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hunt-me-sergeant · 1 year

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What the heck did actually happen to Crosshair's chip?

The theory isn't probably revolutionary, and my explanation is a mess, but it's almost 4am, so forgive me.

He definitely did not act like the regs.

It was confirmed that his chip did activate when Order 66 began. It was unexpected, tho. Even Nala Se was surprised it worked. His mutations altered much of his cranial activity, but it still worked.

Clone force 99 was expected to be immune to the programming. Yet we see it worked for Crosshair and Wrecker. We will never know if the chip would activate for the rest of the batch, fortunately.

It's safe to say that they were not immune, but their mutations definitely made the chip malfunction.

With Wrecker, it was probably a delayed reaction. And I believe it would activate later if not for him notoriously hitting his head.

I guess Hunter and Tech's chips would also have a different malfunction.

We could say, "Well, Crosshair had no malfunction. It worked as it was supposed to, right on time?"

Did it tho?

Let's compare Crosshair and Wrecker then.

Both are clones with mutations. However, Wrecker, although responding to Order 66 much later, he acted exactly like regs. They dropped everything they were doing and immediately began killing the Jedi and traitors. Wrecker reacted the same. Immediate reaction.

So let's recall Crosshair's reaction to Order 66 back on Kaller. Despite his chip being activated on time, his reaction was absolutely different.

He did not drop everything he was doing and ran to kill General Billaba and Caleb. He, along with the batch, ran to launch a counterattack on approaching droid battalion. They only stopped running, all confused, once they heard blaster and screams. When they approached Caleb, he never raised his weapon.

None of them knew what Order 66 was. When Wrecker asked what it meant, Crosshair didn't answer. If he knew, he would definitely enlighten them. Also, when Tech told them the meaning behind the order, he said,

"That would explain things."

Which confirmed that he indeed didn't know what the order was about.

But then, why did he try to kill Caleb later?

I'll get to it soon.

Let's go further with Crosshair behavior.

Hunter finally admitted he didn't kill Caleb cause he didn't feel like killing their commander was right. Also, we have Echo being openly angry at regs for killing the general.

Their behavior would be seen as treason and violation of Order 66. Knowing what regs and Wrecker did, Crosshair should have stood up and killed the batchers right there on the spot. He did nothing except getting mad at them for disobeying orders.

Now, the disobedience he kept talking about. I think that's the key to Crosshair's behavior.

We have these four very important scenes.

Lama Su : "[Clone force 99] could be an asset to your new Empire."

Tarkin : "Yet reports indicate they exhibit a concerning level of disobedience and disregard for orders."

Crosshair : "An order is an order."

Hunter : "Since when?"

Hunter : "What's wrong with you?"

Crosshair : "I'm following orders."

Hunter : "Exactly."

Crosshair : "He made us disobey orders."

Tech : "I never thought you disobeying orders was a problem."

Crosshair, along with the rest of the batch, was disobeying orders all the time to the point that the reports were concerning. And suddenly, we got Crosshair as a walking example of a soldier who follows orders.

The famous phrase that every clone, a reg or defective one said

"Good soldiers follow orders."

Now, to program something, you need a formula. I believe the formula to program the chip sounded something like that : "Good soldiers follow orders. Eliminate all the Jedi and their supporters, as they committed treason and are a threat to the Republic."

Crosshair kept repeating the phrase, yet he didn't know what the Order 66 was?

Because his malfunction was partial activation.

The chip activated only the first part on the formula, which made him obey orders - all orders in general.

That would explain why he didn't know what Order 66 was. He, however, knew there was an order, and he needed to follow it. He saw other troopers killing the General and Caleb being afraid. And let's be honest, Crosshair is very sharp. It wasn't hard for him to link the dots.

In conclusion, the failed functioning of the chip made Crosshair respond partially to Order 66. He didn't kill Caleb right away because he didn't know he was supposed to. Only later did he follow other troopers' steps. He didn't see troopers killing traitors cause, well, he didn't see them do it. Therefore, he only argued with the batchers. As I said, he only responded to the "Good soldiers follow orders" part and this is the only thing he cared about.

Now. The writers said, and I quote, "I think we can say he had his chip removed."

We heard him saying he had his chip removed a long time ago. We saw the scar. However, it wasn't a cut, it looked like a burn. As if it was forcibly removed, or... unprofessionally 👀 He heard about the chip from Hunter and Omega, we couldn't see his face, but it was visible he was taken aback by the news. I think he was angry hearing about the chip, cause it was either the Empire or The Batch lying to him. In anger, he ordered to aim for Omega. After all, he was a soldier of the Empire.

But then he found out Omega wasn't lying. He wanted to remove the chip on his own. Therefore, his head looks like it looks. It's a burn. Did he use some lasers? We won't probably know. Let's not forget, Crosshair had his chip augmented. And we can see he had it enhanced many times. I think he had his chip destroyed, deactivated or damaged. He still seems to suffer from headaches.

The next time we see him, we can see the scar, and we can see a change in his behavior.

He has never reported about Omega's existence. His own squad reported his changed behavior to Rampart. He suddenly began talking about the batchers' loyalty to him.

And here comes the main point that for me confirmed the chip deactivation or whatever he did to it.

Hunter : "You tried to kill us. We didn't have a choice."

Crosshair : "And I did?"

He didn't want to kill them but he didn't have a choice.

I think he was even more angry at the batchers. Cause he realized they knew and never tried to get him back.

"You betrayed everything we stood for. And for what? Republic?"

"We're loyal to each other, not some Empire."

"You weren't loyal to me. I was one of you. You may have forgotten but I haven't. And it's why I'm going to give you what you never gave me. A chance."

And it was exactly how Crosshair said it was. He was what he thought he was. He strongly believed he was made for only one purpose, to be a soldier. No matter the leadership, no matter the orders. The "chip Crosshair" and the real Crosshair didn't differ much. The only difference was that he didn't want to kill his brothers and Omega. He wanted them to join him and have Omega have a different life without being in constant danger.

He wouldn't change unless something or someone made him realize he had different options, and he was seen as disposable by the new leaders. The snituation with Cody began this process. Commander Cody was a walking perfection for Crosshair. It was clear to see. The only reg that had Crosshair's respect and admiration. Hearing about the perfect soldier going AWOL after saying clones are not droids and have a choice definitely broke something in him.

Everything that happened with Mayday only confirmed his doubts. He was not seen as a soldier, he didn't matter. He wasn't superior to the regs. He was treated exactly like them. Like trash. Killing Nolan was the moment of him admitting his decision to stay with the Empire was wrong.

We see he gave up completely. He doesn't care what happens to him. He was entirely consumed by darkness and remorse.

Until he hears the Empire is after his brothers and his little sister. He put all the strength he had left to warn them.

Crosshair is a victim. And he deserves forgiveness and a second chance. Don't yall dare to hate on my husband and call him names, just cause you don't understand what he went through 😤😤

#the bad batch #tbb crosshair #crosshair #tbb theories #clone force 99 #tbb echo #tbb hunter #tbb omega #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #the bad batch theory #clone wars #star wars

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depizan · 2 years

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7, 8, and 14 for Kyrian?

7. What song reminds you of this oc? Does this match up with the type of music your oc likes to listen to?

Okay, this is kind of weird and backwards (or entirely appropriate, depending on how you look at it), but the songs that make me think of Kyrian are those that are...

actual (fictional) spy songs, like Secret Agent Man

or about the (fictional) spying life, like You Know My Name

or sound like they could be about the spying life, like Everybody Wants You

or have been forever associated with the Agent story by Tumblr, like You're Gonna Go Far, Kid

Even though they all apply far more to who he should have been (at least from Intelligence's point of view), or tried to be (for certain, very generous values of "tried"), than who he actually is. Though the leading a dangerous life that will fuck you over part still applies...

(I am not actually sure what a good song for Kyrian, as he actually is, at his best would be. I'll have to ponder that.)

And, yes, since Kyrian likes spy fiction even though (or because?) it's not realistic, he would enjoy these. His inner 12 year old and my inner 12 year old would get along fabulously. (Outside of movie/holothriller related music, I think he'd go for cheerful, upbeat music, and possibly ballads - as long as the story being told was a happy one.)

8. What’s it like inside your oc’s mind? (Literally, or metaphorically.)

That depends on when we’re talking about.

When he was a kid/teen (before Imperial Intelligence, basically), it was full of daydreams and adventurous fantasies of seeing the galaxy and saving the day. Not all of the time, of course – he had schoolwork and friends and other things to concentrate on, but there was a more than decent amount of mental space taken up with fantasies of being the Empire’s equivalent to James Bond or Indiana Jones. He never stopped to consider whether the real thing bore any resemblance to his adolescent fantasies. And, while it wasn’t a perfectly well-ordered mind, it was certainly more clear minded and keenly focused – if on a fantastical goal – than later in life. (When, unfortunately, he had attained his fantastical goal.)

Intelligence training taught him to have a much more complicated mind. Must keep up the façade of good little agent trainee, must stuff all screaming doubts about whether he was remotely suited to being an agent in a little box in the back of his mind and keep it nailed firmly shut, must think of creative ways to accomplish what he had to accomplish (bonus points for doing nothing horrible and nothing that got him in trouble.) A more sensible young man would probably have said: “I have made a terrible mistake, please transfer me to analyst training.”

As a field agent, all of that applied, plus an exciting metaphorical roller-coaster consisting of flying high on successfully doing things his way followed by moments of absolute soul freezing terror of what would happen should HQ ever find out about some of his more…treasonous questionable!…moments. Which is not to say that his confidence was a fraud, just that there was a screaming box of doubts he was determinedly ignoring, and the occasional gruesome nightmare. So much for a clear, keenly focused mind.

Now it’s a metaphorical tangle (Mirkwood, perhaps). The doubts have escaped their box, he has no idea how he fits into Jezari’s crew (or career(s)), he’s terrified of the Empire and everyone in it, and yet, despite all of the staticky terror and thorns and darkness (and a whole new host of nightmares), he still really wants to see the galaxy and help people.

He’s working on it.

14. If your oc spent one day free from any consequences or recognition for their actions, how would they act?

I’m not sure it would matter. It hasn’t really been consequences or recognition (or the avoidance of either) that has driven him, or, conversely, kept him from doing things. I mean, yes, a time or two not dying has driven his actions, but even then, we’re talking either a fight to the death – in which case, his having had temporary immortality would simply have meant that his opponent would have lived – or a situation in which he had no power anyway, so the lack of consequences would have to also impart the ability to do something, not just survive objecting to some Imperial/Sith horror. And it would also have to protect other people from any consequences. It does no good to save people from one horror, only for them to pay the price for having survived it the next day.

Offer him one day of functional omnipotence and he’d try to figure out how to create and ensure galactic peace and happiness, but offer him one day free of consequences and he’d just look at you in confusion.

(I realize that the question may intend to grant invisibility, invulnerability, and the ability to teleport to all the people that the galaxy would be better off without, but a rampage of stealthy murder is just not what comes to Kyrian’s mind when trying to answer the question of “how to help people.” And the kinds of things that do come to his mind aren’t really the sort where “free of consequences or recognition” feels like a helpful power.)

(Other than maybe Novani, I suspect my other characters would all be down for a little righteous invisible murdering to make the galaxy a better place.)

#Kyrian Nessar #character ask meme #pyr0clast #long post

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gffa · 3 years

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I’m reading the Rogue One visual guide again and “the fearsome wraithlike presence that haunts the upper tiers of Imperial military hierarchy” is THE funniest way to describe Darth Vader’s presence. Because I’m just imagining Darth Vader checking off pretty much every stereotypical Signs Your Imperial Star Destroyer Is Haunted. COLD SPOTS: Darth Vader roaming the hallways with his cape billowing behind and, because of how the Force works, everyone just gets this sudden SHIVER OF COLD and they turn around and OH FUCK THERE HE IS AGAIN. Just like LOOMING there. Not saying anything. Not doing anything. Just staring at you. Or maybe just behind you. You can’t tell. All you can feel is the cold prickle in your very soul and like if you stare too hard at him, he’ll pull your very soul out of your body. EMF READINGS: Darth Vader getting so mad about someone breathing wrong (because fuck you if you can breathe normally, ARE YOU MAKING FUN OF HIM) that the Force explodes around him and sets off every electronic meter on the Star Destroyer. DOORS SLAMMING SHUT: One time, when Tarkin told him that he would have to go to Tatooine to hunt down a specific smuggler that the Empire was after, reminding Vader (with a smug little smile as he said it) to sand-proof his suit first, literally every door on the Star Destroyer slammed shut at exactly the same time. Three separate people lost toes because they were only halfway through the door at the time. STRANGE MOANING NOISES: I mean, Anakin Skywalker crying about how fucked up his life has become, that’s just a regular Tuesday. FEELING OF BEING WATCHED: A level 200 psychic space wizard who has zero personal boundaries and is a real asshole: He probably is watching you and is disgusted at your thoughts. Stop thinking about gross sex things!!! Love making is meant to be pure and wholesome!!! Not that you should be thinking about things like that!!! No happiness or pleasure allowed for anyone anymore!!! TOUCHED BY AN INVISIBLE HAND: People are constantly being choked by an invisible hand whenever he’s around. Lieutentant Sarenki on deck 57 swears one time that he wasn’t even on the same ship as Vader and still watched him choke out Admiral Ozzel over the holocam. Piett refuses to confirm, says he’s exaggerating, but Sarenki swears up and down it’s true. STRANGE SHAPES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT: Vader’s not waiting until morning to deliver his report to whomever Sidious ordered him to work with, so at least five separate Admirals have woken up in the middle of the night and shrieked like a little kid because Vader was just there. LOOMING OVER THE BED. Hsskk-kooosh. What are you--- Hsskk-kooosh. Screaming for? Hsskk-kooosh. I have the report on-- Hsskk-kooosh. The Rebel activity in-- Hsskk-kooosh. The Anoat Sector. Hsskk-kooosh. In conclusion: There is a very strong rumor that Darth Vader is a ghost haunting the Imperial Military, the cursed ghost of a Jedi who has come for revenge because they’re mad they lost the war and the Empire triumphed over their treasonous ways.

#anakin skywalker #darth vader #i make myself laugh and that's all that's important

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yourheartonfire · 3 years

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A continuation of this poor rebel x royal pair from here, though I do think this snippet stands on it's own. Thanks to @gingerly-writing for the original prompt!

After the stuff the enemy medics had forced down the protagonist's throat, there was no clear line between sleeping and waking. But eventually the ache in their muscles and bruises cut through the fog of the sleeping draught. The protagonist swam sluggishly to the awareness that they were slumped on the cold ground, feet bound together and hands tied tightly to the tent pole. No mystery whose tent it was.

"Back with us at last?" The antagonist's voice seemed to float in the heady, hazy atmosphere. "You were out a long time."

"'S'it smokey in here?" the protagonist groaned. "Or izzat the drugs and the, mm, concussion?"

There was a dry hmph. The protagonist's vision was clearing slowly, and they could just see a lean streak of black standing over them, dark against the gleaming reds and golds of the imperial tent. The antagonist. Their old childhood friend and their new crown prince - thanks to the protagonist's removal of the prior occupant from that position. And from the earth.

The protagonist carefully rolled their neck, loosening the muscles and grounding themselves. The tent was not spinning. Their heart was not pounding. Their friend was not their friend. Not anymore. "Is the part where I'm oh-so-grateful you've placed me in your personal custody?" the protagonist drawled. "For my own protection, I'm sure - "

There was a flash of dark and the crack of a palm across the protagonist's face. Again. They swallowed and breathed through the new pain.

"You're getting good at that, your highness," they said, and spit out red flecked saliva on the carpet. "But may I suggest, for next time, a backhand? With a couple big rings, you can really do some damage-"

The antagonist made a strangled scream. "Stop telling me what to do!" they yelled. "Gods! I used to wonder what would make you shut up. Now I know: literally nothing short of death."

They flopped into a chair, and glared at the protagonist. The protagonist could see their face more or less clearly now, making the expression they always did when they wanted to look cold and foreboding and definitely not scared shitless. Despite the wardrobe, it was a shock how little the antagonist had changed when everything was so different.

"What am I supposed to do with you, [protagonist]?" said the spare-turned-heir miserably.

The protagonist shrugged. Their throat burned with thirst, their shoulders screamed with ache. They pushed it away. Never show weakness. The antagonist had taught them that. "Take me to your father to stand trial for treason, revolt, etcetera. How is the old man these days?"

The antagonist propped their chin on their fist, twisted their mouth. "Not great," they drawled back with vicious understatement. "Better than my lady mother, though. She hasn't left her bed since you had my brother assassinated."

The protagonist flinched. It was a bad habit, a weakness. Of course the antagonist recognized it and twisted the knife. "She took you in," they said, sliding out of their chair to loom over the protagonist. "You were starving in the gutter and she took you into our household, gave you a royal education, treated you like her own child-"

"Her child? Your mother took me in to be your pet," the protagonist spat. "Your own personal peasant for you and your brother to practice ruling on. I guess she thought you were too big for a puppy."

"I- what?!" the antagonist sputtered. For a moment they were genuinely struck dumb. "No! You say what you want about the rest of us, but my mother-"

"She saw which way the wind was blowing with your brother," the protagonist said, rolling their shoulders and subtly testing their bonds. "Maybe she thought putting a face on the faceless masses could turn him around."

"Too bad she picked you then," the antagonist snapped.

The protagonist smiled sourly and the antagonist bit their lip and flushed, realizing they'd conceded the point.

"The irony hasn't escaped me," the protagonist said, hitching themselves up a little higher. "If all of this, all the blood and death as you put, if all I accomplished was removing your brother from the line of succession, I'll have done the empire and your family a greater service than your mother ever dreamed-"

"She thinks I put you up to it," the antagonist blurted out. The protagonist's mouth opened, and then shut again. The antagonist dropped down into their camp chair, somehow making despair look regal and elegant. "The rebellion, the overthrow of the Southern lords, the disruption of the sea trade, my..." They swallowed, reached for another bottle of wine on an overladen table. "The former crown prince's death. Then you just... walk straight into an ambush a day from my camp. She hasn't said, but her letters are... She thinks I..." They made a face, yanked the cork loose. "Father thinks the same, but he actually has more respect for me now," the antagonist added bitterly. "He wasn't so blind to my brother's faults as he pretended to be."

The protagonist let out a low whistle across their split lip. "Well. Now you definitely can't give me a merciful death."

The antagonist put the bottle of wine back down with a shaking hand. "Did you?" they whispered, so quiet the protagonist had to lean forward.

"Did I what?" they asked.

The antagonist started down at their hand pressed flat on the folding table. "Did you do this for me?" they said under their breath.

The protagonist rocked back, hard enough to thunk their head against the pole. They barely felt it, overwhelmed as the antagonist handed themselves over, heart and soul. "Oh, my," the protagonist breathed out. "Oh, your highness. Is that why I'm in your tent? You want me to pat you on the head before you hand me off to be tortured to death and tell you not to worry, that you're one of the good ones?"

"Stop it. Stop talking," the antagonist hissed, face going an angry, ugly red. "I should have known you weren't capable of any loyalty at all."

"Do you remember when your brother beat that housemaid to death?" the protagonist asked, settling themselves more comfortably.

"That was an accident," the antagonist said automatically.

The protagonist shrugged. "Fine then. You remember when your brother accidentally hit a housemaid hard enough that she smashed her skull open on the nursery fireplace? For what, for being nice to us? For slipping us sweeties after he had me whipped again?"

"Stop it, I'm sorry I asked!" the antagonist yelled.

"And I sobbed and sobbed and you comforted me, you remember what you said?"

It was the antagonist's turn to flinch. "Damn you, I was a child. I didn't know better!"

But the protagonist wasn't going to stop. They couldn't now. "You held me in your arms and you said, 'Don't cry. She was only a housemaid. We have more.' Over and over. I still hear that in my sleep."

"So that's it?" The antagonist wrapped their arms around themselves, turned away. "I was a scared, fucked-up nine-year-old who said a bad thing so now none of the rest of it matters? I'm going to die with everyone else?"

"Die?" The protagonist cocked their head and sneered. Their heart was not pounding in their chest, the room was not spinning, their friend was not their friend. "I'm your prisoner. You're taking me to the capitol, to your father for trial."

"Bullshit." The antagonist turned pleading eyes down on the protagonist, bound and bloody. "What are you planning? Why do you want me to bring you to my father? What are you going to do to us?"

The protagonist breathed in and out, reached within themselves for the stone walls the antagonist had taught them to build, oh so many years ago.

"I'm doing what I was taught," they said evenly. "By your mother, your brother, by your father, by you. To serve my empire, even unto death. Difference is, I draw a distinction between the empire and the fucked-up, inbred family that for some reason thinks they were sent by the gods to rule everyone else."

In the silence that followed, the protagonist could hear the distant shouts of the commanders, the jingle of horse bridles and the sounds of hammers and waxed linens flapping to the ground. They were breaking camp. Thirteen days to the capitol.

"All right then," the antagonist said softly, face bloodless against the stark black of their jacket. They put down their untouched wine cup and turned away, never meeting the protagonist's eyes. "Let's play this out. Can't wait to see your endgame."

They walked out and the protagonist sagged limp against the tentpole. Thirteen days. They could stay alive that long. They just weren't sure they could stay unbreakable when they felt so very, very close to breaking.

#my fiction #heroes and villains #heroxvillain #rebel x royal #hero x villain #royals #friends to enemies #protagonist said no divine right of kings #100

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thesunshinebunny · 3 years

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When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part III)

Series Master list

pairing: canon Eren Jaeger x reader

content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

Summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter summary: It will take more than a betrayal and blood blath for the reader to stop protecting those who really need it.

Words count: 4.7k

I knew things were going to go from bad to worse when we returned to Paradis; but I never imagined that I would have a letter from the Supreme Commander on my desk. Days had passed since my fiasco conversation with Eren, spreading the word of my insubordination towards the lack of notification to the respective authorities. Sure, the guards had let me into the cell just because they knew me, but I never had the decency to tell Hange-san or even ask for a meeting with the Supreme Commander.

And here I was. Wrapped up in a much bigger shit roll since I decided to enlist in the Survey Corps, with a simple letter demanding my presence in his office for a little "talk."

The medical center where I could do my practices with ease was quite far from the justice’s court where the Supreme Commander was, having to go out to ride through the beautifully paved streets. A street I crossed, a street I saw citizens read the newspapers that had brought so much catastrophe to peace within the walls. People were revolting against the militancy, demanding Eren's immediate release, praising he was the only one who could lead Eldia to its ultimate glory.

If they could heard themself right now. They spoke as if Paradis itself had become an empire, a power on the verge of attacking and taking every country under its feet. It was as if they wanted to turn the game around, to be us the empire and our enemies the war slaves.

I was still far from my destination, but the crowd could be seen cowering above the barred court doors. Men and women with posters screaming without sense or unity, an angry mob demanding explanations, ready to use violence to make their way into the hierarchy.

I got off my horse when I faced the crowd, needing to get up front and through the secured gate and with my loyal traveling companion I wasn't going to make it. I left him tied up outside a local, asking the owner to take care of him, if necessary, I would give him a monetary compensation on my returned.

I tried to get through the mob, asking permission, even nudging some people, but no matter how hard I tried to take a step forward, there was always a bastard blocking my way or pulling me back; They even had the decency to grab my coat and throw me off.

"Excuse me, but I need to pass"

Empty words at this situation. If they didn’t listen to the specialized people of the militancy, it was obvious that they wouldn’t listen to me, a simple doctor in practice for the legion.

"Free the leader of the Eldian empire"

"Free Eren Jaeger"

"Give us some damn answer"

"Fuck off you cheap bitch"

The day wasn’t even beginning and I was already receiving hateful comments, typical of closed minds.

I looked around for a solution, I was wasting valuable time and starting to get irritated. If I was late for my meeting with the Supreme Commander, who knows what punishment he would give me apart from my insubordination.

Besides of the mob there wasn’t much more than a few elegant houses and shops, no other entrance except the one in the backyard, but to get there, I would have to go all the way around the building and it would take much longer. The walls were too high to jump alone and too smooth to climb, otherwise enough people would have sneaked in by now.

I turned my head towards my horse, which was still in the same position where I left him, patiently awaiting my return. Surely what I was about to do wasn’t going to please him one bit.

I ran as fast as I could and unhooked him from the wooden post, ignoring the comments of the owner of the premises who was indisputably claiming for his pay. Without turning my head to such scum, I motioned for the horse to turn around and run down the avenue, against the crowd. Being at a considered distance, I again instructed him to turn around and go as fast as he could.

"I'm sorry Phillip, you're going to have to forgive me for what I'm going to do"

We were a few meters from the mob, mentally preparing myself for the feat that was about to be accomplished. Almost arriving, about to impact, I gave him a little jerk to the right, guiding us towards the wall, and raised my legs towards his back, squatting against him, waiting for the right moment and the impulse he would give when braking hard.

When he was about to slam his trunk against the wall, Phillip stopped his galloping, propelling me forward and flying toward one of the door columns. I grabbed the stone as best I could, avoiding falling on my backside, and raised my legs towards the top, finally reaching my goal. Being already on top and looking at the terrified faces of the rebels, I went down to the other side of the door, slightly hurting my feet and hands in the fall.

"That was quite a show"

Hitch was already in front of me, malicious and proud on her face. She was giving a few applause to the air, trying to lift the spirits of the people of the military squad, even if her acting was a bit cocky.

"Desperate situations call for desperate measures." I waved my hands over the coat, looking at her with the same smug visage she was giving me.

I didn't like Hitch per se, but we weren't friends either. The way she acted and talked gave me bad vibes and I planned to stay as neutral as possible in her presence. Even her gazes seemed to want to pierce the soul of whoever she was speaking to, as if she wanted to undress you internally and seek your darkest and most shameful secrets. I would stick my hands in the fire by assuming that in her younger years she had been a bully or a blackmailer.

But it was better to keep those thoughts for yourself, before generating greater repercussions in the times that hugged us.

"Did you come to see Armin and Mikasa?"

Any thoughts I had of her dissipated.

"They ... are they here?"

I was fuzzy. Not because of the fact that I was uninformed about their actions when they left the legion barracks in the morning, which I was getting used to since last year, but because they were in the same place as me. What a coincidence.

To be honest, the two of them never owed me anything and it wasn't their duty to tell me where they were going every minute of the day, just like Hange. Each one of us had their own will to go where we were sung; But if the three of us were in court, and if they gave me the chance to guess, I would say that to see the Supreme Commander, it made me a bit suspicious.

"Yes, they are talking to the Supreme Commander to try to go talk to Eren"

I must have hit my head at some point in the battle of Marley, because lately every occurrence was quite impossible to believe. They were the ones who asked me to go talk to him a few days ago, they were the ones who questioned me when I returned to the waiting room where the few survivors of 104° Squad were;it was them who gave me a compassionate look as they saw I hadn’t accomplished much and I had ended any relationship that bound me with Eren.

And now here they were, demanding an audience with their childhood friend, while I would have to be judged for the same action. Something wasn’t fitting. I looked around trying to find them, or maybe to find an answer to the thousands of questions that were forming in my head, and finding no help, I turned to Hitch.

"What is going on? Why-"

Before I could finish my question, an explosion rumbled across the cobblestone floor, hurting our ears and knocking us to the ground. Fire and debris couldn’t only be seen in the air but also smelled, flooding our nostrils, causing us to cough and cover our eyes with debris.

I looked up to find a flare coming from one of the court offices and a heavy body falling in our direction. I couldn't make it out until it fell to the ground, leaving a stain of blood and ash around it, apart from leaving a trail of smoke from where it flew off. My eyes were opened with shock and amazement, since the person in front of me was nothing more and nothing less than the same militant leader, half of the body lost and burned by the explosion.

"Well ... that's new"

In all my years of service I have seen every horror inside and outside the walls. True, even the Survey Corps had acted against the law, but it was for the greater good, to expose the bastards who lived on the wall farthest from the sea. I had seen people hit and kick another for a piece of food when the wall Maria fell. I had seen how we were massacred one by one with bullets to the head as we tried to go beyond the walls.

But never in those years I had seen a rebellion like the one taking place, being willing to eliminate such an authoritarian figure as Darius Zackly.

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The chaos went unnoticed by a large part of the population, only those who were present at the time of the explosion and the military police were aware. Faced with such an atrocious event of treason, a small meeting was convened involving the most important heads of each faction; unfortunately I couldn’t be there, my presence had been required in a clinic a few meters from the court. There were quite a few injured.

Some had mild and harmless burns, others had large parts of the body with third degree burns. Some had splinters stuck in their arms and faces, some had a piece of wood stuck in their stomach.

A couple of hours had passed which seemed like weeks to me. I had been assigned the milder cases, but as I pulled the splinters out of a patient's eyes, I had the countless howls of people echoing in my head, listening as they took their last painful breaths. People who asked to die on purpose to ease the pain.

Hours passed and welcomed the next day. I had terrible black circles under my tired eyes, hands stained with dried blood and splintered; they’re fucked up and I needed to heal them as quickly as possible before they got infected. I grabbed the cutting tools and placed them on a metal tray, the cold of the surface soothing the pain in my hands, and although it wasn’t too heavy I felt like it trembled on my grip.

I heard the door open wide at the other side of my last patient's room, the front door, letting in multiple heavy footsteps on the hardwood floor. Apparently, the soldier who had entered was in a hurry or was about to deliver terrible news...I wish I had been wrong in the second option.

"Bad news, Eren Jaeger has escaped from the underground cell"

I dropped the metal tray on my feet, making the sound of metal and utensils rumble across the room. My hands were shaking even more and surely if I saw myself in a mirror I would see my face completely pale.

"If you want to free yourself from this cell, go ahead"

My words invaded my mind like a bucket of cold water, as if they wanted to make me see that I was to blame for his escape. I knew that sooner or later he’s going to free himself, his eyes showed it and by not getting an answer that contrasted with mine, it was perfect evidence of his plans. But even knowing it, even Hange knowing it, I didn't expect him to do it in a moment of such betrayal.

I cleaned my hands as best I could with a towel hanging over the room sink and grabbed my coat, rushing out of the clinic.

"I’m sorry, I need to go"

But where to go was the question. I had no idea where Eren might be, and even if I knew what he was going to win, surely he was with his followers and with the simple image of me approaching from the horizon, I would be dead in a matter of seconds ... or imprisoned, whatever happen first.

At the exit of the clinic, there were two soldiers of the military police standing guard and watching the justice’s court from the distance. I approached them with the intention of asking them about the whereabouts of the Survey Corps, but they looked at me like I had the plague and pushed me aside hostilely, almost knocking me to the ground. I kept my composure as best I could and looked for someone else to ask; I didn’t have to wait long, since a woman of my age with mahogany hair, extremely black and matted, pointed the way where my comareds had gone. According to her words, they’re heading towards a large and luxurious building in the middle of one of the main avenues, recognizing the word restaurant from the conversation between the riders.

The only place that matched that description was the restaurant where Nicolo worked.

I hurried out with Phillip galloping through people, avoiding stepping on them and apologizing on my back. If there was something clear to me in all this mess, it was that Hange would go to find answers among the working Marleyans of that place. Maybe something could be solved.

I was very wrong.

I rushed into the building, finding only a long entrance hall and a corridor that led to god knows where. No one was even around to see me panic and I didn't see a soul nearby either, the only thing if I could hear a heated discussion far away and heavy footsteps on the floor. I let myself be guided by the sound, running back to its origins and finding a bizarre and meaningless scene in front of my eyes.

The room that seemed to be the main one hosted the orphaned children of the Blouse farm as well as Sasha's parents, sad and anguished parents if I paid better attention. The children were just as sad, with tears in their eyes, especially Kaya; they were crying the same way as on the day Sasha's death was reported. They were cornered under a window all together, hugging each other and letting the rays of the sun streaming through the window illuminate their figures, as if those rays could replace the heat that Sasha had left behind.

That scene broke my still fragile heart. I would have liked to reach out to them and try to help them move on, as I would have liked to stay on the farm with them when we came back from Marley to help them get by; obviously I could never have replaced Sasha and they could never have replaced my family, but in these times of battle, what mattered most was healing the wounds between all of us.

I would have liked to talk to them, but my eyes shifted from the Blouse family to the figure of Hange carefully placing a child on the floor. The blond boy was very badly injured on the side of his head, he was bleeding and his clothes had stuck to his body due to the large amount of liquid that had flowed down his torso.

"Hange-san, Wha-" As I stared at the blond boy on the floor, I could see that he was one of the children who had sneaked into our war balloon.

“Isn't that one of the Marleyan children? Why is he here and why is he bleeding?"

Unconsciously my body leaned forward, resting on one knee on the ground and reaching out to the boy. My instincts as a doctor were screaming for me to tend to the poor injured boy regardless of his race and I was willing to do so.

"We will take care of him, go to the room continue with Mikasa and Armin"

I got up without hesitation, taking one last look at the room I was in and it was just at that moment that I recognized Nicolo and Jean in a corner away from everyone else. They both looked very distressed, but I didn't have the opportunity to ask why, they had given me an order and I had to carry it out. I would have to wait until got back to base to understand this terrible situation.

The room they sent me to was at the end of the corridor, the door was closed but every step I took I could hear the soft voices of Mikasa and Armin, apparently talking to someone else. Well, that conversation must have to get a pause because I was about to slam the door in and leave the doors wide open.

“What the hell is going on? Why is a Marleyan child unconscious in the kitchen?"

Upon entering, all excited, my eyes only saw the figures of Armin and Mikasa around a table. They both looked up at me in disbelief when they saw me standing on the threshold. For the second time that day, I looked back across the stage in front of me and spotted a small brown-haired figure sitting at the same table. With a little more attention, I saw that the small figure was trembling, perhaps from fear or from adrenaline, at the same time that its face was bruised and full of blood; and putting all my attention on that bloody face I realized that I recognized those eyes, those same eyes that I had looked at with contempt and had looked back at me with the same feeling the night of the invasion.

The missing girl from the Marleyan duo was sitting across from me staring with sheep's eyes.

All exaltation I had in my body dissipated, my gaze fell, leaving nothing more than a neutral countenance. But ... anyone who could see through my eyes, would know they reflected the fatigue and sadness of several accumulated days. Seeing the girl was perhaps a way of attaching all the harmful feelings in a single part of my body.

I let out a long sigh and closed the door slowly behind me. I walked slowly towards where the girl was, running Mikasa to the side and looked at her with the best possible adult countenance. She had a red nose, it looked like it had been hit right on her septum causing her to bleed and stain her dress, which I assumed was courtesy of the Blouse family. Her cheek was scratched and red too, traces of broken and inflamed skin could be seen around her wound, but without any bleeding. This girl would have a swollen face the next day if we don't give her some ice.

“You’re hurt. Care to explain me what happened?"

I reached my hand out to her, but was greeted with a flinch from her. I could tell she was scared and she had every right to be.Either way, way I brought my hand to her face, placing my index finger and thumb on her jaw to move her head and look for other injuries.

Her face was the one that received the most impact, nothing in her eyes which was a very good sign, and I didn’t notice any kind of fracture in the bones of her cheek or septum. Good. I looked around the room for something I could use, but I only found empty tables adorned with a classic tablecloth and a very well elaborated and cared wine cellar, apart from showing off one of the best wine collections in recent years.

"Armin, can you go get some alcohol to disinfect the wounds? Surely they have something in the kitchen "

The blonde gave me a slight nod and left the room, leaving me alone with Mikasa, who was absolved of the situation, but still maintaining an imposing posture. The girl was still shaking on my hand, so I pushed her away and inspected her body for more injuries.

The palms of her hands were stained with blood, I guessed from the bleeding from her nose, but they also had some slight scratches, perhaps she had fallen to the floor. Her dress didn’t seem torn in the area of the knees, so I assumed that they weren’t injured or it was a very slight scratch, almost no bleeding. Her arms seemed intact as did her torso. I turned to the back of her head, running her hair gently trying to find any trace of blow that could generate a contusion. I didn’t find anything that could be fatal or serious, but I did see something that caught my attention.

“You have marks on your head, diffuse, but they are there. What happened?"

"... A horse bit me"

Of all the situations that could have led to those brands, I didn't expect to hear this one. I didn’t expect it, not at all. It caught me off guard and I let out a giggle which I covered with the back of my hand.

"Sorry, shouldn't laugh… you deserve it thou" I gave her a little pat on the top of her head before ruffling it a bit and bending down to look into her eyes.

Armin returned to the room, alcohol in hand and a clean cloth. Thank God something was clean in this whole city, I was beginning to lose my faith in the cleanliness of this people. I reached for the items and I proceeded to apply a large amount of alcohol to the cloth and apply it first to the frightened girl's cheek.

"Why are you so good to me? I killed a one of your friends"

That comment made me stop for a second, just like I stopped looking at her wound. My gaze fell to the floor in search of an answer; I searched, searched and searched for answers to questions that didn’t have one or weren’t as simple as they seemed...or simply looked in the wrong places and the answers were always in my mind, only that my heart wasn’t prepared to face them.

"The girl you killed the night of the invasion was called Sasha Blouse and she was the best archer and sniper of the legion"

I turned my gaze to her, continuing to heal her wound on her cheek. When I saw that there was only a small pink stain left on the surface, I moistened the cloth further with alcohol and ran it under her nose, removing any trace of blood. The girl pulled back a bit when she felt it’s smell her nostrils and I had the opportunity to cover her nose for a few seconds to stop the bleeding.

"You know ... you remind me of a boy exactly like you"

When I saw that the bleeding stopped and the girl stopped moving due to the burning and itching that the alcohol was surely causing, I grabbed her hands and began to clean them with small touches avoiding tearing her skin.

“Just as intense and ready to fight for what he thinks is fair. You are just a little girl who was taught that we were the bad guys. It’s the way you were raised, the way you see the world. They taught us something else, but at the end of the day, apart from everything... we are the same"

It hurt. Yes, it hurt to see the one guilty of the death of my best friend, but it hurt more to see in her eyes the hatred and contempt they had taught her towards our race. The hate cycle we were getting into wasn't going to get us anywhere and it was better to nip it in the bud, even with baby steps.

When I finished cleaning all her wounds, I put the cloth on the table and looked at my performance with deep pride. It wasn't much, but it was enough; Not only had I cleaned a few simple wounds, but perhaps, I wished that perhaps, it would begin to heal her mind ... and mine as well.

I got up heavily, noticing how my knees creaked when squatting for a long time and I stretched my body generating more crunches, but noting at the same time how the heaviness of my back left and leave behind a much lighter load.

“Very good, you’ve been a good patient. Surely there is something sweet in the kitchen that I can give you” I patted her head again and gave her a sincere smile, one that I hadn't given anyone for quite a while. I headed to the door unconcerned about the situation I assumed was still going on in the main room.

"What's going to happen to Eren Jaeger?"

What will happen to him? And why does she ask me that?

"Don't worry, I'm not letting him put a finger on you" A sincere answer to a question asked out of fear. I reached the door and in the middle of the sentence I turned the knob wanting to make my way into the hall, but a tall figure blocked my way.

Eren was right on the threshold with the intention of opening it.

Well mark me impress

My body jerked back instinctively, avoiding taking my eyes off his. I moved to the right side, avoiding the figure of the Marleyan girl from being in Eren's point of view. I didn't know why he was here or if the others knew about it, but whatever the reason, he surely wasn’t alone and this wasn’t going to lead to anything good.

"Sit down"

He took a few steps forward, closing the door with his foot, not even paying attention to his surroundings, or maybe yes, now everything was a confusion when it came to the brunette in front of us.

"You can't tell me what to do" I planted myself in front of him, without taking a step back. We were both facing each other, him carrying me several inches tall, several dominating inches that made my legs shake and my heart race.

If it had been in any other situation, that trembling, that acceleration would have been very well received. It was impossible not to feel small next to Eren, the damn bastard had hit a big stretch and there was a great difference around the body between the two, a difference that I always loved to admire.

But not now. Not at this moment when everything was going to shit and I had to stand up to the figure of a little girl who was internally dying of fear thanks to him.

"Sit. Down"

Few centimeters separated us from each other, his chest too close to mine, I could feel how it swelled with each breath. He raised his hand to my face, letting me see his cut palm and dripping blood. Fear took hold of me, making me stand even more in my position, but I wasn’t going to give in so easily.

"You wouldn't" I looked him in the eye, defiant, longed for and everything in between.

"Try me"

It was all he said before grabbing onto my shoulders and pulling me back. My body collided with the table and instinctively I placed my hands on it. I heard how Armin and Mikasa tried to get closer to where we were, but a single glance from Eren made them stay still, submissive, as they lost in their positions. His gaze returned to mine. My breath hitched and I had to avoid with all my might thinking about the position we were entwined.

It wasn’t the time to think about how my hips were slightly elevated, just my butt up on the table and one leg dangling, his knee between my legs, preventing me from closing them and keeping the leg that was hanging in the air. His gaze wandered between our bodies and he returned to my eyes. He tightened his grip on my shoulders and pushed me to the side of the table, dropping me onto the chair next to the girl.

"I said. Sit. Down"

He took his hands off my shoulders, took the seat next to me and Armin and Mikasa sat with him, leaving an air of discomfort and tension in the environment.

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Tag List: @aestosia @amberciel @sof-yeager @iwony @curseofymir @etherealkatrina @teenageweaseldonutcash @mariaerdgzn @paypay0315 @despst @kisekinokishi @crazymar15 @futuristiccashstatesmansalad @gis21345 @urinejaeger @zhilon @dianacavendishh @lucielbinon-binary @cryingforwill @erensneedyslut @ryan249057 @stardustmonkey @asahinsunakinnie @obeymekookie @witchymermaid12

#aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #eren jaeger #eren yeager #eren x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren smut #when the world falls apart

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

40 or 43 if you’re still taking prompts! i love ur AUs they’re so beautiful and contain so much brilliance within a short snippet!

it's been so long, anon, you probably forgot you sent this but here is prompt 40, exes meeting after not seeing each other for a long time. in true tennessoui fashion, they don't. actually. meet and/or see each other in this snippet. also in true tennessoui fashion, all tennessoui needs to decide to continue this is one (1) validation.

the backstory here is something i have been thinking about for days after a discord convo, where during the fight on mustafar, obi-wan hits anakin hard enough in the head that he loses all of his memories. obi-wan takes him with him for a few months but the wounds of Order 66 and vaderkin's role in what happened is too fresh for obi-wan to (understandably) get over, even if this anakin doesn't remember doing it, so they separate. this is set 8 years after Mustafar.

(1.7k)

“Kenobi won’t come,” the fighter pilot says immediately upon disembarking from his craft.

One commander lets out a groan. Someone else hits the durasteel side of the closest x-wing with a closed fist.

“Do we really need him?” Anakin demands, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s been eight years since the rise of the Empire. Surely a washed-up Jedi General from the Clone Wars won’t have people jumping to join the Rebellion!”

No one meets his eye. In fact, the air room suddenly feels very, very uncomfortable.

Organa exhales heavily and turns to look at Anakin, which is rare because the man never voluntarily looks at Anakin. “There are few names from that time that still carry an untainted weight in the eyes of the galaxy. Obi-Wan Kenobi is one of them.”

“I grew up hearing about The Team!” A teenager says eagerly. “I’d join any resistance movement if I knew both of ‘em were fighting with me!”

“You’re already a part of a resistance movement,” a girl next to him pointed out waspishly.

The boy waves her off. “Skywalker and Kenobi, saving the galaxy! It’d be wizard to be a part of that, and you know it, Aasha!”

Anakin’s throat tightens at that name. Skywalker. His name. Or, his old name. He has no more connection to it now than he does to the name Kenobi or Organa. They’re just letters.

He catches Organa’s eye. The man is looking at him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Anakin knows instinctively that this is another one of the man’s tests. Will this time be the time that whatever injury has kept his memories suppressed for eight years is undone, and his previous life comes thundering through his mind?

He’s sick of these tests. He’s never failed one, but Organa never comes closer to trusting him afterward. He can only assume that whatever Anakin Skywalker had done in his last few days alive had been so terrible that only a few people knew the truth, and those who did would never forgive any version of him for it.

Organa certainly knew, though he had never shared that information with Anakin. And.

And Kenobi did as well. That was clear. They’d only been together for five standard months, sharing a small spacecraft made smaller by the fear, agony, grief, fury, and hurt radiating off of his companion into the space around them.

It had been hard to tell at the time if one of the things Obi-Wan Kenobi had been grieving was the loss of Anakin Skywalker. Anakin isn’t sure Kenobi would have been able to answer that either.

Some part of him that usually rests dormant in the back of his mind stirs and hisses that it had to have been. That Skywalker’s loss had torn Kenobi’s soul to shreds.

This doesn’t necessarily feel like his own thought, but it’s quite hard to ignore. He wants to rub a hand against his aching head, but that surely would tip off Organa that something’s--what? That he’s having thoughts?

Perish the very idea.

One would think Anakin hadn’t joined the Rebellion of his own free will. That Anakin hadn’t spent three standard months on the planet Kenobi had left him on before catching wind of the existence of the Rebel Alliance, that he hadn’t risked life and limb (more limb, apparently, given his missing flesh hand) to find them afterwards. He hadn’t known much anything about himself, but he had known that he hadn’t liked what the Imperial troops were doing, how much destruction they were causing, how the people they were supposed to be protecting hid in fear of their white armor.

Something in Anakin had rebelled at that, had thought it wrong and twisted. Someone needs to stop them, he’d thought. So he had found the people that were trying to.

And yes, a small part of him had thought--perhaps hoped--that Obi-Wan Kenobi would be a part of the Rebel Alliance by the time Anakin made his way to their biggest base. He had thought--perhaps hoped--that he would be able to prove himself to the other man. Look, he had wanted to scream at Kenobi, I’m not like that other Anakin, I would never do what he did. You can trust me. You can look me in the eye, I won’t stab you in the back.

Because something in him had yearned, still yearns, for Kenobi’s approval. For the weight of his gaze settling warmly around his shoulders. For his small smiles, his calloused hand clasping the back of Anakin’s head to bring their foreheads together in a gentle tap hello.

These are things Anakin knows he’s never experienced. But he must have in his past life, because his whole body will ache for them like a phantom limb. It’s been seven years and a few months since he last saw Kenobi.

“I’ll go,” Anakin says, which is what he said the last time they were standing like this, huddled around a fighter pilot delivering the same message of failure.

Organa’s mouth tightens in displeasure, and Mothma places a hand on his arm in warning.

Everyone else falls silent around them, as if recognizing the fact that they’re in the middle of a brewing storm, and they’re lucky to be in its eye right now.

“I do not think--” Organa starts, but Anakin cuts him off, crossing his arms even tighter over his chest, as if to hold himself back. The force suppression collar around his neck grows warmer, but it holds. It always holds.

“You’re already sending men who look like me to him!” Anakin points out irately. “The last four men could have been related to me!” It’s something Anakin’s thought about in the past but never said out loud. He’s glad to say it now though, especially because Organa flushes a bit which means Anakin’s right. “Just send me! If it doesn’t work, nothing in the galaxy will!”

Now, Anakin isn’t sure that’s true at all. He’s taking a huge leap with this, but it’s been seven years and a few months since he saw Obi-Wan Kenobi in person, and every part of him is aching with the desire to lay eyes on the man again. Will he hate him still? Will he see all the differences Anakin’s made to his appearance? Will he like them? He fights the urge to run a hand over his shorn hair.

Will Obi-Wan even let him through the door?

The people around them are murmuring now. They don’t know what Organa knows, what Anakin has guessed at: that Skywalker died a traitor to the Republic, that he had tried to strike down Obi-Wan like the Emperor struck down the rest of the Jedi. To them, these fortunate outsiders, they’re wondering why Anakin Skywalker hasn’t already been sent to locate and bring back their errant General.

Before, Anakin’s offer had been quiet, easily ignored over someone else’s. Now he’s loud and confident. Impossible to turn away without making a public scene, without explaining why. And Organa has tried very hard not to do that. For whatever reason, Anakin doesn’t know. All he knows is that after he’d been examined by a battalion of med droids and interrogated by all three leaders of the Rebellion, Organa had given him a list of rules he had to follow in order to join the Rebel Alliance. Firstly, never remove his cuffs and collar.

It’s not a slave collar and it won’t electrocute you if you touch it or try to take it off, Organa had told him when he’d blanched away at the sight. But I have been informed by a trusted ally that the Chance--the Emperor knows your Force Signature intimately. We cannot risk being found. It would kill all hope for us.

Secondly, never confirm his identity. Never talk about who he used to be.

People will know, Organa had grudgingly admitted. Skywalker was one of the faces of the Clone Wars. But you cannot confirm it. In fact.

Thirdly, give up the name Skywalker. Pick another last name, if not first as well.

But Anakin had been attached to his first name for some reason he didn’t know how to begin to question, so even after he toyed with the idea of changing it completely, he couldn’t go through with it. Weeks later he had shown up in Organa’s makeshift office.

I had a mother, didn’t I? He had asked, causing Organa to stiffen immediately.

Do you remember? Organa had interrogated immediately, his standard greeting for Anakin. Anakin had gotten the feeling, especially in those early days, that Organa was waiting with baited breath for Anakin to remember so he could try him for war crimes or treason or whatever it was that Skywalker had done.

No, he had responded honestly. Just a feeling. If I am to take a new last name, I want her name.

A few days later, Anakin had stumbled into his bunk, tired from a day of hard training, to see a packet of documents on his pillow.

Anakin Shmison was written at the top of the first page.

The list of rules goes on and on.

But nowhere does it say that Anakin Shmison isn’t allowed to mention Obi-Wan Kenobi in public. He just never has, because even the sound of the man’s name makes him feel very nauseous, a combination of butterflies and adder snakes wrestling around inside his stomach.

Bail Organa is looking like he’s regretting that oversight right now, but Anakin has backed him quite solidly into a proverbial corner. Either finally tell everyone what happened between Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi in the last few hours of the Republic, or give Anakin Shmison leave to retrieve Kenobi.

“Fine,” Organa gets out, jaw locked and vein throbbing in his temple. Anakin has the distinct feeling he’se spent a lot of his life on the receiving end of that expression. “Have this X-Wing refueled, and leave tonight.”

“No sir,” Anakin says, enjoying the way one of the man’s eyebrows shoot up in angry incredulity.

“No?” Organa asks. “Would you like more beauty rest, perhaps, Shmison?”

“No sir, I don’t need it,” this time he doesn’t resist running a hand through his hair, messing with its part so his longer bangs fall to one side and balance out the mysterious scar that bisects his eyebrow. He grins. “But I will need a craft that sits two. For the return trip.”

#asks #i had a scene planned out where x y z happens and obi-wan lets anakin into his hut/home #and anakin is just like look im a part of the rebellion now!!#and obi-wan 'i use my sarcasm to hide my infinite sadness' is like #'yes im sure the rebellion wouldnt exist without you'#because you know. technically it wouldn't.#but anakin doesnt really get that context so hes like 'stop speaking in tongues old man!!!'#and obi-wan says 'please do not call me that' in the wateriest most loosely strung together voice anakins ever heard #anyways whats happening with me that all im writing is angst #i love happy things and happy endings #obikin #(because they'd get together come on anakin probably has an undercut now and hes thirty obi-wans only a man)#(the bitter resentment is strong but the flesh is WEAK BITCH)#kit to kit: u dont need another wip u really cannot have another wip ur not strong enough for another wip u--#prompt fill

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talonwings · 3 years

Text

to feed a kingdom- Empires SMP Writing

in which fWhip and his subjects make questionable choices for noble reasons.

(can you tell yet that i am a c!fWhip apologist lololololol--)

It would have been easy to miss the small silhouette of the man against the giant shadows looming over the landscape.

The inky sky seemed to cling low over the Grimlands, as it had ever since the Dragon fell; the stars shone more dimly, those that still shone at all. Clouds scudded frantically across the faint crescent of the moon, pushed along by a harrying wind. The crickets all had fallen silent--indeed, all the animals had gone, hidden away in burrows and holes to shelter themselves from the threat of the corruption. No sound disturbed the stillness of the night, but for the harsh gasps of the lone figure as he raised the scythe and swung it again, and again, and again.

fWhip’s fingers had long since blistered, burst, and blistered again. He had stopped even glancing down to check his hands--the sight of the blood seeping through the fabric of his gloves had averted his gaze some time ago. The pain was a constant companion, enough so that he had become used to it, could ignore it if he gritted his teeth and focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of the tool in his grasp.

He was inelegant with the scythe. It would have been obvious to anyone observing, if there had been anyone around to observe at this ungodly hour; as it was, his lack of skill was evident enough in the ache it left behind in his forearms and shoulders, the torque that yanked at his spine every time he twisted to put his weight behind the swings. He had never been a large man, but he felt his smallness down to his bones here beneath the tower of corruption that still rose into the air above him.

Give up, the rot-red tendril seemed to hiss at him. Its veiny surface pulsated eerily, hinting at something living just beneath the fleshy exterior.

“I’ll die first,” fWhip rasped at it. “Watch me.”

He swung the scythe again. The blade was weathered steel, pocked and beaten from many years of use, but still dangerously sharp. It bit deep into the corrupted tendril, and fWhip was gratified when he swore he could hear a faint scream.

Plash was worried about the Count.

It wasn’t that her lord was acting strange, exactly. Strange, to Plash, was a relative term--she had been called ‘strange’ for most of her childhood due to her fondness for laboratory tools over the company of other children. It was a relief to finally be accepted into the service of the Grimlands’ ruler, who, by Plash’s measure, was a kindred spirit in strangeness. Many people raised their eyebrows at the Count’s eccentricities, but accepted them simply because he was the Count, and who were they to question the man who kept food on their tables and money in their coffers?

No, Plash was concerned because fWhip was acting strange, even for him. He was energetic and filled to the brim with ideas, as a rule--it was what made the Grimlands, under his rule, surge to the forefront of scientific research and discovery. Plash would have never described him as kind, necessarily, or even pleasant, but he was confident and sure and bold.

Until the Dragon fell, and everything changed.

She did not know how to make the dullness go out of his eyes, or the slant from his shoulders, or the heavy, bowing weight from his head, and it frightened her--an uncomfortable experience in itself, for someone as rarely frightened as Plash. In the hours immediately after the Dragon’s end, she had watched her beloved ruler become a person she did not recognize; and that, even before the corruption had arrived.

Plash scowled out the window of the manor at the scarlet tendril hanging ominously in the sky beyond the pane. The damn things had erupted from the ground barely a week after the Dragon’s death, while the Grimlands were still reeling from the arrival of what seemed like half of Mythland’s population. They had barely had enough time to count them all, much less figure out how they were going to feed them. Tents lined every road in Eastvale, and most of the roads immediately outside the town’s wall.

Normally, the Count would guide us, Plash thought glumly. But now…

She didn’t allow herself to finish the thought, close enough to treason as it was. Instead, she made herself continue her trek through the long, high-ceilinged halls toward the Count’s personal study, acutely feeling the weight of the smooth little scroll clutched in her hand, burning a hole through her glove.

She arrived at the tall, paneled oak door, staring for a long moment at the polished bronze knocker before summoning her strength and rapping it twice.

“Enter,” the weary voice called from within.

Plash did so, but stopped just inside the door, barely remembering to close it behind her as she gaped at her leader and mentor. He looked terrible. His eyes were ringed by bruise-purple circles, his cheeks hollow with exhaustion; more bruises were visible on the exposed skin of his wrists where his jacket sleeves rode up, and Plash swore she could see blood staining his gloves.

“Are you just going to stare?” the Count asked. The question was blunt, but his voice was weak and lacked its usual intensity.

“I…” Plash couldn’t find any words, so instead she held up the scroll. “This just arrived.”

“And they sent you instead of a raven?” fWhip gave a dry laugh. “I wasn’t aware that you were doing the job of birds now, Plash Ajax.”

Most people would have been embarrassed by the quip, but Plash shrugged. “A raven brought it, but the raven-mistress said it was too important not to be hand-delivered.”

“Mm.” fWhip eyed her for a moment before he, too, shrugged. “Bring it here.”

She obeyed, crossing the room and depositing the scroll on his desk. Up close he looked even worse than at first glance; his face and every centimeter of exposed flesh were riddled with tiny scratches, like he had been on the losing end of an encounter with a thorn bush. His clothes were wrinkled and disheveled, his gingery hair utterly unkempt. Plash said nothing, only waiting in silence for him to inspect the scroll.

He took it in his hands and unrolled it, eyes scanning it for a second before he let it fall from his grip. It hit the desk with a clack, but Plash barely noticed, fixated as she was on the single tear that trailed down the Count’s cheek before being lost in the tangle of his beard.

“Um…” She chewed her lip for a moment, internally caught between wanting to comfort him and wanting to turn tail and run. She settled for asking, somewhat awkwardly, “Shall I, um...shall I leave?”

“Do what you like,” he replied in a tone thick with exhaustion. One gloved hand came up for a noncommittal wave, the fingers indeed stained scarlet with blood.

Plash stood frozen for what felt like an eternity, although it was probably no more than a minute, trying to decide what to do. Finally, she decided to be as blunt as the man she looked up to. “You look awful. Did someone break in here for a fight last night?”

She thought she had made an awful mistake when fWhip’s eyes locked onto her, his mouth agape; relief washed over her when he started to laugh, the sound hoarse and beaten, but familiar.

“So you can tell,” he said when he finally stopped laughing. “Well, I suppose I did nothing to try to clean up.”

“Wait, so there was a fight?” Plash asked in confusion.

“Of a kind,” the Count replied wryly.

“...I’m confused,” the young scientist admitted.

“Ah, I know how you hate that.” fWhip’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “All of you young researchers do, though I try my best to beat it out of you.” He stood, shaking his head and then wincing visibly at the movement. “Ack. That’s unpleasant.”

“Can I, er, help in any way?” Plash asked.

“Follow me,” the Count said, beckoning with a gesture toward the door. “I will answer your question, though you must promise to share this with no one.”

Plash followed silently, thoughts spinning through her head as they descended the several floors of the manor and exited into the gardens beyond. From down here, she had a full view of the corruption towering over the skyline of Eastvale, tendrils encircling the town as if to latch on and pull it into the earth, although for now, they remained still. It was toward one of the massive growths that fWhip led her, and as they neared, Plash could see a curious wound in the side of the tentacle. It leaked and bled crimson ooze from the gash, and its flesh seemed to have withered around the site, blackened and decaying.

“What caused this?” Plash wondered aloud. “More corruption? Some new blight?”

“I did,” the Count answered.

“You--?” Plash stared at him, aghast, her eyes dropping slowly to the scarlet-stained scythe that lay abandoned on the ground below the tendril. She hadn’t noticed it until he nudged it with his boot, but now she saw the corrupted ichor dripping from the blade, the red vines hacked to pieces and lying dead beside the tool.

“Did you know I wanted to be a farmer once?”

She was caught entirely off-guard by the question, still enthralled as she was by the sight of the scythe, so it took her a moment to fully process it. “Wh--wait, a farmer? As in…?” She mimed what she thought scything wheat might look like.

fWhip nodded tiredly. “When I was very young, I once had to accompany my parents, the old Count and Countess, on a trip to a Wither Rose Alliance summit in Mythland. They were, of course, ensconced in meetings all day, so I wandered the kingdom with my…” Here he trailed off, a flash of some unreadable feeling crossing his face for a moment before he went on. “With an old friend. We got into plenty of mischief, and one of the pranks we decided on was to unlatch the gate to a field full of cows. Luckily, the farmer caught us before we were trampled to death by the beasts, and although we were royal, he decided to teach us a lesson, and made us help him sow carrot seeds for two hours.”

Plash made a face. “That sounds horrid.”

The Count chuckled softly. “My friend thought so, but for me, there was something very rewarding in digging up the earth, placing the seeds, covering them, and knowing that they would someday become food for the citizens of Mythland.”

“...Sort of like finishing a machine that you know will be used to make life easier for people,” Plash said after a moment’s reflection. She knew the feeling--hands oil-stained, face soot-smeared, hair wild, sleep-deprived and exhausted, but overwhelmed with warmth when she gazed at the thing she had created. There was nothing like it.

fWhip nodded. “Yes. And so I told my parents when I was returned to them later that I wanted to become a farmer and grow carrots for all the people of the Grimlands. They laughed, of course, and said that a Count’s son could do more than become a simple farmer, and as it turned out, they were right. But for a long time, I had a secret dream to fill the whole world with fields, to build one every day, as far as the eye could see.”

Plash gazed at him silently for a long time. Finally, she said, “So this is your chance to use the scythe to help the Grimlands?”

His face became hard, almost unrecognizably so. “If I have to tear down every one of these damn things, I will.”

There was silence between them again, the awful, still silence that had hung over the Grimlands in all the hours that had passed since the Ender Dragon’s demise. Plash watched as the Count breathed raggedly, his fists clenched and trembling, the entire weight of their kingdom resting on his shoulders.

“I’ll help,” she said.

He blinked--it was clearly not the response he had been expecting. “What?”

“I said, I’ll help,” Plash repeated. Her resolve was growing now, ideas taking root--like seeds, like kernels that, properly watered, would grow into something that could help them all. “I’m terrible with a scythe, but I know machines and chemicals. If you give me a sample, I can turn it into something that will help us feed the Mythlanders.”

The Count’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Feed--with the corruption?”

Plash scowled at him. “Did you recruit me from university because I had boring ideas?”

He looked astonished for a moment, but only for a moment, and then his mouth formed the devious smile that she hadn’t seen in nearly eight days.

“No,” he agreed. “I did not. Very well, Plash Ajax. You will turn Xornoth’s corruption into food for the people of Mythland. But you know, I have high expectations now that you’ve even suggested such a thing.”

Plash grinned right back, cracking her knuckles, her mind already working. “I know. So do I.”

#also featuring a sneaky reference to fwhip's hardcore series!!#see if you can spot it #empires smp #mcyt #writing #fwhip #the grimlands #empiresona #empires oc #plash ajax #xornoth #rcu #technically rcu!fwhip

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calebdumes · 3 years

Text

not a prompt just a little ear worm i got while reading queen’s shadow

fandom: star wars rebels

relationship: kanan jarrus/hera syndulla

rating: t (mentions of vomit)

word count: 2k

“No.” Kanan said flatly. “Absolutely not.”

“Kanan, please I don’t think you realize what’s at stake here. We have to do this.”

Kanan folded his arms across his chest. “Then you’ll have to do it without me.”

“We can’t do it without you.” Hera pleaded.

Sabine looked between the human and Twi’lek with round eyes, trying to ignore the pit that was forming in her stomach. She hadn’t been part of the Ghost crew for very long but she had been around long enough to know that whatever was going on with Hera and Kanan, it wasn’t good. They hardly ever fought and when they did, it was nothing like this.

“Uh,” she interrupted. Sabine didn’t really want to get in the middle of their squabble but if they were fighting over a potential job that involved the whole crew, she needed to know about it. Especially if Kanan – let me jump off the roof of this building in the middle of a firefight and roll away without a scratch – Jarrus wanted nothing to do with it. “What exactly is this job?”

Hera turned away from where Kanan stood fuming. “There is a senatorial aid who has been accused of treason against the Empire but they were able to escape before being arrested. My contact, Fulcrum, wants us to extract them before the Empire finds them.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is.” Zeb said from beside her on the acceleration couch, resting his purple elbow on the holotable. “We’ve done jobs like this before.”

Kanan scoffed and turned away from them, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hera shot him a concerned glance before saying, “We have but this one it time sensitive, if we don’t get the aid off of Coruscant before they are arrested, any Senator with rebel sympathies will be in danger. The whole rebellion could be destroyed before it can begin.”

“So let Fulcrum send someone else,” Kanan snapped whirling around on her. “I know there has to be other cells, let one of them do it. Not us.”

Hera reached out and placed a hand on his arm that he shook off. She blinked at the rejection and the pit in Sabine’s stomach grew. “The Ghost is uniquely equipped for a job like this.” She said. “And you know I can’t tell you about other cells if there are any. For your own protection.”

“Kriff my protection Hera!” He spat. “I’m not going back there.”

“Millions of people could die if we don’t do this Kanan.” Hera fired back, her lekku stiff. “Please,” her shoulders drooped, her melodic voice going soft. “I know what I’m asking you to do and I’m begging you, just this once, please trust me.”

Kanan’s face was like stone, his eyes cold. Sabine felt a shutter run down her spine. He gave Hera a curt nod before stomping from the room. Even from the lounge she could hear the dull thuds of things being thrown.

Hera collapsed down next to her. “Well, that could have gone better.”

Sabine looked over at Zeb’s puzzled face before asking, “What’s his deal with Coruscant?”

“That’s his story to share.” Hera rubbed at her temples. “But needless to say, he’s not a fan of the planet.”

“I’d say.” Zeb grumbled. “Is he going to be alright for this job?”

Hera sighed. “He’s going to have to be. The free galaxy is depending on it.”

Kanan’s neck prickled as soon as the Ghost exited hyperspace, the familiar ball of city planet filled the viewport. He could feel the hum of his holocron buzzing at the back of his mind; it’s not quite sentience calling out to him in warning. Master Kenobi’s words echoing loudly in his ears.

Do not return to the Temple, that time has passed.

Sweat beaded his forehead as Hera angled the Ghost down to the surface, slipping past the blockade of Star Destroyers

“Freighter Dawn Catcher, this is the Prosperity. State your purpose and transmit lading permit.” A voice rang out in the enclosed space of the cockpit, the Core accent so sharp that it made Kanan visibly wince. Hera shot him a look before responding.

“Transmitting landing permit now Prosperity.” She said, her eyes snagging on how Kanan’s hand shook on the armrests. “We’re are delivering a scheduled payload from Raada Agricultural Distribution.”

There was a pause as the Ghost was scanned and their landing permit was confirmed. “Landing permit confirmed Dawn Catcher. Follow along assigned descent vector and dock in landing bay 389.”

Hera flipped off the comm and continued down to the surface. Kanan could hear Sabine and Zeb’s gasp of amazement as the surface of Coruscant unfolded before them, endless buildings and skyscrapers that rose up from the depths of the planet like shining chrome plated jewels. He felt Sabine grab on to the back of his seat as she leaned forward for a better look.

“Hey!” she pointed to a sand colored building that was just a mere dot on the horizon. Kanan felt his heart lodge itself in his throat. “Isn’t that the old Jedi Temple?” she asked.

The Force swelled around him, sharp and familiar. He could feel the faint tendrils of the vergence the Temple sat on prick at his shield but they were too far away for it to do much that make his stomach roll with nausea.

He didn’t want to be here. Every atom of his being seemed to be revolting against the planet. His breaths dragged through his lungs in ragged pants, his blood rushing through his veins, spurred on by waves of adrenaline. He shouldn’t be here.

Caleb…you must run!

Kanan flinched violently in his seat. He was vaguely aware of Hera speaking but a thick fog of memories had fallen over him. The heavy heat of blaster fire seared his skin, the smell of fire and oil curled in his nose. The pained screams of his people rang loudly in his ears.

Avoid Coruscant. Avoid detection. Be secret.

“Kanan?” Hera’s hand landed lightly on shoulder, making him jump. “We need to move.”

Kanan blinked, clearing his vision to find that they had landed. The bright sky was just a faint pin prick of light at the top of the long shaft that bore into the planet leading to the fathomless depths below. He nodded, pushing down the bile that threatened to climb up his throat.

This is Master Obi Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place.

“Zeb, you stay here with me and unload the supplies. Kanan and Sabine will head to the warehouse and recover the asset. Move quickly.” She told them, her words barely washing over Kanan. “Avoid detection.”

Do not return to the Temple.

His hands flexed at his side, reaching for a weapon he hadn’t carried in years.

“Kanan?” Sabine asked when he didn’t move.

“I’m coming.” He mumbled. He checked the charge on his blaster before following her down the ramp and stepping foot on his home planet. They moved quickly and silently through the dark and dirt streets of the Coruscant underworld, his senses on high alert.

Any second now they would find him, the stupid lost padawan. Too dumb to ignore Master Kenobi’s warning. They would find him and then…

Kanan shuttered.

Fulcrum’s spy was waiting for them at the mouth of the warehouse, trying and failing to look unbothered. The Rodian waved them and hit the door control, closing them off from prying eyes.

“You got the crates?” Kanan asked in a strained voice. Any second now they would come. He could hear the heavy tread of the Clones. They were coming for him. Any second now…

Kanan’s heart thundered in his chest.

“You got the credits?”

Sabine tossed the Rodian a bag that he caught mid air.

“They’re over there.” He pointed on long suctioned cup finger over to two crates sitting on a hover stretcher. “Take them and get out.”

The journey back to the Ghost seemed to last forever. More than once they had to backtrack to avoid a stormtrooper patrol that was stopping to question the poor souls that were in their way. The whole time, the Force was screaming at him, making his whole body tremble.

Run Jedi. Run.

If he didn’t get off this planet soon, Kanan feared something far worse than death was coming.

Any second now…

Zeb was waiting for them when they finally made it back. He waved them on urgently, spotting a group of white clad soldiers marching their way. “C’mon let’s go.” He hissed, smacking the door control as soon as they were on board. “All Specters on board.” The Lasat called out to Hera.

The Ghost rumbled beneath their feet as Hera took off, rising up the wide shaft. Kanan climbed the ladder to the cockpit, leaving Sabine and Zeb to deal with their new cargo. He blinked as the bright sun grew as the rose. Any second now…

“Are you okay?” Hera asked him as he fell into the co pilot’s chair. Adrenaline coursed through his body, sweat dripping down his back. Any second now…

If he was capable of laughing he would have. Instead he jerked his head and managed to ground out, “I’m the furthest thing from okay Hera.”

She gave him a sympathetic look before swinging the Ghost around and slipping into the traffic lanes leading space.

The Temple filled his side of the viewport. Kanan screamed in pain, clutching at his head as the Force tore it apart.

The vergence pulled at him, no longer warm and inviting but dark and twisted; corrupted beyond recognition. He could feel the death of his people burning though his mind, their pain bleeding into his veins like poison, stealing the breath from his lungs. So much hate, so much anger. Kanan was drowning in it.

Until he wasn’t.

Kanan sat hunched over in his seat with Hera kneeling beside him, the bright blue tunnel of hyperspace casting the cockpit in an eerie glow. His breath was ragged, echoing harshly in the enclosed space.

“Kanan?” Hera placed a hand on his shaking knee. His stomach revolted.

Springing from the chair, he ran to the ‘fresher, his knees colliding painfully on the metal floor as he choked up bile. The last thing he remembered was Hera’s cry before everything went blissfully dark.

Hera sat on the edge of the bed as Kanan slept. She dragged a wet cloth over his forehead, feeling the heat that radiated from his skin.

This was her fault, she thought numbly. She should have never asked him to do this but at the time, she was so sure the benefit would outweigh the risk. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Kanan moaned in his sleep, worry lines creasing his skin. Hera leaned down to kiss them away. “It’s alright love.” She whispered softly. “You’re safe.”

His teal eyes blinked open, wide and bright with fever. “Hera?”

“I’m right here, love.” She cupped his chin gently, the soft hairs of his beard tickling her palm. “you need to rest.”

“I can feel them.” He gasped, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. “They’re dying.”

Hera’s heart shattered. “I know but it’s over now.” She stroked a thumb over his cheek. “You’re safe.”

She repeated the words until he drifted off again, his face slack and finally at peace. Hera sighed and leaned back against the bulkhead. There was a soft knock on the door followed by Sabine’s quiet voice.

“Hera?”

“Come in.” Hera called back. The doors swished open to let the young Mandalorian into Hera’s cabin. She looked at Kanan’s prone figure on the cot and frowned.

“The aid is all settled. We should reach Dantoonie in a few days.” She reported softly.

Hera nodded. “Good. I’ll let Fulcrum know.”

Sabine hesitated, still watching Kanan closely. “He’s Jedi isn’t he?” she asked.

“Sabine,” Hera sighed. “It’s not my place to say.”

“That’s why he didn’t want to go to Coruscant.” She carried on as if Hera hadn’t spoken. “That’s why he’s like this now? He’s a survivor.”

“It’s not my place to say.” Hera repeated more forcefully. “I’ll be out in just a minute okay?”

Sabine bit her lip in response before leaving, the doors sliding shut behind her. Hera ran a tender hand through Kanan’s sweaty hair.

“I’m sorry love.” A tear slipped down her face. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

#kanera #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #sabine wren #star wars rebels #star wars: rebels #star wars #you could always see me #look at me write #shleby writes

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grumpyhedgehogs · 3 years

Text

this tired old elegy

Summary: CC-5052 and a company of other clones bound for decommissioning are instead auctioned off to slavers on Tatooine. Or they would be, if someone mysterious didn't intervene. The resulting chaos stirs up memories Bly craves; CC-5052 thinks they might be best forgotten. Or: In which Bly is This Close to breaking out of the chip's control by himself and Obi-Wan shows up to give him that extra push. AO3.

Notes: A scene that's been kicking around in my head for a while, of two ships passing in the night. Hinted Codywan and Blyla.

Warnings: Mild violence, seizures, slavery, mind control, grief.

The clones of Kamino are dying out.

They’ve known this for a long time now. The Empire used them, wiped out the last of the Old Republic with them, and shunted them off, thrown out with yesterday’s trash when they weren’t useful anymore. CC-5052 has heard the horror stories, the ones the admirals always shut down if they heard them spreading among the ranks. Clones decommissioned before their time. Clones going missing, or going against orders in the field. Clones found with a single blaster shot to the head and no explanation for their deaths given. Clones pushed from active duty, given menial jobs or guard posts. CC-5052 heard CC-2224 has a teaching position now.

Disgrace is a clone’s lot, and it tastes sour in the mouth.

This though? CC-5052’s stomach turns over when the doors to the spaceport he and three of his brothers three other clones have been held in for days on end finally open. The air that buffets him is arid, dry and hot against his skin. Sand flings itself, clawing, searching, into his eyes, and CC-5052 coughs against the assault. It does little to help. He never thought for a second that he’d come to this end. It’s poetic in a way his Jedi the Traitor he served under would have found poignant once upon a time. Enslavement is how the clones of Kamino came into this world, so enslavement should be the way they go out, shouldn’t it?

Tatooine is a wretched planet, CC-5052 decides as he and his vode his family the rest of his company are led onto the calling block. The Empire has no use for him, and so it sends him to a useless place.

“One hundred credits,” the auctioneer offers, gesturing at one of the three other clones to CC-5052’s left. A hand raises in the air before them, and the auctioneer dispassionately raises the price by another hundred credits. And so it begins. Is this all there is for him?

I’m going to die on this dust-ball.

The crowd around them is sparse; the midday suns beat down on them all, slave and free sentient alike, and no one is immune to their rays. Most attendants are covered from head to toe in brown, black or white fabrics, wrapped up like mummified remains. Sunlight reflects off of any and all surfaces. A mother carrying a child’s metal cradle passes by on the edge of the crowded marketplace, and the shine off of the basket pierces directly into CC-5052’s brain. He hisses, air whistling between his teeth, eyes clenching. The pain rockets through his skull--it seems to be doing that a lot lately, random headaches plaguing his sleep. Migraines are not uncommon in the vode the clones, but he doesn’t want to examine what they mean. They’re far too often accompanied by a wave of grief that threatens to swallow CC-5052 whole.

His attention has wandered too far; the price has gone up five times since he last checked, and the auctioneer is getting excited now. They bounce on their toes, rattling off higher and higher numbers with a growing grin. As if this is just a good day at the market for them. As if it simply does not matter. As if they don’t matter.

What he thinks now is treason, of course. They are Empire property, were Republic property before that. If the Emperor saw fit to sell him off, who is CC-5052 to argue?

I hate him.

The thought nearly rattles every bone in CC-5052’s body with its intensity--but there is no time for him to examine its implications, because three things happen in very rapid succession.

First, an explosion goes off somewhere nearby and behind CC-5052; debris and sand sail through the air, pelting down on the crowd before the slave auction. The ground rolls beneath their feet, and CC-5052 has to stumble to keep his balance. The auctioneer does not have his luck, and trips right off of the platform, facedown in the dust. It startles a laugh out of CC-5052--Bly--but then he inhales more ash and coughs instead.

Second, the chains around his wrists loosen unexpectedly before falling away completely. His arms aren’t quite as burly as they used to be, from inactivity before the auction and from years of being shoved to the sidelines before that, so Bly’s CC-5052’s wrists slip easily between his manacles. Above the roar of growing fires and screaming citizens, he can just make out three identical thumps as the clones beside him rub raw skin that mirrors his own.

Third, through the confusion and panic setting into the crowd, the fleeing forms and those who have fallen prone and lain still, through the smoke and fire and noise, CC--Bly looks up and sees a hooded person beckoning to him. He can’t see their eyes, can’t see anything but brown fabric and smoke and a hand lifted in greeting, which turns its palm away after a second and crooks its fingers. There’s a tickle at the back of his mind, and, his migraine raging so badly that his vision wavers as he jumps down, Bly follows. His brothers are right behind him.

The stranger ducks and weaves through the enraged crowds, avoiding fire and danger deftly. There’s something almost comforting about slipping into their shadow, something familiar and warm that Bly almost doesn’t recognize. For a moment, Bly thinks wildly that the stranger probably has blue skin, but the thought evades him when he tries to examine it more closely.

They are outside of the city limits within fifteen minutes. The figure stops and waits for the clones to approach, never turning to look at them. Bly CC-5052 (Bly?) stops a few feet away, outside of arm’s reach. Just in case. Their head turns, but the hood obscures anything defining.

“Who are you?”

They shake their head. Fair enough.

Why did you save us?”

His brothers--clones--brothers shift on their feet behind him, anxious for the answer. The figure shakes their head again.

“Will you answer any of my questions?” Their shoulders hitch minutely and he gets the distinct feeling he’s being laughed at. For once, it doesn’t seem malicious. It’s refreshing, even if it does intensify the stinging behind Bly’s eyes. “Fine. What do we do now?”

At this, the figure finally reacts. They turn and point into the distance; Bly raises his eyes to the horizon, where a tiny homestead sits beyond the wavy hot air. Then the figure jerks their fingers towards the spaceport that lies in ruin behind them, then points to the sky, and clenches their fist, bringing it to rest in their flat palm. Then they flatten their fist and mime a ship's take-off.

“Lay low out in the Wastes and come back to steal a ship later.” Bly translates. The stranger nods.

Good enough for Bly.

The stranger lets them into what can be generously described as a hovel. There are four rooms in total, and the larder underground is nearly empty. It’s completely bare when he and his brothers are finished with it. There are no beds, only a slab of rock in the corner of one room with a threadbare blanket on it. It makes CC-5052’s heart twist in his chest. It makes Bly’s migraine even worse, so bad he has to sit down or trip over his own feet. Grief overwhelms him. He comes to with the stranger’s hand on his shoulder, and a clone--his name was Gardener, he was a Coruscant Guard, he was just a shiny when they blew it all to pieces--counting his breaths for him.

One thing at a time.

“You got anything to hunt with out here?” Bly asks when his lungs don’t feel like they’re the size of straws. The stranger hands him what amounts to a wooden spear.

Killing womprats takes all day and into the evening. Bly and his brothers--Gardener and Ink and Database, he knew them once--prowl back through the early twilight and drop them at the stranger’s doorstep. He tries not to feel like a cat bringing home a trophy.

“Body heat would keep you warmer than those rags,” Bly says as they settle in for the night. The stranger, who has not dropped one ounce of cloth from their figure the entire time, shakes their head and turns away. They leave the blanket for Ink to use.

The wind howls around them the entire night.

Taking the ship is easy; it’s small, privately owned. The slaver driving it won’t be missed. Bly wonders where the auctioneer got off to and how long it might take to find him.

CC-5052 wonders if he shouldn’t report back to the Empire for decommissioning. Bly rejects it. The migraine gets worse, howling in his mind like the wind does out in the Wastes.

The stranger freezes beside him where they’ve been keeping an eye out for any more crew the clones need to take down. A soft palm clasps Bly’s shoulder and the pain recedes.

He tries not to shake them off too harshly, but the last time someone did that, touched him like that--

She’s not here anymore.

Bly resolves not to go back. There’s nothing left in the Empire for him anyway.

They killed everything I ever loved.

He gets sick from the pain in his head. He wonders how long he’ll last on the outside. Something tells him, not long.

“We’re taking off soon.”

The stranger nods. Their shoulders are a stiff, hard line against the backdrop of the Tatooine horizon. Bly finds himself at a loss for words, and filled with a sudden desperation to speak.

He finds his voice, choking, hoarse. As the wind howls across the dunes, he has to raise his volume to be heard. “You could come with us.”

It has the opposite effect than he wants; they jerk back, settling into a more defensive posture. Bly raises his hands in submission, but can’t help taking a step forward. “We’re not going back to the Empire, if you’re worried. We--things happened to us there. Because of the Empire--we’re not who we used to be. But we’re free now, and we wouldn’t hurt--”

Sandstorms and windstorms happen quickly on this planet, and a huge gust nearly takes them both off their feet. Sand flies into his face for the second time in as many days, and, coughing, Bly reaches out and blindly finds his savior’s hand. He tugs relentlessly, fumbling his way through the sudden gusts and dust to the overhang where they’ve stashed the ship. He’s thankful his brothers are already on the ship; no one else needs to be caught up in this mess.

“Are you alright?” His gloves are covered in grime and it takes three or four swipes at his eyes before Bly gets his sight clear. He reaches out, catching hold of the stranger's arm as they cough and bend to spit out dirt a few feet away, face hidden by the low light here. Their headscarf has fallen from the wind, their hood flipped down for the first time. His hand brushes their shoulder, fingertips catching against the only exposed skin they have at the base of their throat, and the stranger flinches back instinctively--and then they turn to look at him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi looks older now. His voice is softer. “Commander Bly?”

“Jedi.” The death sentence falls from Bly’s lips without his knowledge and his vision wavers again. The next time the black spots clear away, Bly’s hands are wrapped around Kenobi’s throat and squeezing. The Jedi’s eyes bulge grotesquely, but then Bly’s hands loosen without his consent, flying down to pin themselves by his sides. He topples over and only Kenobi’s quick reflexes stop him from burning his face against the sun warmed sand beneath their feet. The force holding his hands down relents, as if surprised, and Bly scrambles back, his head pounding. CC-5052, who had been receding for days, weeks, maybe even years, surges against him and Bly retches as he lunges again.

Kenobi was always known for his keen battle sense, though, so Bly is hardly surprised when he’s sidestepped. He throws his weight towards the Traitor (Jedi-General-friend) again only to have his outstretched arm caught and folded around his own back. Kenobi lets CC-5052’s weight fall against his own chest, allowing them both to fold gently to the ground. Another arm wraps firmly across CC-5052’s chest, pinning his other arm to his side. Spittle and froth foam at his lips, choking him, but Kenobi does not let go.

It feels as if a rusted spike has been driven through CC-5052’s skull. Adrenaline is making him shake, as if he’ll fall apart.

“No, my friend,” Kenobi says, almost too quiet over the animal sounds caught in CC-5052’s throat. “You’re having a seizure. You’re ill. Whatever has been done to you--it’s breaking down.”

Bly jerks and spits and gasps his way out from under CC-5052’s influence in fits and starts.

“I--I didn’t--I didn’t mean to attack--”

“I can sense that, Commander.” When Bly fails to strain against his hold any longer, Kenobi’s fingers raise to tentatively touch his temple. “You’ve got pain, here, all the time. It intensified when you attacked, and your presence slipped away. Faded, like a radio signal from far off. Like--like Cody’s did.”

Bly doesn’t have to ask what Kenobi means.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and then something snaps and he can’t seem to stop. Years of torment, too built up to be pushed back. “I’m--I’m so sorry. I--I never wanted--we never meant to--I’m sorry.”

“You need not apologize, Bly.” Kenobi’s touch is soothing, as much as it prompts his migraine to rekindle. “You need not be sorry. It was not you.”

Her face drifts before his eyes, overlapping Kenobi’s when he meets the man’s eyes. She loved Bly, he knows she did. Bly loved her too. Suddenly, it’s all-important to tell Kenobi of this, for someone to know, for a Jedi to know.

“I loved her.”

“She knew.”

It feels like absolution.

“We loved you all.” Bly says, the final, most agonizing confession. “We loved the Jedi.”

“We loved the Vode.” Kenobi assures gently. Then his fingers find Bly’s temple again and the world goes a pleasant, fuzzy white. “We loved you all too.”

It feels like a gift.

Bly wakes up with three of his brothers, a stolen ship, and only the memory of a stranger with a fading smile to account for his time on Tatooine.

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ravencromwell · 3 years

Text

Teixcalaanli fandom, am I the only one who can't get the Omelas-style scenarios for Mahit in Memory out of my head? If Darj's info hadn't come when it did. If One Lightning hadn't decided to shit where he wanted to eat and wreck half a city for the fucking sun-spear throne--and if that hadn't led to Larkspur deciding he was some really hot shit who could also coup--. In that alternant world, where she simply came because of Yskandr's death, is there some part of your brain that closes the covers and can't stop thinking: would she have let the station be devoured, or sold him the damn machine?

Putting the rest of this under a cut, for the sake of a mutual who I'm currently practically vibrating to have read this book and then come talk at me about it.

Without Darj's info and the coups, Mahit is left with utterly shit options. I immediately! viscerally want to say that she would've made different choices: that the utter perversion of the imago inherent in what Six Directions wants to do to Eight Antidote would make her say no--she knows! he would be utterly subsumed by 6D. But! oh but; we see the same problems that plagued Yskandr plague Mahit.

Even a cursory tumblr search tells me that those of us who adore Yskandr, in all his morally bankrupt complexity/complicity like to joke that all her troubles started because he's an utter bi icon that adores getting in way the fuck over his head and then falling head over arse. But it's an oversimplification because 6D is! a good emperor: everything Yskandr thinks about him being like the starship captain in that beautiful poetic excerpt we get is *true*

Don't get me wrong: it's also! true that he has a cruel streak (holy fuck making Nineteen Ads *complicit* in his sacrifice after what she said! about missing him every day for all the days of her fucking life! I can't be the only one who thinks that's yeah, because he wants good governance but also just as a massive fuck-you for denying his dreams of being the one to carry it out via imago--love and hatred and rage are such a hopelessly interwoven thing in these novels, constantly pushing and pulling against one another) He's got a cruel streak, and he grasps at his wish for immortality, long after the hope of it has died. But Yskandr's love didn't blind him so far as to be *wrong* about the core truth that he was a damn fine emperor within the confines of his world-view.

So, here Mahit is, faced with this profoundly tempting offer of *eternal* freedom for her station, for such a small price; only one child devoured, one secret betrayed. And look, I have to be honest. My visceral scream of no, save poor baby Eight Antidote is uttered by a person secure in the U.S. empire, who's never felt the colonizer's boot, or the soft power of cultural integration.

It also comes, I like to think, as a historian: knowing that if men like One Lightning and Larkspur hadn't struck in that! moment, they would have struck eventually; eternal peace is fool's gold, because you're always going to have some asshole who wants power or glory or...something that will lead them to think bloodshed is the answer. If Yskandr hadn't been quite so desperate to both save the station from 6D's inevitable war to prove his might even in illness and utterly smitten, he would've admitted he was buying finite time, not some eternity of peace.

There's a haunting passage where Mahit thinks about her clone-sib, about all the things he would be denied if Teixcalaan invaded and decided stationer imagos were "barbaric"--all the possibilities dear to her he would never have, how the continuity of memory would be broken. When one child, in the form of Eight Antidote is juxtaposed against all the stationer children--even with the understanding that what you're buying is finite, it becomes an impossible choice. I've never been so fucking glad for aliens in a story; and yet, the Omelas possibilities just keep! haunting me.

In one strand of time, Mahit comes to 19ads perspective: that an imago is not only barbaric in a child, but the consequences simply too unknown. She gets experimental surgery from Five Portico—one last, desperate gasp of fuck-you patriotism for her station. She watches a sun-temple be built on that same station. She clings to the imago of Yskandr--not letting them meld into one, but keeping up that back-and-forth patter, racked with dizziness and nausea because fuck everything. They are the two last to be preserved by imago. Maybe there is secret stationer resistance, tales whispered to children about imago machines; the hand-printed comics of heroic pilots and their consulted imagos passed from hand to hand, carefully preserved as the pages fade and tatter from so many fingers. But she does not know; she who failed as ambassador and can only blunt the colliding of the cultures; she, Mahit-and-Yskandr do not return home. She clings to 3seagrass through the tumult of inevitable rise-and-fall factions as Larkspur and Eight Loop struggle for dominance in that decade until Antidote reaches his majority. Maybe she even becomes integral to a coup by Nineteen Ads, she and Yskandr both thinking it's the only way to restore the peace Six Directions wanted as the aliens continue to eat away at the borders, learned of too late to do the station any good.

In another: oh, in another. She capitulates. Antidote is subsumed. Perhaps, if she doesn't yet have the imago of older Yskandr in her head--because so much of that is over the message, so no message, no spurring incident--, Six Directions lets her have it installed; the most misplaced gesture of kindness, thinking that if she is subsumed by Yskandr, she will no longer be so guilty, so hollow. But of course, she is not subsumed by Yskandr. Oh, she has his love for Six Directions, tucked into her endocrine system, and in her empathy, she even understands it; his love for his emperor and Nineteen Ads both. But it is not her! love, and it brings her cold comfort indeed. Seeing Three Seagrass's lovely, beautiful empire continue in peace is a comfort. When she can stop thinking of stars going out, consumed by alien presences. Three Seagrass's gentle hand-pressure against her back, or her wide, skillful mouth, hot against Mahit's; those are comforts. Yskandr whispers to cling to them, but any warmth is distant, fleeting. And her station is so happy, all unaware of her treason, astounded by the skill of the child emperor in the war.

Or perhaps: she lets herself become Yskandr; screams and begs until he takes command, and lets Mahit become only distant static in the back of his head, in this different body.

Fuck, there're just so many! scenarios, and my terrible id-brain wants fic of them *all*

#Teixcalaan #Arkady Martine #Mahit Dzmare #Yskandr Aghavin #A Memory Called Empire #(I know I've touched very! fucking lightly on the...outside threat here but A: haven't read Desolation yet; simply haunted after the end of #Memory but also B: it's a very *internal* reaction that haunts me; I mean I'd love! seeing all the politicing and ramifications but it's #...not what's obsessing my fanfic brain rn #GOD feel free to steal any/all of these for plot bunnies! just tell me when you've writen 'em so my id can be happy

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cl-01-kestis · 3 years

Text

The Fall of Atollon

Dismay - Grand Admiral Thrawn x Rebel!Reader | Part 1

Summary: a decade and a half flies by and Omani is growing into an adult. It’s your responsibility to protect her from the dark truths of the Empire.

Warnings: very long, violence, angst

(Omani looks like this, using Ar’alani for reference)

“It’s too hot out here” You puffed out, lying on the ground beside Omani who was gulping down her water bottle at a rapid pace, wiping the sweat of her forehead as she hummed in agreement.

“That’s Atollon for you, Tiscen’i, but I agree... I don’t think it’s ever been this hot before” Omani panted as she removed her top, her black sports bra covering her chest as she dumped her T-shirt next to yours. She lay in the other direction from you, her head beside yours as the two of you bathed in the suns light.

As mother and daughter, shockingly, no one would ever guess either of you were related. She was mistaken to be a full blooded Chiss most of the time she met someone new. But when you say you’re her mother, that makes things twice as shocking. One, you’re a human, and two, you look stunning for your age, barely looking a few years older than Omani. Since Omani was now considered a grown up, your attitude started to change with her. Instead of treating her like a little girl, you treated her like your best friend. The two of you shared everything to each other, embarrassing stories, who you thought was attractive, countless inside jokes, but never your past. You’d lost count of how many times your daughter asked you who her father was, she was practically his double and you felt like you were cheating her out of her own heritage, but it was for her own safety.

She had sprouted into such a beautiful young woman, she had been promoted to general recently due to how much effort she had contributed to the rebellion. You used to be a general yourself, however you switched to a Senator after Omani was born with the guidance of Bail Organa, your mentor. You only attended the senate a handful of because of your betrayal to the Empire, you couldn’t risk being identified by a once known ally and trialed for treason. You couldn’t do that, not to Omani.

“Any more news about Thrawn?” You asked, biting the inside of your cheek as your daughter scoffed and let out an almost disgusted sigh.

“Unfortunately yes, that bircisb’s close to discovering the base... I’m doing all I can to keep everyone safe here, including you” Omani turned her head to look at you and noticed the frown stuck on your face. She was going to ask but thought it would be best if she kept her mouth shut since all you ever did was ignore her concern whenever she asked.

Thrawn, her father, was a man she wanted nothing more than to shoot. She was aware of his Chiss origins and even saw him once on a holo recording with you beside her, nearly on the verge of fainting. It took you all your strength not to tell her the truth, but thankfully she didn’t suspect anything about her possibly being related to him and digging into it.

“You work too hard visahot, but you remind me of myself when I used to work for the Empire” You joked dryly, earning a soft chuckle from Omani who leaned her head against yours whilst blocking her bright red eyes from the sun.

“Did you ever meet him whilst you were in the academy? Maybe Tarkin or Vader?” Omani asked curiously, shifting her body at an angle so the back of her head was resting on your shoulder.

“You’d never be lucky enough to see Tarkin or Vader... they were far too superior to be in an imperial academy,” You started.

“But Thrawn? He was the meanest and most serious man I’d ever met” Your voice was oddly calm as you spoke to Omani. She was surprised when the words left your mouth, this was the most open you’d ever been with her and of all the things it was about the man causing terror to their rebellion?

“So you did meet him?” Your daughter smirked, rolling onto her stomach so she was looking at you, her face upside down from where you were lying. You smiled at her expression and shrugged.

“Comrades, but I only spoke to him once” You lied through clenched teeth, sitting up and avoiding bashing Omanis head as she leaned back and sat up with you. The two of you looked at one another and for a moment, all you could see was Thrawn. She was so like him, mannerisms and even accent. The only difference was what side they fought on, a father and daughter on opposite sides and neither of them even knew of their connection, only you did.

“You never really open up about your time at the academy, was it really that bad?” Your blue skinned daughter raised a brow, her beautiful red eyes looking straight into yours as if she was searching for the truth.

“It’s an experience I’m not willing to fully share yet, visahot, but one day you’ll know” You reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder, patting it in an assuring manner which seemed to put her curiosity to the side for the time being.

A flock of loud shouting had brought the two of you out of your thoughts and you stood up immediately, throwing on your shirt and waiting for Omani who ushered you forward whilst putting on her own shirt, tugging it over her head clumsily whilst running to the holo table which all of the rebels surrounded. You spotted Hera Syndulla, her face melting into a frustrated frown. You noticed there were multiple star destroyers that popped up on the hologram, a flock of them right above Atollon.

“Oh no...” You mumbled, heart dropping to your feet when you realised what this meant for you and the rebels.

“Thrawn’s planning an orbital strike on Atollon” Hera said, trapping her chin between her index finger and thumb. You looked at her with wide, terrified eyes, wishing this was all some kind of nightmare. Omani reached out and held your hand out of fear, staying close to you as you both looked at the hologram.

Zeb and Rex had installed a protective barrier around the base, but you weren’t sure how long it was going to hold up for. Omani had left to get dressed and get her things packed, her blaster in her hand when she returned and was called to plan out what was going to happen by other rebels. You stayed with Hera, practically on the verge of hyperventilating as you knotted your hair with your fingers, trying to control your breathing.

“Hey, don’t get all scared on me now, you’re the bravest woman I know on this damn planet” Hera walked up to you, taking your hands away from your hand and holding them tight. You sniffed, nodding your head as a few tears left your glassy eyes.

“Death isn’t what I’m worried about” You whimpered, Thrawn’s face coming into mind when you looked back at the star destroyers. You were afraid to look at the sky, too petrified to even think of anything else apart from the fact that Thrawn was here.

“Then what is it?” Hera asked with confusion, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and taking you away from the table since the image wasn’t making you feel any better. You rubbed your eyes, swallowing down the lump in your throat and trying your best to stay strong for the rebels.

“I can’t say, but promise me if anything goes wrong, you’ll get Omani away from here?” You looked up at the Twi’lek, pleading with your eyes as your hands trembled by your side. Hera nodded sternly, pulling you into a brief hug before excusing herself to prepare for the upcoming orbital strike, leaving you alone in a flurry of anxiety.

You rushed to your room, which had once belonged to you and Ahsoka but now her side of the room was taken up by Omani. You grabbed your jacket and pulled it over your arms and back, grabbing two blasters and a locket which you had since your Imperial days, a locker Thrawn gave to you.

When you got back outside, the orbital strike was taking place. Panicking, you screamed out Omanis name over and over again, looking in all directions before you saw her far away watching the strike with her friends by her side. You let out a sigh of relief but you ran to Hera who was staring up at the herd of incoming green lasers slamming against the barrier. You could see the barrier starting to weaken, you trembled beside Hera who looked away just as the shield was about to break, when all of a sudden the firing stopped.

Everything was dead silent for a while, the sound of burning surrounding the outside of the shield and clouds of black smoke rising from the ground.

“It held! It held!” You heard Zeb yell in the distance, a relieved smile making its way onto your face after some time. You turned to Omani, noticing she was laughing with her friends and rubbing her eyes as if she’d been crying.

Looking over to see you, she bolted in your direction and slammed her body against yours in a tight embrace, her arms wrapped tight around your neck as she held back a sob in your shoulder. You stroked her navy coloured hair, pressing a firm kiss on her temple before pulling back and cupping her face with your hands. No words were exchanged as the two of you smiled at one another before hearing the voices of Zeb and Rex requesting your help.

This wasn’t exactly the situation you were planning to be in. You, Zeb and Rex all hid behind a large plant on the outskirts of the rebel base where most of the air strike had hit. The smell of burning and dirt filled your senses but now was not the time to complain, now was the time to hopefully take down the Empire’s ambush.

“I hope this plan of yours works” Zeb said to Rex, the three of you looking ahead at the desolate patch of land ahead and waiting for any sign of movement.

“Yeah...me too” Rex replied in a not so confident tone, causing you to look up at him with a frown but you let it slide for the time being. Rex looked through his binoculars, inspecting what was in the distance as you and Zeb as well as lots more other rebels awaited for the order. The familiar sound of metal creaking caught your attention and made your hearing perk up. You listened in, recognising the sound that belonged to an AT-ST.

“Here they come” Zeb nervously informed you and Rex. You held your breath when Rex pulled out the small detonator in his hand and not wasting a moment as his thumb pressed down eagerly on the red button at the top.

Three explosions erupted ahead of you and half of the AT-ST’s were taken down in seconds. Pressing the button once more, two more ST’s were taken down but one of them managed to get through the barrier. Zeb stood up behind you and Rex, holding a massive rocket launcher with a big grin on his purple face.

“Left one for you” Rex smirked, his grin matching Zeb’s as he ignited the rocket launcher which flew right into the middle of the ST, exploding as it touched the surface. You cheered, patting Zeb on the shoulder as you stood up to inspect the damage from a distance. Your coms link went off on your wrist and you brough it up to your face to see that Omani was contacting you.

“Hey Mom! Was the mission a success?” Her voice was eager but also full of concern.

“Yes Princess, Rex and Zeb took down 6 ST’s! Safe to say we’ll be okay” You assured her with a smile, speaking clearly into the mic of the coms.

“That’s a relief” She chuckled.

“I hope you’re safe back at the base? Don’t sneak out and join in the action, as tempting as it is” You warned her, frowning slightly when it went silent briefly.

“You know I don’t sneak around, Tiscen’i, when have I ever denied you?” Omani spoke in an almost sarcastic tone but it still managed to make you laugh. Just as you were about to reply, a loud noise came from the distance and you and Rex snapped your heads towards it.

“I know that sound...” Rex murmured.

“Yeah... and I hate that sound” Zeb snarled.

“I need to go, somethings happening- I love you visahot” you said quickly before cutting off the line, giving no time for Omani to reply and give her more reason to worry for your safety.

“Lousy four leggers” Rex growled, drawing your attention to the four AT-AT’s making their way towards you.

“Hit ‘em with the detonators” Zeb urged with a scowl, still holding the large and now empty rocket launcher. Rex pressed down on the small button in his hand once more, causing more bombs to go off, only this time none of them effected the AT’s and they still continued moving forward and eventually passing through the barrier.

“We need Sabine to create a shield you can’t walk through” Zeb spoke in a frustrated tone, his eyes flashing with anger but also concern.

“Let’s hope we get a chance to tell her” Rex agreed before turning on his heel and making a run for it. Wasting no time, you followed the clone and the Lasat deeper into the Atollon forest and further away from the AT’s. A loud explosion erupted behind the three of you and you realised the AT was targeting you all as well as the other rebels who stayed behind you, Zeb and Rex. You didn’t bother looking back as the sound of X-wings and tie fighters roared through the sky above you, shooting at each other and some eventually zooming down to crash near you.

You got behind one of the massive leafs behind Zeb and Rex and started shooting at the AT closest to you, only for it to angle its head down and start shooting at you once again. You ran forward and the three of you hid behind a lead individually, exchanging glances of reassurance before a loud buzzing noise echoed behind you. You turned and peeked around the leaf, only to witness the magnificent sight of Kanan Jarrus cutting through the AT’s legs, the large machine eventually stumbling to its knees until its head crashed down on a few stormtroopers.

“Kanan, glad you could join us!” Zeb shouted in delight as the Jedi ran up to the three of you with a smile.

“Hera said you’re bringing help?” The lasat asked with a hint of curiosity, turning on his foot and resuming his running with the three of you behind him.

“Maybe, maybe not!” The Jedi responded, earning a frown from you as you kept your pace up so you didn’t trail behind.

The four of you ran right into a small tunnel, following the rest of the rebels as a loud storm rumbled above you. Your pace didn’t falter as you heard the distant whistling of a ship landing and if anything it only made you run faster. Kanan directed you through the tunnel with his lightsaber, coming up to two tunnels.

“This way!” As he pointed which direction you should go to next, a death trooper emerged from the corner and started shooting at the four of you.

“The other way, the other way!” He panicked, running into the other tunnel with you trailing behind him. Your heart was pounding in your ears and you felt like you were going to pass out at any moment, but you held onto that tiny bit of energy you had left and brewed it into the determination to survive and be able to see Omani again.

After escaping the endless nightmare called the tunnels, you made it back to the base and scampered to the holo table hiding in between crates as the noise of the AT’s guns shot up at the shield.

“Kanan! You made it, what happened with your friend?” Hera asked in a stern tone. You, Zeb and Rex put your bodies against the crates and guarded the entrance, making sure no stormtroopers were coming in as Hera negotiated with Kanan.

“Oh don’t worry, I think he’s coming” Kanan replied.

After a few seconds, the team was moving and you had your blaster wrapped tightly in your hand, your finger hovering over the trigger. The generator behind you broke and the shield was taken down, resulting in incoming ties and imperial reinforcements.

A transport left the bay but was unfortunately shot down which made you stop dead in your tracks. Zeb stopped beside you and his ears drooped when he realised what might’ve happened.

“Omani!!” You cried, immediately dialling into your coms but only for a blaster to be pressed against your skull as a death trooper shoved you forward towards the rest of the group. You sobbed, sniffing and trying your hardest not to cry when all you could think about was the fact that your daughter might’ve been on that ship. Zeb held you close as you continued to cry whilst a blaster was pointed dangerously close to your face, the death trooper muttering something you couldn’t quite understand due to the audio of their helmet.

“And now, Captain Syndulla,” A voice spoke from the clouds of smoke, causing you to stop your crying and lean back with wide, shocked eyes. It couldn’t be.

“I will accept your formal surrender,” You stood frozen in your spot as Zeb shielded you protectively from the man who had just made his grand appearance.

“I don’t believe it” You whispered, but the death trooper noticed and bashed the edge of his blaster harshly against your skull.

“Or you will watch your friends perish, one by one, beginning with the Jedi” You backed away, reaching for your blaster as Kanan ignited his lightsaber and everyone else sheathed their weapon of choice. Painfully, you turned around and looked at the trooper standing behind you, pointing your blaster at his helmet and staring at him with a teary scowl.

“You already know my answer” Hera hissed with disgust glaring strongly at the Imperial dressed in white that you absolutely refused to look at no matter how much he threatened your friends. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be.

Just as you were about to shoot the trooper, a loud thunder strike boomed in the sky and only then did you remember the storm from earlier. You turned to look up at the storm and so did the death trooper, your blasters lowering slightly as you set eyes on the large black clouds hovering above all of you.

“Do you fear the storm, Master Jedi?” Thrawn smirked, his hands clasped behind his back as he approached Kanan who blindly stared at the sky with a worried face.

“Yeah. And you sgould too” The Jedi replied, right before a dangerously close lightning strike hit the ground and missed Thrawn by at least a meter.

“Hang onto something!” Kanan warned before unsheathing his lightsaber.

“What kind of Jedi devilry is this?” Thrawn glared up at the sky, his forearm shielding his gaze as the wind picked up and the thunder grew louder.

Barely seconds later, a blaring, deep voice exclaimed from the sky. “I am the Bendu”.

Two glowing orange eyes opened in the cloud and you found yourself dumbfounded by it. Never in your life had you set eyes on something as magnificently terrifying as this!

“What is that?” Zeb asked next to you as you took subtle steps away from the Chiss and his men. You looked to Hera as she looked to her partner. “Uh, Kanan?”.

“I told you my friend was coming” He exclaimed in a tone you couldn’t quite identify, it was a mixture of confidence but also fear.

“I bring death!” The thing called Bendu proclaimed.

“He’s nice!” You yelled sarcastically, frowning at Kanan who smiled very awkwardly. You looked over to see that two colossal lightning bolts had hit two of the AT’s, immediately destroying them and causing them to fall to the ground. Unlucky for the group, more lightning bolts started crashing their way towards you and without thinking twice, you bolted in the opposite direction with everyone following you. You skidded behind a crate, peeking behind it to look up at the gigantic monsterous being that was less than happy.

“Leave this place” don’t have to tell me twice, you thought with a frown, looking to your left to see a few death troopers hiding behind their own crates.

“I am the light, I am the dark” You found yourself watching Bendu with fascination but you were still fearing for your life, looking to Hera and Kanan who were looking just as surprised as you were.

“I am the Bendu!” The cloud bellowed before sending more lightning down to strike the death troopers who had been obliviously out in the open.

“You heard him! Make for the ship!” Kanan turned to all of you, his lips in a thin like as he gripped his lightsaber tightly. You all nodded, but just as you were about to run, you stopped as everyone else left for the ship. The thunder was so loud but you looked around despite the fact you might be killed right here and then. You watched the remaining death troopers yell to one another as they tried shooting at the cloud.

You stood in the middle of the platform, looking at the man dressed in white who was looking at the cloud as if he had no fear. You couldn’t tear your eyes away and eventually ended up being spotted by one of the death troopers. Aiming your blaster, You shot him down but drew the attention of Thrawn whilst you were at it.

You heard the voices of Kanan and Hera call out to you as they watched in horror when Thrawn turned around and finally spotted you. Your hands trembled violently as they gripped onto the blaster that was aimed right at Thrawn, your face a mask of fright as Thrawn’s eyes widened and his face morphed into a frown, a very angry frown.

The lightning didn’t distract either of you as your blaster kept its aim, level with your face but it was low enough for Thrawn to see all of it from a distance. He knew who you were, he didn’t see you in the group because you were hidden and his attention was mostly on Kanan but now, now he had a whole new mission, a whole new ambition for upcoming missions.

“(Y/N), hurry up we gotta go!” Zeb screamed your name but you didn’t move, you were frozen as Thrawn drew out his blaster and pointed it right at you. There was a fire in his eyes, a fire you had never seen when you used to know him. It alarmed you greatly.

“Leave without me! Omani’s gone, I’ve got nothing left to live for!” You yelled back through tears, looking back to the crew who were all staring at you with wide, agonising stares.

“No, I won’t leave you!” Kanan exclaimed, jumping off the ramp and running up to you whilst igniting his lightsaber, ready to deflect Thrawn’s blaster as he grabbed your arm and started dragging you to the ship. You started shooting aimlessly at Thrawn, screaming and crying as you pictured Omani in your mind. Thrawn didn’t shoot back and he didn’t move either, all your shots missed him and you chucked your blaster on the ground after giving up.

You ran with Kanan to the ship in tears, the ramp closing behind you as you collapsed onto the floor on your hands and knees. Your arms bent and you leaned your head onto your hands, your cries echoing around the ship as it flew into hyperspace.

Hera wrapped an arm around you and pulled you back, sitting with you on the ground and resting your head on her chest as you continued to let out your tears of pain and anger. The crew watched with sadness, wishing they could comfort you but they were ushered into their rooms by Kanan who stayed with you and Hera once everyone was away.

#star wars #x reader #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn #thrawn x reader #star wars rebels

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writing-is-thorapy · 3 years

Text

Angstpril Day 7: Friendly Fire AND Day 11: “This Isn’t You”

It’s been five years since everything changed, since the world as he knew it completely collapsed, since his brothers became nothing more than drones for an evil empire. Though he and Ahsoka had started doing work for the Rebellion, Rex never stopped looking for and rescuing any brothers he could.

He had saved so many, each and every one of them a step in the right direction, a step toward ensuring they were all free, there is still one person he has yet to find. Rex listens in on Imperial channels, listens for whispers, rumors, anything that may lead him to his lost brother.

Nothing.

Rex had been on a recon mission in the Outer Rim when his ship was shot down by Imperial Forces.

As he staggers out of the crumpled cockpit, miraculously still able to walk, he groans.

Tatooine. Of course it had to be Tatooine.

His nav systems are fried, so he just gathers what supplies he can, chooses a direction, and walks.

He continues like this for some time, absolutely boiling in the desert suns.

“Stop,” a distorted voice calls out from behind him. Rex obeys, his hands drifting to his blasters as he slowly pivots to face whoever called out to him.

The black armor of a purge trooper stands in stark contrast to the varying brown and tan shades of the desert, the red visor glaring menacingly.

“Hey, I’m just a traveller,” Rex says warily. “If you could just direct me to—”

“CT-7567,” the trooper snaps, an electrostaff gripped in his hands. “You are wanted for treason and are to be captured and subsequently executed.”

“You’ll have to get me first,” Rex snarks, painfully reminding himself of his General.

They launch themselves at each other, exchanging punches and kicks. Rex is hit by trooper’s staff more than once, and wishes he too had saber-proof armor.

With a well-aimed kick, Rex separates the trooper from his staff, and the two resort to hand-to-hand.

And then it happens.

Rex doesn’t even know how, but the trooper’s helmet is ripped off of his head.

The world stops.

Rex is face-to-face with the brother he’s been fruitlessly—hopelessly—searching for.

Though he looks a little older—they both do, really—the scar that creeps around his eye and down his face is the exact same.

But Cody’s eyes…

Cody’s eyes are dead.

Rex’s shock is costly; Cody hits him across the head with his blaster and pins him to the ground.

“Cody,” he says, feeling desperate. “Cody, this isn’t you. C’mon, snap out of it, vod.”

Cody continues to stare at him dispassionately, finger on the trigger.

Rex has stared down the barrel of a blaster more times than he count; heck, he’s been shot at by brothers before.

But this is different.

This is his ori’vod, the best friend that protected him and stood by his side no matter what, the brother that has saved his life again and again.

It’s only fair that Cody be the one to end it, as well.

Rex exhales, readying himself for the final blow, the final moment.

It never comes.

Instead, Cody flies sideways, as if violently pushed.

Shocked, Rex looks the opposite direction.

Brown cloak and tan robes waving in the dry desert wind and lightsaber hanging on his hip is none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi. Though the desert has aged him—his hair and beard are less colorful than they used to be and there are wrinkles on his face that weren’t there before—he looks just as fierce as threatening as he did during the height of the War.

“General Kenobi,” Rex whispers reverently, barely believing his eyes.

“I haven’t been ‘General’ for a long time, Captain,” he replies as he walks towards Rex. “Please, just call me Ben.”

“Only if you call me Rex,” he replies.

Before they can exchange any more pleasantries, Cody slowly rises, grains of sand clinging to his armor like stars in the night sky.

When he catches sight of General Kenobi Obi-Wan Ben, he staggers back, seemingly disoriented. He cups his head in one hand, expression twisted in pain and eyes screwed shut. Rex and Ben begin to slowly approach him as one would a wounded animal, but Cody shakes his head and looks back up, expression blank and eyes empty.

“General Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he growls, the waver in his voice almost imperceptible. “Under Order 66, all Jedi are to be executed for treason against the Republic.”

“Cody…” Ben begins, the anguish evident in his expression. He takes a step forward but Cody is quick to unholster his blaster and point it at the Jedi. It’s a DC-15LE, Rex vaguely recalls.

“G-good soldiers follow orders.”

He fires.

Like lightning, Ben brandishes his lightsaber and deflects the bolt.

And so they fight.

Jedi versus Commander, brother versus brother—and yet somehow, somehow, they are able to subdue Cody.

After Ben secures Cody’s unconscious body on his dewback, they set off to the Jedi’s hut.

Once they arrive and settle Cody in Ben’s bunk, the Jedi uses some Force-trick to disable Cody’s chip (Rex didn’t even need to tell him about the chips. Apparently he already knew). Rex sends a quick message to Ahsoka using Ben’s secure comm to let her know that he was okay. He would tell her everything else when he saw her next—she definitely deserved to know that Obi-Wan Ben was alive, but he wasn’t willing to risk passing along such top-secret information when there was still a possibility the message could be intercepted.

Cody wakes up two days later.

Obi-Wan is in Mos Eisley grabbing supplies, so it’s just him and Rex. The latter is reassembling his blasters when he hears a soft groan from the bunk. Rex quickly looks at Cody and, after seeing his stir, quickly stashes his blasters away and out of sight. Just in case.

Cody opens his eyes and blinks blearily at Rex.

“Hey, Cody,” Rex says, willing his voice to remain steady.

For what seems like eternity, Cody stares at him, confused, until he gasps, eyes widening in realization.

“No,” he murmurs, voice cracking as his eyes fill with tears. “No!” Cody shoots upward, clearly intending to escape from the bed, but Rex stops him, wrapping his brother in a tight hug.

“Cody,” he whispers, his eyes burning. “Cody, it wasn’t your fault.”

At Rex’s words, Cody stops struggling.

And then he screams, a wordless expression of pure anguish. He curls into Rex’s embrace and sobs, great heaving, heart-wrenching cries ripped from his throat one after the other that are no less painful despite being muffled by how his face is pressed against Rex’s chest.

“Rex, oh Force, Rex,” he whimpers. “Vod’ika.”

Rex tightens his arms around Cody. “Ori’vod,” he rasps in reply, tears dripping down his face.

And so there they remain, while Cody begins to process everything that his body has done and Rex simply relishes having his brother back.

They are so distracted that neither of them hears the door open and close, feels the desert breeze that slithers into the hut.

Neither of them realizes that another is present until he speaks.

“Commander.”

Cody freezes.

“It’s ok, Cody,” Rex whispers, marginally loosening his grip.

Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Cody uncurls from Rex’s chest and peeks over his shoulder.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rex sees the shock and disbelief, the self-loathing, the hope on his brother’s face as he truly sees the General he had long thought to be dead.

Cody chokes on a sob as otherwise-silent tears stream down his face.

“General,” he murmurs, the declaration filled with a myriad of emotions Rex can’t possibly identify. “I-I killed you.”

“And yet here I am,” Ben responds, his voice laced with affection.

Rex slowly releases his brother, allowing Cody to rise from the cot and slowly walk towards Ben, looking as if he is seeing a ghost.

And in a way he is.

Cody stops an arm’s length away, looking as if he is physically restraining himself from leaping into Ben’s arms.

Instead his knees give out and he falls to the floor, head bowed. Ben looks dismayed but refrains from reaching out.

“If you’re going to kill me,” Cody chokes out, “Then just do it. I know what I’ve done.”

Surprise and distress flit across Ben’s face (and when had he been so expressive?) before he kneels directly in front of Cody, hesitantly placing a hand on his shoulder and ignoring the way Cody stiffens in response.

“Cody,” Ben replies, “I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to help you.”

Rex is unable to see Cody’s expression or hear if he has said anything, but whatever it is causes Ben to utter, “Oh, Cody,” and wrap him in his arms.

“Ni ceta, alor,” Cody whispers, the words so soft that Rex can barely hear them. “Ni ceta.”

Ben only tightens his grip, murmuring in Cody’s ear.

Rex silently creeps out of the room, wishing more than anything to reunite with his General.

And though Rex doesn’t know it yet, he will. Just not in the way he wants nor expects.

After all, he always joked that General Skywalker would be the death of him.

Mando’a Translations:

Vod= Brother

Ori’vod= Big brother

Vod’ika= Little brother

Ni ceta, alor= I’m sorry [extreme], leader

#star wars #captain rex #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #my writing #angstpril2021 #day 7 #day 11 #here you are folks #this one got LOOONG #I refuse to write a fight scene if I don't have to #had to end it with angst because IT'S ANGSTPRIL

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chucklesandwitch · 3 years

Text

Philza and His Favorites

summary: it was always clear phil had favorites. it wasn’t like he kept it a secret, either.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: sorry if the format is weird. the timeline may be a little mixed up, and i know i skipped some plotlines, but i wrote this from memory so i did my best. also, this is my first piece of writing that im posting! :D you can read it on ao3 here!

It was always clear Phil had favorites. It wasn’t like he kept it a secret, either. Even before Tommy, Phil always favored one twin over the other. And when he found his third son, shoveling dirt into his mouth by the handfuls in his back yard, well, it’s obvious he wouldn't exactly be on top of the list.

Growing up, it became more and more blatant to Wilbur and Tommy that they would never be above Techno. Phil always took his side during arguments, always thought that Techno could do no wrong. Wilbur was fed up. Years and years of being pushed to the side in favor of his twin almost had him at his breaking point. And when Phil broke the news that he and Techno were leaving to start their own Arctic empire, without his two other children, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Wilbur was screaming, begging, pleading for his dad to just pay a little bit of attention to him, and when he realized he would never get it from him, he packed his things, packed Tommy’s things, and together the two forgotten brothers ran as far away from their neglectful father as possible.

They had been walking for days, taking refuge in small villages here and there, just waiting for their saving grace. Eventually, they found it. The Dream SMP. It was glorious. The ruler of the lands, Dream, had welcomed them with open arms and gave them a place to stay for as long as they wanted to. There, they met a plethora of people, including Fundy, Niki, Eret, George, and many other residents of the SMP. Not too long after they had gotten situated, Tommy met Tubbo. They had instantly clicked, and as an act of friendship, they found two discs that would always symbolize their friendship.

But the SMP wasn’t as perfect as it had once seemed. So, the two brothers alongside Tubbo, Fundy, Niki, and Eret had formed a new nation, L’Manburg. It was great! They ran a drug lab to keep the economy going, and even made some business partners. The boys had hardly forgotten about their dad, constantly wondering why they weren’t as important to him as Techno was. They pushed these thoughts to the back of their heads, gaining L’Manburg independence at the forefront of their minds.

In preparation for their first war of many to come, Tommy and Wilbur had become almost inseparable. They had built a nation with their own hands, together. And when Tommy offered up one of his lives in return for L’Manburg’s freedom, Wilbur’s heart almost broke on the spot.

After winning L’Manburg its freedom, (If you could even call it winning), Wilbur felt as if it was unfair that he had just proclaimed himself president. In honor of true democracy, they decided to hold an election. Their party was the only one running, until one day someone from far away named Quackity, accompanied by George, wanted to put democracy to the test and created their own running party to rival Tommy and Wilbur’s, called SWAG2020. Suddenly, everyone seemed to have a burst of confidence after seeing Quackity challenge POG2020. All of the sudden, one running party had turned into four. POG2020, consisting of Tommy and Wilbur, SWAG2020, which included Quackity and George, COCONUT2020, comprised of Niki and Fundy, who had mainly run as a joke. And the last party, SCHLATT2020, a one-man party including someone that had been previously banned from the SMP.

So the election went on, and Wilbur never got too worried. He knew his people loved him, and he was confident that he would get their votes. Last minute, in an attempt to skew the votes, SWAG2020 and SCHLATT2020 elected to combine votes. And it worked. Leading SCHLATT2020 to victory with 46% of the vote. Immediately taking the stage, Schlatt was quick to revoke the citizenship of the brothers who had built the country he now ruled.

The two of them were practically chased out of their L’Manburg, soon to be renamed Manburg. They found themselves in a ravine, both of them panicking and on the verge of tears. Tommy quickly sobered himself up, and declared that they would get their L’Manburg back, they just needed a little bit of help. So while the newly formed country was built in the bottom of a ravine, Tommy proposed the dreaded idea of calling his older brother. Wilbur was hesitant at first, but eventually was the one to give him the call as he knew it was for the best. When Technoblade showed up at the best possible time, they were elated! However, there was just a smidge of hope in the both of them that their father would accompany his favorite son.

Day after day, Wilbur was slowly going insane. Every day he wasn’t ruler of L’Manburg, he lost a bit of himself. He eventually had become so far gone, he believed that if he couldn’t have L’Manburg, then nobody could. He proposed his plan of blowing the place to smithereens to Tommy, who was immediately against it. Tommy just wanted his country back. He didn’t want it gone for good. Wilbur was persistent with this plan though, and recruited Dream to supply him with all the TNT he could ever ask for. He was just waiting for the opportunity to arise. And luckily for him, it came in the form of a festival.

The days leading up to the festival were some of Wilbur’s worst. He wasn’t himself, and everyone around him knew it. That didn’t stop them from helping him plant the TNT. The day of the festival, Tommy, Wilbur, and Tubbo had a hushed conversation on top of a building not far from the podium. Wilbur was having second thoughts about his plan, so he placed all of the weight on Tubbo. He told him to just say the word and he would detonate the explosives that would destroy the country he once ruled. And when Tubbo did say the line, Wilbur sprinted towards the button room, only to forget where it was. While Wilbur was away, Schlatt had put Tubbo in a cement box, accusing him of treason. With this, he called Technoblade up to the stage, ordering him to execute Tubbo. As he pulled the trigger on his rocket launcher, Techno looked back to his little brother, to see him on top of a building with a devastated look on his face. Techno didn’t seem to feel too guilty. He started slaughtering everyone around him. In the midst of Techno’s massacre, Tommy ran towards Wilbur, and before he could even get a word out, Wilbur was quick to tell him the TNT had been moved.

After the festival, a new war was declared. The Manburg v. Pogtopia war. They had finally won, they had gotten their L’Manburg back. As Wilbur stepped up to the mic, he suddenly turned on his heel and beckoned his younger brother and right-hand man to the stage. He handed L’Manburg to Tommy, and exited the stage. Tommy denied rulership of L’Manburg, stating he still had unfinished business to take care of and couldn’t rule L’manburg the way it should’ve been run, and so he handed the presidency to his best friend and partner in crime, Tubbo. While the presidency hot potato was going on, Wilbur was having an internal battle in the button room. He was reading the lyrics to My L’Manburg when he felt a presence behind him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over to see his father. His dad. He looked at him with tear-filled eyes, and detonated the TNT. He could feel the blast, feel the heat coming from behind him, washing over him in waves.

He looked over to see his dad’s shocked expression, and turned to face the chaos he had brought upon his L’Manburg. Seeing his younger brother’s expression is what finally did it. He took a step closer to Phil. He had seen the glimmering sword on his father’s back, and he knew what needed to happen.

“Kill me, Dad. Please.”

Phil couldn’t even look him in the eyes, he knew he had failed his son, and he knew that there was nothing ke could do about it now. So he unsheathed his sword, trying to ignore the feeling of taking away his son’s last life. Standing there, holding his son’s corpse, getting quickly covered in dirt and debris, he knew he had failed as a father. He dropped his son’s limp body to the ground and fled the scene, going back to the place he never should’ve escaped to in the first place. A little while later, his favorite son came home covered in blood, his clothes torn and crown slightly crooked on his head. Techno looked up at his father, only to see him also covered in blood. He quickly glanced over him and determined that it wasn’t his own blood. Before he could even utter the question, his dad shattered his world with one sentence.

“It’s Wil’s blood, Techno. He’s gone.”

Techno swears he blacked out. His twin, his other half, was gone. The one person he should’ve been there for, he wasn’t. And now he was paying the price. Back at what was once L’Manburg, Tommy was lashing out. He didn’t know what to do without his older brother, didn’t know how to cope with the loss. So at first he went to Tubbo, only to realize Tubbo was too busy for him, he had presidential duties to attend to. With a heavy heart, Tommy leaves Tubbo’s office only to bump into someone new in town. Ranboo. Ranboo takes one glance at Tommy and knows he needs someone to talk to. However, Tommy doesn’t want to talk, he wants to wreak havoc on something, anything. He asks Ranboo for some help griefing George’s new vacation home, and Ranboo agrees almost instantly. Together they head to George’s newest property, wrecking the place, and starting a small fire that was completely accidental. It quickly gets out of hand, and before they know it George’s cottage has erupted into flames and suddenly they’re running. They arrive back to the partially rebuilt L’Manburg, and agree to ignore that it had ever happened, both of them happy to at least gained a new friend amidst all the chaos.

Meanwhile, Dream stumbles across George’s cottage in flames and immediately starts fuming. He knows exactly who did this, and he knows what he wants to happen to him. He storms into L’Manburg, and starts to silently place obsidian walls around the entire country. Tubbo and his cabinet rush out of the white house as soon as they notice what’s going on. Tubbo questions Dream, only to get a half coherent answer. All he managed to gather was that Tommy fucked up, and he needed to be put on trial for his actions. Once Tubbo finally got a cohesive answer from Dream, he was furious. He asked Tommy to do one thing for him, just one, and he couldn’t even do that. So he and Dream march to find Tommy, all while Fundy and Quackity try to talk Dream out of insisting exile. Tubbo is conflicted. He obviously doesn’t want to exile his best friend, but at the same time, what kind of leader would he be if he let criminals run free and let Dream build the walls? During Tommy’s trial, Tubbo made the last minute decision to exile Tommy from the nation he once built. Dream forcefully escorted Tommy out of L’Manburg, but not before Tommy could spot the phantom of his favorite brother standing right in front of him.

Ghostbur insisted on coming on this “vacation” with Tommy, helping him establish Logsteadshire. Ghostbur didn’t stay long, and he only came to visit every so often. The only person to ever really visit Tommy, was Dream. The green man checked in on Tommy every day, making him put all of his belongings in a pit and blowing them up. The manipulation from Dream mixed with the lack of seeing his friends lead Tommy to the top of this pillar. While he peered down to what could be his doom, he had a sudden realization; Dream wasn’t his friend. He never was. Realizing this had put a pep back into his step, and he took off running, sprinting away from Logsted and never looking back.

He eventually came across what he could only assume was his oldest living brother’s home; the place he was abandoned by his father for: the Arctic empire. This was the last place he ever wanted to step foot into, but considering it was dark outside and he had been running for hours, he was just happy to get shelter, no matter where it was. He entered the home, and was immediately hit with the smell of his family. The nostalgia came crashing over him like a bunch of bricks. Taking another look around, he realized he was angry. What was so good about this place anyways? What did this place have that his childhood home didn’t? Was it him, was he what this place didn’t have? Shaking the thoughts from his head, he began rummaging through his brother’s chests. Finding lots of useful materials, and a few just for him, he began looking for a place to burrow for the time being. Settling on the underneath of the house, he got to work making his little hidey-hole.

He knew he couldn’t stay hidden forever. He just thought he would have more time than this. As Techno dragged him up the stairs by his ear, he profusely apologized. This was Techno’s first sign. Tommy never apologized. Forcefully sitting him down, he glared at his younger brother.

“Gapples. Now.” Techno demanded.

He expected a fight. He expected anything but this. As Tommy quickly emptied everything in his pockets all while still muttering apologies, Techno took a good hard look at his little brother. His clothes were torn, his eyebags were darker than Techno had ever seen them, and he looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. Techno decided then and there that he would help Tommy, so long as Tommy helped him.

And so the brother’s teamed up. They mutually agreed to help each other get what they wanted. Techno agreed to help Tommy get his discs back as long as Tommy helped him commit (minor) terrorism in his old home. They made a plan, and they had it all worked out. Until Tommy came to his senses, and realized just what he agreed to. He backed out of the plans, apologizing to his older brother, moving to stand next to Tubbo. Techno nodded solemnly, and formed an alliance with Dream, Tommy’s number one tormentor, right in front of him. Making a quick getaway, Techno and Dream run back to the empire, planning their reign of terror over L’Manburg while Tommy takes on the leadership role and motivates everyone to fight against them tomorrow.

Doomsday roles around, and Techno’s here earlier than promised. Phil is here too, Tommy realizes. That hurt him more than he’d like to admit. (He likes to tell himself he isn’t too affected by Phil, but even he knows that’s a lie). He looks above him to see a large obsidian grid, for which he isn’t sure what its purpose is. Surrounding him is his older brother, spawning wither after wither, laughing maniacally as his hound army relentlessly attacks anyone nearby. Next to Techno is his dad. His father, helping his favorite son destroy what he and Wilbur had worked so hard for. He felt like crying. He didn’t think seeing Phil here, helping Techno decimate L’Manburg could hurt any more than being abandoned did. He was wrong. So, very wrong. Knowing that his dad was here, and actively fighting against him gave him the answers he had always known. He was never Phil’s favorite, he never would be.

He’s only snapped out of his haze by the sound of agony-filled screams. He looks around this nation, just to see TNT raining from the obsidian grid. Oh. That’s what that's for. He seems surprisingly calm about this. His main priority is making sure Tubbo is safe, and once he’s assured that he is, he started going after Techno. When he finally catches up to him, he can only seem to think of one thing. Techno isn’t his brother anymore.

“Technoblade, for once in your life just listen to me!” Tommy pleads, but it does no good. Techno just laughs in his face, going on and on about how his intentions were clear, how he was against government, and how he knew this was coming. Tommy realizes then that Techno was never in it to help Tommy, he was never on their side. He was only helping them for his own personal gain.

“You’re selfish.” Is the only sentence Tommy can form. He can’t even stand to look at the person he used to call family. He runs to find Tubbo, meeting him on top of the obsidian grid. They share a look that says more than words ever could. Tommy starts,

“We’ve gotta end it, Tubbo. You and me. Just like it’s always been. We have to kill Dream.” He and Tubbo agree. It started with them, and it’s going to end with them.

Standing there, peering down at the crater that was once his saving grace, Tommy sees Phil and Techno, bouncing around, seemingly guilt free. Locking eyes with his unremorseful father, Tommy decides then that Phil isn’t his dad. He never was. Techno wasn’t his brother, and Phil was never his dad.

#pls...... feedback #this was orginally just going to be a rant about dadza being a bad dad #oop #i think i blacked out writingthis #i started around 6? its almsot 11 now #this ones for u fruits #sleepy bois inc #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #tubbo #dream #theyre brothers your honor #atlas.content

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sweetiepie08 · 3 years

Text

Rebel Z (Chapter 10 Final)

nvader Zim fanfic

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list please let me know.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10.

Thank you for reading! I do plan to continue the story in a sequel fic, but I may take a short hiatus first. I hope you enjoyed this!

Be on the lookout for the next book in the series, RevolutionZ! In which Zim and Tak attempt to join the Resisty and gain new companions! Dib fills his gap year by joining an alien rebellion! Gaz gets dragged in too! And what happened to Zim in Death Melee is explained!

However, I will most likely only be posting links to Ao3 than full chapters to Tumblr. Again, Thank you everyone for reading!

[-]

“So, what exactly the fuck was all that stuff with the punch about?” Dib asked once they were a comfortable distance away form the Massive.

Zim glared straight ahead at the stars. “It’s nothing that concerns you, human.”

“Bullshit!” Dib slammed his hand down on the control panel. “Your little stunt could have gotten us killed. Out with it!”

Zim gritted his teeth and gripped the steering mechanism until his knuckles quaked. Dib braced himself for the inevitable screaming denial. Instead, Zim let out a pained sigh. “Fine, if you must know, I figured out three Urth years ago that my mission was a sham and my leaders were trying to have me killed, so I took revenge. Happy?”

“We know all that,” Tak snapped. “And anyway, I told you your mission was a lie a long time ago. What I want to know is how you managed to betray the Tallest without your treasonous thoughts setting of your life clock.”

“Yeah, and who’s Spek?” Dib added.

“You wish to hear Zim’s tale of woe?” He clenched his fist and heaved out another sigh. “Fine. Three Urth years ago, the Tallest contacted me, telling me they selected me to participate in Death Melee, an inter-galactic event that all would be watching.”

“The one where they throw criminals on a planet together to fight to the death?” Tak deadpanned. “That was your first clue?”

“They told me the rules had changed and it was now a contest of elite warriors. For my partner, they gave me a Spek, a smeet just shy of his cadet years. He hadn’t even seen his first cycle yet…” Zim’s fists shook as he cut himself off.

“Since you’re still alive, I’m assuming you won,” Dib said.

“Yes, but…” his gaze fell to the floor. “Yes. Anyway, throughout the Melee, it became clear to me that the Tallest lied. This was still a game for criminals, but Spek…” Zim narrowed his haunted eyes, “he was only there to lessen my chances.”

Dib watched, mesmerized. He thought he’d seen the many moods of Zim. He’d seen everything from proud boasting, to spiteful rage, to pathetic schmooping. But this, this was something else entirely, something he never expected to see from the alien. True remorse.

“On my journey back to Urth,” he continued, “I had too much time to think and when made it back to m base, I was done with all of it.” Rage grew in his voice with every word. “I knew they lied. I knew they’d been lying. For a moment, I thought, if they didn’t want my genius, maybe someone else would. And that thought was enough to set off my life clock. Instead of simply ripping out my feedback chip, I infected it with a virus that sends the Control Brains a loop of my Urth memories, preventing it from receiving new thoughts and experiences.” A bitter, satisfied smile came to his face. “As far as I can tell, it hadn’t noticed anything was off until now.”

“And the machines I saw you building?” Dib pressed.

Zim drew himself up. “I have a contract with the Resisity. I build them machines, they appreciate my genius and send me monies.”

“And that’s what you’ve been doing for three years?” Dib asked, voice sripping with skepticism.

Zim nodded and said nothing more.

Dib stared at him, trying to get a read on this whole tale. He wasn’t sure what to believe. Zim’s reason for existence seamed to be pleasing his Tallest. The little green monster talked of nothing else since arriving on Urth. He couldn’t imagine Zim wanting anything else and he’d fallen for the schmoopy act before. But this was not schmoop. It was too subtle, too quiet. And that betrayal of his Tallest couldn’t be denied. Something had truly changed.

Dib looked to Tak to gauge her opinion, but her face revealed nothing except careful calculation.

“I’d heard the Resisty had been growing and gaining power,” she mused. “New technology granted them upsetting victories and made them more of a problem than they once were. They could be the key. We need to fight if we ever want a chance of defeating the Control Brains and freeing our people, and for that, we’ll need an army. With your connection and my information, we could pose a real threat to the Empire.”

Dib expected Zim to launch into another tirade about how he wasn’t in it for the politics. That this was all a personal mission and he had no interest in going rogue. That did not happen.

Instead, Zim said nothing for a long time. He simply stared through the windshield in tense silence. But then, a grin grew slowly on his face. “I’m in.”

[-]

When they made it back to Earth, they found that Gaz made use of MiMi and Mini Mouse as gaming companions, Dad bought her excuse that Dib was hanging out at Zim’s house, and that he hadn’t even stopped home long enough to notice the two additional robots in the living room.

Dib went straight to his room and laid out all of his recording devices. He had the notes he took the night Zim and Tak rambled drunkenly on the couch. He had the audio recording of the old man Irken that he couldn’t wait to translate. And he had the spy camera he’d been wearing to capture the whole experience. He never got so much undeniable proof on one mission before, and no one, to his knowledge, had this much evidence of this quality ever. He’d be king of the Swollen Eyeball network if he showed even a fraction of…

His eyes drifted to the Swollen Eyeball emblem pinned to his bulletin board and he let out a sigh. The Swollen Eyeball… what a joke. They’d been reduced to a bunch of anti-science conspiracy nuts. The organization became a competition to see who could shout their wildest theory the loudest. What were they compared to a real evil alien empire, a real soul-sucking, Lovecraftian horror, and a real space alien rebellion?

No. This was bigger than some crack-pot conspiracy group. This rebellion universe-shattering consequences. And he was going to be part of it.

[-]

Out in his ship, Zim stared at his PAK connector with warry eyes. He wasn’t sure what held him back now. His stunt on the Massive already solidified his traitor status, but this felt different, more official. It was one thing to enact vengeance on those who betrayed him. It was quite another to completely detach himself from society.

He’d been unwaveringly loyal to the Empire since his conception, but they didn’t want him. He’d seen that years ago. So what was he waiting for?

He disconnected the PAK from his back and ignored the lifeclock in the corner of his eye as he plugged it in. He opened the hatch, clicked a pair of tweezers in his fingers, then reached them toward his feedback chip.

At a light tug, his computer’s voice gave an automated warning.

You are attempting to remove the feedback chip. Doing so is an act of treason against the Irken Empire. Are you sure you want to proceed?

Zim closed his eyes and pulled the chip free.

[-]

Tak’s footsteps echoed as she walked across the concrete garage floor. MiMi’s metallic feet clacked beside her. Apart from that, the room was silent. She was used to silence. One grows accustomed to it when traveling alone through space. But these last few days had been anything but. And with Zim as her dubious ally, silent moments like this were certain to be few and far between.

And yet, this moment, she felt the need to fill it with something.

She popped open the windshield of her ship and hopped inside. “MiMi, my disc please.” Mimi reached into her head and took out the Urth data storage disc. Zim wasn’t the only one with a secret stash.

Tak took the disc from Mimi and placed it in a tray on the ship’s control panel. “Ship, track six please.” As she hopped out, music began to play. Smooth, jazzy horns filled the air and the singer began crooning.

Maybe this time, I’ll be lucky. Maybe this time he’ll stay…

The song was from an Urth performance art piece. The vocalist sang about some male mate. That part didn’t interest Tak in the slightest. Still, there was something about it...

Not a loser anymore, like the last time and the time before…

The song continued to play as Tak opened the engine access panel and began her work. While manipulating the many gears and wires, she found a few interesting repair methods that the human implemented over the years. Many employed the use of an Urth bonding strip called “duct tape”, which she had to admit came in handy. The human didn’t do a bad job, even if it was pretty slap-dash.

All the odds are in my favor, something’s bound to begin…

She finally untangled a mess of wires and reconnected them.

It’s gotta happen, happen sometime…

She fused together the final wire and the ship hummed to life. Fuel Regulation Systems online.

Tak smiled, “Okay Mimi, looks like we’re finally getting somewhere.” She ducked back into the access panel as the song his its crescendo.

Maybe this time I’ll win.

#invader zim fanfiction #invader zim #iz fanfiction #iz fanfic #zim #dib #tak #gaz #gir #rebel zim #rebel leader tak #zadf #sweetiepie08 #sweetiepie fanfic #sweetiepie writes #invader zim fandom

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star-wars-scribbles-ff · 3 years

Text

Where I Belong | Chapter 5

Story Summary: The only family she’d ever known gave her a name; back when she belonged to something. But when that family is lost, she leaves it all behind. When destiny drops her in the last place she ever wanted to be, she has to earn back the trust and respect of the Republic that left her to die. Caught between the Jedi and the Grand Army of the Republic, she’ll discover where she belongs.

Fandom: Star Wars | Galaxy Far Far Away

Rating: T+

Story Genre/Warnings: action/adventure/found family | war violence, death, torture, discrimination, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, found family, lots of clone boys, (spans the whole clone war) eventual Order 66 and rise of the Empire

Words: 3,205

Disclaimer: Majority of properties within this fanfic are owned by Lucasfilm/Disney. My OCs, as well as a few other things within this fanfic are of my own creation. Republic Cog header/chapter divider made by me 😊

Taglist: @divergent-llamas-03 @thisistheendtimes @tallyquark @your-very-rude-neighborhood-ace @remadster @808tsuika

CHAPTER NOTE: Planned on making this a May 4th chapter update but time got away, not really proof read, I remembered I’m pretty much writing this for myself, and this chapter is kind of short so... sorry me I guess lololol.

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Anakin Skywalker considered her in silence. Do I look dead, sir? Was that a jab? Just a statement- a question? Her aura was giving him nothing; it was calm, collected, but under the surface bubbling with a scrambled mix of emotions that he couldn’t decipher. Not just anyone could mask that from a Jedi. It made him uneasy.

“... What’s your CT number?” He asked, posture straightening as he crossed his arms.

The look she turned on him was almost amused as she looked him up and down for a moment, brow knit before she raised an eyebrow.

“My CT number? What- do I look like a clone to you?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Anakin quickly found his voice turning almost impatient. It wasn’t intentional, but perhaps a defense against this situation which he wasn’t the slightest prepared for. He’d buried this. Having it drop back in on him like this wasn’t something he wanted to welcome with open arms.

He narrowed his eyes at her lack of reaction as she continued to eye him before her gaze fell to the table. Her ease and calm nature regarding her situation pushed a button he didn’t know he had, and it irritated him. The only thing that brought him solace was that despite her seemingly tranquil exterior, he could sense she was harboring a restlessness. One he was having trouble deciphering, but all the same it was there.

Considering her posture, he noted her body language gave away very little. Somewhat defensive, but not overwhelmingly so; her arms were rested in her lap, shoulders slightly caved inward, but still relaxed. She looked like a mercenary by her attire. The chest and torso plates she was wearing had notes of old republic craftsmanship; it wasn’t a commonly worn style anymore. Her shoulder plates also had unique craftsmanship, but he didn’t recognize them.

A few dried splatters of blood covered her left shoulder plate, where her head injury was making itself known. She’d need medical attention; something he wasn’t looking forward to as she’d need to be transferred to the medical facility onsite. He needed very little to tell him she was dangerous. She lacked a boastful ego, and that only increased the likelihood that she possessed a deadly skill set. Moving someone like that around should be avoided at all costs, but a head injury was cause for concern. Thankfully, that was something to consider later on. For now, he had to worry strictly about interrogation of the individual.

Part of him was uncertain of how to proceed. She would be on the GAR database, it was just a matter of whether he’d be able to access the material. Surely he’d be able to. He vaguely remembered seeing her file, but he didn’t remember enough details.

“What was the nature of your assignment on Garo IV.” He questioned. Only way forward was to strike the connections they had present. While the mission wasn’t related, it was the only string he could pull. Waiting for an answer was how he had spent eighty percent of his time during interrogations. Maybe pulling this string would get her talking a bit more.

When she met his eyes, he raised an eyebrow as she put off giving him a verbal response. He really didn’t have the patience for interrogations. Obi-Wan knew that and would usually have him conduct them because of said fact.

“What unit were you with?” He tried, adjusting his crossed arms over his chest as he stood at the opposite side of the table from where she was seated.

“I’m not at liberty to disclose details regarding my assignments nor my former position with the Republic Military.” The monotone of her voice surprised him as she leaned back in the chair and met his gaze once more. “Sir.” The tone of her voice was laced with sarcasm, unamused sarcasm but it was becoming more obvious she was going to make this harder for him.

He found himself giving the smallest hint of a smirk. Two could play the game.

“Well then, make yourself comfortable. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” He noted before stepping forward to lean one hand on the table, the other coming to rest on his belt.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about before you’re inevitably arrested for treason against the Republic.”

Rex had watched the footage multiple times now, and it pulled him in opposite directions. This should be an easy case, but every time he came to that conclusion, something knocked him upside the head screaming that it wasn’t. Cody seemed to be in a similar position.

He glanced at his brother, noting the gears seemingly turning in his expression as he lowered his gaze from the footage they were reviewing.

“What're you thinking?”

Any other Commander, and Rex would’ve addressed them properly; but this was Cody. He’d known Cody all his life. He was more than just a superior officer, he was a brother - his brother - and they rarely ever used formal addresses around each other. He knew Cody felt the same way towards him.

“This won’t be cut and dry.” His expression stoic, the Marshal Commander finally let his eyes fall from the footage before he turned and took a few steps to the adjacent table where the sack of explosives resided.

“Facial recognition picked up the other one.” Rex informed his brother before letting out a quiet sigh as he turned his gaze towards the hall leading to the interrogation room. “Your average mid ranking merc in the underworld. This one on the other hand...” Rex gestured to the holoscreen on the computer station against the wall. The footage played over and over again; the image of the mercenary they had in custody knocking Cody out of the line of fire did little to lesson Rex’s caution. “Still no hits. I don’t like it.”

“Do you think it was an act?” Cody questioned, turning to meet the eyes of his comrade.

“What part exactly?” Rex leaned back against the table, partially seated on the edge.

The shift in the Commander’s eyeline back towards the footage answered Rex’s question as he looked to the holoscreen as well. The footage looped over and over, and Rex took a few moments to analyze the moment when the merc pushed his brother out of the line of fire.

“W- Do you think it was sincere?” Rex tried to suppress his chuckle but it slipped out. It wasn’t something he had considered. He’d honestly been avoiding thinking about her motive to push Cody out of the way. It seemed that’s all Cody was thinking about however.

“She said ‘sorry sir’... to me.” Cody responded.

“Sir?” Rex emphasized while raising an eyebrow. “Alright I admit that’s- odd. But what’s your point, Cody. She still infiltrated this base with a sack full of explosives. I think the intent is clear.”

“Gentlemen,” The announcement of the Jedi’s presence caused Rex and Cody to briefly stand at attention.

“General Kenobi,” Cody greeted his superior with a courteous nod of his head and Rex gave a similar gesture as Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi walked through the blast doors.

“I apologize for the lateness of my arrival, Cody.” Obi-Wan dipped his head towards Cody as the Jedi came to a stop in front of the two troopers. “I did receive your transmission. Have there been any developments on our intruders?”

“Yes sir,” Cody responded, taking a couple steps closer to the holoscreen at the computer station, giving it a small gesture with his hand. “We’ve got a hit on one of them, I was going to get your confirmation on a warrant. The other however isn’t coming up on civilian or criminal databases.”

“Neither?” Kenobi questioned, taking a step closer to watch the footage quietly.

“No sir,” Cody gave Obi-Wan the response as he went to open the satchel on the far table, Rex loosely at his side. “Both had one of these. This belongs to the one we have in custody.”

“Skywalker is doing the interrogation?” Obi-Wan inquired, eyes on the footage. His brow knit gently and one brow twitched up with curiosity as he watched the footage of the criminal they had in custody.

“He is, sir.”

Silence followed closely behind Cody’s words as the two Officers waiting for the Jedi’s next move. Rex glanced briefly at his brother, hands loosely at his sides, but a subtle tension remained in his posture. This was a new problem, one they hadn’t encountered before.

General Skywalker was being oddly distant with this mercenary in custody. Usually an Officer would accompany on interrogations, however the General had made it clear that he wanted to handle this one alone following some sort of revelation. Whatever it was, Rex knew it complicated matters to some extent.

“If you’ll excuse me, Commander, Captain,” General Kenobi turned to the Clone Officers. “I will have a word with Skywalker.”

“Let us know if you need anything, sir.” Cody was quick to respond and Rex backed up his brother’s words with a nod.

Once the General excused himself, Rex took a couple of steps closer to the Commander and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Why wouldn’t she come up on any database?” Rex mumbled the question privately to Cody. “It doesn’t make sense. Not even facial recognition picked anything up prior to the last few months. She’s a ghost.” Rex shook his head in subtle disbelief, brow knit tightly.

His arms already crossed, Cody reached up with a hand to lightly touch his chin as he thought quietly.

“I was hired to hit this location. I don’t know who, I didn’t get a name, but I suspect it came from a long chain of people most likely working for the Separatists.” The mercenary explained.

“Do you mercenaries normally just take jobs and ask questions later?” Anakin inquired, causing the girl’s eyes to narrow.

“It was a closed door job; information was kept private until they pulled people in for the job. If I hadn’t taken it they would’ve shot me then and there.” She muttered the explanation, defensive frustration subtly laced through her voice.

“Considering the way to shoved that Officer out of harm's way - I take it you prefer to hurt from a distance. Not too soft to do the dirty work up close are you?” He pushed further, much to his contempt as she visibly clenched her jaw and hardened her glaring gaze at him.

“Anakin, might I remind you of the reliability of using more friendly tactics during interrogation?”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin carefully greets his old Master as the Jedi enters the cell.

“Might I have a moment with you outside,” Kenobi gestured briefly towards the cell door.

Anakin grumbled before reluctantly leaving alongside the Jedi Master. This was not a good look for an interrogator.

Once on the other side of the cell’s energy shield door, Obi-Wan and Anakin made their way down a few cells to get some space from everyone.

“Now, what is this all about?” Obi-Wan inquired, crossing his arms across his chest. “I left the base for one day and-”

“This isn’t just some mercenary, Master.” Anakin cut to the chase rather quickly but begrudgingly hesitated for a moment. “I can’t believe I am saying this- but she was one of us.”

“I beg your pardon?” Obi-Wan’s brow was knit tightly, a clear expression of confusion marked his face before Anakin went to explain.

“This happened a few months ago; shortly after I became a knight. The battle group I was with near Sundari. Master Krell was dealing with forces on the planet surface when I picked up a distress signal from a Clone Team on Garo IV. They asked for extraction; said they had vital information. I’m not sure exactly what kind but…” Anakin trailed off as he remembered the day.

Kenobi eyed his former padawan for a time before giving a small nod of reluctant understanding.

“And where does this mercenary come into play?” He inquired, gesturing forward with a hand.

Anakin met his Master’s eyes for a time before looking away once more.

“She was the one that sent the distress signal, Master.”

Once the Jedi left the cell, Arwen let herself slump back into her chair. Jaw relaxing she muttered under her breath before briefly closing her eyes, squeezing them shut for good measure to briefly combat the pain of her head injury.

This isn’t good. I have to get out of here before this spirals.

If she tried to escape, it would make things worse long term. The situation couldn’t get much worse from here, at least not in regards to her relationship with the Republic. The worst thing that could happen to her is imprisonment. Right now her reputation was what she was most concerned with.

Corcer relaxed her brow, trying to soften the pressure that had been building in her head before she took in an audible breath and slowly let it out.

Of all the Jedi that could be dealing with this… It just had to be the one that one.

He could either make matters better or worse. She’d have to suck it up regardless.

At the mere thought of it, Arwen clenched her jaw, unable to hide the snarl of an expression that threatened to appear.

Jedi. There were few she thought below them. A twisted organization. Sure they had a few good ones here and there, but they were the biggest problem with the Republic. She’d rather shoot herself now and get it over with than roll over and play dead in this interrogation but… She had somewhere to be and had things to do.

As long as this di’kut doesn’t try to mention the team, I’ll be fine.

Silencing her thoughts, Arwen looked to the cell door and waited for someone to reappear. Her intent gaze only increased as she tried to silence the thoughts at the back of her mind. Seconds turn to minutes before she finally feels her shoulders begin to relax and her eyes fall.

…. The team…. My team.

Her chest tightened as she caught herself subconsciously distancing herself from the painful memories of her old life.

You can’t do that. No matter how much it hurts. If you don’t remember them, no one will.

Obi-Wan processed this information quietly for a time before finally meeting the eyes of his former padawan.

“And you’re certain this is her?”

“I’m positive, Master. She already confirmed it to me; reluctantly I might add.” Anakin responded.

The two make their way back down the hall and pass the mercenary’s interrogation cell before turning down the hall towards where Commander Cody and Captain Rex resided.

“We can continue her interrogation later. For the time being, we need to continue our prevailing investigation.”

Anakin fought the urge to roll his eyes but let out a grumbled huff before rubbing the back of his head as they entered the open room.

“Master-”

“You and I both know that intel may be critical, Anakin.” Obi-Wan reminded the younger Jedi with a somewhat stern tone. “If the Separatists get ahold of it-”

“We’ll have problems. I know, I know.” Anakin put his hands up before letting them fall. “Pirate scum.” Skywalker muttered under his breath, shooting a brief look around the room towards where Cody and Rex resided cataloging another sack of items from the mercenary. “They’re all talk, this info could just be putting us on a wild bantha chase.”

“And if it’s sincere?” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and waited for his former padawan to concede in his weak reluctance to pay the investigation the attention it needed.

Anakin didn’t hide the roll of his eyes before giving a nod. “Understood, Master.”

The Jedi didn’t come back. Something Arwen wasn’t necessarily against. However as she was escorted down the hall by a Clone squad, she found herself almost disappointed she wasn’t able to speak with the Jedi.

It was becoming clear to her that she needed to talk with them to make any progress, but her anger- maybe even mild hatred towards them- kicked at her to not wish to be stuck in such a situation.

“Destination?” Arwen chanced speaking up, and was surprised when she got a response.

“Jail cell for temporary holding until interrogation continues.” The Clone a few paces in front of her on her right responded, not sparing her a glance as he continued to walk down the corridor.

Arwen looked to the ground and nodded to the side.

Better than silence I suppose. That means they still plan on talking to me. Good.

The quiet sound of conversation perked her ears and as they continued walking, it grew louder, and the voices grew clearer.

One of them was the Jedi she’d spoken to - Anakin as the other Jedi had called him. And the other one was Obi-Wan. The names were familiar unfortunately, and now she had faces to put to the names. Practically celebrities as far as the Republic was concerned. Forget the Holovid stars, Jedi Knights were it since the war had started.

Arwen’s gaze found an open room coming up on the left and she looked inside to find the two Jedi on opposite ends of a holotable looking hologram of an individual she actually recognized.

The fact made her stop, much to the surprise of the two clones behind her as one of them ran right into her with a grunt of surprise.

“Sir,” She called out to the Jedi, either one of them.

They both looked over, each with a look of mild confusion before Arwen went to continue talking.

“Is that Jiro Tuck?” She inquired, her eyes briefly dwelled on the hologram before turning to the bearded Jedi.

“You know of this individual?” He was the one she hadn’t seen much of, Obi-Wan as the dark haired Jedi, Anakin, had called him.

“Yes sir,” Arwen responded, glancing to the clone escort which she could tell was getting agitated. “If you’re looking for either him or his brother- I might have a few leads. I’ve been hired to find him before.”

The butt of a blaster was suddenly knocked into her back and Arwen caught her footing gracefully before looking over her shoulder at the helmeted trooper.

“Keep moving,” He snapped before ushering her forward with his rifle.

Arwen looked towards the Jedi once more before complying with the Clone escort, continuing down the hall.

They took her down to the holding cells and placed her in an empty cell. From the look it was vacant; she was the only one there.

Once the cell door closed, the troopers walked away and Arwen found herself sitting down on the metal platform that acted as a cot.

Ok. Seed planted. You better be able to deliver on that.

She had done work with the pirate before. Whatever he was involved in though would probably only bring her more heat from either the Separatists or the Republic, neither of which she wanted.

Either way… She needed to find a way out. This looked like her only option. If she played her cards right, she might be able to get out of this.

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Chapter Note: If anyone is reading this I hope you enjoy I suppose. Again- wasn’t proof read so.... sorry for the grammar errors. Might fix it... Might not. Probably won’t.

#my writing #star wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfiction #star wars ocs #clone wars ocs #captain rex #commander cody #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #clones #clone ocs #grand army of the republic #coruscant #republic military #jedi

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