#written by silhouby

[itsjustascarecrow]

i heard it was Lady Friday and that @starwarsladies put out a call for oc’s, so uh. here i am i guess?? w/ a little fic (just over 2.3k words) featuring one of my sw ladies. i shall preface this by saying i’ve not shared anything about any of my oc’s on this site before, so this is kind of a first for me, b/c i know how some people can be about 1) oc x canon, and 2) oc’s related to major characters, both of which this oc falls under.. but! this is not a shipfic, i promise! in fact, i’ll (try to) give a brief intro:

name: Jey-Min Kenobi age: about 23/24 (at the time of this fic; born 19 BBY) appearance: light-skinned, bluish-gray eyes, yellow-orange hair, 5′8″ (so save those last three things my face claim for her is Deborah Ann Woll) affiliation/occupation: the Rebellion/Resistance; a Jedi telekinesis Sage (her lightsaber is orange) other general things: friendly; kind of an oblivious idiot sometimes; can flirt like a champ w/o actually meaning to do so (she just thinks she’s being nice); panromantic/asexual af; hates being cold; loves cute things; was best friends w/ a jawa growing up--as she was raised by her uncle Obi-Wan on Tatooine; can speak a lot of different languages (tho not necessarily fluently) and can swear in even more; enjoys music and knows how to play the space-equivalent of a banjo; never met her parents as they were killed by Separatists when she was only a month old--and thus has underlying issues revolving around motherhood b/c of it; a great baker (tho not at the time of this fic; that comes later); considers Luke, Leia, Han, Chewie, etc. to be family; is one version of my first ever star wars oc/concept for an oc and is friends/allies w/ another oc of mine who’s the other half of that original concept

but ye, in terms of plot, a quick note: this fic mentions some things that involve events that my friend @fettjango and i have come up with in our own sort of. au i guess you can call it; it also mentions a couple oc’s of theirs as well. long-story-short, their oc Fareema, who at one point worked for the Empire, has offered Leia and the Resistance information on any remaining Imperialists in the galaxy, such as where to find them, and Jey offered to accompany Ezra Bridger on said missions to take down said Imperialists. this fic takes place after the first of those missions. so w/o further adieu, here goes nothing??

Jey-Min Kenobi stood outside the gray stone dwelling that had served as her home for 19 years, the home her uncle, the great Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, had raised her in. But she was not thinking of the Jedi Knight he had revealed himself to be in his later years. She was thinking of the man named Ben, a simple, kind old man who spent his days caring for his late twin sister's daughter and their herd of bantha, and occasionally helping any other locals out of tricky situations should the need arise. She closed her eyes, picturing the door as she last saw it, when they first welcomed Luke Skywalker and a couple of rebel droids into their home, changing both his and her own lives forever. When she opened her eyes again, gazing upon the sight of a door nearly hidden entirely by the sand that had piled up over the past four years, she'd realized the tears had already begun to fall. She thought back to when she had asked her new friend, Ezra Bridger, to take her here and continued to question if this was a good idea or not. He had been fine with making this quick pit stop but had volunteered to stay behind with their ship. Jey thought to herself that he probably didn't care much for this planet's climate, as not many people did. And while that was one of the many things that made this place home, the memories this home held of times and people now long gone made it difficult for her to see it as anything other than a tomb. Not only was Obi-Wan dead, but so was Old Ben. And with him, Jamie Kenobi--a version of herself that had known nothing of Jedi and their lightsabers and their control over the Force. Of their involvement in the Clone Wars and connections to those who created the Empire, who had been in power since she was an infant. The lies told to keep her safe, the people she had never been told about and the legacy they had left behind--a legacy now carried on by a man her own age whom she had always known to be just like her: a simple child of a desert planet with nothing special about them. Jamie Kenobi had never left this home some five years ago. She had died in this very building and Jey-Min had left in her place. And now she was terrified of the ghost of herself she knew to still haunt this place. One last time she thought of going back to Ezra empty-handed before she raised her hands to clear away the sand and opened the door using the Force her uncle so truly valued. As she stepped over the threshold, the ghost of Jamie took over, and she saw the home she always knew. It wasn't the most elaborate or expensive home, but they never needed it to be. Adequately-sized rooms, square windows, round pillars, arched doorways, all made of the same grayish-white stone as the outside; cool the touch and always a welcome respite in the sometimes near-sweltering Tatooine heat. The way she saw it now, things were in their place as she had last saw them, in their proper places all nice and neat and clean. She and her uncle weren't necessarily the meticulous type, but they understood the value of a tidy home in a dust bowl like this. And what would seem to many as old relics or antiques strewn about the place in some sort of decorative manner were almost like treasures to them. Things collected of a time long passed that, perhaps when she was younger, she didn't quite fully appreciate. But as Jey-Min looked through Jamie's eyes, she began to wonder if she and her uncle were actually a part of that collection as well. She noticed the tears flowing more steadily now, though she did not know if they were Jey-Min's or Jamie's. At this point, she didn't even know what she was looking for. Whatever excuse she had told Ezra had since been forgotten; now she just wandered aimlessly from room to room. But the longer she stayed, the weaker Jamie's grip on her became, and she began to see things as Luke had last described them to her. He had come back to their home planet four years ago in search of something; she couldn't remember exactly what for. But one of the stops he made was back here to the old Kenobi family homestead, and it was here where he had ran into the Mandalorian bounty hunter Boba Fett. Luke had described their fight to her in cautious detail, knowing full well she wouldn't have appreciated him unintentionally trashing her childhood home like this. Nor was he prepared for the sudden appearance of sand people, who must've either wanted in on the action or perhaps an easy target for a scavenging run. Either way, as her feet kicked aside bits of rubble and scrap, and as her fingers traced the blaster holes in the walls, she had to fight the growing urge to turn and run. While Jamie's hold on Jey-Min's sight had been released, her presence within the home still remained. Jey-Min would turn at the sound of a young girl giggling and see an afterimage herself being lifted into the air by her uncle, and when she moved into another room, she would see herself again, this time playing with toys that now lay discarded or in pieces on the floor. Eventually it all became too much for her to bear; she raised a hand to cover her mouth and slumped against a wall, slowly sliding down to the floor as she began to openly sob. She wasn't sure how long she had sat there, but eventually she calmed down enough to realize she was in fact alone. No more mirages of small children and dead uncles, of a home still in a functional state. Just a lone Jedi amongst the sand and debris. Her tear-stained face turned slowly as she took everything in one last time, her chest rising then falling with a deep, heavy sigh. 'I shouldn't have come here,' she thought. 'There's nothing left here for me.' Jey-Min finally rose to her feet and made her way back out into the midday Tatooine heat, but as she turned to close the door for the final time, she saw Jamie standing just inside, watching with sad yet angry eyes as her future walk away. But together, the two versions of Obi-Wan's niece raised their hand and wafted it to the side, sealing the entrance for good. Jey half-ran, half-briskly walked back to the ship, eager to get off the planet, as she tried to wipe her face clean with her hands. She knew it was a mess and would certainly give away the emotional ordeal she just went through. And she felt she trusted Ezra (as much as one could after only knowing him for a few days so far), but she wasn't sure if she was ready to explain herself to him just yet. Pausing at the bottom of the loading ramp, she took one last moment to collect herself, but before she could make her way up, she heard the familiar beeping of R8-V2, the Imperial astromech on loan to them by the Chiss woman who started them on these missions to begin with. "Well," Jey sighed, "if everything was alright, I wouldn't look like this, now would I?" She slowly trudged her way up the ramp but still made a point to pat V2 on the head as they beeped a reply, which did make her chuckle. "Yes, I'm sure your 'weird blue mother's stealth tricks' helped out more often than not in these situations, but honestly I'm already such a mess, I'm not sure there's anything that could save me at this point. I'm just too far gone, I'm afraid." Ezra was slouched across the captain's seat when Jey stepped into the bridge. "Oh hey, you're back," he called over a shoulder. "Was starting to worry you'd gotten buried alive in a rogue sand dune or--" He stopped mid-sentence after doing a double-take when he caught sight of her face and scrambled to his feet. "Woah, are you okay? I-Is something wrong; did something happen out there?" The genuine concern in his voice nearly made Jey break down all over again, but she managed to hold most of it back this time. "I'm fine," she lied, raising a hand to stop his advance. "Or, at least I will be. It's just... too many memories.." She shook her head slightly, annoyed with herself as she felt a couple more tears escape. Quickly wiping them away, she tried to laugh it off. "I promise I'm not always like this." "Hey, it's alright," he chuckled a bit awkwardly. "I know it can be.. difficult coming home after a long time being away." "Yeah, it's.. it's cool; I'll be fine, I just.. let's just go; we should report back to Fareema." "Okay, if you're sure." He slid back down into his seat as his co-pilot just nodded, settling down into her own seat, and within moments they had left the surface of the planet, made it up into its atmosphere, and blasted off into hyperspace. They had sat in a somewhat uncomfortable silence for a good while before Ezra felt a pair of eyes seemingly boring into him off to his right. He turned to catch Jey staring at him for what certainly wasn't the first time this mission. "Uh.. you're doing it again," he pointed out when she didn't turn away after being caught. A quiet "Hm?" was the only reply. "Staring at me." "Oh. Sorry." It was almost as if she had been broken out of a trance. "I'm just.. trying to remember your face. Sometimes memories are.. all I have left of some people." "Right... Are you sure you're okay?" Jey took a moment to think about how she wanted to answer, leaning an elbow on one of the arms of her chair and placing a hand on her cheek. "Not even Nara and Dolo were still around," she muttered almost half to herself. "Who?" "A couple of banthas that were part of a small herd my uncle adopted when I was little." She smiled when Ezra laughed in disbelief. "Oh yeah, we had a fair few; those two were the oldest. "There was this one time when I was still quite small and wasn't quite old enough to know not to play with large animals unsupervised, but anyway, that's exactly what I did. I just thought they looked nice and cuddly, like giant, woolly blankets, so one evening I thought to myself 'I'm gonna sleep outside with Dolo and Nara tonight' and I just.. snuggled right up in there with them. And at first, it was pretty great; real cozy, y'know? Until somehow I just sorta. Fell into them. Like I was just lost within the void that was their fur almost instantly. "I didn't panic though, like I had faith that I'd be fine. If anything, I thought it was pretty funny at the time. But then I heard my uncle calling out for me, wondering where I'd run off to. And instead of calling back out to him, I stayed right where I was, all nice and quiet-like. But clearly I wasn't quiet enough; I heard him getting closer to where the herd had settled down for the night, so when I was sure he was standing right next to us, I popped my little hand out and waved at him. And to this very day, I will never forget the sound he made." By this point, Ezra was nearly doubled over with laughter. "That's incredible, holy shit!" "Yeah, we kinda did that a lot to each other; we weren't the most responsible family, got away with a lot of shit. He'd even take me with him when he'd stop by the local cantinas to drink, and at the time I wasn't even in double digits yet age-wise. "Actually, y'know what's funny?" Ezra jumped slightly as Jey continued, and she realized she may've spoken a bit more aggressively than she had intended. "All those times my uncle would stop in to drink? He was a responsible drinker as far as I was aware; either that or he just had a much higher tolerance than most. But I asked him one time why he drank so often and he told me, 'You remember all those stories I told you about your uncle Ani? That's why.'--now it fucking makes sense!" "Uncle Ani; who's that? I didn't know Obi-Wan had a brother." "'Ani' was short for Anakin. As in Anakin Skywalker, his former apprentice. Darth fucking Vader was technically my 'uncle'." Jey took a moment to take in what she just admitted, placing her head into one of her hands. "Gods, I'm really glad I didn't know him growing up; it probably would've made me drink as much as my uncle did." "Yikes, yeah. I had the misfortune of running into him a couple of times, and those certainly weren't.. pleasant experiences..." Another short awkward silence followed, but this time it was V2 who decided to break it. They beeped out a story about a time when their "weird blue mother Fare" climbed up to the top of a stack of crates during a bit of training with her commanding officers when something on the ceiling had caught her attention. Of course V2's punchline to the story was to say she had been "on top of things". This spurred another round of laughter from the two humans, and they then proceeded to swap stories from their youth about momentary lapses of judgement and the like. This lasted all the way until they made it back to their home base, and by the end of their journey, they knew this would be the start of a very interesting partnership.

[itsjustascarecrow]

"Creepshaw"

at least, that's the working title 'til i think of something better.

but yeah, under the cut is the prologue to one of my stories. i started years ago, but hated how it was coming along, so i started rewriting it this year and basically, i'm in love. so i guess i'm hoping others will love it too. 

enjoy

“I have the official casualty report, sir,” the man murmured solemnly. “Thirty-two dead, five critically wounded, and the rest escaped with minor cuts and bruises.”

The King sighed as he dismissed the few members of his Assembly who were well enough to attend the meeting. “Thank you, Dakota. I don't need you for anything else at the moment, so go get some rest.”

“Yes, sir,” Dakota replied before following the last Assembly member. But before he closed the door behind him, he turned back to the King. “You should also see a doctor, or else you may not make it either.”

The King looked down at the stump that remained of his left arm as it slowly continued to soak the bandages it was wrapped in. He chuckled and agreed, but said he'd have his wounds tended to in a moment. Dakota hesitated, but thought better than to back-talk his step-father, so he closed the door and hobbled up to his room.

“He's right, you know,” a voice sounded from the shadows. Then, emerging from the darkened corner of the room opposite the King, a young woman quickly strode towards him, pulling more bandages and a couple vials of medicine out of her shoulder-bag.

“Took you long enough,” the King sighed. “Could've used your help out there; maybe I'd still have an arm.”

“I was alseep; how was I to know they'd launch a surprise attack?” the woman snapped as she poured the contents of one vial onto the King's arm. Then, softening her tone as she wrapped the wound in fresh bandages, she handed him the second vial and murmured, “Here, drink this.” He downed the vile liquid in one shot, now used to its horrid taste.

The two sat in silence for quite some time as the woman massaged the King's destroyed arm. Both wanted to voice their concerns and possible solutions, but neither knew where to start. The woman was finally about to say something when the King suddenly stood up and began to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” the woman demanded, following the King.

“The hospital. I want to know who's dead and who's still alive.”

“But can't that wait? You know what that medicine does to you if you don't rest after taking it.”

“Yes, I'm fully aware. Maybe that's why I like it so much.”

The woman kept arguing as to why he should stay in his study, but he ignored her. Realizing this, the woman entwined her fingers with those of the King's good arm and pressed herself against his side. He squeezed her hand in response.

Together, the made their way to the hospital. When they got inside, they descended a few flights of stairs down to the morgue to find the head doctor inspecting the body of one of the fallen soldiers. The King cleared his throat to announce their arrival, and, without looking up, the doctor began to list off all thirty-two names.

“All killed in action,” he concluded.

“And what of those in critical condition?” the King asked, fighting back tears.

“Cassia Oliveira, Jelena Borodin, Nikolas Finseth, Luke Reinhart, and Margaux Preston all suffered a variety of serious injuries but are stable at the moment, so they should pull through. My assistants are tending to them and some of the others as we speak.”

“Alright,” the King sighed after a moment's pause. “Thank you for all your hard work, Wrellix. I do not envy your job.”

“I know, Chris. I wouldn't either.” Wrellix then walked over to a filing cabinet and pulled out a stack of death certificates.

Leaving the doctor to his work, the King and his companion ascended back up to the main floor and continued down a long hallway opposite the stairs. The first door on the right was open to reveal a room full of soldiers recovering from their various injuries. Seeing a close friend, the woman ran over to her side and, holding her in a tight embrace, smothered her with kisses and badgered her about her health. Her friend just smiled sheepishly, promising her Queen that she was fine.

Chris gazed on at the two from the hallway and felt a smile creep up on his face. But without saying a word, he continued down until he reached the end of the hallway and turned down another that lead towards the maternity ward. One of his Assembly members and most trusted advisor had left the post-battle meeting early at the news of his wife going into labor. Needing to discuss some concerns with this particular advisor, Chris found it likely that this is where he could find him. He asked a passing nurse where Mr. and Mrs. Sutton could be found, and, having got his answer, headed into the second to last room on the left.

Chris knocked lightly and heard a voice call him in. Stepping into the room, he saw his advisor sitting in a chair next to his wife's bed holding a newborn baby girl.

“Congratulations, Randall, Kyrie,” Chris beamed.

“Thank you, sir,” Randall chuckled, stroking his daughter's head with his index finger. “Her name's Ramona, after her grandmother.”

“Beautiful name,” Chris replied half to himself.

“How's Rowina?” Kyrie asked. “This will be her first child in quite some time, right?”

“Yeah, it's been about twelve years. And she's doing pretty well; still got a ways to go, though.”

“Well, when that baby comes,” Randall replied, handing Ramona back to her mother, “I'm sure it'll make a great heir to the throne someday.” Getting up, he stuck his hands in his pockets and turned towards Chris. “So what brings you here, really?”

“Well, funny you should mention it. Speaking of heirs, little Ramona over there is actually going to rule one day.”

Randall's smile quickly evaporated and was replaced by a look of deep concern. “I'm not sure I follow you . . . sir.”

“I want you to take the throne now,” Chris replied calmly. “After today, I am no longer confident in my ability to lead my people; far too many have died under my rule. But you, my friend; your negotiation skills are far better than mine, and I have no doubt that you will being an end to this war.”

Both Randall and Kyrie stared at their King while at a momentary loss of words. Randall turned to his wife, who slowly shrugged her shoulders and shook her head in confusion. Turning back to Chris, Randall eventually stammered out, “But what will you do after you renounce your crown? Where will you go? And what of Rowina?”

“I'll escape to the mountains, most likely, and live a quiet, isolated life there.” Chris sighed and paused for a moment, thinking of how to answer the last question. “Rowina will probably stay here and continue her work as usual. She and Dakota will be disappointed, I'm sure, but they won't stop me. At least, I won't let them.”

“And who will raise the baby?” Kyrie demanded.

“Oh, his mother and half-brother, of course. And I'm sure Rowina's mother will help out every once in a while. Honestly, that baby's gonna be far better off with them than being raised by a coward like me.”

Randall took a deep breath and a few minutes to fully take in the situation. “Okay,” he murmured after a while. “I'll do it.”

Chris said his thanks and goodbyes after agreeing on a good time to make Randall's kingship official, and the headed back to the castle. He met the outside with a solemn expression and shivered against the rain. He thought of the prior battle as he trudged through the muddy main road; he looked down at what was left of his left arm and thought to himself that he didn't even remember losing it in the first place. He thought of his wife and began to envy her ability to escape to a different life every time she fell asleep. He wondered what kind of life she lived in those other worlds—was it peaceful there or did she have to deal with war where ever she went?

Many random thoughts swirled around his head as he went back up to his study. Flopping down into the first chair he saw, the world spun around him as the negative effects of the medicine began to overcome him. Once the world stopped spinning, everything went blurry and numb, even his mind.

He felt nothing, nothing at all.

And he loved it.

With not a care or worry in the world, Christopher Hargreaves slumped to the floor in a soporific trance and stayed there until the world regained its accursed life.