#post-order 66 Rex

[ominouspuff]

Downtime with the disaster lineage

[varpusvaras]

Rex: You said that you were going on some spiritual retreat!

Cody: Namaste

Rex: And you're supposed to be dead!

Fox: ...I got better?

[but-make-it-poly]

Dogma Post 66

Picture this:

Dogma, having Slick as his prison-mate, and finding out what exactly happened to Tup and subsequently, Fives.

The rule follower, who killed a Jedi traitor, and instead of being reconditioned or decommissioned, gets locked in a cell.

Having regular conversations with Boba Fett (who tried to kill a Jedi) and Slick (THE traitor clone) while constantly coming into contact with the Coruscant Guard (Who have all kinds of bad going on).

Then Order 66.

I see Dogma’s name becoming even more ironic than it already is. Anarchist!Dogma burning down Empirical bases.

Walking through doors that say “Do Not Enter”, waving for others to follow him.

He becomes a legend in The Rebellion. Very few know that he’s a clone.

He’s known for never respecting authority… which makes it all the more shocking to others when he respects and follows Captain Rex without complaint.

Maintains a good relationship with both Slick and Boba.

Totally where’s a black leather jacket.

The loss of his twin (Tup) weighs heavily on him in quiet moments of seriousness.

Takes to starting riots against the Empire.

Great at riling up support for the rebellion.

He's with the rebellion right now, but once talk of a new republic seems feasible, he leaves. People say it's because an agent of chaos cannot flourish in peace. In reality, he remembers the republic he lived in. He has trauma.

[foxprints]

After months of waiting patiently I'm FINALLY able to post my contribution to the @rexsokazine !! I'm incredibly honored to have been invited to participate in this zine as a guest artist.

Everyone running the event was so kind and understanding and I'm very grateful for that, especially given the fact that I had one thing after another happen last year. Thank you guys for such a good experience 💛 and thanks to all of the other participants for helping to make such a gorgeous final product!! 😍

[backpackingspace]

Hey can yall help me find a fic? Pretty please? It's one of my favorite and I swear I bookmarked it but I can't find it now.

Its a post order 66 stars wars fic. I think there's two in the series? But the premise is that padme gives birth on the way to mustfar so she and obi ean go on the run and meet up with Rex and ahsoka. Everybody is having a bad time in their grief and lashing out at obi wan who slowly stops talking. Eventually obi wan goes off on a solo mission and ends up rescuing Cody and a few other clones. They continued to go off on missions together and continue to save more clones. Eventually everybody starts to heal and make up.

[kometqh]

𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐔𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

Captain Rex x Reader Every waking moment you had to yourself, you spent on trying to remember. To remember his touch. His voice, his warmth. His face and his eyes. But how could you when after so many years it's become nothing but a blur? And each time you're close, each time your mind drags back pieces of the puzzle together, you're interrupted. Word Count: 1,462 Warnings: Angst A/N: This idea came to me whilst listening to Once Upon A Dream from Sleeping Beauty and I couldn't help myself but vomit words onto screen, I hope whoever reads this enjoys this because I loved the idea TT

The city lights from below twinkled and burned brightly like the stars in the dark sky above. A miniscule smile rested atop your lips, a familiar gleam sparkling in your irises.

The cold autumn breeze flew past you, ruffling your unruly hair into an even more so, larger mess. 

A blue, old scarf a size too big hugged and entangled your shoulders, floating up and down with the cold. Your fingers twiddled with the loose threads, feeling the coarse material between the pads of your fingers. It was a gift from him. The man from your dreams. 

You used to love him. You used to miss him. You used to wait for him.

You used to walk with him,

Once upon a dream.

His hands used to be warm, his gaze so smitten. 

That look in his eyes, was so familiar a dream.

His voice used to be so soft, his touch so tender. 

Those visions of him, you knew they were seldom true.

His embrace endearing, his kisses slow and passionate, as though you were the most delicate flower he had ever the pleasure of finding. 

His love was your hope, like that of a sprouting seedling in a vast desert. His scent was your calm, like the sound of rain pattering against glass. His voice a lullaby to your dreams.

And now all you had left of him was the old, scruffy, pale blue scarf. 

And you loved it as much as you loved him and he loved you.

The faint scent of his cheap cologne still lingered. You had done your best to find the brand, but failed. How hard was it to find the same exact cheap cologne? Very, you had come to realise.  

The Empire destroyed everything. It took him away, it destroyed his memory.

"Y/n?" His voice asked, but it wasn't his voice. This one had a husky timbre to it, as though he hadn't felt anything but the familiar burn of a cigar against his lips in a long time. It wasn't the same.

"Hunter?" Your voice came out soft, quiet as though he had interrupted an intimate moment you were having.

He took a long moment to continue, his gaze sturdy and focused on your figure.

"Someone's here to see you." 

His eyes met yours as you shifted around, a brow raised questioningly. His shoulders stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. He knew what you were about to say.

"Tell them-"

"It's urgent," He interrupted, putting emphasis to his words, swallowing harshly as he felt his throat tighten, "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't," He paused again, this time his gaze dropping to the wet concrete beneath his feet, and suddenly he was all too aware of the loud pattering of the rain against his hair and the concrete, of the rough and short beats of your heart echoing in his ears, "Trust me." His gaze rose back to yours.

With a shake of your head, you pulled the scarf tighter around yourself. This was one of the few bits of time you had to yourself, that you could spend on thinking. Thinking of him. 

Amongst the many missions and bounties, your mind always failed to remember him. The faces of his brothers, the different tones and accents and timbres, they all mixed and matched together until it was all a blur. At first, you were happy to be surrounded by Hunter and the Batch. But now you could barely remember the face of the man from your dreams.

The door creaked shut behind you, the sound of rain muffled by the all-too loud music of the bar below. You hated it. You could never focus with it on.

The heavy scent of alcohol lingered in the air, like a poisonous fog ready to fill your lungs and taint your blood. Your chest felt stuffy every time you were forced to be in the vicinity of the awful stench. 

Hunter's heavy boots thudded against the concrete floor, his head hung low as he kept a fast. steady pace, refusing to give you enough opportunity to question him, enough chance to prod him where you needed to get your answers.

He wouldn't give in so easily even if you tried.

Not tonight.

Though it seemed you hadn't felt the need to ask. 

Not tonight.

Your mind was in a different plane, a different galaxy. A distant past.

The hallway seemed to narrow down the longer you walked, winding around corners and staircase openings like a never-ending labyrinth. You were slowly becoming sick of it. Why was this building so dauntingly tall? 

The walls seemed to be crumbling down and wailing for repair with each crack that extended down hallways, staircases and rooms. Grimaced faces were painted on the sickly orange walls, freshly patched spots grasping to hold the structure together as the building shook with the volume and vibrations of the music.

Hunter hated it too. But he could bare with this for a moment longer. For you.

His throat dried up as the door came into view, and his ears heard the way the pace of your heart picked up as he spoke, "They're behind that door."

His hands fell to his side, smearing the sticky sweat on his armoured thigh, and his steps slowed down, his own heart matching the pace of yours. You must have known by now, right?

"Who is it?" You asked as you came to an abrupt stop, just inches away from the door. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. The two of you stared into each others eyes, silently communicating through the miniscule, atomic-like movements of your irises.

It wasn't hard to know what you were thinking. Nor what Hunter was.

Who is it? He imagined your voice to be soft, velvety like freshly cleaned cushions, the unsure tenderness of it warming his heart.

Go ahead and find out. You imagined his voice to be gravelly, like waves crashing against a sandy shore, the hum they left behind sending shivers down your spine.

With a soft sigh, you turned away from his towering frame.

Lifting a shaky hand, you turned the knob. 

The door creaked uncomfortably, like the wornout strings of an old violin. 

A gentle, dimmed light flooded the hallway, painting it a sickly shade of yellow. Was this a hotel or a pigsty?

You could almost taste the years worth of dust on the tip of your tongue.

The doorknob felt rough and weak under your touch, the dragged wood pressing against the pads of your fingers. 

With a heavier push, the door managed to pull open, screeching in protest until it came to a final stop. 

Your chest stopped heaving up and down as the air was caught in your throat. 

A sudden lightheadedness hit you, eyelashes blinking rapidly as you tried to get a tighter grasp on the doorknob. For a moment, you scrunched your eyes shut, and fought away the dizziness that clamped around your temple like a pair of metal tongs. 

When your eyes opened again, you felt a pair of arms get a hold your waist. 

Was someone hugging you?

Maybe, you thought and as you slowly looked down, you noticed a pair of armoured arms wrapped around you. Hunter's arms. 

Did you fall?

You couldn't feel your legs. 

As you looked up again, it all dawned on you.

The man from your dreams.

At first, you only saw the faded maroon poncho. It was overly large, and clearly didn't fit. It looked old, tattered as loose threads stuck out at odd angles.

And then you glanced down. White armour clung to his legs, embracing his feet and shins and thighs.

Your gaze wondered up, spotting the helmet seated atop a bed behind him. Blue streaks dancing down the expanse of the white coat of paint. It lingered there, pricking at your heart strings as though wanting them to snap one by one. 

It hurt.

Your chest was burning. 

Your throat tightened, the painful drags of a wail tugging at your voice chords.

The arms around your waist tightened, a familiar head of ashy, chestnut brown hair tickling at your skin.

Where were you again?

Your eyes fluttered, blinking erratically as you fought to look up. Your mind couldn't let you.

You couldn't- 

You couldn't rememeber his face.

A hand flew to your gaping mouth, covering the strangled whimper that erupted from deep within your chest, tearing at your throat as slowly, slowly you allowed your eyes to look up.

It hurt.

Did he always look so familiar? So.. Awfully perfect? So familiarly strange? 

His warm, honey gold irises were locked onto you, wide and unblinking and disbelieving. 

New wrinkles and aged lines dragged at his tanned skin, painting the picture of an abandoned, weary, scarred soldier, an abandoned and forgotten man. 

His hair was still that beautiful blonde, his sun-kissed skin and chapped lips still brought out that awfully familiar, but long forgotten feeling in the pits of your stomach.

It's him. 

It's-

"Rex?"

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

Me: Why do i love making myself sad by thinking about the clones and order 66 and the jedi so much?

Also me: Captain America: The Winter Soldier is my favourite movie of all time.

[is-that-sand-in-my-waffles]

There is one rule in the Star Wars universe and its that the more trauma someone goes through, the hotter they become.

[darth-kote]

Rex headcanons Pt. 1

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

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

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

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

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

[rexsokaficquotes]

“Ahsoka-” Rex hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words for what he wanted to say, before continuing, “Why are you here?”

“What do you mean?” Her face had a quick flash of puzzlement but her tone was gentle.

“Are you here because of the rebellion?”

“No, Rex.” She stepped closer and looked him square in the eyes, “I’m here for you.”

— BlueStarlalight, from Chapter 3 in ‘Untrained’

[ladylucksrogue]

For the holiday fluff drabbles:

Rexsoka

#3 - noticing traits of their significant other in the child(ren)

Please and thank you! 💙

Thank you for the request!! I got this one for Rexsoka twice, from you and @julijuli77. Hope you guys enjoy! This one is set in the same universe as my one story, To Light the Path Forward and features my OC Kara

It was one of the rare moments in Ahsoka’s life where the crack of blaster fire didn’t unsettle her. The sound carried through the open window as she rinsed her hands. She reached for the towel hanging by the sink.

Ahsoka gave a last glance around the kitchen, ensuring everything was tidy before she stepped out. The sun was warm today and she leaned against the doorframe.

Two figures stood near the makeshift target set up at the edge of the clearing.

Rex was mid-explanation, his hands gesturing as he pointed to the blaster Kara held. Her eyes were locked on him, listening, her expression full of absolute focus. Ahsoka’s breath caught for a moment, there it was, that little furrow between her daughter’s brow markings, so familiar it made her chest ache. It was a look she knew all too well, one she’d seen on Rex’s face countless times.

Ahsoka hadn’t been entirely on board with this lesson, not at first. Kara was only seven. The thought of putting a blaster in her child’s hands had sparked something protective and uneasy in her. But Rex had made a point. The galaxy they lived in wasn’t safe, and while things were quiet now, there was no guarantee they’d stay that way.

She crossed the yard quietly, careful not to disturb them. Rex was adjusting Kara’s stance, giving instructions about safety and recoil. His voice was calm and steady as ever.

“I’m ready,” Kara said, all determination.

Rex caught sight of Ahsoka over his shoulder.  He gave her a small, lopsided smile before turning back to Kara.

“Let her take a couple of shots,” Ahsoka said, folding her arms as she stopped a few steps away. “Then you two can clean up and come eat.”

Rex nodded, his attention on Kara as he guided her through the process. Ahsoka lingered, watching the way her daughter’s brow furrowed just slightly, her amber eyes narrowed as she steadied the blaster. Rex might always say Kara looked more like her, but in that moment, the resemblance to him was undeniable. The intensity, the way her small hands gripped the weapon, it was all Rex.

The first shot went wide, hitting the outer edge of the target. Kara’s lekku twitched lightly in frustration.  Rex leaned in to adjust her grip.

“Keep your wrist steady,” he said. “And breathe. Take your time.”

The next shot struck closer to the center, and then the one after that hit dead-on. Kara’s face lit up, her amber eyes bright as she beamed at him. Rex felt his chest tighten at the sight. That look, the joy, the spark of it. It was the same expression Ahsoka wore whenever she managed something difficult, that pure, radiant energy that always left him a little in awe.

Kara spun around, as she turned to call for her mother. Rex moved quickly, catching the blaster before it could swing wildly in her hands.

“Safety on, Kara,” he reminded sharply, lowering the weapon and setting it aside.  “Don’t ever point a blaster at something you don’t want to shoot!”

“Sorry, Dad,” she mumbled, her expression sheepish.

He softened at that. He couldn’t stay mad at her for long, even if she was intent on giving him a heart attack. “Just remember. Safety first.”

Her grin was catching, and she bolted toward Ahsoka, her excitement spilling out in a flurry of words. Rex exhaled, shaking his head with a smile as he began tidying up the area.

A few minutes later, Rex was toeing off his boots by the door when Ahsoka stepped up to him. “She’ll get the safety part eventually,” she said with amusement as she leaned against the doorway.

Rex nodded, his lips quirking. “Yeah. She’s a quick learner.”

They stood there for a moment, her hand reaching out to rest on his arm.

“Hopefully, she’ll never really need to use it,” Ahsoka said quietly.

He could see  the flicker of worry in her eyes. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms, his chin resting against the curve of her montrals.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But if she does, she’ll be ready.”

[varpusvaras]

After rescuing Leia from the Death Star and getting back to the Rebel base:

Rex: .....

Cody: What are you thinking about?

Rex: I'm just- there's just something really familiar about her

Cody: Who? The Princess?

Rex: Yeah! It's like- I swear at several points it feels like I'm talking to a miniature Fox

Cody: ........now that you say it-

Leia, in the distance: What are you?

Han, muffled: .....an idiot sandwich

Leia: Correct. Now stay out of my way, or I'm going to put you onto the menu!

Cody:

Rex: It's uncanny

Cody, wholly starting to believe in reincarnation: Yeah

Rex: Cody I'm scared

[rabb1ttrash]

classes have been kicking my ass but have this 

[sadiecoocoo]

I am going to hurt everyone with my next fic, it’s totally not about if Anakin hadn’t become a sith but was with Ahsoka and Rex when order 66 activated and how he has to try not to get killed or accidentally kill Rex until he can get the inhibitor chip removed, I would never do that :3

[coline7373]

The saga of the dead cacti...

For @bitwhizzle, for her pursuit of Rex & Cody taking selfie.

[hyperfixationtheartform]

The Ballad of the Doe:

Angst AU time:

The clones who died before order 66 were devastated when they saw what was happening to their siblings. Watching them loose their individuality that they tried so hard to gain. The clones formerly apart of the 501st battalion suffered the worst, if it was watching their brothers in the 501st or seeing what happened to the 332nd company

But at lest when they died they were set free, right?

Any clones that died while fully under the control of the chip didn’t come back to themselves after death. Instead they turned into a Doe. These clones had no memories of their life or who they used to be, just impressions. They knew they had a life knew they used to have a personality, but no idea what that used to be.

So when Hardcase, Tup and Fives saw Jesse’s death and went to greet him in the afterlife they didn’t see the brother they knew and fought with so many times. Instead they saw John Doe.

As far as everyone knows, there is no cure. And all that’s left of those brothers are shells.