#get fucked Palpatine

[kenobisanakin]

canon mustafar

[megamindsupremacy]

So like, y'all know that popular Star Wars fic trope of Time Traveling Obi-Wan Kenobi where he dies and then wakes up in his 11ish year old body back in the Jedi Temple? You know how usually he wakes up, has a few minutes/hours of confusion, and then goes about trying to act like he was at age 11 while slowly fixing everything wrong with the Jedi Order? Personally I think he would not do that.

I think that Ben "Lived As A Wizard Hermit For Two Decades On Tattooine, Left, And Then Died Immediately" Kenobi would wake up as an eleven-year-old, have a panic attack, attack the nearest adult Jedi while accusing them of Doing Weird Sith Shit To His Brain, fucking flee, only then realize he has time traveled, steal someone's ship, go flying out of the temple to god knows where, continue panicking, crash into a random moon while distracted, nearly die, build a survival camp out of his broken ass ship and eat whatever bugs he can find, get kidnapped by pirates, overthrow said pirates, steal their ship, and then very calmly return to the Jedi temple like nothing happened.

Then and only then do I think he would start trying to act like a normal human person (while also dodging questions such as "what the fuck was that" and "where were you" and "is that a pirate's ship?"), except he'd be bad at it due to having lived as an Insane Wizard Desert Hermit for the past twenty years who has experienced enough trauma and time that he doesn't super well remember the details of his childhood, what with all of the wars and death and wars and such.

His acting convinces nobody, but nobody is sure what exactly to do about All Of That so he's for the most part left alone (after very vehemently refusing sptherapy), all the way up until he catches a glimpse of palpatine out of the corner of his eye and then its On Sight

[purgetrooperfox]

tired: fox has never done anything wrong in his life he was under control of the chip he didn't mean to kill fives he would never do that

wired: fox was being deliberately, continuously manipulated by palpatine into doing anything he wanted under threat of severe bodily harm, no chip necessary

inspired: fox is a product of brainwashing and genuinely believes in the senate and the republic, which is in constant conflict with the rhetoric he hears from politicians and his general dislike of senators, but that conflict is ultimately irrelevant. he believes in the institution with his entire self. he was born to die for this system and would lose his shit if he started questioning it in any meaningful way. The Institution told him to kill fives so he killed fives, it told him to hunt down ahsoka so he did it, etc etc. conviction that this is all worth it because the republic Can Only Be Right (or else his entire existence and everything the guard puts up with are meaningless) is what gets his ass out of bed in the morning. he'll do terrible things to protect it, and by extension his sense of self, and he won't apologize for it because it's categorically Right in his brain. none of this changes the fact that he's routinely abused by this system, or the fact that he's enslaved by it, or that he has no real choice in anything, only how he personally reconciles it all

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[izzystizzys]

When the 212th collaborates with the 501st, chaos is sure to follow in their footsteps. This has been largely true of every engagement since the start of the war, in Cody’s experience. Had he even an ounce more of a rebellious streak, he might question why and whether the success rate is worth the feral instinct for mayhem his battalion and Rex’ awaken in each other - as it is, he simply fills out the after action reports and then screams into his pillow, which is hard as durasteel and doesn’t warrant the name.

Or, on some days, he steps into the training rooms to work off some nervous jitters only for his foot to catch on someone’s armoured shoulder and faceplant straight into what looks like the entirety of both battalions piled together in a massive cuddle pile.

“What”, he manages between gritted teeth, heaving himself up with one hand supported on Crys’ arm and the other planted in places that make Boil jackknife up with a strangled yelp, “the kriff is this?!”

“We’re watching the Corrie Reality Special, sir”, his own voice calls from somewhere across the room. “The 91st is passing by, so we have satellite access to the Coruscant Broadcast network for a few hours, and we couldn’t settle on a specific show -“

“- so we decided to watch them all”, Rex finishes, sheepishly, where he’s fought his way through wiggling piles, hoots and badly imitated monkey lizard noises. The thought that he shares DNA with these degenerates is enough to drive Cody to the brink of a nervous breakdown some days. “Spopcorn?”

Ah. The Corrie Reality Circuit. When Cody first heard of it, he’d thought it was a prank. Then, they were deployed to the middle of bumkriff nowhere on the edges of Midrim space edging on Outer Rim, with a connection so spotty even classified military intel only got through about half the time, and the whole idea got shelved in favour of clankers and keeping his General’s lightsaber in his General’s hand where it belonged.

Now, a gaudy, glittery monstrosity of a logo announcing a Coruscant Rotational special appears on a rigged up screen, which means one of two things: either Fox is pulling the Galaxy’s greatest long con on all of them, or he’s been murdered and replaced with an evil clone (ha!), because there are no circumstances in which he would agree to star on Coruscant Reality TV.

Cody tilts his head consideringly. Rex smiles at him sheepishly. Tilts the spopcorn bowl at him, invitingly.

“Oh, dank farrik, sit your shebs down!”, someone (Fives, probably) yells out, fed-up…ly.

Cody sits his shebs down.

“Good morning and welcome all of Coruscant to the Great Coruscant Rotational Special: Our Boys in Red Edition!”, a bright red Twi’leki man announces on the screen amidst cheerful jizz music and loud hooting from the training room. “My name is Braham Horton, and I will be your exalted host for this fine, fine late night cycle!”

“And now, gentlebeings of the metropolis, I present to you the images that have driven us all to laughter, joy, and even tears at times over these past few weeks - whodathunkit, that the CSF media project would enthrall a whole Galaxy of viewers and cause the largest recorded peaceful civil protest of all time?!”

“The sorry what now”, says Cody, suddenly thinking back to the urgent meeting General Kenobi was currently in with Generals Windu and Yoda - passing by on the Venator in orbit. “Uhm”, says Rex. Braham Horton, unfazed by the commotion he’s causing lightyears away, chatters on.

“- many hours, so we’ve compiled an introductory little best-of for you, exalted viewers! And what better best of to start off on than the hottest entry of the most explosive bombshell into the villa - please give it up for Commander Thorn and how he stole all of our hearts on Love Island!”

A garish, club-tech jingle Cody has so far only heard buzz through the walls of establishments that generally didn’t allow clones thrums through the training room, followed by what can only be described as the sort of noises spiced up banthas might make. Thorn appears on screen, more oiled up and half-naked than Cody remembers, though just as bleach-blond, hair slightly longer than regulation and smile blindingly perfect.

“I’m Commander Thorn, baseline twenty-four years humanoid - during daytime I might be the scourge of Coruscant’s criminal underworld, but at night I don’t mind playing good cop for you!” He punctuates it woth a sleazy wink and fingerblasters that have Rex honest-to-god gagging, and Cody seeing his life flash before his eyes. If Alpha-17 finds out about this…

Suddenly, Thorn’s smile drops in favour of what might almost be called a scowl on even his handsome face, and the music cuts out. “There, got your soundbyte. Can I go back now? I’m supposed to be on shift.” Indistinct, off-screen chatter and a captioned oopsie… appear in a shower of glitter. Thorn’s face does something complicated. “For HOW MANY MONTHS?!”

Cut to a montage of what Cody can only describe as beaches, oil and abs galore, Braham Horton narrates and extremely close-up shot of what Cody tries very hard not to identify as Thorn’s crotch. His own crotch, in a way. Oh no, that’s weird, stop that train of thought immediately-

“Although our favourite bombshell’s entry into the villa wasn’t without its hitches and hurdles-“, emphasized by a zoom-in on Thorn’s form in a speedo huddled away from a partying crowd of softcore-kriffing contestants on a yacht, “- as well as all know, he would soon find his place in the villa - or places, rather!”

Two crying humanoid women appear on screen, with eyeliner smudges down to their knees. A hoot goes through the room. Cody watches with a sense of impeding doom. “You slept with her after I chose to match up with you instead of Chad?! How could you!”

Thorn, still oiled up with both blasters out for the world to see, winces. “I didn’t me-“

A hysterical gasp, a camera swerve. Three more people stand by the doorway, all clutching their chests with wide eyes. A broad, green Twi’leki man raises a finger to point accusingly. “You were sleeping with them too?! I thought I was the only one!”

“Dear Force”, Cody murmurs, unable to look away from the building speeder wreck on screen. Braham Horton laughs good-naturedly at his misery. “Ah, good times! And who could forget the all-out brawl of the following matching night, where a record number of every single other contestant attempted to physically fight the others for the right to match up with Commander Thorn! Including a somehow returned Chad, who nearly won thanks to the element of surprise. I wish we could show the footage, but then we’d have to slap several warnings on it and probably still get taken off the air.”

“I didn’t know Corries kriffed like that!”, someone (Fives, let’s be honest, it was definitely Fives) calls out into the room, receiving snickers and a well-aimed pillow to the throat for his trouble. He goes down with a choking scream.

“Someone who was less impressed by the hot’n bothered beach weather was Commander Thire, who found himself Less than Impressed by his co-contestants inability to keep it in their pants on Too Hot To Handle!”

Thire’s face, identical to Thorn’s in every way except the ones that matter, appears on screen. His black hair is cut in a cropped mohawk, arms folded over a button-up he’s carefully pieced together with… safety pins? Where are the buttons on it?

“These people are pathological and pathetic and I will spend not a second longer on this farce of an attempt at ‘entertainment show’”, says Thire, air-quotes so sharp they could cut stone. His scowl might be permanently etched into his face, Cody can’t tell. “Unlike literally everyone else, I have an actual job to do. Now move.”

A brief pause, in which cheerful jizz music plays over what is obviously a producer begging off-camera, followed by an eyeroll so hard it hurts Cody’s brain to watch. Thire throws his hands into the air in defeat, marching off into the sea behind him still fully clothed.

“When they didn’t find him until the last episode, I’ll admit, I thought he’d died too!”, Braham Horton cuts in cheerfully. “But would you look at his little lonely island lair - now that’s a fulfilled man, and too many coconuts for my taste! We’ve had to blur his hands out as he discovered the cameras just moments before these holos were taken, unfortunately. And, dear viewer, who could forget this exit-interview for the ages!”

A considerably more clothed Thire appears on screen, eyeing a microphone like he’s about to use it to stab out his own eyes. The reporter clears their throat in audible anxiety. “C-commander, how would you describe your reality experience in one word?”

“Demeaning”, says Thire, blandly.

Silence.

“Um, o-okay”, squeaks the reporter.

“Would you like some more words?”, asks a dead-eyed Thire.

“No, um, I think - I think we’re alright.”

“Because I have many words. Mostly for whoever the *bleep* thought this was a *bleep* good idea, and *bleeeeeeee-*”

“We’ve had to censor most of the Commander’s on-screen appearance, dear viewer, for your sensibilities”, says Braham Horton, eternally and painfully cheerful. “And speaking of sensibilities, who could forget Commander Stone honouring his name in several challenges on ‘I’m A Holostar - Get Me Out Of Here!’”

Soulful violin music fills the gym, overlaid with images of a bald vod Cody surmises must be Stone. Stone stares stonily into the void, glass of bright green something raised to his lips and already half-empty.

“Memorably, he downed a pint of acklay urine within seconds-“

Horrified screams are followed by an image of Stone chewing, yet another thousand-klick stare.

“- or when he ate Tauntaun anus -“

Rex doubles over gagging, and Cody slowly puts his handful of Spopcorn back down.

“- of course the ten minute worm-bath challenge cannot go unmentioned -“

“FORCE PLEASE NO!”, screams someone (Echo) tearfully. Commander Stone, buried to the chin in wiggling orange worms, looks less impressed.

“ - and who could forget his encounter with a horde of ginntho spiders and nests of vexis snakes!”

A remote goes sailing past the screen, missing by a mile, as images of Stone with his whole arm stuck in various boxes fly past. Someone is retching. It might be Cody.

“We would show the infamous butchery challenge wherein the Commander found himself drenched in nexu guts and sandworm brains, but once again, this is family friendly programming and we are not allowed. Nevertheless, a win well-deserved. And now, please welcome the one, the only, the awe-inspiring, the unbelievable: Marshall Commander Fox!”

Another Force-awful jingle, big, blocky letters, and Cody chokes on his own spit when Fox’s scowling face appears on screen. He’s thinner, greyer and angrier than the last time they saw eachother in person. Only the last one is really a surprise.

“I am neither naked nor afraid”, says Fox, arms crossed firmly, foot tapping impatiently on the ground. “I am, however, quickly losing my patience. Explain to me again the point of spending my valuable time undressing in the middle of bum-*bleep* nowhere on the Midrim instead of doing my job as the head of planetary security in the middle of a Galaxy-wide war?”

Several beats of silence follow. Fox grows less impressed with each. Cody knows that look well. Usually, it precedes handcuffs and a cold sonic blast to the face.

“Um… you signed a contract?”, says a producer’s voice uncertainly off-screen. Fox barks out a harsh laugh. “I’m legally classified as military property, my signature holds less weight than if I’d had one of the Guard’s massiffs shit on that contract for me.”

“Ouch!”, calls Crys.

“Gettim!”, adds Longshot.

“But… don’t you sign off military documents all the time for the Senate?”, sputters the producer.

Fox smiles with far to many teeth. It’s also a look Cody knows far too well, and even lightyears away it has a shudder going down his spine.

“Really makes you think about the technicalities of that definitely-not-slave-army, doesn’t it?”, he says, dryly.

“Although considerably less naked and afraid than all other contestants, Commander Fox left us with many memorable moments - such as when he saved the entire crew from an angry Acklay!”

Most of the next holovid is blurred out, though Cody can (unfortunately) guess at the why and how. So can most everyone else, judging by the collective groan.

“Down, boy”, says Fox, flatly, to a hissing Acklay twice his size. It rears its fanged head, and a shudder goes through the room. Fox simply crosses his arms and nails the beast with an unimpressed look. “You are making a fool of both of us. Cut it out.”

Chastised, the Acklay blinks at him, slowly lowering itself back down with a confused hiss.

“No kriffing wonder all the Corrie shinies are such hardasses”, mutters Rex, whom Cody is hard pressed to agree with. “I came from a tube and that look gave me daddy issues.”

“Yes, dear viewer, who could forget these heart-warming moments of good, quality television!”, sighs Braham Horton, dreamily. “Not Coruscant anytime soon, that’s for sure! We are now entering the twentieth rotation of the sit-in protest of a petition to allow the Commanders of the Coruscant Guard to compete on Dancing With The Planets, Coruscant Rotational’s epic dance competition!”

“Dear bum-kriffing Force”, whispers Rex, wide-eyed and awe-struck. “Does Fox know about this?!”

Cody, who’s already dialing the kriffer’s comm-code, wipes a singular tear from his eye. “Not a clue, but kriff, am I going to enjoy telling him.”

[short-wooloo]

If it was the Prequel era Jedi dealing with the events in acolyte this crap would have been settled in 2 episodes because they get shit done

[lastminutestarwarsfan]

Can someone please explain to me how in the name of God Palpatine was even able to gain so much access to Anakin? It's implied he's been keeping him close since Phantom Menace. Like I can understand after he's been knighted but as a padawan???? And not just ANY padawan but the notoriously unstable, taken-in-far-too-late-trained-by-a-barely-qualified-freshly-knighted-king-of-sass-and-oh-btw-we-think-he's-the-chosen-one padawan?? That one??? Surely there must have been parameters in place to protect Jedi children from just this sort of manipulation???? Not to mention keeping a close eye on this one in particular???

Like if it weren't so sad it would be (and admittedly is) hilarious how oblivious everyone is.

Like just imagine fucking Yoda and Mace chilling and thinking to themselves "Hmm where's that boy Anakin, you know the one we really did not think it would be a good idea to train lmao" and someone just cheerfully reasssures them "Oh don't worry his kindly pseudograndpa who is definitely not grooming him has taken him to the Opera! For cultural enrichment" Like??? Honestly I know no one suspects Palpatine is a Sith, but he's sure as hell a creepy old politician with a propensity for hanging around little boys. How is no one's alarm bells ringing?? How are the pedophilia accusations not pouring in??

[serendipity-by-chance]

nine year old anakin really looked at padme and said i’ll marry you. oh my god help me i’m gonna cry in public

[sunsetcougar]

Vote

I cast my ballot last week, blue up and down, and I did it wearing Star Wars pajamas because if there’s one thing I learned from Star Wars, it’s that dictators must be fought

Trump wants to be Emperor Palpatine, let’s beat him before we need a Luke and before we lose our Alderaan

[magicandmundane]

Tarkin, over holo: Emperor Palpatine, Mount Tantiss has been destroyed in an attack orchestrated by a rogue squad of defective clones. Dr. Hemlock perished in the fighting.

Palpatine, signing off on another shitty law: Sucks. *shotguns his glass of wine*

[wantonlywindswept]

Hi I just wanted to let you know that i absolutely love Defib. I've been reading your forgotten fox writing and was wondering if Defib has had any issues getting Commander Vertex into medical for any routine appointments so the medics can make sure he stays "uninjured" while working with the guard?(if theres been time for any yet?)

Glad you're enjoying, anon!

So there was actually a period of time between Fox being cursed and then rejoining the Guard as Vertex, and during that time a lot of shit that the Guard normally has to put up with got smacked down, and the Senate Guard and CSF were forced to actually start doing their jobs.

So by the time he gets back, the Guard is a lot less dangerous than it used to be (especially with Palps gone and not bathing in their misery anymore), and as the 'new' commander he's mostly on datawork, so he doesn't get injured all that much.

That said, he did absolutely send a fake medical report along with his fake spec ops credentials/background, so as far as Defib knows, Vertex is entirely healthy.

And with the rest of the Guard still recovering/adjusting to their new normal(on top of the majority of them being chronic medbay dodgers), he's so happy to have at least one person he doesn't have to worry about!

[spiderbae2319]

The true tragedy of Anakin Skywalker is that he was unable to live out his true destiny as Padme’s trophy husband.

[tennessoui]

For whenever you feel in the playmaker writing mood, I would love to read the scene where Anakin comes home to baby Ray and is just like what. what.

here you go!!! 2.5k of playmaker au, specifically anakin coming home to find that obi-wan has stolen a baby from a grocery store

(warnings: playmaker anakin? specifically playmaker anakin about babies?)

(2.5k)

When Anakin opens the door to his house to the ear-splitting sound of a baby crying, he almost closes it once more to check that he has the correct place. But of course he does. No one else’s entryway could possibly be this messy. 

Luke and Leia’s shoes are thrown in a hectic pile by the doormat, Luke’s football balanced precariously on the toes of his cleats. Leia’s school bag has been discarded on the short bench Obi-Wan had wheedled one of Anakin’s men into installing, built into the wall. 

It’s definitely Anakin’s house; over the wailing of the strange baby, he can hear his own baby’s low murmurs. Frozen as he is with the door half open and half closed, he can even hear the distinct whine of Luke’s voice.

His eyebrows furrow; he steps forward, firmly into the house, and shuts the door behind him. His jacket has barely cleared his shoulders before the pattering of little feet greet him.

“Make him give it back!” Leia’s voice shrieks out. It’s a particularly grating sound, one that Anakin hasn’t heard for several years and absolutely has not missed.

He closes his eyes and intentionally hangs his gun holster on the hook next to his jacket. “What did Luke take, baby?” “Nothing!” Luke cries. He sounds just as distraught as his sister. Anakin exhales slowly through his nose before turning around and crouching down. One twin immediately comes within the circle of his arms. The other hangs back, looking distrustful.

Which is probably why Leia will be the one to inherit his criminal empire when it’s time. 

“What did you take, Luke?” he asks his son, hefting him up into the air as he stands. “And whose fucking baby is that screaming?”

There’s muted movement from the other end of the long entrance hallway, and then Obi-Wan Kenobi rounds the corner, arms full of a baby swaddled in a yellow blanket. Its face is red from crying, but it’s seemingly more content now. A pacifier has been stuck in its mouth at least.

“Yours,” Obi-Wan says primly, adjusting his hold on the baby.

Anakin squints at him and then down at the child. “Well that’s a fucking lie, sweetheart,” he says, taking a cautious step forward. Leia skitters to duck behind his leg.

Smart girl. If Obi-Wan thinks—what, that Anakin slept with a woman a year ago while on a business trip—who knows what the boy is capable of? After all, Obi-Wan values loyalty above all else. 

“Cause I don’t remember anyone else in my bed but you,” he adds, eyes examining the play of shadows and emotions across Obi-Wan’s face. The other man’s hair is up in a loose bun. He’s wearing the remnants of a respectable suit. He doesn’t look like a boy who is planning to cut his losses and run out of Coruscant tonight.

Not that he’d get far, of course, but he certainly doesn’t look like a man who is planning to try. 

“If people are only yours by blood, does that mean I’m free to go?” Obi-Wan replies archly, turning his back to Anakin and marching into their living room. 

Anakin watches him go, speechless. 

He crouches down on the ground again and carefully places his son back onto the floor. “Luke, baby, Leia,” he says, unable to take his eyes off of the empty doorway. “Go upstairs.”

“Make him give it back, Daddy,” Leia says, tugging on the edge of his shirt. “I don’t like it.”

“Mhm,” Anakin replies. From what he’s seen so far, he isn’t much of a fan either. “Go.”

They go, and Anakin allows himself a few moments to stare after them consideringly. One day, eventually, he will need them to be something more than well-trained puppies. He will need them to be something even more than attack dogs.

But that is a conundrum for a later day. Now, he stands on his feet and follows after his boy, who he can still hear gently murmuring in the living room. 

He leans against the doorway. Obi-Wan does not look as if he is going to throw anything at him or harm him bodily in any sort of way, but one can never be too sure with him. It’s part of the reason Anakin finds him so fascinating still after all these years.

But then, his little mouse has never so far stooped to physical violence. That’s more of Anakin’s beast.

“It’s not mine,” he says. It’s best to state these things clearly. “I want it out of the house. It’s upsetting the children.”

Obi-Wan does not look up from the baby in his arms. Its eyes are closed now, expression lax and trusting. The pacifier is still in its mouth. “She’s mine,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing over the skin of its cheek.

Anakin stills, half a step forward.

It’s two offenses in one blow. Obi-Wan’s attention is solidly on something not Anakin, when Anakin is speaking so directly to him. And if Obi-Wan says the baby is his, then he’s implying that he slept with some woman a year ago during one of Anakin’s business trips.

The image the sentence puts into his head has Vader roaring to the surface of his mind between one blink and the next. “If you think I would not hurt an infant for the crime of representing a past dalliance of yours, you are gravely mistaken,” he warns, hand clenching into a fist at his side. “So speak carefully, little mouse.”

“Monster,” Obi-Wan says, keeping his tone light. Keeping his eyes away from Vader’s face. He carefully raises the baby up and tilts his head down until he can rub his nose ever so gently against the baby’s own tiny nose.

“Yes,” Vader says stiffly. “So get rid of it or I will.”

Obi-Wan finally looks up at him. His eyes are blue steel.

Fuck, Vader hasn’t seen him look this stubborn about anything since he was tried in criminal court for the murder of Savage Oppress.

“No,” Obi-Wan says succintly. “She’s ours.”

This more than anything gives Anakin pause. “What.”

Obi-Wan raises to his feet and deposits the baby into a crib a few feet away. How had Anakin missed the fucking crib? When did Obi-Wan have the time to find a fucking crib?

“She’s our baby,” Obi-Wan says, running his hand along the edge of the crib. His head comes up and he gives Anakin a hard stare as if daring him to disagree. “She’s ours or she’s mine.”

There it is.

“You’re handing out ultimatums like that now, sweetheart?” Vader asks, stepping into the room and prowling towards his husband. “Think that’s smart, little mouse? Think you can threaten me like that? Think you can do that with no punishment?”

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan murmurs. His voice is rough. He moves to the outside of the crib, hands grasping the edges and body turned to face Vader as he approaches. “Because I’m serious, Anakin. I’m not going to give her away. I want her. You’re going to let me have her.”

“And its parents?” Anakin asks, boxing Obi-Wan in against the crib. “Its actual parents?”

“She’s adopted.”

“Did you steal it from an orphanage, Obi-Wan?” Anakin’s eyebrows fly up at the very idea. He still has to coax his little mouse into doing things of even a slight criminal nature half the time. His little mouse hates sitting on Anakin’s lap during his meetings, hates all the trappings and police tape that comes with being a mob wife.

It’s his past. It’s his sheriff father. It’s the talons of Qui-Gon Jinn’s ghost still sunk deep into his soul. It’s all of that shit, and despite it all, Anakin loves him. As much as a man like him, a man like Vader can love.

Obi-Wan’s flash away for a second. It’s an admittance of guilt. His cheeks begin to flush red.

“No,” he says and hesitates, pink mouth torn open. Anakin’s face breaks into the beginnings of a smile. His hands fall to rest on his waist. What’s going to come out of Obi-Wan’s mouth next will probably be the best confession he’s heard all day. “I stole her from her stroller.”

Anakin’s mouth falls open. 

“Excuse me?”

Obi-Wan’s chin juts up as he frowns at Anakin. “I stole her from her stroller. Her parents left her unattended. And–I wanted her.”

He isn’t sure if his eyebrows will ever lower. “You wanted her.”

“I wanted a baby,” Obi-Wan says very clearly. “The twins are old and they hate me now. I wanted a baby again.”

“The twins are not old,” Anakin replies automatically. “They’re ten. They’re children.”

His little mouse’s lips stay curled in a stubborn moue of defiance. 

“They don’t hate you,” he adds. “They adore you, baby. You know that. What they hate is that thing,” his hand gestures over Obi-Wan to encompass the crib and the baby. “Leia begged me to make you give it back.”

“Oh and how would that go?” Obi-Wan sniffs, looking haughtily down his nose at Anakin, as if he weren’t the one who just stole a fucking baby in broad daylight. “Oh, so sorry, I didn’t mean to take your baby, I just tripped and fell and it landed in my grocery cart by accident.”

“You stole a baby from a grocery store?” 

But Obi-Wan’s eyes are narrowed in consideration and a second later, he’s changing tactics. His hands slip from their defensive position on the crib’s edge, run up the length of Anakin’s arms to rest on the sides of his neck. His eyes go half-lidded. His mouth gets all glistening and wet. “Daddy,” he says.

“No,” Anakin says. “You can’t fuck your way into a baby, Obi-Wan—”

“I thought that’s how most couples got a baby,” Obi-Wan points out.

“You can’t banter your way into a baby either, fuck, Obi-Wan—”

“I can,” his boy says confidentally, pushing up against Anakin’s hips. “Because I really want a baby. And I already found a baby. Her name is Rey.”

“No, don’t name it, you’ll get attached to it—”

“I love you,” Obi-Wan murmurs. He pushes forward and stands up on his toes so that he can rub his nose along the line of Anakin’s jaw. “I want to raise a child with you. Just you and me, she’ll never know another parent. Don’t you want to raise a baby with someone you love? Someone you trust? You’ll never have to kill me. You know I love you—every part of you.”

Unlike your first wife, goes unsaid. Unlike the mother of your children.

It doesn’t go unheard.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin groans, but he tightens his grip on the boy’s waist. “You stole a baby.”

“I murdered a good man for you,” he murmurs, dragging his lips over his. “I murdered a bad man for the twins. I stole a baby for us. Look what you’ve made me. Look what you’ve turned me into, darling.”

Anakin bites back another groan. His little mouse plays dirty now that Anakin’s taught him how. Or maybe that’s always been a part of him. Maybe that ruthless streak, that cunning brutality has always been there; maybe that’s what drew him to the undercover detective in the first place.

“Did you kill the parents at least?” Anakin asks, eyes falling closed. He cannot believe the words coming out of his mouth.

He cannot believe how easily he gave into those fucking blue eyes. 

“That’s your job,” Obi-Wan tells him, pressing a kiss to his lips. For a reward.

“Did you mock up the paperwork to make it look like a legal adoption?”

“Also your job,” Obi-Wan says again, brushing another kiss to Anakin’s face. Anakin’s hand grips the back of Obi-Wan’s hair, holding him close and in place.

“Obi-Wan…”

“I told the twins though,” Obi-Wan says quickly. He hooks his leg around the back of Anakin’s calf, winding his arms solidly around his neck.

“Yeah?” Anakin murmurs, letting his other hand trail down over the small of his back. “How’d they take that, baby?” Obi-Wan is silent. 

“Yeah,” Anakin says. “That’s what I thought.” Sharing their Obi-Wan’s attention? It’s bad enough they have to split it with each other and Anakin. Now there’s an entirely new thing demanding Obi-Wan’s time. His attention. His arms.

Anakin scowls automatically, just thinking about it.

“They’ll get used to her,” Obi-Wan says. His hands tighten on the back of Anakin’s neck. “They’re growing up. They don’t need me as much anymore.” His eyes are wet and big when he looks up at Anakin. He’s almost too tall to pull the move off anymore. “I just…I want to be needed, Ani. You’ve gotten me spoiled on the feeling. And I—I can’t go back to the other way.”

“Baby, of course we need you,” Anakin says, using his grip on Obi-Wan’s lower back to push him pointedly up against his covered cock.

Obi-Wan sighs into the kiss Anakin pushes on his mouth, and when he pulls back, he looks so fucking despondent that Anakin’s patience for anything but wiping that look from his little mouse’s face evaporates.

“Stop it,” he commands, thumbing at the skin beneath Obi-Wan’s eye rather roughly. “Stop it, we’re keeping it. Fine. We’re keeping it.”

“And you’ll talk to the twins?” Obi-Wan’s voice wavers. There’s at least a thirty percent chance it’s genuine emotion. “Tell them that she’s family? And that means they must protect her? Care for her even if they don’t love her?” Anakin’s eyebrows shoot up. Even though he’s been dead three years, Qui-Gon Jinn’s ghost seems to haunt half of Obi-Wan’s deeply rooted ideas and values. 

“I’ll get Rex and Ahsoka to start on the papers,” Anakin mutters, pulling away reluctantly from his husband’s all too soft and willing body—now that he’s gotten his way.

The baby—Rey, Anakin supposes—begins to whine once more.

Immediately, instinctively almost, Obi-Wan flips himself around so that he’s facing the crib, peering into and reaching down.

Out of curiosity, Anakin slots himself up against his back, unable to resist the slightest roll of his hips.

The baby blinks up at him. Her face is all squishy and red. Her eyes are clear, blue still, though Leia’s eyes were blue when she was born. Rey’s fingers dance in the air as she reaches for Obi-Wan plaintatively. 

The twins are not going to be happy.

But Obi-Wan is. He’s incandescent as he allows her to wrap her tiny fingers around his index finger.

“Does she at least have red hair?” Anakin murmurs, fairly plaintative himself. “It’ll be easier to trick myself into loving her if she looks like you.”

“She’s mine,” Obi-Wan replies, looking back at him slightly, hand still tangled with the infant’s. “You’ll love her.”

It still sounds like an ultimatum.

Anakin sighs; Anakin capitulates.

[purgetrooperfox]

not to foxpost on the foxblog but I think we should all talk more about the cognitive dissonance that the GAR, and the Guard specifically, would have to deal with on an ongoing basis. they're brought up and had it drilled into them for a decade straight that the Republic is worth fighting and dying for, that it stands for justice and freedom and [insert patriotic buzzwords here]. they get deployed directly into a slaughter on Geonosis. they get assigned to Jedi who intentionally get them killed. they get assigned to the Guard and listen to Senators treat the war like an abstract, distant concept and the clones like equipment to be manufactured/replaced/disposed of. they're treated as subhuman by civilians. they're slaves in this system that was built up to be a shining star, a perfect example of democracy, the thing they're born to die for.

so what do you get. indoctrinated beliefs versus lived experience. sure, some of them turn (Slick) or desert (Cut), but most of them have to reconcile that conflict without walking away from the army altogether. Dogma is one end of the spectrum, going the route of "my indoctrinated beliefs must be true, so I'll selectively validate parts of my lived experience to align with them and seek out proof of them". Fives is, on Umbara at least, the opposite end, going the route of "my lived experience must be true, so I'll recontextualize my indoctrinated beliefs to match it". the Republic is still worth everything, but maybe we can't trust the Jedi, or the Kaminoans, or the Chancellor.

but the majority of them are going to fall closer to Dogma, otherwise the GAR would stop functioning or try to collectively rebel, right? it's easy to skirt around how deep brainwashing runs and how far people will go to resolve dissonance, but fmngmfng

so you take Fox in the context of Commander of the Guard, and you get "the Republic must still be worth it, so these rules and regs are in place for a reason, and even if they're not then they do work to protect us, and the Senate is doing its best with a bad situation, and the Chancellor wouldn't commit xyz atrocity because he is the Republic" and on and on and on to try to reconcile it all in his poor fucked up brain. how would he carry on with the slog of his job? how could he possibly have the space to wrestle with the contradiction? then the longer you lean into one justification, the deeper it sinks in and reinforces itself

anyway this has been needless over-analysis hour

[clownery-and-fuckery]

I raise a scenario:

Hunter expecting his brothers to blend in during a mission with senators NORMALLY by dressing as citizens/bodyguards and whatnot

Yet, in the whole 20 odd seconds he turns his back, Tech has convinced the entire senate that hes a senator, Crosshair's actually his master Jedi bodyguard, and Wrecker somehow managed to befriend a separatist representative.

Hunter doesn't want to know how, why, or even what they were thinking.

[short-wooloo]

Hate people who call Rey "Rey Palpatine", like no, fuck you

A. She's Rey Skywalker, she's a Skywalker, get over it or die mad about it

B. She wants nothing to do with Palpatine, that's why she takes up the Skywalker name, to distance herself from that monster and be a part of a family that actually means something to her

[happycattail]

Wheezing (if I don’t I may strangle someone instead). Got into a debate with an anti Jedi person about the Jedi code. Managed to get it across to them the code doesn’t fucking promote Jedi to become emotionless.

They then decided to take a different angle where they claim the code is wrong because it could be misinterpreted and that many council members misinterpreted to mean you have to be emotionless. I proceed to ask them to name me a council member.

Guess who they named guys? Guess which council member they named as someone who thinks the code means you can’t show emotions and abide by that interpretation?

FUCKING MACE WINDU.