#But also like...those clones were alive and sentient | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

warsamongthestars · 11 days

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There's several reasons I separate TBB and TCWs Bad Batch. Quite a few of them are micro, cos I'm analytical as hell and the little details set me off.

How bout two big things? Two, in your face, things.

First one isn't so bad. "There's two different shows by two different writing and two different broadcasters, they're going to have obvious canonical differences based on the paperwork and contracts alone, but because it still irrevocably alters the story and characters, no matter where that alteration came from, it is still two different canons that aren't going to fit nicely if at all."

Okay maybe it is complicated, but that's real world shit for you. Clone Wars was a Cartoon Network production, the recent stuff has been Disney--and frankly, Cartoon Network has better quality and taste (HELL YEAH STEVEN UNIVERSE!)

THe second one goes into the show. Some proper in-story analysis, to tell you were the break is at.

The Bad Batch arrived on Anaxes after dealing with an Insurrection on Yalbec Prime. They brag about it, they talk about it, its important to their introduction. Its important enough that a lot of fanfics and fanstuff talk about how it happened.

It was an insurrection. Insurrections are defined as "An uprising against an authority or government".

And they didn't describe just any group conducting an insurrection--they describe Yalbecs, so the inhabitants of Yalbec Prime. And then they describing killing the Queen of the Yalbecs, so the primary ruler of Yalbec Prime, planet of Yalbecs. Of which Tech comes in to say, that hte stinger of the queen is a Delicacy on some planets.

... Do you know how nasty of a picture that paints?

Based only on the simplest information given and what we know; because they're Republic Troopers--we can assume that Yalbec Prime was a Republic world. (We weren't told otherwise, so the assumption must be the most correct answer at this time.)

So, the Yalbecs were rebelling. (Because why would they attack the inhabitants unless they were the insurrection being put down?)

Using this minimum information.

THe Yalbecs and their queen, were rebelling against Republic Authority (we don't know if it was in favor of the Seppratists, it could be that they wanted Neutrality too).

If we can assume the reason, its probably because folks eat their damn Queen (a very good reason to rebel if you rely on a ant or bee like hierarchy and the queen is also your mother--given the implications that yalbecs are insectoids and that there were queen pheromones).

The Bad Batch are called in to put down the Insurrection, which we can assume they did, based on the fact that they're alive and intact.

... So.

The TBB Show wants to tell me that... The Bad Batch don't want to follow orders to eliminate insurrectionists and that's why they left the Empire?

Based on the above, they absolutely would follow those orders. Enthusiastically, with bragging rights.

One could make the argument that ECho set them straight, and that'd be a good story and start. TBBshow didn't do that, and regulated Echo to the bitching corner and then just kicked him out entirely--so you might have that idea, but the Show certainly didn't.

The darker argument is that the TBB would put down a society of insectoids, but not humanoids--and that... leaves a rather nasty set of implications, given the multi-sentient species of the Galaxy. I'd love to think that's not the case, but if TBBshow insists it, then we have to take it as the case for the Batch on the TBBshow.

When you're writing, what you show or say to or for the audience will be taken as fact by the audience for the show played. While we can give interpretation and imagination for things you don't say, it will always come down to what you've Shown and what've you Told, and what the conflict between the two is.

If you don't show it, or don't talk about it, and don't leave room for interpretation, then it didn't happen.

( One can argue that the TBB show does leave room... Via the holes its poked in itself. I've never seen so many pockets filled with absolutely nothing. )

And when you show contradiction without just cause, you risk breaking the flow of the story, and thus breaking the suspension of disbelief... And that's when the Audience enmass starts leaving and cursing.

While you cannot predict who's suspension is broken at any given time, what you can control is the flow of the story and its beats.

What is said and what is shown, are important, because Theatre / TV show stories are entirely made by what is Said and what is Shown.

Lastly, as for "What is canon".

... The TBB Show has different writers to the Clone Wars, which in turn had different writers from the Star Wars Prequel Films, which in turn had different writers for the Original Star Wars.

Of course none of it but the OG is canon.

Its all just an Argument about what enhances the story of your personal Canon and who is telling the story.

#star wars #the clone wars #the bad batch #star wars the clone wars #star wars the bad batch #analysis #critical analysis #constructive and deconstructive

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outshinethestars · 4 months

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Dar’adat’ika (Star Wars fic)

“You are not a person, and you have no name,” Prime tells them.

“Yes, sir,” the clones say. And they try their best to sound like they aren’t people, and they bury their names deep, because they all want desperately to give Prime what he wants, to be what Prime wants, and they are all better at hiding what they want from their face than he is, so it’s obvious to them how desperately Prime wants what he says to be true. They pretend because they want Prime to be pleased with them, and because they need Prime to be pleased with them, but they also pretend because those words almost always come with a “but” afterwards.

“But,” Prime says, “If you can learn this, it will make you a better soldier.”

“But,” Prime says, “If you know this the Jetiise will be more pleased with you.”

“But,” Prime says, “This will keep you alive.”

“Do you think Prime’s right?” CC-6454 asks.

“Prime is usually right, unfortunately,” Cody says.

“I mean about us, that we’re not people,” CC-6454 says.

“Of course not,” Cody says, “We would know if we weren’t people.”

“That sounds like something someone cleverly programmed to think they’re a person would say,” Fox says, mostly to be contrary.

“That’s not how being a person works!” Cody says, “It doesn’t matter if we’re people because we’re exact copies of Prime, or if we’re people because the longnecks reengineered our brains to think like people. We think like people and we feel like people and we act like people, so we are people.”

“But what about souls?” Bly asks.

“Oh please,” Fox says, “ No sentients have souls.”

“Ures runi sa balyc ures Manda,” Cody says, “Ures Manda sa balyc ures Mando’ade. Mando’ade runi be Manda an, Manda be Mando’ade an.”*

“The gods are dead,” Fox says, “And we have enough problems without chasing shadows.”**

This is what Tyranus told Jango Fett:

He told him that they would make a trap for the Jedi.

He told him that it would be a clever trap, a perfect trap.

He told him that he, Jango Fett, would be the foundation of that trap, the template.

He told him that he would commission an army of clones, not exact copies, not quite, not underneath the surface.

They would look like people, and they would act like people, but they would not be people.

They would be so perfect that even the Jedi would be fooled into thinking they were people.

But when the time came they would show their true nature.

They would do as they were programmed to do, with no free will, no souls, a perfect weapon.

They would kill the Jedi.

This was the contract that Jango agreed to, this was the job that Jango signed up for.

At first it was easy to believe.

Boba was given to him, an ordinary baby, crying and then learning to laugh. The clones when they were decanted were nothing like him, already silent and obedient, already walking in straight rows of lines, already programmed with the basic knowledge that real children had to stumble towards in preschool.

But over time it got harder.

The clones did not always do as they were told.

The clones did not always act like droids.

Sometimes they were competitive.

Sometimes they were curious.

Sometimes they were afraid.

Jango told himself that of course they were learning to look and act as though they were sentient, they were made to fool even the Jedi.

Jango believed what Tyranus told him, he had to believe what Tyranus told him.

Because if he did not, then the clones were his children and he was dar’manda.

Because if he did not, then the clones were slaves and he was depur.

Jango is in Nala Se’s office when a clone enters uninvited.

The clone’s hair is blond like Arla’s was.

Nala Se stares down at the clone disapprovingly, but she does not immediately order its decommissioning. The Kaminiise like to gather data.

The clone holds a data pad and stands at perfect attention.

“Sir,” the clone says, “I’d like to make a report in regards to Trainer Wyvern in charge of classes 232, 281, and 332.”

Wyvern isn’t Mando’ad, wasn’t one of the trainers Jango had handpicked himself. Jango wonders what he could possibly have done that the clone thinks it’s necessary to report him. The clone must know this is against regulation, despite its rigid posture and unmoving expression, it is trembling.

“Given the tight surveillance used in this facility, I am sure that you are aware of the activities Trainer Wyvern has engaged in during training. My understanding is that you have judged that his actions cause no significant or lasting physical damage and are therefore not harmful to the product,” The clone takes a long breath, his face still impassive, but his eyes wide with terror, “However, it has occurred to me that as Kaminoans do not engage in sexual activity for reproduction or pleasure, you may be unaware of their true significance.”

It takes half a beat for Jango to realize what the clone is saying.

His blood feels as though it is burning.

The clone is so small.

He is so small.

When Jango was that age his first buire still lived.

“Sexual activity in underage humanoids can cause long term psychological damage, and even impact physical growth and development.” The clone continues, “I’ve collected all my research on this data pad, sir.”

The clone hands Nala Se the data pad, salutes, and marches out of the office.

Nala Se skims through the data pad.

“This is remarkably well put together,” she says, “The clone will have to be culled, of course.” She sounds almost sorry about it.

“Why?” Jango finds himself saying.

Nala Se looks down on him judgmentally.

“His actions are aberrant and not in line with his orders.”

“He showed good initiative,” Jango says, “That’s important in a soldier.”

“For commanders, maybe,” Nala Se says, sounding skeptical of even that much, “But not in a common trooper.”

“Not necessarily, there’s also elite troops, special ops. Good armies are made up of soldiers who know how to do as their told, but great armies are made up of soldiers who know how to think for themselves when the situation requires it.”

It’s, Jango’s making his words up as he says them. This isn’t the Haat’ad, the clones aren’t meant to be a great army, just good enough to get the job done. But Jango can’t, he won’t let the clone die for this.

CT-7567 feels disconnected from his body. He knows he’s not properly alive right now, existing within borrowed time. It was disrespectful, maybe, to walk out on Nala Se, but it’s not as though that matters at this point. He’s standing in the hall outside her door. He couldn’t bear to stand in her office a moment longer than he had to. He can’t bear to go back to his barracks and be called back.

He can’t believe he did that.

He’s so glad he did that.

The door opens, but it’s Prime who exits.

Prime stares at him, like he’s a puzzle he can make sense of. CT-7567 stares back like he doesn’t exist in his body.

CT-7567 is very good at making himself look as though he doesn’t exist.

“You are not a person. You don’t have a name,” Prime says.

“Yes, sir,” CT-7567 says, rote, automatic. He’s right on both counts, as far as CT-7567 can tell.

“But,” Prime says, and if he were ‘64 CT-7567 would say he looks nervous, and if he were ‘75 CT-7567 would say he looks trapped, but it’s Prime so he can’t be either, “If you were a person… regardless of if you’re a person or not, that was the bravest damn thing I’ve ever seen. And you might not be a person, but I am, so.”

Prime takes out a flimsy of all things, and draws on it.

“These are jaig eyes,” Prime says, as if CT-7567 doesn’t know , as if all the clones, even twice defective CTs, don’t grasp onto Mandalorian culture with all they’re worth, as something that is not quite but almost theirs .

“You’ve a right to them.” Prime says, “Paint them on your armor when you’re deployed.”

“Sir,” CT-7567 says, like his voice is coming from someone else, eyes still fixed on the flimsy, “Nala Se’s going to have me decommissioned. I’m not making it to deployment.”

“I talked to her,” Prime says, “You’re not getting decommissioned.”

CT-7567 feels… buoyant, hysterical.

Why didn’t you lead with that? He doesn’t say, but only barely.

“Thank you, sir,” he says. And he managed to keep his composure when he walked into Nala Se’s office without permission, and he kept his composure when he talked about what Trainer Wyvern did to them, and he didn’t even fall apart afterwards, but now, now his voice trembles, wobbles all over the place.

Prime just nods, deeply, undeniably awkward.

And then CT-7567 is alone, breathing deep and uneven in the too white, too bright hallway.

He’s going to live.

CT-7567 is going to live.

He’ll make it all the way to deployment, and someday he’s going to paint jaig eyes on his armor where anyone can see them.

#Jango fett #captain rex #star wars #swtcw #fic and fic-like things #My stuff

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lost-technology · 1 year

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Red Sauce

Trigun fanfiction Trigun, Trigun Maximum, Trigun Stampede - loose continuity, post-canon, canon-welding. Spoilers Genfic / No pairings Vash & Food Slice of Life, Worldbuilding (Inspired by my visit to a nostalgic eatery). Summary: In his attempt at a long rest after his adventures and agonies, Vash the Stampede seeks out a nostalgic lunch of “good old crap.” Some of Noman’s Land’s budding post-contact gourmands would not understand, but sometimes something cheap can give you a perfect moment. Also on Ao3 Reviews appreciated.

Red Sauce People who got to know Vash the Stampede found themselves surprised by what the man would put in his mouth. He had just the kind of appetite one would expect on a skinny guy adept at dodging gunfire (high metabolism, feed-me-please!), but his love for…food of varying quality could catch a friend off-guard. Perhaps what surprised people most about him was the simple matter that one as dedicated to peace as he was, one who abhorred killing would, indeed, eat meat sometimes. Vash could be found apologizing to an egg he intended to have for breakfast, but he also ate shavings of preserved tomas on long journeys as most people did and would not turn down a roast rib of sandworm if it was offered to him by desert nomads who made their living by hunting the beasts. It wasn’t like any other food on the planet came “guilt-free.” Vegetables and grains came from flora, which were created by Geoplants. They, in turn, had to be carefully managed. A few patches of land could be coaxed to grow hardy crops, but, again, Hydroplants were involved. Every Plant was worked very hard on this world and while the Electricity Plants were the most often overtaxed into Last Runs, it could happen to any of them. So, no… there really wasn’t much of a flesh-eating vs. vegetarianism ethical divide in Noman’s Land. Anything that kept anything else alive came from some other living thing, more often than not sentient and conscious. Even with the native beings of the planet, the worms – the base of their food chain was mysterious – no one had figured out whether there was photosynthesis at some point in their life-cycle or some kind of mineral-fission for nutrients from the sands, but after whatever starting-point they had, it was all a series of various larval-stages eating other larval-stages until the adults ate them all; Worms all the way down.

After Pieces of Earth came to this world, new technologies and cultural ways were introduced to the people of Noman’s Land. Such ways were usual and even tired and old to Earthlings and various colonies that had a seamless landing and transition, but to the people of a sandy planet born of an apocalyptic event, these things were new, wondrous and strange. This included the food-ways. Vash would always remember the first time he’d seen live fish. He remembered turning over and over again in his brain how Wolfwood would have been freaked out by them had he gotten to see them. He had been informed that they were a type of creature from Earth and of kinds that had not been driven to extinction. He’d watched them swimming in glass tanks in an Earth Forces City (blending into a crowd on a tour) and learned their species-names; tilapia, bass, salmon… Salmon sandwiches were one of his favorite treats, but, of course, those had been made of canned cat food. Quite a lot of food post The Big Fall had been cloned from preserved sources, including sources not originally meant for human consumption, but for that of adjacent animals, pets included. Cats had become surprisingly abundant – and all traced from a single family of ancestors as shown in their fur. Most of them were pure black with the occasional orange marking showing up here and there. (And they were good for keeping the larval worms that invaded people’s homes and barns in-check). Some towns used them as a source of food but Vash was quite fond of them and, for all his gluttony, would never, ever eat a kitty. Many Earth-animals and flora that Plants could sustain with minimal effort were being introduced to the land. Now that humans and Plants were working together in harmony with the former gaining a greater understanding of the latter, equilibrium of sustainability was gained and various technologies and systems introduced by the Earthlings were easing former strains or eliminating them altogether. In other words, successful terraforming was beginning (with plenty of areas left wild, to the sands and to the worms). This meant that Vash got to meet his namesake (vache, vaca, vas… cow / cattle) and he got to meet those freaky fish. The books and SEEDS computer records he remembered reading in his childhood didn’t prepare him for meeting the real thing. They were a source of wonder and delight, like any living thing he’d met. In short order, they’d become a major source of food. (There were, as yet, no rivers to free them into, although there would be, in time).

Debates were exchanged between the merits of living Earth animals, cloned flesh – which new technologies also provided and that which Plants had always provided. Plants, of course, could generate a wide variety of things, including “meat” from tissue and DNA samples provided to them, data fed into them. That was how it had been for over one-hundred years. Every salmon sandwich, every plate of spaghetti with some kind of meat in it and every slice of pizza-toast that Vash had ever eaten on this god-forsaken world had been generated by one Sister of his or another. And, of course, unlike his brother, he had to eat – he’d been “built like a human” in that manner. Apparently it was his nature as a “draining-Plant,” able to take away pain and heal, to rebalance, but not a conventional generator. There was an equivalent-exchange issue going on. Most of the debates that Vash overheard in his travels about newfangled Earth-food wasn’t about ethics, but about taste. Taste, texture… the cooks of the taverns hotly contested it – what they’d grown up with and had worked with all of their lives versus new things, that which was “fresh” and so forth – the textures of things that had actually lived and moved over what had been grown on a robot-chassis over what had been wholesale generated; the flavor of fruits and vegetables generated under the care of a Geoplant over some Earth-fleet hydroponics garden. By Vash’s observations, most gourmands tended to favor Plant-grown tomatoes, but beef and fish from once-independently-living sources. And it was this very debate-thing that brought Vash to the town of Avon, a tiny little village out in the boonies between Inepril and what was once Jenora Rock. It was nothing more than what was known as a Plant-Station, a “two-Plant town.�� Vash knew them by name – or rather nickname – their “true names,” as it were, being unknowable to humankind. The people of the town had nicknamed the local Plants “Mona” and “Matilda.” In the last several years after the Earth forces came to try to “tame the land,” Avon became one of the few havens left where, food-wise, Vash could find the “good old crap.” He didn’t wear the red coat anymore, except when he found himself in the deepest parts of the desert and in need of its weather-resistant properties or if he was involving himself in a fight and in need of its ballistics-shielding. It was best to try to be inconspicuous, so he carried the thing stuffed in his duffle bag and wandered right through the center of Avon dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, a button-down shirt and a vest and a stupid, stupid bolo-tie. Casual fashion. A bell on a door jingled as he entered a place called Edvard’s. He smiled at the arcade machines along one wall – still there, still broken. The vinyl-padded seat lining plastic tables looked as sweaty as ever. By God, it had to have been at least twenty years since he’d been here and the place hadn’t changed a bit! Good, nobody at the counter seemed to recognize him. Vash was dismayed that he didn’t see old Edvard back in the kitchen and wondered idly if something had happened to him. He also wondered, with a sinking gut, if it was one of those things that had been his fault. The dizzying dance between him and Knives had taken a lot of lives in the end. Then again, people were prone to succumbing to the most random of things…illnesses, heart attacks, cancers, simple wear and tear from old age…And sometimes the institutions they founded lived after them, stubbornly refusing change just as his own body had… Vash the Stampede, beaten and broken and scarred, but still standing, stood waiting for his order in an old restaurant where the only thing that had been replaced was some new vinyl covering old seats and where the arcade machines remained along one wall, broken with a sign warning patrons that they spent their money to try to play them at their own risk.

A paper tray with three golden, salt-encrusted rectangles and cut fries slid across the service-counter. It was accompanied by a generous cup of bright red sauce. Vash took his order and sat down at one of the tables, across from the machine that he recognized as “Galaga.” Some static blips across the screen and a few flickers in the lights told him that Mona had sensed him and was saying hello.

Mona was the town’s electrical-generator. She doubled as a Hydroplant, but she was wired up to do tandem – one product generated the other. This was rather rare. Matilda was a dedicated food-producer – part Geoplant for crops and part cloner. Vash had seen the dubious lumps of flesh that came out of her produce-chute, sometimes beef-based, sometimes pork-based or other mammal-based, sometimes poultry, sometimes fish – almost always gray and rather slimy, but the people were grateful.

Both of the Plants in Avon had always been well-cared-for. The engineers here had an excellent understanding of the Sisters, even though, like other humans on the planet, they never knew entirely what they were working with. The people of Avon were the kind of people who were content with little. Some might call them poor, but they were never ambitious enough to try to become a large city. The town had sprung up around the Plants, as most cities in Noman’s Land had, but unlike a large ship-crash where several Plants had been grouped together, Mona and Matilda had been flung out upon impact. It was a miracle that they’d survived. The people who’d discovered them knew their fortune and guarded it carefully. The town remained hard to find, was not listed on most maps and was far, far away from any sandsteamer stop. They – the people and the Plants - were all lonely together.

Mona and Matilda were among the few Plants that had, for over one-hundred years, truly felt safe among

their

humans. Vash, himself, had made good on ensuring the continuance of that with visits every now and again. He’d come out of nowhere to help train new engineers even though most of them gawked “Who the Hell are you?” at him and he never gave them his real name. The older workers called him “Lex” and just accepted him as “Some kind of Plant-doctor. He does wonders.”

Vash dunked a crispy rectangle (it was fish –fried fish) deep into the cup of red sauce and took a hearty bite. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Matilda was still making it like she used to and so were her humans.

The new gourmands of the busier cities would no doubt complain about Vash’s lunch. It wasn’t “real fish,” not “swimming fish,” just reconstituted, minced up fish, possibly mix-and-match species-base, all made from the slimy lumps that came from the back-chute of a Food-Generator Plant that was kept on conservative power and thus was never forced to make something fancy or “quality.” It was fried in too much generated-oil and covered in way too much salt. It needed a sweet and spicy red sauce – something of a mix between ketchup and pepper sauce to give it flavor…

But WHAT flavor!

That sauce! Vash mused about the sauce…and the fish…and how apart they may have been nothing special, but together they made for an absolutely PERFECT marriage. It was a taste he’d experienced nowhere else.

He had to take a once in a decade or so trip to check on a pair of well-cared-for Sisters who never actually needed his help to get this flavor, this crunch, this spice, this moment.

Nostalgia hit him like that bomb a bounty hunter lobbed his way one time fifty some-odd years ago (he’d dodged the explosion, narrowly and had scars along his left leg from the flying shrapnel).

He sent a silent communication of thanks to Matilda.

Vash wistfully thought of the people he’d never shared Edvard’s with. He’d never brought Wolfwood here. He’d never gotten the chance. Avon had never been on their way. They’d been to many hole-in-the-wall joints together and Vash had shared many of his favorite things with his friend (almost every donut-shop in the Seven Cities, for instance, while Wolfwood had groused that he could barely taste anything, anyway due to his experimentation wiping out half of his taste-sense and his cigarette-habit wiping out the other half). Vash wondered if Rem might have liked fish n’ chips. What little he could remember of their meals on the SEEDS ship, they were fairly basic and generally Plant-generated vegetarian, with fruits such as apples rare and precious treats. She probably would have liked the potatoes, though – and the red sauce. Honestly, someone could put this on a boot and Vash would eat it.

Maybe he could bring the girls here – when he saw them again, out of the limelight.

Avon was special, in part, because it was one of the few places that he wasn’t recognized. Take off the red coat, muss up his hair and people here didn’t see him or maybe they did, but they just did not care. Who cares about the Humanoid Typhoon when they’ve got their quiet lives to live and little dingy fast food joints to run?

Vash savored every bite as he watched the blipping arcade machine. He did not know when he would eat like this again.

___________________

END.

#trigun #trigun maximum #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #plants (trigun)#plants #nostalgia #food #vash and food #worldbuilding #where food on noman's land comes from #trigun fanfiction #fanfiction

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winterpower98 · 2 years

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me and 💚 anon are best friends now, they keep giving me ideas

Clone wukong you say?

"just tell us what's going on! We thought you were gonna be executed and now you're-..you don't even sound like wukong!"

"I am getting executed."

sun Wukong said, looking right in the eyes of Beng, one of the four generals.

"..what?"

Ba, Beng partner and also another general of the four asked. Her voice was rather small and confused. Maybe concerned by the king answer.

"I'm just a clone, the real sun wukong is getting executed. Burned to be exact."

As the clone of the king changed completely his tone, from the usual easy going the king had, from serious or even without any emotions.

It explained how the original king was indeed getting executed, and that got a reaction out od the generals.

"WHAT?!"

macaque, the six eared demon spoke, loudly.

"What do you MEAN you are a CLONE? You mean like those weird things wukong can create with his hair?? Magic- what are you talking about?!"

"Burned?"

They all asked different questions, obviously they were all confused and that didn't shock much the clone. He just stayed out of reach, he can be pooffed pretty easily and he didn't wanna risk it.

"Yes i am one of those clones that can be made from hair, and yes sun wukong is getting burned. That's the punishment at least."

everyone's faces were kinda undescribable, one thing certain is that they all looked concerned, but also other emotions the clone couldn't understand.

"Could you elaborate on the.. punishment part?"

Ma, the last general asked, she kept her voice calm as she was the only one to notice that the clone was getting more and more nervous,

she didn't know why but the clone did, so she didn't wanna pressure it.

"Nothing- just. wukong execution didn't work so they decided to take away his immortality..which..is by getting burned in a furnace. I think it was for- 49 days? Years? I don't remember how times work."

Not even the real wukong knows anymore.

".. it's been 24 years."

Ma helped the clone get how much time has passed.

"Oh so it's years okay. Yeah he has to burn for 49 years so his immortality will fade away and he'll die."

And that did not help at all.

"WHAT? NONO- WAIT-"

Macaque spoke, and got closer to the clone.

"Do you know if he's alive-? Do you know if- if he's okay?"

"As long as I'm here he's alive."

wukong is what is keeping the clone sentient anyway.

"..so if you're here..we can understand if wukong is still alive or not?"

Ba spoke again, after watching and listening in horror of what was happening to their king.

the clone nodded, it knew that as long as it was awake, energetic and here, wukong was fine.

buttttt..his purpose failed. He failed his task.

because the generals started all talking, planning i think?

they all spoke in a angry tone, they all talked about "getting into heaven" and "making sure the clone dosen't poof."

the clone was fine with it, but getting into heaven? Wukong wouldn't want that.

"No- wait you guys should stay here! He'll be back! Just- stay here."

at least, let's not fail his main task alright?

Let's keep them safe.

- ✍️

(I'll write part two when I'm not eating brb)

You and Green Heart Anon are going to be dangerous if you actually get to talk one on one, I fear for my life

But this clone sure is going through it

Part 2

#lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid au #monkie kid #monkie kid au #clone wukong au #I suck at naming things people #don't let me name things #flowerfruit monkeys #winter answer #winterpower98

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jedipoodoo · 1 year

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I posted 1,090 times in 2022

That's 941 more posts than 2021!

211 posts created (19%)

879 posts reblogged (81%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@twinkofthedink

@jedipoodoo

@lizartgurl

@emperor-palpaminty

@queenquazar

I tagged 886 of my posts in 2022

Only 19% of my posts had no tags

#sergeant hunter - 311 posts

#lizart writes - 134 posts

#the bad batch - 95 posts

#lizart speaks - 70 posts

#omega - 67 posts

#my ocs - 60 posts

#saachi gunder - 58 posts

#the bad batch x reader - 56 posts

#arc trooper echo - 52 posts

#tbb x reader - 51 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#also i hate the little 'draft saved' box that pops up every two seconds when you're posting on desktop does it jumpscare anyone else???

My Top Posts in 2022:

Hey!! Any chance I could request a labor fic w fives? If not that’s totally ok I’m just super into pregnant readers lol

YOU ABSOLUTELY CAN ANON I AM GOING INSANE WITH THE IMPLICATIONS OF THIS ASK

(I am also super into pregnant readers in case you can't tell xP)

I Want You Forever And Always (Fives x Pregnant!Reader)

Notes/Warnings: reference to Fives' death but SPOILERS! He's not actually dead. Labor and delivery, pregnancy, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, Order 66 o_o This one is kind of long but i doubt yall will mind

he's just so pretty......

Deep breaths. That's all you had to do. Never mind that a sentient being the size of a bowling ball was preparing to make its entrance to the waking world via a hole on your body that was usually no bigger than a grape. No matter that the galaxy was in the middle of a war that tore each planet at the seams. no matter that your family was stuck on the other side of the galaxy and none of them could be there to support you in this crucial moment

Never mind that the father of your child was dead.

You held the dog tag so tightly in your hand that it left an imprint on your palm. It wasn't an actual dog tag, the Kaminoans were far too advanced to require those, but Fives was charmed with the story you had once told him of how when your grandfather had died in battle during the Hyperspace war, he left a tag with his name, station, and one of his favorite sayings hanging on a chain of metal. When Fives got a fresh suit of armor, he'd cut a piece off of his old chestplate, just above his heart, and hung it on a chain.

You wore the tag like a charm ever since he died, hoping some of the insane good luck that had kept him alive through most of the Clone War would rub off on you and your unborn child.

It worked, kind of. You still had crippling anxiety about raising your child alone on Coruscaunt. You could move back to Dantooine with your family, but there you could only make half on the farm there of what you did with your office job here.

And what if the Kaminoans and the Republic got wind of who the father was? Fives was dead, they couldn't punish him for inappropriate relations, but what if they took your child, claiming that it was their property, just as they had with Fives and the millions of brothers who had died before him in this pointless, endless war.

Despite your worries, the labor was progressing well, or so the med-droid told you. It was covered in a soft, rubbery material that mimicked human skin, offering a comforting touch or an arm to lean on. It was all you had, you weren't complaining.

"Have you picked out a name?" It asked. the modulated voice sounded like your wrinkled old grandmother.

"No, not yet." Another contraction hit, and you breathed steadily as you continued your walk around the room. It wasn't too bad, it was just boring, but the doctor said it was meant to help the birth go faster. Who were you to deny yourself?

"I have a database of every recorded name in the galaxy, should you require inspiration. Would you like me to suggest some appropriate names?"

Names, names, what's in a name? Fives and his brothers had some of the most ridiculous names, but you loved them.

"Sure, why not?" You had nothing else to do, and the news playing on the holomonitor behind you wasn't very interesting at the moment.

Without hesitation, the droid began to rattle off a list of names and their meanings, some of which weren't even in basic.

"Luke is a popular boy's name that originated from Tattooine. In Huttese, it means 'little dragon'."

"Really?" You struggled to stay polite. as another contraction knocked the wind out of your lungs. You gripped the railing of your hospital bed for support.

The nursing droid stroked your arm, but otherwise seemed blissfully unaware of your pain.

"There is also the name Lando, menaing land." Original.

"Of course, Many families have taken to naming their sons after the Jedi Generals who have impacted their lives. Have you any such interactions with the Jedi?"

The most you'd interacted with a Jedi was Fives' General, the Jedi Anakin Skywalker. And that was when you'd drunk him under the table at 79's. Fives had been so proud of you that night.

"Not really," You said, breathing evening out, but now you had to hold back tears again. You had a few more minutes before the next contraction.

"Very well," The lights in the droid's eyes blinked. If droids could feel annoyed, this one certainly would be.

"If all else fails, you could name them after the father."

You laughed humorlessly. "Do you have any definitions for the name Fives?"

"I do not understand," the nurse droid said, "the definition of Five would be 'equivalent to the sum of two and three; one more than four, or half of ten'."

See the full post

322 notes - Posted February 4, 2022

Kiss Me Slowly (Crosshair x GN!Reader)

Notes: possessive Crosshair, jealous audience, 79's, established Crosshair x Reader. Not stated explicitly, but Cross is wearing a biker jacket on his night out ^_^

Both the Wolfpack and the 212th were on Coruscant, so of course 79's would be packed. Crosshair told you to meet him and the rest of the Batch, but you had barely managed to get off work in time. Even then, there was still a bunch of traffic to get through, and work didn't have you in the best of moods.

Crosshair was waiting for you when you came in, but you brushed him off.

"Not right now," You muttered. You had a headache and you needed Corellian Ale before you could even begin to entertain the idea of spending the rest of your precocious downtime in a crowded, sweaty bar, even if it was with Crosshair.

The hurt on his face haunted you behind closed eyelids as you waited for your drink. Scanning the crowd, you found Crosshair sulking in the usual booth with his brothers.

A small crowd was beginning to form around the infamous Clone Force Ninety-Nine. Hunter and Tech had managed to bring their partners to the side of the booth closest to the wall where they would be the least disturbed, and Wrecker was introducing Echo to some of their friends. Crosshair, however, was being assaulted by a gaggle of tittering fangirls.

You sighed, taking pity on your boyfriend, and figured you may as well go rescue him.

The crowd had tripled by the time you reached them, and you carefully sheltered your drink. You skirted humans, Twi'leks, and other multitudes of species, trying to make your way to the spot Crosshair had saved for you. a spot a blonde-haired natborn was trying to edge her way into, with long lashes and a ruby-red smile. One of the groupies bumped into you from behind, and your drink splashed all over her. Completely on accident, of course.

She let out a vindictive screech as the alcohol soaked into her dress, and spun on you, seething.

"Watch where you're going!" She screeched.

You blinked. "Uh...sorry? It's really crowded in here."

She rolled her eyes, "Of course it's crowded when people like you are just allowed to run amok."

The toothpick in Crosshair's hand snapped in half, and His brothers looked over in silence as her words hung over the group.

You swallowed, struggling to keep your voice calm.

"Excuse me?"

The groupie rolled her eyes, and one of her friends scoffed.

"I mean, seriously, I've seen your kind before. Staring at the boys all night like some creep. You think you'd honestly have a chance with them?" She sneered.

Wrecker couldn't help it anymore, and let out a boisterous laugh that echoed through the bar for a moment, before the music returned to its usual volume. Some of the groupies took that as permission to titter with giggles at your expense.

Hunter smirked into his glass as he took a sip, and then leaned back into the booth with his partner to enjoy the show.

"Who's gonna tell them?" He asked. His partner grinned back at him mischievously. The question was rhetorical, you all knew who was going to make the situation as clear as a kyber crystal to the groupies.

However, your accuser seemed convinced that Hunter was on their side.

"Yeah," She turned back to you, lips curled back to show off pointed canines, "Who's going to tell you, creep?" She almost jabbed a finger at your chest, but someone grabbed her wrist.

Crosshair had seen enough.

"Not them. You," He snarled, shoving her back. The next second, he had an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against his side.

"They're mine."

The groupie paled. "Y-you mean...?"

"They're your partner?" Her friend squeaked.

Crosshair flicked his toothpick halves at them. He didn't say a word as he swept you over to the booth, and tucked you into the seat beside him, his arm still firmly around your waist and holding you so close you were practically sitting on his lap.

"As far as you are concerned," He slowly met the groupie's embarrassed gaze, "They're my spouse."

See the full post

326 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

Adore You (Crosshair x Pregnant! Reader)

Notes: pregnancy, morning sickness, etc, one suggestive line because it's Crosshair, Soft! Crosshair.

Seeing as I have secured my place as the Bad Batch writer with perpetual baby fever, I figured I needed to give the other boys the same treatment. Crosshair was the first request to be made. @writer1

Mando’a translations:

mesh'la - beautiful

ad'ika - little one, child, small one, etc.

buir - parent, mother/father

ba'vod'u - aunt/uncle

Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad - "I know your name as my child"

Crosshair chuckled. "You look better in my clothes than I do."

You flashed him a smile before pulling the collar of his blacks up over your nose, taking in a deep breath of his scent that lingered on his shirt

"Careful, mesh'la," He warned in a low voice, "You do remember how we ended up in this situation, don't you?"

His hands caressed the swell of your stomach, and Baby kicked out vigorously at the touch of its father.

"You're complaining?" you smirked back at him, placing your hands over his. Crosshair couldn't help but smile, and leaned in to press a kiss to your stomach. He turned slightly, his ear against your tummy, and you gently ran your hands through his curls.

"What do you think they're dreaming about?" He murmured.

You pursed your lips for a moment as you thought, "How excited they are to meet their buir."

Crosshair's fingers traced circles on your tummy. "Hurry up, ad'ika, your buir's dying to meet you."

You laughed, and after a moment the kicking slowed down. Baby was tired, and so were you.

Crosshair kissed your belly one more time before he got up, collecting the rags and dirty clothes from your morning sickness.

"Do you need anything to eat?" he asked.

"Not right now," You took a sip from your canteen, falling back into the pillows. GAR-rationed pillows definitely weren't the most comfortable in the galaxy, but with the ad'ika on the way, all the future ba'vod'u had willingly given up a their pillows to build you a veritable throne. It was perfect to rest in when you got too tired, which was all the time.

You woke up about an hour later to Crosshair massaging your swollen ankles.

"Mmm, that feels heavenly," You told him, "thank you."

"Of course, mesh'la." Crosshair crawled up the bed to lay beside you. You lifted your head slightly so he could tuck one arm under your shoulders, and the other returned to its rightful place on your belly.

He was silent, but that wasn't unusual for him. What was unusual was the touching. Crosshair let you touch him far more than anyone else, but since you got pregnant he was scarcely able to keep his hands off of you.

Tech joked that he enjoyed the "package deal", holding you and the baby at the same time. You had broken down crying from how sweet the thought was (thanks hormones), and it took ten minutes to convince Crosshair that you were okay and they were happy tears and Tech hadn't done anything to upset you.

"Do you think they'll like me?" Crosshair asked out of the blue.

You looked at up him. "Who? The baby?"

He nodded.

You snuggled closer, resting your head against his shoulder. "You're their buir, why wouldn't they love you?"

See the full post

342 notes - Posted January 16, 2022

Straight Through My Heart (Sergeant Hunter x Reader)

Notes: Knives, Physical Proximity, Hunter teaches you how to use a knife properly. Y'all can blame @queenquazar for this one. Love ya boo.

Warnings: Steamy, shameless self-indulgence. Let's say T for Teens.

"Where'd you get this piece of garbage?" Hunter asked all of a sudden. You turned, and you saw him holding the knife you had just bought.

"It was cheap," You shrugged, "And I need a weapon."

Hunter chuckled and shook his head. "This is a Melchi survival knife. It's literally the worst kind you can get." He spun so that he wasn't facing you, and tossed the knife at the target by the door of the Parlor. It just barely skirted the bullseye.

"So it weighs different than your knife."

"No, it weighs the same, but the weight is unevenly distributed. There's no substance in the handle to counterbalance the blade." Hunter waved for you to follow him, and you watched him staring at the knife critically. He gripped the leather-wrapped handle, and instead of pulling it from the wall, he pulled down with all his strength, nearly folding the blade in half before he yanked it out of the wall.

"You ruined it!" You gasped.

"You can have mine." He said quickly. It almost sounded like a joke.

Almost.

Hunter pointed at the different parts of your knife, which now resembled some misshapen corner.

"All knives bend. But if they're made properly, they'll spring back into place." He took his knife and sliced away the leather wrappings. The metal that made up the blade stopped at the handguard, leaving the handle to be made out of crudely polished wood.

Hunter smiled self-righteously. "When the metal goes all the way through the hilt, the knife is more durable and more balanced."

He slipped his knife into your hand, letting you test the weight of it in your palm. It felt almost lighter than air, regardless of how firm the steel was against your fingertip. Hunter slid a finger down the back of the knife, showing you the cutaway section of the knife to prove the metal went all the way down to the hilt. You suppressed a shiver at the sharpness of the blade as you tested your thumb against it.

"I stand corrected, Sergeant," you admitted with wounded pride, "It seems I have much to learn."

Hunter chuckled. "That's what I'm here for, sweetheart. Want a few pointers?"

Your heart beat loudly. You knew how to defend yourself, just not necessarily with a blade as short as Hunter's knife.

"Sure," You shrugged and tossed him his knife, trying to play it off.

Hunter took the leather from your poor excuse of a knife, and carefully wrapped it around the blade for protection.

"When I trained on Kamino, I used a short wooden staff. Just be careful with this," He warned you. His voice was so soft and gentle, you had to nod in compliance.

He smiled, "The first thing you wanna learn, after knowing that you don't hold the sharp end-" He tossed the knife up in the air, catching the blade between his fingertips, "-Is how to keep it balanced."

He demonstrated one of his usual tricks, effortlessly weaving the blade around and in between his fingers fluidly. It hypnotized you like an optical illusion, and you shook your head to make yourself pay attention.

Hunter handed you the hilt of the knife, and you tried to copy what you had seen him do.

He chuckled, shaking his head at your failed attempt. "No, you wanna get your fingers out of the way. If you spin in like that, the uncovered blade will slice your palm open. Move your fingers out of the way, the momentum of the knife will take care of the motions."

You tried again, and the leather-wrapped blade smacked into the palm of your hand. You huffed in frustration.

"Here," Hunter came around behind you, placing his palm on the back of your hand. He lined up his fingers with each of yours, using the lightest of pressure.

"Try slower," He whispered, resting his chin on your opposite shoulder so he could peer around your head to watch your next attempt.

"It's the thumb and the middle finger. Rotate your wrist with the spin so the knife goes under your hand."

With your thumb and middle finger lightly pinched between his fingers and the blade, you gave a little flick with your wrist. Hunter's grip wouldn't let you go too fast, though, and you slowly followed his motions through the twist.

See the full post

430 notes - Posted March 28, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Hello dear! I have a request for you, so lately I have been having the craziest baby fever, so I was thinking, how are the batches baby fever like? I like to hc that they slowly hint it out for a while until they really want to have a baby 😅

THIS IS THE BEST ASK I HAVE GOTTEN IN THE HISTORY OF MY ASKS

Notes: I focused a lot more on pregnancy than adoption in this one, with an exception for Echo because I really don't know for sure what happened to his body. That being said, adoption is a perfectly viable option even if both parents are able to conceive. If you would like me to write something centered on adoption, feel free to drop an ask!

Warnings: babies, baby fever, pregnancy, labor, morning sickness, infertility, adoption, Couvade Syndrome.

The Bad Batch + Baby Fever (afab Reader)

First of all, loyalty means everything to the clones, and loyalty means family. They would do anything for their brothers.

They've been kept from so much in their short lives, the idea of having a spouse and kids of their own seems impossible during the war

So once the war is over (in canon or in one where Papa Palps kicks the bucket before Order 66) endless opportunities are suddenly presented to the Bad Batch.

The one that stands out to them is having a family. Having a loyal partner, and having or adopting kids that they can give a better future than they grew up with.

There have been so many things in the galaxy they can't control, but this is one that they can.

Echo:

Echo wants to be a dad SO BAD

Growing up with Domino squad, he always felt so protective of his brothers and when nights on Rishi got long and boring, they'd talk about what their lives would be like after the war.

After Rishi, he felt like he'd lost the opportunity to have that future he'd imagined with his brothers, but at least had Fives to dream of that future with.

Echo needs people. He needs family. He is so glad to have the batch now, and you.

When you start talking about a family, he is really nervous about pressing anything. But you can tell how much he's holding back.

Once you tell him you want to have kids, the dam bursts. He physically cannot keep it in.

He has a list of baby names a mile long. Most are in honor of the many brothers he's interacted with, but he does some looking into traditionally feminine names as well.

Everyone says Tech's the one doing research but Echo is the one who reads operation manuals for fun.

This man has read every parenting book/pamphlet in existence, and has promptly thrown out the ones that aren't helpful.

He will read these parenting helps to you at night, and it does help you fall asleep but Echo keeps pinching you to stay awake because "This is important, Cyare!"

Because of his trauma, you have to get a bit creative. You can adopt, or you can do IVF. His brothers would be happy to help out.

You can't go through any adoption agencies with the Empire on your tail, so most of it is being on the lookout for kids that need help when you're on missions or walking through Mantell City.

"What about that one-" "Her mom is right over there, babe."

Echo will adopt every child in sight. He is just as bad as Hunter.

If you choose to end up getting pregnant, he goes insane. He can't take his eyes off of you. He hates being away from you, and if he can't bask in your presence for >.2 seconds expect lots of calls like "Hi Cyar’ika how are you and the baby doing?? 🥺"

(if you happen to find out that you're having twins he will faint on the spot. And then promptly rearrange his blueprints for the nursery).

Tech:

Tech gets a baby shoved into his arms when they're trying to evacuate a village while it's mother takes another one of her children to safety.

Tech.exe has stopped working.

See the full post

705 notes - Posted April 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #okay but the fact that fives is my fifth most popular post is actually incredible #also the baby fever #😩😩😩😩#bless up yall

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transluscentcats · 2 years

Text

Cursed take

Sun Wukong ate food made out of his own hair in the new years episode which means that those snacks were all clones and conscious and sentient. I don’t know about most of you but I for one, would not be okay with being eaten alive. It’s gross, presumably painful and best-case scenario, it’s boring, none of these things would be something Wukong would ever bother to deal with, so how could the clones?

Point 1: Clones derive their traits from the original

The only way the clones would allow themselves to be eaten would be if they liked being eaten. The clones enjoy being vored. And while we have all seen how clones can differ from the original (EX: painter, Porty, and delivery Mk) they all have traits that are derived from the original. Painter has MK’s tendency to hyperfocus, Delivery has the inherent laziness in every person, and Porty has MK’s fun loving nature, regularly using porty lingo that MK uses just in higher volume.

SO the clones enjoying being vored has to come from SOMEWHERE and the only place/person that it could have come from was Sun Wukong because he’s y’know their creator. Even if it’s not an active desire Wukong still created clones with the purpose of being eaten so no matter how different they may be that trait still came from him, no matter how far buried in his subconscious it is.

Point 2: Clones are aware even when shape-shifted into inanimate objects

In the original jttw Wukong turns into a pine tree to impress his fellow students before turning back to his normal form after being told to stop. He also turns into an immortality pill ad waits to be eaten before shifting back to his normal form and kicking demon ass from the inside out. This demonstrates a distinct awareness and sentience even as he turns into something with no brain.

Point 3: Wukong has canonically been vored in the original JTTW

In the original Journey to the west early in the journey Tripitaka’s cassock gets stolen by a black bear demon. The demon and Wukong duke it out but the demon flees before Wukong can get him to give the cassock back. Eventually he enlists the help of Guanyin to give the demon a gift of an immortality pill which is actually Wukong in disguise. the demon accepts the gift and eats Wukong whole and Wukong proceeds to beat him up from the inside. While I’m aware that this strategy was hatched to prevent the demon from running away while Wukong took him out it seems like one of the weirdest strategies he could have used considering that he had the assistance of a Boddhisatva. He had a lot of other options at his disposal so why did he go for the one that led to him getting eaten kinda sus man.

In conclusion Sun Wukong, The Monkey king, is totally into vore

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Note

Jangobi 5 for the soulmate thing? Because that would make the fight on kamino just *chef's kiss*

soulmate au prompts

5. the one where you don’t know your soulmate until you touch them.

Apparently there’s never any skin to skin contact in the movie? Because armor? So......... we’re gonna just. Quick little thing.

Also I’ve been doing a lot of “marginally less shitty” Jango, but this is just-as-shitty-as-canon Jango. It’s, uh, not much of a romance, because Kamino. Actually it’s mostly just a lot of angry yelling about human rights violations.

...I’m sure they’ll get together eventually. It’s just, you know... it’s going to take a while.

------

Jango’s heard about this Jedi.

The man isn’t famous, or particularly acclaimed. It’s just that Mandalorians gossip, and Death Watch isn’t exempt, and Dred Priest still has friends in the terrorist group. So do a few others.

(Jango sometimes wonders if he’d have invited Priest, had he knows the monster was only a step away from being Death Watch himself.)

(Probably not.)

(He’d at least have been able to see the battle circles coming.)

Death Watch hates one specific Jedi above all others: Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It’s almost enough to make a man like the pretty bastard, except the reason Death Watch hates this specific Jedi is because he kept Duchess Kryze alive, and Jango isn’t much of a fan of hers, either.

In the moment, though, the main thing this all means is that Obi-Wan Kenobi knows Mandalorian customs.

First meetings, out of armor, mean ensuring the arm clasp has skin contact.

His eyes flick down to where Jango is reflexively pulling up his sleeves, and the man just... does the same, sodden as the beige-on-brown-on-dark-brown robes are.

Jango can’t just play it off. He has to, ugh, arm clasp with a Jedi.

Kenobi probably guesses how unpleasant this is for him, going by the grim little smile that he wears, the one Taun We can’t read and Jango can, but they touch forearms and le--

They do not let go.

“Oh kriff,” Kenobi swears, and then it’s just... it’s too late. It’s too late to stop anything.

“Jetii,” Jango spits as if it’s a swear.

He doesn’t want to be soulmates with a Jedi. No sane person ever wants to be soulmates with a Jedi, but as a Mandalorian, and as specifically Jango Fett, who signed onto this project for revenge against Jedi, the idea is just... excruciating.

“For revenge? Not entirely unexpected, but I’m still somehow disappointed.”

“Stay out of my head.”

Kenobi smiles at him, completely devoid of anything but the blackest of humor. “Are you staying out of mine?”

And, well, no. They’re soulmates. Kenobi has more of an idea on how to control how far his mind wanders into Jango’s, but in this moment, just seconds after being bound together by the universe... Jango’s slamming into Kenobi’s shields with an embarrassing lack of control.

“Is something the matter?” Taun We asks.

“I do believe we need to speak alone,” Kenobi says. “Unfortunate timing, but this is our first meeting, and it appears we are soulmates.”

“Ah. We were informed of the human tendency towards such.” She blinks, too large eyes impossible to read for Kenobi, but entirely readable for Jango after all these years. She’s irritated. “I apologize, but it appears we were unable to remove such unpredictability from the product.”

A wave of revulsion leaks out of Kenobi’s mind and into Jango’s. The man just nods. “I understand. As it is, I imagine that the near instantaneous communication on the battlefield will be a boon, if any are bonded to each other or to active soldiers.”

“I defer to your judgement as client, Master Kenobi,” Taun We hums, still irritable. It’s less visible in her face, but... Kenobi can feel it. “I shall leave you to get... acquainted.”

Aaaaaaaand she’s expecting them to sleep together the second she turns her back. The disgust she feels at the thought of such carnal activities is thirdhand to Jango, but he can still feel it, because Kenobi can feel it, because they’re soulmates.

“Oh, do tell me how you really feel,” Kenobi mutters, sweeping past him into the apartment.

Jango wishes he could slam the door as he storms after the Jedi.

“Listen here--”

“Absolutely not,” Kenobi says, with the kind of bland, impersonal smile that Jango’s heard Dred Priest bitch about at least a dozen times. “I need you to answer me this: why are you selling your children into what is clearly slavery?”

“They’re not my children.”

“You choose to be dar’buir, then?” Kenobi clucks a tongue, acting like he can’t even feel Jango’s waves of hate that are just growing by the second. “Shame on you, Mand’alor.”

“I am not the Mand’alor.”

“No. You are demagolka,” Kenobi says, the sweet words of Jango’s first language falling from his lips like poisoned honey. “They are your children, Fett. Your clones, just as human as you.”

“They are little more than droids, Jedi. The Kaminoans--”

Kenobi laughs, sharp and bitter, and it’s enough of a surprise that Jango stops talking. The Jedi strides closer, and it takes everything in him to not step back at what little emotion the Jedi allows through.

“Let me show you,” Kenobi hisses, putting a hand on either side of Jango’s head and it’s too much this is not a sense he is meant to have.

Kenobi cannot lie to Jango, not in this mental space. Not in this existence. He can cherry-pick what he shows, he can exaggerate, he can hide, but he cannot present a falsehood.

What Kenobi shows him, as he pulls Jango into his mind and drowns him in the sensation of the Force, is how each and every clone shines, bright and unique and so very human, so very sentient, so very alive.

These are your children, Kenobi says, directly into his mind and with no room to pull away. If they choose to disown you for your crimes against them, then that is their right, but until they do, they are your responsibility. You’re playing in denial and cognitive dissonance, soulmate mine. If I have to drag you into caring for your children the way any Mandalorian would, then so be it.

“Kriff off,” Jango manages to grit out in the real world. Kenobi looks unimpressed, when he lets go. The sensations in Jango’s mind, the jangled distaste and horror and anger, those are worse.

“Are you going to be dar’manda?” Kenobi demands. “You, who were once king of your people, have you really sunk so low to be the worst of your kind? To be so horrible that even Kyr’tsad would be shamed? Or worse, approve?”

“You have no place--”

“You are violating one of the core tenets of your culture!” Kenobi shouts. “You are being the worst of what you could be, Jango Fett! The most important, the absolute most important element of your culture, the care and nurture of children, and look at what you’ve done--”

“The clones--”

“Your sons!” Kenobi growls at him. “Your children, Fett. I’ve a student that is, by every Mandalorian standard, my son. I know what it is to take in a child that is not yours by blood, to raise a foundling, and you are cutting off millions that are your blood. You aren’t turning away an orphan to another family because you cannot care for them as they deserve, you are breeding your children for war like bantha to slaughter.”

Jango throws the first punch.

Kenobi throws the second.

By the time the fight ends, the room is in ruins, for all that they do not draw blasters or sabers. Kenobi has Jango on his back, straddling his chest with knees on his wrists, a vibroblade to his neck. Kenobi’s lip is bleeding, and Jango thinks he might have caused a hairline fracture in the cheekbone. Both of them have at least one broken rib, and Jango’s currently blind in one eye from the blood pouring out of a cut on his forehead.

Kenobi’s a good fighter. If it weren’t for everything else, Jango might have even been able to appreciate that.

“You,” Kenobi growls, fisting one hand into Jango’s curls and yanking for emphasis, earning himself a snarl in return. “Are going to fix this mess you’ve helped create. If I have to drag the entire Jedi council, the entire senate, if I have to drag in all of Mandalore to make you fix this, I will.”

There’s determination in those words, angry and a little spiteful, but mostly just... disappointed.

“Of course I’m disappointed,” Kenobi spits out, like the words are hot coals. He’s expressive. Jango wants to like it, but mostly he just resents the trait. “I hoped to never find a soulmate; it just complicates things. Opsec becomes a nightmare and holding to the code is difficult. And now I have a soulmate, and he’s an absolute monster that views his own children as little more than droids.”

“War is going to come for them no matter what,” Jango manages to say, and Kenobi’s look is back to unimpressed. “Don’t pretend you haven’t heard of the separatists. There’s an army of actual droids, metal and code, just waiting for the right moment to pick a fight. It’s too late to stop it.”

“...you’re not only raising an army of your own children, but engineering the war that’s going to kill them?” Kenobi almost screeches, and the wave of nauseous loathing that slams into Jango is almost enough to make him actually vomit. Kenobi didn’t pull punches, not in the actual fight and not in whatever mental battle they’re apparently having via emotions and words.

“I’m not engineering it,” Jango says. “I’m just one part in a bigger machine. I got my payment. The rest is on Tyranus.”

He doesn’t even stop the images from flickering through his mind, throwing the man who hired him under the speeder.

“Master Dooku?” Kenobi whispers, horror growing. “No, no, I killed the--the Sith can’t--I killed the one on Naboo, and the Council mentioned the Rule of Two, but... oh hells.”

“You know him?” Jango taunts.

“He’s my grandmaster,” Kenobi says, and Jango can’t imagine the rest is meant to reach him, but the undercurrent is there.

Count Dooku is, by Mandalorian law, Kenobi’s grandfather.

Jango... suddenly feels a little regret about the taunting.

“I’d rather you feel regret about your children,” Kenobi snaps at him. “Every single one of them is a person, one that you chose to bring into this world, and they are your children.”

The argument is going in circles, but there are still places to take this.

“Your army is all adults, Kenobi,” Jango decides.

“They are ten years old,” Kenobi retorts. “Accelerated aging, sure, but they are children.”

“They’re soldiers.”

Disgust again, the same thing Kenobi has felt every time Jango has reasserted the purpose these children were born to, the same thing Jango has told his son, his sergeants, himself, for over a decade.

“A son?” Kenobi whispers. “Is your denial that strong, Fett? That you would claim one and not the rest?”

“Payment,” Jango says, and lets Kenobi feel the rest, since he seems so karking keen on it.

“Keeping one child in exchange for letting yourself be the creator of a slave army,” Kenobi says, and he doesn’t seem impressed. “Weren’t you a slave? Two years on a spice ship, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t you dare--”

“And you would put your sons in chains,” Kenobi hisses, hands going for Jango’s head again. It’s a sense memory, this time, of dark tunnels and exploding collars and a dar’jetii that... was his older brother. According to the Jedi way of thinking.

It’s a twisting fear and pain and I will die so that others may live while looking at an older man, a Master, who can maybe save the other slaves at the expense of one too-angry Initiate’s li--

“Get out of my head!” Jango roars, and he still can’t move his arms, and his legs are held down by the Force, but he twists his head to bite and Kenobi snatches his hands away.

Kenobi glares down at him, almost sneering with the amount of disdain he has for Jango’s general existence. “I’m your soulmate, and had we met fifteen years ago, I might have even thought that an alright thing... but whatever you are now isn’t something I can abide by. You won’t listen to morality, so let me say this instead: a Jedi does not kill an unarmed opponent, but I have full authority to arrest you, even here. I will take you back to the Republic, to be tried for your collusion with a Sith, and you will go to prison. You can try to run, but I am in your head, and you’re in mine. Once you’re in prison, what happens to your son?”

The implication is there, but even if it wasn’t, Jango hears the thought:

They’re soulmates. The Republic would place Boba with Kenobi.

He refuses to have his child raised by a holier-than-thou Jedi.

“Holiness doesn’t have any meaning in Jedi philosophy,” Kenobi says, relaxing just the slightest bit. “Other religions, yes, but no place in ours.”

“You’re a self-righteous bastard,” Jango says flatly. “Despite threatening a child.”

“You mean threatening to take custody of a child being raised in an unhealthy environment, one where he’s being taught to devalue his brothers, engendering a mental dissonance where he has to convince himself he’s special for a reason and that you won’t just drop him if he fails to be perfect?” Kenobi asks. “I prefer to keep children with guardians who love them, but the argument that he’s better off away from you isn’t a difficult one.”

“Oh, like a child-stealer--”

“My mother tried to drown me when I was a toddler,” Kenobi says, even flatter than Jango had been a minute earlier. “Because I was Force-Sensitive, and it was considered curse on my home planet. A Jedi saved me. Tell me that was a kidnapping and not being saved.”

Jango grinds his teeth. “You’re damned smug whenever you have some sob story that outranks mine.”

“This isn’t about who has the bigger sob story,” Kenobi says, and Jango can feel how he’s just as ready to start clenching his jaw to deal with Jango’s bullshit. “It’s about you doing your damned job as a Mandalorian and a father, and taking responsibility for your children. All three million of them.”

It really, really is a pity they didn’t meet before Jango took this job. They could have been great together.

As it is, Jango goes for the groin shot the second Kenobi lets him back on his feet.

#Jangobi #kinda #Jango Fett #Obi Wan Kenobi #star wars #kamino #slavery mention #child abuse mention #just the usual clone stuff really #Phoenix Answers Memes #Phoenix Posts #sorry this isn't as shippy as people were probably hoping #mostly it's just Obi-Wan being deeply angry #and Jango being chock-full of denial and cognitive dissonance #500 notes

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padawansuggest · 3 years

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I wanted an emotional AU where Rex and Wolffe come to visit Boba one day after he takes over Tatooine because they didn’t know he was still alive and they think might as well, but they don’t know what Boba’s been up to since then, they come by while Grogu is home on family time from the Jedi temple, and I thought it would be kinda sweet when they realize their brother’s husband has a son they’re parenting, but now I’m losing my shit cause I cannot imagine this being anything but hilarious?????

Wolffe and Rex: *show up 30 minutes into Grogu’s nap*

Boba: ugh these whores

Din: *comes wandering out with a baby monitor and sits on the side of Boba’s throne, looking v curiously at the two old men cause they look familiar* who dis???

Boba: These are some of my older brothers.

Din: ??? Some of????

Wolffe: wtf did he really have to point that out???? Great husband you got there thought you changed???

Boba: omfg lay off him he doesn’t even know

Din: what don’t I know? About the clone thing? Fennec said so. I don’t see an issue with it, clones aren’t just as sentient as anyone else.

Fennec: :)

Boba: ??????

Fennec: I told him you were a clone. That’s it.

Boba: …babe… so. You know that war that lead to the rise of the empire?

Din: *trauma flinch* um. Wish I didn’t. But. Yes.

Boba: *gestures to R&W* Well. We were some of the clones in it. I was a different… model… than these two.

Rex: *kindly* He means to say we were altered to age at twice the normal rate. We’re nearly the same age as him.

Din: *is awkward* Um. Oh. Okay. I… I don’t know what you want me to say? Boba, are you on friendly terms with them?

Boba: I haven’t tried to kill them in a while. So. Yes.

Din: Okay. Well, welcome. I’m glad to meet Boba’s family. The little one will be up eventually, so you can meet him too? *looks to Boba for confirmation*

Boba: *shrugs* They’re harmless enough. Sure.

Rex: *perks up* A son? You have a son?

Wolffe: Y’all I’m still lost on how this man didn’t know your background. What rock was he living under?

Din: I lived in a sewer :)

Boba: *dopey grin and chuckle* Isnt he adorable? He’s cute.

Din: I’m one of the most famed bounty hunters in the outer rim :)

Boba: He’s precious.

Rex: *awkward one now* BAby???????

Din: Yeah. He’s a Jedi.

Rex and Wolffe: !!!!!! Baby Jedi??????????

Boba: :/ yeah. He’s on hometime from his Jedi school. His master is Luke Skywalker. Not that I’m happy, exactly, to have a kriffing Skywalker teach my son, but, whatever.

Rex: *awkward again* Ahhh. I’ve heard he’s slightly less destructive than his father?

Din: :( I watched him destroy like 50 dark troopers in like five minutes. He’s pretty destructive.

Boba: *considering that to be a very tame act tbh, turns to look at his husband with hairless eyebrows up* Babe. Babe he destroyed the Death Star.

Din: The what?

All three of them: !!!!!!!

Wolffe: What sewer did you find him in again????????

Din: *tbh he’s usually used to being the least informed person in a room* :)

Rex: He’s… he’s…

Boba: He’s very pretty, I can assure you.

Rex: Oh force are we using that as a standard for spousal material now?

Boba: He’s also a good father and one of the greatest warriors I know.

Wolffe: Hmmm. Maybe those /are/ good spousal materials.

Din: *hears fussing over the baby monitor* Ahh, Grogu is awake. I’ll go get him now.

And then he brings lil baby Grogu into the throne room where Wolffe and Rex lose their shit so hard they almost choke.

#star wars #clone wars #the mandalorian #captain rex #commander wolffe #din djarin #boba fett #dinboba #bobadin #grogu #it was when my brain came up with ‘I lived in a sewer:)’ that I lost it #fennecs :) is her being a little shit #dins :) is him being the dumbest pretty bitch around

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moon6shadow-my-writing-bookmark · 3 years

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youtube

I have a new theory that Bacta is a type of modified honey. Which may not be too far off given it’s partly made from liquid excreted by insects or something I think?

Also this is totally fuel for my ‘Vader totally has an Off The Grid As Much As Physically Possible Fleet which includes gardens for air and water filtration as well as food’ AU headcannon.

Clone Wars: We need to make deals with Hutts l Slavers to keep the supply routes open and require you to take your freshly minted Padawan along with you.

Oh and supplies are almost always garenteed to be running out or low during the war even though they are always desperately needed by someone.

And you can never get too far ahead of the resupply vessels when racing to save the next planet or you’re screwed.

Oh and the sentient insects that make bacta were enslaved for it, while medical corporations created a fake bacta shortage shortly before the Clone War.

Anakin who overhauled the Venator Class war ships: Fuck that.

Vader getting a flag ship as big as a floating city that is way bigger than his old Flag Ship yet somehow apparently only has a tiny population on board: I know exactly what to do with all this space.

Piett would greatly appreciate it if the Empire population records included everyone on Death Squadron, rather than just those on the Imperial payroll. The discrepancies are giving him a headache.

He would also like to know why exactly nobody thought to inform him that becoming Admiral of Death Squadron was the equivalent of being handed command of an entire country, with each major ship being the equivalent of their own state.

Anakin isn’t good at leaving people behind in doomed situations, aka everytime he and the GAR had to retreat leaving Friendlies behind, especially after Jabiim. Never mind forbidding people from having relationships, children or living with their families. He just didn’t really have the space to put them before because the Republic never had enough ships…

Honestly who thought letting the hoarder have such a big ship was a good idea?

Oh right he sort of did, didn’t, steal The Lady l Executor out from someone else’s command.

Anyone who asks why someone would think it was a smart idea to raise children on a war ship is promptly going to be stared at blankly. Because Seppies never did care about opening fire on civilians no matter what planet or ship they were on. If the Core Worlds weren’t safe to leave children then where was? At least here they have an entire army between them and enemy forces.

The Clone Wars screwed up a lot of people’s ideas of where exactly was a ‘safe’ place, if such a thing existed at all without being armed to hell and back and teaching the kids to protect themselves for good measure.

In which there has always been a thriving trade system amongst the vod’e, it just keeps getting bigger as time goes on and more and more people and skills get added to the pot.

Cue “Imperial Credits will do fine.” “No, they won'ta!”scene every time a Shinie steps on board. The Vod’e have spent way too much time in the Mid and Outter Rim to accept Credits as currency.

Death Squadron also has it’s own tax system and by extension health care, education, etc. system because they sure as hell aren’t going to wait around for the higher ups to cough up the money for it.

Also the Imperial education is bullshit and really it shouldn’t surprise people they have mixed mode education programs that have been alive and kicking since the beginning given how often people were training on the go out of sheer necessity. Meanwhile getting recognition for prior learning is so common that nobody even bothers to bat an eye about it. Who cares if you ever got an official flying license as long as you can fly the damn thing.

Anakin l Vader’s Fleet not having a designated system to patrol but rather given patrol of the entire Republic l Empire as they run around putting out fires being made so much easier when they don’t have to depend so much on supply ships.

It also makes them a million times harder to track because they don’t have to depend on supply ships.

Part of the terror around Anakin l Vader is his ability to show up out of nowhere and turn the tide of any battle, knowing his entire fleet can do the same is terrifying.

‘Oh and the sentient insects that make bacta were enslaved for it, while medical corporations created a fake bacta shortage shortly before the Clone War.’

May or may not be correct as I’m trying to remember stuff I’ve heard about from Legends or somewhere else, but haven’t read myself.

#star wars #bacta #Youtube #Death Squadron #anakin skywalker #headcanons #humour #Darth Vader #admiral piett #clone troopers

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bow-and-dagger · 4 years

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Star Wars Reincarnation AU

I’ve read a lot of Star Wars fics where you have time travelers or prisoner-in-carbonite people who comes to save the day but! Consider this: Reincarnation!!!!

Why isn’t this a thing? Especially all the Force shenanigans a reincarnation implies!

Consider this: Jango reincarnated as one of his own clones! Pre-Order 66 or Post-Order 66 doesn’t really matter, just the FEELS! Bonding with his batchmates, fearing the cullings and other mistreatments, bonding with his Jedi General, seeing the Jedi as the good, if sometimes flawed (like all sentient beings), people they are! And then remembering his life as Jango! And Boba! and-! JUST THE FEELS!!!

(Also, a great alternative would be Jaster being reincarnated as one of Jango’s clones, preferably one of the first, and remembering his past-life before Geonosis!

Jango, seeing a clone litteraly mowing down the competition: *he reminds me of someone* “hey, you! What’s your name?”

Jaster, who doesn’t remember yet but has weird inate knowledge of things: “Jaster, sir!”

Jango: !!!!)

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

BUT! I present you the golden idea that started this post:

Tarre Vizsa!

Where’s the lambda teen who suddenly wakes up with the memories of his past life flooding his mind?

Like, give me a teen, alone, aimless and on his own in a cruel galaxy that suddenly remembers he can make his own family by adopting the people he likes!!! He researches, trains, buy weapons, finds out what has happened since his death, figures out the current Manda’lor (Jaster, ofc, ‘cuz I’m a sucker for happy fix-it) is doing a good job transforming a bloddthirsty culture into a bloodthirsty culture with honor and standards and then finds out HIS OWN DESCENDANTs and CLAN are being utter idiots and bastards!

Give me an ex-Jetii Manda’lor going on the warpath against the Death Watch, killing/subduing them, taking back his ‘saber (I have this image stucks in my head of Tarre cooing over his darksaber “My preciousssss! Which one of these fools manhandled you like some sort of common tool?! I’ll make them pay!”) and just generally sowing chaos everywhere he goes, f***ing up the sith’s plans along the way.

Give me Tarre going to Bandomeer or Melida/Daan because of the Force/avoiding Jaster, Jango & Cie who have questions/avoiding the Order and the Republic who also have questions and meeting Obi-Wan and the Young and going “Okay, MINE, now! No take back!” *insert delighted/maniacal laughter*.

Give me Obi-Wan who meets this weird teen barely older than he is but who already has the presence of a Master and who wants him as his student, him! The failed apprentice! The self-exiled Padawan!

Give me Tarre travelling around the galaxy with his adopted son/Padawan and a gaggle of other kids and even some adults he adopts on the spot, meeting new friends, accidentaly-on-purpose kickstarting revolutions, kicking shebs and taking names.

Give me all that and give me everyone else scratching their heads about this strange teen who is clearly Mando’ade and yet also a Jetii but whom no one knows. The Jedi are half-panicked because this stranger kidnapped one of their padawans but at the same time did so to save said padawan from a war-torn world (Qui-Gon what were you thinking?!). The Mandalorians are pleased: here is a kid who single-handedly (more or less) took care of Death watch and is now adopting and saving kids left and right, like all Mando’ae do! But at the same time they are shook because the kid is an unknown, has the darsaber (the symbol of the Manda’lor!) and, most of all, calls himself Tarre Vizsla!!

Tarre: “I’m Tarre Vizsla.”

Mandalorians: “Yeah. No. Wtf, kid.”

Jedi: “Be as it may, we ask you to...Wait! The Darskaber’s crystal resonates with you?!”

Tarre: “Well, yes, it’s mine. It chooses me. Don’t tell me the Order forgot how to pick their crystals?”

Jedi: ...

Jedi: You are TARRE VIZSLA?!?!

Tarre, sighing and longsuffering: “Yes, that’s what I just said.”

Meanwhile Tarre is utterly pleased by Jaster being the Manda’lor. (He’s very glad he doesn’t have to fight the man for the title to protect his people. And, also, he’s utterly delighted he won’t have to deal with paperwork attached to the position! Freedom!)

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Also, there’s potential Force Ghosts shenanigans involved with reincarnation!

Imagine a Force Ghosts chilling in the Force with their buddies when they suddenly disappear only to be shoved into a physical body, alive once again! Seeing ghosts would be easier for those reincarnated since they have already been touched by death/The Force.

Plus, this can work for Mandalorians, too!! With the Ka’ra (the ghosts of dead Mandalorians who watch over the living)!!

So many possibilities!

GIVE ME THE SW REINCARNATION FICS WE DESERVE!!!!

...

I’m going to have to write it, am I? Damn it!

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

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Title: desecrate my lungs Summary: Anakin Skywalker died in his son’s arms on the Death Star. He woke up again in the middle of a battlefield during the Clone Wars, choking because he forgot how to breathe without a machine forcing air in his lungs, unable to stand because he hadn’t been standing on his own legs for two decades. Time-travel fix-it in which Mustafar haunts Anakin decades after it happened and years before it would. AN: That’s right, the medical trauma time travel AU is gonna get written now.

Read on AO3

Kix was a medic. He had not only been bred to shoot blasters with deadly efficiency, strategize on the fly in the midst of enemy fire or fight for the protection of the glorious Republic. He had also been taught how to take care of the wounded, dosage medicine, do surgery and decide whether a life was worth saving or not. Back on Kamino, he hadn’t really known what the latter meant, but his first battle had more than shown him. It meant that he decided which brothers they could afford to take back to camp for treatment, whether they had enough time and recourses to save one life or should rather invest the bacta to save ten more. Being a clone medic in this war was much more about mathematics and benefit-cost analysis than anybody wanted to admit.

His job was to ensure that soldiers could fight another day.

He had not been taught how to heal sentients.

General Skywalker, genius pilot and mechanic that he was, could run the same calculations as Kix. He knew that risking ten to save the one was without merit and yet he tried it again and again and more often than not it paid off. Kix easily remembered the first battles, when Rex had returned to camp together with Skywalker against all odds because their General had decided not to leave him behind.

The part of Kix that was a brother to millions of others had appreciated that. The other half, who had been taught to rescue and repair based on credits hadn’t understood. The longer the war dragged on, the more concessions did the field medic have to make. Kamino’s training had been extensive and Kix could make it through the war relying solely on that, but he’d long since realized that it wasn’t enough if he wanted his brothers, not his soldiers, to make it out of this whole fight alive. He wasn’t supposed to spend his nights reading up on how to alleviate aching joints and figure out how prosthetics worked. The latter was much too expensive to waste on a clone, the former was unnecessary, but Kix studied it anyway and sent the necessary info to his brothers in need. The General had been a great help when it came to prosthetics considering his own arm and was supportive of the small but ever-growing group of medics under Kix’s tutelage who were outfitting their brothers with new limbs so they wouldn’t be phased out. The whole project was missing funds at every corner and Kix thanked the Force twice a day for the money that could be made in shady bars, games of chance or troublesome bets. Perhaps organizing an underground gambling ring was against regulations but Kix was resourceful. He needed money and he knew the price of blood and organs on the market. Besides, there were always more dead brothers than those who needed a transplant.

He had been made a medic because he had steady hands and a mind for numbers. He could keep track of their income and made sure it didn’t show up on the regular budgeting.

Kix had not been made to heal sentients and he had no idea how to help one who regarded himself as a soldier at best, and a mindless weapon at worst.

Kix’s knowledge of physical therapy was less than he’d like it to be and even Coric, who had had more time to invest in the medical side of their project than him, didn’t know too much about it.

Never mind how it worked for someone who didn’t even have prosthetics, yet needed to relearn how to walk.

“Fuck!” The crude curse was barely above a whisper, yet it rang loudly in the silent room.

Kix stepped over to his General, who was holding himself up by his IV-stand, to help him, but the moment he came too close to him, Anakin raised his mech-arm.

“Don’t,” he ordered. “I can do this.”

Kix had noticed that he had started to favor it, likely because it was the limb he had the most control over. They had stopped handing him breakable things to handle with his flesh hand right after he had woken up with coherence.

The first week had been a little touch-and-go in that regard with Anakin thinking he was hallucinating or worse, but by now he had his grasp on reality back and was steadfast refusing to take it slowly.

“Sir, I’m not sure you should be standing or walking yet,” Kix carefully spoke up.

Anakin’s expression twisted into a snarl. “I know what I’m doing.”

He took another step and nearly crashed to the ground again.

Kix was supposed to be sleeping, his shift was over, but everyone else involved in this mess was busy so it was left to him to watch over his patient. Who should also be sleeping but instead forced himself to walk when he obviously had neither the strength nor the coordination needed for such an activity.

This wasn’t how physical therapy worked, he was sure, but it wasn’t like he knew any better. The clones who had to relearn how to do certain actions did so in-between breaks and the battlefield. There was no time to get properly acquainted and used to it all. The General was obviously of the same school. He was always on the mover, never knew when to take a break to rest and find himself again.

Anakin moved his bare foot forward once more, this time without lifting it off the ground. His attention was laser-focused on it. When the movement was completed, he was smiling in grim satisfaction.

Kix wondered whether that had been Anakin’s approach after he had lost his arm. He pitied General Kenobi for having to deal with that.

“General Kenobi insisted that you take it easy,” Kix said out loud, hoping that mentioning the other Jedi would do something to keep Anakin from this foolish endeavor. “You don’t have to master it all at once again.”

“I do,” Anakin insisted hotly. “You don’t know what he will do if I don’t-“

He shut up, his mouth in a thin line.

He had slipped up before when he was less coherent, the aftereffects of what Kenobi had hesitantly dubbed a vision still shaking him. Anakin was afraid, downright terrified of someone and he was sharing information in bouts of panic attacks, careless comments, incredible worry, and dark anger. It wasn’t enough to make any plan of sorts or explain why the General suddenly acted as if he were a ghost haunting himself, attempting to use his body as a puppeteer might want to make their doll move.

“Will you at least take it easy as to avoid worrying the Commander any further?”

As soon as the question was out of his mouth, Kix knew he had lost this battle.

“I’m doing this for her,” Anakin answered. His words began to blur together. He was overdue for a rest, should, by all means, be sleeping just like Kix. However, unless they forced him under via sedation or a Kenobi-induced Force-suggestion, the General wouldn’t close his eyes. “All of them. I don’t have any time left.”

Time for what? Kix wanted to ask, but instead watched as Anakin took another unsteady step, refusing any and all support.

#Anakin Skywalker #star wars #clone trooper kix #tcw #fanfic #medical trauma time travel au #Kix: if not for the fact that you are my general i would chain you to your bed #i swear this is a happy fix it but do mind the tags

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misanthropecopy · 3 years

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@telekinetiq, @gooselullaby

The hour had come.

With all the time she spent preparing not only did Psyche find a new place to stay, she also completely set up new abode for family. The Mewtwo came up and collaborated with the villagers to create a new system of the island they were staying at. She figured out all the best places they could gather food, in their new home. Finally, she found multiple, backup locations in the unlikely event that Giovanni and Team Rocket would destroy their territory once again. Legendary was NOT going to be caught unprepared, this time.

The layout for their new system was a fairly simplistic one, or at least something villagers were faintly accustomed towards. The Zoroark would use their illusionary powers for concealing island completely from humanity’s radars and satellites whenever there were not any real storms going over, while Psyche would make sure to amplify their skills tenfold when amidst new home. No Pokemon was allowed to leave the island unless they asked Mewtwo first and save for some situation where an individual wanted out entirely genetic experiment would take them wherever she went, then keep a telepathic eye on wandering Pocket Monsters when exploring. If in the case of an unlikely event where some person just accidentally stumbles onto their territory they were to be tested as always. Those who weren’t involved in orchestrating these trials would need to keep their distance and if a human failed even once, they were to be immediately subdued until clone teleported them back towards wherever man originated from. Finally, any drones or tracking devices found were to immediately be terminated on SIGHT. No accused device containing surveillance functions was going to enter their sanctum, again.

It was more of a harsher life, then what the villagers had once known and Psyche did not exactly feel entirely satisfied with choices made herself but they all were pushed towards taking such measures. Besides if anyone scarcely believed this life was meant for them, individuals were free to take their own path and Mewtwo would drop them off wherever they wanted.

All the villagers were gathered around Mount Quena’s lakebed, taking one last look at their ephemeral home. It was evident that they had developed some fond memories here, with Stein, his clones and even “Amber”. Even if some had to hold themselves back on their natural instincts, they would never forget this place. Psyche herself would muse over these past, few weeks inside her heart for a long time. Elder clone had granted her a personal mercy, by allowing chosen kin to briefly remain here. Though whenever they spoke towards each other more masculine experiment’s tone often sounded critical, his actions spoke louder then meager words could express. She hoped that... he wouldn’t think less of her, for doing this.

Honestly, it was for the best that they leave. Stein was making enemies on so many sides and even those he dubbed allies Psyche knew hardly had his best interest at heart. Elder clone had provoked the dark side to come out from others and younger one wasn’t sure who she could trust outside of family anymore. Additionally though she tried so hard to refrain from getting involved in conflict, more savage-hearted side still leaked through and now newer Mewtwo was URGED on in creating advanced Pokeballs in case a certain, alien species tried invading or destroying planet. She was falling into that Raboot-hole of hypocrisy and more feminine Pokemon felt compelled to leave before villagers were dragged down with her! They had already been through enough, she didn’t want them fighting against Silvally and foul aliens too! Besides it’s not like she failed to inform other genetic legendary about her plans. From the very beginning she stated they would remain until another, suitable home was found. However... there was a possibility his ideas on this arrangement could have changed. Either way, she was not sticking around to find out.

Eyes engulfing themselves in a white light, with one broad extension of her arms she teleported villagers and herself to new home. This was the start of a new journey for them; a new adventure, waiting on the horizon. If all went well, the villagers would have a peaceful life here. As she and chosen kin vanished from Mount Quena however, something special was being delivered to Stein’s fortified abode.

With a flash of bright light, a single flower appeared near each and every one of Stein’s clones. These blossoms shaped similar towards stars contained white petals, which blended into a deep pink at its tips. Golden anther and filament stemmed from their centers, bringing with them a lovely aroma into atmosphere. They were gracideas and Psyche hoped bringing them these gifts would help appease any pain this parting evoked.

While each of the clones would receive their own blossom, there were two cases amidst Stein’s family who were especially lavished. Nanako, now called Amber would have many blossoms surrounding her person. Amidst these blooms would be a single note. If the little girl noticed it and picked item up, this is what she would read:

Dear “Amber”,

I know this may all be confusing to you; having these things suddenly appear before your person, so I will try my best to explain it in this letter. When me and Myuutsu met and he offered to let us stay with you all, it was only meant to be for a little while. We agreed that we would remain in Mount Quena until I found the villagers a new home. I have since then done that, thus by the time you read this letter the villagers and I will have already left the place. I know you considered us all family and I admit a part of me wishes we can still be that in your eyes, but this is for the best. Don’t be sad though! Life is full of hellos as well as goodbyes. Sometimes things have to change and maybe sometimes they are for the better. Whatever the case may be, know that we all love you very much and you’ll always be welcomed in our new home. This is why we left all these flowers for you, to show that. Just because we’re far apart now, shouldn’t mean we aren’t family anymore however if you feel differently because of our leaving, I understand. Finally, make sure to keep a good eye on Myuutsu. If he does anything that worries you, don’t be afraid to tell him about it. Out of everyone else in the world, you will probably be the one he listens to the most.

Sincerely yours, Psyche.

The second person who was given many gifts was surprisingly, Stein himself. In his most private quarters lied a plethora of not only gracidea flowers but lavender as well, all piled together. It was no small present and elder clone would need to lack sight and scent, in order for offering to go by unnoticed. She hoped such displays would be enough for him to acknowledge it, at least.

In the center of this mound there was a truly unique blossom, as it was not natural but meticulously crafted out of various gemstones. Shaped similar to the gracidea flowers, its petals were forged from amethysts whilst clear quartz made up the anther. Moonstone strands acted as the filament and magenta-colored metal strapped against sides of petals; seemingly holding small sculpture together. Finally two, green bloodstones were carved as the bloom’s leaves and protruded on its left side.

Another written note was right next to this present, if Stein bothered reading it the following words would be seen:

Dear Stein,

You will be pleased to know that I managed to find a suitable home, for me and the villagers. As per the agreement, we are now officially off of Mount Quena. You will not have to worry about us anymore, though if Rocket does stir up some trouble for us again I will be sure to let you know. I did not initially intend to inform you about my discovery through this, as I desired to tell you in person. Then again, you probably realized we were going to leave which is why you left first with your clones. The things that are coupled with this note are mainly gracidea flowers. They are said to bloom whenever an individual is extremely thankful and are given as a sign of gratitude. Each of your family members have received at least one and your little girl has been given enough for a bouquet or two. The villagers adored her, after all. The pile here however is specifically just for you, as it is a little something from all of us. I understand my family and I have thanked you numerous times verbally, for your hospitality and willingness to put up with what quirks we presented, but words were not enough. Thus we felt compelled to express our appreciation through some gesture, like this. You will also find lavender amongst your pile. This specific blossom grew in our former territory and its scent can be relaxing to where it even helps one sleep better. The gems making up this floret next to this letter are stones that I managed to salvage from the wreckage of my home. They were abundant in the caves there and each jewel is said to enhance a psychic’s clairvoyance, telepathy amongst other abilities. The bloodstone forming leaves in particular is said to protect its owner from evil, which you might need now more than ever. I will not lie to you, Stein. Everyone is worried for your well-being. The villagers, your clones, your little girl, even I myself have become concerned. I am aware of your strength and you are fully capable of handling yourself, but you have made countless enemies recently and I will be frank that I do not trust your newfound ally one bit. However since I assume you have left us out of whatever negotiations you forged with that individual, I will refrain from delving into that matter further. I do not doubt that humanity’s time will come, one day. They were erroneous to create sentient entities and then treat said creatures as if we were not alive. Their hubris will undoubtedly lead toward their downfall, in some fashion. I just hope they are not eradicated, while there are still other little girls like yours out there. What I am trying to say is, please be careful and most importantly watch your back. I fear that despite my efforts to crush any knowledge concerning beings like us, a flaw in our design may have been heard by ill-intentioned ears. I hope that you will stay safe, Stein. I do not wish for your family to possibly loose its protector. I don’t want a young lady to watch the closest thing she has towards a father be seriously wounded or worse. I do not want to see you get hurt, as you have already been through so much. Regardless whatever decision you make, I will try not to stand in your way. Whatever choice you put into action, I know you will do it out of consideration for your family. The villagers and I will never forget your kindness towards us and I confess that I hope it will not be too forward of me to call you a friend now. If you do not desire for me to regard you in such a way however, I will comprehend it.

Signed, Psyche.

It was Psyche’s wish that elder clone and the others might have some gratitude towards this little, grandiose gesture of theirs. She hoped that somewhere inside more masculine clone might at least appreciate the effort, put into it. However she would not set her hopes too high, on the matter. Stein, the clones and “Amber” were their own individuals, thus if any of them reacted poorly towards this she would accept it without protest.

She simply had to muster up faith, that they would all be okay.

#BEYOND MY LIMITS (ic)#IC UPDATE #telekinetiq #gooselullaby #littleblaze #popgoesthesneaselreturns #Long post//#((I know I mentioned only the first two blogs))#((but I figured I would tag the rest of the blogs who didn't get a note but are still effected by this decision too))#((also this is my 4000th post))#((so that makes it extra special :D))#((but DANG this took forever to write!))#((I may have to edit this like... 65 more times because I wrote so much sjhfjksf //SHOT))

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tarantula-hawk-wasp · 4 years

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Til Death Do Us Part ch 1

This will end up on Ao3 eventually Based on the @maulusque post (Which You Should Read Before Reading This) where Fox and Palpatine end up in a fake relationship and sham marriage because both thinks the other is sincere and that they are manipulating the other but Fox had one hell of a prenup and ends up cleaning house when he divorces Sheev and saves the galaxy

This is not that story. This is a failed version of that story I thought up because my two braincells were like Rey Palpatine? That makes Fox her step-grandpa??? and i wanted them to meet. It also is turning into a Sequels Fix It (disclaimer- I kind of take sequels canon about the sheev clones and mash it with my fist until juice comes out and make lemonade and do whatever i want bc they dont explain enough)

Summary: Fox wakes up from cryo-stasis to a galaxy recovering from the fall of the Empire as the universe’s Bitterest Ex-Husband because he didn’t get to kill Palpatine himself. He’s not going to let some discount clone of sheev ruin things again either, and ends up with a surprise step-granddaughter along the way. 3k words chapter 1/?

Fox should have known better than to attempt out-manipulating the puppetmaster of a galactic war. What really rankled was how close he had come, his fingers had metaphorically brushed the salvation of the Republic before it had been snatched away.

The divorce had been more than halfway processed, and Palpatine had grown more and more panicked. Under the scrutiny of every lawyer on Coruscant, the prenuptial agreement had been airtight, the political powers Fox tried to give himself in it were unlikely to be enforced, but the monetary and titular aspects were to the letter of the law.

Of course the law only applied to citizens and sentients. Palpatine cracked down hard against Clone Rights in those last months. He himself did not publicly utter a biased word in either direction, only ever praising the effectiveness of the troops, but many of Palpatine’s close associates presented strong cases. People that had been at their engagement party, people who had been roped by tradition into dancing with Fox’s brothers at the wedding, people who had looked him in the eye over an oiled banquet table and praised his wit, became the ones proclaiming that Fox and his brothers had no more inborn rights or legal merit than a droid or womprat.

Palpatine drew the court case out in circular debates, and last minute rescheduling. Fox was kept exhausted and worn to the bone between the ramped up tempo of the war, the grueling hours in court, and the new loathing facing him every second he spent at his job in the Coruscant Guard. Palpatine had dropped any acts around Fox, no longer the doting grandfather of the republic, or enthusiastic geriatric spouse, but bitter and jilted and cruel-tongued. Some days Fox feared for his life.

It was that resignation that he would die that saved Fox’s life. He updated his will -clones were at least allowed those for any non-GAR-issue items they had - and made sure copies were held by numerous offices, and even on other planets. He appointed Cody and the Coruscant Guard as the main benefactors, Cody had the authority to divy resources up among the rest of the vode, and the Coruscant Guard were both his closest brothers and deserving of any boon he could grant them. He left a hefty endowment for the cadets and tubies, to find either adoptive families or to raise them without the military training in the event of the War ending. He left his half of the cultural artifacts that Palpatine had collected to the Jedi for them to distribute as they saw fit.

Even if Palpatine managed to pierce holes through every line of the divorce documents, he could not deny Fox’s last will and testament. Palpatine had to keep Fox alive, or else he would lose many of the assets he was trying to keep in his grasp.

Fox had counted on more time to slip information to the GAR and the Jedi, he had counted on less supervision, and he had counted on Dooku and Grievous lasting for a few more months than they did.

He failed to prevent Order 66, and as his brothers lost their free-will, he was abducted from 500 Republica. A drugged dart jabbing through his blacks and unfamiliar hands hauling him onto a ship. He was put into cryo-cycle stasis. That counted enough as keeping him alive that his will could not be enacted, but kept him and his insider knowledge from challenging Palpatine.

Forty years later, a decade after the fledgling New Republic finally closed the buried account that dripped credits into the facility Fox’s stasis pod was in, the power couplings shorted out - whatever droid or employee was in charge of maintenance long departed for salaried work. The pod had emergency protocols to thaw him out with the last of its energy reserves if the power was cut out.

And so out he had staggered, head aching and bile rising. His genetically wired resilience and discipline had carried him through the worst of the stasis sickness.

The computer terminals were easy enough to slice. Palpatine did not change his cybersecurity strategy over the decades, and Fox knew more than he wanted to of that man’s mind. What he found was disturbing, but not surprising. Weapons capable of destroying entire planets, the genocide of the Jedi, the suicidal brothers made into cyborg Dark Troopers, a Galactic Empire. And cloning, an overwhelming amount of information on cloning. Not just familiar Kaminoan files, but resources from other cloning facilities, Strand-Casts, Splices, Stem-cells- every method explored and combined. Palpatine had been seeking immortality.

Fox did not let himself think about what year it was, he did not think about the decades Palpatine had marred for the Galaxy, the vode all marching far away without him, the history ripped apart by waves of propaganda. What he thought instead about was his own failure to sacrifice himself and put a blaster bolt through Palpatine’s wrinkled forehead so many years ago. It rankled quite a bit that Palpatine died while he was in stasis - the bitterness of unfulfilled hatred. But he could find new purpose. He would not let a false Palpatine return and inflict himself upon the healing Galaxy.

After he left the lunar facility orbiting its dead planet in a nearly-corroded relic of an emergency escape ship, the first goal he achieved was programming a medical droid to excise the control chip from his brain. Then he started slicing again. There were still some accounts he had set up during his sham marriage with credits that had decades of interest. His backup plan to that was selling the material assets he knew either he or Palpatine had stored away in scattered locations.

Fox bought a ship, blasters, and assembled piecemeal a set of armor. He bought bounty hunter credentials, keeping his helmet on always to hide any recognition his face might bring. He stacked crates of rations in the empty bunks in his ship - a Skipray Blastboat - a vessel meant for four was a roomy choice to travel alone in, but still nearly invisible in its ubiquity. And he went hunting.

Palpatine’s clones were hard to find, a challenge Fox embraced for its distraction. He found out some of the pseudonyms running the older facilities, the constructed identities for whatever apprentices, droids, or imperial loyalists were actually doing the work. That was a mystery Fox was still investigating.

Sometimes, to find a clone of Palpatine, Fox anonymously set the bounty himself, and then claimed it as well - getting the resources of the minor guild he worked with, as well as a tracking fob.

Sometimes he killed them. Sometimes it was easy, the compulsions and the personality of Palpatine showing through, and that hated face looking back. Sometimes they were worming their way into government positions to undermine the New Republic. Sometimes it was harder, botched strand-casts that held only a passing resemblance to the man, and were without the force or any malignance. Those, Fox judged on a case-by-case basis. Were they in politics? How connected were they to any neo-imperialists? He judged each of them by their own actions, he knew the way a clone could be blamed for the actions of another.

He was not the only one after these clones, someone else was also hunting them - off of any official Bounty Hunting channels. And with the karked up Sith tradition of usurpers, Fox could not assume it was an ally.

Fox’s unknown rival gradually became more than just a nuisance to compete against. There had been a strand-cast clone of Palpatine’s that bore only a partial resemblance and had been actively undermining some of the networks Fox thought might be connected to the cloning facilities. Fox had been trying to track him down, to talk to someone who might be able to link him to the roots of this operation - he was even ready to offer personal protection - but his opponent had reached him first.

The man was dead now. As was the woman he had been traveling with. It was frustratingly suspicious, and Fox was out of other leads to investigate. He spent a few months slicing and scouring for information about the strand-cast. The man had boarded a ship from a large spaceport with a woman and a child, had transferred numerous times, and then, at the last port before his death, had only embarked with the woman. The child had either died prior the the adults’ deaths, or was still alive. And if the child was alive, they might know where their father had come from.

Shipyard security cameras and life/heat sensors could only tell him so much. He looked into crew manifests, ration orders, and fuel receipts. Between fuel logs and hyperspace maps, he created a list of planets between each refueling stop with more fuel purchased and time between than a direct route would necessitate and worked down that, checking for ships matching their vessel’s description docking with false credentials. Planets with smaller populations were quicker to investigate so he looked there first. It was a slow process over weeks.

Jakku had only a few scattered settlements, and while their ship monitoring was lacking, the local population was likely to have seen anyone who arrived or left. He landed outside of one of the larger trade centers.

He disembarked his ship and walked towards the mass of tents and shabby buildings. He was wearing only a minimum of armor, and had left his helmet on the ship. His blaster was still displayed in its holster, a weight he felt pressed against his thigh with every step. He wasn’t here as a bounty hunter, but something closer to undercover instead, and if the kid was here he didn’t want to scare or threaten the child prematurely. He would blend in more as just another spacer.

He was met by a varied group of sun-beaten and skeptical beings. The welcoming committee seemed torn between distrust and hope for trade.

“I’m here for information.” He began, showing a flash of credit chips when he pulled out his holoprojector. “About a year ago a ship of this type would have arrived and left a passenger behind.”

“Lotta ships come in and out…” A thin Caskadag said unhelpfully. But Fox could see poorly concealed recognition among some of the faces. He mentally debated who to bribe or how else to persuade the crowd.

Out of sight, there was a shriek of conversation and then the frantic scuffle of running feet over sand. A girl emerged from a clump of tents and stopped, almost breathless, staring at him. She was young, between six or eight, Fox struggled like most clones with approximating odd numbered years of natural borns, but she was small.

“Did my parents send you!? Are they gonna come get me?” She asked with bright desperation. She was staring at the holoprojected ship in his hands. Fox knew this was the strand-cast’s child.

“I’m here because of your parents.” He said evenly. He looked at the group of now unhappy onlookers, denied their chance to weasel credits out of him. “Is there somewhere less busy we can talk?”

“Mmhmm.” She walked him between tents to a clearing edged with waste heaps. Fox opened his mouth and then stopped again, hesitant.

“Why did my parents send you?” There was sensible caginess warring with hope in her voice. She kept glancing back to the crowd they had just left.

“I’m sorry, Rey,” He hoped that what the other workers had muttered at her had been her name, and dropped down to one knee to be on a level with her. “But your parents are dead. I’m sorry, but they can’t come get you.”

There was a watery vulnerability to her eyes. Fox expected a denial, he hated being the one to deliver this news. It was partially his own failure.

“So… So I’m just… I’m just going to stay here? And - and work for Mister Plutt forever?” She looked wetly at the pitiful tents around them, the sand, the beating sun, the scrap-sorting piles. Fox looked at her, at the scabs and callouses on her tiny hands, at the stained clothing, at the bones of her arms, at the ring of faint green skin around her wrist. Force, he had always been weak for the cadets.

“No, if you want… If you want I can take you with me.” It was an impulsive offer, but it felt right.

“You’re not my dad.” She said sulkily. “I’m only supposed to leave if him or mum comes.”

“No, I’m not.” Fox did some quick thinking about his relationship to Palpatine, his own apparent age, and the fact her father was a clone of Sheev. “But I am your father’s ex-husband.”

He knew that she had no reason to trust him, and frankly if she had any sense to not get abducted, she wouldn’t. Fox was ready to pull up a datapad with the copy of his marriage certificate, proof her father was a clone, and a discussion of family trees. Instead of an argument, she looked intensely at him and he felt a warmth swell around him, like a summer breeze. Of course the kriffing kid was force sensitive.

It was pleasant, as far as being probed by the force ever was. She was bright and gentle and washed over him, so unlike the cloying oil-slick that he had not realized choked his mind for years until he was finally free of Palpatine. He waited, keeping his thoughts on what he had just said, but not so intently as to raise her suspicion that he was hiding something.

Eventually she nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I know when people are lying. And-” She hesitated, squirming a little. “And you feel nice.”

Fox smiled. Nice was not the word that Fox would have picked to describe himself currently, considering he had spent a better part of the past year hunting down clones of his ex-husband and killing many of them with extreme prejudice. He wondered unhappily at what relative caliber for niceness she was comparing him to. He stood up and paused.

“So you’ll come with me?” He asked again for clarity’s sake.

“Mmhmm.” She confirmed, and stepped to his side, reaching up to worm her little hand into his.

“Do you have stuff to get? People to say bye to?” He asked uncertainly. He wasn’t sure how this was supposed to go, and right now it felt too easy. She started tugging him towards the array of scrap-sorters.

She went to a spot she had clearly hastily abandoned when he had arrived, and picked up a dingy canvas bag and slung it over her shoulder. She walked back to him and put her hand back in his again.

“Okay. Now we need to tell Mister Plutt.” She nodded towards a permanent structure at the edge of the scrapyard.

“Rey, Rey, Who’s that man?” One of the women who had not been in the group that greeted him, skin toughened by sand and sun, rose up from the heaps of metal and brandished a staff at him. Part of Fox was relieved that at least someone was stopping little girls from getting kidnapped. The other part of him put on his most charming, non-threatening smile.

“I’m her father’s ex-husband. Her parents are dead and I only just found out…”

The woman glared at him but shifted to look at Rey, softening her gaze.

“He tellin’ the truth? Do you know this man?”

“He’s not lying.” Rey said. “And Dad mentioned he had a complix-complexcated past.”

“Her father and I may have split over our differences, but I’m not leaving his kid to grow up a scrapper beholden to quotas when I have the resources to raise her instead.” Fox’s honest determination had the desired effect, the woman lowered her staff and nodded, still suspicious but relenting.

“You’re going to have to pay Unkar for her.”

Fox frowned and gestured towards his blaster on his hip. “Sure, I’ll pay.”

“No. I mean it. You try any funny business and he’ll set the guild on you or worse.” The woman was very serious. “You got enough to pay?”

“If I have to, I will.” Fox said with finality. He did not want to buy another being, but he also wanted Rey off of this planet as smoothly as possible.

The questioning was repeated with Unkar Plutt, who glared with equal distrust to the people outside. He took Rey aside into his office room, and Fox hoped it was to question her about his claims and if she actually wanted to leave with him. Fox was concerned by how easy it was for someone to take a child off of Jakku like this, but also acknowledged that this was incredibly convenient for him.

Plutt and Rey reemerged and Rey walked over and clung to his pant leg. Fox brushed a hand over her hair.

“I’m losing years of good labor.” Unkar said callously. “I expect to be compensated.”

Fox told himself that the credits he handed over were a bribe. Fox swung Rey’s little bag over his shoulder and after a moment of consideration, hoisted Rey up to rest on his hip as well. She was light and clung round his neck, giggling with surprise in his ear.

Fox didn’t need to be force sensitive to know that this decision felt right.

#commander fox #rey #rey skywalker #sheev palpatine #foxpatine #fox/palpatine #my writing #star wars #This turned into a kid fic bc Im Me #foxpatine divorce stasis pod sequels fix it au

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dead-account-sadface · 3 years

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this is a very long post and I've been proofreading a lot- but if I made any spelling or grammar mistakes I am sorry.

This is my personal ending to the ME3 trilogy, and this is meant to be a nice calm closure to my Shepard but I tried to make sure it can be inclusive to all Shepards if you like this ending or want to add to it! Because this is kinda designed as a 'happy ending' things might not seem as action packed to others.

I also thought about side things, what could be included if this was a game.

This is just something I thought about and I wanted to share. :)

I will be using they/them pronouns for Shepard to try to be more inclusive for your Shepard!

Context for my Shepard has it has influenced this ending- you can skip it if you want.

J. Shepard is a earthborn, sole survivor, Vanguard.

My sheaprd is full paragon for the most part- I can only remember picking like. 3 renegade options through out the entire series so she is mainly blue :)

Romanced Garrus in ME2/3

Saved the Rachni queen in ME1/3.

Saved Ashely in ME1.

Saved the Council.

Destroyed the Collector base and cut ties with Cerbrus. Rewrote the geth heretics.

Chose to kill the clone.

Got the Geth and the Quarians to work together.

Saved Wrex in ME1 and cured the genophage.

Felt extremely guilty over destroying the Alpha Relay.

Feels even worse about killing the Geth and EDI.

8000+ Glatic readiness, galaxy rebuilt and recovered quickly.

----

The first breath we see Shepard take is soon followed by them briefly waking up. If they have a sole survivor background, they use what they learned on Azuke to set up an emergency signal from their omi tool before passing out. If they don't have that background then they remain unconscious.

No matter what though, Shepard is recovered by the STG, major Kirahee to be precise. (If he is not around, you are saved by an different unit.)

Due to the nature of the Citadel being taken, civilian forces were locked down and protected to avoid being hunted and turned into goo - after the war STG and Asari infiltration teams were sent to the Citadel to recover both living and dead. Shepard was considered a high priority to find dead or alive. Annnnddd they found them alive :)

Earth and it's mass relay recovered quickly, and soon species headed back to their home systems to recover. STG/Salarian government offerd to take Shepard to one of their top private STG hospital on Sur'kesh that avoided the brunt of the reapers, after some convincing Shepard is sent there with some top Allience Medics and Dr. Chakwas. (if she survived)

The treatment they receive is top of the line, with funding from the Allience to ensure Shepard's survival.

Shepard's legs need to be amputated from being crushed under rubble, but the medics on site use some cell regrowth treatment mentioned in the memorial hospital in ME3. Shepard's implants from Cerbrus have become redundant, due to the blast. However, the reason Shepard could survive is that by the end their body naturally recovered over the months they were resurrected to where they are no longer needed. Implants are removed during recovery, physical therapy must be done when they recover, normal healing process. Ect. This process takes months at best, and Shepard is unconscious in a medically induced coma for the majority of it.

Now the Normandy crew! The Jungle planet they crashed on was rich in resources, but there were issues for the dextro crew members in terms of rations. How high your GR was depends on how rough the Dextro crew had it. But they overcame it and fixed the Normandy. As soon as they left the planet's system they got the news about the state of the galaxy and Shepard's location to which they immidently plot the course to the STG facility.

Shepard is still in a coma by the time they get there, and a majority of the crew do try to stay with Shepard during the recovery but later on the crew had to leave to their own planets to help their people. Only Liara, Dr. Chakwas, Joker and your LI remain by Shepard until they wake up. I personally like to imagine that while in the coma, Shepard has dreams like in 3 to do with the Leviathans.

Shepard wakes up, with their LI by the end of their bed.

Soon after all those who stayed meet up with them.

They reunite and everyone is really happy :) no pain here :) but Shepard and the LI get in some conflict as Shepard is immediately trying to get back into the front lines with the Leviathans.

Shepard spills the beans and says why they picked destroy, it also weighs greatly on my Shepard- maybe not to others.

This links into why Shepard is hellbent on getting the Lethvians. In order to make those who sacrificed their lives not be in vain, the Leviathans must be destroyed before they can regain their power and indoctrinate the galaxy. Only once they are destroyed will peace finally be achieved.

LI finally gets on board and they are like; sigh. Damn OK but after this you are retiring.

Most of the remaning crew understands why Shepard picked destroy, but Joker does not and he gets unbelievably angry he leaves the Normandy as their pilot (temporarily) as soon as they dock to the Citadel. Shepard understands why he is angry and lets him go.

Shepard and pals go to the council and ask for their aid- but this time Shepard gives them the extended brief on the Leviathans and that they want a way to destroy them.

The council agrees without much convincing due to Shepard saving them.

They come up with a plan to nuke the Leviathans' homeworld- they destroy the mass relay but they do it with a much, much more powerful bomb that wipes out the entire cluster, not just the system. The next cluter's Mass Relay is a little damaged from it... but nothing that can't be fixed. Its a very top secret plan. And boom! Leviathans gone.

7. Shepard doesn't actually retire just yet, they are offered to be the human councilor but they reject it. Wanting to remain a specter. Offer is then extended to Admiral Hackett- he accepts it. Shepard becomes a advisor to the council at Hackett's request - but she is also promoted to the head of the Allience Fleet. Shepard then spends the remainder of their their with the Normandy and their crew, doing top missions for the allience as well as specter work. They do all the decision making for the Allience in the War Room and it's where they are seen most.

At some point after they destroyed the Leviathans and between getting promoted- sheaprd has two options that can have two different outcomes. These are the the 'major' choices for the game.

The Asari are facing discrimination for hiding the prothen AI even during the war.

If you choose paragon actions to vouche for the Asari- they will not be rejected as a whole but they have lost that superior image they always had. The Asari counciler will owe you a favour if you choose this action.

If you choose renegade actions, the asari will be pushed deeper into discrimination, loosing their council seat, not get hired and get fired from jobs outside of Asari space- becoming a 'fallen angel' of sorts. This leads to a lot of political unrest.

There's also a scene with joker, much like the quest in ME1 with the Turian General and the Consort, drinking away his grief for EDI. If you choose paragon actions, Joker feels better and understands why you had to chose destroy. He rejoins the Normandy as a pilot. (This might need a high charm check and for you to always be civil with him.)

Or you can use renegade options, where he rejoins the Allience as a pilot but he refused to return to the Normandy due to Shepard's cold attitude towards EDIs death.

9. And then once peace is achieved at last, Shepard retires to a tropical place with Garrus and live of the royalties from the vids. Adopt some krogan kids and teach them how to shoot. :D Happy ending!

The ending can change to who you romanced and what you talked about in your game :)

Other things that might happen/ 'side quests':

Major thing: you and all your crewmates from ME1-3 are now considered Reaper and Leviathans experts- if there are any issues with reapers all team mates are called for council when there needs to be a meeting involving reapers. Not everyone can join if there needs to be a physical presence, but you can often have meetings with them when needed in the com room.

1. Cerbrus gets fully destroyed- due to a majority of the troops being husks, they got killed during the blast. Those who were indoctrinated were sent to a galaxy wide rehab that focuses on helping all who were under the reapers' control.

2. All the races in the galaxy who united were offered council seats and the galaxy are 'permentaly united'.

3. There's a follow up 'joke quest', it's like the Citadel DLC but with a bigger focus on the clone. It is taken seriously when it needs to be but there is clone banter. If Miranda is alive, she can help you. If not but Brooks stays alive, you find her in the cloning facility you travel to. You force her to help.

This quest acts as closure for Shepard to how they were made, and they come out happy in who they are. But depending on if you killed or spared the clone, you can have different reactions to the facility and what to do with it. (Paragon salvaging the facility for medical purposes, renegade to flat out destroy it to ensure you're the "only" Shepard remaning.)

4. Political debate to make all VI illegal like AI, to reduce the risk of sentient machines- you can influence this with paragon and renegade options? This links into the Quarians being split from reviving the geth or keeping them dead. There's a lot on unrest towards technology, half the galaxy opting to a return to manual labour permently (mainly civilians) and others wanting to keep advanced technology. (military and government officials)

5. Military unrest from separatist groups, as a specter/head of allience you do a series of quests for species and reunite with your cremates (ie. Garrus for the Turians, Tail for the Quarians, Von Barla for the Volus, ect.)

6. Specter missions for Shepard to Solo, access to Pinnical Station again as apart of physical therapy/rehab back into the millitary.

7. The keeper scanning quest you do in ME1 makes a comback, with what you got the salarian you helped makes an offer to study the keepers further. He thinks about removing the keepers and replace them with matience workers to keep the Citadel running. You can choose to back this idea or reject it.

8. Companions

James becomes an N7. Javik, after defeating the Leviathans, goes to the graves of his soilders and joins them. Tail officially becomes an Admiral. Wrex and Eve lead the Krogan to the glory of the olden days. Garrus is chosen to acend in the turian line of power and he's not too keen on it- even more so if he's being romanced by Sheaprd. Mordin and Legion get respecting statues in the Krogan and Quarian homeworlds respectfully. Anderson gets a special statue where he went up the beam to the Citadel, too.

9. There maybe something to do with Omega, I'm not too sure. I feel like Aria would survive, and if you made her go 'soft' with the general or kept her on her renegade path she might have some interesting dioluge. Idk, maybe she should be left in 3. Just spit balling.

Annnnddd that's all I have! Here's my little slice of happiness I made up to make the pain of ME3 easier :")

Hopefully in the new installment we can get a nice closure like this with Sheaprd and their LI. Maybe if this was like a standalone game it would completely close of the trilogy for new installments- maybe even a ME5 game that brings the Milky Way and Androma together years after this interpretation of events.

#mass effect #mass effect commander shepard #mass effect shepard #mass effect ending #mass effect thoughts #mass effect legendary edition #mass effect 4 #mass effect 5 #mass effect series

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