#OC x Rex

[dammarchy211]

The song clip is from this video starting at about 3:50 :-]

I’ve been busy/summer burn out but my love to draw will never die so soooooooooo many doodles and sketches 5ever sorry

[starry-crossing-zone]

Oh, Captain - Rex (TCW)

Summary: The 501st is getting a new Co-General and Rex wants to be prepared. His brothers, however, dare him to flirt with a woman at 79s the night before. Length: 1370 words Warnings: Unnamed Female Character (Can be Read as OC or Reader); Rex's Horrible Flirting Skills; Fives is a Menace

79s was packed full of clones as usual, though the color scheme of the night was predominantly blue and yellow for the 501st and 212th. They had just finished a battle together in the Mid Rim and returned to Coruscant to resupply before they shipped out again. And in the case of the 501st, they were on Coruscant to pick up their new Jedi general. 

It was the only reason why Rex went out that night in the first place. 

He had to make sure that all of his men were presentable for their meeting with the new assistant general, who had been assigned to the battalion so that General Skywalker could be called away more often. General Skywalker assured Rex that the new assistant general wouldn’t be that much of a stick in the mud, but Rex didn’t want to take a risk. 

“Oh, come on, Rex, you heard the General. The new general’s fun. Have a drink for kriff’s sake,” Fives urged, placing a drink in front of Rex. 

“I’m all set, Fives,” Rex replied, pushing the drink away from him. 

“Who is the new assistant general, anyways?” Echo asked curiously, leaning over. “The Commander didn’t have a name.”

“I bet they’re a brand new Jedi. Young like General Skywalker,” Jesse stated, earning some nods. “He mentioned that they trained together.”

“It’s not for us to speculate,” Rex replied, earning a sigh from some of his brothers. “We need to be prepared. I don’t want the new general’s first impression of us to be that we look sloppy.”

“Oh, relax, Rex,” Cody spoke up, causing the rest of the 501st to perk up. If anyone could talk some sense into Rex, it would be Cody. “You’re going to be fine. Have a drink. We were just in trenches on a dustball for fifteen rotations. Or maybe make a new friend.”

“Like her,” Fives interjected, smacking Rex on the shoulder. 

The entire table turned to watch a humanoid woman take a seat at the bar. A woman alone in a clone bar? It would be about five seconds before she was swarmed. But there was something about her that intrigued Rex. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was just something about her that drew all of his attention without any work at all. 

“I’ve never seen her here before,” Echo stated as the woman ordered a drink. 

“I wouldn’t mind seeing her around,” Fives spoke up before glancing at Rex. “And looks like you wouldn’t either, Captain.”

“Not all of us think with what’s under our codpieces, Fives,” Rex grunted in return. 

“I’m thinking that they are, though,” Jesse pointed out, gesturing to two clones who made their way over to the mysterious woman. “Hopefully her first experience with a clone isn’t one of Fox’s shinies. She’ll never come to a clone bar again.”

Rex glanced over at the woman again before getting up from his seat. Fives looked over at Echo with a shit-eating grin, to which Echo simply rolled his eyes. Rex walked around the bar, nodding to his brothers that he passed, but keeping his gaze on the mystery woman and the two clones that sat down next to her. 

But before they got too far into a conversation, she seemed to say something with a seductive smile and his brothers got up and left her alone without a word of protest. Now, downright curious, Rex found his legs carrying him over to the woman. She turned her head and their eyes met for the first time. His heart seemed to stutter as he took the last few steps toward her. 

“They weren’t bothering you, were they?” Rex asked, causing the woman to smile. 

“No, not at all. I told them that I was just looking for a drink and nothing more. They seemed to do the rest of the math.” She took a sip of her drink, peering over the rim of her glass and practically into Rex’s soul. “Sorry if you were planning on playing hero, Commander.”

“It’s Captain, actually. Captain Rex,” Rex introduced himself, causing the woman’s eyes to widen a small fraction. 

“My apologies, Captain Rex.”

And there was that arrhythmia again. Was this woman part-siren or something?

“You can just call me Rex,” he assured her, causing the woman to smile softly. “And what exactly should I call you, ma’am?”

“Anything but ‘ma’am’,” she quipped, taking another sip of her drink. “You’re making me feel a little too old, Captain.” 

Kriff, he could get used to her calling him that. 

They got to talking. Not so much specifics about themselves, but rather life around them. The GAR, galactic politics, the drink menu. Rex didn’t even realize that he literally didn’t know any basic facts about the woman until she got up to leave for the night. 

“Do you come to this part of town often?” Rex asked, causing the woman to chuckle. 

“Not usually, but I suppose I could make an exception . . . Captain.”

Rex watched her walk out the door before he was suddenly swarmed by brothers, rattling off question after question. Up until Cody, as the highest ranking officer of the bunch, took control of the situation and asked one simple question. 

“What’s her name?”

Rex opened his mouth to reply, but instead winced, causing his brothers around him to groan. 

“He’s hopeless,” Fives sighed, shaking his head. 

“He was hopeless the second that he decided to follow your advice,” Echo pointed out. 

*~*~*~*

Rex walked through the rows of his men, inspecting them one last time while the General and Commander brought aboard their new General. Co-General. Whatever. Either way, Rex wanted to impress them. And that meant that his men had to be in tip top shape. But when he heard the doors to the hangar open, Rex quickly took his place at the front. 

Only to nearly drop his helmet when he recognized the woman walking with Anakin and Ahsoka. And when he heard Fives’s giggle, he could only swallow down a choice set of words.

“And here’s our captain, Rex,” Anakin introduced, causing their eyes to lock for the first time since the bar. “The best of the best.”

“I would expect no less,” she replied with an easygoing and mischievous smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Captain Rex.”

“You as well, General,” Rex practically choked out, trying to not sweat through his blacks. 

“Rex, this the new co-general,” Ahsoka introduced, adding the general’s name. “She was Master Plo Koon’s padawan and served with the Wolffe Pack.”

“Why’d you leave it, General?” Rex directed towards the new general, who smiled at him. 

“The Jedi Council needed someone to babysit General Skywalker and because I value public service above my own sanity—”

“—This whole spiel again?” Anakin complained, causing her to turn to him. 

“You're just upset because Admiral Yularen laughed in your face when I told him what happened back on Corellia when you—”

“—Perhaps we should move on to the rest of the tour,” Anakin stressed, causing her to smirk. 

“Of course.”

Anakin and Ahsoka led the way through the rows of troopers, though she lingered behind them. Looking over her shoulder, she offered Rex a smile that made his heart stop for a moment all over again. 

“I’ll be back to meet the full battalion formally once the rest of my briefings are concluded. If that fits with your timeline, Captain?”

“Yes, of course, General.”

“Great.” She offered him a curt nod before that smirk returned. “And next time we’re at 79s, drinks are on me, Captain.”

The galaxy was testing him today, that was for sure. Rex watched her walk off with Anakin and Ahsoka before slowly putting his bucket back on his head. 

“Fives,” he growled out. “You have exactly five seconds before—”

Fives took off in a sprint across the hangar and Rex took off after him. Echo sighed and shook his head before turning to his comms. Sending Commander Cody a message that Rex did learn that the woman that he was flirting with last night was the new general, Echo couldn’t help but laugh as he watched Fives evade Rex. 

“Well, this is going to be interesting.”

[masksketchies]

Another sketch request from my insta

[dazelvel]

What if... Alastor and his lover ate sinners together in their demon forms... 🥺

You know that this is giving?

[vizslasaber]

FRIENDLY FIRE ──── ii.

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

PAIRING | Captain Rex x female Jedi!reader

WORD COUNT | 3.7k

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

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

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST | TAGLIST | NAVIGATION | AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“General.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not gone, merely marching far away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEXT CHAPTER >

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[rexscanonwife]

Brea and Rex in 'civvies' inspired by @antisocial-mariposa!

I imagine she convinced him to sneak off to Batuu for a day to get away from everything and they're enjoying a bit of ice cream together to beat the heat! She told him he had a bit on his face but it was just an excuse to fluster him > w < ❤️💙❤️💙❤️

Taglist♡: @me-myself-and-my-fos @tiny-cloud-of-flowers @sunstar-of-the-north @dearly-beeloved @adoredbyalatus @changeling-selfship @crushes-georg @miutonium @cherry-bomb-ships @rosieaurora @rejaytionships @sunflawyer @in-true-blue-love @tropicalgothships @little-miss-selfships @hotrodharts @cupiidzbow @frozenhi-chews

[tinyangrynerd]

While Tyrantrum is technically not my #1 favorite pokemon (though it's very high on the list!). As a character and individual pokemon I own, King has probably got to be my favorite. don't tell the others

He is going to Headsmash you <3

[ruby-static]

You know that moment when a random guy (who you're pretty sure is the courier that got shot in the head a few weeks ago) just kinda shows up at your workplace and starts talking at you about robots and technology for the next hour?

Makes things marginally less boring, at least.

Brief dump/explanation under cut:

About right after arriving at Freeside, Riley finds himself occasionally spending a bit of time at the Mormon Fort while figuring out a way to get into Vegas. And while bringing in ED-E to the Followers, he ends up bumping into Arcade. Riley, surprisingly, quickly takes a liking to the dude, and just kinda starts chatting and nerding out at him whenever he visits the Fort. Riley's happy to have another person he can feel comfortable talking to, and Arcade isn't as bored as he usually is with work. Though Arcade isn't sure how to feel about this mysterious and oddly tech-knowledgeable courier just showing up, but... he seems nice enough. (Plus he fixes stuff around his workplace for fun, which makes Julie happy at least.)

[vampiirex]

i got a narrex commission from @blackkatdraws / @blackkatdraws2 !! (sorry, not sure which acc to tag for ur own art ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ)

the way kat drew them is so beautiful aaaaa i love it so much ૮꒰˶´˘`˶꒱ა the way the clothes are rendered, the background, the expressions, everything is so gorgeous to me! i truly could not be happier with this commission. working with kat went extremely smoothly as well! they encapsulated narrex so perfectly, im in awe ^_^ i could go on and on forever, but thank you so much kat!!!

[makilime]

I suddenly realised that I have the power and liberty to draw whatever I want

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Three: Undying

Chapter WC: 5,192

A/N: Here's the final chapter in part one. I'll finally stop changing the banner now. Also wow!! 300 followers! Love you all 💙

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The bar is busy, packed with beings of all shapes and sizes. The air is thick with the smell of smoke and alcohol, the music pounding, and the crowd cheering. It's dark, and hot, and the only light comes from the glowing drinks being carried about and the flashing neon signs that adorn the walls and ceiling.

You're sitting alone at the counter, a drink in your hand, watching the chaos unfold. You don't remember the name of this drink, but it's sweet, and the buzz you feel is a pleasant one. Your body feels heavy, but not in an uncomfortable way, and the pain in your chest has receded to a dull ache.

You're tired.

It's late, or early, depending on who you ask, and you've been sitting here for hours. You haven't eaten since the morning, and the drinks are already going to your head, but you don't care.

You're not sure you've ever felt this alone, and the fact that it's your own fault is not lost on you.

You've made a lot of mistakes in the past few days, but the biggest was leaving. It was a stupid thing to do, but you were upset, and angry, and hurt, and you wanted nothing more than to forget, if only for a little while.

There was only one place you could think to go. A place where no one would ask questions, or judge you. Where you could drown out the world and not worry about the consequences.

So you'd gone.

Obi-Wan would probably be horrified. You can almost picture his face, the look of disappointment, the shake of his head, and the pursed lips. He'd scold you and remind you of the rules, and he'd lecture you on the dangers of the city and the foolishness of your decision.

It's a testament to your stubbornness that you don't care.

The bartender, a Twi'lek, is eyeing you but doesn't say a word, which is a blessing. The last thing you want is small talk, or an argument, or another person to disappoint.

You raise your glass and drain the rest of the liquid, the sweetness coating your tongue and the bitter aftertaste making you wince. You motion to the bartender, and he refills the glass without asking if you want anything else.

You sip this one slower, savoring the taste and the warmth it brings. It's a welcome reprieve from the coldness inside you, and the heaviness in your chest, and the aching in your head.

"Mind if I sit?"

You look up and find a Pantoran man standing beside you, a smile on his face. He's handsome, his skin a brilliant blue and his hair a shock of white, and there’s a yellow marking on his chin and two half-moon crescents below his bottom lip. He's tall and thin, his clothing impeccably clean and expensive looking. Certainly not the sort of person you'd expect to find in a place like this.

You shrug and take a drink.

"Suit yourself," you mumble, and you look away.

The man sits, and he motions to the bartender. A few minutes later, he has his own drink, a bright blue concoction that smells strongly of alcohol.

You watch the bartender go and then turn back to the man. He's looking at you, an appraising look on his face, his eyes sweeping up and down your body. You're not unfamiliar with the look, and usually you'd make a comment about it, but today you're not in the mood.

So you say nothing and stare into your drink, swirling the liquid around.

"Bad day?"

"Can I help you?" you ask, an edge to your voice. You look up and find him watching you, his gaze unwavering. He looks pleased, and he raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, actually."

You sigh and push your glass aside, suddenly annoyed. You didn't come here for conversation, and you certainly didn't come here to flirt.

"No thanks," you reply and start to stand.

"I thought Jedi were supposed to be generous," he remarks casually. His voice is smooth and cultured, and it reminds you of Obi-Wan's, which just annoys you more. "Especially toward strangers."

"We are," you reply, narrowing your eyes. "But not when we're being propositioned."

He grins, his teeth white and gleaming, and raises his hands. He laughs and leans back on the stool.

"Relax," he says. "I'm not here for that."

"Oh?"

"No."

You slump back down and fold your arms. You can't deny that you're a little curious.

"Then what are you here for?"

The Pantoran hums, and he taps a finger on the counter. His nails are filed and painted gold. "I need help," he admits. "Your kind of help."

You frown. "With?"

He nods and takes a drink, draining the glass. He sets it down and turns back to you. 

"I have a friend. He lives on the lower levels, and he's been...missing. No one's heard from him in days, and no one's seen him. I'm worried he might have gotten into some trouble."

You straighten a little in your seat and look at him, considering. "What kind of trouble?"

"I'm not sure." He shrugs. "Maybe nothing. But if I don't find him, he'll end up on the wrong side of the law."

You hesitate and glance down. The ice in your drink has melted, and it's starting to look less appetizing.

"Please," the man adds. "I can pay you."

You shake your head. You don't want or need his money, just as you don't want to involve yourself in whatever his problems are. Jedi weren't supposed to get involved in local matters. Not unless the Council ordered them or there was clear and present danger.

This isn't the kind of situation that calls for the Jedi. And the Council wouldn't approve, anyway.

"Sorry," you say. "I can't."

"Come on," the man cajoles. The casual facade fades, and you can hear the desperation in his voice, see the pleading in his eyes. "All I need is for you to help me find him, and then I'll be out of your hair. Please?"

You shift in your seat and stare at your hands. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"You're a Jedi. Don't you care about helping people?"

The response you'd been preparing dies in your throat. Of course you cared. That was why you were here, wasn't it? Because you'd cared too much, and now, Yaddle was dead, and the Council had turned a blind eye, and Obi-Wan... Well, that didn't matter, did it?

"Why don't you ask the authorities?" you ask, looking up and meeting his eyes.

"The authorities are the ones I'm worried about," he admits quietly.

You swallow and take a breath, weighing the pros and cons. You could help him, you reason. And it's not like the Council was expecting you back anytime soon. They didn't even know you were gone, and the likelihood of them finding out was slim to none.

You could do this, and no one would ever have to know.

Besides, it was better than sitting around and doing nothing. Much better than thinking about everything that had happened, and the emptiness you were feeling, and the loneliness.

"I can pay you," he says again, his eyes pleading. "Just...please."

"Fine," you relent. "I'll help. But you're going to have to answer a few questions first."

He gives you a blindingly bright smile. It's an attractive, boyish grin, one that's no doubt charmed many a soul, and you can't help but return it, albeit somewhat hesitantly.

"Anything," he says as he scoots closer to you.

You motion to the bartender and ask him for a pen and a sheet of flimsi. He gives it to you, and you turn back to the man. "Let's start with a name."

Twenty minutes later, you find yourself outside, heading down the street toward the lower levels. It's late, and the sky is clear, the city lights casting a glow on the buildings and streets. You'd had one too many drinks, but the fresh air is helping, and the man — Vayel, he'd said — doesn't seem to mind.

He walks with a bounce in his step, and you have a hard time keeping up. His stride is long, and he's quick, and more than once you find yourself jogging and he has to slow down for you. You've never met anyone quite so enthusiastic, but he seems sincere enough. It's a bit of a refreshing change from the usual stoic, somber nature of the Jedi.

"So, what do you do?" you ask, trying to make conversation.

"I'm an actor," he replies with a flourish of his hand, a proud smile on his face. He says the word like he's making a meal of it, rolling it around, savoring the sound. 

Your eyebrows raise. "Really?"

"Yes." He flashes you another brilliant grin, and you find yourself smiling in spite of yourself.

"That's impressive," you admit.

"Thanks." He laughs, and it's a warm, rich sound. He's handsome and charming, and if it wasn't for the situation, you'd probably be enjoying his company.

As it is, though, you're still feeling a little guilty for how you treated him initially, and not a little bit confused. The whole thing feels odd. But he had said his friend was missing, and he seemed genuinely worried, so you reason with yourself that the strange feeling is just the alcohol talking.

"Any roles I might have seen?"

"I doubt it."

"Well, what's the name of the play?"

Vayel's expression falters, and he looks away, his eyes focused on the buildings ahead.

"It's...um, it's not out yet," he admits sheepishly. "It's a new production."

You nod and glance at him. He doesn't look back, his eyes fixed on the distance. There's something about the way he's acting that makes you curious, and you're not sure you believe him.

But, then again, it's not like you'd ever really been interested in theater.

"Yeah, it's...well, it's a bit of a work in progress," he continues, as if you'd asked, and smiles weakly.

"Ah."

"What about you?" he asks a moment later. "How long have you been a Jedi?"

You sigh and look away. You don't really feel like talking about yourself, or anything related to the Order, but he's trying, and you can't begrudge him that.

"Since I was two," you answer flatly and keep walking.

"Wow."

"Yep."

"That's amazing," he exclaims, his eyes wide. "It must have been difficult, leaving your family."

Your jaw clenches, and you look at him. He's got a strange expression on his face, one you can't read. He's watching you, his head tilted slightly to the side, a slight smile on his face.

"Not really," you say, shrugging. "I was too young to remember."

"But they must have been sad to see you go," he persists. "Your family."

"I wouldn't know."

"They didn't visit you, at the Temple?"

"They weren't allowed," you reply, and you leave it at that.

Vayel nods, and you think the subject has been dropped, but a few seconds later, he speaks.

"Are Jedi not allowed to have families?" he asks, and the question takes you by surprise. You'd never really thought about it before, not beyond the fact that, growing up, you didn't have a choice. You'd had no parents, no siblings, no aunts or uncles or cousins. Just the Jedi. 

"No," you tell him, shaking your head.

"What happens if a Jedi falls in love?"

You stop and look at him, his words ringing in your ears. You're not sure why he's asking, or why he cares, and you can't tell if he's just making small talk, or if there's a different agenda.

But there's something in the way he's looking at you that makes your stomach twist. He's staring at you intently, his gaze searching, and there's a softness to his features, a vulnerability that makes him look younger, less self-assured.

"They don't," you say, finally.

"Never?"

"Not that I know of."

"And what if they do?"

"Well," you begin, trying to recall if anyone had ever fallen in love in the Order. You think if it had happened, there'd be more stories about it, more tales. But the truth is, no one's ever mentioned it, and no one's ever said anything about it. Perhaps that's the sort of thing the Council would keep quiet, especially if they were worried about the Order's reputation.

Or maybe, you realize, as you look into Vayel's eyes and see the curiosity there, the interest, it's something they try to discourage, try to avoid. Maybe they want to make sure that the Jedi stay focused, and not distracted.

And maybe that's the whole problem.

You turn and continue walking, your heart pounding. "I guess they'd be expelled," you mumble, your throat suddenly dry.

Vayel looks down, his brow furrowing, and he kicks a pebble, sending it skipping across the street. "That seems..."

"Harsh?" you suggest, a bit of annoyance creeping into your voice.

"No," he replies slowly, "unfair."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're all just...people," he says, gesturing at you. The array of jewels and gems on his fingers glitter, reflecting the light. "Isn't it unfair to deny you the things that everyone else has? Love, family, happiness."

You pause and look at him. The night is still, and the air is cool, and there's a tension in the space between the two of you, one that hadn't been there a moment ago.

"It's not a denial," you say, your irritation growing. "It's a choice. A decision."

"But why?"

"Because the Jedi Code—"

"Forgive me, but the Jedi Code doesn't seem to make any sense," he interrupts. "If you ask me, it's just a bunch of rules created by a bunch of old men who like to tell other people what to do."

You bristle and turn toward him, your jaw clenched. "Is that so?"

"Yes," he replies, and then he adds nonchalantly, "I mean, no disrespect, or anything."

"Sure, none taken," you mutter sarcastically. You turn and begin to walk, and he follows. He has the good grace to look a little embarrassed, and the two of you continue on in silence, the only sound the hum of traffic and the distant voices of the occasional passerby.

Finally, Vayel speaks. 

"It's just up ahead," he says. "The building. He should be home."

You nod, and follow him down a winding alley to a tall, narrow building, surrounded by other, similar buildings. The entire neighborhood is dimly lit, and the street lamps flicker. There are no signs, and no shops, and no businesses, just rows of identical structures, their facades crumbling, the windows dark and empty.

It's certainly a far cry from the splendor of the upper levels, and you can't help but wonder what had led this man, this friend of his, to a place like this. Maybe he was on the run, you think. Or maybe he was hiding from someone. Either way, the fact that he'd chosen such a dangerous place was worrisome.

Vayel stops at the front door to an apartment on the bottom floor and looks back at you, flashing a smile.

"Here," Vayel says as he pulls a keycard from his pocket. He hands it to you, and then steps back, waiting.

"Are you coming?" you ask, a bit impatiently.

"Oh, no," he replies. "You go ahead. Just...make sure he's okay, and then let me know."

Your eyes narrow. "And what will you be doing?"

"I'll wait here."

"Are you serious?"

"I can't go in," he explains and gives a nervous chuckle. "He won't be happy to see me, not after what happened."

You're not sure what to make of that, or whether you should believe him. It feels off, the way he's acting, and there's a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that something isn't right. But you're also eager to be rid of him, so you shrug and take the key.

"Fine," you tell him. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

You unlock the door and open it, and then you step inside.

The apartment is small and cramped, and there are piles of junk everywhere. The smell of something rotting is thick in the air, and you have to resist the urge to gag. You've spent enough time on the lower levels to recognize the smell, but you've never been anywhere it's been this bad.

There are several doors along the hallway, and the one closest to you is open. You peer in and see a bedroom. There's a bed against the wall and a closet, and the room is strewn with clothing and food wrappers and various other objects. But you don't see or sense anyone inside.

You walk back down the hall and check the other rooms, finding a kitchen, a child's bedroom, and a bathroom. No one is in any of them, but there's a pile of dishes in the sink, and a small amount of food in the cupboard, and the bed has clearly been slept in.

It's obvious someone is living here, or was, but you can't tell if they've been gone for a few hours or a few days. There's no sign of a struggle, or any violence. In fact, it looks like they left of their own accord, and without warning. It's odd, and you can't help but feel like you're missing something.

You pull out your commlink and send a message to Vayel, telling him there's no sign of his friend. A second later, you receive a response, telling you to check the bedroom again.

So you do.

As soon as you enter, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You look around the room, and you see nothing out of the ordinary. Everything is exactly as it was before. But there's a feeling in the air, a heaviness, and it's familiar, somehow.

You frown, and take a step forward, and then stop, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Because suddenly, you recognize the feeling.

Your eyes land on the closet, and the door swings slowly open on its hinges. There, sitting in the middle of a pile of worn clothes, is a box. It's nondescript, plain brown and rectangular, and it's sitting upright, like it's been placed there rather than haphazardly thrown inside.

Your instincts are screaming at you to run, but your curiosity gets the better of you. You approach the closet slowly and kneel in front of the box. Your hand hovers over the top, and then you take a breath and reach down, pulling it open.

There are several items, all of them seemingly random. A scrap of fabric, a datapad, a holoprojector. There's also a piece of jewelry, a necklace, made of gold and set with a blue stone, and a small, black leather pouch with a handful of credits.

You set the bag of credits aside and grab the scrap of fabric, moving it away from the datapad. It's soft and worn, and as your fingers brush against it, you realize what it is.

Yaddle's robe.

She'd been wearing it the night she'd died.

You jerk your hand away as if burned, and you stare at the fabric, the dread you'd felt earlier now a cold, heavy weight in your stomach. You swallow, and then force yourself to reach for the datapad, your hand trembling. It flickers on underneath your touch, and once you close the warning of its low power, you're face to face with the last unread message, dated a week ago.

The message you sent Yaddle the night you felt her death.

You'd forgotten about it, the stress of the Sith investigation, your Trials, and the Council's refusal to listen to you had caused it to slip your mind. You'd been too busy trying to solve her murder to remember, and now, the memory of that night is back, sharp and painful.

Master, are you alright? Please just let me know you're safe. I can come to you if you need me. Just send a message.

There's no reply, just the date, and the time, and the fact that the message had gone unread.

You look away, and blink back the tears that have suddenly sprung to your eyes. You need to get out of here, to take the evidence, and get back to the Temple. The Council will have to listen to you now, and you can prove that the Sith are here, that they're targeting the Jedi, that they're the ones responsible for Yaddle's death.

And maybe, just maybe, the Council will finally be willing to acknowledge that there's a problem, that there's something more going on, and that they're in danger.

You set the datapad aside, and reach for the necklace, the gold glinting in the dim light of the room, and the stone gleaming. You've never seen Yaddle wear anything like this, and you're not even sure it belonged to her. It's not a traditional Jedi accessory, and the Council isn't big on extravagance.

But there's something familiar about it, and you can't help but feel that it's significant. You pick it up, the metal cool against your skin, and you inspect it, turning it over and over in your hands. The stone is smooth and polished, and it shines brilliantly, catching the light and refracting it.

It's a beautiful piece, but it's not anything special, or unusual, and it's not the sort of thing you'd expect Yaddle to have. You don’t have an explanation for it, but it feels like her, so you resolve to take it with you, as evidence, and examine it closer later.

But the moment you slide the necklace into your pocket, you hear a noise behind you.

The door slams shut.

You whip around and stand, but before your hand can draw your lightsaber, you're thrown across the room, hitting the far wall hard enough to rattle your teeth.

You gasp for breath and manage to push yourself up. Your limbs are heavy, and your head is spinning, and when you try to summon the Force, nothing happens.

Across the room, the figure emerges from the shadows, face shrouded by a hood. It's a man, tall and thin, his shoulders hunched and his posture tense. You can't see his face, but his presence in the Force is unmistakable. The darkness, the cold, the malice.

Your vision is blurry, and your lungs ache, and you can taste blood in your mouth. He approaches, his steps slow and deliberate. He doesn't speak, and neither do you. Your mouth is dry, and your throat is tight, and when you try to swallow, the lump lodged there makes it impossible.

When he reaches the box, he kneels down and touches the holoprojector. It crackles and a voice comes out, faint and distant, but immediately recognizable. Your heart clenches, and a single tear rolls down your cheek.

"There's something wrong. I must find out what—" Yaddle’s voice says, and the man's fingers clench. The metal crumples, and the projector sparks and dies.

He stands and turns toward you, the shadows obscuring his face.

You can't move. You're frozen in place, the fear paralyzing you. You want to speak, to plead for your life, to bargain, but the words won't come, and all you can do is stare. When he reaches out and lifts his hand, his fingers curled into a claw, you begin to scream.

"No," you gasp. "Please."

It feels as though his fingers are around your throat, your feet dangling as you're pressed back against the wall. You struggle, kicking out, trying to break free, but he's too strong. Your limbs are heavy, and there's nothing you can do to fight him.

"Please," you choke, the word barely audible. "Don't—"

His grip tightens, and your vision starts to blur. The Sith steps closer, holding you higher, and when he speaks, his voice is low and dark.

"You should have let it go," he says, and the coldness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes widen, and you try to shake your head, but you can't. All you can do is hang there, suspended, struggling to breathe. Despite the blackness of death creeping in on the edges of your vision, you can't help but feel a surge of anger, and bitterness, and resentment underneath your fear. How dare he? How dare he do this?

Another in a long line of people telling you what you should or shouldn't have done, another voice telling you that you aren't good enough, aren't strong enough, aren't smart enough. He's going to kill you, and yet, the fury you feel at the injustice, the rage at the way you've been treated, at the lies and half-truths and manipulation, is overwhelming.

He's going to kill you, and no one will know. You'll die alone just as Yaddle did, and no one will care. Your friends, your family, your entire world will continue on without you as if you never existed, and no one will ever find out what happened.

It's not fair. It's not right.

You've done everything they've asked, and now, as your vision fades, and your heart slows, and the darkness envelopes you, the only thing you can think is that they've failed you.

They've failed you, and it's not fair, it's not right, it's not—

All the emotions you've kept buried inside for so long come rushing back, and before you can stop them, they're coursing through you, hot and bright.

The pressure in the room shifts as if something is being pulled away, and then a deafening crack fills the air. The windows behind you explode, the bed splinters, and the closet door breaks apart. The Sith is thrown backwards, crashing through the wall and disappearing.

You fall to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. The walls are shaking, and the ceiling is groaning, and you have to scramble to get out of the way as a chunk collapses, bringing down the walls and the floor above. You manage to roll aside, but the floor is breaking, and the entire building is coming down.

You push yourself up and stumble toward the door, grabbing your lightsaber as you go. The hallway is in shambles, and there are chunks of debris and dust everywhere.

There's a ringing in your ears, and your head is throbbing, and you have no idea what's happening. You're surrounded by smoke and dust, and there's the sound of screaming in the distance, and you have to stumble through the rubble and broken glass to find your way out.

And then you're on the street, gasping for air, your eyes streaming with tears. Your eyes scan the destruction, searching for any sign of the Sith, but he's nowhere to be found. You have no idea how he escaped, but you don't have time to wonder.

It's only then that you realize the apartment building is collapsing before you, and you have to jump back as a piece of the roof falls in, narrowly missing your head.

The street is empty, and you're the only one who's outside, but you can hear sirens and the distant sounds of yelling. You need to get away, and you need to do it now before the authorities show up.

You turn and run, pushing yourself to go as fast as you can, ignoring the pain and exhaustion. Your legs are burning, and your chest is tight, but you have to keep going, you have to get away. You can't let anyone find you, can't let anyone know what you've done. There's no telling what they'd do to you, or what the consequences would be for the Order.

You reach the end of the street, and turn left, and then right, and then left again. The buildings blur around you, and the sounds fade, and all you can focus on is the pounding of your heart and the sound of your breath.

You're far away from the Temple, and it takes nearly half an hour to get back. By the time you reach the gates, your lungs are burning and you're gasping for air. You stumble to a stop and lean against the wall, your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath.

You sink to the ground, your head resting against the cold metal as you try desperately to calm down. You're safe, you tell yourself. No one knows. No one saw. Everything's fine.

But it isn't, and you can't make yourself believe the lie.

You look down at your trembling hands, and among the cuts and scrapes, and the blood and grime, you see burns stretching across your palms. They don’t hurt when you clench your fists, not like the stinging pain in your head, the searing of your throat, or the dull ache in your knees.

They're a reminder, a symbol of your failure, a testament to the power that you have, and the power you don't.

A power the Jedi have no interest in understanding.

And yet, they were the ones who trained you, who taught you, who molded you, who gave you your place in the galaxy and all the expectations that came with it.

The expectations, and the responsibilities.

They were the ones who told you that the world wasn't fair, and that sometimes, people died, and that there was nothing you could do about it. But it's not true. There is, and the fact that they didn't want to see it was their own fault, their own arrogance, their own short-sightedness.

And it had cost Yaddle her life, and it had nearly cost you yours.

The anger bubbles up, and your eyes sting, and your throat constricts, and the pain, the rage, the frustration, the injustice, the betrayal, the lies, and the half-truths, and the death, is all too much.

It's too much, and you can't take it anymore. You're so tired, and so hurt, and so alone, and you just want to give up. To stop. To walk away.

Because what good have you done, really? What has any of this gotten you? Nothing but grief and pain and loneliness, and a burden that's too heavy to bear.

You look at the burns on your hands, and a sudden, strange calm comes over you. You feel a sense of clarity and purpose, and a strange, almost eerie, certainty.

You will never let this happen again.

You will never be powerless again.

And no matter what it takes, no matter how many risks you have to take, no matter how much the Council disapproves, no matter how much danger you put yourself in, you will make sure that no one else suffers as you have. Not because of the Sith, and not because of the Jedi.

And, as the sun rises, and the first rays of sunlight peek through the clouds, illuminating the Temple and casting long shadows over the courtyard, you vow that you'll do whatever it takes.

No matter what.

taglist: @baddest-batchers @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @aynavaano

@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76

[pinkiemme]

I also did La’mya and Rex’ first time meeting, inspired in the amazing princess Mononoke because💖

[blxkstar]

POV: You're in Star Wars!

This is a playlist I created taking all my Star Wars playlists and combining them into one. (With some tweaks to make it better)

Please check it out!

If you like this playlist, check out the others I have made for more specific Star Wars characters and scenarios.

[vizslasaber]

FRIENDLY FIRE ──── captain rex.

SUMMARY | Newly knighted and unaccustomed to combat, you’re suddenly given your first assignment on the shadowy world of Umbara. Waiting on the planet’s surface is the start of a mission filled with death and deception—and the companionship of someone whose smile you never thought you’d fall for.

PAIRING | Captain Rex x female Jedi!reader

A/N | look i'm in love with this man, i simply Could Not help myself from falling in love with him, and i felt the need to live vicariously through reader insert fics, so here we are (don't ask me why they sent two generals in place of one, it's for the purpose of the fic). also, the reader is female, and i've decided some details such as former master (OC) home planet, and name (because i despise using y/n). everything else is up to you!

WARNINGS | fluff, angst because this is the umbara arc, SLOW BURN, star wars curses, death (no major characters), blood/gore, suggestive themes. the whole shabang.

STATUS: WIP | TAGLIST | Last Updated: May 13, 2024

──── CHAPTER ONE

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

WORD COUNT | 3.9k

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

──── CHAPTER TWO

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

WORD COUNT | 3.7k

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

──── CHAPTER THREE

COMING SOON!

[sidskidaroonie]

MORE SPARKS BECAUSE I LOVE THEM. AAGHHH FLINT AND REX STOP BEING HOMOS 🎇✨✨✨🎇🎇🎇🎇

[themissinghand]

Genshin Impact: The Overworked God [1]

Part 2

Summary: In which one of the lore writers who help write the world of Genshin Impact was suddenly thrusted in the very world they created. He doesn't know how this happened and the way home seemed like a pipe dream.

Well, testing characters is one thing, but playing God?

Oh boy.

Note: SAGAU if you squint but not really. Mainly fluff and healing mainly between a tired worker and the oldest Archon.

Male OC!

Warning: Genshin themes with mentions of war, and death. And OC needs some rest.

"Good morning, your Grace." 

"5 more minutes..?" 

"You are the Creator."

It took approximately one hard pinch to the elbow and 55 seconds later that Kai decided (albeit begrudgingly) that this was his reality.

Always negotiate the terms and pay for any job.

Payment is obviously going back home, but also monetary compensation, enough to retire early as a billionaire. And maybe a nice villa. Or bed.

Until Kai goes home, he might as well get an easier life here.

Which clearly did not go as intended.

"I will not be the babysitter for any Archon." Kai already has countries to run, royal families to manage, and human relationships are ever so complicated. He doesn't have the time nor desire to babysit gods for goodness sake.

And besides, the 7 Archons comes so much later in time! 

He's a game writer, not a politician or babysitter! It's only because he played kingdom simulation games before and read too many fictional works that he could figure things out. 

Celestia is supposed to be his assistant since he's the Creator, but isn't he working too hard!? At this point, he's gonna retire early! 

"But your Grace, you cannot manage the world yourself. Archons can help manage them for you!" 

Yes, Celestia gave up in speaking in elegant and ambiguous ways after their first negotiation session. 

Kai thought about it for a bit before agreeing, anything that spelled less work for him, he'll take it! 

"But, I'm not going to be a babysitter!" 

Archon war? 

Stop making me do more work! 

What happened? It was peaceful for such a long time! 

Was it because there were too many gods or powerful creatures? Damn Celestia, you're supposed to keep it under control! 

Kai has a migraine everyday, so this wasn't surprising, but did the gods have to fight each other, just so only 7 left?! 

Celestia!

"It must be done your Grace! Isn't this what you and your team wrote?" 

"Well I changed my mind." 

"Your Grace! If you go out there now, they will use you and your powers!" 

"But I can't watch people die just because some stupid god or creature that wants power!"

Celestia remained silent at his outburst. 

"Tempus. It's too late, it had already begun." 

"Celestia!"

"Everything is your will after all. You wrote the story, didn't you?" 

It was then did Kai realize that Celestia didn't follow him, but rather the words and designs set by his team in the real world. 

Celestia is like an AI robot, one that only acts in accordance to the wishes of it's Creator. 

But isn't he the Creator right now?! Does this mean he needs more power to be recognized, or overthrow the set system? 

Kai stomped out in fury and for the first time, not as Kai, but the God of Time and Creation. 

Tempus.

Tempus never thought he would play God, but here he is, relying on his godly powers to save what's left of his creation. 

"Tempus." 

Kai sent his final message to his country's royal family before turning to greet the rude guest.

"Morax." One of the 7 victors of war, a newly appointed Archon, entered without announcing anything beforehand and immediately strides towards Kai. 

When Morax stops in front of him, there's an awkward silence between them, and Kai knows this man is waiting for something.

"No." But Kai declines. He's got why too much things to deal with and he's not going to do something he's done too many times. 

"Guizhong is dead." Kai frowns, ah, of course. 

"Please." Morax pleads, and Kai is put at odds when seeing the Lord of Geo so weak, so desperate.

"Morax. You know I cannot."

"Kai." He almost hisses, and Kai could care less.

"I'll do anything to bring everyone back."

"They will die no matter what."

Because I wrote it.

"Shut up!" Kai does not flinch when the God of Contracts claws at him. He simply stares into those golden eyes of fury and desperation.

"Turn back time! Do it!" The entire world quakes at his call, and Tempus is stuck. 

Stuck between pity and reality.

"If I do, what will you do? What can you do?" Tempus responds, tired of this entire show. He groans when he felt strong claws around his neck.

"I'll save Guizhong! I'll stop the Archon war!"

"You'll only suffer and regret." Like him.

"I will not." The resolve in his voice is undeniable. 

"If only you had been there with me then Guizhong-"

"Will die. If not by the war, then by her people."

"What?" Morax freezes, and Kai could hear the bitter realization hit him. 

"If not by her people, then by fate. If not by fate, then by Celestia, by YOU! You of all people know even Gods die, Morax. It's a war." Kai is sick of it. 

Tempus tried everything, but he is a powerless, useless god against his own pen in his home world. 

Morax inhales, then exhales.

"Do it. Turn back time."

Tempus sighs, a distant memory of a determined, hard-working, and adorable adepti resurfaced in his mind. 

He remembers laughing and writing Zhongli's character-

"One chance." Then the Lord of Geo lets go and bows.

"Thank you." Tempus puts a hand on Morax's bloodied shoulder and closes his eyes. 

This conversation turns into one of the past.

The Archon war occurs, and Tempus watches Morax fail.

If he prevents one red flag, another arises.

Everything repeats, like a never-ending cycle of torture.

"Morax." 

"Tempus." The God of Time stops behind his sitting figure in front of Guizhong and many of his colleagues' graves.

Tempus puts a glazed lily on each of the graves and offers his own condolences.

"Morax. It's over now. Return."

"And where would I return?" Tempus holds out his hand. 

"Then, come with me." 

Morax accepted and followed. 

For some reason, Morax holds onto his hand like his lifeline, and Tempus allows him.

Just like that, the two Gods made their way to Temporium, a land where time moves differently than in the rest of the world. 

Temporium is a wonderful nation.

Old as time, this country is the first nation Tempus raised from the ground. It is also the country that he chose to call "home". 

The royal family is the one that manages the country and Tempus is merely a guide and protector, helping them navigate the dangers of the past and the future.

His protective shield around this land slows down or speeds up time within the shield, creating a safe haven that is immune to any outside influences. 

Kai wants to make this country similar to his real home. 

Before he was thrown into this madness. 

Tempus leads Morax into a transparent dome known as a green house and stops. 

"Morax. Time is limited. So cherish it."

Surrounded by flowers and greenery, there stood a woman with a gentle smile.

"Morax?" 

Tempus watches them reunite and thinks that losing sleep is worth it. 

Looking up into the skies, Tempus thinks that since he was able to change fate, just slightly, it means Tempus is stronger, but not enough. 

Celestia is wavering. 

But he's too late.

Too many died, and too many suffered due to his hand. He can't just turn back time, for he will also revert to the past "him".

Nevertheless, Tempus swore to change the plot, and maybe, just maybe, end this never-ending madness. 

Seeing as to how Morax and Guizhong are fine, Tempus disappears and reappears under a cherry blossom tree.

There was another person he saved, a sister and leader to many. There, two sisters cried in each other’s arms like no tomorrow.

Tempus watches solemnly, and repeats the same disappearing and reappearing, many times.

Tempus shouldn't be at this tea party. 

"Morax. Let's rebuild Liyue."

"Guizhong. They betrayed you." Morax clearly looks like he was withholding his rage. 

"I know." Guizhong acknowledges, but isn't afraid. 

"But even so, I understand their reasons. To protect their land from an unwanted war."

Her kindness knows no bounds. Truly, no one deserves her. 

"Thus Morax, this time, we will rebuild Liyue with the adepti, and we will stand together. As always."

"Guizhong. I...cannot afford to lose you again." She smiles wistfully, and then looks at Tempus. 

"I too am afraid of disappearing, and without Tempus, perhaps I would have perished. It was he who saved me and led me to his realm to heal. For that, thank you." 

Morax too bows in gratitude.

"I apologize that I cannot save everyone." 

"That would be too much to ask from you, Tempus. For you are not an omnipotent, omniscient or omnipresent God." 

For the first time, Tempus feels slightly relieved at someone's words. 

"I'm sure you did your best and already changed so many people’s lives."

Huh. A soft smile blooms on his face and the two seemed surprised. 

Truly, no one deserves her.  

Eventually they leave, and Tempus, sends them off peacefully, wishing them the best.

Then, Liyue is built once again.

This time, they build the foundation and protect the city together.

But again, even the gods cannot go against time.

When Guizhong dies, she dies as she scatters her wisdom all over Liyue, to her people, to her country and to her loved ones.

This time, she dies without regrets.

This time, she dies because Celestia told her it was time.

There was no forewarning, but it looked like she knew. 

She spent the last of her time with Morax and Tempus before she fades and flutters away like dust.

Again, Morax receives a stone dumbbell, challenging him to unlock.

But this time, there was one thing that changed.

"Morax, I hope you can befriend Tempus. He's the oldest of all gods, the one who has drifted the longest among all. Yet, he is perhaps the one that is the loneliest and wisest, or perhaps that is why he acts the way he acts." She says after she gives him her dumbbell.

"If I have one regret, it would be that I have never gained his trust."

"Guizhong, that's impossible-"

"Morax, he has never shown us more than courtesy and kindness. Maybe I am greedy, but I want to become a friend to all." She smiles.

"That is why, I hope you can be his friend in place of I."

"Of course. By your gift, I pledge to fulfill your will." Morax holds her hand as she disintegrates.

"Thank you Morax. I hope only happiness and prosperity follow you."

Like dust, they slip through his fingers and disappear.

Like all of his comrades, friends, and loved ones.

And Tempus could only watch from the distance like a powerless God he is. 

"The loneliest and wisest huh..." 

He could only laugh bitterly.

"Tempus."

"Morax." The god replies with a low hum, "What brings you here?"

"I want to give you my gratitude."

"No need." Tempus does not turn to greet him, but simply continues to write. Morax watches him write with a mysterious utensil, a pen.

Tempus truly is worthy of being called a genius amongst geniuses.

A god who built a country, and protected his realm despite the Archon War, and survived. No wonder he is heavily respected and worshiped by his people.

"Teach me."

The god stops.

"What are you talking about?"

"Teach me how to build Liyue."

"It's already built."

"How to govern as a God." Without Guizhong and his friends, Morax is incapable of running a country. His hands were made to fight and seal monsters, not to care for people. 

"You do not need to govern a country. Barbatos-"

"He's a fool." Morax heard a muffled laugh.

"But his country is still functioning quite well isn't it?" Tempus turns around, his azure eyes meets his golden ones.

"Tempus."

"What will I get in return? God of Contracts?" Tempus smiles before he stands.

"What do you need?"

"Trade." Morax blinks.

"Free trade amongst civilians. No taxes or barriers." Morax doesn't quite understand his terms, but he's willing to learn.

"I accept."

"You don't even know what I said didn't you?" Tempus crosses his arms and shook his head.

"I believe you are a fair person and one who will teach me what I need to know.”

“Just like old times isn’t it?”

This was Morax's first contract, and certainly won't be the last. 

Time passes quickly, and soon, Morax and Barbatos become the two of the original seven left. 

Despite this, Tempus does his job as both a Creator and babysitter job well. 

He ensures Gods fulfill their duty and if they need help, they can seek him out. If Tempus ever saw something worth his time (which is like...every time), he too would interfere, gaining the Archons' favour. 

He realized the power of the butterfly effect. From saving Gods such as Guizhong and Makoto, even with what little power he had during the Archon War to extend their life, it played an immense part in changing the Archons themselves.

Again, too much work, and too little time. 

Even if he slows down time, he could never get enough sleep. 

It's also blatantly obviously the Archons are treating him too well, but he originally thought it made sense with all the effort he put in to change the plot. 

But their affectionate gestures increased after they found of he was the Creator.

Tempus really shouldn't have told Morax this a while back and allowed him to tell the other Archons. Luckily, he prevented them from telling anyone else under the pretense that it was his order. 

Even so, Kai finally feels a little more at ease. He could finally get some sleep. 

Could he really complain about the children (Archons) when they gave him the most premium material to sleep on? 

Or hear a private concert from a certain bard?

Or try out the best food in the jungles?

Or let him sleep under the giant cherry blossoms whenever he wants?

Or take him out to a hot springs in Liyue?

"Kai. How are you feeling?" Zhongli asks from behind him, who is washing his long, long hair. 

"Good...Thanks...Zhongli."

Kai can finally relax a bit and it’s well deserved. Taking care of kids is hard. Much less 7 at once.

At least they’re paying him back with interest.

Zhongli couldn't help but smile proudly when the sleepless God fell asleep in his domain.

He'd be sure to brag about this at their next Archon meeting. 

Not knowing it would be their last.