#anyway leia organa is bail organa and anakin skywalker's daughter and has been a member of a violent revolutionary group since childhood

[notbecauseofvictories]

Anything about the line 'sext: people died for you. i bet you liked it.' from How to Make Love to the God of War for Leia Organa pretty please, your writing is so gorgeous and it would fit Ashe Vernon's poetry so beautifully. ILY thank you so much I hope this promptathon is fun for you.

War—what is it good for?

….well, you.

Mostly you.

Almost exclusively you.

(This is not an apology. It is maybe an explanation.)

.

Something you don’t realize until you’re standing in the control room, watching the battle for the Death Star: there’s very little screaming. 

You’re intel, not military; the only experience you have of a warfront is battle sims and holos. The stories you’ve read have all been infantry battles—sentients dodging blaster fire and scattering their blood on the earth, calling for a meddroid even as the concussive missile shakes the air. The sound of AT-ATs, all creaking joints and thunder; clone troopers calling out commands. Droids, screaming. War was loud, full of mud and blood, you knew.

But here, from the control room on Yavin, there’s just the quiet whir of the servers, orders given and received. You can’t hear the chatter of the squadrons—they’re talking to the controllers, who are bent over consoles furiously reading out data. Sometimes one of the sensors beeps—but quietly, as if it’s worried about making a fuss in the huge, heavy silence. Blue Squadron goes down in a rain of fire, their ships immolated against the vast shell of the Death Star, but all you know of it is Lieutenant Rula’s announcement in a cool, flat voice. 

It’s all very civilized.

Somehow, even in victory, you feel a little—cheated.

.

(This is not true. It is not all battle sims and holos; you remember war.

You are eight when you dream of your father on the battlefield. He is holding a sword of fire, and he breathes too loudly, harsh in your ears—you are scared, and so you reach for him, seeking comfort. He turns on you, and he is shadow and death and that awful sword of fire, not your father at all.

He says in a breath of smoke, who—?

You wake up to your father’s arms, real and warm, cradling you to his chest. It was only a nightmare, Bail says, as you cry wracking sobs. Shh, it wasn’t real.

You can still taste it on the inside of your mouth sometimes, ash and fear. Later—after you kiss your brother and find blood in your teeth; after you watch Darth Vader’s corpse burn from the safety of the treeline—you will learn this is your inheritance.)

.

INT. HANGAR ON YAVIN IV - NIGHT

LEIA

is trailing her fingers along laser burns deeply-scored into the side of an X-wing. HAN SOLO approaches, and leans against the body of the ship. He clears his throat pointedly, startling her and making her turn. For a moment, they look at one another, their faces shadowed by the half-dark.

HANAren’t princesses supposed to need their beauty sleep?

LEIAYou need it more than I do, Solo.

HAN(clutching his chest in feigned agony) You wound me, your worshipfulness.

Leia snorts, turning back to the X-wing. Han watches her, and when her back is turned, his expression is something tentative, on the verge of adoring. He seems to catch himself, and swallows, ducking his head and scuffing his shoe against the duracrete floor.

HANSo—uh, you ever flown one of these things?

LEIAI learned once, when I was young. My father gave me lessons on an old A-wing, my mother hated it. But…not much since. 

HAN(hesitantly) Probably for the best, right? You’re an—asset, too valuable to risk.

Leia’s expression twists, and her hand spasms on the side of the X-wing, almost curling into a fist.

LEIA(bitterly) Don’t you think I’m willing to take the same chances as everyone else? That I’m not—I’m not willing to fight, or die for the Rebellion?

HANWell, I don’t think you were on that Death Star for kicks, no.

Leia relaxes slightly, mollified.

HAN (con’t)But you don’t…have to, you know. That’s what I  keep trying to tell Luke, you don’t have to. The galaxy is a big place, not all of it belongs to the Empire. You could go, you could run—find some…handsome farmer somewhere, have lots of kids. Live happily ever after.

Han glances at her. She is staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

LEIA(slowly, incredulously) Is that…is that supposed to work?

HANWhat?

LEIAAlderaan—my planet, my home—was burned out of the sky. Everything and everyone I have ever loved is gone. Even before that, I spent five years in the Imperial Senate, listening to heartless men condemn entire species to extinction because they were greedy, or afraid. Even if I could run, even if that wouldn’t be the—most cowardly, evil thing I could think of, what makes you think—why wouldn’t I want to see them all dead?

Leia’s voice has been gradually getting louder, until she is almost shouting. The hangar is silent in the wake of this pronouncement, all but for her uneven breathing. Her eyes might be wet, but she she is staring at Han with such fury that he knows better than to bring it up.

LEIA(breathlessly) I would kill them myself, if anyone would let me.

HAN(swallowing, looking away) I’m just saying, you’ve got a choice.

LEIAFine. I choose this.

Han watches her walk away, into the dark of the hangar.

[FADE OUT]

.

It would be inappropriate to return from your first battle—really only a skirmish, with a cadre of stormtroopers you weren’t aware were scheduled to refuel there—dancing on the balls of your feet, still humming to the awful song of concussion-blasts and shouting. Your arm and shoulder ache from holding a blaster, bracing against the kickback.

There are things you are allowed to be pleased about, and you are: you brought all your squadron home, Luke is safe; the mission was a success and the people of the planet will be able to better mount a resistance of their own. You’d have to be spice-addled, cruel, to love how unerring your sight was, watching bodies in white armor crumple. There’s blood on your uniform from the officer, who took a blast to the chest and coughed up scarlet and bile as you interrogated him—you wear it like a badge of honor, all through Ra’vik Base.

You’re glad to have served the Rebellion, even if the means were violent. Any other reason to be glad would be fucked in the head, wouldn’t it?

….well, would it?

.

When you are ten you hide beneath an antique chaise and listen to your father plot rebellion, with strangers who come and go through palace carrying the smell of blaster discharge in their clothes. 

At twelve you will stand very straight beside your mother as she mother focuses the power of her name, her crown, and the institutions she upholds into a laser-shield in defense of her world. (It wasn’t strong enough, in the end, but then the Death Star wasn’t finished in those days.)

At fifteen, you are a Junior Senator in the Imperial Senate, where no one is elected and the floor votes are perfunctory—everyone knows the Emperor will have the last word. You don’t know if Palpatine even bothered to buy or coerce them anymore, your fellow senators are so desperate to please him regardless.

In hindsight, all this gives you very confused questions about whether power is a good thing, or bad, and when the exercise of it is just. Given the war you fought (are fighting) you probably should have sat down and figured out your answer at some point.

Or at least picked a better one than (b) I know the difference between right and wrong, stop asking me.

.

There is no passion, there is serenity, Luke recites solemnly. He’s growing a beard these days, and the light is slanting into his eyes—he looks like he could be a Jedi of the stories, a knight.

Neither of you lasts more than a few seconds before bursting into laughter.

.

The worst part of the New Republic is how much you try. You do, you try, you contort yourself into a dozen unnatural painful shapes, trying. You are the daughter of Bail Organa and the New Republic is a dream you’ve fed since infancy—you fought and killed for the concordance, for the constitutional charter, for words stronger than the beam of the Death Star because the Death Star is dead and the words have survived. You try so hard to be proud at ‘peace’ and ‘justice’ and ‘right’, with Organa written beneath them.

(Somehow, you are still that little girl, chasing her father down the halls of the palace, trying to get him to come back, trying to make him to stay.)

You’re never sure whether the trying made failure harder to stomach, or if it would have almost killed you either way.

.

Addendum: At some point between wars, you bear a son with a battlefield inside him. (This is also your inheritance.) He is loud, full of mud and blood and horrible violence, and if you were a better woman, you would have loved him less for despite it.

.

The second war has swallowed you up before you realize that’s what’s happening—though you probably should have guessed, based on how much better you’ve been sleeping. Still, it was by the grace of the Senate that you began building the base on D’Qar, and it was to the Senate you reported First Order movement in the Outer Rim, and it is the Senate that funds, feeds, and keeps this little defense initiative of yours—

You thought you’d finally found some aspect of being a senator that didn’t make you want to tear at your skin. You were grateful.

It’s Poe Dameron who slips up. (You really should have figured it out earlier, not even the kriffing names have changed.) He’s the first to call you ‘general’ instead of ‘senator’ and it spreads like a fire, clings like starship oil, and you aren’t strong enough to resist accepting it. You hadn’t realized how long you had been holding your breath, waiting for it.

When Han stops by, hauling a cargo he won’t talk about and looking older than you remember, he makes that face you hate. The tired, grieved expression you associate with late-night arguments, Ben’s absence, and the horrible irony that was your marriage. (You were fight and he was flight and after the adrenaline wore off, there was nothing left.)

What happened to peace in our time? Han asks lightly, half a joke, and your throat aches with how much you want to scream. If you think of all the people you’ve failed in this, in loving this, you really will.

I didn’t have a choice, the First Order—you say, and his mouth turns down at the corners.

No, he says, you told me truthfully, once. You have a choice, princess. This is…this is just it. What will you do, I wonder, once there are no more Imps to kill?

It is your turn to watch him walk away because it is always your turn to watch him walk away these days. Only this time, he doesn’t return, except to kiss you, and then die on the battlefield in your son’s soul.

You might have grieved more, if you had lost less.

.

People have died for you. This isn’t an apology—after all, you liked it.

[esamastation]

Buncha Crap I tried to write today and failed

Firstly, second chapter of Sky Walkers which got, like... 300 words in before i got bored

Sky Walkers Ch. 2

The first time CC-2224 saw Kenobi was in space, and he was on the deck of one of the new Venator-class star destroyers. Over a kilometre in length, the Venator-class ships aren't exactly small, having good hundred meters over the Separatists' Dreadnoughts in length and even more in width. It's experience to be on board one of the things, never mind being on deck and seeing the full, arrow shaped length ahead of them.

Kenobi, when he appeared right next to them without as much as hyperspace blur, dwarfed the capital ship entirely. There is no way to put the sheer size of him into words – other than incomprehensibly vast maybe. No one has the precise measurements of a fully grown Jedi, of course – no one has any idea where the Jedi stop growing, if they ever do – but Kenobi is on the larger side of the Jedi; what the Jedi themselves refer to as Councillor.

Whether it's a size classification or an actual title, no one is entirely sure, but all the Councillor Jedi are beyond impressive – and Kenobi, even then, seemed to CC-2224 like the most awestriking thing he'd ever seen. He wasn't the only one on the deck struck speechless that day – wasn't the only one whose heart skipped a beat.

And that was before Kenobi spread out his wings and lit his dark shape in glow of that strange bioluminescence, with a bright blue horn at what CC-2224 eventually came to know as the front of the Jedi. The Lightsaber of a Jedi.

And then, they heard him.

Hello, there, the Jedi spoke with a warm male voice right into their heads. I am Kenobi, member of the Jedi High Council. I am here to assist you with the liberation of Ryloh.

It was the mind-blowing start of what would be a very short recapture of a Separatist occupied planet.

-

So that was a meh. Then I tried to write a thing with Obi-Wan and Cody where Cody too gets his chip removed and stuff changes and decided to start it with Rex telling Obi-Wan about the chips, but BECAUSE NETFLIX IS A POOP HEAD I havent actually seen season 6 if Clone Wars because it’s not available in finland and yes i’m salty, it didn’t turn out so good so anyway.

-

Chip thing

"Sir, do you have a moment?"

Obi-Wan's eyebrows arch and he looks up from the holoscreen, taking in the clone trooper at the doorway. It's Rex. That's a little odd, he hadn't even been aware that Rex was on board the Negotiator, which is rather curious. Usually he is promptly informed about such things. And not only is Rex aboard his ship un-announced, but he looks deathly serious.

"Of course, Rex, come right in," Obi-Wan says slowly and motions the clone trooper to enter. He closes the holoscreen, turning away from the table. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm – aware this is a little unusual, General," Rex says. "But this is important – and General Skywalker…" he trails off with a frown and shakes his head. "I'm not sure if you're aware about incident with one of the clones of 501st company?"

"Incident?" Obi-Wan asks and narrows his eyes a little. "You mean with General Tiplar?" he asks. "That was nearly a month ago."

Rex bows his head a little. "Relating to that incident," he admits quietly and takes something from his hip pouch, holding it out. "There was an investigation, and one of the clones of the 501st Batallion was involved. ARC trooper Fives, I don't know if you're aware of him, sir."

"The name rings a bell, yes," Obi-Wan admits and accepts what he's being handed to. A plastoid film, containing a small… organic looking little thing. "What am I looking at, Rex?"

"The clone trooper who shot General Tiplar – malfunctioned," Rex says taking as deep breath. "Because this thing in his head shorted out. It's a biochip, sir. All the clones have it."

Obi-Wan frowns, looking between the plastoid film and the clone captain. "I see," he says slowly, noncommittally.

"Fives learned about it during the investigation. There was another incident, during which it was said he tried to kill the High Chancellor," Rex says and doesn't quite look at him. "Fives was taken down eventually, it was branded as mutiny, but before he was shot and killed… he shared with some particulars with myself and General Skywalker. Including the existence of this chip inside all clones."

Obi-Wan says nothing for a moment, turning his attention to the chip. He'd never heard anything about it. "And what does the chip do?" he asks slowly.

"It overrides our brains, sir," Rex says and his eyelids flicker with some barely restrained emotion. "And makes us do whatever people of certain high rank order us. There are hundred and fifty specialised orders programmed into it. Tup – CT-5385 – was executing one of them when he shot General Tipler. Order 66 – all Jedi are branded as Traitors, and are to be… executed immediately."

Obi-Wan stops in the act of flipping the chip over. "That's…" he narrows his eyes. "Quite the thing, Rex."

Rex doesn't answer – staring at mid distance with carefully blank expression. He's made no accusations, Obi-Wan thinks, he's pointed no fingers. "Anakin knows about this too?"

Now Rex's eyes flicker shut just for a moment, and his expression hints at pain. "ARC-5555… implicated the High Chancellor in his tale, sir. Which, considering the previous incident where ARC-5555 was said to have held the High Chancellor hostage… General Skywalker dismissed ARC-5555's words, stating that he like CT-5385 was unwell and not talking sense."

Obi-Wan narrows his eyes, looking away. "Hmm," he answers. "Where did you get this?" he asks, looking at the chip.

"From my own head, sir," Rex says and finally meets his eyes. He turns his head a little and shows a small incision mark behind his ear, already mostly healed. "I – reprogrammed a medical droid to do it – and erased it's memory afterwards."

-

So that was also a bit meh, so after that I just got a word generator thing and had it spew out buncha words at me to use as prompts for snippet thing because I was getting bored and wrote this

-

1. stuff

Obi-Wan doesn't have much in way of possessions when he settles down on Tatooine.

A ship, which he quickly sells. The most of the money he got from selling it goes to purchasing a small plot of worthless land, it's only value being the little sandstone hut on it – and it's proximity to the Lars farmstead. Too rocky and too uneven for any sort of moisture farming and far too removed to be of interest to even the worst of local lowlifes, it's perfect for dissappearing. The rest of the money go to buying an eopie which, he suspects, he will end up selling soon as well.

Set of clothing, which thankfully fit Tatooine's local fashion well enough. Jedi aren't so commonly seen here that people would immediately recognize Jedi tunics – but the rough, simple material it's made of, now that is common. It's what the slaves wear. And like his, theirs is un-dyed as well. He fits right in, so as long as no one takes a closer look at the expect craftmanship of his utility belt and the high quality of his boots.

And then there are two lightsaber. One of which goes into a roughly hewn drawer in is new hut, and will stay there for the next several years if he has anything to say about it.

 2. satisfying

There is strange sort of gratification in getting his little, insignificant life in order. His little sandstone hut has a single moisture vaporator in bad need of maintenance, and air conditioning unit which lets out a puff of smoke when he turns it on for the first time. The cooling unit for food stuff, that has a abandoned nest of something long dead inside it.

It takes him weeks to get the place into liveable state and even after that, it will be constant struggle against the elements, to keep them from claiming what little comfort he's managed to pull together in the place. Tatooine's atmosphere and the specific quality of the twin sun's radiation makes the daytime exhausting to people and corrosive to machinery – to live here is to strike a delicate balance of constant maintenance.

It's a welcome distraction from the constant hurt of absence and betrayal. At this point he's not sure which one is the worse, they vie for top place in his nightmares daily. One day he will learn to live with them. For now, he will avoid them as much as he can and any time he can push them aside in order to grab a wrench instead…

He almost learns to enjoy the work, even if it will never, ever compare to the life and duties of a Jedi. The first glassful of water he gets from the moisture vaporator is one of the sweetest he'd ever had.

 3. tiny

His universe slowly coalescence into that small space. Into Tatooine's twin suns, into Tatooine's deserts and dynes and eventually, into the cramped interior of his hut. The Republic and it's grand spaces, it's open halls and it's vast hyperlanes fades into the distant past and Obi-Wan's existence becomes a small, inconsequential thing.

Maybe somewhere someone is looking for him… but he doubts it.

There's not much of him left to be found, these days.

 4. daughter

Bail sends him one communication, a year into his isolation. It has an actual message on it, which Obi-Wan listens to once before deleting it. The less he knows about the rebellion Bail is building… the better.

The holographic photograph of Leia Organa he keeps.

- - -

Except this turned out to be just “obi-wan just like being in tatooine?” and not the interesting timetravelly AU i was thinking and I got bored with that too

So yeah this is what a bad writing day for me looks like :|