#star wars medicine

[peggy7447]

Connect skin and soul

Soo, after my first art piece, here's my very first fanfiction!

This tells the story of how my beloved Marshal Commander, and my cheery little Jedi medic OC have first met!

To see my art of them, click here :3

I hope to bring more about these two because I have soo many ideas in my head (and in my notes) about them, only I tend to overdo things :D (This fic meant to be around 2k. Yeah.)

(Also there's an illustration in the works for this one, so stay tuned! Note: I also tend to overdo art, so it may take a while, but it is in progress, I swear!)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy, please keep the feedback coming even if it's about mistakes! I'm always open to being better at something! (Just be kind please <3 )

Huge thanks to @electrikworm for being the beta for this one!

The beautiful divider is from @saradika

Tagsies! @lonewolflupe @tentakelspektakel

Summary: The day was a usual long one for the medic. All she needed was to get some well deserved sleep at the end of it. Only, the Force had another idea, and decided to surprise her

Rating: Teen and up

Tags and Warnings: SFW, some fluff, medical procedures, mild blood, needles, some medical jargon, attempted medical accuracy (not perfect, sometimes on purpose)

Word count: 8.666

The day was a particularly long one, stretching well into the night, but at least it was not one of the hardest. Lasha, the togruta Jedi sentinel was currently cleaning up her cozy little “doctor’s office”, her white and beige lekkus swinging after her as she was moving around and about, her violet hands efficiently putting all her instruments, medicines and wastes of the day, away. She lived on the middle levels of Coruscant, running this small medical facility. She was a healer, but not like the ones in the Jedi Temple. She was much more of a practical kind: she used the equipment the civilians did, while also wielding her talent with the Force. She liked to combine those two - felt it was the most effective way of healing. Not every little wound or injury even required the use of her special talents. 

As for the location: well, there was much less help down here, than on the upper levels of the planet, and the people needing help were more in numbers, too. She was always drawn towards the ones in need, that’s why she became a sentinel in the first place. She wanted to live among those who needed her, not above them, like most of the Jedi did. Not that those were despised by her, this was just more her way of seeing and doing things. 

As most days, this specific one also went as smoothly as it could have. There were a lot of patients, but majorly only cuts and bruises, and simple illnesses like a cold or a stomach bug. She had not even come across any clones. 

The Coruscant Guard was pretty well known to her by now. As the war had started, clones began to appear here too. They were also patrolling the lower levels, and wounds did not appear to evade the boys.

She was placing the last half-empty bottle of disinfectant on the shelf, when she felt something strange. Her stomach constricted, her brow furrowed as this unpleasant feeling crept from her gut up to her throat. It was like, worry? She was not sure. She felt worry before, of course, but somehow it was deeper; while still her own, it came through the Force. Suddenly she felt the urge to go outside into the alley beside her office.

As she stepped out of her backdoor, the usual smell of filth assaulted her nose. I am never going to get used to this, she thought disapprovingly and reached to rub the offended sensory organ on her face. She looked around in the barely lit pathway, only seeing the ever present boxes, bags and the trash container. She couldn’t see anything out of place, so she listened for a few seconds instead. Still nothing out of the ordinary: just the scurrying steps of people from the streets, the whirring of flying speeders on the airways, and the hurried hustling of small animals. She would have retreated into the clean smelling office if not for her increasing worry, so she followed her feeling and decided to check behind the container.

As usual, her instincts did not fail her: in the cover of the metal bin, slumped into the corner was a clone on the ground, unmoving. She quickly got down onto her knees beside him, and in a probe of consciousness asked him “Trooper! Are you okay?” but she got no answer. She didn’t have to search for injuries for long, because on the left side of his white chestplate blood was steadily flowing to the ground, painting it a matching red as most other parts of his armor. 

With practiced hands she went to remove his bucket. On first note, without even a thought, she sucked in a breath. She had seen this one before. This specific face had regularly presented itself in her dreams. She quickly blinked and concentrated back on the task at hand - the face underneath was pale instead of the telltale tan of the clones, making his big scar across his nose pop, his otherwise dark, but graying curls stuck to his sweaty forehead, eyes closed. She was going to have time to think about the strangeness of the situation after he was surely safe. 

As a first step she reached for the carotid, right under his chin, to check for a pulse. It was there, strong, but a bit fast, the same being the case with his breathing. Relieved that he probably won’t die in the next two seconds, she went ahead and positioned herself on his side, so she could pick him up in a bride's carry. She laid his head on her shoulder, put the bucket into his lap, then, with the help of the Force, she lifted and carried him inside. 

With the commander (assuming from his kama) safely laying on a medical bed, she went ahead and got rid of the upper set of his armor, and stashed it safely away in a closet kept for such occasions. Finding the source of the bleeding was no big task after cutting away the blood soaked undersuit. There was a neatly circular slugthrower wound on his left armpit area, steadily oozing. She grabbed a handful of bandage sheets and pushed them on the wound, slowing the flow. Next she grabbed the clone’s upper arm, and rolled him onto his right side, so she could check for an exit wound - and found one, just as perfectly circular. Grabbing another bunch of sheets, she basically clamped him like a vise between her hands. 

Now, with the bleeding controlled, she shut her eyes and reached out with the Force to map out the extent of the injury. The man had been very lucky, she had only found torn flesh, no shrapnel, and a small scrape on the brachial artery. That was the source, but the damage was luckily not big enough for a full blown arterial bleeding, thus causing the heavy, but steady flow. With the help of the Force she willed the muscles of the artery to close the small gap, and the cells of the wall to divide at a bigger than natural rate to keep it that way. Purely healing with the Force was a talling task, but in this case, it only drained her a tad bit, making her tired, but not entirely useless.

With the bleeding now mostly under control, she disposed of the bandage sheets, and went to obtain a pair of gloves, her suture kit, and an ampulla of lidocaine. Firstly she injected the anesthetic, then put her gloves on, prepared the suture and needle, and disinfected the area. With the amount of times she had to close up such wounds, she made quick work of it, only needing a few stitches per wound. 

After cutting the last bit of suture, she wiped off the remaining blood from his - surprisingly - strong shoulder, arm and chest, and inspected her work. Subcutaneous stitches with absorbable sutures would have been more preferable but with such small wounds interrupted stitches were much more practical. The clones always preferred the former ones given there was basically no further bother with it - but these kinds had to be removed. Either by herself or by their own medic. Now that was absolutely up to them - both were common occurrences. 

Making sure everything looked alright, Lasha placed two bacta patches on the wounds, and layed the still unconscious man back into a supine position. She then turned and grabbed a scanner to make sure his vitals were okay. Now that the bleeding was fully taken care of, everything should have been mostly back to normal but instead his HR was still elevated so as his breathing, and also had hypotension. She frowned - something was still going on. She adjusted the settings on her scanner and instead of just a simple vital check she had run a more thorough examination. 

“What, by the Force, have you done to yourself?” Lasha whispered out as her brows climbed up on her forehead reading the results. The clone on her cot was severely dehydrated and so fatigued like - with a slight exaggeration - he hadn’t slept in a week. “You’re definitely staying the night, Commander” she firmly told him, pointing at him with her free hand for good measure, and then moved to retrieve an IV kit, an 18 gauge catheter (He’s a big, strong boy, he’ll deal with it), two bags of sodium lactate solution and some midazolam to make sure he’ll sleep through the night. 

Getting back to him, she examined his right arm for the small procedure and found that he had such strong veins she wouldn’t even be needing a tourniquet. She smiled to herself at that revelation. Every medic likes a good vein. Before inserting the catheter she calculated the amount of sedative for 5 hours and injected it into the two bags of fluids. Her biggest volume on stock was a 1000ml one, so she would need to change once during the night - resulting in 10 full hours of peaceful sleep and rehydration. 

With the IV set up, the drop-rate checked, an alarm for herself set, and the clone comfortably tucked under a (maybe unnecessarily) soft gray blanket, satisfied, Lasha herself retired for the night. Only, her mind was full of her patient’s face. Skin like honey, the thick scar across his nose, the soft smile he almost always wore in her dreams. Those deep chocolate brown, shiny eyes full of tiredness but love. Those perfect dark curls speckled with gray strands. She had seen him so many times before, it was hard to will him away when he essentially was dropped on her doorsteps. She had the strong suspicion before, that she should have some business with this man. But he was a clone. He had hundreds of thousands of brothers. And it was always just his face - no armor, no background, nothing that could’ve helped her find him. So she just waited for the Force to guide them to each other some day. Well, she could’ve guessed that their meeting would be something like this given their professions, but still… It was so unexpected. 

The more she had thought about this topic, the more content she was. She felt a soft and soothing warm enveloping her insides: it was like the rising sun on a spring morning - the cold and crisp night slowly warming up to a just perfect light sensation of warmth on one’s face, making them feel content and happy and secure. They hadn’t even exchanged words but she felt so safe knowing he was there, just a room away. 

“Oh, kriff!” the Jedi whisper-shouted as she shot upright in her bed, scaring the beige and white fluffy tooka away, as the truth dawned on her. He kriffing got a bond from the Force. She was so shocked by this revelation, her mind just froze as it was and got stuck on “You have a bond. With a clone. A Force-bond. With a clone commander.” She was way too tired for this now. These bonds were super rare. She only heard about them just as a mention in one of her lessons as a youngling. There was probably no known example for centuries! And now it’s her! With a clone. 

She started to feel dizzy - she realized she was already hyperventilating. She needed to calm down. There was nothing she could do with this, least of all at this exact moment. She needed to meditate before she passed out. She tried to regulate her breathing: in for 4 through the nose. Hold for 7. Out through the mouth for 8, let the panic flow into the Force. Again. In for 4 through the nose. Hold for 7. Out through the mouth for 8, let it leave… At this point, the previously frightened little creature calmed down and climbed onto her lap, starting to purr. She continued her breathing exercise now complemented with the repeating motions of stroking soft fur. 

After about 5 minutes she was able to calm down mostly. She was still present with the fact of what had happened. Still felt the presence in the Force warmly envelope her, making the experience real. There was still excitement for what would come after such a discovery. But she was able to let go of her panic. There was no use of panicking. In the morning, after she had made sure that the cause of her current predicament was safely back with his brothers, she could meditate more on the matter, go to the Temple for some research. All in due time, not now.

“Sorry Boo” she offered to the tooka, who was now watching her intently with two, big brown eyes. “I’m okay now. We’ll figure it out in the morning. Come on, let’s sleep!” And with that, she tucked herself back into her fluffy blanket, momentarily lifting it up for Butternut to scoot under himself. After a few more minutes of stroking the soft fur of her companion (and the never leaving face of the Commander), she managed to fall asleep.

Not so surprisingly after the events of the evening, her dreams were, yet again, filled with a certain clone commander. Only difference is that now, they were a bit cleaner. She got a look at his armor, and she got the feeling that he was very high in rank and respect. And was radiating exhaustion. Like a lot of it. His whole being was utterly spent.

When the alarm had woken her, she herself felt like she had not slept at all. This kind of Force-plaguing fatigue had the trait of being infectious. She slowly sat up, trying to at least get functional for the few minutes of changing the fluid pack. Quickly throwing a robe onto her as a protection from the cold of waking, she made her way out from her personal room, and into the small patient ward. 

The clone, thank the Force, was still sound asleep on the cot right where she left him. His face was still pale in the dim white light, but was almost back to its natural color, his features relaxed and peaceful. She couldn’t regulate herself, and smiled softly at the sight, as the warmth in her belly flared up once again. She sighed, made a face palm at her impossible situation, then forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. Again.

 As intended there was only a few more drops left from the first pack of fluids. Before changing though, Lasha got her scanner out to do a vital check. This time she took in the readings much more satisfied. He could still use that second dose of sodium lactate, but they were back within normal range.

Putting the device back in its place, she made quick work of the bag change. She did not really have to worry about waking her patient given that the light dose of midazolam was still actively keeping him under, but she couldn’t help herself and was more careful than actually needed. She just felt that she must be tender and careful, measuring all of her soft movements, her hands lingering a bit more on the clone’s arm than necessary.

I don’t even know this man! she grumbled in her head when she, yet again, became aware of her own actions. She sure would need a lot of time and meditation to figure this out and accept it. She had great trust in the Force, knew that it would not want her anything bad, but still. Her situation was absurd. This was a strange man, who she had found in an alleyway. Unconscious and bleeding out, and she just did her duty as with any other being, any other clones, for that matter! And yet here she was, feeling like she had always known him, and was the safest person she had ever met without even exchanging a word! 

As for the hundredth time in the last few hours, she let go of her confusion and anxiety with a deep breath, patted the arm of her patient and went back to bed.

The rest of the night had passed surprisingly quiet. Not even dreams had appeared, none at all. When Lasha woke up to her alarm yet again, she felt remarkably well rested. As she positioned herself on the side of her bed, she took a moment to think. Maybe the Force had decided to have mercy on her, sparing her both from the dreams and the overwhelming fatigue they brought with themselves. She smiled to herself content with this turn of events. 

Despite yesterday's happenings she felt strangely positive and excited. Naturally she was still stunningly confused and she knew she would need a lot of time and probably a long talk with her former master to process this fully, but somehow she felt energized and a bit rejuvenated. 

Preparing herself for the day, she made a big stretch with all four of her limbs and quickly made a mental plan for herself about the morning, going through her tasks, before actually enacting them. 

After quickly changing from her night clothes, she emerged into the ward to detach the, by now, almost empty bag of fluid, but she had left the cannula in, just for safety. She’d remove it, when the clone had fully woken - he was still deeply asleep. The effects of the sedative should wear down by the time she’d be done with her morning errands. Taking a quick glance on her patient, she happily noted that the color had now fully returned to his face, and the bacta patches had stayed in place. The poor man had probably not been moving around too much in his, well, not entirely natural slumber. 

Having her check concluded, Lasha went on and comfortably got her usual morning things done, while keeping an “eye” on him with the Force for the entire time. She did not want him to wake up with herself not being there and just leave. Yes, this had happened before with other clones. Sometimes she felt like those idiots would do anything to not come face-to-face with a medic. 

When she appeared out of her ‘fresher after taking a quick shower, Butternut was already waiting for her just outside the door. He knew exactly, that after the shower, came his favorite thing - breakfast (okay, all meals were his favorite, but the night was the longest time he had to go without food, so breakfast was his favorite of the favorites). It was a literal agility check to make the short way from the refresher when the little creature constantly wiggled around and under your legs, making the cutest of little begging noises in the process. As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, firstly she swiftly presented the oh so wanted meal, then much more lazily made herself a cup of warm tea. 

With the whole of her routine completed in the ordinary rhythm, with the mug in hand, she made her way back into the ward. The commander was still in the same position she had left him after getting him off the fluids, however, she could feel him very slowly getting closer to consciousness. Calculated she smiled to herself, carefully sitting on the cot right next to his hip, occasionally taking a sip of her warm liquid.

It took only a few more quiet minutes of drinking tea (she was just at the half of the mug), when the first wrinkles of wakefulness appeared on his face, and his calm and slow breathing started to pick up a bit. She did not engage, just sat in complete silence, mug loosely cradled on her lap, observing.

The first prominent movement he made was scrunching up his face, and lifting his right arm towards his injured shoulder, but let out a plaintive huff when he felt the cannula in the crook of his elbow, making his brow furrow further. He abandoned the movement and his arm plopped down onto his midsection. Which was still covered in the unnecessarily soft and fluffy blanket. There was a pause. Then a few stroking movements on the fabric. Then a brow that furrowed even deeper - now he was full on grimacing both in pain and utter confusion, which Lasha found so incredibly cute and funny she actually had to gather her strength in order not to puff out a laugh. 

After a good few seconds of grimacing he finally opened his eyes, looking at the ceiling, carefully inspecting, what looked like, every bit of imperfection or spider web, or anything, blinking slowly in concentration. The analysis of the ceiling did not get the preferable results it seemed, because in the place of the previous focus, the scowl of bemusement returned and after a second seemingly all his muscles tensed up. He probably figured out that he did not recognize the place where he was. It was time to intervene.

“Good morning, Commander” Lasha softly addressed her patient, to which he visibly startled and snapped his gaze into the direction of the voice - and found a stranger. His eyes widened in surprise, and his first instinct was to try and sit up (and presumably get out of here as fast as possible). The Jedi swiftly reached out with her left hand and by his good shoulder, gently but firmly, pressed him back onto the bed before so much as his scapulas could leave the sheets.

“Don’t get up yet!” She ordered him, which earned her a disapproving stare. “You’re safe here. You’ve been shot with a slugthrower yesterday night, while on patrol, I assume.” At that, he tried to sit up again, opening his mouth to speak, but Lasha, her hand still on his shoulder, did not let him. “Yes, you’ve slept through the night. You needed it. Really needed it. And that too” She glanced towards the cannula still securely in his arm, then up at the now empty fluid bag on the IV pole, next to the cot. The trooper followed her line of sight and made a face. “You have been as dehydrated as a desert upon the bloodloss.” She told him, looking into his face for a moment with narrowed eyes. 

“Who are you?” He demanded instead of any reaction to his current state, glaring first at her hand that still lingered on his bare shoulder, and then squarely in the face, intimidatingly. At that, the Jedi sighed guiltily, removed her hand from him and instead cradled her, now almost empty, mug of tea in her lap, looking down at it. 

“My name is Lasha Kahli. ” She answered her tea. “I’m a medic. I’ve had a few run-ins with your brothers before, so you may have heard my name before.” She looked up at his face. “You had managed to collapse a few meters from my backdoor, that’s how I’ve found you.” His expression was still stern, but she could feel through the Force, that he was no longer so worked up, as upon waking, now that he made sure no one was about to kill him in the next second.

She felt eyes on her, and noticed that he was watching her intently. Not really her face or so, but he was seemingly analyzing again, now her appearance. His gaze first got stuck on her robes for a few seconds, then started wandering lower, reaching her belt and, finally, it fixated on her bronze hilted saber, which was dangling at its usual place on the right side of her hip. After an embarrassing few seconds of medication clogged processing, his eyes widened for a brief second, then his professional mask immediately slipped into place, and he started to straighten up once more, but yet again, couldn’t beat the medic-jedi reflexes, and was pressed into place.

“Please don’t, you do not have to, I’m no part of the GAR. I’m not your superior, I’m just a civilian, who likes to help people” she smiled sheepishly trying to convince him that ranks did not matter to her at all. 

“With all due respect General, all the Jedi are generals” He answered, still in his professional mode, muscles rigid under her palm. Lasha sighed sensing her defeat. She did not give up on her goal, though.

“Then, Commander, my order is to relax, and treat me like you’d treat any other civilian.” She stated in a fake, too serious tone. She got a glare as an answer. “Please, this place should be one, where everyone can feel safe. Including you, and your brothers.” She begged as a last resort, squeezed his shoulder a bit, then let go physically. With the Force though, she tried to radiate calmness and safety, hoping that he could feel it through the bond.

After about a minute of silence, he finally let out a big sigh, and let his head fall back on the thin pillow of the cot, and groaned out a word she was not familiar with. She smiled to herself at her little win, and did not prod the topic further.

With his head now cleared a bit, he started to assess his situation. He carefully lifted his right arm again, now fully aware of the offending equipment in it, prodding at the bacta patch on his left shoulder. He made a small grimace in pain, and asked “How bad?”

“You’ve been lucky. Clean through-and-through, without much internal damage. Had to fix a small cut on your artery though. But nothing lasting. Using the patches, and making sure it won’t tear” she shot him a stern look right into the eyes, and emphasized the second half of the sentence “the stitches can be removed in a week, and you’ll be as good as new”. She finished.

“Removing the stitches?” he questioned with a narrowed look, a wave of displeasure radiating off of him, already opening up the patch to peak under it.

“The wounds were too small for subcutaneous stitches. Had to do it the traditional way. I know you guys prefer the former, sorry” she replied factly, sending an apologetic smile his way. 

After having had a look at the stitches, he gave a short nod and layed the bacta patch back into its place. Declaring this matter taken care of, he went for the next, and squinted at the cannula. “What about this?”

“Wanted to leave it in until you had fully woken” she informed him. “I can get it out now”. 

“Please” he affirmed, and she nodded in answer and got up from the cot to get rid of her now empty mug, and to retrieve some cotton pads, a roll of cohesive bandage and a pair of scissors. 

Upon arriving back to her patient, she reached her hand out, and the clone obediently placed his arm in it. While making quick work of removing the cannula, she told him “I’ve used a bigger sized needle so I could give you the fluids a bit faster. That means a bigger wound. So I’m gonna put a bandage on it. You’ll just have to leave it there for about 30 minutes. Good?” She could, yet again, feel a bit of displeasure in the Force, but he still nodded in affirmation. 

“Okay, that’s it, then.” Lasha had told him after finishing up the bandage. “I’ll fetch you your armor, I’m sure you would like to leave. But” she made an emphasis here “I’ll ask you to comm a brother to pick you up.” To that, he immediately opened his mouth to start arguing, but she held up a hand “I have given you sedatives for the night. You look like someone who can take care of themselves, but currently you're still under the influence of the med and that would give your opponent an unfair advantage. And we are not on the upper levels.” 

“I was in worse shape before and managed just fine. I don’t need an escort, sir” he argued anyway. Maker, clones are so incredibly stubborn she fumed in her thoughts. She almost shot back another reasonable and logical argument, when an idea struck her.

“You know what?” she asked and earned herself a half-raised eyebrow and a questioning look, so she continued “If, without any aid, you are able to reach that door” and she pointed to the entrance of the ward in the room’s other end “you are free to go on your own. If I need to catch or aid you, you call a brother. What do you say?” She presented her fabulous idea.

To that, a sassy, barely visible half smiley presented itself on the clone’s face, eyes glinting with determination. That’s it! They can’t say no to a challenge! she tried to conceal her amusement, managing to stop herself from slowly shaking her head. 

He hadn’t even answered, but started to sit up on his bed and tug the blanket off of himself.

“Wow, wait a minute!” She quickly intervened. “Let me at least put a sling on, before you tear my stitches.”  

“So I have only one working arm?” he grumbled, his legs dangling from the cot.

“You only have one working arm!” She shot back, starting to lose her cool. She nearly never lost it. Before he could put his legs down, she reached out her arm and called a sling to herself with the help of the Force and quickly put it around the neck of her patient, holding him in place with it for a moment of glaring. After a sigh, he tried to lift his wounded arm for her, and failed at it, frowning in offense. The Jedi just gave him a knowing look to that, and carefully inserted the arm into the equipment. 

Lasha took a step out of the way, but was concentrating with all her senses on the commander, to make sure he would not injure himself further by stumbling immediately. He had the intelligence of carefully lowering himself and using the bed as a stable point. He was probably much more dizzy and weak than he had let on. He was hiding it pretty well though, one must give credit for that. 

Being able to use only one arm, it took him a few moments to get fairly steady on his feet. Which were, of course, also significantly wobbly. He made a face of displeasure again, then carefully started to take a step, good arm still on the cot for support. With this method, he managed to reach the end of the bed, where he took a bit of time, most likely planning his next move, now that he had run out of additional support. After a deep breath he met the challenge head on and started to measurely put one booted foot in front of the other.

Lasha was watching still from beside the cot, arms crossed, instincts on edge, but she wore a quite amused expression. This one had a good amount of determination to himself, that's for sure. She almost started to worry that this hadn’t been such a good idea and he would easily overexert himself on this short track.

He was about at the half of his journey for the desired destination of the ward door, already panting, when suddenly his legs tangled and gave out, and his face started its way to meet with floor, but abruptly stopping, suspended midair, as there was a Jedi already being ready for something like this to happen. 

He was frozen in place just for that short time of quick strides Lasha had made to meet and help him stand steady once more. As she carefully guided him back to the bed, one hand across his back, the other grabbing his good arm in support, she whispered a barely audible “I won” which resulted in a disapproving grunt from the commander. 

When he was safely sitting on his butt, and she made sure he wouldn’t fall again, as promised, she started to get his pieces of armor out of the locker in the corner of the room, the first being the vambrace which had the comm unit in it. She had the thought that he could check on it while the remaining pieces of plastoid were being presented. 

“Oh, and” she suddenly called midwork, and turned a sheepish face in the direction of her patient “tell anyone who’s coming to bring another piece of upper blacks. I may have had to cut that into pieces” she delivered that kind of important info elongating the “I”.

His fingers froze above his communicator, frowned, made eye contact, then the question “You did what?” slipped out of his mouth following with throat clearing and a “sir”.

“Yet again, sorry, but a piece of cloth was not my priority when a patient of mine was actively bleeding out on my medical cot” she commented scrunching her eyes, pointing to the still present patches of blood on the cot, and started to wonder whether he was this clueless about medical protocols, the midazolam messed with his head, or he just liked to hold people accountable for every small nuance. Or all of the above. He was no simple case, that was for sure. 

His response was a very prominent huff of air this time. How talkative she mused and finished stacking the armor neatly on the bed beside its owner. Surveying the pieces she took note of the dried blood still present on them too, ruining the neat painting. Thinking for a few seconds, she came up with an idea. It was already her plan not to leave the clone alone until his escort arrived, and now she had just the reason for that. 

“Would you like me to clean the gear?” So she softly inquired with a kind smile. The question visibly caught him off guard, as he suddenly picked his head up from his work on the comm, making a face like he was not believing what he just heard: eyebrows slightly pulled up beneath the curls, and mouth just a tad bit open. 

After the initial surprise he promptly pulled himself together arranging his face and swallowed upon closing his lips. 

“That is not your job, sir, you’re a medic.” He stated, the previous surprise making his voice a little bit less serious than intended. 

“My job is to help and care. In any way. And I would like to. You only have one arm, we can do it together” She offered with a knowing smile. 

To this, came a sigh and a whisper of okay, as he gave his attention back to his comm, and, barely even noticeable, but the corner of his lips twitched into a shadow of a small smile just for a fraction of a moment.  Also, he radiated genuine confusion into the Force, which made Lasha become somber. How often did the clones get offered genuine care? The question filled her mind as she made her way into the kitchen to get some clothes for the cleaning. 

Upon her return, the commander was already sitting cross legged on the bed, leaning above and inspecting the first bit of plastoid, his white chestplate, that had suffered the most of the results of his bleeding. Clothes in one hand and a spray bottle of hyperol in the other, Lasha seated herself on the opposite side of the pile of gear, matching the clone’s stance. She handed him the rug, and grabbed the chestplate holding it out for him. 

“This” she placed the bottle at his knee “is hyperol. Great for getting rid of blood”. The commander nodded, and like this, they made their way through all the pieces that needed cleaning in silence. Lasha was helping to keep them in place, and was rotating them if needed, and he took care of the actual removal of the blood. It was not an uncomfortable silence though - they just did not feel the need to talk, concentrating on the task at hand instead. She was not bothered by this kind, and it felt like he wasn’t either. She could actually get the impression of contentment from him in the Force, and that made her feel comfortable as well.

They were in the middle of cleaning the last part when a ring interrupted them. 

“Oh, someone’s at the door” Lasha announced “I’ll be back in a minute” He responded with a “Mhm” so she got up, and hurried out of the ward and into the waiting area where the main door led to. She glanced at the display beside the entrance that revealed a Guard member with wings on his helmet. He got here fast! she thought and pushed the button that swung the door open with a whoosh.

“Hey there!” She greeted the newcomer. “Here for the Commander, I guess?” she smiled. 

“Ma’am” the clone saluted “Precisely. And good to see you in person! I’ve heard a lot about you!” he chimed in a cheery voice.

“Is that so?” she almost giggled a bit flustered.

“You’ve patched up a few of my men before. Commander Thorn at your service, sir” he saluted again, and stood at attention. 

“Ah yes, I’ve heard of you! Please, at ease, and come on in!” She gestured inside as she got out of the way, so Thorn could make his way from the street. He nodded as a thanks and made his way inside, though still in parade rest. 

The Jedi closed the door and followed him, while saying “Please, relax! I don’t expect formalities, especially here.” To that, he halted on his steps and turned back to her, tilting his helmeted head a bit. 

“I’ve heard that you’re not really into the military formalities, but I did not want to rush into things. Thank you!” He replied, his voice though modulated, it sounded kind and happy. “May I?” He questioned gesturing to his helmet. 

  “Why, of course!” She quickly encouraged him with a bright smile, so he went further with his gesturing hand and got rid of his bucket, attaching it to his belt. Underneath sat a bright and happy face, his eyes radiating joy. On both sides, on his cheeks were a pair of tattoos which depicted something resembling two red claw marks, stretching a bit with his smile. On his chin sat a small patch of beard that matched the color of his dark hair, that was held together in a bun on the back of his head, although a few escaped, and too short curly strands had given him a bit of a messy look. 

“Please feel comfortable, Thorn!” Lasha told him happily with a smile. 

“As you wish, sir!” He grinned and jokingly bowed. 

“With that. Lasha will do just fine I don’t really like the “sir” thing, I’m not your superior”

“Well okay, then, Lasha!” he chimed. Now at last someone who can ease up a bit! she cheered in her head.

“Come on, the Commander’s in the ward, back there!” She waved in the direction of the door and began to lead her guest. “Oh, and” she smiled up to the clone beside her, sheepishly “I hope you got the message about the destroyed blacks.” 

He kept eye contact for a moment. Then burst out laughing with his head tilted back, hands on his belly and everything, like she had just said the funniest thing he’d heard that day. Lasha’s cheeks flushed with red at that turn of events and embarrassedly rubbed at her neck the sheepish smile still on her face. 

“Oh no, I’m sorry” Thorn quickly reassured right after he could take a breath again. “It’s not you, I can just see Fox’s face at that info” he giggled again. “I’m sure he was so happy! I got the blacks for him” and he waved towards one of his red pouches

“That is for sure!” She calmed down from her bashfulness and made a small chuckle. “I almost thought he was angry at me, given his reaction.” She made a small pause, then added, a touch more quietly “Ah-hah, so that is his name” 

“Wait what” he stopped, a step away from the door “He hadn’t told you his name? I thought you preferred our names?” he looked at her, baffled.

“Oh, that is absolutely correct. He’d just never introduced himself. I assumed his rank from his kamas.” To this revelation, Thorn made a huff and said something in another language - mando’a, probably, but she did not speak that. 

“That is so him. I’m sorry if he was being rude. He can appear quite icey, but he’s a good man” he said apologetically, love radiating off of him in the Force. A gentle smile appeared on her lips at the feeling. 

“Yeah” she sighed and continued in her mind I can feel that he’s a good one. Unconsciously her hand moved to her belly that was still enveloped in the warmth of the commander.

“By the way, he is our marshal commander, in case he also forgot to mention that.” That honestly surprised her. She could feel, last night, that he was high in rank, but the highest ranking clone on the planet? That’s just. Wow

“Well yes, he certainly did not mention anything like this. I’ve been calling him “Commander" and he seemed fine with it.” She replied, astonished. After a few moments of processing this information, moving on from her surprise, she chuckled “Well it is a good thing he decided to collapse before my door, then! Let’s not make him wait though, I think he’s grumpy enough already!”

Thorn nodded with a grin, and took a step out of the way, and gestured to Lasha to be the first one through the door, so she opened it with the panel, and stepped into the room, the clone trailing right behind her. 

Fox - as she’s just been made aware of - was still sitting on the cot in the same position, only now he was trying to make the final touches on his pauldron keeping it mostly in place with his shin and wiping it with the rag in his right hand. At the sound of the door whooshing however, he paused in his work, and lifted his glance at them, one of his eyebrows climbing up on his forehead. 

“This place is much bigger than I’d initially thought” he commented, eyes scanning both of them. 

“Good morning to you too, brother!” Thorn completely ignored the remark and heartily greeted the commander, beelining to his bed. “How are we feeling today?” 

“Just give me my shirt!” the other grunted in response. 

“Okay, someone’s really grumpy this morning” Thorn noted but reached into his pocket and handed the black top piece to his brother, who snatched it out of his hands and promptly started to peel his sling off. And immediately scrunched his face at the attempt. 

“If you clones could be just a bit less stubborn, my life would be so much easier” Lasha grumbled as she swiftly made her way to interrupt the commander in his stupidity. “Let me help you with that, by the good Force, please!” She begged, her voice gradually shifting from annoyance to softness with each word, the last merely being a sigh.

This seemingly made her patient soften, at least a bit, as he stopped with his struggling, his shoulders dropped, and he made an audible exhale. 

“May I?” She queried kindly, and reached out with her left hand, signaling Fox to scoot over to the edge of the bed. After a moment of hesitation - or because of the increased processing time due to the sedative - he did oblige, and made himself sit in front of Lasha, legs dangling. “Thank you” she mumbled as she gently got hold of his left arm, holding it in place while she slid the sling first off his arm, then from around his neck, finally she laid the cloth next to him on the blanket. 

Next, she carefully let go of his bad arm, and pointed his attention to the bandaged other. “I’m gonna see if I can get this off” she announced the nature of her actions and tenderly took hold of said arm in his right one, the left slowly removing the cohesive bandage, then waiting for a good handful of seconds making sure there was no more bleeding from the small wound. Satisfied, she let go and concentrated back on the original task.

“Give me the shirt!” She instructed him sternly but tenderly, to which he, yet again, complied. “First I’m gonna put your left arm in, then around the neck, then good arm. Okay?” He silently nodded, and let her go through the process, aiding when necessary but not interfering with her, and together they made quick work of putting the garment on. 

“Now, wasn’t it better this way?” She smiled at him, a bit cocky. He did not respond, but she could catch that small twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. And actual gratefulness in the Force! The warmth spread from quietly sitting in her belly to fully enveloping her whole being, with such intensity it took a great effort not showing it (however she was almost positive that her cheeks went red which put an additional layer of embarrassment on top).

“Need help with the armor too?” She asked, hurriedly changing the topic before the situation became even worse. 

“I can..!” He instantly started the protest, but a knowing look from the Jedi made the words die in his throat. She did not even have to utter a single word, a few seconds of intense glaring made the clone slump again in submission. 

To this twist, Lasha felt a wave of utter disbelief hit her through the Force from the back. By the vibe of it, Thorn was actively trying to figure out if he was dreaming or not, or something very similar could have been playing in his head at that moment. The feeling almost made her laugh out loud, but at least it boosted her confidence a bit - it was probably much harder getting through the stubbornness of the commander on a normal day.

Once more, putting the pieces on went in a silent and compliant process thus making it easy and fast apart from the few pauses due to the moving of painful areas. Even with this slight hindstep she knew that it was much more efficient and comfortable with her help than it would have been without and that made her more than happy. As a last step, she went ahead and placed the sling back in its place on her patient, kindly smiling at him as a hint of displeasure reached her.

“I know you do not like the restriction, but if you use it for a few days, you will heal much faster and will be able to return to active duty sooner, which, I guess, is what your goal is” she addressed him with a squeeze on his - now mostly armored - right shoulder. He made a silent nod as an answer. “Okay” she mumbled, then turned around and went for the medicine cabinet grabbing some mid-dosage paracetamol tablets and a zip bag she could measure them into. He counted the amount needed for the next week (and a few extra, in case) and scribbled “Fox’s painkiller”, and the active agent and dosage (in case their medic asked) on the bag with a matching-red pen, and also grabbed a pack of bacta patches. She walked back to the clones (Fox was now standing, helmet readily in her hand, beside Thorn, who looked ready to catch him, if he even made a strange move), and extended the little bag of pills and the pack towards Fox. 

“This is some painkiller. Take one each morning for a week, and there are a few extras if it becomes worse. And the others are bacta patches - change those daily!” Then she turned to Thorn. “Watch him on your way, not even half an hour earlier his face almost met with my floor” she warned him light heartedly, which got a snort of suppressed laugh out of the other commander and a cheerful “Yes ma’am” with a salute. To this interaction Fox only grimaced, which made Thorn’s smile grow even wider. And that, of course, had earned himself a stern look, so he cleared his throat.

“Thank you for scraping our Marshal Commander off the ground, Lasha. I’ll make sure he stays in one piece” he said half jokingly, but she could feel the honest appreciation and sincerity behind those words, which made her smile from her heart. 

The said marshal commander let out an annoyed huff and determinedly started to stride towards the exit, when he, yet again, staggered on his feet, but Thorn was expecting something just like this, and was ready to catch his CO. As he was stable, Thorn gave him a look, made a gesture to balance him into place by squeezing both of his arms, looked at Lasha with a grateful smile, saluted, then walked out of the ward door, leaving the two of them alone. 

Now this she could not place. She looked questioningly at Fox, who was currently intently watching his boots and rubbing the back of his neck with his unscathed hand, but after a long minute in silence he lifted his gaze in her direction. 

“I really should be grateful for you” he admitted “I’m sorry. You did save me, and I was a ” And he used mando’a again, that she did not understand. I need to ask them to teach me, next time I meet a clone. He really was radiating regret, so in order to counter that, she sent calmness and lightness towards him. 

“It’s okay!” She assured him, taking a step closer, now standing face to face (though she had to be looking up because of the height difference between them). “You had woken up in a fully unknown place with a stranger, while being vulnerable and full of sedatives. I do not blame you, I would have also been pissed, probably.” She made a joke to ease his nerves a bit, however, to give more emphasis on her sincerity, she gently took hold of his right bicep.  “No harm has been done. And if it had been, you’ve certainly made up for it with you honesty”

He straightened into attention, the mask of professionality slipping into place and spoke “Thank you, sir!” Lasha could only sigh at that. 

“Just promise me that you’ll take care of your wound and my stitches, and take it easy before they are removed. And I told you to ease up, I don’t even know where this suddenly came from.” She gestured to him, made a pause, then added, smiling “And please, let me escort you to the door”

He did manage to relax a bit, though his face stayed in the same blank expression. If I see him again, I’ll make it my life goal to get him to relax! she thought, and after a confirming nod they strolled to the door, where she made sure Thorn was still there when she said her goodbyes.  

To her surprise, the warm feeling had stayed with her long after he was gone. A bit less intensely, she was able to feel the distance, but it became a steady and reliable source of warmth and security in the broody middle levels of Coruscant.

PS: Naturally, on their way back to the headquarters, Thorn had scolded Fox for being a shabuir to the nice lady, and had teased him for weeks because how easily she had “tamed” him, which Fox, of course, just blamed on the drugs, and absolutely ignored the strangely good feeling that had arisen in his gut on that day, and was there ever since. 

[that-gay-jedi]

The thing that literally ALL of these debates about who gets to survive a lightsaber stab and who doesn't and where and why are ignoring is that A LIGHTSABER WOUND SHOULD COOK YOU FROM THE INSIDE. It doesn't matter if you were hit somewhere totally non-essential, the heat transfer rapidly spreading catastrophic temperatures through essential tissues is going to happen either way. This is also why Anakin probably shouldn't still have his eye (or half his face and brain tbh) but it has to be a lightsaber burn instead of a laceration because George Lucas personally hates me.

[errantindy]

Yeah, that’s how I figure stims are too. Some adrenaline like substance mixed with a curative agent like kolto (I think kolto can be injected…and I’m pretty sure bacta isn’t.)

I like to think that the stim canisters in Jedi Fallen Order make Cal stim a bit after taking them. (for reference I am autistic and I just think that would be really cute and silly and wholesome)

stims definitely have a shitload of adrenaline so I think you could be righthowever I reckon it's less Cute Stimming and more:

[jedi-starbird]

The JA books and subsequent woobification of padawan Obi-Wan have people overlooking a key fact, which is the innate ability of all 14 yr olds to immediately lock onto your deepest insecurities and fucking eviscerate you. You look at TCW Obi-Wan's bitchiness and tell me he did not have this ability but dialled up to 11 cause he's also a psychic force-sensitive.

I fully believe padawan Obi-Wan was terrorising Qui-Gon, the reason that man's always running ahead and leaving his padawan behind is because he's avoiding having to explain his life choices to the galaxy's most judgemental teenager. Initiate Obi-Wan is aggressive, padawan Obi-Wan is passive-aggressive.

[vivaislenska]

Oops this is happening 😳. Sorry that I keep posting wips (blugh and scheduled ones, no less), but HE is constantly on my brain! !!

TBB S3 Spoiler comment: Because the “shadow” took a ROYAL beating in 3x7, and if “The damage [Echo] sustained on Skako Minor most likely wiped out all of [his] preset behavioral modifications,” then maybe… just maybe X trooper training won’t stick … my tinfoil hat is vibrating 🙏🏼😬.

[bethanydelleman]

Modern medicine today: we diagnose men 4x faster than women with the same disease and we can only estimate baby size with an error of about 1.5 pounds (that's a massive margin since most babies weigh like 6 pounds)

Star Wars medicine: we can save a man from dismemberment and body-covering burns but this woman is dying in childbirth and we have no ideas.

Yeah, sorry, it checks out.

[sleepingsun501]

Alright so will Tech’s fractured femur heal as fast as his hair grows (literally overnight)?

FIND OUT NEXT WEEK (and also let my nerd boy have his mohawk back it was a good look)

[clonehub]

probably this goes without saying, but I think they have actual full blown doctors on Kamino. not just to take care of the clones (maybe they'd be the kaminoans themselves) but also for the medics. idk. maybe this is just me indulging my interest in medicine, but i really like the idea of clone cadet medics doing things like surgical rotations and learning about more than just field medicine. i feel like they'd have the time for it, you know? their time across their whole lives is divided differently. they can learn faster and start earlier, too.

[archeo-starwars]

Star Wars Jango Fett (2024) Issue #2

[theartgremlin]

“Come now, baby sister. Aren’t you curious in the least about your role in all this? The Kaminoans had a very special plan for you…”

For this, the month of spooks and frights, have some Imperial Tech on Mt. Tantiss horror. Happy Halloween and sweet dreams >:)

[intermundia]

i'm curious, have you ever talked here about your opinions on star wars' politics and the jedi involvement with it? if not then i'm very curious about your thoughts on it. i understand star wars' politics are quite basic and non-radical (republic good dictatorship bad) and i don't necessarily disagree with it but i wonder if the jedi shouldn't have been more involved and possibly more radical (to the left) instead of just, idk, not giving their two cents on it. i know it's a hot take but it seems to me they would benefit more if they were more into politics. i would love to know your thoughts on it.

So, I think the answer depends on if you want a Watsonian or Doyalist explanation. If we’re looking though the lens of fictional in-universe reasons, we know that the Jedi HAVE tried being directly involved with running the government—it led to thousands of years of destructive civil war in the galaxy, with splinter groups of dark side users attempting to seize supreme executive power, and the Jedi militant about preventing it. They willingly surrendered power to the representatives of the people of the galaxy for a reason, not out of negligence or indifference to galactic suffering, and we should always remember the history.

The Jedi chose to work inside the guiding structure of a sovereign civic government, outside the Order and answerable to the people as a check on their power, as they are not democratically elected. It takes strong democratic civic institutions to fight against greedy corporate ownership of society. Would the Jedi’s direct, undemocratic lobbying or enforcement have been enough to change the minds of everyone and reinforce community bonds? I simply don't think it would, and the risks of them trying are unacceptably high. The Jedi are powerful Force users, and that’s always relevant to consider.

You have to be careful when what you Can do becomes what you Should do becomes what you Must do, despite any collateral damage, especially when the range of your potential is broad. The Jedi know intimately that the more powerful you are, the easier it is to feel entitled to interfere and impose your own judgement, which is dangerous, as it will always be based on partial information and informed by unconscious bias. If you do not stay impartial or only help in limited ways, you can begin to lose your sense of perspective. It is also a self-reinforcing behavior, and the consequences rise for getting pulled into a control loop that dives into the dark side out of greed can lead to considerable fallout for you and society.

You can easily begin with good intentions but be corrupted over time by even the smallest original selfish impulses snowballing on each other when the consequences don't stop you but instead encourage you to further exert control. There’s a children's story about not giving a mouse even one cookie, because it will always take more afterward. The wisdom of the Jedi is in their restraint. It may seem frustrating that they don't interfere whenever and wherever they see fit, accepting that they cannot stop some particular injustices, because their intentions are to prevent a worse evil from happening later.

It's hard to appreciate counterfactuals, like yeah the galaxy fell after a thousand years, but we have no way of knowing what suffering would exist in those same thousand years if the Jedi had not surrendered large parts of their political discretion to the Republic. When they did, there followed a golden age of peace that it flourished for a long time before undergoing a crisis where a Force user took over again, before returning to civic governance with a New Republic. If we look to the OT and beyond, that's what the division of Luke and Leia represent, in a way. Leia has a different perspective and priorities and channels of power. Luke should be a warrior monk who occasionally touches the divine in his quest for peace, not involved in politics.

If we’re looking at it through the lens of the author, I think you have to resist the urge to try to make the Jedi into some real-world equivalent religious paramilitary force, or leftist group despite caring a great deal for those values. You have to remember that it's space opera, it's myth. They're theatrical characters demonstrating the ideal of public service without recompense, an impossibly good group of people with legitimate and earned moral authority, who act in the best interest of peace and collaboration, as inspiration to children to model in their interior lives and moral understanding of the world. They're conceptual of pro-social hopeful generous spirit in our hearts, glorious moral knights with glowing swords, not politicians at desks yk.

They're an icon of something that every person can choose to do in their own lives, not just something we can demand from public servants. I know this may be a bit unsatisfying intellectually, but you have to keep the genre of Star Wars in mind, the space opera has mythic logic and operates in the realm of symbolism. When Lucas uses scientific sounding and political sounding language, he's still trying to communicate with the 10-year-olds who don't care about the complexities and nuances of the real world. It's about narrative shorthand and moral signaling that symbiosis, mutual thriving through selflessness, is better than greed, selfishness, and cruelty. That's the genre, you know? Making the Jedi into politicians wouldn't serve the narrative purposes of Lucas's epic story.

[inkyclone99]

Day 7 of @jonadioweek ~ Free Day / Crossover !!!

And Ofc…because I’m bloody weak with my hyperfixes…I HAD to make this a TBB / SW crossover…get ready cuz this one needs some EXPLANATION…

Yes. Dio is a clone trooper, CT-D-10. But obviously he isn’t a Jango Fett clone. He is a unique clone from a deceased Sith Lord, though that’s kept a secret from the Jedi. Although failed to get the midichlorians and after 9 even more failed clones, this one was at least successful with the other set of abilities the Sith had, which made him not-human.

So, when he reached cadet age, he was moved in with the small squad of experimental clones with unique enhanced skills, Clone Force 99, or so called The Bad Batch. He was instantly welcomed in.

Because even if he was so different from any clone, that’s what made the Batch perfect for him. Their differences united them.

So, when the Clone Wars began, the Batch was actually assigned to a Jedi…a very…eccentric one.

A jedi…with a beautiful, sunlight of a padawan. Whom fell in love at first sight with the clone.

Even if he never takes off that helmet, JoJo still knows what she feels for him is love, even with the whole restrictions of the order…

You can hope for a better future for them…

Extra group shot with some more lil armor painting hcs. I’m literally that one meme of care and hcs into one character while others look blank lol but yeah here is the squad

Wonder how Echo will react when he eventually joins in 🫢🤭

And YES this is based off the Etain and Darman illustration <33

[piedaterreincensorshipville]

IMO the way Darth Vader's suit has been treated in modern Star Wars works, and especially in fandom, exposes a pretty significant generational difference in expectations of medical care between modern writers and people from George Lucas' generation.

Lucas described Vader as being in "a walking iron lung". That simile is no accident.

Before the development of the polio vaccine in the 1950s, iron lungs - monstrous tanks enclosing the whole body below head level, which left their users lying flat on their backs and mostly immobilized - were the only means of keeping people alive if polio paralyzed their lungs. Polio was absolutely terrifying, and Lucas grew up in the 1940s and 50s, so he'd have known how feared it was. But until Jonas Salk developed the vaccine, there was no alternative to the iron lung, aside from never catching polio in the first place.

Likewise, although there was medical treatment for burns including the use of skin grafts, extensive burns were very often a death sentence. But since the 1960s, burn treatment has come a long way, allowing patients to survive injuries that at the time of World War II would have been fatal. Silver sulfadiazine was developed in the 1960s as a topical cream used to prevent infection, which revolutionized the survivability of burn injuries. According to this article, in the 1950s, being burned over 50% of the body meant at least a 50% chance of death; by the 1990s, the equivalent burn level for the same odds was 80%.

Vader's suit was conceived with these older standards of medicine in mind: he survived full-body immolation in a way that should by all rights have killed him, and would have, had he not been put in a life-support suit. There was no alternative. His options were the suit or death. 

But these days, medical science has advanced so much that such a drastic intervention being Vader's only option for survival seems unrealistic. Few people remember the days before the polio vaccine or silver sulfadiazine. Iron lungs are no longer even manufactured. So the idea that the best medicine the GFFA can come up with isn't up to 21st century medical levels seems alien to a lot of younger writers. (Especially since the GFFA also has things like seamless prosthetic limbs.)

As a result, there's a perceived need for there to be some explanation for why Vader's suit isn't up to modern standards of care. Which is why we now get the concept of Palpatine deliberately making Vader's suit a torture device, designed to leave him permanently in pain in order to fuel his anger and rage, as well as keeping him from challenging his master. Fandom in particular has taken this idea and run with it, but it also crept into things like the novelization of ROTS, as well as encyclopedia-format "official" SW works coming after that film.

I might also note that Vader being immolated was part of his backstory well before Vader and Anakin were combined into one character. In Lucas' interview in the August 25, 1977, issue of Rolling Stone, he mentions the lava duel but describes it as involving three characters, Vader, Luke's father, and Kenobi. Nonetheless, according to the 1997 Annotated Screenplays book, this didn't stop him from momentarily considering an alternative idea in his second draft of ESB from April 1978 (the same one that more lastingly combined Vader and Anakin), where he mooted the idea that Obi-Wan instead pushed Vader into a nuclear reactor.

[marietheran]

thinking how actual nuns and monks irl will often attend university, habits and all, and now I'm imagining that it's not uncommon to just have a jedi in your classes in star wars, especially on coruscant.

[spacedocmom]

Doctor Beverly Crusher @SpaceDocMom If you think it's okay to bomb hospitals in a war zone where doctors like me are working just because you think some of our patients might be on the other side, there's the door. emojis: Staff of Asclepius, peace symbol, black heart, blue heart, masked 4:36 PM · Nov 16, 2023

[sithexiles]

is it me or do anakin & obi-wan give several jason & bruce vibes?!?! they have father-son relationship, an old man diving into remorse, a young man filled with adoration yet loathe, PTSD in both sides, one of them supposed to be dead then returning as an indomitable beast seeking vengeance