#JANGO Records

[nevertheless-moving]

So You Just Killed Palpatine

In Which, Much To Obi-Wan Kenobi's Surprise, While Dealing With The Consequences of One's Own Action's Can Be A Lot, It Isn't Always Entirely A Bad Thing

originally inspired by this and this from anon and husborth Part One, Part Two, Part Three ... Part Fo ... uh ... there's memes somewhere... Anyway Here's Part Five:

Obi-Wan blinked awake, head cloudy and body heavy, as if under unusually high gravity. But no, there was the all-too-recognizable ceiling of the temple healing halls, its mosaic ceiling drifting in lazy, clockwise circles.

What did I do this time? Wait, there was something I had to tell the rest of the Jedi...something important...

Oh dear, he was on the good painkillers, wasn't he?

“Obi-Wan?” someone familiar asked, voice and force presence ringing with a startling jab of hope.

“Bant?” he tried to reply, only to be met with burning pain in his throat. The only thing he managed to get out was an unintelligible coughing fit which pulled sharply at his gut.

“Take it easy!” she urged, moving into his blurry line of sight. “You’ve had extensive abdominal surgery, and your throat was — was crushed rather severely — it’s going to take more time for the grafts to heal.”

Obi-Wan nodded, chastened, before cautiously starting the process of pushing himself up in bed, Bant hovering nervously all the while. The effort made his muscles ache and the room spin faster, but things settled down once he was sitting up.

He looked around, sagging in relief at a small oily handprint on one of the otherwise sterile visitor chairs. Anakin had been here recently, and was in good enough health to be tinkering. Good, that was good. That was important.

He suddenly realized half his vision was obscured and sluggishly raised a hand to his face, only to find heavy cloth.

“I’m sorry, we weren’t able to save your eye,” Bant said softly. “Once you’re a little more healed we can discuss artificial or bioengineered replacement options.”

She plucked a cup off a counter overcrowded with a dizzying array of flowers. “Here, drink some of this if you’re feeling up to it, it’ll make talking a little easier.”

Obi-Wan accepted the drink, only to feel it slide out of numb hands. Bant gently closed her hands around his, helping to guide the drink to his lips. He grimaced at the taste.

“Bacta infused water,” she apologized. “You’re going to be drinking bacta infused liquids for some time, I’m afraid.”

A wave of exhaustion swept over him and Bant set the cup down as Obi-Wan sagged.

“Anakin?” he managed to rasp out.

“Anakin’s fine, he’s completely safe,” Bant said with a comforting squeeze of his shoulder. “He’ll be annoyed to know he missed you waking up, he very much wanted to be there.”

Obi-Wan was going to say something else, but sleep dragged him under first.

//

Obi-Wan opened his eyes — his eye — to the sight of Quinlan Vos scowling over a datapad. The dark spot on the left side of his vision was more noticeable than before. What the kriff did I do to myself?

He shifted, irritated at how lethargically his body responded. The pad fell to the ground with a clatter as Quinlan lurched towards the bed.

“Obi-Wan! Hold on, let me — you’re supposed to have the water before you try to talk.”

Quinlan helped hold up a cup and straw so Obi-Wan could take several short sips of the unpleasantly viscous and vaguely pineapple flavored water.

“How are you feeling?” Quinlan asked, hovering with uncharacteristic anxiousness.

Obi-Wan paused to think. “Weak,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “How long have I been...”

Guilt flashed over Vos’s face. “You were in and out of Bacta tanks and surgery for a full two weeks. And then another week in an induced coma. And then another week in a self-healing trance. You had...a lot of internal injuries. I’m so sorry Obi-Wan—this is all my fault.”

Obi-Wan stared at Quinlan blankly for a moment. His face helped the memories to start trickling in.

"Yes..." he said slowly. "Yes — you knocked on my door... you said... Vos... please just... just tell me if I hallucinated anything — did I try to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?"

"I'd say you succeeded," Quinlan replied, half-smiling, half-grimacing.

"Did I — did we think he was a pedophile, only—”

He had to pause, throat burning as he fought a coughing fit. He swallowed more disgustingly flavored water before finishing the thought.

“—only to discover that he was in fact not sexually grooming Anakin, but was doing a number of other terrible things? And did he... did he — did he electrocute me...”

Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off and he took several more sips, throat filled with an uncomfortable fizzing sensation.

Quinlan nodded, wincing. “I mean parts of that you know better than me but yeah, that matches with what I understand.”

“Hm.” Obi-Wan finished the cup, mulling it over.

Quinlan Vos muttered something under his breath that Obi-Wan couldn't quite make out, but the word "dramatic" almost definitely featured.

Grey crept in around the corners of his vision, then black.

//

When he opened his eyes — his eye, he'd have to get used to that — next, he was greeted by a convenient and increasingly familiar cup at his bedside, as well as Master Windu. Obi-Wan quickly reached for the water, clutching it in both hands and taking a long drink.

Spurred on by the sight of the Master of the Order, he also reached for the urgent thought from earlier, wanting to get it out before he slipped back under —

“Chancellor Palpatine’s a Sith Lord!!”

The corners of Mace’s eyes crinkled. “Yes, Knight Kenobi," he said. "We’re aware of that now. You’ve proved it to be the case quite publicly. And ended the threat with remarkable... thoroughness.”

Obi-Wan head fell back. “A Sith Lord... the Chancellor!” he said in amazement. He was relieved to find his throat only barely twinging at his outburst.

“It truly stretches the imagination,” Mace agreed tolerantly.

“You’re telling me!” Obi-Wan took another long drink, head spinning.

Master Windu smoothed a crease from his robe before saying, with extreme delicacy, “I don't wish to pressure you into speaking before you've healed... but I admit, we’ve all been wondering how exactly you knew.”

"He force choked me and electrocuted me with Sith Lightning. Lighting! I thought that was a myth!” He drained the cup, hands shaking slightly.

“Yes,” Mace said quietly. “The healers were amazed you survived so long... let alone had the strength to fight back with such strength. We’re all extremely grateful to the Force for keeping you alive long enough for us to reach you.”

Obi-Wan made a mental note to feel grateful later, but his mental space was a bit of a mess at the moment, and he wasn't entirely certain he had filed it away correctly.

Master Windu sighed. “We would have been there sooner but I’m afraid none of us had any idea that you were going to confront a Sith.” A twinge of reproach crept into Windu's voice, but Obi-Wan set it aside along with the gratitude, to be examined at some later date. Ideally when his head felt less full of bantha wool.

“I had no idea,” Obi-Wan said numbly.

“Well you figured it out before the Council at least,” Mace replied, not without humor.

He couldn't help but snort. “Yes, because he shot lightning at me. I mean the force choking happened first but... lightning. Lightning!”

Lines formed between Master Windu's brows as he looked down at him. “As much as it pains me, I understand the risk assessment in not telling the High Council about a Sith Chancellor of the Republic, and goading a public fight was probably the best political move possible. But why start the confrontation so privately? It seemed rather — apologies, we can debrief on that when you're rested. I presume you were trying to get a confession about the droid and clone armies?”

Obi-Wan stared at Mace Windu wide-eyed.

“The what.”

The lines on Master Windu’s face deepened. “The... Kamonian clone army — the clones of Jango Fett...”

Obi-Wan’s eyes got wider. “Jango Fett—you mean Galidrean Jango Fett? The Jedi Killer? Palpatine made a clone army of him?”

Mace was silent for a long while, staring at Obi-Wan as though he were a particularly concerning puzzle. Obi-Wan chewed on the straw, mind wandering to whether or not it would be appropriate to ask Master Windu for a refill. As unpleasant as the flavor was, the fizzing did make his throat feel better.

“Knight Kenobi...” Mace finally said, speaking very slowly. “Do you remember why Chancellor Palpatine attacked you? The soul healers were quite certain the Sith Lord didn’t breach your inner shields but I think you might be suffering from some memory loss...”

His left eye itched; he resisted the urge to reach for it. Obi-Wan sank further into the cushions behind him, trying to think. Were there gaps in his memory? No, as usual, it all seemed a fairly clear path from Quinlan Vos knocking on his door to Obi-Wan ending up unconscious in the healing halls.

“Why Palpatine starting attacking?" he mused. "I suppose he wasn't going to just dance around forever — force, when he dodged my blaster shot, I simply could not understand how — it all happened so fast, but the next thing I knew I was pinned against the wall by a Dark —”

“Stop,” Master Windu ordered, raising his hand. He took a deep breath, radiating calm into the force.

“Do you remember what Palpatine said immediately before you shot him?” he asked patiently.

Obi-Wan shifted, feeling a pang of awkwardness as he muttered the answer guiltily under his breath.

“I’m sorry, Knight Kenobi, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“He said, ah, ‘you’re a Jedi’ and ‘you can’t kill an unarmed man.’”

Mace Windu stared at Obi-Wan.

There was a long pause while Obi-Wan fidgeted with the straw. He was starting to feel that perhaps his thoughts were even less clear than he had assumed them to be, and he was not handling this conversation particularly well.

Windu took another deep breath, radiating slightly less calm then before.

“Knight Kenobi. Why did you shoot the Chancellor of the Republic?”

“...I was trying to kill him,” Obi-Wan said, looking down.

“Why?”

Obi-Wan mumbled.

“Kenobi, speak clearly.”

“Well—ah—it actually turns out that I had misunderstood...I mean it had certainly seemed like...but he wasn’t actually...doing exactly what I thought...”

Windu stared at the recumbent Knight, who flushed.

It occurred to Obi-Wan for the first time, that, considering his plan of running away and becoming a bounty hunter was no longer possible nor, perhaps necessary, he could have misrepresented some of the timeline of events vis a vis sith slaying. Or better yet, pretended to have memory loss.

In his defense, the whole experience had been extremely unnerving! For all that weeks had clearly elapsed for everyone else, Obi-Wan was still processing Chancellor Palpatine shooting lightning out of his fingers.

A wave of exhaustion flooded over him, and he sank into it with relief, recognizing now the sickly sweet painkillers pulsing through his blood, clouding his thoughts and pulling him under.

//

Unfortunately, Mace Windu was still there when he woke up. Kriff.

He opened his mouth to try and backtrack, but Windu raised his hand, cutting off any poorly thought out explanations.

Master Windu took a deep breath, radiating very little calm by this point.

“Let me get this clear. Nod if yes, shake your head if no, did you go into the Chancellor’s office with the intent to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Did you know he was a Sith before you went into his office?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Did you suspect he was a Sith?" Mace asked, slightly desperate.

Obi-Wan shook his head, cringing in apology.

“Before you went into the Chancellor’s office, were you aware that he was working with the Kaminoians to commission a clone army?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, biting back questions.

“Did you know he was working with the trade federation to commission a droid army?”

Another no.

“Did you suspect anything about these armies? Anything about a larger plot to destabilize the Republic? Destroy the Jedi? Become Emperor?”

Obi-Wan shook his head at each question, eyes widening with shock.

Mace Windu was radiating absolutely no calm at this point.

“Knight Kenobi...” he asked with a pained expression. “Did you... attempt to assassinate the Chancellor of the republic for personal reasons born out of some sort of misunderstanding? Only to inadvertently save the Republic?”

“I mean once I found out that he was a Sith... I of course changed tactics... and personal is a bit... but... that... Well. More or less sums the situation up, yes.”

Mace WIndu stared at Obi-Wan Kenobi, who wasn’t sure if he should keep talking or not. He didn't entirely trust his ability to explain things well at the moment, and ultimately decided to err on the side of silence.

Obi-Wan vaguely wished he could slip into sleep, but was fairly sure that it would be rude and possibly obvious to do twice in one conversation. His throat itched and he considered once again asking for more water, ultimately deciding against it.

Minutes passed, Master Windu staring blankly at the wall above Obi-Wan’s shoulders, while Obi-Wan's mind started to wander.

Who on earth had been paying to feed a clone army? How was Quinlan doing at getting Anakin to brush his teeth? Am I going to prison? Ohh that’s why the force was so insistent on killing Palpatine. Maybe that would help explain things to Master Windu? Though 'the force told me to' is  generally not considered a good excuse, in of itself, for acts of violence...though this is a rather unique situation...

Eventually Master Plo walked in, letting out a pleased noise.

“There he is! The Hero of the Republic!”

Mace Windu closed his eyes.

“Is that what they’re calling me?” Obi-Wan asked weakly, when it became clear Master Windu wasn’t ready to address everything wrong with that.

“Oh! Your drink is empty! Mace, Vokara was very clear with her instructions!” Master Plo scolded.

Mace Windu didn’t reply.

Plo-Koon snatched the cup, filling it up from a pitcher across the room and talking boisterously. “Well, the public is throwing around a lot of titles, but since you already had Sith Slayer...”

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan said faintly, accepting the terrible water and drinking it for lack of anything better to do.

Plo-Koon patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. “I’m afraid to tell you it’s going to be very difficult for you to dodge commendations for your actions. Now that you’re awake you’re going to be faced with quite a backlog of requests for ceremonies and interviews—”

Obi-Wan choked. “Ceremonies?” he repeated in a higher pitch. He snuck a look at Master Windu. His eyes were closed, though he didn't appear to be meditating.

That probably wasn't a good sign.

"Yes, ceremonies," Plo-Koon said with far too much relish. "Turns out there are quite a lot of old traditions on the books regarding —"

Master Healer Vokara Che entered the room at brisk pace. “I thought I heard voices — I will remind you that before he is the ‘Sith Slayer Returned’ or ‘The True Chosen One’ or any such nonsense he is first and foremost my patient.”

She gave a sharp look to both Council Members. Plo-Koon nodded contritely while Master Windu continued to not say or do anything.

“The — no, no Anakin’s the chosen one —" Obi-Wan sputtered. "Anakin’s the reason — people aren’t actually calling me that, right?” he asked, drugs doing an admirable job at suppressing the panic he was fairly sure he was going to feel later. The device in Master Che's hand beeped faintly in answer.

“That and more, young Kenobi,” another familiar voice suddenly added, below his field of vision. “To collect your honors, expect to survive, you did not, mmn?”

“Master Yoda! No, I—I really didn’t expect... any honors... at most I was hoping that people would understand...” Obi-Wan protested weakly, shooting Windu a beseeching look which yet again failed to garner a response.

Che rolled her eyes, flipping a lek behind her somewhat sarcastically as she attached a glowing device to his chest. "Of course you didn't."

He barely refrained from wincing as several needles bit into him.

“Perhaps we would have had a better chance of understanding had you left us any of your evidence,” Master Koon chided gently.

“Put together the pieces we did, in our time,” Yoda added, hopping up on the nightstand to affectionately poke his shoulder.

Obi-Wan leaned back, feeling increasingly light-headed.

“Your vitals look good, all things considered,” Master Che said, sounding smug. “You should be back to getting into trouble in a year or so.”

Obi-Wan jerked his head in her direction, aghast. “A year?!”

“Busy, you will be, if work you wish. A seat, open there is for you. Comfortable chair, good company, important duties.”

Master Windu’s eyes squeezed further closed.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered.

The healer scowled. “You were bleeding heavily into more or less all your major organs, including your brain. Really, it would be faster for me to list organs that weren't damaged. The fact that you recovered at all is only because Master Gallia conducted ill-advised on-scene amateur healing—"

"Is she alright?" Obi-Wan asked.

"—ill-advised, but successfully non-self-detrimental amateur healing, and I’m a miracle worker, and, credit where credit is due, you’re a stubborn bastard; not to mention your padawan has far too much energy to throw around — you really should consider enrolling him some healer’s courses—”

“Is he alright?” Obi-Wan asked, more urgently.

“He’s fine,” Master Plo reassured him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “Everyone is fine except for you. He just tired himself out a few times, but Knight Vos has been keeping a close eye on him, and Anakin understands that the best thing at this point is to let you heal under your own power."

“Can I see him?” he asked. His voice was growing hoarse despite the dutifully refilled cup.

Vokara’s face softened. “Of course. He’ll be stopping by after class, in another hour or so. He’s been very punctual.”

“Master Windu? Alright are you? Silent, you have been.” Mace flinched upon being prodded with a stick. He opened his eyes, pinning Knight Kenobi with a steely gaze. Obi-Wan shrunk back, but Windu just sighed.

“You...” he trailed off. He stood up slowly, as if the movement pained him.

"I —" he said authoritatively, quieting the room. "—am taking a sabbatical. Call me when—” Windu gestured vaguely. “—you all sort out this mess.”

He walked out.

A long moment passed. “What did you tell him?” Master Plo finally asked in a hushed whisper.

"Ah..." Obi-Wan paused, limbs heavy with fatigue. "Well — you see— " He closed his eyes, feeling slightly cowardly as he did so.

//

When he opened them again, the light hadn't shifted nearly as much as other inbetweens, and his bandages hadn't been changed. Master Plo was still there, speaking quietly with Yoda.

Shit.

"Not too long that time," Vokara said, pleased. "I've lowered the dose on some of your medications, it should make it easier to stay awake."

"Oh. Good," Obi-Wan replied.

"Young Kenobi." Plo-Koon moved closer. "I dislike pressuring you in your current state, but... Master Windu appears to have left the temple. We were wondering..."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again, considering. His mind was, at last, starting to catch up with mouth. “He asked me... some questions. About how I came to suspect Palpatine," Obi-Wan said carefully. "It would appear I may have forgotten some details. About the evidence...Master Windu was — distressed regarding what I did and did not recall."

Vokara nodded. "Memory loss is completely understandable with the type of injuries you recieved."

"Alright, it is, if remember everything, you cannot," Yoda added kindly. "Our own investigations, ongoing are."

"So if I, ah, can't quite remember everything that led up to our fight," Obi-Wan asked, feeling guilty, but force, that blank look in Master Windu's eyes. "I mean I definitely remember the force willing me to decisively seek his end — really it was unusually loud about it," he added hastily. "If that helps."

Yoda nodded slowly. "This reason, understand we do. But, present to the public, perhaps not a good idea would be."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. "I think — I'm not certain but I believe Quinlan Vos may have helped me collect some evidence..."

"Said as much, he did. Wait to confer with you, he wanted."

Obi-Wan sagged backwards with relief. "Yes. Yes! We had security concerns... Palpatine was so highly placed..." he trailed off.

"Considering Sifo-Dyas's and Count Dooku's entanglement in all this I can hardly blame you for hesitating to reach out to the council," Plo-Koon said, exhaustion audible even through his vocoder.

Obi-Wan choked on his spit; the following coughing fit was soon rewarded with a fresh bacta drink from Vokara.

Dooku?? Sifo-Dyas??

"Perhaps after I speak with him I'll be able to better assist with the current investigations," he offered hoarsely after recovering.

"Of course," Plo-Koon said gently. "Again, we apologize for interrogating you so early into your recovery but you really can't imagine the public and political scrutiny we've all been under —" He hesitated. "Master Windu was joking about taking a sabbatical right now, was he not?" he asked, sounding strained. "I know he's been under a lot of pressure, but surely you having memory issues couldn't—"

He was thankfully interrupted by the sound of small feet moving rapidly and a gangly body launching itself at highspeeds through the doorway.

Vokara just managed to snag the back of Anakin's robes before he crashed into Obi-Wan's medbed.

"Padawan Skywalker," she said, voice tight. "I believe I have mentioned the numerous injuries your master is recovering from and the need for —"

"Care in my movements," he said sheepishly. "Apologies, master, thank you."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, something in his chest relaxing at the sight of his dangling student.

"Obi-Wan." His padawan's eyes immediately started filling with tears.

Obi-Wan reached out instinctively. "Oh, Anakin."

"Give you a moment, we will," Yoda said, hobbling out, as Vokara sighed, then gently placed his pupil on the floor.

"Of course," Plo-Koon agreed. "Take all the time you need." He hurried to catch up with Yoda. Obi-Wan heard him begin to say, "Mace can't actually be leaving us to deal with this clusterfu—'' Then the door closed, and Anakin was weeping at his bedside.

"Shh," Obi-Wan said, tugging his padawan up, ignoring the protestations of his abdomen. "There, there, it will be alright."

Anakin crawled up, movements ginger and uncertain around Obi-Wan's numerous injuries. Together, they somehow managed to shift Obi-Wan enough for Anakin to fit beside him. His padawan shook with suppressed sobs, and parts of him were almost certainly hanging awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

Obi-Wan ran one hand through Anakin's hair, the other hand gently resting where he could reach without twisting too much, probably an elbow, though the boy was pointy enough these days that he couldn't be sure. If Obi-Wan was also shaking, well. There was reason enough.

"Sheev," Anakin finally said, oozing misery and an overwhelming tangle of other unpleasant emotions into the force.

"...I know he was your friend—" Obi-Wan said, after what was hopefully not too long a pause. This was another conversation that probably wouldn't be helped by painkillers.

"But he wasn't, really." Anakin curled up, even more miserable. "I know. I should let go."

The side of Obi-Wan's head throbbed. On second thought, painkillers were the way to go here. "That's not what I meant," he said. "He was a friend to you. He's gone now. Because of me, your master. And... I'm sure you've found out a lot while I've been asleep. I can't imagine a single padawan learner who wouldn't be struggling with their emotions right now. I'm struggling."

"I'm angry," Anakin said into his side. "Master, I'm so full of anger."

"You think I wasn't?" Obi-Wan asked dryly.

Anakin hiccuped a sob. "I'm angry at everyone."

"It's alright, Anakin," Obi-Wan soothed. "You'll work through it in time. I'll be here to help, whenever you want. Even when I'm the one you're angry with."

Anakin sobbed another minute, force presence roiling, before finally pulling himself in with a deep breath, and wiping his nose on the sheets. "You looked so cool when you were angry," he mumbled into Obi-Wan's side.

"Oh force," Obi-Wan groaned. "Of course there was holofootage. Of course you watched."

"Are you... still angry?" Anakin asked.

Fuck.

Obi-Wan tried to think of the right answer for a padawan learner. His head throbbed again.

"Honestly? Right now I'm mostly just tired. I feel like I was run over by a pack of bantha. It's never a good idea to try and deal with large emotional gnarls while you're this exhausted, remember that my young padawan."

"You've been asleep for years," Anakin whined. "How are you still tired?"

"Years?" he asked, amused.

"At least three," Anakin huffed, curling up against him.

Obi-Wan stroked his hair in peaceful silence for a moment.

"...Did you really smash in his skull with a metal chair to protect me?"

"I would do a lot of things to protect you," he confessed. "I'm sorry Anakin — I should have talked with you when I grew concerned with his behavior. I felt at the time I had to act swiftly, but I worry I only caused you more pain."

"It was a really cool fight."

"...Thank you, padawan."

"Can you teach me how to choke people with my ankles like that?" he sniffled.

Obi-Wan groaned internally. "Of course, as a Jedi, violence—" 

"Violence is our last resort," Anakin interrupted. "Right, yeah —but if it is needed—"

"—Such as when someone," Obi-Wan said over him. "After careful consideration, is found to be both politically insulated and positioned to commit great further harm—"

"Actually, I think you, the person who killed my trusted friend, lecturing me on why he was ultra especially irredeemably evil is traumatizing, even more traumatizing than all those holo compilations of you —"

"Oh force above, of course there's — oh. Oh no — please don't tell me—"

"The latest Jizz music," Anakin said, far too gleeful.

Obi-Wan groaned. Unfortunately, the extra movement in his chest triggered an admittedly ghastly sounding coughing fit and Anakin immediately lost the small edge of grace he had managed to cultivate during their back and forth.

"Master?" he asked urgently. "Master — hold on — I'll go get—"

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan rasped. "Any more of that —"

Anakin was already scrambling to fetch the pitcher.

Such a good boy, he thought affectionately, watching him pour and carry over a glass with the same care others might have when handling molten gold.

Obi-Wan drank with a reciprocal amount of delicacy, knowing his padawan was watching falcon-eyed for any wasted drops.

"Perhaps we should finish this conversation a little later," Obi-Wan said, once his airways calmed down.

Coughing should not be this exhausting.

"Of course," Anakin said, subdued, but he crawled back into bed readily enough when Obi-Wan patted it.

“Really, though —” Obi-Wan started to say, feeling it was duty to try and wrap up the lesson, but he was fortunately cut off before he was forced to figure out exactly what that lesson was.

“It’s alright,” Anakin chimed comfortingly. “We have time to talk about it, master. Can’t you tell?”

“Hm?” Obi-Wan replied, fighting the droop of his eyelids. 

“The force clears,” Anakin said, voice sonorous. “The dark retreats.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s eyes started falling closed. “That’s nice.”

“So we have time. To figure out the rest.”

 “Very nice,” Obi-Wan murmured.

His padawan curled against him, force presence like ocean waves rocking him to sleep.

“The force says it’s going to be alright,” Anakin whispered, wonderingly. “It’s going to be alright.”

Obi-Wan smiled, then once again slipped back to sleep.

[gh0st-c0mpany]

Jango: Boba, do you remember that time a bag of chips got stuck in the vending machine and only you could reach in and get it out?

Boba: Yeah?

Jango: Good, were gonna do that again except that 100ft Dragon is the vending machine and that tooth in its mouth is the bag of chips. Good luck 👍

[somestorythoughts]

What kind of soul do you have?

Star Wars AU (or Star Trek or LOTR or something DnD, basically this works for anything where multiple sentient species are running around) where pretty much everyone has an apparent soul but every species has something different.

Since I am experiencing Star Wars brain rot I will use that for examples:

Humans have daemons a la Golden Compass.

Twi'leks as a species take "the eyes are windows to the soul" literally.

Kel Door's (I like that's Plo Koon's species) don't have soulmates but they do have soulmarks that represent them.

Kaminoans have auras that exist on a wavelength they can see but humans can't.

Nautolians' souls are shaped like them and follow them like a ghost.

Someone's soul glows abstract patterns in their skin. No one knows what's up with Yoda's species. There's an avian species somewhere who's soul is something they sing. Other's carry their souls in their hands.

Even when two species have similar souls the rules will be different so that no 2 species have the exact same thing going on. Kaminoan's aren't the only ones with "auras", but the other species has their's in a completely different wavelength and they can't actually see each other's souls. There's a hundred ways to carry your soul in your hand but everyone who can is terrified of loosing it. One species has 2 shadows, 1 is the soul and one is the regular shadow, but three systems away someone else's shadows are their souls.

There's one species that says they don't have souls. No one's sure if they're telling the truth but everyone's a little spooked.

Someone who's got multiple species in their ancestry will have a soul that follows the rules of one of those species, but no one knows what determines which rules their souls follow.

[twinterrors29]

Alpha-17 is returned to the past, at a point a few years before his creation, from soon after Order 66 and all that ensued

his first step, naturally, was to kill Jango Fett

from there, it was only logical for him to step into the man's life as a bounty hunter (he's got to eat somehow, and it's not like he doesn't more than live up to the Prime's reputation)

but then, despite refusing the bounty on Vosa, is still cornered by a very recognizable Sith and ominously offered the Kamino job

he cannot let himself hesitate to accept it

his first task is to recruit a group of 'trainers', ones he believes are loyal to him (or can be made so)(and, if not, that he can easily dispose of) and brings them all to Kamino, and bides his time

he waits until the first batches of his siblings are born, playing along about just long enough so that his supporters can watch and learn how to continue their operation without requiring the Kaminoan's involvement

and then he strikes, removing them from the picture, and immediately modifies the cloning contract on record:

the clones he's raising are all for the Jedi, and in the name of the one Jedi he actually trusts them to

so when Kenobi is lured to Kamino by the Sith's machinations several years later, it's only Alpha-17 waiting for him in the rain on that landing platform

and all he says in greeting is, "Kenobi, good, you finally made it. Here's the boys, we're killing the Sith, are you coming or do you need any more time to prepare"

and proceeds to not wait for the man's answer as he drags him along through the final preparations for their mass departure for Coruscant, dodging meaningfully addressing any of his questions by fobbing him off onto his curious and delighted younger siblings who only have vague ideas of Alpha-17's plans

when they arrive, he plays along with the Chancellor just long enough to get close so he can cut the head off that snake directly, along with several other key Imperial Senators and ambitious would-have-been military personnel

he immediately declares Kenobi the Emperor to a crowd of aghast politicians (and an equally shocked Kenobi)

Anakin, hearing this news, swiftly returns from the solo mission that the late Chancellor had dispatched him on, furious that his Master has taken over the political system without inviting him to help 💔

he's equally swiftly mollified when, upon his arrival, Alpha-17 intercepts his impending meltdown by immediately turning him back around to be dispatched on missions important to securing their new Empire

[djbetodiass]

SUPERSONIC #31 by DJ BETO DIAS

01 – Jessica Skye – Virgo Rising (Extended Mix) [PLATOON]02 – Virak, TCKS – Siento Libre (Band&dos Remix) [ADESSO MUSIC]03 – ANOTR – Relax My Eyes (BLUPRNT Remix Extended)04 – Nu Shooz – I Can’t Wait (Sgt Slick’s Discotizer ReCut)05 – Butch & Nic Fanciulli – I Want You (Extended Mix)[DEFECTED]05 – DJ Falcon – Honeymoon (Sgt Slick 2022 ReCut)06 – PNAU, Troye Sivan – You Know What I Need (Shadow…

[frostbitebakery]

Last Line Challenge

I got tagged by @meebles 💜 I’m sorry for posting and replying so irregularly, adulthood really isn’t good for my time management.

Anyway! How about some

LOUD.

“Next stop: Cam Mer Plaza.”

Obi-Wan grunts in protest when Depa accidentally jostles him. Needs must in some cases, and in this case the message she’s sending to Grey warrants the slight disturbance in her opinion. “I am proud of you and your ability to be not as… troublesome as some of your siblings.”

Gentle hands, black bloody gloves hidden away behind a chest plate, adjust Obi-Wan’s body against her side until his hair tickles her cheek and he’s safely tucked in once more. Depa stops counting the times Obi-Wan’s breathing is checked and looks at Commander Cody not meeting her eyes while he consciously stops his fussing.

Grey’s name pops up on her comm a second later.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me and I now have it on record,” he says, dry as a desert planet, as soon as she accepts the call.

“Hello, Grey,” she smiles, feeling the warmth of connection to her commander and her troops fill her chest.

“Hello, Depa,” he replies, equally as warm and the exhaustion is starting to unravel from her muscles.

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with sparkling wine,” Commander Cody states.

“Compound butter,” Quinlan and Commander Fox groan back in different levels of exasperation.

“You gotta understand,” Grey starts again and Depa’s attention snaps away from what she has thought were ancient methods on ice cream churning, “the first command batches are, genetically speaking, not that far off from the template. So they regrettably really are like this if left to their own devices.”

Depa had met Jango Fett face to face exactly once. With the Galaxy unraveling by the second, their fight had boiled down to a lot of rain and the heart stopping, heart breaking introduction of the clones, but she can very well remember the armor peaking out like neon colored evidence as Jango had explained his humble life in a state of the art cloning facility on a planet that did not exist.

“It explains a lot,” she allows.

“Sorry.”

The last line was the shine in her eyes while we explore Coruscant’s public transport 🥰

No-pressure-tagging: @chiliger @bluemaskedkarma @lttrsfrmlnrrgby @omaano @julijuli77 @snowywinterevenings and honestly whoever wants to! Show off your WIPs!

[varpusvaras]

If Fox could go back ten years in time and look at the barely twenty-year-old himself in the eyes and tell him that hey, you have a home office, his younger self would look back at him and tell him that he has lost his mind.

It's such a small thing to call someone crazy over, but for the Fox back then, even having an apartment he could be secure about was a big deal. Having an apartment big enough to have a home office? Having a job secure and safe enough that he could work from home? Absolute lunacy.

There Fox still is, now, sitting behind his desk in his home office and looking out of the window towards the trees blooming in the back garden.

That barely twenty-year-old Fox would've lost his mind if he'd see the place where he lives now. Hell, any version of Fox before the age of twenty-five would lose their minds. Even now, Fox remembers the cramped rooms with at least five other kids, sometimes his brothers, sometimes not. He remembers how all of this stuff could with inside one drawer and one box, because that had been the amount of stuff he had been allowed to have. Living in a place where he could have his own bedroom, a home office, and multiple other rooms to spare still?

All of that had been a simple, too good to ever be true-dream.

One that he is living now.

Who is he lying to? Fox at twenty-six had lost his mind after seeing the place for the first time. At that point he had been living on his own for a while, and not in a bad place either, but still. It had been...almost too much.

The way Bail and Breha had looked at him with soft eyes after Fox had asked if it would really be alright for him to have a home office had almost been too much.

They would've given him at least ten home offices if Fox would've just asked. Fox knows that.

Sometimes, Fox thinks that he is getting more than he deserves.

Not that he isn't working hard, or hadn't been working hard for his own success. He had, with too much cheap coffee and by scouring the grocery stores for expiring products and by studying through every waking hour and working through half of the hours he should've been sleeping. He had done it all, and it had gotten him here, in it's own way.

Now he can have the good coffee and sip it patiently, while he stops looking out of the window for a moment and attaches the floor plans and the concept pictures to the email and sends them away. He hopes that the customer is happy, now. The job had been interesting and quite fun with all the challenges, but he had other jobs too that he needed to work on, so he simply couldn't spend more hours on drawing entirely new pictures and doing all the math again because the customer had suddenly decided that they liked radius windows better to the picture windows instead-

Right on cue, his phone starts to ring.

Fox groans.

"Seriously?" He mutters, picking the phones up. "That was fast."

The record for the fastest call back he had received before this had been what, five minutes? It had barely been two minutes now, so there must be something egregious that he had managed to completely overlook, somehow.

He takes one last sip of his coffee, before he answers.

"Coruscant designs, Fox Organa speaking", he says.

"Hello, Mr. Organa." The voice that comes from the speaker is not the voice of his customer, and Fox blinks in surprise. Had he actually forgotten to see who had been calling? There's only a number on the screen when he quickly glances at it. "Is now a good moment to talk? I'm afraid that his would be rather time consuming."

"Depends on what this is regarding", Fox says. "I'm sorry, can I ask who this is?"

"Oh, right, my apologies", the voice says hurriedly. "This is agent Strass, I'm calling on behalf of Child Protective Services. Could I ask you if it is correct that your biological father was someone called Jango Fett?"

Oh, this is already not going how Fox would like any phone call to go. No matter how many years it has been by now, just hearing the words Child Protective Services makes his skin crawl, and the name Jango Fett makes his head hurt.

Those two combined have never promised anything good.

"I do want to make a correction, agent Strass, before we get any futher", he says, trying his best not to grit his teeth. "Jango Fett was my donor. I have never met him in person, nor has he ever had custody of me at any point during my life, nor does he even know that I exist."

"Oh", agent Strass says. They sound rather young, and Fox wonders if this is one of the first times they're making this type of call. "You're still listed as a genetic match to him through a DNA-test."

"I am, but I did not make that test to be in contact with him", Fox says. "I made it so I could be sure that my siblings were biologically related to me."

"Of course, of course", agent Strass says, and Fox can hear them turning some papers over on the other end of the call. "Now, I understand that this is a bit of an unique situation, since you do not have a prior relationship with your biological father, but we have received custody of a child that is, according to a DNA-test, also the child of Jango Fett."

Even though Fox already knows that it is the Child Protective Services calling, he is still surprised by the words.

"Have they been removed from the custody of Fett?" He asks.

"According to our records, no, a third party had a custody of him", agent Strass says. "They had done a DNA-test for the child themselves, and shared the results with us."

Fox can't believe this.

Someone is still using Fett as a donor? Or Fett is has suddenly decided to return from the dead and make more kids, but Fox doesn't think that is plausible. Fox is nearing thirty, and so are most of his siblings that he knows of, and the youngest he knows are still way past twenty. He really, really hopes that the child in question is in their late teens at the very least-

"How old is the child?" He asks.

"According to our information, three months", agent Strass says.

-and Fox hopes for the world to be healing are instantly burned down.

"Like I said, I understand that his is an unique situation", agent Strass continues talking, "but since we have the information on the child's biological family, it was decided that we would first reach out to you, to see if there would be anyone willing to foster the child, before we would turn to seek out long-term fostering options from unrelated people-"

Agent Strass's voice fades somewhere into the background, as Fox thinks. He thinks of the cramped rooms, he thinks of his drawer and box and the small amount of things he had in them, he thinks about his brothers, coming and going, being replaced with kids that were strangers, that would also leave if Fox ever managed to become friends with them. He thinks about the times it would be him leaving, thinks about how sometimes he had not even had a suitcase or a backbag, and had instead packed everything into plastic bags and dragged them around, he thinks of the drawer and the box and-

Fox looks out of the window, to the back garden with blooming trees, that he can see from his home office. His office, that he could have multiple of, and how they still wouldn't be out of space, and-

"Yes", Fox says.

"-in case that- excuse me?" Agent Strass stumbles a bit with their words.

"Yes, we will take them. Him. The child", Fox tries not to stumble over his own words as he hurries to speak. "We will take him. What do we need to do?"

Bail and Breha had been through adoption agencies already. They have been cleared to be fit to adopt and foster. Fox has not, but maybe he could ge through one if he applies right now, maybe two adults with qualifications would be enough in the meantime-

Agent Strass talks for a long, long time, and Fox now hangs onto every word with all the attention he has.

Agent Strass tells him to come to the office on Thursday. Fox cleares his whole day immediately.

The call ends almost an hour later, and by that time, his customer has tried to call him six times, and has left three emails. Fox sends them a message of three lines about emergency and sends it without checking if he even typed any of the words correct.

Then he sits down and he breathes.

He just sits there and breathes for a very long time.

"Alright", he murmurs to himself, finally. He needs to go ask Breha if she is free on Thursday, Bail at least only has work then until noon-

Oh. Right.

Fox stands up, and he walks to the other end of the floor, and knocks on the door of Breha's office.

"Come in, love." At any other time Fox would've been really endeared over the fact that Breha could recognise him from the way Fox knocks, but now he has too many other things in his mind.

Breha turns around on her chair as Fox slips in.

"Hello", she says and smiles, but her smile drops a bit when she sees whatever expression it is that Fox has on his face. "Is something wrong? Fox?"

Fox takes a deep breath.

"I've done something", he says. "Without asking you and Bail first."

Breha tilts her head.

"Have you sold the house and decided to move to Antarctica?" She asks. Fox shakes his head. "Then why do you look like you're about to uproot us all?"

"I agreed to have a baby", Fox says.

Breha blinks.

"What?" She asks.

"Not with anyone else", Fox rambles. "With you, I mean, to get a baby with you, I said that we could get a baby but I didn't ask-"

"Fox." Breha stands up, and Fox snaps his mouth shut. "Calm down, alright? Breathe in, and sit down. I feel like this is not a conversation to be had while standing up."

She takes his hands, and walks him over to the other chair next to hers that she keeps for visitors, and she lets Fox slump down on it for a good while before she gives him an expectant look.

Fox breathes in, breathes out, and starts explaining.

--- ---

They go to the office on Thursday.

Even arrives on Saturday.

His things are packed neatly into a little blue suitcase with cartoon ducks on it, and he is dressed nicely into clean overalls and a light coat, and has new, tiny shoes on his little feet.

Fox has only one, slightly tattered picture of himself as a baby, and he feels like he is staring at a live version of that picture when Even is taken out of the car and given to him.

Bail leans over, and he smiles at Even, who does a little smile back.

"He has the same forehead curl as you do", he comments, and brushes Fox's hair gently out of the way.

Fox can only answer with a nod.

He looks at the suitcase, and he thinks of the plastic bags and the drawer and the box.

Breha puts her arm on his back. Fox thinks about the cramped rooms and the drawer and the box as they walk upstairs and go to the room right next to their bedroom, with light green walls and vines growing on the wall outside the window, with a little cot and shelves and multiple drawers for only one kid.

Even's eyes dart around the room for a bit, before he looks back up at Fox. His tiny fingers grab at the front of Fox's shirt, and he smiles at Fox with a gummy smile.

Fox hoists him higher, presses his face against the little dark curls on Even's head, and he pushes the drawer and the box away.

(He only remembers that he had already agreed on things to do on Saturday, when Thorn calls him three hours later.

"Where are you?" He asks. Fox brings the phone further away, and takes a picture, which he sends to Thorn.

"Home", he answers.

"What are y- what the fuck is that?"

"It's a baby", Fox answers.

"I know it is a baby! Why do you have a baby?"

"Because I do now."

"That doesn't explain anything, where did you get it? You weren't pregnant!"

"How do you know I wasn't?" Fox asks.

Even is sleeping on him, and he makes a little snort and curls just a little closer to Fox. Fox smiles, and does not listen to anything Thorn is saying anymore.)

(Modern AU co-parented with @t3mpest98!)

[feybarn]

Ha! Bet you thought I'd forgotten about my little prompt request. I did NOT! I just intimidated myself by trying to come up with full fledged stories for everything. NOPE. This is about getting back into the habit of writing! We are writing what comes to me, so here we come back with a nice, short snippet.

Uhhhhhh punch in the face Kenfetti meet cute @queenaelinwildfire

“Kark!” Jango reeled back, bringing his hand to his now bleeding nose.

Oh, that was broken. Definitely.

The instinct to lunge forward and into the fight itched beneath his skin, but Jango restrained himself. He was trying to not be noticed right now. A scuffle would be.

The kid in front of him snarled, holding onto the helmet he’d just smacked into Jango’s face with one hand, the other hand gripping tight the blaster pointed at Jango.

“What the kriff was that for?” Jango demanded, eyeing the blaster warily. He could probably get the blaster away from the kid—and he couldn’t be older than nineteen—but that would put him in range of the helmet the kid was using as a bludgeoning instrument.

“What the kriff are you doing in my room?” the kid shot back.

The room was supposed to be empty. Jango had double checked the inn’s records and this room had been left unmarked. Apparently that wasn’t quite as accurate as the records indicated it was. It looked like someone had had the same idea he had.

“You paying for it, kid?” He ripped a piece of his shirt and used it to try to stem the bleeding from his now broken nose. That had been a solid hit.

Kid just bared his teeth. “Not a kid.”

“Not an answer,” Jango pointed out. “Something tells me that you’re not supposed to be here any more than I am. So how about you put down that blaster and the two of us handle this like civilized people.”

Raised voices from down the hallway had tension running down Jango’s back. He was without his armor—and that was the last time he tried to go incognito—and had no significant weapons to speak of besides his own westar. Jango had killed more than a few people with his bare hands… well, he didn’t fancy taking on three fully armored kyr’stad hunters as he was.

Jango took a step into the room, shutting the door behind him; his assailant stepped back, keeping the blaster pointed unerringly at Jango.

“You going to start a fight?” Jango asked. He really did not need that right now.

The kid narrowed his eyes, but shook his head. He lowered the blaster, but didn’t put it away, eyeing him with obvious wariness. HIs gaze flicked behind Jango to the door and Jango suspected he was listening for the same thing that Jango was, the kyr’tsad hunters coming closer.

Jango had been aware that he hadn’t been the only one they were hunting, but he hadn’t known who the other target was. He suspected that now he did.

He wondered what the kid had done to get on their radar. He dismissed the thought. If kyr’tsad was hunting him, then that made them allies.

Jango could use all the allies he could get.

[cabezadeperro]

wip wednesday

The commandos stay in the main body of the ship, and so does Seventeen, but Kenobi steps behind him into the cockpit, takes a seat in the copilot chair, hood still on. It hides his face from view: Jango presses his lips together and starts his pre-flight checks, the vessel coming to life all around him.  It takes Kenobi almost half an hour to say anything, which may be a new record for him. He waits in silence while Jango finishes prepping the shuttle for departure, listening quietly to Jango’s curt conversation with Control. He watches Jango input the jump coordinates into the nav computer, hands primly linked and on his lap, his long fingers invisible within his long sleeves. Jango can see the shadow of his pale face in its reflection on the transparisteel viewport, floating ghostly in the dark.  They’re given the go ahead. Jango gets them off the ground, the shuttle creaking alarmingly all around them. It settles slightly once they get higher, the Republic’s base and the nearby mines becoming pinprick points of light in the dark, the sun visible to the east like a flash of molten gold in the black night sky. He misses his ship.  The nav computer finishes its calculations right before they finally break atmo. Jango stabilises the ship, redirecting power to its sublight engines, putting some distance between them and the planet’s gravitational pull and the Republic vessels standing guard in orbit. “I have a bad feeling about this,” Kenobi says, voice sudden and unexpected in the quiet of the cockpit.  Jango eyes him. He snorts. He reaches for the level over his head, and they jump.

[yellowocaballero]

NCAU Rex for the WIP titles?

I got this ask just as I was doing NCAU Rex lmfaoooo!!!

Here's Anakin, then. Anakin actually became way more of an important character in the rewrite, somewhat unfortunately. You get a certain perspective of him in Obi-Wan's story, and another perspective in Rex's. He had to be important in Rex's story - Anakin is the center of Rex's life. He's the meaning and purpose of it. Kind of. Rex thinks so.

As I said, the stories are very much about why good people do bad things. You'd think that would be Anakin's narrative. It honestly isn't. But you do feel kind of bad for him after a while.

Just to set the record straight: Rex was a hero. 

They were all heroes. Loyal soldiers first, obviously, in place to support the real protagonists of the galaxy, but every clone was a personal hero of the Empire. They were the ones with the holy mission. They would be the ones on the front lines, fighting to the preserve the Republic against the evil forces of the CIS until it was time to revolt against the Republic, kill the Jedi, and enforce galactic peace. 

And Rex? The Marshal Commanders, the clone commanders, the best of the best? They would be the ones who would make the Empire happen.

Which was a good thing. Everybody said so. Everybody said so - the flash trainings, the Kamino, the trainers, Jango Fett while rolling his eyes and actually mocking everybody else. Boba if he wanted to be included. It barely even needed to be said. Sometimes Rex felt as if he’d been born knowing that. 

He hadn’t been born knowing why the Empire was good, but he didn’t stop and ask himself that question until six months into the war. Ironically - or maybe just statistically - it was pretty much Vader’s fault. 

They were in a shitty dive bar on Planet Who Cared. They had just conquered - uh, sorry, ‘liberated’ - it from the nasty CIS oppressors, and the city itself had been completely evacuated before the bombings started. Combing through the rubble searching for the secret CIS headquarters that Vader had been reliably reassured definitely existed, they had found a miraculously untouched bar. Rex and Vader had called in a very serious investigation into the underground headquarters, high fived, and started drinking through the place. 

Absolutely alone, free of all prying eyes or thoughtful cameras, Vader really opened up. Rex constantly refilling his glass helped. 

“You know what I like about you?” Vader said, jabbing a finger at Rex. It was the fact that Rex always spoke his mind and didn’t act like Vader was better because he was a Jedi. “It’s how you always speak your mind. You don’t treat me like I’m better just ‘cause I’m a Jedi. ‘Cause I’m not. The person giving you orders isn’t better than you. Fuck, the people in charge are always the worst. People telling you what to do - are bad. Very bad!”

“Hate to say it, but being told what to do is how it works in the military,” Rex said, amused despite himself. He took a sip of his beer. Vader thought Rex got drunker way more frequently than he actually did. Once or twice - ah, let’s not mention that to Cody. Or Fox. “Can’t see many ways I’m better than you, sir. But I can think of a dozen ways we’re better than the rest of ‘em.”

Vader laughed, light and drunken. “You can read faster than me! I still suck at reading.”

“Reading?” Vader could out-shoot, out-memorize, out-run and out-fly Rex. And Rex could out-anything almost everybody else. It was very humbling, and only reinforced what a strong and amazing leader Vader was. “You can do anything, sir, you have to be great at reading.”

But Vader just snickered into his drink, looking at the far wall of the bar. Many of the glass bottles were shattered, and the air stank of a unique mix of a dozen varieties of flash-fried alcohol. “When I was a kid I could read bits and pieces of Huttese. Specific stuff. Could read an instruction manual for a starfighter but not a, uh, fuckin’ picture book. Took me forever to learn how to read Basic. Maybe I could’a gotten it faster, but everybody was always making me feel like shit for not knowing how to do it. I got so embarrassed. Refused to practice. Classes didn’t help…but Master let me learn at my own pace, so I got it eventually. Eventually, right?”

Reading? Rex learned how to read when he was a year old. Rex knew how to read ten languages, just to cover his bases. 

There had to have been some sort of expression on his face, because Vader huffed a laugh. He drained his glass, letting it clatter back onto the bar. “You got no idea why, do you.”

He absolutely did. “No, sir.”

“Sir. Sir…” Vader’s expression darkened, and he hunched his shoulders over the bar. “I’m so big. I’m so adult. Educated men callin’ me sir. Go me. Yay. I never dreamed of this.”

“Sir…?” The briefing had not given him a reply for this. He honestly didn’t know what the hell Vader was going on about. And he usually did! Vader and Rex were always on the same wavelength. Rex bragged that they could read each other’s minds. 

“Man, I was stupid. I wanted everybody to know what I could do, how great I was. Respect, everyone would respect me. But - I just wanted to be as good as everyone else. My biggest, greatest dreams. I was only as good as everyone else. But I went from worse to better. I’m still…”

Rex was silent. He just refilled his glass. Did he say something? It had taken him a while to figure it out, but Vader wanted comfort sometimes. Even natborns wanted that.

After a second’s grappling, Rex said, “I went from being a defect to being the best of the best.” AKA, serving directly under you. “But my brothers never treated me any differently. You just gotta find other people like you, eh? Everybody’s got somebody who understands ‘em.” A little more practiced, he said, “Hell, sir, you understand me. Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I think I understand you. We can tackle the galaxy together, can’t we?”

“There’s nobody out there like me,” Vader said, simple and sure. He said it with such certainty - as if it wasn’t just an opinion or an insecurity, but a truth that span the galaxy. He was probably right. “But thanks, Rex. You’re - just a really nice guy. But you don’t -”

“You don’t make me feel like I have to hang out with you, I don’t feel pressured to hang out with you, and I’m here ‘cause I want to be.” Rex had said that so often. Vader still kept making him say it. Rex would worry that it didn’t sound authentic, but it was even true. 

“Oh. Cool.” Vader thought hard, before something clearly occurred to him. He scrambled fully upright, and he grabbed Rex by the shoulder. Strangely, almost frantically, he said, “I’m never going to hit you, Rex! You’ll always have food, any time you want, okay? I’ll keep you alive no matter what, you aren’t - aren’t disposable or expendable or cheap. I won’t even yell at you! You know, right?”

“Uh,” Rex said, “...yeah?”

“I’m not going to beat you!” Vader said fervently, and there was something in his powerful blue eyes that Rex didn’t like to see. “I’m not that kind of person, I’ll never do that, so don’t be scared!”

“Sir, I didn’t think you would?!”

“Oh. Awesome.” Vader settled back, beaming happily and more than a little drunkenly at him. “Just watch, Rex. I’ll end this war for us. We’ll be free of all of this. And we’ll be real, actual friends, right? No more titles, no more generals or captains or sirs. It’ll just be us, without that bullshit in the way. I won’t be able to hurt you at all. Me and Padme are gonna be free and happy. I’m gonna stay home, take care of the kids, and I’ll support her being her super-awesome self. I’ll make her lunches! I’ve always wanted to make somebody’s lunches for them. It’s so domestic.”

Vader had spilled the oil on him and Amidala months ago. Rex sympathized. It had to have been murder keeping your marriage to one of the most attractive, talented, accomplished, and prestigious women in the galaxy secret. Or so described by Vader. Amidala was…fine. A little unsettling. She looked at Rex too hard, harder than almost any natborn did. As if she was actually seeing him or some ridiculous shit like that. “Husband of the year, you’ll be.”

“What are you gonna do once you’re free, Rex? Keep bees? Write a book? Find love, settle down? It can be whatever, you know!” Vader leaned against the bar, warming up to his own fantastical idea. “Every year, we can have a 501st reunion at Padme’s - our! - lake house. Big, blow-out party, with more booze than you’ve seen in your life. It’ll make Padme roll her eyes, but it’ll be her chance to have a lady’s trip with her old handmaidens. Man, Rex, you gotta see those views, you’ll love going diving and swimming with me.”

Rex had a thought that he didn’t know he could have. Or maybe he just knew that he shouldn’t. 

It was scary. He wasn’t in the habit of having thoughts he shouldn’t have. Rex had worked too hard to be perfect to have little slip-ups like that. Was this the defect shining through? It had to be. Only defects would have such defective thoughts. 

Darth Vader didn’t want to be Darth Vader. 

He…wanted to be a househusband. A father. The Sith treasured power, control, and dominance. Vader just wanted to be accepted. To walk in a crowd of others, indistinguishable from the rest, laughing and free. Whatever his dreams were, whatever he chased or fought for, it was the life he wanted. 

Well, he’d figure out that the Empire was good eventually! He was just brainwashed by Jedi propaganda. Not even Lord Vader was immune to his twisted Jedi upbringing. Vader just hadn’t found the power of the Sith and the beauty of the Empire yet. No big deal. People changed! And Vader would change to want Darth Vader! 

“I want to be at your side,” Rex said. He winked. “Captain of your guard, eh?”

Vader beamed. “Sounds perfect!”

And if captain of the guard still had captain in the name - if it would keep Rex subordinate, adoring, obedient - then it was what Vader secretly wanted after all. 

[absolxguardian]

The new book Rise And Fall of the Galactic Empire, which is an in-universe history book, provides some lore that I think provides very interesting background context to that Tay'lor Spiff post. (I know there's a Republic era pop-star that was a Taylor Swift easter egg in the last issue of the Jango Fett comic series, but the fact she's a Twi'lek makes me feel like she can't be a full Taylor Swift expy- because she wouldn't be a part of the dominant racial group.)

Set alongside the SAGroup was the Coalition for Progress, which in many ways fulfilled similar roles and responsibilities relating to the adult population of the galaxy. Initially one of the smallest groups within COMPNOR, Progress—as the name was often shortened to—was sometimes greeted with a degree of trepidation by Imperial citizens and planetary governors. Much of this stemmed from the actions of the group within Progress designated to deal with art and culture. Progress created a very narrow definition regarding acceptable art, music, or performances that could be held or showcased in public. The result was a funding collapse in artistic pursuits and the blacklisting of some extremely high-profile artists, performers, and musicians who fell afoul of the new regulations. This included some of the leading gonk-rock groups of Bormea sector, who regularly had their venues closed or raided, and the overtly anti-Imperial band Red Shift Limit. Furthermore a musician from Naboo named Palo Jemabie was imprisoned at a labor camp by the Empire for a musical performance described—without detail—by his criminal record as “deviant.” This situation was particularly complicated as various planetary governors had previously been patrons and supporters of those who were now banned and could no longer enjoy their work.

[...]

The SAGRecreation group in particular was highly adept at identifying potential role models within various spheres of sport and culture who might appeal to younger citizens. Grav-ball already had an existing widespread appeal in the galaxy, but the Empire took the extra step of incorporating it into various military academies and recruiting some of its most famous stars as examples of what both physical prowess and loyalty to the Empire could mean. Broadcasts of grav-ball tournaments on the holonet were often accompanied by recruitment messages that featured popular players, and Grand Moff Tarkin was sometimes seen in the crowd for games that took place on Coruscant, though it remains unclear whether he actually had any interest in the sport.

This is clearly inspired by how sports and the arts were treated within real life fascist regimes- grav ball is space American football, there's an entire middle grade book about that. Given the position the kind of country pop Taylor Swift makes in our current cultural hegemony- the Empire isn't considering it "degenerate music". So Spiffies (specifically young people from wealthy Core families who'd be the only ones able to get away with posting stuff like that on the Holonet) insistence that Tay'lor is actual a force sensitive rebel sympathizer is even more ridiculous, when her boyfriend is actually part of Imperial propaganda. However at the same time I feel like there does have to be some poor ISB agent who has to check all of Spiff's lyrics to make sure there aren't actually secret messages like some of her fans claim.

[phoenixyfriend]

Thought- in the terracotta warriors thing, you mentioned that the Jedi archeologists brought in a specialist in mando iconography to try and work out what’s going on with the 501sts symbols- what if that outside specialist is jaster mereel? Could be pre becoming the mand’alor, could be just his side job, but either way he spends a few years studying it all and getting used to being the only mando in a base camp full of Jedi, makes friends, has academic discussions and disagreements, steals someone’s holopad to try and use the link to the Jedi archives to read all the things on tarre visla, gets into an actual argument, reconciles with agreeing to help with a historical reenactment of a Jedi mandolorian war, gets Madame nu’s comm number, introduces his new son to his comm bff who argues historical nitpicks with him, brings jango to the next summer at the site, clones react to jango somehow and/or there’s a few tubies in there who look distractingly like jango and/or someone has their helmet off and jango has a breakdown over it looking like a family member? And so on and so on

Context: Sleeping Soldiers AU

See, I don't really subscribe to the "halfway to archaeologist!Jaster" fanon. I'm especially reticent to engage with the Jocasta ship, honestly.

But... okay, here's the thing. It does feel pretty incongruous with how I've written Jaster thus far. I can believe him having like. A 'classical' education. Not actually tutored like a noble, but that he sought out the same subjects as an adult to make sure he understood how to rule once he started having a proper political angle. He's a history nerd in the way that a particularly political/philosophical aristocrat of the 18th century would have been.

Military history, philosophical history, political and even some arts... but not actually in an archaeological sense.

(Also, it raises my hackles because it's one of those things that feels like it's heavily associated with the whole "True Mandos Were Best Mandos" crowd.)

It also really depends on the era! Tarre makes more sense than Jaster, just because of the timescale! The soldiers are millennia buried by the time Jaster is born! That said, even Tarre is a few millennia late but... makes more sense than Jaster.

Most likely, there are historians and archaeologists coming by every few centuries, as new generations encounter the issue, and older analyses are lost in the depths of the archives. Frequency tapers off after a few millennia, but... by the time Jaster is around?

It's 100% a New Mandalorian with an art history doctorate. (With a military symbolism specialty, in this case.)

It's probably not a New Mando if it's an Early On moment, but it probably is a New Mando if the Jedi start getting Weird Vibes and investigating the soldiers in the decades leading up to the Prequels.

Would the New Mandalorians know more than the traditionalists? Not necessarily. Would they know less? Actually, no.

I firmly believe that the New Mandalorians are taught about their histories in a "German kids learn about WWII atrocities, going on field trips to historic sites of said horrors, so their teachers can stress that they don't repeat the mistakes of the past" kind of way. I imagine the New Mandos would have plenty of research and records in regards to actual history, with plenty of museums and such. Part of maintaining pacifism is ensuring that the coming generations understand what led them to pacifism in the first place.

Is this thousands of years in the past, and thus difficult to research? Yes, but the traditionalists would have that same problem.

More of them, even. If the New Mandos have been around for seven hundred years, like Legends claims, then the traditionalists have probably have lost a lot of history through various battles and bombings, while the New Mandalorians, while not entirely escaping large scale destruction and such attacks, are much more likely to have protected and maintained their sites, simply by not courting war as a matter of culture. The traditionalists, meanwhile, would have had a much stronger emotional and cultural attachment to legends and themes, though I'll admit those are probably prone to revisionism, much like real-world folklore and mythology.

As @atagotiak put it:

Ehhhh. The traditionalists do care about legends and history and stuff. Often in an idealized way, sure. But you could argue that they’d have more reason than new mandos to be into these stories. Which, to be clear, isn’t like, saying that Jaster is definitely a part-time historian or anything like that. It’s just I don’t think one side would have an advantage over another. (edited)

So the New Mandos and Trad Mandos are probably on an even playing ground, insofar as skill and resources and knowledge go.

But by Jaster's time, the Jedi would have more reason to think the New Mandos would cooperate. No real downside to asking them when it comes to knowledge/skill, and an upside in terms of 'not getting shot when asking.'

As Tia said:

And even if we assume Jaster is a big history nerd and would be receptive to the Jedi (and tbh there’s even less indication of the latter) there’s no reason to think the Jedi would know that.

So yeah, when the soldiers start having Vibes And The Force Becomes Suspiciously Active on that level... New Mando archaeologist, definitely.

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

Every once in a while I see someone confidently state that mandalorian culture was based on maori culture and, given that legends writer is on the record saying she was thinking of celts and tcw’s writers are on the record saying they were thinking of vikings- is there some other thing I am missing, as my knowledge of SW lore is not comprehensive, or it is exclusively rooted in Tem playing Jango and Boba?

[barriss-and-coffee]

Star Trek AU where all the Fett clones come from Jango getting into the most wild transporter accident ever recorded

[roseaesynstylae]

Star Wars: Republic Commando: Hard Contact, Chapter 7

"It was the fields. There was too much open ground between areas of cover. Niner had been sitting in the fork of a tree for so long that one buttock was numb and the other was catching up."

Any time there's a funny (or mildly funny) moment in these books, I feel obliged to record it. It's less because I feel bad about criticizing them (I don't, at all) and more due to the fact that I like to note anything I actually enjoy in these books.

"Yes, she could use the Force. When she felt confident and controlled, she could master everything Fulier had taught her; but those days were few and far between She wrestled with a temper unbefitting a Jedi. She watched those with serene acceptance of the Force and envied their certainty. She wondered why Jedi blood had bothered to manifest in someone who was so fallible."

I get Etain's low self-esteem. In fact, most of that paragraph is pretty relatable. BUT. "Jedi blood?" It has never been called that. Yes, Force-sensitivity tends to run in families (see, the Skywalkers, the Horns, etc), but, and considering how much certain characters rant about it, I'd think Traviss would pay attention to this, the Jedi Order is not about bloodlines. It's the furthest thing from. What exactly prompted--

OH. Oh, I have a sneaking suspicion as to why it's referred to as "Jedi blood" here.

What's the connotation most people have when they hear the word blood in the context of abilities or families or whatnot? For me, it carries this hint of elitism. There's just a sense of "Me and the rest of my family are so superior to you that even our bodily fluids are Better Than You." Why do I have this feeling that KT is trying to make the Jedi Order look elitist?

THE JEDI ARE NOT ELITIST. They are, again, the furthest thing from. They help everyone, especially people who are at the bottom of the pecking order, and they don't care where their members come from. Nothing about the Jedi Order is elitist.

But Karen Traviss is ignoring that "little" fact. She wants to make the Jedi look bad and unsympathetic and "Why would anyone stay a member," and she is ignoring facts in order to do that. It's one thing to have an interpretation that uses canon facts. It's another thing entirely to ignore facts.

To sum up:

Jedi-Bashing: 14 (one for the elitist subtext, one for the blatant ignorance of the facts)

"Then she became aware of something she wasn't expecting to encounter in the Imbraani woods.

A child.

[...]

'Sorry, ma'am,' a man's voice said. 'I didn't recognize you.'

And still she detected only a child, so close it had to be next to the man. For some reason she couldn't sense him in the Force at all."

This is how I want two people who are going to fall in love to meet! By one thinking the other is a child! That isn't creepy at all!

Also, why is Etain sensing Darman as a child? In all Star Wars media involving the clones, including this very series, portray all clone troopers as adults. I don't get why she senses Darman's chronological age in this scene.

Oh, wait. Yes, I do. Traviss wants to reinforce how bad the Jedi Order is. "Oh, look! They're using child soldiers! Aren't they just awful?!" In response, I say "Hey, remember how Kal Skirata wanted to start training his sons to kill people when they were eight? And remember how his wife was treated as a bitch for not being comfortable with that?" Am I deliberately misinterpreting canon facts? Maybe. Is someone else definitely doing the exact same? Yes. Shut up.

Jedi-Bashing: 15

"Sergeant Kal was especially eager for his Wet Droids to read stuff about a culture called Mandalorian. He admired Jango Fett."

These facts about Kal Skirata aren't bad in this book, but they're going to make him very punchable in future material. God, this fucking guy...

Jedi-Bashing: 15

Di'kut Count: 6

Main Post

[varpusvaras]

… so in the order 66 au, what (if any) knowledge does leia have of boba fett 👀 ? (i suppose this depends on how fox and boba do/don’t get on in this verse…)

Leia knows of Boba, as much as there is to know about him, what Fox knows and what public (and some more private) records show. Leia is very well aware that her Buir is a clone, and what happened on Kamino, and also about Jango Fett, and she has done her research onto the topic when she got older, especially after Boba started to take jobs for the Empire.

She has...mixed feelings on him. She doesn't exactly regard him as a relative of hers, because as a person who was adopted, she understands the complications of different dynamic and understands how fucked up the whole cloning thing was in that regard. Fox doesn't really have a relationship with Boba either, because this is canon compliant until the order, so Boba had his hand in killing Ponds.

Anyway (this is kinda spoilers for Force Ghost Fox too lmao) when Boba and Leia meet for the first time, Leia proceeds to absolutely roast him with very uh, personal things. Like she is fully psychoanalysing this man. And Boba is just standing there like damn girl wtf 🧍