i am also forever thinking about the way you write inquisitor rex. the way he is a haunted thing, a dead man and a ghost and something living and snarling all at once. thinking about him with the 'i have returned from the battleground' art (/post/749102449275666432). i am made for violence and i crave it it is in my blood but so are you. i cannot stop myself from fighting just as much as i cannot stop myself from coming back to you.
hi anon!
this got a bit out of hand.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Hello! For the prompts: can I suggest rex/anakin with silence?
hello friend!!!!
inquisitor rex/vader, kind of :D G, ~380w.
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Now and then, Rex can’t help but wonder. The past is always with him: he drags his ghosts like so many chains, and the general is but one of them. Rex thinks of him, as he is and as he used to be, and he wonders. He wonders if the general ever knew about Rex, about Rex’s secrets, about the secrets he kept and the words he never said. He wonders about the way the general looked at him sometimes, blue eyes dark and troubled and not quite knowing. He wonders about the things Rex never allowed himself to feel—about all the thoughts Rex never let himself think. He stands at Vader’s back, the Force pushing down on him, his mouth full of the taste of ashes and burning metal, and he wonders.
Vader is a black hole. He is easy to read: fury and fear and grief and rage and the kind of bone-deep exhaustion Rex is beginning to grow familiar with. He floods the room, the ship, the whole galaxy: there’s little Rex can do against the tide of his presence. It’s exactly like it always has been, and not at all.
The worst thing about Vader is that Rex can never forget his old name, his true name: if Rex’s ghosts haunt him, Vader is haunted by himself, Anakin Skywalker looking from behind his helmet and nipping at his heels.
Rex shifts his weight. He stands at Vader’s back, like he always does. He’s grown to appreciate the Inquisitor uniform, the way the armoured tunic hugs his torso, the way the pauldrons weigh down his shoulders. He misses his old armour but now and then he finds himself appreciating the simplicity of its design. Black on black on black, and probably the only thing left in the galaxy he can trust.
He knows the ship is freezing cold. He can feel it within his bones. He stands at Vader’s back on the bridge, looking at the black void of space over his old general’s shoulder, and he thinks of nothing but the way Vader’s silence fills the room. If he closes his eyes, it’s almost as it used to be, as it should be. As it was, once.
Rex blinks. Vader tilts his helmet, and the galaxy holds its breath.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game), Star Wars - All Media Types
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/CT-7567 | Rex, CC-5052 | Bly & CC-2224 | Cody
Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, CT-7567 | Rex, CC-5052 | Bly, Trilla Suduri | Second Sister, Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader
Additional Tags: Inquisitor Rex, Purge Trooper CC-2224 | Cody, Purge Trooper CC-5052 | Bly, Past Relationship(s), Imperial Era, Mind Control, Dissociation, Suicidal Thoughts, Eventual Happy Ending
Series: Part 2 of Codex Week 2022
Summary: 24 was once Cody; the First Brother is still Rex.
Vader did not find him. Neither did his Inquisitors. He let himself be found, knowing very well that neither Vader or his master would be able to resist such a novelty.
CC-7567, formerly CT-7567, ARC-7567. Also known as Rex. Fallen in the aftermath of Order 66, when the Venator under his command crashed on an uninhabited moon close to the Mandalore system.
24 thinks he might have grieved him.
inquisitor rex/purge trooper cody and all that implies (mental instability, weird dubcon-y implications because mind control and the chips, etc), 540w, T.
(sorry tasha)
Cody blinks in the dark. His mouth tastes of old socks, but he’s warm. He wraps an arm around Rex’s waist and smiles at nothing when Rex mutters something against the skin of Cody’s neck, his lips dry and warm and his nose very cold. The blanket is tangled around their legs; their legs are tangled around each other.
He doesn’t know what woke him up. He can’t hear anything—no mysterious beeping noises, no sirens, no brother trying to knock the door down with a gauntlet, no general clearing his throat right on the other side. Just Rex and the Venator’s hyperengines humming dimly somewhere.
Cody exhales and closes his eyes again, trying to let drift back to sleep, but something won't let him. He huffs, annoyed with himself, and starts the slow and careful operation that is extracting his arm from under Rex's body.
There must be something he should be doing—something he forgot. Paperwork, battle plans, a meeting, something. He'll check his comm and go back to sleep. He reaches blindly for the nightstand over his head.
His fingers wrap around the butt of his blaster. He watches himself lift it in the dim yellow brightness of the emergency light, its glare making the black armorweave on the rack by the door shine a deeper black.
Cody blinks. He looks down at Rex's blond head. One yellow eye is staring at him, the golden threatening to overflow the iris; when Cody places the gun against his temple, Rex sighs.
The words want to come out. Cody can feel them rattling inside his chest like so many bones. He clenches his jaw.
He pulls the trigger: nothing happens. Again, and again, and again. His finger won't move, and Cody exhales, horror and relief and pure, black fear flooding his mouth with the taste of bile.
He wants it out. The fucking chip. One day, Rex will be too slow, and Cody will kill him, and then he doesn't know what he will do. To the galaxy, to the Empire, and to himself.
A twitch of the fingers still on Cody's thigh and the blaster hits the opposite wall, still cold. Cody gasps for breath, closes his eyes.
"Cody," Rex says, voice low and hoarse. "I'm going to put you to sleep."
He's not asking—he never asks, not really, not anymore.
Cody exhales and nods, and when Rex wraps his arms around him he exhales, shaky, hiding his face in his shoulder. One cold hand tugs at his hair, wraps around the back of his neck. He can barely move: he's trapped, smothered, his limbs struggling against the strength of Rex's mind.
"Sleep," Rex whispers in his ear, lips dry and breath warm. Cody gasps.
“Rex,” Cody starts. His voice cracks; he forgets what it is he wanted to say. He’s so scared. The fingers on his neck dig into the skin, and Cody shudders—he wants them all over his body. He wants them to never touch his skin ever again. He wants to stay exactly where he is, held secure and trapped in the circle of Rex’s arms. When Rex exhales, shaky and wet, Cody can feel it inside his chest.
