#[helmet shudders with barely-concealed rage]

[reactionimagesdaily]

[toxictrannyfreak]

Soooo... it’s here! Part 2 of the Sith Obi Wan fic, based off of @oifaaa‘s Sith Obi Wan AU. Turned out longer than I expected, and I’m not completely sure about some of the dialogue, but I’ve kept you guys waiting long enough. Hope you like this shit!

Anakin stalked out of the room, furious. How dare those Sith kill those clones? How dare they attack an undefended, middle-of-nowhere Republic base, just to make sure he couldn’t get back to the field. They hadn’t even had the guts to attack him out there, they’d resorted to sabotage and destruction, killing innocents to get at him. Anakin didn’t care if it wasn’t the Jedi way, he was going to murder those Sith. It didn’t matter how or why, but those Sith were going down. He was pretty sure he heard the Admiral call out to him, probably begging him to stop, to consider what he was doing, but Anakin didn’t care. Those clones had died because of him. Because his ship was going to stock up at that base, and those Sith had known it somehow. His fault. His fault. His fault. His masters had always said that Anakin cared too much, felt too deeply, and that one day it would ruin him, but if Anakin didn’t care about these clones, who would? Not the Senate, who sent them to die without a care. Not the Republic, who saw the clones as expendable and worthless. Not even some of the Jedi, who thought they were nothing more than droids, good only for following orders and saving lives. He knew he needed to calm down. Knew he was being irrational and impulsive, two things that Master Windu had always warned him about. He didn’t care. Those clones were dead because of him, and damn him if those Sith weren’t going to pay. 

He heard footsteps behind him and sped up, certain that it was Admiral Yularen about to try to talk him out of this, to claim that he was insane and insist that he came back right this instant to start planning their assault on the mid-rim seperatist strongholds. Anakin glared at the end of the hallway, pointedly not looking back. He would not be talked out of this. The footsteps approached again, and Anakin hurried, near-running now. The footsteps approached again, and he cursed. He couldn’t avoid the Admiral forever, and it was better to make sure the man got it through his thick skull that he was doing this, and that he had no power to stop him. He turned around, and had already opened his mouth when he realized that Admiral Yularen wasn’t there. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Rex, Echo, Hardcase and Fives were there, all standing behind him in full armor. Anakin closed his mouth then opened it again, then closed it, confused. 

“Uh... um... what are you doing here?” 

Hardcase rolled his eyes. “What, did you think that we were gonna let you have all the fun?” Anakin opened his mouth to protest, but Rex stepped forward, eyes flashing. 

“General, we saw that footage too. Those Sith killed our brothers. If you’re gonna be there, so are we.” Anakin blinked and opened his mouth again, not even sure what he was going to say, when Rex glared at him again. “Don’t even think about it, sir.” Anakin rolled his eyes. “You know, that borders on insubordination, soldier. Let’s go.” 

Five minutes later, Anakin stood in the hangar bay of the Resolute, steadfastly ignoring the Admiral pleading for him to just see sense or at least wait till morning. R2 whistled, and Anakin, still ignoring the Admiral’s furious demands, slipped into the cockpit, nodding at Rex and the boys to do the same. Anakin smirked, watching the Admiral from behind the tinted cockpit shield. He was screaming, having lost all sense of composure. “R2, plug in those coordinates.” The droid gave out a series of exasperated whistles that informed him that this was his worst idea yet, though with lots, lots more expletives. Navigation screens popped up on his display, giving him coordinates for the ruined base and a brief view of the terrain around-quite rocky, but with lots of good trees that could be used for cover. Anakin nodded, and grabbed the controls, hurtling towards the planet, executing a series of flips and spins without ever slowing down He loved the force, loved being a Jedi, but this was when he felt most alive, flying through space, hurtling towards that fast-approaching tree line. He waited for the boys to catch up, while R2 hurled some shockingly foul insults, even for him. Once the slowpokes caught up, Anakin headed for the tree line, his descent much more controlled as he located a clearing and made his way towards it, occasionally checking back to see if the boys were still behind him. Once he finally landed, determining that the clearing was a safe quarter mile away from the ruined base, he popped up the cockpit shield. He swung his legs over the side of the ship, and climbed out, leaving his helmet on the seat for his return. 

The instant his legs touched the ground, he gasped, assaulted by the most powerful dark side energy he’d ever felt, waves of hate and anger and pain nearly knocking him to the ground with their sheer force. He’d never felt anything like it, the fury and betrayal crashing into him like a herd of banthas. He heard Rex calling out to him faintly, but it was nearly impossible to move, the dark side radiating from this place in horrible waves. He’d faced Dooku, a former Jedi Master and second in command of the Sith Order, and even he couldn’t compare to this. What could have happened to make someone this furious, this full of hate and rage? He struggled to his feet, remembering one of the first lessons Master Windu had taught him. He’d been nine, just a few days into his training. “Shielding is one of the most important lessons any force-sensitive can learn,” Master Windu had told him. “You must focus. Imagine the strongest wall you can, protecting your mind, keeping anything you don’t want in out, and sealing all your thoughts in where no one can reach them.” Anakin closed his eyes and forced a wall around his mind, imagining his master there with him, lending him strength as he had that day, all those years ago. The dark side gradually retreated until he could see and move again. He sighed, relieved and took a moment to mask his force presence, but he knew there was no point. A force-sensitive strong enough to do… whatever that was would have sensed him the moment he got out of his cockpit, probably before he’d ever touched the ground. 

“Are… are you okay, sir?” Hardcase asked, unusually quiet and concerned-sounding. 

Anakin forced himself to nod. “The dark side is strong in this place. Let’s move out.” The clones nodded reluctantly, and did as he asked, but Anakin could tell they weren’t pleased. They had fought side-by-side for years now, had saved each other's lives countless times, and they knew when he wasn’t telling them everything. They walked forward, squinting through the dark night, a yellowish moon the only true light in the dark sky. Eventually, they came to a break in the trees and Anakin signaled for the clones to stay there as he stepped forward, into the burnt clearing where the base had been. He gasped, shocked. It was.... awful. Anakin had been in plenty of battles over the course of the war, but he had never stayed on the battlefield afterwards like some of the soldiers did. He stared at the place, horrified. The wreckage was somehow worse from the ground, fires still burning, the horrible smell of charred flesh in the air. Death hung in the air, so terrible and close he could almost feel it. He wanted to barf. From the stench, from the sight, from the thought that someone could do this, that someone force-sensitive, someone who could feel the suffering and death and pain could do this and enjoy it. He blinked and nodded to the boys, letting them know that the coast was clear… so far. 

He concentrated, feeling for any other presences, any glimmers of life. He didn’t have to wait at all. Almost the second he did, he felt two horrible, dark presences, not even bothering to try to conceal themselves. Anakin frowned. They were undoubtedly Sith. He could feel the anger and darkness radiating off of them. So why weren’t they trying to hide themselves? There was no way two force-sensitives that powerful wouldn’t have felt him the instant that he had set foot on the planet without his shields up. It almost felt like they wanted him to find them. Like they wanted him to find him. Like they had wanted him here.  His stomach did a backflip and, for the first time, he began to have second thoughts about running off to a random alien planet in the middle of the night after witnessing the most horrific murder he’d ever seen after two years of brutal warfare. He shook that off. There was no time to be nervous now. He looked behind him, and, seeing that the boys had already fanned out and were looking for survivors, nodded at Rex, and walked forward, blade ignited, throwing strange amethyst light around the quiet clearing. He cleared a wall of rubble and frowned, looking around him. He could feel the Sith here, where were they? He heard a noise, like a twig snapping, but that didn’t make any sense, the boys were pretty far behind him now-he turned sharply, barely able to block two brilliant red blades from crashing down on his head. 

It was the younger sith, the one that had carried two sabers in the recording. She smirked at him through the gaps between their sabers, and smirked back. She was a togruta, pretty young by the looks of her, maybe 15 or 16, far too young to be so full of hate. He felt a stab of pity for her and wondered how she’d ended up here on this dark planet, so ready to kill people she’d never met. He blinked and refocused on the battle. No matter what had happened to take her here, right now, she was the enemy. He couldn’t let himself think anything else. She glared at him, her red-ringed yellow eyes furious and hateful, and he couldn’t suppress a slight shudder. She snorted, flashing long, sharp teeth threateningly and rolled her eyes. 

“You know, I didn’t think you would be stupid enough to come down, but Jedi always surprise me.” Anakin glared back at her, annoyed more at himself than anybody that he’d fallen into a trap so obvious.

 “And I thought Sith were smart enough to know when they’re outmatched. Guess we were both wrong.” Anakin forced his saber up, briefly stunning the girl and breaking the bladelock as he flipped over her head, striking and parrying. She returned with her own attack, which was nearly as fast as his own, though not quite as skillful. Her blades danced, deadly and mesmerizing, throwing bloody light and casting strange, angular shadows around the destroyed base. Anakin jumped back, letting her think she had overwhelmed him. She smirked coming forward with increased speed, her technique never slipping. Impressive. He ducked beneath the deadly arcs of red, briefly wondering at her unique Jar’kai style. Where had she learned that? He shook off the questions and refocused on the duel, blocking her spinning blades and coming up with a swift kick to her chest, stunning her and knocking her back. She growled, attempting to raise one of her blades in defense, but now he had the upper hand and easily disarmed her. He force pushed her back into a pile of rubble, pinning her against it. He picked up her fallen saber, a shoto, and held it to her neck, as a warning not to try anything. It was against the code to kill an unarmed opponent, even a Sith, but he doubted she knew that. Plus, if he could hold her here until Rex and the boys found him, she could make a valuable prisoner. 

“Like I said, outmatched.” Anakin said, still smirking. The Togruta glared at him, her golden eyes flashing. “Not yet, Jedi scum.” He turned just in time to raise the girl’s shoto to block a huge piece of debris that was flying straight at him. He turned, gaping at her. She was clearly more powerful than he had thought. How had she done that? 

“Wrong way, Jedi.” A voice said, furious and cold. Anakin spun around to find the taller Sith standing behind him, a red saber ignited.

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Your Hand - (aka Ahsoka and Anakin/Vader meet up three years post RotS (AU oneshot))

“It is too late.”

Ahsoka shook her head vehemently, refusing to accept the montone delivery of what was doubtless the truth. He sounded nothing like the Anakin she’d known, even as she reached out with the Force, searching for him - sensing only cold; a juxtaposition between the burning hatred and the freezing tendrils of the Dark Side coiling around him like treacherous, lethal serpents, ready to strike and deliver their venom straight into her bloodstream. Ready to watch her writhe, screaming in pain, pleading for mercy. She should be terrified, yet all she felt was numbness. Empty, null, void. 

Palpative, making her throat burn and her eyes water. Refusing to budge, she took a tentative step towards the man she had once called master, the man who had taught her all she knew; all she cared to remember, harkening back to a past too painful to hold on to. Her older brother, her best friend, her anchor to her family.

“It’s not,” she persisted, ragged hands balled into tight fists; her face displaying what she hoped to be a determinate defiance.

He had taught her to fight back, taught her to be stubborn, to be relentless. Perhaps it may be the end of her, but if so, at least she would suffer no more. Besides, dying by his hand would be an honour. Swallowing hard; she locked her eyes onto the beeping red and green lights of his chest box. Monitoring his respiratory system mechanically, sustaining the suit keeping him alive. With his reputation, she should be terrified of him. Still, she felt an odd, eerie calm. No dread, no unease. No jittery nerves, only a solemn serenity. Only understanding, and a foreboding acceptance. Without thinking, she raised her left hand. She tugged with an invisible extension of her graceful fingers, manipulating the Force carrying her unspoken plea his way as a silent whisper; a demand. He flinched, and she knew he received it.

“You do not comprehend the things I have done,” he stated; but despite his resolute, booming profession that came off as more machine than human - enhanced by the vocoder aiding his feeble, scarred vocal cords - Ahsoka sensed his hesitance, his wavering emotions; his conflict.

Frowning, she doubled down on her efforts; scowling as she poured all her good will and intent into what had once been a powerful connection between them. She understood now that Anakin had severed it willingly, perhaps to spare himself from any painful reminders of the past. Perhaps, believing her dead but refusing to obtain concrete proof of his suspicion. Perhaps, he had simply wished to shield her if she were alive; despite all odds. Perhaps, he had known even through the foggy haze of the Dark Side that his fall would destroy her. Ahsoka held onto that thought, however wistful it may be. It reinvigorated her hope.

“I know what you’ve done,” she said; barely realizing she had spoken until he turned to face her.

She could not see his face; the familiar boyish features she knew so well concealed by a skullesque face plate. Jetblack, with large, hollow eye holes covered by semi opaque, red tinted lenses. She met those dead sockets without hesitation; unable to glimpse his pale blue eyes, but feeling them on hers. Unyielding. Were they even blue anymore? She remembered Maul’s eyes, and their sickly, yellowish glow - the bloodshot, crazed stare. If Anakin removed his mask, would he too sport the golden eyes of a predator; out for blood? 

Ahsoka would not relent, she would not give in. He had believed in her when no one else had, and she felt indebted to him - obliged to offer him the same benefit of doubt. Her hand was still hovering mid air; slender fingers outstretched; trembling with the effort as each second of rejection dragged on. She felt the buzzing tingles of his aura, of his Force signature. So different. Maimed, twisted, tormented and warped. Both decimated and accentuated at once. Less powerful than she remembered it, and yet more powerful than she could ever recall it. He was a riddle, a contradiction. Part of him seemed to want to tear her to pieces, the other more inclined to dive into her open embrace.

“Then you understand what I must do,” Anakin stated.

Ahsoka shuddered; sensing his malicious intent, and the blame. His spite, his envy, his hatred; his rage. But there was more. Sorrow, confusion, fear, guilt. A guilt so raw, so heavy, so thorough it made her bones ache; settling like a sodden weight at the pit of her stomach. Churning; gnawing, weary, sullen. 

Nodding, she shut her eyes with a soft sigh. For a moment her fingers trembled, and she considered giving up. Perhaps he was too far gone, perhaps there was no salvation. She shouldn’t offer him forgiveness, it was a selfish wish for a long since forsaken reconciliation. Still, when she once again met his stare; her resolve returned full throttle. She clenched her jaw and held her head high with a stern vigor; sending another compelling plea his way. She noted his shoulders were quivering, and realized he was beginning to buckle under the pressure of her quiet request.

“You don’t have to. You still have a choice.”

Anakin did not reply; the heavy cloth of his black cape, his robes dancing in the soft twilight breeze. Three years ago, he had left to save the Chancellor from General Grievous. Three years ago, she had been sent to liberate Mandalore from Maul’s puppet regime. Three years ago, the Republic had fallen. Three years now felt like a lifetime. 

Ahsoka had thought him dead - suspecting Maul’s cryptic prophecy may carry more weight than she cared to admit. He had sewn the seeds of doubt, and though she’d proclaimed him a liar - that uneasy, bitter feeling had never waned. Now, that she knew every word was true, she wasn’t sure what scared her more - the fact that she was so willing to blindly forgive Anakin for his crimes, or the fact that it mattered little to her at all what he had done. He was her brother, and she would not abandon him. Somewhere deep down, a small voice at the back of her mind nagged that this was her fault. If she had stayed behind, perhaps his undoing could have been prevented. If she had stayed, perhaps she could have done more for him.

“No, not anymore,” he shook his helmeted head; large gloved hands falling slack to his sides but he made no attempt to back away when Ahsoka took another slow, cautious step towards him. 

He smelled of synthetic materials, of bacta fluids, of sanitizers, of durasteel, of ashes and smoke and the cool, piercing winter air. The sound of his breathing was rhythmic; slow, and manufactured, and beyond his control. 

Ahsoka pitied him; and she knew he could sense it. He deserved the punishment he had brought upon himself; they both acknowledged that. Still, she wished to see him freed from his makeshift shackles. She took a deep breath, her now limp hand lingering between them. As soon as it fell, his time was up. She felt the lump grow in her throat, the telltale burning of tears prickling behind her eyes. She would not lose him again, he needed her as she needed him. She felt as if an invisible wall stood erected between them, preventing her from closing the figurative distance. She was already resigning herself to a reality in which she had failed. A reality in which Anakin was truly lost. 

He would never renege, never accept defeat, never admit his guilt. The power, Palpatine, the Empire. The Dark Side. It all had gone to his head. Ahsoka licked her lips, mouth dry, and spoke one last time.

“You always have a choice, but you’ve never made one for yourself. You’ve always allowed everyone around you to make up your mind for you. You’re only here, because of Palpatine’s choices. His lies. But his decisions don’t have to be yours. What does your heart tell you, Anakin?”

At the sound of his long since discarded name; he once more closed his large hands into tight fists - the power of the utterance, of those three syllables, immeasurable. Ahsoka feared she had made a mistake; that she had crossed the final line. That she had banished the remnants of the man she’d known, rather than saving him. Her arm trembled, remembering how Maul had offered her his tutelage with a similar, grand gesture. She, too, had made a choice then. Anakin was beyond her reach, the vicious; sneering jeers of her doubt taunted - and as tears blurred her vision, she almost believed it. 

Then, rough leather covered fingers brushed hers. Feigning off her tears; eyes stinging, Ahsoka stared at the large, gloved hand whose fingertips brushed hers in a shy; wary greeting. Wavering, uncertain, frightened. Unable to quite allow her to fully touch it; even as she turned her hand over, the palm facing downwards. She was offering him the chance to rebuild their relationship, to rebuild what semblance of his past he may. To make himself a new name, a new future, a new identity. Far away from the Emperor, out of sight and mind - free. Liberated from his chains, from his torments. 

Anakin’s shoulders trembled; his steadfast mechanical breathing and the chirping crickets the only noise in the early evening - apart from her stilted, sniffling hiccups. In the end, Ahsoka gasped as he finally grasped her hand tight; making the choice she had prayed but never dared hope for. His grip was firm, and harsh, and awkward - as if he’d forgotten how to be tender or gentle, how to nurture. He clung desperately to her; her own joints winging and protesting from the painful grip. Still, she held on as if her life depended on it. Perhaps it did. 

In the end, it didn’t matter.

Ahsoka felt scalding tears trickle down her smudged, ashen cheeks, but was unable to restrain the wide warm smile that spread across her face - tugging at the corners of her scabbed lips. Relief flooded her soul; and she poured it into Anakin’s end of their Force bond. It came back cautious, weary - but genuine. 

"Thank you," somebody said - be it Anakin, or herself, Ahsoka couldn't tell. Either way, it meant the same thing. It was all the reassurance she needed.

--------------

Just an idea I had, because it’s been nagging at the back of my mind - and I’m a sucker for Ahsoka and Anakin/Vader angst. So, here, at least it has a nicer ending that canon does for the two of them! Hope you enjoy. :3

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979074

[canarhys]

kyr’yc

read on ao3.

kyr'yc [KEER-eesh]: last

(or: rex calls cody one last time. tcw s7 spoilers.)

Rex knows it’s stupid.

The orders always start from the top. It starts from the commanders, works its way down through the captains and sergeants, til the specialists and rookies get their share of the words. The orders hit the commanders first. That’s how it works whenever their superior officers brief the entire GAR on a matter. It was inevitable that a commander would have received the order by now, and it was inevitable that such a commander would have taken care of their orders now. Good soldiers follow orders, Tup had said. It starts from the top, works its way down, till all the soldiers are following the order. They’re good soldiers. Rex knows that by heart.

But he can’t stop himself from pulling out his comlink and accessing the private channel they shared. There’s something tugging at his heart, a dwindling hope that maybe he didn’t get the order, that he had been off yelling at his general’s recklessness or taking care of the shinies up in the medbay of Utapau. He could be safe, could have killed Grievous by now and that was all, relaxing somewhere with homebrewed tea in hand and watching the stars shift above. He had to be fine. Despite the nagging voice in his head, Rex would not give up hope.

He was his brother. He knows he’s stronger than that.

Rex scans the room, making sure he is in total privacy. He and Ahsoka had escaped from the star destroyer a few hours before, running away from the hundreds upon hundreds of troopers bearing Ahsoka’s marks and wielding weapons issued by Rex, blasting at them. Droids. They were emotionless, direct and goalless. Droids. Now Rex was a hut’uun, hiding away in a starship barely big enough to fit a squadron, knowing that his hands were stained with the blood of the brothers he had expressed love for just hours before.

( He couldn’t even afford being surprised when Ahsoka was forced to deflect a blaster shot into Jesse’s chest. He couldn’t. Yet he could feel the blaster wound in his chest, scorching and hollow. )

Once he is sure that he is alone with no trace of Ahsoka outside, he brings up his comlink and taps a few buttons, heart beating faster and faster. More so than when he and Ahsoka had been running from his vode. He knows what he’s doing could compromise them, knows that if he did this it would mean certain death for the both of them, but Rex has grown used to not following orders. It’s what General Skywalker would have wanted for him. He was always a wily one like that.

The comlink comes to life. He places it on a nearby table and maximizes the image, and steps back to allow the figure on the other side to manifest. When he does, Rex sobs. His body is frozen when he looks at his ori’vod — ivory armor of plastoid dirtied to the point of brown, the knicks and dents in his shin and calf plates from the utilization of his own legs during combat, the large blaster rifle that hung comfortably from his belt that the older always joked to be his storage supply for di’kutla jetiise. The sunset painted on his belly, the antenna that jutted from his shoulder guard proud and lean, the visor that jutted from above his peepers that shielded the rays of the sun and made for a good bludgeoning tool ( to the commander, at least ). Even with the helmet, Rex recognizes him immediately, and he shoves down the tears that already begin to gather in his tear ducts. He takes in a shuddering breath and keeps himself composed. Even while wearing the armor that he had taken from one of the troopers before him and Ahsoka left to hide his identity, it seemed as if the older had already scrutinized him.

“This is Commander Cody,” the voice of the figure in the holo says with nearly the same bluntness that Rex often attributed to him, no-nonsense and grounded that could even the strongest of Jedi Masters shift on the balls of their feet. “Who is contacting me?”

Rex searches for a name to say, taking far too long in finding an answer that he’s sure Cody would have already gauged him out if he weren’t with an inhibitor chip. “Uh, Clone Trooper Sunbeam, sir.”

“Sunbeam?” Cody repeats, his voice even harsher now. The same scrutinizing tone that he held whenever he snuffed out a lie that Rex tried his best to conceal. “What’s your designation, trooper?”

That had been the red flag, because Rex knew damn well that Cody would never ask for a trooper’s designation. He was far too independent, far too stubborn and caring to ever ask for the meaningless string of numbers. People who called him or any trooper nearby their designation received a fierce strike from the commander. Cody practically dies every time a rookie answers his question of their name with their designation. “They have names, Rex,” Cody grunted as he fixed up his tea once, his rage concealed beneath a neutral and grumbling exterior. “Not numbers, names.”

Rex takes a few moments to answer. Too stunned to speak. That couldn’t mean anything, that couldn’t.

“Well?” Cody questions him.

“CT-6775,” Rex answers after a few moments. He’d cringe at himself, but right now the fear that he’s already lost his best friend is much stronger than his bad lying.

The commander, however, seems to believe him — the second red flag, because Cody’s skepticism and stubbornness was in abundance — and he nods to him in thought. “Alright, Sun. You are a part of the 332nd Company of the 501st Legion, I presume? Were you successful?”

Rex forgets to breathe. “Su… successful in what, Commander?”

“Order 66 — protocol for the instance when the Jedi are traitors to the Republic and must be executed upon the command of Lord Sidious. Ahsoka Tano was with you, I am correct? Were you successful in her execution?”

Rex’s heart falls. The realization — the realization that all of this was real, that everyone really was gone — sets in him like a cloak of shadow. Suddenly, he’s numb, so numb that it burns and freezes him simultaneously, so numb that he already feels his strength sap away instantaneously. The tears fall, cascade beneath his helmet that unlike him was so young, so clean and undirtied unlike his former armor or his own soul. The tears drip down his face the same way they had done when he was fighting back the chips and delve between the blacks wrapped around his neck because he’s lost him. He’s lost.

“… Yes, Commander,” he answers in a monotone. “Ahsoka Tano has been captured and killed. Darth Maul has also been apprehended and executed.”

“Good,” Commander Cody mutters with a nod. He does not even seem phased. Not aggrieved by the death of the former Padawan who he had shown so much love for, who he had let rest her little montrals on his lap after the Second Battle of Geonosis, who he had yelled at the generals for when she was banished from the Jedi Order. He does not even seem exuberant about the death of Darth Maul, who had caused his general pain beyond imagine, who had killed so many innocents and has eluded their capture innumerous times. “So, why are you calling me?”

Rex doesn’t even bother trying to find an answer to his question. His heart has been torn into two. This… this wasn’t Cody. Cody teases him endlessly, Cody doesn’t take excuses, Cody doesn’t pass from one topic to the next unless it concerns himself. Cody’s not what this husk is — emotionless, brief, and still. Rex wishes he were Force-sensitive just to know that Cody is still screaming in there, still kicking inside and forcing his way through the embrace of the chip. But he isn’t. And now he has to deal with the knowledge that he will never know.

“Just… uh… wanted to brief you on our progress, sir,” Rex answers when he collects a little of himself. “I’ll leave now, I’ve bothered you enough.”

“Alright then,” Cody answers bluntly. Then there’s a pause as Rex goes to reach for the comlink on the desk, then Cody holds his hand out to stop him. It’s so close to Rex’s own. “Wait.”

Rex pauses. “Yes, sir?”

Cody doesn’t speak. It’s like he’s frozen in time, but the comlink had too much of a strong connection to stutter in its hologram. Cody doesn’t move. Though his face is obscured beneath the helmet, Rex had a feeling there was something happening under there. Something bad. Then Cody gathers himself and stands to an upright position.

“Where is your commander?” Cody asks. “Commander Rex?”

Rex stares at him for some time. The way that Cody had phrased that question… it didn’t sound like the chip was talking. It sounded like something else entirely. Rex battles with himself. He could reveal himself, compromise his and Ahsoka’s safety, show his face to show the commander that he was still alive and somewhere out in hyperspace. He could gain the satisfaction of his brother, seeing him face-to-face, letting him know he would be alright whilst practically committing suicide. And Rex almost believes it to be worth it. He wants to know that Cody still cares for him, that even though his ori’vod may have already shot down General Kenobi that he wouldn’t try to shoot Rex point-blank. 

But he can’t. He can’t. He isn’t strong enough. He’s a hut’uun.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Rex tells him. He wills his voice not to shatter. “He died during the skirmish. Tano got the better of him.”

For a few moments, the room is drenched in silence. Neither Cody nor Rex moved, eyes trained with one another though shielded by black visors glinting in the light. Then Rex sees something, something liquid fall from beneath the rim of Cody’s helmet. Soaks beneath his blacks or over his chestplate, falls down as his throat bobs with a silent sob. Tears. Cody… Cody was crying. 

He’s still in there. He’s still in there.

Then, Cody’s voice speaks out. Still monotone. “Thank you, Sunbeam. You may disconnect now.”

Rex nods. He reaches over and shuts off the communicator. Cody’s form dissipates. Rex is alone again.

For a few moments, Rex stands there like a ghost, lost in a ship that he does not remember the name of, trapped with a young girl who he can barely look in the eyes. Grieving the death of his best friend. He doesn’t know what to do.

Silently, he walks over to the comlink. Take it up in his hands, mulling over the metal of the piece of metal. A few minutes later it’s tossed from the ship to the streaks of hyperspace and destroyed upon impact.

Rex returns to the room. Locks the door. Slumps down on the durasteel. Shatters.

[postedbygaslight]

The Pull to the Light

[This is a one-off fanfic that would take place somewhere near the climax of Episode IX; I’m almost 100% sure it wouldn’t go down like this, but it came to me this morning, and I had to write it. Enjoy.]

Rey had seen this moment many times in dreams, but never what followed. The corridor was lined on each side with floor-to-ceiling windows, a long viewing platform that afforded a vantage of the battle raging outside. Short percussive bursts thudded through the ship, and the glittering dark of space flashed green and red and blue with cannon and blaster fire.

But none of that was important now. Across from her stood Kylo Ren in full battle armor, the colors of the dogfight glinting dully on the matte black surface of his mask, flashing in strips across the silver filigree that adorned it. Her hand dropped to the hilt of her lightsaber, but she didn’t draw the weapon. She instead did as she had practiced, and reached out, feeling the tides of the Living Force as it swirled and eddied around them.

His presence disturbed the Force like a wound, and she could feel his anger, his pain, as acutely as if it were her own. In a way, it was her own; the Bond crackled in the air around her, drawing her to him as iron drawn to a magnet. Just as it had the last time the Force had joined them from afar, she could sense the conflict roiling within him, a conflict she knew well: about the Light and the Darkness, yes, but also about her. She had often turned to the Force to reassure her that the future she had seen on Ahch-To was still possible, that Ben Solo was still alive. Whatever the Force wanted her to see now, that future was smoky and occluded, and she could only sense its faintest shape.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance.” His voice, distorted by the mask, was cold and alien.

“Take off the mask, Ben,” she said softly.

There was a tension in the silence that followed, as though the cabin had suddenly pressurized. Space seemed to bend, tilting them toward each other, the deafening pulse of an unfathomable void collapsing the distance that separated them. Slowly, deliberately, as though he was fighting against an unseen enemy, his gloved hands reached up to either side of the mask. A hiss escaped the mechanism as the breathing unit retracted, and he lifted the mask and helmet off his head.

His eyes were more sunken than before, his scar a purple-red against his pale skin. His hair was lank and stringy. But, despite the seething rage that burned behind them, his eyes were soft and dark as they met hers. She felt a warmth spread through her, waves of it penetrating the icy chill of the corridor, and something else, something familiar yet foreign, like the echo of a half-remembered dream.

“You’re going to say it’s not too late. You’re going to say I don’t have to do this. But you’re wrong. You chose wrong.” His unblinking gaze bored into her. She suddenly felt as though she was hanging from a high ledge, and her grip was giving way.

“You have a choice, too. And you haven’t made it yet.” Try as she could, she wasn’t able to conceal the tide of emotion swelling within her. Unlike so many times before, she felt herself swept along a current, and she wasn’t able to fight it off.

Kylo shuddered as if he’d been struck. It wasn’t her words, but her feelings, so raw and sharp, that shook him now. Loneliness, despair, and hope— so much hope. His hand dropped to his saber hilt. He unclipped it, and clenched it tightly in his fist.

“It’s time for us to end this. To both become what we were meant to be,” he said with an unsettling softness.

Rey stifled a sob and forced herself to breathe. She unclipped her saber hilt and held it loosely, its heft somehow heavier than before. The Force was clouded and riven, violently heaving around them. She could hear broken voices, far away whispers, pasts never lived, futures never dreamed.

She looked at her saber, thought of the time and care she’d taken to build it, how she’d spent hours meditating with the kyber crystal, seeking to know its secrets, to feel the soul of its first owner. What she’d found was triumph and torture, heroism and atrocity. She felt it now, the crystal, its essence rippling through the Force, calling her, as it had when she first found Luke’s lightsaber in Maz’s storeroom.

Rey met Kylo’s eyes again.

“I won’t fight you, Ben.” She fought her instincts and impulses, the hideous danger that permeated the whole of the corridor, and tossed the saber aside. It clattered to the floor and spun in place before coming to rest by the window ledge.

Kylo’s fist tightened even harder around his saber hilt.

“Stop. Calling. Me. That. Name.” He gnashed each word through his teeth, his dark red lips curled into a tortured snarl.

Rey looked at him, hunched and bristled like a cornered animal, and tried to calm her racing heart. Trust in the Force, she thought. At that moment, the Bond was so strong that she was actively fighting against it. Trust in the Force. She cleared her thoughts and reached out with her feelings and took a step toward him. Toward Kylo Ren.

He felt it, too, and strained against it. His body tensed like a length of steel cabling. She took one step, and then another, and then another, and with each step closer, his skin prickled with warm bloodrushes, pulling, surging, overwhelming the senses.

It was like she’d been floating, moving toward him without volition, and then, suddenly, she was there within arm’s reach, closer to him than she’d been since he extended his hand to her in Snoke’s throne room. Heartbeats pounded in her ears and her face flushed. With each move she made toward him, she felt as though she was approaching an oppressive heat, like the hellish pulse of a breached reactor core. He stood as he had been since they’d entered the room, the saber clenched in his trembling fist. He still hadn’t ignited the blade.

His face was a mask of confused anguish, and he shook with each labored breath. She took one last step forward, and she was only inches from him. The Force whipped and swirled around them, waves and waves, fierce and electric. She focused on breathing, even though each gulp of air caught in her throat.

Trust in the Force.

The sounds of battle drifted away to the edges of perception. The flash of cannon fire blended into one barely perceptible flicker. She moved her hand toward his clenched fist, never breaking her gaze, never leaving his eyes. Rage and fear shuddered through him, a low bubbling set to boil over.

She touched his gloved fist, and felt him, but also felt herself feeling him. The strange dual sensation came with a jolt of energy, white hot and alarming, but she kept her composure, and trusted her feelings. She closed her fingers gently around his wrist, and guided his hand, still clutching the saber hilt, up to her chin. She slid her hand to the saber and pushed the beam emitter against the soft flesh of her neck. Tears were now flowing freely down her cheeks as she let her arm fall limply to her side.

Time stood still. Rey could feel the conflict in him, the shadow of a caged beast straining against its fetters. His thoughts were closed. He was wrapped in a miasma, darkness upon darkness. His pale skin was flushed pink and his lips trembled. Rey could feel the coiled heat of the beam emitter, and farther in, the kyber itself; it thrummed with pain so red and raw it sounded like a shriek in her thoughts.

She began to hear the voice, and whether it was Kylo’s thoughts or something darker Rey didn’t know. It began as hushed breaths. Kill. She didn’t waver. She kept her eyes locked with his. Kill. It was more insistent now, pushing, seductive and sickening. Kill. She could feel him tensing, the saber pushing harder into her neck. Kill. Kill. KILL. KILL. KILL.

The silence broke, and the voice became a hissing gasp. His lips parted, and he spoke in little more than a whisper.

“I know what I have to do.”

Rey took in a sharp breath. Kylo turned the saber hilt, the emitter still against her neck, his thumb on the ignition switch. In one swift movement, he pulled back the saber hilt and shoved it up under his own chin.

And ignited the blade.

It all happened so fast. There was a sucking sound as the voice dissipated and vanished. The Force heaved and surged before suddenly holding in place, frozen, the air alive with vibration, caught in a place neither Dark nor Light.

If not for the Force, she could never have moved fast enough. As it was, Kylo’s lightsaber blade crackled and sparked mere inches from their faces, the cross guard formed by the exhaust ports bathing them both with an unbroken rush of heat. His eyes were wreathed by tears, which now streamed down his face, long wet streaks glinting red.

“Let go, Ben,” she breathed. Her hand was still holding onto the saber hilt along with his. His breathing was heavy and ragged. “Let go.”

And in an instant, like the breaking of a dam, a cool rush washed over them. Rey felt the Light break through the Darkness in an awesome torrent, and an emptiness in her was suddenly filled. The lightsaber blade retracted and his hand slacked. The hilt fell to the floor. Racked with broken sobs, Ben Solo sank to his knees.

Rey knelt with him, her hands on either side of his face, her fingers in his long, dark hair. Her thumb lightly traced the scar on his cheek. She pressed her forehead against his, and looked into his weary, upturned eyes, and whispered:

“It’s just us now.”

[imaginedilestrade]

Unitum. (8/12)

Unitum- (Latin) United- adjective; joined together politically, for a common purpose, or by common feelings.

Summary: Two kingdoms wage war against another. You are on one side while Greg stands with another…

Warnings: mentions of fighting and blood.

A/N: SORRY NOT SORRY ABOUT THAT TWIST LAST WEEK! 😱😅 As always, I’d love to know what you guys think 😊 Have a great weekend! ❤️

Missed the last part? Catch up here

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Chapter 8

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Your world suddenly stopped.

The snow was suspended in the air and the battling men around you slowed. Your chest felt as if it was concaving in on itself, your head whizzing and whirling with confusion and disbelief.

While in your trance, Greg managed to overthrow you and now he was on top of you, his sword shining and coated in blood and ready to kill you. You snapped back into reality and let go of your sword before quickly removing your helmet before Greg could stab you with his sword. “G-Greg!” You gasped as you removed your helmet.

Greg’s eyes changed, once dark with rage and fury, they grew wide with shock. Both your chests were heaving, you didn’t know what to do.

You were almost thankful hearing horns in the distance. Greg quickly got off of you and you both stood away from each other. In the distance, emerging from the mist and snow, another army. The grey knights.

You turned and saw everyone frozen in place, even though the grey knights were a small army, they could have easily slaughtered all of you.

“Fall back,” you whispered. Your eyes flickered up to Greg who’s hair was getting damp from the melted snow. “Fall back!” You screamed to your men and walked backwards away from Greg.

Greg turned towards his men “Back to the kingdom!” He bellowed and they obeyed his orders.

Your eyes were locked in Greg’s the entire time you walked backwards towards your men. You felt betrayed, then again, that would be hypocritical of you to feel like that. You had kept your heritage from him as much as he kept his from you.

“Captain?” Sebastian’s voice broke you from your thoughts.

“A single army cannot fight against the grey knights. We head back, we have to.” You explained before whistling your horse. Gallops travelled towards you and you swiftly got into your horse. You glanced up to Greg for a final time before turning around and heading back to Jim’s kingdom.

—

“Y/N!” Jim uttered your name out for a third time.

You blinked out of your trance and looked up to your brother “Yes my lord?” Your monotonic voice made him raise a brow.

“What is the matter?” He asked and reached for your hand.

“I failed you, I’ve failed this kingdom…” you whispered as tears pricked your eyes. Jim let out a hearty laugh and waved away your comments. You narrowed your eyes at his outburst “Why are you laughing? It’s true!”

“Y/N,” Jim cooed your name and soothingly rubbed your knuckles “You may have had to lose the battle, but you will win the war.”

You froze and gulped “A-Are you declaring war?” You choked out. Jim simply shrugged. Letting out a huff of air, you pulled your hand away from his and stood up “Please excuse me my King, it has been a very long day and I wish to retire to my chambers.”

“Of course,” you didn’t even wait for Jim’s permission as you began to stride out of the dining room, Molly was hot on your heels.

“Ma'am!” She called and ran after you “Ma'am what is the matter?” You stormed into your room and Molly shut the door behind you. Your body hunched over a table and you let it a sob. One hand continued to support you while you pressed the other to your mouth to conceal your cries. Molly placed her hand on your back “Do not worry about having to turn back, my lady it was-”

You cut her off “It’s not about the battle Molly!” You unintentionally snapped “Greg! It’s about Greg!” You sobbed again from the mention of his name.

“But you’ll get to see him again,” she tried to reassure you, completely oblivious to everything.

“No Molly!” You wiped away your boiling tears “He’s the captain of king Sherlocks army…” you groggily admitted.

Molly’s face paled and she gasped “Oh god…I am so sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am…” you looked down at the book that was on the table and pried it open. You stopped when you found a pressed honeysuckle flower.

“What will you do now?” Molly curiously asked.

“There’s only one thing I can do,” you took the delicate flower between your fingers and tear fell from your eye “I have to kill him.”

—

You gripped onto your sword so tight that your nicked were becoming numb. Snow crunched under your feet, it had lay during the night in a thick blanket. The bare trees were dusted with a sprinkling of snow and the world around you was white with specks of brown from where the trees bark was exposed. It was silent.

You stood in the spot where you would often meet Greg and waited, you weren’t even sure he was going to turn up. The look you had seen on his face sent a chill down your spine. Your whole body tensed when you saw a sword hovering by your throat, letting out a defeated sigh you loosened your grip on yours and slowly turned.

“You lied to me.”

“You also lied to me,” you tried your best not to snap.

“I didn’t think a maiden of your disposition should be hunting…then again you are full of surprises, Princess Y/N.” Greg moved his sword to your neck and you felt the coolness of the metal spread over your skin.

“A crown does not define what I can and cannot do! I am not only a princess but I am also captain of the Kings guard!” This time you did snap and quickly regretted it when Greg forcefully pressed his sword against your throat. You let out a hoarse groan and nimbly undid your belt that held your weapons and let it fall to the ground. “Do it,” you taunted with gritted teeth “Let your hand be incisive and get it over with!”

Greg raised a brow at the weapons by your feet “Why did you do that?”

You lightly shook your head and let out a dry laugh “I didn’t fight you in battle! What makes you think I’d fight you here?!” Greg knew you had a point, you had the opportunity to kill him yesterday but you didn’t. “I have fought in enough wars,” you quietly spoke and connected your eyes with Greg’s “I am not going to start waging a war with you too…”

Greg repositioned himself slightly and you closed your eyes. “Your death would break your brother,” Greg’s voice trembled “Break him enough to make him give up and practically hand over his kingdom to my king…”

You deeply breathed out of your nose “That is an insightful prophesy,” you whispered and braced yourself for the blade.

A beat passed “It would break me too.”

You opened your eyes when you heard Greg put away his sword “What are you doing?!” He turned his back and began to trudge away from you. You grabbed your belt with your weapons and tied it around your waist as you rushed after him and grabbed his arm when you were close enough, swiftly turning Greg around “Why are you walking away? My life was yours to take!”

“Because I am just as sick and tired as you with all this fighting!” Greg snapped and the stillness around the both of you became disturbed as bits of stagnate snow fell from the trees. “I don’t want to fight you and I don’t want to kill you!” He exasperatingly smiled, slapping his hands against his thighs before beginning to walk away again.

You stormed after him and and forcefully held his wrist. You pulled up your sleeves and showed him your veins “My blood is blue!” You screamed before removing a small dagger and drawing it across the heel pad of your palm, making a small cut. “I bleed blue blood!” You began to steady your breathing and calm down “I am your enemy.”

Greg escaped your grasp and snatched the dagger from you. He glared into your eyes as he performed the same action, red blood spilled from his hand. He grabbed onto your wounded hand and intertwined his fingers with your own, turning the thick, hot liquid between both your palms a purple colour. “We can decide who our enemies are,” your gaze fell to your feet but Greg swiftly placed a finger under your chin, your eyes met with his as your noses gently brushed together “We cannot decide who we love.”

He gently continued to brush his nose against yours “My king and brother would have your head if he knew I was with you…”

Greg smirked “My king and friend would have yours…”

You let out a shudder of a breath and briefly looked away, you hand was still bleeding. You let go of Greg’s hand and crouched down to pick up a handful of snow and place it on your wound. “Give me your hand,” you looked up to Greg who seemed baffled. Your lips twitched in amusement “The snow will melt and clean your, very unnecessary, cut.”

Greg crouched down and held out his hand, you picked up another handful of snow and placed it over the oozing wound. “I was trying to prove a point.”

You raised an eyebrow at him before ripping some material from your underskirt. The faint hissing noise of ripping fabric filled the forest around you. You wrapped Greg’s hand up before trying to tend your own, Greg saw you struggling and gently held your hand. Your eyes connected with his and you silently passed over the material to him. You watched as he, with a gentle touch, covered your cut.

“Thank you…” you whispered. He softly smiled as he held your fingers, gently playing with them with his own.

“Anything for a fair maiden,” he brought the back of your hand to his lips “And princess.”

You let out a sigh and stood up at the same time as him “So this is it? We walk our separate ways and never speak of this again?” Greg shrugged and you took that as your answer. “Very well,” you nodded and swallowed the lump that was forming in your throat “Farewell captain,” you bowed your head and Greg bowed his.

“Farewell fellow captain,” you looked behind your shoulder and sadly smiled before walking on.

You froze hearing Greg running from behind you. He scooped you up in his arms and spun you around before passionately crashing his mouth against yours. You let it a surprised muffled moan before melting into the kiss, your hand gently held onto his freezing cheeks.

“Tomorrow?” He asked before kissing you again.

You pulled back and rested your forehead against his “Yes, tomorrow.”

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