#Warfront|The Clone Wars

[brooklynislandgirl]

(-.-): How should one wake them up? Do they get out of bed easily? for Keni

Body and Soul || Accepting {{@mynameisanakin for reasons}}

"Kiss me," she whispers, half asleep still, the sun's dawning still another hour away. His eyes do not open but he still finds her lips with an accuracy that defies even his prodigious talent in the Force. A smaller one is given to the corner of her mouth, then her cheek before he nuzzles his face into the space between her jaw and her shoulder, the one he might sweetly claim was made especially for him. His breath warms her skin, the weight of him more solid, more real, more enviable than any sumptuous blanket she might wear around her small clothes. Their arms wind around each other before Anakin mentions that they could still get just a little more sleep if they try hard enough and as few hours as he has to rest, she doesn't argue. They sink back down into the cocoon they've made out of their cloaks and outer robes. These do little to soften the ground beneath them but it provides enough comfort against the night's damp chill. ~*~

These dreams happen more frequently than Keni will ever admit, not that she has anyone to tell, she does not really fraternise with the other healers of RMSU-6. They came when she and Anakin were parted for too long, with each of them getting shuffled around by some nameless bureaucrat that likely hasn't been off Coruscant the last two years, and likely far longer than that. And as is the nature of dreams, this one gets swept away when she feels a shift in the wet, breath-hot air. The sound of a thousand angry wings chopping at the air that she can feel in her chest before she actually catches the faintest sound of a med-lifter engine. She is, in the handful of seconds surrounding her, entirely open to the Force and its voice carries with it every agonised sob, every ounce of pain and terror, and it threatens to drown her more surely than the tropical storms that rip through the camp at odd intervals. She drags herself up from her cot, swinging bare legs over the side. The cot jostles at her movement. It is a flimsy thing and not even entirely her own. She rolls her head along her shoulders. Tendrils of dark hair plaster to her skin which is sticky with sweat. The idea of putting on her robes and being weighed down by them is so oppressive it turns her stomach and instead she reaches for a borrowed pair of scrubs. Then socks, then she's shoving her feet into her boots. She spares a moment to sling her sabre and utility below low on her hips before she ducks out of the tent and squints her eyes in the low light of pre-dawn, barely able to make out shapes and distances in the dark. Sirens. A voice over the comms strung up around the camp confirms already what she knows. "Three med-lifters incoming, heavy casualties. All staff report." With a brief prayer sent to the Force and her four moons, she hopes against hope that none of these casualties are from the 501st.

~*~*~*~*~

Keni by internal working or sensitivity to the Force has a biological clock people could set their own on. She is almost always awake by the time dawn is softly caressing the horizon, and she knows even forty kilometres below the surface of a planet when night is about to fall heavy over even the most foreign planet's landscape. She is a very light sleeper. That being said, she is often reluctant to leave whatever bed she might have, but what she wants and what she ends up doing are often vastly different things. Waking her up with caff is less likely to get one murdered ~or verbally sand-blasted~ and the only time she has ever woken up happily aside from the rare visits to her home-world, is when she wakes up to anxiously soft and shy kisses.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@southern-belle-outcasts

Oh. My. Gosh! First, it's always enough that you thought of me, and second, I tried to be really hush hush this year about things, so. I also absolutely love this because I can totally see the story behind it, in which Keni is delighting in Infinite Doom, and she's smiling and teasing him with some terrible thing and he's just so. So. so searching the Force for the fortitude to ignore her. I absolutely love it, and thank you. Also so so sorry that Shady and I were birthed that close on the calendar for comfort.

@brooklynislandgirl I had uh…this afternoon’s notice. So forgive the slapdashness of this, I wanted to get it done “day of” (we’re leaning into time zones here). Happy birthday dear Turtle. And tagging @mynameisanakin as well for obvious reasons. Merry late birthmasween and all that stuffs.

[lacontroller1991]

Slow Dancing in the Dark (Obi-Wan Kenobi x Medic!GN!Reader)

Main Master List || Star Wars Master List

Author's Note: I do realize that that gif is not Obi-Wan and is not at night, but... I think it works

Warnings: Fluff, sexual innuendo (18+ Please), war talk, slight male nudity

Word Count: 680

=============

In the middle of a war, finding time to sleep is far and between. You sleep where you can and when you can; much like your early medical residency. Now is one of those times where you’re trying to get as much sleep as possible, however challenging it may be. The bed dipping beside you and a feather soft kiss to your bare shoulder rouses you out of a light sleep causing you to let out a tired yawn as the kisses continue. “Obi-Wan. What are you up to?” You turn around on your bed and face your secret lover, still in his robes and armor. 

“I just missed you, darling. Is it so wrong that I want to show you my affection?” You both know the actual answer to that because yes, it is wrong, however, do either of you care? Not really. “Come on, get up.” He gently takes hold of your arm and pulls you out from underneath the covers as you groan in protest. 

“Obi, I need sleep. I have an early shift in the infirmary tomorrow.” He doesn’t acknowledge your words as he pulls up a song from his holopad and shucks off his armor before pulling you into his arms. Letting a sigh fall from your lips, you look up to your lover before licking your thumb and trying to wipe away the grime from his face. “You couldn’t have taken a shower first?”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes as he spins you out from his body before pulling you back in, mindlessly swaying to the gentle music while the rest of the Temple sleep. “I figured you could join me in the refresher after our impromptu dance session.” The thought of sharing a shower with Obi-Wan and washing away the dirt and sweat to reveal his gorgeous gorgeous body does make your head perk up slightly, causing Obi-Wan to laugh. “Not so fast, my love. I want to finish this dance first.”

“Fine, but I get to do whatever I want with you, deal?” Obi-Wan nods in agreement as his hands wrap around your waist and your arms wrap around his neck, tugging the ends of his hair mindlessly as the two of you dance together to the music, just basking in each other’s presence, though you could tell something is wrong. “How long are you going to be here?”

“Always straight to the point,” he tries to joke but taking a brief look at your face he realizes that there’s no fooling you. “I leave tomorrow for another month.”

“But, you just got back.” Even though you’re both Jedi, you still can’t help but to feel heartbreak at the prospect of not seeing him for another month. Obi-Wan’s lips downturn as he hangs his head, the music in the background changing as if reflecting the mood in the room. 

“I know (Y/N), the Council needs me though. With Anakin on his own mission, they need someone that can get the job done. However; I am talking with the Council about bringing more medics. The ones that we have aren’t enough to deal with all the injuries that the clones sustain. Perhaps I can convince them to allow you to come on the mission with me. Would you be willing to go with me?”

You pull away for a brief moment as Obi-Wan prepares for rejection. He knows that the work that you’re doing in the Temple is important and he doesn’t really want you to join him on the warfront, but he does want you by his side and he feels like that weighs more than anything. 

“Yes. I’ll go with you.” Obi-Wan lets out a sigh of relief as you bury your face into his chest, listening to his heartbeat while he kisses the top of your head, savoring the feeling of you being so close to him. “Now, how about that shower?”

Laughing, Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate to strip out of his robes before dragging you over to the refresher. “I think that sounds wonderful.”

==========

General Tag List: @marvelousmermaid @himbovillain-anon @babblydrabbly @a-reader-and-a-writer @fairchildflag @tavners

[alcida-auka]

So where did Omega learn to play strategy games? On Kamino

In season 1, Omega takes over Cid's parlor quickly learning to play the games and hustle people over it. But she didn't learn to play games from Cid. Nor did she learn it from her brothers.

She tells the others that she is good at strategy. So where did she learn to play strategy games?

I'm guessing either AZI had some downloaded for Omega to play, or Nala Se gave Omega a datapad full of 500 Space Sudoku for every time she had to go to the warfront during Clone Wars.

Nala Se has every free game with ads imaginable inserted into a datapad, Go, Chess, you name it.

Omega learns the rules to games quickly because she's played so many games.

[ospreyeamon]

revenge of the sith’s tension curve

There is a thing that Revenge of the Sith does with its arc of tension that I don’t think it quite pulls off; an uncomplicated exciting beginning (cool fight scenes!), then a morass of dread and mistrust (boring politics and emotions), before the ending clarifies back into straightforwardness (everything is terrible but there are fight scenes again so yay!). I believe the intention is to take the audience on the same emotional journey as the characters, particularly the Jedi.

The film drops the audience straight into the action with Anakin and Obi-Wan. Battle is raging above the capital, but their spirits are high. The dream team kick Separatist ass and trade quips while doing it. They save the Princess Chancellor and the bad guy dies (in the sole discordant note). The Clone Wars are basically over! Anakin and Padmé are reunited! Hooray!

And then they turn around and realise that the Republic has been transformed into a dictatorship while they were distracted by the Clone Wars.

This is a problem that cannot be solved with lightsabers or action scenes. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was legally elected, legally given emergency powers, and he legally amended the constitution. He enjoys wide popularity and is supported by most of the Senate, the Courts, and the non-Jedi commissioned officers in the Republic military.

Palpatine is someone who the Jedi Council believed they could trust. Palpatine has always been complimentary and respectful of the Jedi, often seeking the Council’s advice, speaking out publicly on the Order’s behalf. If the Order can’t trust Palpatine, who else can’t they trust? If even Palpatine has become a bad actor, are there any honest officials left in the government?

People are hiding things from each other – hiding things from even their nearest and dearest. Padmé and Anakin are hiding their marriage from everyone on Coruscant but R2 and C3PO. The Jedi Council are hiding that they have begun to contemplate removing Palpatine from office by force with all that would entail from everyone not on the Council – and then even people who are on the Council after Palpatine demands Anakin by given a seat. Anakin is hiding that the Council has asked him to spy on Palpatine from Palpatine and Padmé. Padmé hides that the Delegation of Two Thousand has asked her to present their demands to the Supreme Chancellor from everyone not involved including Anakin. The Senators Delegation of Two Thousand hide their plans to pressure Palpatine to resign from the Jedi because they believe that the Order supports Palpatine.

It’s awful. Everyone is stressed and unhappy – everyone except Obi-Wan and Yoda because they have gone back to the warfront where things are simple and they trust all the people around them. Anakin is far from the only character who can sense something terrible looming in the future.

And then the situation explodes and things become simple, clear, and action packed again.

Palpatine has unmasked himself as the Big Bad. The characters now have enough context to realise he was evil all along. The Jedi obviously weren’t Palpatine’s rusted on supporters because they were the first people he purged to cement his grip on power. There clearly were Senators who the Jedi Council could have trusted to approach for help with the project of getting Palpatine out of power without tilting the Republic into another civil war because Bail Organa is willing to risk his life to help them after Order 66. Even Anakin is mostly very aware that the choices he is making are terrible.

Yoda is convinced that he and Obi-Wan can fix the problem by stabbing the Sith with their lightsabers. Yoda is wrong. He isn’t strong enough to best Palpatine – and more importantly, killing Palpatine won’t turn the Galactic Empire back into Republic or halt the Jedi Purge.

Which is the point I think George Lucas was trying to make with the U-shaped tension curve. The narrative that we are the good guys and they are bad guys and that if we defeat the bad guys so the good guys are in charge everything will be great is very seductive. And unhelpful. It’s easy to focus on what seems simple, exciting, and heroic at the expense of what is complicated, boring, and uncomfortable. But keeping a democracy in good running order requires a lot of boring work and time of spent addressing complicated, thorny issues. You can’t just wash your hands of politics because you aren’t a politician. You can’t just brush off bad behaviour when it’s from somebody you consider an ally. You can’t just not address long-term problems because they are messy, complicated, or divisive. Corruption must be constantly fought and guarded against. The rights of scoundrels and criminals and enemies of the state must be protected. Nobody can fix a political system with a claymore. If you wait until the state moves against you, then you’ve waited too long.

Unfortunately, the film doesn’t quite make it work. The consensus seems to be that the middle is boring rather than the slow ominous build in tension I think Lucas and team were going for. It’s a shame, because the idea is a good one.

[court-jobi]

Quit Flirting? Not a Chance.

Pairing: Captain Rex x Sawyer (Human!Slicer OC)

Words: 1,761

Ratings: Teen/Up Audience

Warnings: none

A/N: After a pinning ceremony and a brief speech about the proposed bill for Clones Rights, Rex and Sawyer steal a little moment before getting back to their worlds. Sawyer shows her less-than-subtle appreciation of her favorite Captain, much to the amusement of the General and Commander who are watching... This was the first scene I ever envisioned with my OC, Sawyer Lyubava-- so it's because of this scence that #Rexbava lives! 

Enjoy a taste of what's to come in Rex: Heart of a Soldier, coming soon to an A03 near you...

Summary:   Rex doesn't do this sort of thing often, but when he is called to give testimony about his life in the Grand Army of the Republic with the hope of more rights to be secured for him and his brothers after the war, he'd do just about anything to make that happen. The gesture alone is enough to get him to don the civilian outfits and deal with the formalities. It's a refreshing change of pace from the battlefront, after all. The 501st's contracted slicer may be pulled in ten different directions between senators offices and communications centers providing cyber support for the Republic... but she'd never miss a chance to see her Captain in dress whites.

Read on AO3

Rex knew he was in for an earful of her flirtatious banter. But today, he didn't really mind. 

Returning from Mokk IX was a mess of a job. And the return hadn’t been typical either; detouring to another brief rescue operation at the edge of Filordis’ trade border took up an additional week’s stay in hyperspace before the Company’s scheduled rendezvous to Coruscant, nevermind the presentation he had been preparing for on arrival. Everything had been topsy-turvy on the warfront and when the 501st and the 212th came back planetside, their reentry routine was disrupted, too. Today was a pinning and speech day per the request of the Pantoran Senator, Riyo Chuchi. 

Aware that the ceremony would act more for motive than recognition wasn’t lost on Rex. The accounts he and Cody both gave as representatives of their units before this senatorial committee were important for the support bill currently being drafted in the legislature floors of the Galactic Senate. Cody and Rex’s testimonies served as a prime look into the daily life of the war effort, and into the mens’ existence as Clones as well. While they fought the fight, Chuchi was making certain these men were provided for fiscally and contractually after the war.

On the whole, the assembly went well, and with enthusiastic reception. The gathering was vocally appreciative of the soldier’s time, and many were moved to sign off on Chuchi’s draft in their private conversations afterwards– according to the senator’s aide who saw them off to their exit point. She noted to thank the council’s referral source for her time and words of recommendation, and gave a personal thanks to Cody and Rex for their service. 

Dismissed from her presence, Cody gave Rex a knowing look and made a small comment about said referral source that brought thi function to their attention in the first place. More to the point, he asked if she happened to have blue hair and a navy dress on today. Rex confirmed, Sure does, Cody.

Though, he chose to ignore when Cody continued to mumble about how 'she couldn’t keep her eyes off him the whole time'; Shuddup, Cody.

And speak of the devil, here she was… Sawyer approached both men once they left the stage backdrop, just as the shuttles of guests were leaving for the Senate Complex. Senator Chuchi took Sawyer’s advice to get the officer’s testimonies after all, who was beyond glad to lend her services and schedule to make it happen. Her attentions were meant for them both to turn, but the saucy edge to her call -and those eyes– those were for Rex.

" Be still, my beating heart, gents ."

After the bantha-shit crazy week he had coming back to base, he earned this.

Cody smirked and nudged Rex’s arm in a tease when Sawyer got close enough, 

"Get a good look while you can, ma'am,” Cody broke character under her attention, “The armor's going back on the second we get back to base."

Rex shot his vod a half embarrassed look that begged to detach from him, but caught her appreciative stare at the change in uniform: dress whites fitting an officer in the Republic Army. 

These were typically devoted to Marshall Commanders for any one Legion, but in this Captain’s case, he was asked to don the colors to represent the 501st in official capacities alongside General Skywalker. His experience spoke for itself more than his assigned rank on flimsi did. Significance aside, the effect was palpable in looks as well- given the attention he garnered from all passersby at the event. Senators who’d only ever seen him under blue and white plating needed prompting from a common acquaintance to recognize him as ‘the’ Captain Rex General Skywalker spoke so often of. 

Sawyer of course didn’t need such a prompt for any of the men, having seen them under their helmets for days at a time… but this sight was a treat for her.

"Sir yes sir..." The spec's request turned to Obi Wan's second-in-command this time, at least having the decency to not sound like a begging dog, "May I borrow the good Captain for a minute, Commander?"

"All yours, Miss Lyubava."

Cody readily took his leave, leaving her in the mid-afternoon breeze of Coruscant's senatorial district with the Captain all to herself. 

The gold in Rex's eyes were particularly noticeable in this light.

" Helloooo , lady killer," she mumbled, now out of Cody's earshot.

Shameless. Rex tamed her back, "Miss Bava."

She smiled, loving the way her name carried off his lips- even if it was with a warning that she better mind herself. 

"Now this is a different look," Sawyer’s eyes roamed over the crisp shoulders and pleats, increasingly enamored with the pins. "These are all yours?"

"I'm afraid so,” Rex kept at near attention under her gaze, but followed her with his eyes. “It's been an eventful year of missions already. This time last cycle, there were only two."

“Sure has.” Sawyer sighed. “Y'know, it’s only been about four months since I came on, and there’s been, what- three full -what you’d call- campaign ‘initiatives’?”

“Fifteen battlefronts, all victories for the Republic defense. Dunno how they decide which ones get a medal- but they say a little recognition is good for Company morale.”

 Sawyer set to study each one; Rex could sense her excitement straight away. Goosed at the amount of regalia, he could only imagine the weight it must signify to an average civilian. The number had grown to seven, including today’s gift. Obviously, the reason he’d have earned so many accolades for war achievements was sad in its own way, but Sawyer still wanted to acknowledge them for the special tokens they were. After all, clones had very few things they could call their own.

“Wow.. Where do you keep all these? I’ve never seen them!”

“Eh, I leave ‘em in with the uniform until I need it.”

“Man, you should have these babies out somewhere– they’re beautiful.”

Rex reminisced on the history behind the ones he’d received, “I’m usually the one doling them out. I don’t think to look at mine that much.”

"How's it feel?" Sawyer asked.

Rex smirked out of habit, "Just another day in the Republic, ma'am." 

Ever the humble soldier. Sawyer rolled her eyes at his crisp answer, and nodded to the grandstage to prove a point.

"I meant looking like a whole damn meal up there."

Rex exhaled an embarrassed laugh, with a bit of a shake of his own, 

"Well, the– General says this whole getup is more... appropriate for these kinds of events."

Sawyer bit her tongue; nevermind, it did little to keep her from running her mouth.

"He got that right. You do look incredible ." 

Rex stopped breathing when she stepped up short of him, looked down, and brushed her index into the grooves of one of the ribboned medals, but he didn't have any urge to remove her for fear she'd never do it again. Even if he didn’t usually give them much thought, this careful attention was special, indeed.

"If anything I say can make Senator Chuchi's case stronger for the retirement bill, I suppose all this must be worth it.” 

Sawyer stepped close to Rex’s side, a hand running over one of the lower patches on the coat's arm. 

"I hope so too. Still, you deserve every bit of praise today. You really do."

Rex smiled. All teasing aside, she looked proud of him when he caught sight of her in the assembly.

“Well I can’t take all the credit. Cody spoke too, and the council office gave us prepared questions so we didn’t go in blind. We have you to thank for making that happen, by the way.”

Sawyer looked up to him again and brushed it off, 

“I’m just glad the timing worked out,” Sawyer crossed her arms and took in the sight of the sun briefly before returning her sunshades to their place on her head to push her hair back,   “Your voices are what they need to decide your future, more than anyone else’s. I told you before, the Republic couldn’t be in better hands, with you. You’re one of a kind.”

One of a kind … clones are anything but. Rex had to chuckle at her idioms. 

“I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand you, Miss Bava. But that means a lot, coming from you.” 

Her encouragement stems from a sweet place, always has. The civ always struck that balance between spice and sweetness. Rex could never forget that- or the honest smile that creeps on her face when it’s just the two of them like this. 

"Alright men, let's head on back! Obi-Wan will be waiting for us on base," Anakin rejoined the small group from the landing pad and gestured with his shoulder for Rex to follow. "About time you earned that drink, buddy." 

"Yes, sir." Rex chimed back, bright and ready as ever. He appreciated Anakin’s priority of shore time for his men, glad the bit of reprieve wasn’t ending with the dispersal of the assembly.

Ahsoka caught a glimpse of the captain and the slicer both with a little smirk after Anakin strode off. It seemed the padawan’s master noticed her lag behind, and spotted Sawyer still hanging back finishing up with Rex.

" And quit flirting with my Captain, Lyubava !!"

Sawyer chortled at Skywalker's second call. Instead, she upped the ante– a hand slid up Rex’s arm and wilfully splayed a hand across his chest, below the regalia.

" Your Captain?" Sawyer cooed.

"M-maam!" 

Rex’s stuttering was adorable. Quit flirting? Now why would she do that?

Sawyer just giggled lowly while she and Rex just watched their General start off back to the shuttle, exasperated once again. 

“ Tch-- his Captain , he’s gotten too used to having you around, Rex. Must feel good to be in high command, I suppose.” Sawyer fussed at Anakin for the remark. She sighed out, brushing along Rex’s chest affectionately, “He is right though. You’re overdue for a nice outing. So, you boys enjoy yourselves. I’ll get prepped with Organa’s office, and I’ll see you later at the Guard’s Division, right?”

When she released him and started backing away in that high-heeled, sauntering step, Rex gave her a tight lipped nod of approval and an easy salute. 

“I’ll be there, ma’am.” 

And when his arm lowered, he added before heading off, 

“It was-- nice looking out and seeing you out there.”

Sawyer gave her easy smile to him again, twirling about to say, “Wouldn’t have missed it.”

[beautifulwillfulldead]

[ID: Three panels of Star Wara fanart. The first panel shows Anakin Skywalker in his Clone Wars armor, standing next to Cliegg Lars, who's wearing a "I AM NOT THE STEPFATHER -I AM THE- FATHER -THAT- STEPPED UP" t-shirt. The words step-father and father are in blue, and everything else is in white. Anakin has one arm on the back of Cliegg's hover chair, and they're both making a thumbs up sign and smiling.

The second panel has faint pink and orange backgrounds. A radio on a shelf in the Lars homestead is saying: "Next up, news from the warfront. The Hero With No Fear, Anakin S--" Shmi Skywalker looks up with two exclamation points above her head. The next shot shows her in the kitchen with a bowl in front of her, Beru Whitesun Lars next to her, holding a bowl in her arm. She looks over at Beru and asks: "Beru, would you turn the radio up? They're talking about Ani again!

The third panel shows Shmi wearing white robes over a grey shirt, holding tiny baby Luke and looking lovingly at him. He is wrapped in a white blanket, only his smiling face visible. She is saying: "And they were born free..."

Anakin, wearing his Jedi robes, with his Revenge of the Sith hair, and holding tiny baby Leia, also wrapped in a white blanket, with only her blankly staring face visible, responds: "Yeah," with a smile. Shmi says: "Incredible." End ID]

(Part of ID taken from alt text.)

various shmi lives au stuff because 1. i love her and 2. i don't draw the skywalker-lars family enough <3

(ko-fi requests are open!)

[notsamnotreads]

A Desolation Called Peace Summary Chapter 2-3

Chapter Two: On Weight of the World, Nine Hibiscus is talking to Knifepoint’s captain to get his thoughts on what the hell happened. He keeps insisting that the communication is not language but is definitely some sort os communication. Nine Hibiscus has not listened to the recording yet. Back in the imperial palace, Eight Antidote is sneaking around. He is aware he isn’t really sneaking because there’s no way people aren’t keeping a loose eye on him, but he likes the feeling of being something approximating an eleven-year-old. He is meeting Eleven Laurel who has been (some what secretly) teaching him about military tactics. Eight Antidote is supposed to solve various puzzles based on previous military conflicts. This one is about Kauraan, a conflict that Nine Hibiscus was in charge of. She succeeded, but she also did not exactly follow the chain of command. Eleven Laurel implies she was sent to the front to die, gloriously and with honor but still dead. 

Back at Lsel, Mahit is not having a good time of it. She’s very trapped in the morass of politics on the station—she’s panicking a little bit. To be fair, she is still grieving and traumatized from Petal’s death and also thinks Heritage is going to kill her. But she decides to approach Onchu and tell her that her secret messages were, in fact, read by someone. She has decided to be political in turn. 

Nine Hibiscus has listened to the recording. It makes everyone who listens vomit and have other extremely visceral reactions. She decides this is a job for Information.

Chapter Three: Three Seagrass is back! She is very bored with her job as the Third Undersecretary to the minister of Information—she misses the drama and excitement and Mahit. So when a request comes in for an Information officer out on the warfront, Three Seagrass assigns herself to the task. Back on Lsel, Mahit is walking into a situation she isn’t sure she can extricate herself from but also there’s no way to stop walking into it. She’s looking for Councilor Onchu to discuss with her the letters Yskander was receiving that Mahit eventually intercepted, revealing the aliens threat. Onchu has expected her much sooner—and is somewhat peeved that Mahit made her wait for so long. She tells Mahit to speak to Darj Tarats to get more information; this displeases Yskander. 

On Weight for the Wheel, Twenty Swarm and Nine Hibiscus are waiting for Sixteen Moonrise and her adjutant, Twelve Fusion, to arrive for their formal dinner—Nine Hibiscus’s solution to the politicking Sixteen Moonrise is attempting to start. The alien situation is, really, much more important but sure Sixteen Moonrise, go off I guess. Anyway, the dinner is tense and Sixteen Moonrise clearly thinks she should’ve been the commander here. She is even more upset when Nine Hibiscus says she requested someone from Information to help them with understanding the communication they intercepted from the aliens. Sixteen Moonrise is specifically upset about Nine Propulsion—the former minister of war and Nine Hibiscus’s mentor. (I don’t remember if he was part of the insurrection or not though.) 

Three Seagrass is waiting for her ship to leave, when she is approached by Five Agate who wants her opinion on Eleven Laurel who has been teaching Eight Antidote (the emperor clone) about war and tactics. There also seems to be an implication Three Seagrass might be in allegiance with him against the emperor? Three Seagrass doesn’t know anything about him. 

[hisfailuremoved]

@warfront  :      ‘      i’m   so   fucking   tired.      ’

of   course   he   is.      they   all   are  ,    and   anakin   is   so   young   yet.      they   have   been   forced   to   heap   so   much   responsibility   on   his   shoulders      --      at   only   nineteen  ,    he   shouldn’t   be   leading   an   army.      obi - wan’s   heart   aches   for   his   former   padawan  ,    for   all   their   young   forced   into   such   circumstances  ,    but   he   only   sets   a   gentle   hand   on   anakin’s   shoulder.       “      wars   don’t   last   forever  ,      ”      he   tells   him  ,    and   wonders   if   that’s   true.      sometimes  ,    it   seems   that   this   war   will   do   just   that.       “      you   go   rest   for   a   while.      i’ll   handle   the   briefing.      ”

[brooklynislandgirl]

@southern-belle-outcasts {{xx}}

The air tastes like bitterness. Like something wounded that may never recover. It as far as what she knows as the bowels of Coruscant are to the lofty towers that still catch glimpses of a reflected sun. Were she born on this world she might never know a difference. However she had been blessed to grow on a garden world, one rich with resources and space for all, including those who found a talented enough Zelosian pilot to navigate them through a shroud of black holes so they might experience the same natural beauty. While the Senator squints against the pink-tinted gold of the light ~before the darkness comes~ Keni basks in the reflected warmth as much as she can. Exposed face, hands removed from the heavy trappings of her robes. All of her aches to embrace the waning sun. She bites back the question that springs to mind; the one that begs to know if the former Queen so hates the the complicit treachery that pours through her work, why she chooses to do it? Why does she play the games of ambitions and duplicity when perhaps outreach might suit her better? What a few hours and a sharp knife might do for the Republic. But no, that is a thing to tuck away behind a mask of unperturbed indifference. She does so knowing that she could make her fathers proud if she ever changed her mind. "Perhaps," Melakeni says with an uncharacteristic upturn of her lips, "We might arrange with the Masters to entertain your… guests… at the Temple. Perhaps upon seeing how slow agreements are reached in the fullness of wisdom and meditation, they might not be so displeased at how the Senate turns?"

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) fit two people under your skin  STAR WARS

Febuwhump Day 1 - Brainwashing

A03

Alpha-17 doesn’t believe in monsters.

He’s lived through too much in his life to believe in the creatures under the bed, or those that creep through the dark hallways and eat unsuspecting cadets. He’s seen real monsters, he’s seen cruelty and violence. He’s seen real life, and nothing can scare him more than that, but he comforts himself with the knowledge that everything dies, that he can fight to the death if he has to. He knows the pain of being taken apart piece by piece, of being tortured past his limits, of watching so many vode marching off to the death. He knows the pain of losing good men that he trained personally, the pain of losing those he raised himself from childhood.

He knows the pain that comes from not having done enough.

Millions of vode are dead, millions more will die, and Alpha is almost numb to it. He’s lost enough that it no longer surprises him.

But he’s never had anyone come  back from the dead, and yet, here he is.

Months ago, Alpha had been brought back to the warfront by the death of his little brother, one of the boys he had trained and raised from childhood to be one of the best. He had been on Kamino when news had reached him that Marshal Commander Cody had died in the line of duty, and he had immediately felt the world drop out from beneath him. Cody -  Kote  - the youngest and smallest of Squad 17, his  vod’ika  ,  his ad’ika ; his pride and joy. Cody had been one of his, he had watched him grow into the man he was, and Alpha had thought, had hoped, that out of any of them, that Cody would make it to the end of this Manda-forsaken War. Cody had been a leader, a viciously competent warrior that put even other A-classers to shame. He may have only been a CC, but Alpha would bet anything that he’d be able to beat even a Null into the ground if given the chance.

He had never imagined Cody being just another name on a KIA list.

Cody could have been their leader, had the spirit needed to be Mand’alor. He had a natural charisma that made people  want to follow him, a strength to his soul that shone like fire in his eyes. He could be beaten, but he’d never break.

But he’d still died. He had died and left his 212th without a Commander.

Eventually, Alpha had managed to hunt down the troopers that had survived the mission that had killed one of his boys. Had tracked them down during shore leave and demanded to know what had happened. They couldn’t tell him much, because of the confidential status of the mission, but eventually a pale-faced and haunted Echo had spoken up, staring down at his alcohol like it could take the nightmares away.

“It should have been me.” The young ARC Trooper had whispered, looking close to tears, and Fives had gripped his brother’s hand like a lifeline. “I had gone for the shuttle - Cody - he saw what was about to happen before any of us. He saved me. He threw me out of the way and took the blast instead.”

Alpha had volunteered as soon as he could, had hunted General Kenobi down and put his name forward as his next Commander. He knew what his  ad’ika  would have wanted; he’d want Alpha to teach and protect his men where he couldn’t, to lead his Ghosts and 7th Sky. He’d trust Alpha-17 to watch his  Jetii’s back, to be at his side when he couldn’t, because Alpha wasn’t blind - he knew what his Kot’ika thought of General Kenobi, knew what he’d felt for him. He had seen the way Cody had looked at Kenobi, had known that they’d work well together when he’d suggested Cody as the Commander for Kenobi’s Battalion, even if he’d never imagined his little brother actually falling in love with the man.

Despite how much it hurt to stand in his place, Alpha had put himself forward, had painted his armour gold, and taken the title of Commander. It fits like an ill-fitting body glove, but Alpha wears it, because it’s what Cody would have wanted. He could keep up with Kenobi better than any shiny commander could, could call the Jedi out on his bullshit and keep him and his men safe. He knows it hurts Kenobi too. He knows that sometimes Kenobi turns to him expecting Cody to be there to a witty quip or a sarcastic smirk, and he sees the way he falters when it’s Alpha there instead.

The troopers are the same. Alpha knows they respect him, that they look up to him, but he’s not Cody, and they all know it. Over the months though, they’d learned how to work together; he’s glad it was him who had taken over for Cody, because he recognizes a lot of the signs of his own training in the way the 212th troopers move, no doubt passed on by Cody. They don’t move the way CTs are expected to move, instead Alpha can see his own personalized ARC training shining through in them, and he knows that any other commander wouldn’t have been able to keep up. As the months pass, he whips them into shape, distracts them from their grief, and keeps them moving.

And then rumours of the Seperatists’ newest asset reaches them. Until Umbara, no one sees it, but they hear the rumours spread by the small numbers of survivors left behind. Some sort of new droid made to look like a clone in black armour, that never speaks, never hesitates, and always wins. Until Umbara, its nothing more than a ghost story, a monster in the night, but Alpha had never believed in monsters, it was just another clanker that he’d destroy if he faced it on the field.

It was called many things; monster, assassin, dark trooper, but Alpha would know it as another target.

And then Umbara happened. The asset had killed Krell, had saved the lives of the 501st troopers that the  dar’jetii  was tormenting. It had killed  only  Krell, had torn the Besalisk apart, and then walked away; it hadn’t even  touched the clones, had barely even looked at them before leaving. Rex had come to him afterwards, baring footage of the fight between the asset and the General, an odd look on his face.

“It fights like a vod, Alpha.” Rex had said, sounding confused and lost as they’d watched the footage over and over again, looking to learn the clanker’s fighting style to better combat it in battle. “It fights like  you do.”

Watching the figure in black and gold armour, styled mockingly after his own, a kama swinging around it’s waist and a gold pauldron on it’s shoulder, Alpha couldn’t help but agree. It did fight like a clone; specifically, it fought like one of the cadets Alpha had trained personally. It was reckless, throwing itself into battle without a care, twisting into powerful kicks and using its blaster like a club in ways that Alpha specifically remembers one of his cadets doing, something that had driven Alpha to a frothing rage.

Cody.

It fights like  Cody.

He hadn’t voiced it at the time, had stewed in his rage at the insult aimed towards his dead  vod’ika. A droid that fought like Cody, a droid that had the exact same shade of orange-gold as his  vod’ika had chosen for his Battalion. It was an insult and an affront on everything Alpha stood for. He’d held on to that anger, had let it burn hot and harsh in his gut, knowing that the moment he faced the clanker on the battlefield, that he’d  destroy it.

He would tear it apart for the insult it symbolized. To know that the Seperatists were perverting his brother’s memory in such a way lights a fire in him that refuses to burn out.

And then he gets the chance to fight the asset. He fights it one on one, intent to destroy it and avenge his little brother, when the bucket comes off and Alpha’s heart stops. All he can think of, is that that’s a face glaring up at him, a familiar face with a familiar scar. He barely remembers the chaos that had followed.

Cody.

Somehow, the asset is Cody.

Somehow, they’d managed to get the asset -  Cody, his Kote - sedated and transferred onto the  Negotiator. It had hurt all of them to need to restrain him, to strip away black plastoid to reveal prosthetics and burns. They’d gotten him back to the ship, into the medbay and under the medics’ hands, and they’d found a  chip in his head.

And now, Alpha is staring down at the limp body strapped down to the biobed, ankles, hips, chest, and arms pinned to the bed by unforgiving metal, to make sure he wouldn’t attack again when he woke up. It’s still Cody. He’s missing both his legs at the thighs, there’s metal drilled into his spine and up the back of his skull. There’s a blinking monitor embedded into his chest, scarred skin growing around it, flashing with his heartbeat. They’d shaved him, put a cybernetic implant on the side of his head, over where his ear should be and stretching around his temple to interrupt the curving, hooked scar that had become his little brother’s visual marker of individuality, the one Alpha personally remembers tending to, right before pulling Cody into ARC training to ensure that Priest and Reau wouldn’t get their hands on him again. He’s covered in twisting, healing burn scars, left from the explosion they had all believed to have killed him, and there’s dark bruises standing stark against brown skin.

Bruises that Alpha had put there, when he’d nearly broken his brother’s neck while fighting him. When he had thought that Cody was a droid programmed to fight like him.

He'd nearly killed his little brother, the boy he'd raised, and he never would have known if he hadn't accidentally knocked his helmet off.

“Manda.” He breathes harshly, nostrils flaring, and he drops down into the chair Pace had put next to Cody’s bed. He ignores the medic’s eyes drilling into the side of his head, instead reaching out to gently squeeze Cody’s limp hand like he had when Cody had been a too-small child enduring too-cruel punishments in the place of more replaceable brothers. “What can you tell about the chip?”

Pace scowls, “It only showed up on a level five atomic scan.” He says, “We only found it because we were trying to find out the cause of the strange brain activity we were picking up - it showed up as a tumour, but once we removed it -” he gestures to the petri-dish next to the biobed, “- we found  that.”  ‘That’ being an ugly scrap of what looked like flesh, pink and pocketed and flecked with old blood. “Removing it from the frontal lobe stopped the strange brain signals we were picking up, and his waves went back to baseline - what you could expect from a regular clone.” Alpha tears his eyes away from Cody’s peaceful face to glower at the strange object. “We don’t have any proof, won’t until we can see how he acts when he wakes up, but Crys thinks it could have been controlling him.”

Alpha lets out a harsh curse, “Fucking seppies.”

“Yeah.” Pace murmurs, then shifts. “Commander,” he says slowly, enough of something odd in his tone that it makes Alpha look up to meet his gaze, to see them dark with anger, “whatever it is - that chip? It wasn’t made by the Seps.”

“What?” Alpha’s eyes narrow dangerously, and Pace nods, glowering at nothing as he rubs a hand aggressively against the gray fabric of his uniform.

“It gives off a different signal than the… prosthetics -” he says the words with furious contempt, like the sentence is rotten on his tongue, “- they drilled into him.”

Alpha snarls, baring his teeth like a cornered animal as he grips Cody’s clammy hand protectively, like he could destroy whatever did this to him with his will alone. “Who  do I need to kill for what they did to him?”

“Sir.” Pace’s voice is just as dangerous, “Whatever it is? It’s  Kaminoan.”

Taglist: @a-mediocre-succulent @yellowisharo @spoofymcgee @roseofalderaan @everything-or-anything @bellablue42

[firefly-fez]

Star Wars Characters as Taylor Swift Songs Because It’s Lockdown 5 Baby And I Have No Ability To Self-Regulate Concentration

Anakin: Right Where You Left Me

Ahsoka: Exile

Rex: Epiphany

Plo Koon: Never Grow Up

Obi Wan: This is Me Trying

Padme: Illicit Affairs

Satine: Mad woman

Hondo Ohnaka: Getaway Car

Yoda: Evermore

Palpatine: No body, no crime

(s/o to @katierosefun because I think she basically invented the star wars swifties fandom overlap)

Reasonings below the cut…

Anakin is very a character that never recovers from any of the trauma he goes through. Whether it’s his mother’s death, Ahsoka leaving, Padme’s death or his history as a slave; all of his hardships cut too close to the bone - he cares too deeply, and a part of him believes, I think; that coming to a point of closure is a betrayal - he can’t accept losses, on any grounds, ever. right where you left me is very much about someone who is stuck and cannot get themselves unstuck after grief, which is why i think it relates to anakin

Ahsoka: exile is very much a separation song; but about the total utter depth of the divide - of all taylor’s breakup songs the divide seems the greatest in exile - and that’s effectively what ahsoka becomes after leaving the order - she’s literally exiled. also the lyrics “youre not my homeland anymore / so what am i defending anymore” and “im not your problem anymore / so who am I offending now” strike me as representative of her struggle of trying to do the right thing, like how she is with trace and rafa defending the jedi even though a part of her believes they don’t deserve it - like when they see the slaves and she makes the comment about how “you’d think” the republic would stop it, but they don’t

Rex; epiphany strikes me as the prayer you make in the worst kind of emergency humanitatrian crisis; like the mental anguish of a conscripted doctor or soldier to a warfront; and by the end of the clone wars he’s so jaded - looking for a reason to believe it was all worth it; like we see in s7 in his conversation w/ Cody and Ahsoka just before order 66

Plo Koon: Never Grow Up has got to be the most underrated TS song ever lol XD. He’s everyone’s dad - especially Ahsoka’s - and he has to raise his lil’ girl in a war zone. He doesn’t want to send her there. I bet he tried to push back Ahsoka’s start as a padawan and refused to be  her master because his lil’ heart could not take the strain. 😭 Obi Wan: Obi Wan is depressed and trying and too much has been asked of him for so longa nd he’s thrown into the deep end too young and he don’t have a clue how to give anakin what he needs BUT HE’S TRYING

Padme: hidden marriage; enough said - but also because her relationship with Anakin is, I think, very quietly self destructive for her, and by the time she realises, it’s too late

satine: being a pwerful woman in politics who is very much is contradiction with the popular view, I just feel like this song is so representative of what she’d face and all the backlash against her. plus the story arc ended her for a man so i ant going to make her song about obi because yeah, she loved him - but shes more than a love interest in canon, shes her own political force

Hondo Ohnaka: I mean. Does this One need explaining?

Yoda: This song is kinda about being on the precipice between not knowing if you’re damned or if your salvation will ever come. its about losing hope and giving up on recovery. its about realising youre lost and being afraid youll never be found again. also the line “is there a line that we could just go cross” strikes me as when you want to give up on your values - the self-destructive impulse that youre damned and you might as well throw in the towel now, to just give up - and that makes me think of the jedi and the morally grey choices they make (clone army, for example) and their struggle against corruption and their eventual failure before it

palpatine; I mean. This song has gloaty ‘I got away with it’ vibes, and ain’t that palpatine’s entire character arc?

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Sniper and The Medic: Chapter 2

Starring: Crosshair, Original Character “Joan Vo,” probably the rest of the Bad Batch at some point

Summary: Crosshair doesn't exactly like medical personnel. In fact, he hates them. They're always poking and prodding, calling him skinny, telling him he's not good enough. But then he meets the new medical examiner, the smart and kind and oh-so-pretty Joan Vo. And suddenly, he's not only looking forward to his medical check-ups, but he's also starting to question whether he wants to go to war after all....

Rating & Warnings: T/PG-13. Eventual fluff. Light angst. Who knows what else will pop up, but I’ll leave warnings when needed.

Taglist: Let me know if you want to be tagged for this fic.

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

Chapter 2: Doctor’s Orders

She wasn't the first human girl he'd ever seen.

But she sure was the prettiest.

There'd been some contractors and other hired help on the planet, especially in recent years as the demand on the warfront left few bodies to fill the more ancillary tasks. A few had been female. Each time one came in, there was endless chatter among the clones about them. Crosshair had never understood the fascination, nor had his brother Tech. They often wondered if that was just another one of their defects.

Now he got it.

She didn't wear the traditional medical garb, or even the sterile robes the Kaminoans usually gave visitors. Instead, she was in what looked like the clone's standard issue under-armor, "blacks." Slightly different material and stitching, but same concept. It stretched around her figure, highlighting both her obvious female-ness as well as some muscles. Her pinkish-blonde hair was pulled back from her face, which was young, but also weathered. She wasn't another posh politician or edgy mercenary. She was something else entirely.

But her arrival did nothing to help his nerves; in fact, he felt even worse now. This pretty girl would be the one inspecting him. Frowning at all his subpar test results. Reprimanding him for not eating or exercising enough. Judging him.

He watched her with wary eyes as she entered and gave him a small but endearing smile.

"Good morning," she said, her voice a bit raspy, but calm. Soft. "I'm Joan."

She looked at him expectantly. He knew he should give his official designation, but he decided to say the name he'd given himself, in a rebellious attempt to show himself as human.

"Crosshair."

She held her smile, unperturbed by his lack of protocol. In fact, she seemed pleased by it.

"Crosshair," Joan repeated, sending a shiver through him. She had been holding a datapad, undoubtedly containing all the sad details of his medical history. He braced himself for the uncomfortable silence that would happen as she flicked through it. But instead she placed it on a table along the back wall and rolled out a chair to face him.

"Well, Crosshair, tell me about yourself."

He blinked a few times. "Um," he nodded to the back table. "My file should have everything about me."

"Everything?" she asked with an amused smirk. "Like your favorite color? What you think about before falling asleep?"

Her eyes narrowed at him, a challenge, but a playful one. He had no clue how to respond.

Before he could come up with something to say, her face relaxed and she pushed her chair back as she stood, returning to the back table. She grabbed a pad of paper and an exam scope. The datapad remained neglected.

"Crosshair..." she said his name again, causing him to fight to control another pleasant fluttering in his chest. "Does that mean you're really into guns?"

She came in front of him again, resting the primitive writing materials on the table beside his leg as she fiddled with the settings on the scope.

"I'm a sharpshooter," he said. That was something he had an answer for.

"Sharpshooter." She quickly scribbled the word down on the paper. "There's something about you. What else?"

He was silent again, back to being utterly confused. Why didn't she just look in his chart? Was this some sort of test?

A pale light came on the scope and she brought it up to his right eye. She didn't let him sit in confusion for long. "Have you thought about getting a tattoo yet? You could do something really cool with a reticule, or a target. Maybe a bullet?"

She moved the scope across his other eye. He tried to stay still for her, even though he really wanted to furrow his eyebrows at the random change in topic.

"I... haven't thought about it," he muttered.

She set the scope down and held up the pen, holding it slightly behind his head.

"Look straight ahead, let me know when you see it," she said, bringing it slowly forward. He grunted as soon as the pen entered his periphery; he couldn't say anything as Joan was already talking again.

"What do you think is the furthest distance you could make a shot from?" The pen was moved to the other side and the exercise repeated, though she didn't seem too interested in it. "Like an accurate one. A bullseye, dead on."

She sounded like the young clones they'd sometimes bring around to the training rooms on field trips. Wide eyes, reverent voices, in awe of the cadets they'd one day become themselves.

Crosshair allowed himself to frown as he answered her, quite frankly, silly question. "It's not just a matter of my ability, but the capacity of the rifle and range of the blast, as well as a whole list of environmental factors."

Joan brought the scope up to one of his ears, now, peering through it. He could feel her breath against his neck as she spoke. "Okay, so you have the best long-distance rifle in the entire galaxy. Perfect wind and lighting conditions. Nothing else in your way. How far?"

He thought about for a few seconds, and then confidently stated, "Thirty-five hundred meters. Easy."

She was looking in his other ear, but he could still see her smiling, impressed, out of the corner of his eye. It made his cheeks feel warm.

"What would be a hard shot to make, then?" she asked, coming back around to face him. She motioned to hold his hands out in front of him. As he thought about the new question, she instructed him to fold his thumbs inward and then curl his other fingers into a fist. Her own hands wrapped gently over his; they were cold but soft, and he almost lost track of his thoughts as he watched her guide his wrists to bend up and down.

"Any pain?" she asked, bringing him back. He shook his head.

"Well..." he said thoughtfully, "I suppose it'd have to be shooting blind. You can still get a lay of the land, use your other senses to aim. But if you can't see what you're shooting at...."

Joan hummed in acknowledgement, moving his palms to face upward, and tapping along his wrists. "Any pain?" And he shook his head again.

"I knew a sniper once," she said in a lower voice. "You know what he said were the hardest shots he ever had to make?"

She moved his hands into another formation, where his knuckles touched each other in the middle of his chest with elbows sticking out. He shook his head, answering both questions, the one she'd just asked, and the one he expected would come with this test.

"He said it's the ones you don't want to make." Her light-heartedness was gone and her face now looked old and tired. "He didn't explain further, but I knew he'd been on the Umbara mission."

Crosshair didn't need her to explain further, either. They'd been told about Umbara.

"I would've known," he couldn't help but say. It had been the first thing he thought of when they were debriefed on the tragic mission. He hadn't told anyone, knowing it wouldn't be taken well, but he still believed it. There was no way he wouldn't have been able to tell it was his brothers at the other end of his gun.

She regarded him with a cocked head, and for a moment, the judgement he'd feared receiving in this room flashed across her features. But then it was gone, and her usual squinted eyes and quirked lips fell back into place.

"And what if you hadn't?"

"I would have. I know I would have."

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant. You have to think about the what-if sometimes. Even if they're far-fetched. Just to know what your response would be. Hope for the best, and prepare for the worst."

He didn't know what to say to that.

But Joan didn't wait for him to respond, either. She picked up the pad of paper, which he just now noticed had a lot more scribbles on it. He hadn't realized she'd been taking notes the whole time.

She handed the pad to him.

"Your homework. Write down some things about yourself for next time, okay?"

She took a step back, as if to make room for him to get up and leave.

He frowned at her. "That's it?"

She smiled at him. "For today. I think you're next on the schedule for Thursday. Same time."

He looked between the paper and her. She laughed a little.

"Try starting with your favorite color," she said with a wink, and then turned to clean up the remaining things.

He slowly got off the bed and shuffled out into the hallway, holding the pad of paper like it was a strange object he'd never seen before. He wasn't really reading any of the things she'd put on there, just staring at it to give himself something to focus on. That visit was, by far, the most bizarre medical check-up of his life.

And it was the first that he didn't want to leave.

[tyrantisterror]

Doing an arc in season 7 of Clone Wars where we see what Ahsoka was up to once she left the Jedi Order and the warfront was a good idea.  Making that arc about her teaming up with two complete fucking idiots, however, was not.

[off-the-wall-with-luin]

In the midst of a war that is now being called the “Clone Wars,” the Masters of the Jedi Council convened in the Council Chamber to discuss important matters.

"The Senate and the public wants eyes on what's happening on the warfront,” Mace Windu said as he leaned forward in his chair. “However, there is a shortage of people who are willing to follow the clones and the Jedi into a warzone."

"Especially after what happened the last time," added Adi Gallia with a small smile on her face.

Master Yoda sighed, "Unfortunate, that was.”

Ki-Adi-Mundi nodded and said, "The Senate would like to prevent it from happening again and the Chancellor had suggested that a Jedi would be suited for this job-"

"Somehow, that does not surprise me," Obi-wan muttered as he crossed his arms.

"-since a Jedi would not need much protection compared to a normal citizen."

"Fortunately, we know just the right person for the job." Mace revealed as he activated the holoprojector to show a profile of a petite young woman with dark colored hair and green colored eyes.

“She’ll do.”

[teratoscope]

TIAMAT Mobile Arms Womb

The wind blows hot and dry, fat embers hissing as they spatter against your armor. The night is moonless; it would be crushingly dark if not for the hellish orange glow illuminating the floodplain. It comes from the crackling pillar of ionized atmosphere that the enemy rides with the steady, inexorable pace of a glacier, leaving a trail of charred earth wider than a football stadium. The ground crackles beneath your feet. It hasn’t noticed you yet. A thick cloud of smog wreathes the upper reaches of its frame—a small blessing, maybe. Helical arrays of sensory apparatus and drone platforms circle and twine high into the upper air before they’re lost in the haze, encircled at their base by a bouquet of flak cannons, all of it buoyed in turn by six fat propulsion lobes, like the petals on a rafflesia. Kit’s somewhere in there. You’re going to get his ass out, dead or alive. HD 15 MV 60’ hover (Smash 12) AC 10 AT perimeter guns (all targets within 120’ check Dex each round or take 1d10 kinetic; Smash 10), disassembler drones (makes a single attack roll against Dex of every target in line of sight; on hit, 1d3 drones lock on, dealing 1d8 corrosive each) Special electrostatic suspension, hardened target

Electrostatic suspension—a TIAMAT is held aloft by a powerful electrostatic field. Anything it passes over takes 8d8 heat damage (Constitution check for half) from the resulting cloud of plasma underneath its mammoth frame, and electronics are utterly fried.

Hardened target—a TIAMAT’s multi-layered reactive armor reduces all damage it suffers from attacks directed at its exterior shell to 1 per die. Exotic damage or damage dealt from the inside, directed at the appropriate systems ignores this reduction.

 Freestar One’s bottomless military bureaucracy makes frequent use of the term GAW, short for “Giant Autonomous Warfighter.” The idea behind a GAW is that it automates and collapses the warfront and supply chain as much as possible by concentrating as many functions as you can into a single AI-operated, self-defending mobile manufacturing platform. Supposedly this frees up talent to manage more precise, delicate force projections and sustain the population you’re protecting in a species vs. species total war scenario. In the middle period of the Contact War, before the desperation really set in but after the collective realization of an oncoming headcount crisis, the armed forces coalition that would eventually become Freestar One’s governing body drew up plans to manufacture a fleet of the things.

It was largely a terrible idea, and fortunately one that the coalition could never afford to follow through on.

The term would have remained purely theoretical, something for war nerds to banter about, if it weren’t for the fact that the Reptons had their own, and no qualms about using them. They fall into three classifications:

The MARDUK, the smallest and most numerous GAW model. MARDUKs are clone mills. They move in herds, mulching all organic matter in their path to process into more Reptons and Repton-food.

The BAHAMUT, which are mid-size infrastructural models. They pick a point of cleared ground and spiral out, converting razed ground into Repton dome-cities.

And the TIAMAT.

All Repton machines have a sort of eerie intellect—they talk to each other and profile users to the point that they seem like they can read minds—but there’s always a  clumsiness to this process. It’s obvious that there’s not really anything there having thoughts of its own. Except for TIAMATs.

TIAMATs are weapons incubators. They manufacture most Repton materiel, yes, but they also invent it. They are perpetually revising, testing, and retiring field equipment. In practice, this means that each TIAMAT is its own strange sort of self-contained community, full of Repton playtesters and prisoners of war/live-fire dummies. Their appetite for new test subjects forces them to range furthest from Repton territory, and it’s this behavior that ends up shaping their front of the war most directly.

If the Reptons could be said to have strategists, it’s these things. They have personalities, of a sort. Flavors to the implements of murder they come up with, and the kinds of games they play with their prey. They play favorites and form grudges. And sometimes they get wild ideas.

Like the TIAMAT whose Repton staff was wiped out by a mutant influenza strain, so it chased down and pressganged a detachment of Herlog-ban just to stay crewed. Or the one that buried itself trying to bore down through the Earth’s mantle and has since disappeared entirely.

And, most recently, the TIAMAT that chased down and ate a MARDUK and has since fled into the Arctic Circle, where it has been building a nest of living tissues and nano-milled armor plating for the past three weeks. It became totally impermeable to surveillance scans three days ago. Pretty soon now somebody is going to have to do something about that.