#jedimindfic

[shadowmaat]

Old Friends, part 2

(part 1)

Finding Obi-Wan Kenobi alive and (relatively) well on Tatooine was a surprise, to say the least, but Cody adapted to it well enough.

Not much changed, on the surface of things. He still reported in to Senator Organa, he still helped the local populace when and where he could, and he still moved his quarters every few weeks to make it difficult for anyone- local or Empire- to find him.

It was just that now, Obi-Wan became part of his regular patrol. Most often that meant trekking out to the dusty hut in the Jundland Wastes that Obi-Wan now called home, checking to make sure he was still alive and testing his security measures. Security measures Cody himself had installed, since Obi-Wan seemed content to rely on the Force to protect him. Tsk. Some things never changed.

Occasionally it was Obi-Wan who did the trekking, most often because he needed supplies. Or so he said. That might make sense for Bestine, which was the nearest city to him, but didn't explain his occasional forays into Mos Eisley or even Anchorhead. Cody didn't ask and Obi-Wan offered no explanation, but it made for a nice break in routine. They'd hole up in a cantina or caf shop and have coded conversations of their past.

Obi-Wan was, naturally, curious about why Cody had turned on him; why all the clones had turned on the Jedi. Cody gave him what answers he could, much the same as he had when Organa had asked, but with more regret. "It seemed like the right thing to do at the time" was a weak answer. Even Cody himself had questions about it, but it wasn't like he could go back and change things. He was here, now, and he wouldn't be going back to the Empire. Not that they'd take him; there was a "kill on sight" order in place.

There were times, of course, when Cody was called offworld to deal with some disaster or another of the Rebellion. Sometimes they wanted to pick his brain over military strategy and how troopers fought. Other times it was to participate in raids on supply depots or even the occasional prisoner rescue. Those missions always made the back of his neck itch because he could tell the people with him didn't trust him. Organa's word could only go so far when Cody's own history as an Imperial stormtrooper spoke for itself.

For the most part, Cody bore their suspicions and hostility with understanding. He regretted some of the things he'd done, of course, but he'd also been a soldier, and soldiers were there to follow orders. Until they started asking questions, anyway.

There were only a couple of times where he had to get aggressive; when someone was so ready to fight that no amount of deescalation would work. He put them down fast and made sure they'd be able to get back up again.

Returning to Tatooine was always a strange bit of relief. As a clone trooper, Cody was of the belief that "home" was an idea you carried with you; built into your armor, maybe. But there was something about stepping foot on that arid world and breathing its parched air that gave him a feeling of... belonging.

Obi-Wan was usually nearby when he landed. Cody was reasonably certain it was because Organa told him rather than "the Force," but it still eased his heart to see proof that his ex-General was still alive and hadn't managed to get himself killed in Cody's absence.

"Not dead yet, huh?"

"I'm afraid not." Obi-Wan smiled at him. "How was your trip?"

"A clusterfuck, as usual." Cody headed for a nearby cantina, Obi-Wan keeping pace beside him. "What about you? What krayt's nest did you kick over this time?"

"Whatever makes you think I'd do something like that?"

The innocence in his tone was polished to a shine. Cody snorted.

"Because I know you."

Obi-Wan sniffed as Cody ordered their drinks, heading for a dark table in the back.

"I'll have you know I was on my best behavior while you were gone. Nothing happened."

The fading bruise at his temple and the scrapes on his knuckle told a different story, but Cody let it slide. He knew Obi-Wan was keeping something important from him, but it wasn't his place to question it. Either he'd be told when the time was right or he'd never find out at all; Cody was fine with it either way.

For now he was content to simply enjoy his drink and continue to sass his old friend. Storms, it was good to be home.

#jedimindfic #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #if I get around to part 3 I'm gonna AU the fuck out of it

[shadowmaat]

Another title meme prompt for you: "third times the harm" please! All other details are dealer's choice since I'm not sure what would most amuse you

I could go for serious and have a Padmè time loop story where she learns (surprisingly fast) that she can't save Anakin, only kill him and spare the rest of the universe. I'm more in the mood for unadulterated crack, though, so I'll do another Fox story, this time featuring my OC Paperwork (a literal cat).

The first time Paperwork encounters Palpatine is on the lift in the Senate complex. The Chancellor is haranguing Fox about something and Paperwork, as is her wont, strops against him. The Chancellor kicks her, which irritates both Paperwork and Fox, though Fox of course can’t say anything about it.

Palps complains about vermin and then starts coughing and wheezing because it turns out he has a severe allergy to cats. Not much Fox can do about it while they’re stuck in the lift (it’s a public one, so not as fast as the express), but he radios ahead to have a medical team standing by. Paperwork keeps trying to get close to the Chancellor again, but Fox manages to hold her off. The doors finally open and the med team goes to work while Fox spirits Paperwork back to the Guard barracks before Palps can order her destroyed. She isn't allowed to go on patrols with anyone for a while. Rude.

The second time they meet they don't actually meet. Instead Paperwork has managed to wriggle her way into one of Palpatine's secret storerooms. She knocks a dangerous Sith artifact off a shelf, breaking its containment field. Nothing happens to her, but Palpatine finds himself under attack and is barely able to survive it. He's forced to make up a story about assassins in order to explain his injuries (and it's also an excuse to lay blame on the Jedi and the Guard for not doing a better job to protect him). Fox is pissed. Paperwork is mostly just bored; thing go crunch and nothing happens.

The third and final time they meet, she's with Fox again. Palps is in a rush to get back to his office so he can be ready for the Jedi to show up and "arrest" him. He's snapping orders to Fox and not looking where he's going. Paperwork tries to brush against him again, but he's moving too fast and trips. It's only a few stairs down into one of the many "conversation areas," but it's enough. There's an ominous (or satisfactory) crunch and Fox just knows a medical team won't be enough this time. He calls them anyway- after getting one of the other Guards to smuggle Paperwork away from the crime scene and ordering their slicer Wires to edit any footage of her out of the cam footage.

No one would believe that story anyway, so Fox is able to spin up a tale of a poor, besieged Chancellor, exhausted from overwork, stumbling down the stairs to his untimely death.

The Jedi arrive too late to arrest Palpatine, but just in time to help Fox deal with the mess of the Chancellor's death.

#jedimindfic #fic prompt #Commander Fox #Paperwork the Cat

[shadowmaat]

Ok, I'll play. I'm all about song titles as Fic titles, so...

fic title: Black Parade, any pairing. thank you!

Bobadin, Old Guard AU

Start it in the Old Republic days with Din, still taken in as an orphan and raised to be a warrior for the Mandalorian Empire. He survives wars, coups, and purges and goes from thinking he's some incarnation of the kara to thinking he's been cursed. Everyone he's ever loved keeps dying. Every cause he's ever fought for fails.

By the time the Prequels era rolls around he's mostly isolated himself, unable to stand the thought of any more death and heartbreak. It still happens, though, as the Empire rises and Mandalorians are all but wiped out.

He finds one covert alive and does his best to guard them because he doesn't want to be the Last Mando Standing. They're extremists who dislike removing their helmets before strangers, but that suits him just fine: he doesn't want anyone to see his face: there's a chance, however remote, that someone might recognize him from old murals and recordings.

Finding Grogu reignites some spark in his badly-scarred heart. He becomes a little more interested in living again, if only to protect this child. It doesn't take long for him to figure out exactly what Grogu is, and at this point Jedi are as rare as Mandalorians, so he feels a certain kinship that makes him more determined to help.

And then he meets Boba and realizes he's been dreaming of him. They're alike in some way, though Boba insists he isn't a Mandalorian. He does recount a tale of his excruciating and far-too-long stay within the stomach acids of the sarlacc, certain he died over and over again, only to be spat out during the creature's death throes to find himself alive and whole.

Din knows what that means. He isn't sure what to do about it yet, but knowing that finally, after centuries of loss, he's finally found someone like him gives him hope for the future.

#fic prompt #jedimindfic #Din Djarin #Boba Fett #Bobadin #bonus points because Grogu won't have to lose his dads

[shadowmaat]

Mischief and Misinformation, part 4

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

Quinlan Vos was exhausted. His whole body burned with it. Even his locs were tired. But at least the training mission had gone well. There'd barely even been any explosions.

Of course just because the mission was over didn't mean his headaches were.

"But why?" asked an entirely-too-chipper voice behind him.

He bit back a groan. Somewhere in the Temple, he knew his Master was laughing at him.

"Because," he growled at his Padawan.

"Because why?" Aayla asked, unrepentant as always.

She was too old to be in the why stage, but that wasn't stopping her. When he'd asked her why, she'd quoted Master Yoda's bullshit about how Padawans learned from Masters, but Masters also learned from Padawans. The next time he saw the little troll he was going to punt him out the window.

"Because the Force wills it," he said. He couldn't even remember what the original question had been. All he wanted was bed. And a shower. Or maybe drag his bed into the shower.

"Why-"

"The Force wills many things, Knight Vos," interrupted a voice from his nightmares, "But some of them are entirely the fault of younglings with more hubris than sense."

He snapped upright, putting on his best smile.

"Master Nu! What an absolute delight it is to see your lovely young face out of the Archives."

Her look could strip the paint off a star destroyer. He tried to get his sluggish brain to work; had he forgotten to return something? Had Aayla?

"If you'll excuse us, Padawan Secura," Nu said, favoring Aayla with a frosty smile, "I'm afraid your Master and I need to discuss something."

Warning prickled in the Force.

"Actually, Master..." He started to back up. "Aayla was just asking me about some important after-mission procedures-"

"I asked if I could have a tooka," the little traitor interjected.

"Right, the Tooka Initiative, and I was just-"

"QUINLAN VOS YOU ABSOLUTE BAS- BROCCOLI!"

Quin had never been so relieved to see Obi-Wan, even if his friend looked like a human thundercloud.

"Obi-Wan!" Grinning, he made straight for the little storm, preferring it to whatever cataclysm Nu had planned. "Right on time! Always good to see you! Come along, Aayla," he stage whispered before continuing to address Obi-Wan. "Why don't we go catch up over lunch! Dinner? Breakfast! Whatever meal it is!"

"Do NOT think you can charm your way out of this, Vos!" Nu warned behind him.

"Quin, do you have ANY idea how much trouble you've caused me?" Obi-Wan snapped, coming to a halt in front of him.

"Uh, I'm sure this is just some misunderstanding!" Quin raised his hands, his smile growing a little strained.

A crinkle of cellophane had him glancing aside to see Aayla sat on the floor of the hangar, munching from a bag of poppers. Traitor.

"Knight Kenobi," Nu said. "While I appreciate that your grievance is a personal one, may I remind you that it started because Knight Vos sliced my Archive and altered my information?"

Adrenaline was working wonders for his thinking. Slicing the Archive? He hadn't done that since...

"Oh, shit, someone finally found that?" He burst out laughing, ignoring Obi-Wan's hiss and hand-flap at Aayla. She'd heard worse language. Hell, most of it she'd learned from Anakin.

"I'm glad you find the matter of the Archive's security so amusing, Knight Vos."

Nu's tone was so chilly he half-expected his breath to fog.

"Look, I'm sorry, Jo- Master," he corrected, seeing the look in her eye. "That was ages ago and I honestly forgot all about it or I might have corrected it myself."

Not likely, but it was what everyone wanted to hear.

"This isn't about correcting it," Nu said, "it's about you doing it in the first place!"

"Why?"

The question was barely a whisper, but it cut right through his amusement to hit him in the heart. He looked at Obi-Wan and fought the urge to look away again.

His friend's renewed grief was his fault; even if he hadn't intended it, even if he couldn't have known what would happen, he had to own that responsibility.

"I'm sorry, Obes. Truly. I had no idea my little prank would remain undiscovered for so long, or that..."

"Half the Temple now seems to think Master Jinn was some kind of- of irresponsible monster."

Quin winced, moving forward to hug Obi-Wan. "I never liked him, but yeah, he was really good for you. Like, tooth-rottingly good."

Obi-Wan snorted into his shoulder.

"That was half the joke, you know. Everyone back then knew how amazing the two of you were together. If my edits had been found back then it would've been obvious something was wrong."

Small arms hooked around his waist and Obi-Wan's as Aayla joined the hug, her poppers abandoned.

"Life is always in motion, Knight Vos." Master Nu's voice was softer than it had been. "It's always changing, as are we, and what was once common knowledge becomes obscure." She sighed. "It's why the accuracy of the Archives is so important."

Obi-Wan took a shuddering breath and stepped back, looking Quin in the eye. Quin mouthed another apology and he nodded.

"You're assigned to the Archives until I say otherwise," Nu continued. "The damage you did has been fixed, but we're going to go through the whole Archive to see if anyone else took advantage of the security flaw to change our records."

Quin made a face, earning a weak smile from Obi-Wan. Going through the Archives would be so boring, but while he'd never admit it, Master Nu was right; accuracy was important.

"Understood, Master Nu," he said. "I think I may also write up a more truthful account of the Jinn-Kenobi Power Partnership and get it put in the Temple Tracker."

Everyone kept up with the Tracker; the fastest way to disseminate information in the Temple. Other than rumor, itself, which clearly had its downsides.

Nu made a sound of approval. "An excellent idea. See you first thing in the morning, Knight Vos." She paused. "My morning."

Bootheels clicked as she left.

"You know her mornings start at-"

"I know." Quin sighed the sigh of the doomed.

Obi-Wan's smile was a little more solid this time. "I'm still mad at you, you know."

"I know," he said. "And I'm grown up enough to admit I deserve it."

"You? Grown up?" Obi-Wan looked down at Aayla. "Is this true?"

She shook her head. "On Zug he got his head stuck in a-"

"Hey, now," Quin put a hand over her mouth, which did little to stifle her giggles. "Don't listen to her, she thinks black melons taste good."

An indignant squeal answered this.

"Oh, I think the two of us could share some very interesting stories," Obi-Wan said, winking at Aayla.

"No, you couldn't," Quin said, alarmed at the idea of them comparing notes, but relieved that for now, at least, his friend had recovered some of his equilibrium.

Aayla pulled his hand away from her mouth, careful not to touch skin.

"Wanna eat with us?" she asked. "We just got back and I'm tired, but also hungry, and so's Master even though he won't say it."

"Tired, yes. Hungry?" Quin shrugged, but the gurgling of his stomach betrayed him.

The hesitation on Obi-Wan's face melted into amusement.

"I was on my way to grab some caf and a muffin," he said.

"Oh, good!" Aayla reached up, taking his hand and leading him away. "I can tell you all about the tooka Master promised I could get."

"I promised nothing of the sort!" Quin caught up, draping an arm over Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Like I said, nothing but lies from this kid."

"Gee, I wonder where she learned that?"

They were teaming up against him. That spelled trouble for the future, but right now, he was happy to be with two of his favorite people.

#jedimindfic #Quinlan Vos #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Jocasta Nu #Aayla Secura #look Obi-Wan had to course-correct his cussing in a hurry #and since I binged the Gobbelino London books that means vegetables #no baby goats

[shadowmaat]

Old Friends

The thing about the control chips was that once they were activated all they really had to do was rewire the brain. Bypass certain areas/memories, forge new neural pathways to conform with commands, and then just hold together til it settled into place.

It was one final twist of the knife from Palpatine: the chips might have controlled the clones at first, but over time the clones became so used to thinking of the Jedi as traitors and so used to following orders that the chips were no longer required: the clones did all the "thinking" for themselves.

Except there was still a small portion of clones who started to question what they'd "always" known to be true; ones who started to wonder if they really were doing what was best for the galaxy.

Cody was one of those clones. He knew his history and he knew his orders, but something just started to feel... not right. Hadn't there been a time when he'd protected civilians rather than killing them?

Asking questions in the Empire was a dangerous prospect and Cody knew damn well his days were numbered if anyone suspected he was no longer wholly onboard with enforcing the Emperor's will. He did his research and took himself out of the game.

Old habits die hard, though, and he was literally created to be a soldier. He missed it. He needed a purpose. If he couldn't fight for the Empire maybe he could fight for the Rebellion.

It took some time, but eventually he found himself standing before Bail Organa, leveraging what he knew for the chance to put some good back in the galaxy.

Bail was understandably cautious, not only because Cody was a high-ranking death trooper, but because he was Cody. He'd heard stories of the man from Obi-Wan... and heard the tale of Obi-Wan being shot off a cliff by him.

Bail discussed the situation with Breha, wondering what he should do. If Cody's offer was genuine, he'd be an invaluable resource to the rebellion. If he wasn't, it could bring the whole network crashing down.

They decided to give Cody a trial run to see what would happen, but although they'd spoken obliquely and relied on code words lest certain little ears at the dinner table hear and start asking the wrong questions, young Leia laid down her fork, looked Bail in the eye, and said, "you should tell him, Daddy."

That led to a much longer discussion and the revelation that their young daughter had, during her adventures with Obi-Wan, gleaned some understanding of the people who'd once been important to him... and that Cody was one of those people.

In the end, and with no small reluctance, Bail decided to trust his daughter and sent Cody on an intel-gathering mission to Tatooine. He commed ahead and left Obi-Wan a warning about who was coming, why he was being sent, and that any choice to interact or avoid was entirely Obi-Wan's prerogative. Although of course if Obi-Wan was able to get close enough to tell if Cody could be trusted, that would be appreciated.

Cody, for his part, was fine with the mission. It was obvious busywork, but for the purpose of vetting him it worked well enough without putting anyone important in danger.

Tatooine, however, was a wretched place, and the heavy, grabbing hands of the Hutt Cartel could be felt everywhere. While Cody did his best to keep his head down and stay focused on his mission, there came a point where a young slave child was being beaten and between one blink and the next he found himself intervening.

He made short work of the thugs, but although the child was long gone by the time he finished, he still felt a little better for it. It was good to be fighting for a worthy cause again.

One fight led to two, then led to more, and before he knew it he'd developed a reputation. And a name. Tarpuntee. Which was apparently some kind of holy guardian of the people. It was embarrassing as hell, and combined with the head wrap he wore to disguise his identity it made him feel like a character out of those damn comic books Wooley had loved.

Still, the notoriety meant that more of the commoners and slaves were willing to talk to him, so his information-gathering was going well. Perhaps too well. The gossip-mongers told him of strange hermit who occasionally wandered through town for supplies. A hermit called Kenobi.

It was a punch to the chest, realizing he'd failed that mission years ago, but he couldn't say he was sorry, either. He'd developed a strong suspicion that the Jedi weren't traitors like he'd been told and this felt like proof.

Why had Organa sent him here, of all places? He had to have known. Was this part of the test?

He watched. He waited. He fought lowlifes and enforcers. And then one day he caught a glimpse of a hooded face, still recognizable despite the graying of the beard. Great Storms, the man was as subtle as his padawan. He kept the name and the beard? And did nothing to change his features?

Cody followed him, keeping to crowds and what shadows he could find. When he saw his chance, he took it. Grabbing Obi-Wan he hauled him around a corner into a stinking, claustrophobic alley and slammed him against the wall, a vibroblade to his throat.

"You're dead," he snapped.

Faded blue eyes looked down at him, and former General Kenobi smiled.

"Hello to you, too, old friend."

Cody felt a nudge against his ribs and glanced down to see the business end of an unlit saber pressing into his shirt. He snorted, releasing Kenobi and stepping back, the vibroblade disappearing up a sleeve.

"At least you haven't become completely useless," he said.

"And it seems you've found a new use for yourself, Tarpuntee." Kenobi settled his robe, brushing out the wrinkles. "I'm glad to see it."

"Glad to see your stubborn refusal to die hasn't changed either."

A knot of tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying eased in his chest. Maybe there was hope for this mad goal of the rebels after all. As long as the damn fool of a Jedi before him didn't wind up dead before it could happen.

#jedimindfic #commander cody #obi-wan kenobi

[shadowmaat]

Fic title meme: "silver claws or golden spurs" please!

Fox/Kit Fisto in a "you're in the wrong story!" scenario.

Fox is the reluctant sheriff of a small mining town, very much in the style of Support Your Local Sheriff! He's just there making money and biding his time til he can get back home to New Zealand.

Miners have been reporting strange occurrences in the mines and a few of them think the mines are haunted, but Fox is much more concerned about the railroad baron who keeps sending thugs in to damage property and attack townsfolk so he can buy up the land cheap and put in a new rail line.

He's being helped (or as he prefers to think, hindered) by a newcomer named Kit who seems baffled by anything modern but is also relentlessly cheery and likes doing stupid "magic tricks." Fox has to keep dragging him out of some misunderstanding or another and is beginning to think Kit's doing it on purpose just to rile him.

Things come to a head when the baron himself arrives, planning to do away with Fox himself since his minions keep failing and with Fox out of the way no one will be able to stop his railroad empire from rising.

That's when things take a turn for the weird and an iridescent green dragon with silver claws shows up to rescue Fox and help him end the threat of Baron Palpatine once and for all. It turns out the miners were right and there was something deep underground: Kit, who'd gotten stuck there centuries ago and was woken up by the excavations. Kit, who was a goddamn dragon with the ability to shift to human form.

This is NOT the outcome Fox expected. On the plus side, the town now has enough money to really set itself up right and draw in the right kind of people to encourage growth. This is thanks to Kit, who donates his hoard to them, claiming he has others scattered around the planet.

It also means that Fox will have a much easier time getting to New Zealand, provided he's willing to accept Kit's offer.

#fic prompt #jedimindfic #Commander Fox #Kit Fisto

[shadowmaat]

Mischief and Misinformation, part 1

Obi-Wan was sitting in the living area enjoying a cup of tea when Anakin's presence slammed into him with the force of a hurricane. Only judicious use of the Force kept him from bobbling his cup. He'd managed to set the cup back on its saucer and turned to the door as the boy himself entered.

"Master!" Anakin's face was drawn into a stormy scowl. "You never said you was a slave like me!"

"Were," Obi-Wan corrected automatically, before the words caught up with him. "Wait, I beg your pardon? I was a what?"

Anakin stomped across the room and flung himself into the other chair.

"You were a slave! I was in the Archives working on that dumb grammar thing and I overheard a couple of padawans talking and they were saying how you were passed over and sent away to the Aggor- Agurri-"

"Agri-Corp?" Obi-Wan ventured, non-plussed.

"Yeah! That! You were sent there and got stolen into slavery and Mister Qui-Gon came along an' saved you an' took pity on you an' made you his padawan!"

Obi-Wan used the excuse of sipping his tea to try and gather his thoughts.

"I'm not sure what you thought you heard-"

"I'm not lying!"

Dishes rattled nearby. He frowned down at Anakin, who ducked his head and muttered an apology.

"I'm not saying you did," Obi-Wan said. "However, those padawans must have been telling tales because I can assure you that I was never sent away to the Agri-Corp." He straightened a bit, unable to resist the chance to lecture on one of the Temple's common myths.

"Initiates aren't sent away to the service corps as some kind of punishment, Ani; it's a choice, it's always a choice. What good would a gardener or a healer or what have you if they had no interest or aptitude for the work?"

"But-"

"It's just a scare tale shared among the crechelings and initiates; that if you don't do well enough you'll be sent away from the Order."

Obi-Wan huffed a chuckle. "The Order does everything it can to protect its children. If there's someone who finds they aren't suited to the path of a Knight then there are several councils in place to help them find their way, whether it's to return home, continue a more normal course of schoolwork elsewhere on Coruscant, or to be apprenticed to a trade, the Order will never abandon one of its own."

"Even if someone thinks communication & grammar is a bunch of poodoo?" Anakin muttered into his lap.

He laughed. "Even then."

He reached out, offering, and Anakin slid off his chair and crawled into Obi-Wan's lap.

"I don't know what to tell you about the rest of that story those padawans were telling." He wrapped his arms around his own padawan. "I'm sorry you were the one to hear it and that it caused more upset, but I promise I've never been a slave and that Qui-Gon sought me out right here in the Temple to ask me to be his padawan; there was no pity or coercion about it."

"Oh."

The word was muffled by the folds of Obi-Wan's robes. He patted Anakin's back.

"In the future, I'd advise you to have a little more care in choosing who and what you believe. Padawans aren't always the most reliable source of information, you know."

He jostled his leg, earning a grumble.

"Now, why don't we head down to the cafeteria and see if we can sweet talk one of the servers into giving us some spice rolls?"

He pulled his arms back just in time.

"YEAH!" Anakin leapt out of his lap, punched the air, and headed for the door. "C'mon, Master! Stop being so slow!"

Grinning, Obi-Wan stood and stretched. "I'll try to keep up, Ani, but have pity on an old man."

"Just means more spice rolls for me!"

Anakin was out the door and running. Obi-Wan gave chase.

He didn't think much more about the story Anakin had overheard. At least not until the next one cropped up.

#jedimindfic #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Anakin Skywalker #debunking Legends 'canon' #spice rolls= cinnamon rolls

[shadowmaat]

Getting Closer

23: Once you meet your soulmate, it becomes physically uncomfortable to be away from them for long. From this prompt list. Codywan

At first Obi-Wan attributed his exhaustion and headaches to the stress of suddenly being thrust into a war, but no amount of sleep, proper meals, exercise, or meditation seemed to help. If anything, his symptoms seemed to get worse. There were times his vision blurred or his nausea got bad enough he wound up curled in a ball in the ‘fresher.

The healers couldn’t find anything wrong with him and they, too, suggested it might be stress-related, but whatever the cause was, Obi-Wan was getting sick of being sick.

“Maybe you met your soulmate and didn’t realize it.” Anakin was grinning when he said it, but there was a worried light in his eyes. 

Obi-Wan huffed in annoyance. “Don’t be ridiculous, Anakin. Even if the odds weren’t astronomically against that sort of thing, where, exactly, do you suppose I might have run into them? On Geonosis?”

“It could have been one of the droids. Or the bugs!”

“That’s racist and I’ve taught you better than that.” Obi-Wan leaned against a wall to catch his breath and wait for everything to stop spinning. They were supposed to be on their way to the clone barracks for some meeting of Anakin’s.

“Anyway, I’m quite certain my soulmate is not a Geonosian and droids do not have souls.” It did get him thinking about it, though, much to his irritation. Where else had he been, though? He’d gone to Geonosis straight from Kamino and then... 

A troubling thought occurred to him. But he’d been following Jango Fett, not moving away from him, and any discomfort should have ended when Mace killed him.

“Come on, Master Mine, let’s not keep Rex and the others waiting.”

“I hardly see why I need to be here for this,” Obi-Wan said, taking the proffered arm. “If Master Che and her team can’t figure out what’s wrong with me I may not even be allowed to fight.”

“You can always advise me.” Anakin grinned.

“I’ve been trying to get you to listen for ten years without any luck,” Obi-Wan said. “I doubt you’ll start now.”

It made Anakin laugh and that made him feel a little better. He perked up a bit as they approached the barracks. He even released Anakin’s arm and stretched a bit as they approached the guards on duty. 

As soon as they entered the barracks proper Obi-Wan felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He stopped dead in the hall as realization sank in.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin turned to look at him. “Are you okay? Do you need to rest again?”

“I’m fine, Anakin,” he said, which was true... for a certain value of the word.

“Okay, well, Rex is in room 31-Besh, and I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”

“Yes, of course.” He smiled, ignoring the speculative look he got in response. “Lead on, Padawan.”

They hadn’t gone far before they ran into a pair of clones. One had the medical symbol stenciled on his pauldron and a tattoo of a bacta patch on his neck. He was haranguing his companion, whose expression was one of grim determination.

“Just because you’re feeling better now doesn’t mean it’s going to stay that way, Commander,” the medic warned. 

“I appreciate the concern, Patch, but I’ve been out of commission for too long already. I need to get back to-” 

The clone commander froze in place as he caught sight of Obi-Wan. Which was fine, since Obi-Wan’s feet felt glued to the floor. They stared at each other.

“Oh! Generals, sirs!” The medic- Patch- saluted. “Sorry for the interruption!”

“That’s alright,” Anakin said, relaxed as ever. “Is everything alright?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Patch moved to stand in front of the Commander. “We were just, uh, returning to the barracks!”

“Alright then, carry on.” Anakin gave them a dismissive wave and continued on his way.

Obi-Wan didn’t follow. His heart was hammering in his chest and his palms had gone sweaty. Somehow, he managed to wet his lips and speak.

“Hello there.” His voice sounded loud to his own ears. Was it too loud? He smiled, unable to look away from the Commander. “I’m Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. And you are...?”

“He’s fine, General, sir,” Patch said, now standing directly between them and breaking their eye contact. “Just needs some sleep and he’ll be ready to perform all his duties! Sir.” 

Fear wafted off him, brushing against Obi-Wan’s shields. He frowned.

“Master?” 

Anakin was a bright ball of confusion just at his periphery.

Pushing past Patch, the Commander held out his hand. “Commander CC-2224.” His smile was hesitant, but it warmed Obi-Wan to his core. “My friends call me Cody.”

“Cody.” Obi-Wan repeated, loving the sound of it. He reached out, grasping Cody’s forearm, Mando-style. “It’s very nice to meet you, Cody,” he said, unable to stop his smile.

“Wait,” Anakin said, somewhere far away. “Him??”

“Is there somewhere we can go to talk?” He tilted his head. “I have a feeling there’s a lot we need to discuss.”

“I...” Cody’s expression wavered for a moment. “Yes, sir. I think that might be a good idea.”

Anakin had drawn Patch off to the side and the two were having an intense whispered conversation. 

Obi-Wan realized he was still holding Cody’s arm and released it, feeling heat rise in his face. “Please, call me Obi-Wan.” He gestured at the hall. “I trust you to lead the way... Cody.”

This was going to complicate things immeasurably, but if it led to both of them being happy then maybe it was worth it. 

#jedimindfic #codywan #found this in my drafts #I assume I was planning to write more #but this works as-is

[shadowmaat]

The Paladin

I found this in my WIPs file. I probably won’t finish it, but I did enjoy what I’ve written so far. It’s a Bobadin modern AU based on a prompt from this Weird AU Combos list.

-

The apartment across from Boba never seemed to stay occupied for long. Mostly it was just a “Hollywood thing;” people moved in expecting to make their Big Break and then left again when they realized fame wasn’t instantaneous and rent was expensive. There were also those who made a big show of their BLM flags and rainbow stickers, but got uncomfortable when they realized that “white” and “straight cis” was the minority in the building. Or the ones who wanted to prove they didn’t need Mommy and Daddy’s money, but balked when they realized they had to do their own laundry and dishes.

Boba had long since given up trying for awkward smalltalk with any new neighbors, knowing they wouldn’t last. So when he saw the door open and moving boxes on the floor inside, he didn’t give it much thought beyond wondering how long this one would last.

The elevator doors slid open and let out a middle-aged white man with tousled brown hair and rumpled clothes carrying a box labeled “Kitchen.” Behind him, plodding with exaggerated care, was a young child of indeterminate gender with skin darker than Boba’s, wearing a hat with big floppy ears. They held a box of their own; a shoe box with the letters “GRGO” painted on the top in green paint that matched the smears on the kid’s hands.

The man ducked his head in greeting, but kept one eye on the kid as they started down the hall.

“Come on, mijito,” the man said. “One more trip to go.”

The kid didn’t respond; all their attention was focused on the box.

Grinning, Boba got on the elevator. Kids always meant more noise, but he could stand it for a while. The kid was cute. So was his dad, though that was a moot observation if they weren’t going to stick around.

-

Shand was all fired up when he got to the office. He’d forgotten it was Friday, which meant a new episode of The Paladin had aired, and that meant he was subjected to her theorizing about the Paladin’s identity- both onscreen and off. 

It was one of the dumbest gimmicks he’d ever heard of, and he’d lived on the fringes of Hollywood for most of his life. Having a protagonist who was always encased in armor was one thing, but the studio had taken extra steps to hide the actor’s identity. The role of the Paladin was listed as being played by “Himself,” and in all the interviews, promo materials, and behind-the-scenes shots he was always in the armor. The helmet even had a built-in mechanism to alter his voice and people were going to ridiculous lengths to analyze recordings to see if they could figure out what he really sounded like. People like Shand.

Boba couldn’t care less. He wished he knew less, too, but Shand insisted on keeping him up-to-date. She’d done a lot of security work for various studios and was impressed by their level of secrecy. She was also irritated that none of her contacts would spill what she wanted to know.

He finally managed to distract her by talking about his encounter with the newest tenant. She lived in the building, too, and had a betting pool with some of the others about Apartment 403.

“He and his kid were lugging in boxes on their own,” he said.

“His name’s Din Djarin,” she said, pulling up something on her phone. “Single dad, works for COTW Stunts; they’re hardcore.” She scrolled. “No family listed, no criminal record, kid’s adopted-”

“The amount of information you dig up on people for no reason is chilling,” Boba interrupted.

“It’s part of the job.” Shand put her phone back in her pocket. “And it isn’t for no reason, it’s important to know who your neighbors are.” She smirked. “Helps figure out the betting, too. I give him four months before he bails.”

Boba frowned. It didn’t make any difference to him, of course, but for the kid’s sake he hoped this Djarin would last a little longer. Kids that young needed stability. Stuntwork could be a tough gig, though, as he knew from experience. It was tough to get good, steady work and tougher still on the body, especially in these days of budget cuts where the studios felt they could skimp on safety.

“I think he’ll last longer,” he said, though he didn’t have any evidence to back up the feeling.

Shand sat up straight, her eyes brightening as she looked at him and he cursed himself for falling into her trap.

“Oh yeah? What makes you say that?” Thumbs tapped at her phone screen.

He shrugged. “He’s got a kid. And an adopted kid at that. CFS tend to frown on families who move around a lot.”

She hummed. “True. Never married under this name. I wonder how he managed to swing that? Single parents aren’t high on Vulture Services’ list.”

Shand had been through the System herself and had escaped to the streets, claiming they were safer. Boba had done his stint, too, and wished he’d done the same; his upbringing had been brutal.

“Dunno,” he said. “Maybe I’ll keep an eye on them. Just for the kid’s sake.”

“Right. The kid.” She smirked. “His headshot isn’t much to look at, but no one ever said you had good taste.”

He flipped her off and then, thankfully, the phone rang and distracted her. Concordia Security had a new potential contract, though it was dependent on a rather thorough background check, first. He tuned her out and settled in to do his own work, briefly lamenting that these days he was mostly confined to a desk.

-

When he got home the hall was filled with the smell of meat and spices. His stomach growled as he unlocked his door and flipped on the lights. At least it meant Djarin was feeding his kid well; it was a good sign. Assuming, of course, that he was feeding the kid and not eating it all himself. There were people like that out there, but Boba chose to hope for the best.

He’d finished his own uninspired dinner of leftovers and was reading in front of the television when he heard his doorknob rattle. He muted the TV and listened. Another rattle accompanied by a weird slithering sound. Checking that his knife was still on his belt he went to the door to investigate.

The fisheye viewer showed an empty hall. The door to 403 was cracked open, but otherwise-

The knob rattled again and he heard a muffled “bah.”

Silently, he undid the bolt, turned the handle, and yanked the door open.

The kid from across the hall wobbled, caught in the act of reaching for the knob again. The remains of a well-chewed tamale were in one hand… and on his face and his shirt and the outside of the door. Large brown eyes stared up at him.

“Kwa?”

Boba’s heart may have melted a bit. He crouched down to eye level, smiling.

“Hey kid, you learning to break and enter?”

“Bu.” The crumbling tamale was thrust at him.

Before he could respond the door across the hall jerked open, revealing a wide-eyed Djarin.

“Gro-” his eyes landed on the kid and all the air whooshed out of him. “Grogu!”

He all but leapt across the hall, sweeping the kid, Grogu, into his arms.

“Grogu, mija, don’t do that to me!”

Grogu giggled, waving the tamale and spilling more filling.

Boba stood as his neighbor looked at him, traces of alarm still evident around his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Djarin said. “I turned my back for a second and-” he huffed.

“No worries.” Boba smiled. “Kids that age are half-magic; they can disappear in a blink and show up in unlikely places.”

“Me di cuenta,” Djarin muttered. “Sorry again.” Smiling, he repositioned Grogu and offered Boba his hand. “I’m Din, and this little troublemaker is Grogu. We just moved in.”

“So I saw.” Boba shook his hand, as well-callused as his own. “I’m Boba. It’s nice to meet you both.” He offered his hand to Grogu, too, who regarded it for a minute before offering a gap-tooth grin and grabbing Boba’s fingers, smearing them with smooshed beans.

“If you ever need anything, I’m right here.”

“Bu,” Grogu said.

Din blushed. “Not Bu,” he said. “I’m Bu. Boba is our very understanding neighbor.”

“Ba?” Grogu looked from Din to Boba.

“I’ll take it.” Boba smiled. “Ba it is.”

The kid was delighted with this development and his dad was smiling in that sappy way some dads got around their kids.

“Thanks for watching out for him,” Din said, stepping back. 

“Any time,” Boba says. “We’ve all gotta watch out for the kids, right?”

“They are the future,” Din agreed, an odd cadence to his voice. He dipped his head, pivoted, and went back into his apartment, closing the door behind him.

It wasn’t until Boba had washed his sticky hands and gotten a cleaning cloth for the door that he realized why Din’s response had sounded familiar: it was a quote from The Paladin. He rolled his eyes. Great, another one.

#jedimindfic #bobadin #unfinished #long post

[shadowmaat]

Mischief and Misinformation, part 2

(Part 1)

"Knight Kenobi!"

Obi-Wan turned to see a grinning Kit Fisto bearing down on him. His fellow Knight was a few years ahead of him in classes, and there were whispers he might be on track for the Council someday.

"Kit, I've been a Knight for two years, now," he smiled. "Throwing my title at me is getting a little old."

Kit laughed. "Says you!" He clapped a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Do you have time for a spar? Or do your Knightly duties call you away from your resounding defeat?"

"You wish, Fisto!" Chuckling, he glanced at his chrono. Anakin would be in classes for another two hours, which should leave him plenty of time.

"I think I have enough time to show an old man the dangers of hubris!"

"Old man!" Kit clutched his chest, bare beneath his outer robe. "I think you meant handsome! Or clever. Or-"

"Save that energy for the salle, Kit." Obi-Wan winked. "You're going to need it."

-

After working out the rules and going through their warmup stretches, they launched into the spar without too much preamble.

Kit's style was flashy, which made for a good distraction to the power behind the showmanship. He also had a more fluid sense of movement, which was something Obi-Wan found common among the aquatic and amphibious species.

They traded good-natured barbs as well as saber strikes, but then Kit seemed to shift gears.

"I wanted to say how sorry I was about what happened to you on Melidaan," he said, leaping over him to attempt a slash at his back.

Obi-Wan blocked it, frowning. "What?"

Had he been offworld recently? A few smaller mission, but nothing dangerous, not with Ani to consider. The name did ring a vague bell, though. He tried a leg sweep, which Kit avoided by flipping up to the wall and launching himself in another direction.

"I know Master Jinn was a highly-respectable Master, and his loss still ripples through the Temple-"

Kit reversed direction, scored a tap against Obi-Wan's arm, and got a tap of his own for his effort.

'-but leaving you alone in a war zone for a year is unconscionable!"

"What?" Obi-Wan repeated, blocking another swing. "What war zone? Wait- Melidaan..." Memory started to bubble forth, along with an uneasy sense of déjà vu.

"Have you been in so many wars you can't remember?"

Kit's tone should have been teasing, but there was a degree of worry mixed in as well.

"No, I remember." He hissed as Kit got in another strike on his leg. "But Melidaan... Qui-Gon didn't abandon me there, certainly not for a year. We were there maybe a tenday, and Qui-Gon remained in charge of the mission until it was safe for us to leave."

Between storms and bombing, there hadn't been a way off the planet. Qui-Gon's attempts at mediation had failed. Obi-Wan had done what he could for the victims of both sides- including a group of children- but in the end, and with Master Tahl's condition worsening, they'd taken the first opportunity to leave and dump the problem back in the Senate's lap.

"I'm relieved to hear that."

Kit made a move Obi-Wan couldn't quite track and scored a final hit to his shoulder.

"Solah." Disengaging his blade he rubbed his shoulder. "Where did you read about the Melidaan mission? This isn't the first time someone's come to me with a spacer tale version of my own life."

It was Kit's turn to frown. "The mission archives. I heard about-"

Obi-Wan's comm went off. It was Master Bear, Ani's ropework instructor.

"Ani threw up all over the nets and has been taken to the healer," the gruff voice of the Harchian Master said. "You'd best see to him."

The comm clicked off and Obi-Wan swore under his breath. The cafeteria had been serving custard yesterday and he'd bet his lightsaber that Ani's vomit was primarily blue.

Kit shook his head, rattling the bands on his ahwey. "This is why I'm never taking on a padawan," he said. "Go see to Ani. We can finish catching up later."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, already striding for the exit. "I'd like to know what else the mission archives have to say about me."

As the doors closed he could hear Kit saying, "You aren't the only one."

#jedimindfic #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Kit Fisto

[shadowmaat]

Mischief and Misinformation, part 3

(part 1) (part 2)

Obi-Wan desperately needed a caf. It seemed like everywhere he went in the Temple there were whispers of his "tragic" padawanship with Qui-Gon or stories of him having crippling insecurities and an inability to take basic care of himself. It was ridiculous! And frustrating. If one more person expressed surprise at seeing him eat a full meal in the cafeteria, he was going to scream.

He was, in fact, on his way to get some lunch for himself and some Healer-recommended snacks for Ani. His impulsive padawan had recovered from eating too much blue custard, but had brought himself to the attention of Master Che, who was, in his words, "punishing" him for his "mistake" by making him eat a healthier diet. For a whole week.

Obi-Wan was pulled from his musing by the excited chatter and galloping feet of some younglings on fast approach. He stepped to the side to give them room to pass, but as the first of them, a young selonian, came careening around the corner on all fours, he spotted Obi-Wan and somersaulted to a stop.

"Master Bee!"

"Initiate Zip." Obi-Wan smiled in recognition. Three more figures came around the corner and piled up, wild flickers of the Force keeping them from landing in a pile on top of Zip.

"Master Bee!" the others echoed.

He recognized them, too. He'd done a few stints in the creches, though it had been a while since he'd had time to visit.

"Good afternoon, Archix Clan." He bowed to them, and they hastily bowed back. "You seem to be in a hurry today. Off to your interdimensional mathematics lesson?" He asked it with as much solemnity as he could muster.

"We're going swimming in the Sesid Falls!" Zip chirped. "You wanna come-"

"No!"

Issa, a blue-skinned nautolan lurched forward, clapping a hand over Zip's mouth and staring at Obi-Wan with wide eyes.

"Sorry, Master! Zip wasn't thinking! Again." She whispered something to Zip, whose eyes also widened, his ears flattening into his fur.

"Srry Mfr!" he said around Issa's hand.

Behind them, Molly had her hands over her own mouth and Plansa was tugging at her ear flaps. A prickling sense of foreboding had him suspecting he knew what this was about.

Had everyone been reading these spacer stories about him? Even crechelings? He'd tried looking them up after his bout with Kit, but hadn't found anything amiss in the mission archives. Or the wider archives, for that matter.

"Hesa jes' excited for da paddlewompy," Plansa said, her distress obvious from her reversion to Gunganese Basic. "No be sads, Massa Bee!"

Molly nodded agreement, her pigtails flapping against her shoulders.

Knowing he was going to regret it, he couldn't help asking anyway. "And why would I be sad, Plansa?"

Four pairs of eyes stared at him, stricken. Plansa squealed, clamping her hands down on her beak as she tried to hide behind the much-smaller Molly.

"No reason!" Issa began dragging Zip down the hall, the selonian half-crouched to accommodate her. "No reason at all! Sorry! We gotta go!"

She, Zip, and Plansa dashed away, but Molly hesitated, looking conflicted. She was human- or near enough- and the quietest of the group, but now she stepped closer, reaching out to grasp his hand.

A burst of comfort washed through him.

"It wasn't your fault, Master Bee," she said. "He fell. And anyway, he'd kidnapped your friend and was gonna let her die."

A chill prickled between his shoulders. Who fell? Who'd been kidnapped?

Molly released his hand and stepped back, bowing. "You did the right thing. Bye!"

She took off running to join her friends.

Obi-Wan stared after them, trying to piece together what stories he'd heard to see if he could figure out where this one fit in. Other than it presumably being Qui-Gon's fault, which seemed to be the common theme.

"A great tragedy, it was," spoke a familiar voice.

He looked over to see Master Yaddle floating around the corner in her chair.

"Yes, a tragedy indeed when challenge you, Bruck Chun did, and fall to his death, he did, in the Temple gardens."

"Master." Obi-Wan bowed deep. "We both know that never happened. Didn't he join the Temple Guard a few years back?"

Yaddle chuckled, her ears waggling back and forth.

"Find his path, he did. And not over the falls, it was."

She sounded amused. Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"These rumors are getting out of hand. Please tell me the Council is doing something about it."

"Doing many things, the Council is," Yaddle said, levitating her chair higher. "Always busy, we are. A distraction these rumors have been, but the trail we have found."

He straightened. "Do you know who's doing this? And why?"

That was the thing he couldn't figure out. The whole debacle was strange enough, but why him? Why this?

Yaddle hummed, starting her chair back down the hall. He moved to keep pace with her.

"Years ago it was done," she said. "Discovered the slice only now, we did."

"Someone sliced the Temple records??"

It wasn't unheard of, but it was extremely rare; moreso since Jocasta Nu took over the Archives.

"Displeased, the Master of the Archives was," she said, as if that wasn't an incredible understatement. "Corrected, the security flaw was.

"I imagine that Madame Nu had quite a lot to say about that," he said.

Yaddle laughed. "Protective, she is. Correct she is, also. Lost we would be, without knowledge. And led astray, we can be, when misrepresented our history is."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Do you know who did it?"

Her ears flicked in acknowledgement. "Know him, we do. And know him as well, do you."

If he didn't know better he'd say the look she gave him was sly. He slowed, frowning. She slowed her chair to match him.

"A great dislike someone had for Master Jinn. An equally great affection he had for you."

Obi-Wan wasn't sure "affection" was the right word for the pitiful life the stories had depicted, but he could feel the pieces start to click together in his head.

"Affection, yes. Skilled, he is, in deception, and inclined, he is, to, hrmm... mischief."

It hit him like a rock to the head.

"Quinlan."

Yaddle snorted, her ears pricked forward in blatant amusement.

"Much to answer for, your friend has," she said. "And arrive soon, he should, at hangar 8-Kresh.

"Thank you, Master." He bowed to her. "I believe I'm needed elsewhere right now."

It had been a while since he'd spoken with his dear old friend. Now seemed like a good time to catch up. He turned, heading for the hangars.

"With you, the Force is," Yaddle called after him. "And need that, your friend will, when find him, Jocasta does."

Obi-Wan picked up his pace.

#jedimindfic #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Master Yaddle #various OCs

[shadowmaat]

Hallmark AU

Obi-Wan Kenobi has always put duty first. He has always been dedicated to helping others and it has earned him respect as he's climbed the ranks of the Jedi.

One fateful holiday season Obi-Wan is assigned a mission to his homeworld, Stewjon (or Dachaig, if you aren't a colonizer). He hasn't been back since the Jedi collected him as a toddler and it's seen as a chance to connect with his roots.

Obi-Wan isn't particularly interested in his roots. He's a Jedi, he was raised as a Jedi, he will always be a Jedi, and as far as he's concerned those are the only roots that matter. But a mission is a mission and if he succeeds on this one he may be asked to join the Council.

*spins wheel* *spins wheel again*

The mission is to [oversee the purchase of a Christmas tree farm some open acreage] in order to [establish a new luxury resort temple]. Very cut and dried, right?

Wrong.

The local government is very much in favor of the sale and the prestige it will bring to their humble little world. Plus, y'know, the buckets of money they stand to make off of this; not only from the sale itself, but from all the jobs, supplies, etc that go along with it.

The locals, however, are very much against it. Including Maul Rimsen, adopted son of Old Lady Rimsen, who owns the deed to the land in question. A deed that dates back to before Dachaig was annexed and thus isn't recognized by the current Stewjoni government. Those land rights died with her.

Obi-Wan just wants to close the deal and go back to his home in the Temple. Maul, however, is very persistent in his efforts to force Obi-Wan to look past the surface. He's very... compelling. Sparks fly between the two, but there could be more going on than even Maul suspected. They'll have to put aside their differences and work together to uncover the truth, and maybe, just maybe, Obi-Wan will realize that connecting to his roots here might not be such a terrible thing after all.

#jedimindfic

[shadowmaat]

Sometimes it's the little things

Leia stood in front of the viewport, her legs locked, spine straight, and shoulders back; whatever this "demonstration" was, she refused to flinch from it.

Inside, however, she quailed. That was Alderaan, out there. Her home. The home of her parents, her friends, her neighbors and associates. It was the most beautiful place in the galaxy and she didn't want anything bad to happen to it or its people- her people.

She clenched her fists, sinking deep into her own heart as she begged the universe for mercy. Please, she thought, please spare my world.

Her desperate need stretched out and sank down into the depths of the Death Star. Down past the systems coming online. Down past the workers flipping switches and checking gauges. Down to the rotten heart of the planet-killer, where malevolent energies crackled in the air.

Down into one wire, slightly frayed, that was suddenly overwhelmed with power.

It sparked, the weakened length of it melting and fusing into place. There were redundancies, of course, and the power was rerouted to surrounding channels, but it was too much too fast. More wires sparked. Circuits fried. Panels went dark as frantic technicians tried to keep the failing system running. No amount of swearing or pounding on equipment could save them; the cascade failure continued.

Above, a furious Moff Tarkin was demanding answers. Vader warned the Princess not to get smug and issued dire threats about Alderaan's fate.

Leia, however, felt her heart unclench. Some whisper of intuition told her that all would be well; at least for now.

Sometimes it's the little things that matter most.

#jedimindfic #building off an idea I had ages ago

[shadowmaat]

Sanctuary

Jocasta Nu did not become Master of the Archive by ignoring her instincts. Currently she had the nagging feeling that there was an intruder in her library.

She turned on her heel, steps silent but sure as she followed the Force's guidance deep within the stacks. The higher-traffic areas were soon left behind and before long she found herself pulling out her key fob to enter the wing dedicated to storing and protecting the tomes, crystals, and artifacts dedicated to the darker arts of the Force.

There was a flicker of life here where it should not be, and she hoped that whatever fool had broken in had taken appropriate measures to protect themselves from the Dark. The Force, however, whispered of possibilities, of the chance to avert more Darkness in the future.

She continued forward, lights flicking on and off again as she passed, their actions keyed to her fob. Those without permission to be here would be left to the shadows, and they had a way of guarding their own.

The Force nudged her as she passed an aisle housing items and history dedicated to the Sith Lord Bane, but she kept walking, not slowing her pace lest she alert the intruder that she knew they were there.

Four rows on. The lights had flickered off from Bane's aisle, and she paused to examine a leather-bound volume of alchemy relating to the creation of Sithspawn. The silence was absolute, but for the turning of a crumbling page. A faint breath, more idea than movement, signaled that her quarry was moving with infinite slowness, whether to flee or attack, she wasn't sure, though the Force didn't indicate any threat. Or at least, not one from the intruder. She closed the book and casually pressed a button on her fob.

Lights blazed and panels snapped into place, sealing the shelves. She whirled, saber already lit as she struck out at the small patch of darkness in the light.

The figure fell backward, far smaller than she'd been expecting. Bright eyes blazed from an oversized cloak and she caught a flash of terror before they hissed, brandishing a dagger at her.

"This area is off limits to all but Senior Masters." Jocasta stared down at the thief who'd infiltrated her Archives. "Who are you to intrude here?"

No answer but a gleam of teeth and a prickling sense of hatred in the Force.

There were many species that were small in stature, but horrified suspicion suffused her. With a flick of a finger she caused the being's hood to flip back, noting how they tried to hide a flinch as she did.

The face that confronted her was a mask of red and black, their features still containing a trace of softness common to most near-human children and the horns on their head only just starting their growth.

A Nightbrother child. Someone had sent a child into a wing full of Dark and deadly artifacts with no protection at all. This was no prank gone wrong, and the feel of them in the Force had a chill that no Jedi youngling would possess. Someone with malicious intent had already made inroads into this poor child's psyche.

Jocasta shielded her rage from them. It was hardly their fault, after all; some Master had sent them here, and when she found them she would take measures to insure that they were never able to harm a child- or anyone else- again.

She switched her saber off and knelt, making a show of clipping her saber to her belt so she could show them her hands were empty.

"My name is Jocasta Nu," she said, her voice much softer than when she'd started. "This is my library, and I'd like to help you if you'll let me."

More teeth. They stayed tense, eyes locked on her every move. There was something clutched in their other hand and Jocasta's heart ached as she recognized it.

A datacrystal about the plants and flowers of Ryyk. Not Dark on its own, but suffused with a miasma of grief and suffering. It was not, she was sure, part of whatever they'd been sent in to find, but rather something they'd gathered for themself.

This little one was far from lost yet, no matter what their Master had tried to do to them. Jocasta's smile sharpened as she sat on the cold stone floor, closing her eyes as she projected patience and acceptance to the wary young zabrak. It might take time to gain their trust enough to start a proper conversation, but despite rumors to the contrary, she had plenty of patience. At least when it mattered. Right now, nothing mattered to her more than making sure this youngling had a chance at a better life. She'd move the stars themselves to make it happen.

Eyes closed, she sensed them moving to mirror her pose. Silence stretched, and a weight on the universe shifted just a little to the right.

#jedimindfic #Jocasta Nu #Maul #Smaul

[shadowmaat]

The Hunt Begins

Since it's the Obimaul Creation Event month I figured I'd dust off my writing skills and try a little fic. I took a few grains of Stars, a dash of Journey, and a scruff of Animal for this prompt. And thanks to Steff for the reassurances.

-

Bee Kenobi, the best asset of the Exploracorp, shoved open the door to Master Levyn’s office, scowling.

“You can’t make me take this assignment.” He dropped into the chair across from Levyn’s desk, shoving one foot against the edge to tilt his chair back. “I have seniority, now.”

The stout lasat behind the desk flicked an ear. “So you do, Pilot Kenobi.” His voice was a deep rumble. “However, as you so often like to remind us, you’re one of our best assets and as such, the Order has need of your services.”

Bee rolled his eyes, reaching up to swipe a hand over his hair; metallic red, this month. Three years later and he still couldn’t break the nervous habit of making sure his Padawan braid was gone.

“The Order can shove it,” he said. “They’re just kissing ass to the Senate, anyway, and I’m not babysitting some snotty little warlord who had a vision of some lost tribe of Mandalorians and wants to go find them.”

“I’m not Mand’alor yet,” said a silky voice behind him. “And despite what you may think of my people, I do know how to wipe my nose.”

Bee startled, overbalancing his chair. His arms flailed before a gentle force caught the back, tipping the chair back upright. Bee was out and turning as Levyn failed to smother a laugh.

His armor was mostly black with a black fur ruff, which might be why Bee failed to notice him upon entering. His face, however, was uncovered and hard to miss.

Bee had seen one other Nightbrother during his apprenticeship. One of the senior pilots had scooped up a young couple fleeing Dathomir and hidden them away on one of Exploracorp’s designated Safe Worlds. That one had neon yellow skin with dark orange markings. The one regarding him now was dark red and black, almost matching his armor.

“Uh.” Words failed him. The Force around the Mandalorian almost glowed; mostly with Light, but with lots of sharp edges. His lagging brain realized that the Mando had also used the Force to stop his chair from tipping over.

Levyn chuckled. “That’ll teach you to pay more attention to your surroundings, pup.”

Bee felt heat rush to his face. “Sorry,” he managed. “Sorry, I…”

Gold eyes regarded him, unblinking. His heart was in his throat, fluttering wildly. Couldn’t be adrenaline. And despite the Mando’s appearance, there was no sense of threat from him.

“Senior Pilot Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Levyn’s rumbly voice oozed amusement. “Please meet Al’verde Maul Mereel, of Clan Mereel, adopted son of Mand’alor Jaster.”

“Oh.” His heart suddenly switched directions, plummeting to his toes.He bowed deep, hoping to make up for his mistake, and came up smiling. “Hello there.”

“The best your Explorers has to offer?” A faint smile curved Maul’s lips.

“Oh, well, I don’t like to brag…” Bee swiped a hand over his hair again, ignoring the loud snort behind him. “So what’s this about a missing tribe?”

.

.

.

The story turned out to be far more interesting than Bee had anticipated. Maul’s “visions” seemed to be a true sending of the Force. Maul himself had been doubtful, since they weren’t common for him and because as far as he knew there were no Mandalorian colonies beyond known space.

Jaster, however, had dug through the history archives and located scattered accounts of a Mandalorian expedition made of several clans who’d grown tired of all the fighting and decided to strike out and find a new world to settle. That had been nearly 4000 years ago and no one had heard from them since. They’d been presumed lost until Maul began dreaming of them.

It was a fascinating tale, and Al’verde Maul’s telling of it was passionate and enticing. Bee found himself leaning closer to the Mando several times, catching the occasional whiff of warm leather, armor oil, and something he couldn’t identify.

“Since it was my vision, Jaster insisted I should be the one to go looking,” Maul said, a pinch forming between his brows. “And if we were traveling along known routes, I’d be given a seasoned squad for the hunt. Heading into unknown space, however, requires a different skillset.”

He shrugged, almost dislodging his fur ruff, which opened its eyes and glared at Bee. A cat. It was some kind of feline, alive, draped around Maul’s neck.

“I, yes,” Bee said, dragging his attention back to Maul, who was also watching him. “You said you have clues? I’m good with those. We should be able to trace, uh, something, I’m sure, although don’t get your hopes up too high.”

“With a Jedi? Never.” Maul’s teeth flashed a brief grin.

“Not a Jedi,” Bee corrected. “I wasn’t good enough for them. Too hotheaded, they said.” He grinned and was rewarded with a chuckle from Maul.

“Their loss, then.” Maul held out his hand.

Bee moved to accept it, only for Maul to catch his forearm instead. Feeling a bit awkward, he returned the gesture, noting the slight tingle that went up his arm at the skin-to-skin contact.

“I need to check in with Jaster and see about feeding Chekar,” Maul said, reaching up to scritch the cat’s head. “And I’m sure Master Levyn has a great deal of information to impart on you.”

There was something almost threatening about the way he said that, but Bee’s witty retort was wasted on the door closing with a swish. He glanced at Levyn, who was indeed looking a bit predatory.

Bee groaned. It was going to be a long, long night. But at least his next mission seemed promising. Far more Political than he liked, but Maul might just be worth it. He had a good feeling about that.

#jedimindfic #ObimaulEvent2022 #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Darth Maul #AU tomfoolery

[shadowmaat]

Cmdr. Fox Week Day 6: Caring

Look, Fox deserves all the fluff and I am here to provide it. @loving-fox-hours

The Care and Feeding of Commander Fox

Fox was on a routine and thankfully uneventful patrol of the halls of the Senate when he noticed someone coming towards him. They were short, bipedal, covered in marbled grey fur, and had six arms, two sets of which were currently crossed over their chest. They were also wearing a purple tooka romper, so he hazarded a guess that they were a juvenile.

He stopped as the presumed juvenile stomped up to him, thrust all six arms in the air, and made a buzzing clicky sound. Fox didn't need a translator to figure out that command.

"Are you lost?" He bent to pick up the young harch- for that's what they had to be, especially with the six red eyes- and settled them against his hip.

A derisive clicking and a firm shake of the head. So either they weren't lost or refused to admit it. He sent a message off to Sergeant Rattle, letting her know what he'd found. If a frantic parent or guardian called in looking for a missing youngling, Rattle could reassure them and let him know where to go.

"I'm Commander Fox," he said, in case the armor wasn't enough indication he was a Safe Grownup. "Do you want me to take you back to your guardian?" he asked, checking the hallway just in case this turned out to be a short exercise.

Another headshake and the harch mashed their face against his chestplate, making a keening sound that made his teeth hurt.

"Right, no guardian, then," he said. What the frip was a harchling doing running around the Senate, anyway? Last he'd heard Secundus Ando was still firmly Separatist, so they wouldn't have a senator here.

"How about something to eat?"

This, at least, got a pleased warble, although they kept their face pressed into his chest. The upper set of arms hooked around his neck, the middle set had tiny claws hooked around the edge of his armor plate, and the last set clung to the arm that was holding them.

"I'm afraid the Guard mess isn't very exciting," he said as he made a turn to head in that direction. "Our rations are geared for humans, but they should be safe for you as well."

He was pulling up everything he could about harch dietary habits, which seemed to go heavy on liquid proteins and meat rather than live bugs as he'd been half afraid would be the case.

A bubbling hiss as the harch shook their head and pointed one three-fingered hand in the other direction. Towards the visitors cafe. Fox snorted.

"Sorry, kid, but if you're with me, it's the Guard mess or nothing. We aren't allowed in the places real people go. Might offend them with our stench."

He said it like a joke, but it was true enough. Rich folk like the Senators and their guests hated being confronted by commoners, and by their reckoning clones were a step down from that. Or several.

The harchling made a show of sniffing him, still pointing the way to the cafe. When it was clear Fox wasn't going to obey their simple instruction, they started to wriggle.

Fox had done his share of creche-work back on Kamino and had even volunteered a time or two at the Jedi Temple, but none of it compared struggling with an eight-limbed mini-tyrant intent on getting what they wanted. They started an oscillating whine and were starting to draw unwanted attention.

He flipped on his internal comm. "Rattle, what in the Storms-cursed hells is taking so long?"

"Oh! Commander!" Rattle sounded surprised. "Uh, is everything alright? I mean, no one's reported any missing children yet, but you'll be the first to know, sir!"

Fox grunted as he took a well-placed foot, or possibly fist, to the stomach.

"But there is, uh, news!"

Rattle sounded odd, but Fox was too busy struggling to hold on to figure it out. He'd stopped walking and was seriously debating how much trouble he'd be in if he just dropped the kid.

"Turns out there's a celebrity visiting today! You know Bivi? Silken queen of the pop charts? She's here to be thanked for-"

"Why the frip weren't we told?" Fox snarled. He turned and started heading in the direction the harchling demanded. Hells, for all he knew, they were saying that's where their caretaker was.

"Funny thing about that," Rattle started.

"Never mind! Just- see if we can get some of the Guard in her detail. Shadow 'em if you have to, but I don't want any reports to say we snubbed some fancy-damned superstar." He didn't quite sneer the last word, but it was close.

"Yessir," Rattle said. "If I hear anything more, I'll let you know!"

There was that weird note in her voice again, but before he could ask her about it, the comm disconnected. He glanced down at the harchling, who'd gone docile again once they saw he was heading in the right direction.

"Fine, kid," he said, switching to his outer comm again. "We'll do it your way, but I hope you're okay with eating alone."

He wasn't honestly sure either of them would be allowed in since he couldn't provide a name or sponsor for the harchling, but if their guardian or caretaker was indeed in there at least it'd solve half his problems. Then he could concentrate on the nightmare of some ditzy singer running loose without a Guard presence.

Sure enough, as they approached the entrance to the cafe a silvery protocol droid stepped into the doorway.

"I beg your pardon, Sir and Mx," it said, "but the Freedom Cafe is off limits to non-members."

Disdain dripped from its tone. If it had more of a nose it definitely would have been looking down it at them.

"Do you see who you're looking for?" Fox asked.

The harchling turned a bit to face the droid and began to talk. It was full of whistles and clicks, and when they finally stopped, the lights in the droid's eyes actually blinked as it took a step back, bowing.

"My most profound apologies, Your Ladyship! Of course you and your Noble Guardian are most welcome!"

It bowed again, moving aside and gesturing for them to enter.

"If there's anything Your Ladyship requires, please, don't hesitate to ask!"

Fox looked down at the harchling, who gave him a squinty-eyed look in return. How something with six eyes, fur, and mandibles could radiate smugness like that was beyond him, but there was no doubt that's exactly what they- what she- was doing.

"Your Ladyship, huh?" He moved past the droid, taking a quick look around the room as he made his way to the serving line. "Something you want to tell me?"

She chirped at him, her tone inquisitive, and all her eyes wide in an unconvincing display of innocence. He huffed.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

For a species that was supposed to prefer a liquid diet, the harchling seemed happy enough to stock up on steak and shellfish. After some argument he convinced her to take some vegetables as well, then she returned the favor by insisting he pick food for himself.

There were a few visiting dignitaries sitting on the far side of the room as well as a gaggle of aides making a mess and swapping horror stories about their senators. Nothing he hadn't heard before. He'd set the harchling down so he could carry both their trays and she strutted along behind him as if she owned the place. Knowing his luck, she probably did.

He picked a quiet table shielded by plants with a nice view of the air traffic outside and set the trays down. Her Ladyship climbed into a chair on her own and stared at him until he sat.

It was a good thing that there was no one here to see him being ordered around by a toddler. He'd been in far more humiliating situations and unlike other times he wasn't afraid to tell her "no," but, well, sometimes it was easier to just go along with whatever was happening and younglings were one of his biggest weaknesses. At least the ones who weren't malicious demonspawn like their parents.

Fox pulled his helmet off and set it on the empty chair beside him. He still had his wrist comm if there was an emergency and Rattle kept "dropping" his calls as if it wasn't blatant she was doing it. The squad channel was full of the usual chatter, so while he was suspicious, he wasn't worried something was wrong.

He ate his burger and "truffle fries," savoring every bite and trying not to think about how much worse rations were going to taste after this. He also did his best to ignore the unpleasant crunching sounds from his companion. Apparently harch could eat shellfish whole.

He accepted what pieces she offered him and caught every attempt she made to hide her vegetables, making sure she ate all of it.

It was the best meal he'd had in his entire life, and he hoped that whoever she was- or whoever her parent might be- that they wouldn't find a way to reverse the charge to his account instead.

While he was brooding over how to get her back where she belonged, she gabbled at a passing serving droid, who sped off only to return with a couple of plates sporting enormous slices of chocolate cake.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he said.

The harchling pointed her fork at him and whistle-clicked at him, waiting. He could refuse; he'd been more than reasonably accommodating and even a clone had to draw a line somewhere, but... it was chocolate cake. With at least two inches of chocolate frosting and a dollop of what was undoubtedly real whipped cream slowly melting over it.

He picked up his fork and took a bite. Flavor exploded in his mouth and he closed his eyes to savor the moment. He heard a chirp and the clatter of a fork on china that meant his tiny abductor had joined him.

"What is the point of all this?" He asked between bites. "You're clearly more capable than you pretend and if you really needed help it sounds like the droids here can actually understand you."

The harchling tilted her head, making an inquiring chirp. There was frosting smeared around her mandibles.

Fox gave her a level look. "Just because I'm a clone doesn't mean I'm an idiot, miss." He sent a silent prayer to the Great Seas that he wasn't setting himself up for a reprimand by talking back.

The harchling put down her fork and reached across the table toward him, taking his free hand in both of her upper ones and stroking it. She crooned softly, which wasn't much of an answer but did feel like an apology.

One of her middle hands came up, clutching a small stuffed toy, and pushed it across the table. He put down his own fork to pick up the toy, which looked like a well-loved yellow harch.

"I don't understand," he said, checking to see if it had a name or ID on it.

The harchling brought her middle hands together and tilted her head against them, closing her eyes.

Fox's mind reeled. "You... want me to take a nap?" He couldn't quite believe it. He'd had a lot of strange days in the Guard, but this was borderline surreal.

The harchling opened her eyes and nodded, but before he could respond there was a commotion at the door.

He was up and shielding the harchling before he'd made a conscious choice to move. Cam droids hovered in the air and he recognized a couple of reporters backing into the room, peppering someone with questions.

Then the "someone" stepped in and he felt his stomach drop.

It was another harch. They had ghostly white fur that glittered under the flashbulbs and startling blue eyes. They were wearing a shimmering black dress and carefully-fitted matching boots.

The harchling behind him gave a piercing whistle and hopped to his shoulder and he struggled to secure her, heart hammering wildly as all attention focused on him.

Several camdroids buzzed over and Kilsa Rumano, whom he'd had the misfortune to encounter several times already, looked like she'd just been handed a leading headline. She probably had. He could imagine the headline: Clone Commander Kidnaps Child.

The white harch, however, tossed two sets of arms theatrically in the air. "Ferra, my niblet! There you are!"

The crowd around them parted as the harch glided across the room in their direction, trailing reporters, attendants, and- yes- two guardsmen in her wake. It must be Bivi, the singer Rattle had warned him about. He was completely fripped.

"I see you found a dashing Guard Captain to watch over you," Bivi continued. "Well done!"

"Not just any Commander, mum," Ferra said in perfect Basic. "This is Commander Fox!"

Fox's neck wrenched painfully as he twisted his head to stare down at her. She grinned up at him, mandibles wagging.

"You..." He couldn't form words. At least not ones that were safe to say in current company.

She reached up to pat his cheek, leaving little smears of frosting.

"Commander Fox." The clicks in Bivi's voice almost sounded like purring. "Just the man I wanted to see!"

The next bit of time passed in a blur of praise from Bivi, questions from the reporters, and commentary from Ferra, who was acting as if he'd saved her from certain death.

It turned out that Bivi was in the Senate to accept a special thank you from the Chancellor for some charity fund she'd apparently organized for the clones. That really must have stuck in his craw, Fox thought. She'd wanted to meet whatever troopers she could find- including the Guard- but had been told they were all "too busy." Hence sending Ferra out to find one.

Ferra was the equivalent of around seven, but very mature for her age, and knew how to use that to her advantage. She decided he seemed overworked and endeavored to treat him the best way that she could.

The "plight" of the clones was mentioned to the eagerly listening reporters, and Bivi had some harsh criticisms of the Senate- and Palpatine in particular- that Fox knew would come back to bite him in the ass, but he was a little overwhelmed at that point.

The shaking shoulders of the two guardsmen in the back of the room and the flowery apology from Rattle told him that Ferra wasn't the only one who'd set him up for this.

Bivi had piles of merchandise for him to distribute among the Guard and any other interested brothers. She also handed him a stack of tickets for her show later that evening, and as she handed them to him one of her clawed fingers tapped against an off-colored card mixed in with the tickets.

Ferra gave him a chocolaty kiss on the cheek and thanked him for his help, mumbling an apology for tricking him. Her mother kissed him as well, thanked him, and whispered in his ear that more help was always available as long as he knew where to look.

It took awhile to get everyone herded back out into the hall and for once Fox was grateful for the snobbishness of the cafe droids, who were not above mildly electrocuting reporters to get them out of the way.

Since Bivi and her entourage were on their way out Fox corralled the two guardsmen, Divot and Banger, into helping him carry their gifted haul back to the office.

"Breathe one word and you're both on Sewer Inspection for a month," he growled.

They saluted, but he could tell they were still laughing behind their helmets. Good help was hard to find. Between them and the traitorous Rattle, the sewers were going to be safer than ever.

Once safely locked in his office, he inspected the concert tickets. In among the front-row tickets was a slip of paper with a string of numbers and a four digit code.

Just in case the Chancellor forgets to pass this along.

- Bivi

It was the Support Our Troops account she'd been raising money for. Fox didn't dare take a look, not yet.

In among the t-shirts, bags, branded glowsticks, and other Bivi-related paraphernalia were some encrypted comms, datapads, and some top-of-the-line jammers. Fox breathed out slowly, wondering exactly what he was getting into with this. Maybe it was time to comm Cody. Chances were he was the intended recipient anyway. After all, why would a famous pop star care about him in particular? He never made the holonews like Cody did.

He reached up to touch the spot where she'd kissed him and his fingers came away Corrie Crimson. Kriff. He checked his reflection in a datapad and saw two odd marks on his cheeks; one larger crimson one and a smaller black one. Kriff kriff kriff. Maybe he'd wind up on the holonews after all. Or at least, most definitely, the tabloids.

Sewer Inspection duty wasn't severe enough. He'd need to think up something worse.

#jedimindfic #CommanderFoxWeek2021 #Commander Fox #long fic #apparently I have a weakness for Fox + younglings