you saw the broadcast."

 "Are you kidding?" Tristan laughed. "Mom and dad got the whole base together to watch it; thought a message of hope would boost morale."

 "And?"

 "Well, some people's morale has definitely been lifted." Tristan smiled. "Bo Katan and Rau haven't stopped talking about it. Mom, on the other hand, well, she'd like them to stop talking about it."

 "I'm toast." Sabine said, her arms crossed across the holotable. "I'm more than toast. I'm burnt uj'alayi with bas neral sauce."

 She slammed her face down and buried it in her arms.

 "Look on the bright side." Tristan said.

 Sabine looked up at the projection in front of her.

 "The rest of the clan has a head-start on getting used to things." Tristan said. "They won't be surprised in the slightest once you and your jetti cyar'ika send out the wedding invites."

 On instinct, she grabbed her helmet off the seat next to her and threw it at the hologram, and even though they were thousands of parsecs away, he still flinched.

 "That's my cue to leave." Tristan said. "Make sure you tell your meshl'a jetti I said hi."

 He signed off before Sabine had any chance to throw any more of her armor across the room, and, as worried as she was about the aftermath of her parents and entire clan having watched her first kiss, she still liked the way meshl'a cyar'ika jetti sounded.

 She couldn't help but smile as she glanced down the hall to Ezra's room while on the way to her own. Her painting of Ezra and Zeb from all those years ago was still undisturbed on the wall, and several new doodles she'd added had joined them.

 She sighed a little, rolled her eyes a little, then went back to her room and pulled out her sketchbook, flipping past sketches of her cremates, her eyes catching on every hint of that perfect mix of midnight and navy blue staring back at her, skimming past plans she'd laid for murals that she'd planned to hide traces of the Empire's echoes on the streets of Lothal, turning instead to a new, blank page: a fresh start.

 She missed the days when the streets were full of bucketheads and Imperial factories to let out her unhealthy coping mechanisms onto— she still hadn't found a distraction that gave her that same kind of rush. If she sat alone with her emotions, she'd go insane. If she tried to pace the floor, she'd end up wearing holes in her shoes. If she did something dramatic with her hair it would be way too obvious that the day's events had meant something to her. The only thing she had left to do to stay sane was to make something.

 Her hand trembled before the empty page. For several minutes she sat staring, coming up with an idea, sketching it, realizing how bad it looked, ripping the page out, throwing it at the wall, and starting again.

 Finally she brought herself to draw the only thing on her mind, something she knew well enough to draw from memory without any difficulty.

 First came the basic sketch layer. Usually when drawing this subject, she'd write it off as a study of different poses, oftentimes in combat, occasionally studies in lighting, and in how the lightsaber in his hand cast its hues and shadows across him. Today she settled on his typical clueless shrug.

 Next was to add a body to the skeleton of a sketch. Today he'd cleaned up a little for the ceremony, and she could still remember the perfect fit of his jacket and the cut of the neckline of the shirt underneath. She could still feel his arms reaching around her, his fingers loosely ambling through her hair.

 Finally she sketched his face: his hair just starting to grow back again, eyes that always found their way to her, scars from a fight he was lucky to walk away from, a smile both innocent and guilty, complete with the lips that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

 Then she took to the sketch with paints and ink, choosing each color with intentional fervor, spending almost as long to mix the right blue as it had taken to do the rest of the drawing combined.

 At last, it was finished, and she gave herself a moment to appreciate her handiwork, holding it up in front of her. No artist could've done him justice, but she'd done her best, though she couldn't remember at which part of the process she'd surrounded his face with pink and red hearts, least of all ones with their initials inside.

 She smiled and rolled her eyes, then set her masterpiece down. She was surprised to see that, even when her sketchbook was no longer in front of her face, its subject was still in her line of vision, standing in her doorway with that same smile.

[blackkatmagic]

hi!! i love your writing so, so much. your characterizations are always so well thought out and you pack so much into even a few sentences. could i ask for neyo, for the game?

(asdffdfkgdk you're so sweet thank you!!)

It’s not a place clones are meant to be, or meant to find. Neyo doesn’t intend to go looking for it, but—

That’s how these sorts of things always start, maybe.

Drenched, freezing, limbs shaking so hard that he couldn’t aim a blaster if his life depended on it, Neyo drags himself out of the deep river where the shallows finally slow, scrambles up the bank as best he can when the eddies want to drag him back. Water pours from what armor he wasn’t able to tear off when he went under, and the air burns in comparison to the icy river, even though the planet is a cold one, still caught in the throes of an ice age.

The cavern Neyo stumbles up into is warm, though, even more so than as a comparison to the ice melt would suggest. There are crystals burning along the walls, and a deep metal cauldron full of something that shines and shifts and throws off unbearable heat, enough of it that Neyo's blacks are already steaming. He raises a hand to shield his eyes, but his gaze is still drawn to the far end of the massive hall, where a figure in armor sits slumped, lifeless, on a steel throne.

Heavy and expansive, the hush prickles at Neyo's skin, and he looks from the fire-bright glow of the long hall back to the black rush of the river, breath still coming rough and fast in his lungs. For a moment he’s tempted to retreat, to go back into the water, try to find some other way to the surface.

Windu will be looking for him, he thinks. It’s not a thought he would have had three months ago, when the GAR deployed, but—it’s the truth. Windu saw him go into the water, and that means Windu will look for him as long as the admirals allow. Neyo won't be left behind, abandoned on a Separatist world.

Strange. Jarring, to know that as simply as he knows how to breathe.

Grimacing, Neyo rubs a hand over his face, drags it over his wet hair and straightens deliberately. The hall is full of suits of armor and what look like powered-down droids, left standing against the walls like sentinels. There are holotables too, and a rack of spears that look impossibly old, and—

A body, half-hidden by the brazier. A body curled at the armored man’s feet, head resting right between his boots.

Something shivers down Neyo's spine, and he takes a step forward despite himself, drawn like there's a magnetic pull. The scene hits, resonates, hums through his bones as he stares at tattered, rough-spun robes gone grey with dust, an oddly preserved face with a fall of brown hair, a mark seared between the man’s brows. A Jedi, is his first thought, and he takes another step forward before he finally raises his gaze to the body in armor, slumped sideways in the throne.

This planet is an old one. People have lived here since the time of the Rakata, Windu said. It’s not even unusual to trip across some historical artefact, buried along a forgotten river. But something about this feels strange, Neyo thinks, and has to carefully draw a breath into lungs that feel tight, like awe or maybe fear is riding him. That prickle runs across his skin again, too much electricity, and he takes another step, then stops.

There's a lightsaber clipped to the man’s belt. The armored man, not the one in an approximation of Jedi robes. And there's a hand pressed, almost reverent, to the curve of rust-red armor, a flash of something crystalline beneath curled fingers.

For an instant, Neyo almost turns and runs. The river seems a safer choice, and he stares at the two men, at the tableau, at the devotion that’s so clear even so long after death, with something humming heady and fearful in his veins. The river is right there behind him, but—

He steps forward instead of back, moves down the long hall with careful, wary steps. Nothing moves, and the ancient tech is still, unresponsive. The bodies don’t move either, even though Neyo halfway expects them to. When he passes the brazier, the heat intense and almost painful, there's a shiver in the light, like the crystals flickered, but they don’t go dark, and Neyo casts them a glance but doesn’t hesitate as he sinks to one knee beside the man who might be a Jedi.

When he reaches out, the crystalline orb tucked beneath the dead man’s palm seems to move on its own, dropping right into his fingers—

A crackle. A surge, golden and blazing like a trapped sun, that crashes through Neyo's muscles and bones and stays, sinking barbed hooks into his flesh, his mind, his soul—

Neyo hits the ground, vision wavering, head spinning as he claws at bare stone, tries to pull himself up. The crystal is melting, pooling over his bare hand, dripping down his arm, and Neyo might be screaming, might be crying out for help or mercy or something else entirely.

And then, slow, deliberate, like he was just waiting for the right moment, the man on the throne turns his head. He looks down at Neyo, eyes glowing behind his blood-rust helmet, and pauses. One huge hand curls in the Jedi's brown hair, possessive, precise, and the man says, like it’s a revelation, “You have Taung blood.”

Neyo can't breathe, let alone answer, and the world is spinning dark and heavy again, too much for him to bear.

It doesn’t seem to matter. The man on the throne leans down, catching Neyo's chin, tipping his head, and then—

A rumble of sound, thick with humor and no little spiteful satisfaction. “More of our blood than most,” the man says, and lets go. Neyo struggles to rise, to get away, but his muscles won't answer, his body won't respond even as he fights the deadness of his limbs like a wild thing, furious and afraid.

“Like a spark,” the man says, and leans back, catching the limp arm of the other body, pulling. He drags the maybe-Jedi into his lap, sprawling back like the throne was made only for him, and tips his head, something pleased and pensive in the motion.

“Forge-fire,” he says, and it’s an order, a command that burns into Neyo's skin. He gasps, clawing at stone, but the world is darkening, the hall fading. The heat slides like liquid across his skin, heavy as water, and the crystal eating into his skin burns like acid—

“—Commander! Neyo!”

Shock jars Neyo awake, and he jerks up, over, coughing hard. There's water in his lungs, an ache in his chest like broken ribs, but there's a hand on his shoulder too, a body beside him. Warm cloth drapes over him, blocking out the chill of the air, and Neyo clutches at it, drags it closer around himself as he chokes and gags up what feels like half a river’s worth of water.

“Neyo,” Windu says, thick with relief, and there's a breath, a hand under Neyo's elbow. “Forgive me, but we have to go. There are droids on their way, and Ponds has a speeder waiting.”

Windu came for him. Even after enemy lines moved, Neyo thinks, and nods, forcing his eyes open. When Windu helps him up, he staggers, leans fully on Windu's strength for a moment as he reorients himself.

Just a strange dream, he thinks, even if he’s never dreamed like that before. Brass’s stories about hidden treasure and lost empires twisted up with the stress of hypothermia, and—

Crystal catches the sunlight, shivering, shimmering where it’s pockmarked across Neyo's skin like a spill of molten metal, and Neyo freezes, staring at it as his mind trips, trips, trips over the fact of its existence.

His blacks are dry, too. He’s coughing up water, but his blacks are perfectly dry.

“Commander?” Windu asks, concerned, and Neyo instantly pulls his sleeve down, hides the crystal beneath the drape of Windu's robe.

Clones get decommissioned for saying strange things. Neyo's made sure to never let himself slip outside of normal limits, has never shown emotion, has never indulged in the bits of rebellion clones use to define themselves. He’s been a good soldier.

One strange encounter in the dark won't change that. He won't let it.

“Just catching my breath, sir,” he says, and Windu nods, perfectly trusting, perfectly willing to believe him.

“I'm glad I found you,” he says, and it’s so honest that Neyo has to close his eyes and just…breathe for a moment.

He thinks of the possible Jedi on the ground beneath that huge Mandalorian's boots, the press of a lifeless hand to rust-red armor. Thinks of the word the Mandalorian used, the weight of his stare.

Taung, he’d said. Sparks and forge-fire.

It shivers through Neyo, hot like that hidden cavern, and he swallows hard, makes himself move forward as Windu helps him down the slope.

Just a dream, he thinks, pressing his fingers to the slickness of the crystal in his skin. And yet.

And yet.

[shootingstarpilot]

A scene that will only be referenced in the next chapter, but I was overcome with the urge to write it out anyway:

Boil catches Stitch's entry onto the bridge out of the corner of his eye.

He elbows Waxer, grinning. The kid's got a pair of crutches under one arm, and they'd both noticed the way the Commander had been leaning on the holotable, stubbornly ignoring the General's not-so-subtle disapproving look and the chair Waxer had fruitlessly nudged into place behind him.

This is going to be a show.

Stitch scans the bridge, eyes narrowed, until he catches sight of the Commander. He walks forward, stopping a few respectful feet behind him, and--

waits.

Thirty seconds pass.

Then a minute.

More and more eyes are landing on him. Poorly-muffled giggling blooms across the bridge.

"Hi, Stitch," Waxer says cheerfully.

"Hi, sir," Stitch says politely, his gaze flickering sideways in acknowledgement before returning to Cody's back.

Cody's shoulders slump.

Eventually, the holocall ends. General Kenobi is the first to turn around.

"Hello, Stitch," he says, smiling faintly. "Can I help you?"

"No thank you, sir. I'm waiting for the Commander, sir."

There's only so long Cody can avoid turning around, and he knows it. With a long, deep sigh, he turns.

"Hi, sir," Stitch says brightly, and thrusts the crutches forward. "You forgot these."

"Those aren't mine," Cody says immediately. "I left mine in my office. I'll grab them after."

"These are yours," Stitch says patiently. "I put a sticker on them when Helix first gave them to you. See?"

He points. Cody leans forward, searching despite himself--

His expression flattens out.

"It's a lightsaber," Stitch says helpfully. "Needle made it. He said you'd forgotten your crutches before, and I thought a sticker would be helpful for you to remember which are yours. Helix says taking initiative is a good thing."

"I... see."

He still doesn't take them.

Stitch sighs. "Is this because Helix yelled at you for kicking droids again, and you don't want to prove him right?"

"No," Cody grinds out, and Waxer muffles a wheezing laugh in Boil's shoulder. General Kenobi's expression is carefully blank.

"Is it because--"

"They're uncomfortable," Cody sighs. He lowers his voice, conscious of their delighted audience, and there's a ripple of coughing and clearing of throats as people turn back to their assigned tasks. "They-- my shoulders keep cramping. I need to be able to fire a blaster, Stitch. I'm minimizing my movement as much as possible, I promise."

"Uncomfortable," Stitch echos, looking baffled. "Why didn't you say so, sir? Give me-- ten minutes, please. I can fix that. I'll be back soon. Can you sit down in the meantime, please?"

"I'll make sure he does, Stitch," the General interjects, and Stitch nods seriously.

"Thank you, sir," he says, and nods at them both before vanishing out the door.

"You're enjoying this far too much, sir," Cody hisses, as Kenobi carefully helps him settle into the long-ignored chair.

"My dear Commander," Kenobi says, laughing, "I'm simply glad it's not me this time."

Cody's glare could incinerate a Hutt. The General remains cheerfully unaffected.

When Stitch returns, he brings with him a painstakingly adjusted pair of crutches. Layers of cotton batting is tied carefully to the pads, and the grips have been adjusted a few levels upwards.

"Try these, please," he says, handing them over.

Cody reluctantly accepts them. "All right. Later, when I--"

Stitch is looking at him very expectantly.

He sighs. "Yes, Stitch."

He levers himself to his feet and takes a few halting steps. Boil watches, fascinated, as astonishment flickers across his expression before it settles into a quiet resignation.

"This-- is better," he mutters. "Very much so."

Stitch beams. "Thank you, sir! And you'll make sure to use them until you're cleared?"

"Yes, Stitch."

"And you won't forget about your follow-up tomorrow? You can have a juice box. Or a pudding cup. You can choose. Needle got some."

Waxer coos. Cody glares at him.

("That's KP duty for you," Boil whispers. "Just you wait.")

"I won't, Stitch."

"Good. Thank you, sir. And- Helix told me to tell you that you- that you're lucky you got me and not him, sir, because he'd be, um- a damn sight louder, sir, because he's got no patience for- for idiots, sir."

A beat.

"That's from him, sir," Stitch repeats anxiously.

Cody sighs. "That's all right, Stitch. Well done."

Stitch brightens immediately, rocking back on his heels. "I'll save you a chocolate pudding cup, sir, if you like. Those ones are the best, so they tend to go fast."

A smile flickers across Cody's face. "Thank you. I'd appreciate it. You're dismissed."

Stitch salutes-- shiny little tubie, small gods-- and vanishes out the door.

Kenobi has given up the game entirely, now, and is grinning broadly. Cody turns on him immediately.

"Stop that."

"Stop what, my dear?"

"The thing you're doing with your face."

"Smiling?"

"Smugly. Yes."

"I'm just pleased with our medics' professionalism, Commander."

"I've got two dozen witnesses to that for the next time you try to dodge them."

"Noted. Can I have your pudding cup?"

"No."

[thestarkerisobvious]

Starker

(okay I swear i started to write this out as a one-shot and what is it now???? This is JUST the first chapter. I hate you brain. Anyway enjoy.)

Tony’s mouth was warm and greedy and skillful and everywhere.  His hands on Peter’s ass gripped hard enough to leave bruises and he clung to Peter like a drowning man.  And Peter…

…Peter could hear the air conditioner.  He could hear the lights they had accidentally left on three rooms down.  The walls in Tony’s bedroom were getting too close again and if Peter didn’t call this to a halt he’d be smelling concrete dust again dammit…

Tenderly he pushed Tony away.  Tony went willingly, even if his face was full of disappointment.  Peter, however, was grinning.   He was grinning from ear to ear.  Even with the claustrophobia kicking in… that too-close too-much sensation that came when Tony’s body had been too heavy and too on him (but oh dammit he LOVED it when Tony’s body was on him) that would quickly make sex turn from Something Enjoyable into Something To Be Endured… even with the faint smell of concrete dust haunting his brain… still Peter grinned.

“Do we need a break?” Tony asked, sounding breathless.  He was used to Peter needing time-outs during sex, encouraged it even, but was confused by the happy look on his lover’s face.

Peter made a moaning noise that could have meant anything.  He didn’t WANT Tony to stop - didn’t want it at all.  But his spider-senses were overwhelmed whether he liked it or not. He still had his hands on Tony’s body, even as he kept his own body away.

“Want a drink?” Tony offered, and that was normal.  To stop in the middle of sex and do something else entirely - make a snack in the kitchen, have a discussion about which Avenger was the most obnoxious that week, or even go to the lab to tinker.  Completely naked, of course.  And, yes, sometimes those trips to the kitchen devolved into Peter being banged into the stove.  One memorable trip to the lab resulted in Peter being bent over a holotable and the holotable breaking.  Although the majority of their mid-sex breaks weren’t that expensive.

But that’s not what Peter wanted now.  Dammit, Tony had been making him feel so good just now.  Had been eating him up like a feast.  Like a man who had been starved to death in the desert.  Peter really, really didn’t want to stop.

They could have dealt with the Spider-Sense-Overload another way -  Tony was certainly always up for Peter riding his cock - but even that didn’t sound sufficient.

Which was why Peter stood up from the enormous bed and, taking Tony by the hand, coyishly led him out of the room.

“I think… I think I want you to do it to me on your sofa.”

[moodymisty]

Hi, I’d like to request a (nsfw) Perturabo x reader where you’re about to have sex with him, but you’re slowly realising from the way he’s anxiously going about it that he’s never had sex before. Perturabo knows, anatomically speaking, where the clit is, but he’s probably got no clue on what to do with it. (Also he’s probably trying so hard not to be an ass about it but he’s anxious and you’re so pretty and eager and what if he disappoints you and what if you call his sexual ability subpar and what if-) (he’s nervous. Basically)

I just feel like we often forget that a good number of the primarchs haven’t had sex before, which in my opinion could have some interesting implications in terms of x readers. Especially considering who they are and the possible stigmas around sex that they could have learned while on their various planets

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

A soft sequel to this request

Author’s note: I always jokingly quote Bricky when I say Perty is an Incel, so it’s nice I get to defeat the meme. Makes sense that most of the Primarchs probably wouldn’t indulge in such a thing at least often though, physical issues aside most humans tended to treat them like they were above them, which would probably be frustrating.

Anyways, I made sure to stay as close to your prompt as I could with Perturabo. I imagine he would NEVER let anyone see he wasn't a master at something, sex included. But don't worry, he worries internally plenty for you to enjoy I hope.

Summary: Perturabo returns to his new beloved, and indulges in an act he once deemed pointless.

Relationships: Perturabo/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Massive size kink, Perturabo is a little awkward but he tries to hide it, The creampie to end all creampies, A teeny bit of choking kink if you squint, Like 80% smut

Word Count: 2739 ...oops?

“Lord Perturabo?”

Hearing his name, he looks up to see a fresh faced Iron Warrior looking at him between two other of his elders. He hums as a response that he heard them, but that only seems to confuse him further.

“Should I repeat myself?”

Perturabo had hoped the three would take his disinterest in the matter as a tell for that they should continue their current plan, but he suppose they need his verbal approval on the matter.

“No. Take whatever tech priests aren’t already working on the issue and have them assist. I expect this to not be a problem for much longer.”

Throne knows we shouldn’t be waylaid for much longer.

The fact that they even had an engine issue to begin with upset the primarch immensely, but he’s been holding his tongue while it’s fixed. His legion has done nothing but aggravate him this entire mission, even more so than usual.

The three Iron Warriors nod and leave to follow his orders, and let Perturabo enjoy the room in silence once again. Apart from the hum of machinery and the buzz of a projection on the holotable, the room is finally quiet enough for him.

With a soft grunt of exertion he leans forward and places his hands against the edge of the massive table, and shifts uncomfortably in his armor as the issue that had distracted him previous makes itself known once again. It arguably aggravates him even more than this entire waylaid issue has been, his gauntlets gripping the table's edge tight enough that he feels it give way and crumbles underneath his hands.

Perturabo has never had such thoughts of sex take over so much of his head before. Especially ones that were unsolvable on his own, and lingered like some sort of infection.

If rarely the desire struck him and kept distracting him he could take a moment to himself, angrily yank himself to completion in the quiet of his own quarters- usually at his desk- before returning to his work, distraction quelled. It was transactional, just a bodily need to be dealt with before moving along.

But that hasn’t worked this time. He’s already tried and you still occupy his mind- still distracting him. It's all your fault, he should've never allowed you to get your nails into him this deep, deep enough that he can't tear them free.

He’s never felt this way before. He’s never felt any real desire to actually bring another person into his bed; If he needed that sort of release, he did it himself. To touch another, desire another, is new to him.

He knows you're soft, but how soft will you feel in his hands? Not just your own hand, but your entire body? He's never touched a woman before, had no reason to add another variable into his life that would largely serve to only distract him.

He wishes he could just rip all this armor off. He won't, but it's aggravating that now he's distracted enough to find it all inconvenient.

Once they repair the Iron Blood they can return to Olympia. Then he can see you and finally relieve himself of the stress you've put him under, scolding you for things you had no control over.

Unlike the days earlier when you were still working on his puzzle boxes, your workload now is significantly reduced. You mostly clean Perturabo's workshop and most personal quarters now, partly to keep yourself busy, and because he doesn't wish there to be anyone in there he doesn't trust.

He would have someone else he didn't despise to do it if you got bored of the work, the only reason he hasn't is because you seem to do it to keep your mind busy; Especially now that he was gone. He understands the feeling. He too hates it if his mind wanders too far off the path, hence why his workshop is so filled with random things he made when he felt himself drifting.

You enter the workshop and with significant effort close the heavy door behind you, before walking closer to him. He sits at his main workbench, a few partly rolled up plans the only thing in front of him of note. His shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, showing the scars on his arms hands as he leaned them on the table.

"How did it go?"

You say to him with a cautious look. You more than likely know that the Iron Blood was waylaid for a decent while, and you know faulty machinery is a core trigger for his mood to go quickly sour.

"I struggle to imagine a way it could have gone worse." He says with a monotone voice and blunt expression, which makes your lips purse- though before you can come up with a response he speaks again.

"Come here."

He gestures with one motion of his hand, and you walk closer up until you're standing right beside his chair.

It's still a bit surprising when he picks you up however; He's done it before, though the feeling of being lifted off the ground so easily is not a feeling done away with easily. He sits you onto his lap and you ignore the odd feeling in your chest about having been moved around so easily by him, looking down to see his thighs wider than your hips by a significant degree. Your legs dangle unable to touch the ground at this height; You look so small.

Leaning forward you pull some of the scattered blueprints closer to you, looking at them curiously.

"What are these for?"

Perturabo decides to placate at least one of your questions and ignore the ache between his legs for a moment longer.

"Drafts for the auto-targeting orbital defense cannons."

You hum and look at them, fingers brushing over the parchment. Perturabo watches as you lean forward, accentuating the curve of your spine and hips; Even with how light you are, he can also feel the way you soft thighs and ass press against him. He doesn't placate your questions any longer.

“Take it off.”

You’re clearly confused for a moment, taking your eyes away from his plans to look around.

“What? What do you mean?” You utter, before your body tenses as you feel his massive hand grip your waist.

“Take off your clothes.” Your hands suddenly begin to fumble with your dress, shaking. Perturabo settles to quicken the process forgo removing your dress, and simply push up the hem and tear off your underwear instead.

His hand wraps around your thigh easily, swallowing it in the massive expanse of his palm. His index finger slides between the crease at the very top of your thigh, and the closeness puts your lip between your teeth as your thighs instinctively move to close.

But the entire time his hand is less so teasing and more so, explorative. He has no destination in mind, and only lingers if he hears or feels you react to his touch.

He doesn't know how to touch you beyond the simplistic, what makes you sing. He'll learn silently, his pride would never allow him not to.

Pulling it away he moves his hand underneath you, yanking at his trousers. You hold his forearm for support until you see him finally free his cock, and it lays between your legs. You can just barely grind against it at this angle; but your bigger concern is its size.

Perturabo notices it too, but refuses to vocalize such a concern to you. He’ll make it work, he has too. He’s not sure if he would be able to survive if he couldn’t fuck you the way he’s been fruitlessly imagining to the point of being aggravatingly pent up.

His hand pushes between your legs, sliding against your folds and using his thick fingers to push them apart. You clench your teeth and lean back against his chest, feeling as he slips one of his fingers inside of you. Your sitting angle forces him to curl his finger in order to slip it into you fully he quickly realizes, grasping onto his arm for support.

He hears you moan, cunt soaking wet as you sit in his lap, leaning against his chest as he teases you. He knows that you won’t be able to take him straight away, not with your difference in size. It doesn’t take much to realize your tiny, tight little cunt wasn’t meant for him.

“Can you take another?” He says, and you think he’s teasing, but you realize he’s asking a genuine question.

Perturabo slowly forces a second finger into you and you cry out as he stretches you further, but the burn quickly fades into a pleasurable ache that has your stomach feeling tight and legs limp and useless.

"I have been waiting since that pathetic excuse of a ship was waylaid," Perturabo hisses between his teeth and feels his nose wrinkle angrily. "You will take me no matter how long we have to sit here." The sounds of your breathless moans are more arousing than he thought possible, making his cock twitch between his own thighs.

“Lord Perturabo?”

Stirred from his trance watching his hand shift between your legs Perturabo turns to glare at the door, the deepness and distorted tone of voice queues him in that it’s one of his Iron Warriors.

“The Iron Blood is repaired, the tech marines wished to show you before officially declaring it fit for duty-“

Perturabo suddenly places his other hand over your mouth, continuing to drive his fingers into your cunt has he yells. The Iron Warrior shouldn't be able to hear the wet sounds of his fingers curling inside of you, but he would be able to hear your incessant mewling.

“I will advise it tomorrow. Now leave me be.”

Your thighs shake, hands pulling at the one he has over your lower face trying to catch a full breath though his palm doesn’t allow you.

“And do not bother me again this evening.”

The Iron Warrior, clearly confused as to Perturabo’s sudden shift in attitude, responds in understanding and quickly takes his leave. Once gone, he finally takes the hand away from your mouth.

“You liked that?” Your watery eyes can’t see his face, only barely through the reflections on the metal in front of you. “I felt your little cunt get tighter.” He pulls his fingers from you and reaches between your legs to grab his cock, shifting himself to press against your entrance. It doesn't take much for him to lift you up slightly and begin to lower yourself onto him, slowly slightly when he hears you gasp.

Even with preparation, it's still a tight fit, he quickly realizes.

As such it's a slow and arduous process to fit himself into you, feeling your nails bite into the skin of his forearms. When your bottom finally hits the fronts of his thighs again, you feel like you're so full that you won't be able to handle it. It settles not long after however, though the feeling of him being almost right into your stomach still prevails.

"Good girl,"

He mutters as your weight rests in his lap; It slipped from his lips unconsciously, but you seem to respond to it. He internally slaps himself for allowing words to tumble out of his mouth without thinking, and steels himself to hold others firmly within his head for the time being.

He raises you up and down on his lap, holding you firmly at the hips. To hold you but not bruise you is a fine line with his strength, though if he is bruising you, you don't seem to mind. Perhaps you don't mind if he's rougher with you. Your smaller hands grip his forearms to steady yourself, or simply to keep yourself feeling grounded.

You look tiny against his massive expanse of a chest, shoulders barely higher than his ribcage.

"Pertura- Bo,"

You stutter out his name, the hot palms of your hands desperately grabbing at him. He's using you almost like a toy, but it's the only way he thinks is safe; He doesn't know the line, how much a body like yours could handle before it breaks. He knows he hasn't reached it yet, your gentle voice cries for him, leaning back against his chest.

He watches your lips part in a pant, and he wishes to kiss them, but resists it. The angle would be impossible, and part of him feels, off about how much larger his mouth is than yours. He feels like he can't do it properly. Perhaps it's lack of practice; You were the first one he's kissed as well.

A lot of firsts, you were. Largely meaningless to him years ago, but now he finds himself caring a bit more.

He's silently thankful when you finally come, sharply inhaling and digging your nails into his skin enough to leave little crescent moon marks. They'll fade in a few moments, he doesn't care. What he does care about is the way you feel like a vice around his cock, his right hand pulls away from your waist, forms a fist and slams the table as his teeth grit together, unable to hold himself back any longer.

You thought your body felt hot before, but it's even more so as you feel him finish inside of you, so much of it that you feel it almost forced out by the size of his cock. It makes a mess on the tops of his thighs, though neither of you care.

He makes no effort to even pull out until your heart isn't audible to him anymore, and when he does, he hears your whine as your well abused cunt flutters at the empty feeling.

Part of him almost wants to get angry with you; He's never bothered with something like sex before but now after this, with you, he can already feeling himself want to get hard and fuck you all over again until you're limp in his lap.

A smarter part of him wishes he'd never done this, never met you, never kissed you, never fucked you. He would've never known what he was missing, and never loose focus.

However that part of his mind looses, when he feels you lie more against the expanse of his chest. He sighs.

"It is late. I will bring you to my quarters and you can sleep there."

He refuses to let you sleep in that tiny room you called home before. For his own selfishness, and your safely. Now that you're becoming so close to him, your safety is a must. Many will find you an easy target.

"My clothes Bo, let me-" You quickly shut your mouth when you realized you hadn't called him by his proper name. He doesn't comment on it.

He picks you up not long after, bringing you to his quarters at a much quicker pace than you could do on your own. A few of his men give him an odd look at having such a disheveled woman in his arms, but it only takes one look in return for them to right their gaze and move along.

"Are you not going to stay?" You say when he plops you onto his massive bed with a gentle toss that makes you smile, and turns to leave.

"Must I?" He says it laced in sarcasm, but he regrets it when he sees the smile he'd just put on your face instantly bleed away.

"I wanted to hear about your plans, for a little bit. It's been so long since the last time."

Perturabo had as of late shown you more of his private plans, many of them war machines. He'd begun talking a bit out loud, and his deep voice talking rumbled in your chest and always made you feel so warm and comfortable.

He enjoys that you just listen. You don't have an ego to protect like he does.

Perturabo steps closer.

"If I do, I expect you to stay awake." You nod and smile. "I'll try." He sits onto the bed, grips your cheeks, and forces you to look up at him gently. Your lips purse from his grip in a way he finds tempting, and he mentally blames you for the distraction once again.

"You will. I'll make sure of it."

[cameoliob]

can i hear about the fic attempt please ?? very intriguing :3

Why of courseee

For context: This was a WIP that I started cooking up a while ago when I got hooked on Kallus' backstory with Jovan-- It's written from Jovans POV and it bounces back and forth between 19 BBY, when he and Kallus first met, and 2 ABY, when Kallus is sent to retreive Jovan from prison as a mission from the rebellion

“What in stars is this,” Jovan grimaced as he stared at the sheets of flimsi that had been unceremoniously dumped in front of him  “I can’t read this!”  “Should have come to class, then,” Alexsandr– Jovan really had to find a nickname for him, that was always a mouthful– said matter-of-factly as he sat in the empty seat across the table.  “I was sick!” Jovan shouted over the increasingly loud commotion of the dining hall. “I go to class whenever I get sick,” Alexsandr shrugged, digging through the various pockets on his bag.  “I had a fever!” “Right.” “I did!” Jovan crossed his arms and stared at the crumpled flimsi in front of him once more. “Would it kill you to keep your notes in a folder?” Alexsandr shot Jovan a look– he did that a lot– as he returned from his bag with a ration bar.  “You’re lucky I’m even giving them to you,” he said, pulling back the silver packaging from the bar, “I’m not usually so charitable.”  “Charitable?” Jovan gawked. “Mhm,” Alexsandr nodded, offering no other response.  “I give you my notes all the time! It’s only fair that you give me notes that I can read,” Jovan pointedly spun the flismi around and placed his finger on one of the many intelligible scribbles on the page, “what is that even supposed to say?”  “Uh,” Alexsandr leaned forwards to squint at the thing, “you're smart, use context clues,” he waved his hand dismissively.  “Oh wow, you’re so helpful. What a good friend you are,” Jovan drawled sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh yeah,” Alexsandr mocked Jovans tone, “the best.” He threw his now empty wrapper at Jovan. “What would you do without me?”  “Have legible notes, probably,” Jovan huffed. “You’d be bored, though,” Alexsandr said as if it were obvious. And as much as Jovan wanted to argue, Alexsandr was right.

^ 19 BBY

“Don’t touch anything,” Kallus snapped as Jovan entered the small common area of the ship. Jovan withdrew his hand from where he’d begun to reach for the flismi copy of a book that laid on the holotable.  “I wasn’t going to,” he lied. Kallus shot him a look and snatched the book from where it sat, opting to tuck it under his arm instead. Jovan huffed as he took it upon himself to slide into the seating by the table. He would be lying if he said he didn’t hope that Kallus would sit across from him.  Kallus remained near the far wall.  “You wouldn’t happen to have any spare clothes, would you?” Jovan drawled, pointedly staring down at the ill-fitting orange jumpsuit that hung from his shoulders. “Orange isn’t really my color.”  “Oh don’t worry, you look terrible in every color,” Kallus shot Jovan look that was half-smile-half-grimace. “I’d argue that I look dashing in green,” Jovan took to inspecting his nails. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, seeing Kallus so… irked by his presence. Although, that was a bit of a backwards thought, wasn’t it? Kallus was the reason he was in this disgusting prison uniform, anyways. “You’re colorblind,” Kallus narrowed his eyes.  “And I look great in red too.”  “You know what you’d look great in?” Jovan whipped his head up from where he had been staring at his nails. This is what he's been wanting, finally some banter-- at least, that's what he'd thought until he was met by the unamused expression on Kallus’ face. “The brig.”

^ 2 ABY

AHHHHHHHH I DONT KNOW his was just one of those things where I wanted to make it a comic about it but then I had way too many thoughts so I opened a google doc about it, but then I realized that I don't really write for a reason tbh