#new fic who dis?

[someonesaidcake]

When Red John died, his demons should have died with him. But, there are always more monsters lurking in the shadows.

Kill the man and the myth rises.

| My multi chapter take on what Season 8 could have been. Xx

Read on AO3 Here | Excerpt after the drop

He takes a step closer, and her sobbing spikes, louder, more jagged. Her crying face is ugly: features twisted, skin blotchy, eyes swollen and grey.

He wants to tell her to shut the fuck up, but that will only make her cry harder. That will make it worse.

“Ssshhhh.”

He makes the sound as subdued as possible hoping it'll soothe her.

His hand brushes her hair, fingers catching where it’s sticky with blood. He smooths it back, exposing her neck. Her body shudders beneath his touch, trembling. The floral perfume he’d chosen for her is long gone, overwhelmed by the sour tang of sweat and fear.

“Tell me what your name is?”

He whispers it, but he knows she heard him.

Her body goes rigid.

[apinchofm]

Run!

T, 5k one shot, library as a chat up place.

"Edha. Miss Edha Sharma," She lied. Well, not a strict lie, for Edha was her middle name for her father's mother.

“Ah, well, Miss Sharma, you will catch your death.” Friedrich stated with a frown, “You should take off your dress.” Her eyes snapped to his.

“Excuse me?!"

[nevertheless-moving]

So You Just Killed Palpatine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anakin?” he managed to rasp out.

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

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

//

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

//

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

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

“Chancellor Palpatine’s a Sith Lord!!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I had no idea,” Obi-Wan said numbly.

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

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

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

Obi-Wan stared at Mace Windu wide-eyed.

“The what.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mace Windu stared at Obi-Wan.

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

Obi-Wan mumbled.

“Kenobi, speak clearly.”

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

Windu stared at the recumbent Knight, who flushed.

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

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

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

//

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

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

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

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

Obi-Wan nodded.

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

Obi-Wan shook his head.

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

Obi-Wan shook his head, cringing in apology.

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

Obi-Wan shook his head, biting back questions.

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

Another no.

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

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

Mace Windu was radiating absolutely no calm at this point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mace Windu closed his eyes.

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

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

Mace Windu didn’t reply.

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

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

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

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

That probably wasn't a good sign.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Master Windu’s eyes squeezed further closed.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered.

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

"Is she alright?" Obi-Wan asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He walked out.

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

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

//

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

Shit.

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

"Oh. Good," Obi-Wan replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dooku?? Sifo-Dyas??

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

"Years?" he asked, amused.

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

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

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

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

"It was a really cool fight."

"...Thank you, padawan."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anakin was already scrambling to fetch the pitcher.

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

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

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

Coughing should not be this exhausting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Very nice,” Obi-Wan murmured.

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

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

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

[imnotditzy]

Imagine if Billy didn’t know Shazam died?

(This is actually apart of my AU lol)

But what if Billy didn’t know Shazam, the Wizard, was actually dead? Like maybe he did see Shazam get crushed by rocks but he just thinks a Wizard could survive that, Or he doesn’t remember meeting Shazam for whatever reason. (Like he knows it happened because his pantheon told him so, and he remembers like a tiny bit of being at the RoE, but maybe he doesn’t remember Shazam dying)

This would be kinda funny to think about, especially if the pantheon’s trying desperately not to let Billy know Shazam died. But they occasionally slip up, and each time they do Billy gets slightly more suspicious. Also, in my AU since Billy and Marvel and separate entities, I think it would be funny aswell if Marvel didn’t know either. (—which I do have an AU explanation to make it work, but I fear I may be getting too off track already.)

—

Heracles: Shazam was a good wizard.

Marvel: Was?

Heracles: IS, is. I simply misspoke—Shazam is a good wizard.

Marvel: Oh… 🧐

Billy: 🤨

—

Imagine if literally every other magic being knows Shazam’s dead, but Captain’s just none the wiser and tries to talk to them about the Wizard.

—

Zatanna: So…how’d you get your powers?

Billy (as Cap): Oh, by this Wizard, his name’s, uh…

grabs a piece of paper and scribbles the name down

Zatanna: Shazam?

Billy: Yup! Gave me my powers, have you heard of him? I think he’s very well known. I haven’t seen him in a while. Hope he’s still doing alright.

Zatanna (Going pale at the mention of a very much dead Wizard being referred to in present tense): Mhm….yeah…

—

(the league in the cafeteria, listening to one of the rare times they got Captain to talk about themself. —Billy’s just procrastinating going outside in the midwestern November cold.)

Billy: So I got my powers from this Wizard, his names…um. I think I told Zatanna? Captain looks over at her.

Zatanna (going pale): Really. I don’t remember.

Billy: Oh, okay, that’s fine! Here.

Grabs a piece of paper and scribbles down the name.

Superman: Shazam?

Every magic user in the cafeteria freezes.

Billy: Yeah! He’s the wizard who gave me my powers. I haven’t seen him since I became Captain Marvel, though. I should really go talk to him, maybe I’ll do that later.

****

Achilles: But what if we didn’t…

Hercules: How about we don’t…

Solomon: That wouldn’t be a good choice, Billy.

Zeus: I agree, you’d be just of a fool as Atlas to go.

Atlas (offended): Wow.

****

Zatanna (uncomfortable): I don’t think you should…

[littlefankingdom]

The best thing about Jarro is how it shows that if someone calls Bruce "dad"/"father"/any parent related terms, he accepts his new role immediately. No debate, the alien calls him "dad" so he is his dad. Random kid calls him "dad", he brings him home. That's his, now.

Jokingly calling Batman "dad" or "mom"? Jokes on you, you're his child now.

And we don't use that enough in this fandom.

[johnconstantinesdick]

I get the criticism of the Hunters of Artemis from a narrative perspective—it sucks that it essentially boots interesting female characters out of the story—but it always baffles me when people viciously hate Artemis for *checks notes* doing damage control.

Like. Thalia explicitly goes with Artemis to avoid the prophecy, and I definitely think that’s the reason Artemis tried so hard to get her to join—hell, you can view the hunters trying to recruit Annabeth as a way to get Thalia to join. And Bianca? You can’t convince me that Artemis didn’t guess there was something up there and react accordingly.

If Percy or Nico were even a little bit girl-adjacent you bet your ass she would be all over them to join. No one actually wants to risk the Great Prophecy happening, and Artemis is doing a hell of a lot more to stop it than anyone else.

[tujhse-raabta]

hurt me and tell me you're mine

Kore Jackson knows a lot, for a twelve year old.

She knows that her mother despises her name as much as she loves her.

She knows that the Pantheons are real.

And she knows that she will die in and at the hands of Phoebus Apollo.

(or)

She is far too much like her father, to live long and prosper.

Earthshaker, Stormbringer -

Oathbreaker.

[shades-o-grey]

"The Little Dance" - (How Not to Bet With a Demon)

Rated G, ~3.5k Words

Summary:

Of course, a 'proper' apology between Aziraphale and Crowley had to involve an over-the-top and mortifying ritual.

What is contrition compared to pageantry? But that wasn't how it started. An 'apology' wasn't the original purpose of their 'Little Dance'.

No... The ritual began as most regrets do. With an astonishing amount of alcohol, some farcical bickering, And a bet...

Excerpt:

Honestly. Aziraphale should have known better than to enter a wager with a demon. He should have known better than to keep imbibing with one too. But they were both far too deep in the cups by that point for the matter to even be considered. Such is the risk with excellent wine and good company. That and the temptation of proving Crowley wrong for once was just too, well... Tempting.

...

"Aaand~ what should the winner demand of the loser then?" Crowley asked, gazing lazily into his something'th goblet of mead that he held within the loose grasp of his long fingers-

Aziraphale contrastingly was prim-

He closed his eyes, his lips pouted in concentration as he seriously considered his answer. "Buying... lunch?"

He suggested the first thing to pop into his head.

...

Read it on Ao3!

Big Thanks to the supremely talented @eybefioro and @bellisima-writes for their time and enthusiasim- my good friend Rose who let me talk their ear off about a a fic for a show they've never watched. And to TNAN on Discord and all the new and talented friends I've met there.

[littlebittyhollowbugs]

Hornet headcanon!

'Hornet' is not Hornet's true name.

I'm still torn between different reasonings for her having the name either

A- It was given to her as an honorary title, by Queen Vespa, during her training within the hive (or bestowed upon her after having finished her training as a symbol of her accomplishments.)

Or B- She gave the name to herself, after the fall of the kingdom, as a way to separate her current self from her past while still honoring some part of her past. (The part that is easiest for her to look back on.)

As for her birth name my sisters and I have decided on Arachnè. (The name is from a Greek myth, where the protagonist Arachnè challenges Athena to a weaving contest, wins, and is afterwards transformed into a spider.)

[hood-ex]

@dustorange I'm forever going to think about how Thomas kept fresh flowers on Dick's grave, but he neglected Bruce's grave, leaving his vase full of rain water and dead flowers.

That makes what Alfred said in Justice League #23.4 hit so much harder.

"Thomas never found what he was looking for on our earth. He never found the brother he'd always wanted. The brother he knew Bruce could never be. But Dick nearly was."

And even though Thomas initially tried to blame Dick for his own death ("Dick got himself caught. This is his fault."), Alfred believed Thomas felt guilt over his inability to save Dick.

So the flowers on Dick's grave feel like a gesture of respect, affection, remembrance, and an apology all rolled into one.

[kyberblade]

Our Song Is Not Yet Written (Din x Reader) a Clone Wars!AU - Coming Soon!

He’s a Mandalorian bounty hunter hired by the Jedi council for a sensitive mission. She’s a newly appointed Jedi Knight instructed by the council to accompany him, and aid him however she can.

Their only thing in common?

Aggressive negotiations.

Jedi and Mandalorian’s are sworn enemies, a rift going back centuries. On top of it all, these two can’t seem to be in the same room for more than a few minutes without getting in each other’s face.

Can they figure out how to get along between side eyes and muttered insults? Will the mission be a success, or are they doomed to repeat history?

When the galaxy starts to fall apart, with the crumbling, burning Jedi temple at the heart of it all, they’re forced to make some decisions they never even thought were an option.

Including taking care of a little, green, frog loving Jedi who finds his way to them in the middle of it all.

^^Mood board by @almostfoxglove.^^

Rated: T (I think that’s as high as it will go.)

Warnings: I haven’t even gotten it all down on paper yet, idk. SW typical violence? Swearing. Does sarcasm count? Yearning. Enemies to lovers…. That’s it. Slow burn. Enough said.

Word count: Don’t make me do this.

I do not own Star Wars or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.

[apinchofm]

Always Room For More

They had always been close - especially after their father’s death. Kate had been thirteen, and Edwina had been eight, and despite that age gap, they were best friends.

And nothing would change that. Of course, nothing would change that. After all, blood was always thicker than water.

Or Kate and Edwina are going through life changes and adjusting!

T, Fluff and Modern AU.

Inspired by Older But Just Never Wiser by @dreamstone28737 .

Wanted to write some growing pain fluff! Thanking @justlaurabee for letting me bug them with my brainstorming!

[non-un-topo]

More clothing studies, this time from my fic Axis. I was aiming for authenticity while also trying to have each of their personalities show a little bit in their clothing choices. Two for Nicky, to show his layers.

[cipher-fresh]

Did Eleven ever tell Amy and Rory’s parents that they’re alive in the past? Or did they just go missing a few weeks after a third of the human population had heart attacks?

[undertheredhood]

AU where after feeling under the weather for much longer than a normal sickness is supposed to last, jason todd finally goes to see a doctor and after being tested a couple of times, is told that he has a terminal illness and that he has only a couple of months left to live.

what makes this situation even worse and hits jason right where it hurts is that the disease that he was diagnosed with is the exact same one that his mother catherine todd was diagnosed with all those years ago.

[queen-of-obsessing]

one of merlin’s favourite things about his new role as court sorcerer and king consort are the tournaments. Mainly because he gets to sit in the royal box, in fancy robes, sipping wine with his manservant Freddie attending to him and watch Arthur win round after round from afar. But...that’s only if it’s going well. 

On this particular afternoon, Arthur is not winning. His opponent is bigger than him, and very obviously using magic to cheat - and now Merlin’s role as sit there and look pretty is proving to be very confining. He longs for the sidelines, to be in George’s place. Unnoticed, lurking around a corner, able to interfere with his magic at a moments notice whenever he felt Arthur needed him. 

Freddie notices this. He watches with an attentive eye how his master squirms in his seat, a frustrated look on his face at not being able to help. Freddie looks down at the drink in his hands, contemplating how much trouble he would be in if he interfered, deciding against it until his king is stabbed in the leg by his massive opponent, and then he acts. 

In one swift movement, and without prior warning, Freddie spills his drink all over the regal court sorcerer, who looks up in horror. “Oh, I’m sorry, sire!” he cries,  dabbing at it with a cloth. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up.” Merlin squints at him puzzled, until he suddenly understands, and follows Freddie away from the booth, toward the back tents. 

“Go,” Freddie says. “Our king needs you.” 

Merlin ultimately turns the tide of the fight, making the opponent’s sword fly in the opposite direction than he intended, giving Arthur the upper hand to win the fight. But as his husband returns to the tents, bloody and exhausted, some part of Merlin expected him to be grateful. 

But nay. 

Arthur is incredibly pissed. Unlike all those times before, when Merlin would interfere and his love would be none the wiser, that wasn’t the case anymore, and Arthur knew full well what happened and who did it. “How dare you interfere?” he yelled, bursting into the tent. 

Merlin is aghast. “How dare I? I saved your hide!” 

“I didn’t need you to save my hide, I had it completely under control!” He stabs his sword into the ground. 

“Oh, yeah, tell that to the guy who would’ve lopped your head off!” 

“Merlin!” Arthur roared, getting up in his face. “For once in your life, stay in your place! Do your job, and let me do mine!” 

“My place is by your side!” Merlin shouts back.

“Your place is in the stands, looking pretty, and not interfering! How am I supposed to lead this kingdom if I can’t even win a simple tourney fight?” 

Merlin bites back his anger, not able to come up with a superior response. He knows he’s right, but he can’t shake off the fear. Everytime Arthur’s in danger, Merlin’s blood runs cold, like he is reliving Camlann all over again. “I can’t bear to lose you,” he says quietly, and all the anger in Arthur’s eyes dissipates. 

It is then that he understands. “You won’t,” he says softly. 

“Yet you can’t guarantee that,” Merlin replies. “Your life is nearly constantly in danger, do you honestly expect me to sit by and do nothing knowing that I had the power to stop it? I nearly lost you once, do not put me in a position where I’ll lose you again.” 

Arthur gazes at him, mulling this over. It is after this argument, that the married royals ultimately decide to make a deal. Merlin is forbidden from interfering at tournaments, unless it is explicitly clear that the other opponent is cheating. But it will take Freddie a while to recover from his heart attack, thinking Arthur was going to fire him for aiding in the interference. “No more spilled drinks,” Merlin comments to him after. “Although it was a very smart move.” 

“Thank you, sire,” Freddie replies, wobbly from fear but relieved that he gets to keep his job...for now.