whatimust | Open Post

If you had asked Padmé one year ago how she'd imaged her life in a year this...wouldn't have been it. Sure, her babies were here, and she was happy for that, they were here and healthy and strong. And happy, she thought, as much as you could tell with newborns anyway. But on the run, falsely claimed to be dead, most likely to never see her mother, father, sister, or any of her family again. Must less her husband.

On the run, with her husband's best friend. It fit, in a way, the two people who loved him most, hiding out together, to raise his children together. And as she looked over the small bassinet were they slept, it was hard to not feel peace. Even if it was inside an old, almost forgotten bunker from the Clone Wars. Satisfied her children were safely asleep, Padmé left the room quietly, looking for Obi-Wan.

In resigning ("postponing," Ackbar had insisted) his commission, Luke had been looking for two things: Jedi artifacts, and some perspective on what to do next.

Things he had not been looking for: time travel, yet another return to Tatooine, and a romance with a dead mentor.

Then again, they did tick off the first two items, in a way.

His X-wing (generously donated to the cause of Jedi rehabilitation) had gone off course while in hyperspace, a freak anomaly he could hardly attempt to explain while trying to right his course so that he and R2 didn't end up on the wrong end of a black hole. But after a significant effort and a really uncomfortable feeling of being pulled in every direction at once, Luke had crash-landed in a desert.

A soul-crushingly familiar desert.

The ship was, for the moment, inoperable, his leg was, while not broken, liable to become so if he moved too far on it, and R2's circuits had somehow reversed polarity to the point of some droid equivalent of catatonia. And then he'd realized where he was, and it all sort of figured, even if it didn't yet make any sense.

He was on kriffing Tatooine, stranded in the Jundland Wastes, years and light years from anywhere and anywhen he was meant to be.

[IDK how much you want to play or handwave, but I thought this would cover our bases?]

Sand.

It was all Jacen could see as he stared out into the horizon, and around him.

He couldn’t quite remember how he’d gotten here, wherever ‘here’ was. He’d fled Coruscant — no, Yuuzhan’tar — on a coralcraft with Vergere, towards space, towards freedom, his time with the Vong finally at an end. And it had been quite the ordeal. He was almost all bone and muscle now. His skin was a sickly pale shade; his arms were scarred, so were his legs, although they were mostly hidden by the dark robe he wore. His face was chiseled, making him look much older than eighteen, and his brown eyes no longer had a boyish charm, but rather the maturity of adulthood.

Somehow, along the way, they’d crash-landed — yet he couldn’t remember the events leading up to it. Nor could he sense Vergere’s presence in the Force. He could only feel the sun and the sand and the heat sapping what little strength he had left, and his vision blurring.

Being sent to various planets scattered throughout the system certainly wasn't anything new. It happened a lot and far too often for Anakin's liking. He wished the war would just end -- with their victory of course. So many lives were already lost and each new mission seemed to take him farther and farther away from her. He tried not to let his thoughts linger too long as he stared out the window of the republic's temporary base.

The land was desolate and cold. Mostly cold. Another thing Anakin did not like.

"I'm never agreeing to come to a planet like this ever again. Why is it always some place frozen? Are they trying to turn me into an icicle? For once, I'd just like to go some place warm for a change."

He spoke to no one in particular and paced in front of the window a little bit. That leads to another thing Anakin disliked: waiting.

New life together thing

Hell in a handbasket

are you ready for another apprentice master kenobi

time for team awesome