Devil-O-Angel

Funny mental image for you: Jocasta finds out Dooku stole a bunch of holocrons on his way out of the Order when doing a stockcheck after learning Kamino was deleted. Gatecrashes the execution on Geonosis, accidentally stealing Mace's thunder when she goes for her old friend with fire and brimstone and Mace, very wisely, takes three large steps back to give her all the space she needs to tear a strip out of Dooku up one side and down the other about fucking with her archives. Lightsaber optional.

Oh wow, yes please. 

I'm kinda new to your writing but I loved everything I read so I went looking thru ur ideas and WIPs out of curiosity bc now I'm hooked and it got me thinking. If Mace is Nick Fury, and they reference Star Wars in the Marvel movies multiple times, does that mean he played himself in the Star Wars movies? Bc the hilarity of that image is too great XD

xD He did but no one can prove it. Most people think it was a lookalike. Tony is firmly on the “it was you, you eyepatch wearing liar” but most people write him off as crazy. Mace will never, ever tell. 

The fact that you are producing so much stellar everyone lives/nobody dies AU clone content right now is all that is getting me through these last final Clone Wars episodes. Yesterday's episode almost killed me -- you'd think I'd be more prepared considered I've known about Order 66 for 15 years now. Since I'm trying to ignore what is happening in cannon, can we get a happy snippet from one of your many amazing WIPs?

“Sir, there's an unfamiliar ship inbound!” Odd Ball’s voice crackles over the comm, and Obi-Wan has half a second to register the warning before he adds, desperate, “We can't raise them, and our shots aren’t doing anything. Closing on your location fast, General!”

“Oh, that’s precisely what we need,” Obi-Wan says, desperately aggrieved, so exhausted he could almost cry, and calls, “Boil!”

Boil, practically crouched over a sickeningly still Cody as he shields the commander from incoming fire, lifts his head from behind a fallen walker just long enough to signal that he heard the alert, too. “Torrent, Ghost Company, bogey above!” he shouts, and the whole company scatters as much as they're able while pinned down by enemy fire. Obi-Wan returns a string of blaster shots, then turns to put his back against Anakin’s, just as a very old freighter that looks like it shouldn’t even be flying roars overhead.

“What is that?” Anakin demands, sounding deeply offended by the very thought of the thing still being space-worthy. “How come Odd Ball couldn’t take it out? A bird could take it out!”

“Apparently not,” Obi-Wan says, eyeing it. Even Hondo likely wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing, so it’s not him, but it’s certainly not a Separatist ship, either. He judges the distance he’d need to jump to carve a hole in the underside, but it’s moving too fast, is just a little too high. Like whoever is on it knows Jedi capabilities, and is carefully avoiding giving any openings.

Obi-Wan rather doesn’t like that.

And then, all at once, a huge section of the approaching droid army simply lifts. Like a dozen Jedi just picked them up, they shoot into the air, then crash back down with force. Parts spray, and Obi-Wan throws up a hand to shield their troopers from the worst of it. “Anakin?” he demands, because Anakin is the only one he knows with anything close to approaching that amount of power.

“Not me,” Anakin says, eyes faintly wide, and adds, “I think it’s someone on the ship. Master Yoda, maybe?”

But Obi-Wan can feel Yoda all the way across the battlefield, defending the city, and it’s not him. “No,” he manages, half an instant before the ship’s ramp descends. It hurtles above them, picking up speed, but a lone figure tumbles out, a pale star falling right towards the thickest knot of droids and troopers. The power that curls around her in the Force is immense, immeasurable, with a lightness to it that’s like the sun.

Obi-Wan hasn’t seen anything like that in years, and he’d been absolutely certain that last time was the absolute last time anyone would, because she died.

“Fay,” he says, bewildered, and Anakin shoots him a startled look.

“You know her?” he demands. “Who is she?”

Fay hits the ground, and like a gust of wind her power sweeps through the droids, through the troopers. It hits Obi-Wan and Anakin an instant later, and Obi-Wan almost staggers. Anakin does stagger, and Obi-Wan grabs his elbow, holds him on his feet as the warmth of Force-healing curls through his body. It sinks deep into his bones, soothing bruises, wearing away at the edge of exhaustion that’s been riding him for weeks of campaigns. At the same time, all around them, droids clatter to a halt. There's a trembling moment, a hum so low and deep Obi-Wan feels it more than hears it, and—

Like cheap tin cans, every droid within sight crumples in on itself, then drops, inoperable.

“Sithing hells,” Anakin breathes. “What was that?”

In the middle of the now much quieter battlefield, Fay rises to her feet. Turns, a sweep of pale cream robes and golden-brown hair and a presence like a star, and walks towards them. Droids clear themselves out of her way as she does, piling themselves off to the side, and Obi-Wan has to swallow at the look on her face. Not angry, or anything of the sort. Serene, almost, like she’s halfway to a trance, without anything in the galaxy that could touch her inner peace.

“Master Fay,” he says as she approaches. “You survived?”

“The Force had work for me,” Fay says without pausing, and drops to one knee in front of Waxer where he’s crumpled in the dirt. Obi-Wan’s chest aches like a kick beneath his ribs, because he saw Waxer go down, couldn’t get to him in time—

With a choked breath, Waxer jerks, rolling up onto his knees and automatically reaching for his blaster. Then he stops, as if he’s bewildered by the lack of blaster fire, by the Jedi healer kneeling in the dirt in front of him, and looks at her for a long moment.

With a sound of sheer, aching relief, Boil hits the ground next to him and drags him into his arms, hugging him desperately. “Waxer,” he hisses. “You karking idiot, why—why would you take that shot—”

Waxer slowly, carefully wraps his arms around Boil in return, but he doesn’t look away from Fay. “I don’t think it matters anymore,” he says dazedly.

Fay smiles at him. “It matters,” she says simply, and rises to her feet. Moves to Cody next, crouching down beside him, and the light touch of her hand brings him gasping back to consciousness. Obi-Wan’s heart leaps, because he’d feared the worst, because Cody was so still, and he crosses the distance between them at a run, grabbing Cody's elbow as he struggles to his feet and ducking under his arm to help hold him up.

“Thank you, Master,” he says to Fay, and—maybe it’s not becoming of a Jedi to feel so much relief at one life saved, but—the rules ceased to matter around Cody a long time ago.

Fay's smile is a little crooked, a little wry. “I might disagree with the Council, Master Kenobi, but this war needs to see an end. We’ll help it find one.”

“We?” Obi-Wan asks, startled, but Fay is already turning away. There are more droids approaching, and she raises her hands, expression twisting. With a rattle, droid parts lift, sharp spears and shards of metal, and Fay breathes out.

“Did you think I would come alone?” she asks, and then lunges, a lioness on the battle-scarred plain. A whirlwind of metal and improvised weapons surges around her, and she crashes into the approaching army like a force of nature.

“Kriff,” Cody says, wide-eyed. “That’s a Jedi?”

Obi-Wan kind of wants to be insulted by that tone, but watching Fay, he can't quite manage it. “One of the nomadic Masters,” he says instead, and takes a careful breath. “No one’s seen her outside the Outer Rim in centuries.”

“No offense, sir, but she just saved our shebs,” Boil says frankly, and lets Waxer slide to the ground behind the walker. “And all of the men.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, and exchanges looks with Anakin, fallen troopers stirring all around them. “She most certainly did, Sergeant.”

*hopeful tone* Moon Knight mood? Moon Knight fic?

Marc’s seen plenty of aliens in his time. This isjust…rather more of one than he’s used to seeing, all at once.

With a heave, the alien hauls himself up out of the water,shaking out the tangle of thick tentacles growing from his head in place ofhair, and then turns, offering a hand to a clone trooper in diving gear as hesurfaces. Jedi, then, Marc thinks, and takes a deliberate step back, only torun right up against plastoid armor that might as well be an immovable wall.

“Reinforcements,” Rex says, and the relief in his voicealmost makes Marc wince. Suddenly, this whole charade just got a hell of a lotmore complicated.

He can hear Khonshu laughing from here, and it’s a goddamn pain.

“They actually sent General Fisto?” Waxer asks, stunned.“But he’s beaten Grievous.”

“Maybe Grievous is about to make an appearance of his own,then.” Rex doesn’t sound pleased by the idea, but he steps past Marc, droppinga hand on his shoulder as he goes, and offers him a reassuring smile. “If theysent a Council member out, you should be able to tell him your whole story inperson, sir.”

Council member. Of fucking course. Marc eyes thedistance between the edge of the sea and the strange, twisted trees that dotUmbara’s surface, and reluctantly concludes that bolting for the treeline is abad idea.

“Why,” he says, aggrieved, “is he naked.”

Waxer coughs, and Boil, attached to his elbow the way he’sbeen since Khonshu brought Waxer back from the brink of death, snickers audibly.“Sir, you ended the raid on the Sep base in your cloak and nothing else. Idon’t think you have room to talk.”

Marc rolls his eyes, but years of ending up fighting crimein his boxers at least once every few months has left him more or less immuneto the embarrassment of the memory. “Whatever. I need my—”

His white cloak lands on his head, and Fives helpfullydrags it down to fasten it for him even when Marc hisses at him in annoyance.“No problem, sir,” he says, and grins. “We wouldn’t want anyone forgetting thatour general’s a shiny.” He gives the cloak a friendly pat, smoothing itover Marc’s shoulder, and says, “Got your lightsaber?”

It’s worse than working with Steve Rogers, thebiggest mother hen to ever live. Marc rolls his eyes, batting his hands away,and says dryly, “I even remembered to comb my hair, don’t worry.”

Fives smirks. “I couldn’t tell,” he says, and laughs at theface Marc makes at him. “Don’t worry, sir. If General Fisto and his men aremean to you, we’ll toss them right back into the ocean.”

“My hero.” Marc tugs his hood up, then takes a breath. He’dfeel better about all of this if he had his mask, or his armor, but—borrowedthermals and his cloak are going to have to do. It’s not like Khonshu left himanything else when he dumped him headlong into this dimension.

Marc doesn’t exactly mind, given where he landed—war zonessuit him, and being able to save a whole host of dying clone troopers made ahell of a first impression—but he’d have stocked up on crescent darts if he’dknown he was about to be booted through realities.

Steeling himself, Marc resigns himself to the ruse he’sgotten embedded in finally coming undone. After all, a Jedi who’s on theCouncil definitely isn’t going to buy the excuse he gave Pong Krell to getclose enough to kill him. I’m a new Knight, the Council sent me won’t work a second time,and—Marc has no idea where he’ll go or what he’ll do if he has to run, buthe’ll figure something out.

“Sir?” Waxer asks quietly, still leaning on Boil a little,still wounded, but also still kind. Coming back didn’t seem to hurt him any,and that’s almost as impressive as how he’s managed to keep his faith. Marcknows better than most how much dying can suck.

“I’m fine,” he says curtly, but takes a step forward, thenanother. The Jedi, talking with Rex, flicks a glance past the captain and cockshis head, and Marc bows to him, perfunctory, and then tips his chin towards astand of viney trees in a particularly upsetting shade of magenta.

Huge dark eyes narrow, and the alien inclines his head inreturn, then turns a bright, warm smile on Rex and claps him on the shoulder.Rex smiles back, and the Jedi says something that makes him laugh, then slipsaway from him, approaches Marc with quick steps. He’s only wearing swim trunks—skintightswim trunks—and a few leather bands around his head tentacles, but he moveseasily, unselfconsciously.

He’s also hot. Marc suddenly finds himself in the unprecedented and rather awkwardposition of understanding exactly why people might find mermaids—even theman-eating kind—sexy. 

It’s aggravating.

“Well met,” the Jedi offers as he approaches, and his voiceis warm, steady. “I do not know all the Jedi in the field, but I would have tosay you do not strike me as a Pong Krell, my friend.”

Marc grimaces, twisting his fingers into the edges of hiscloak. “I’m not,” he says. “Pong Krell was forcing troopers to kill othertroopers.” Remembers Khonshu’s vicious glee when he pulled Pong Krell’s heartfrom his chest, and says, “He fell. To the Dark Side.”

There’s a long, long moment of silence as the Jedi watcheshim, and then a breath. “And you dealt with him.”

It’s not a question, but Marc inclines his head. “They weredying,” he says, and opens his mouth to confess, to tell the Jedi that he’sjust an impostor and won’t stick around—

And finds a hand over his mouth, cool, damp, and salty.Freezes there, unsure what to do, and it makes the Jedi chuckle.

“I am Jedi Master Kit Fisto,” he says, and there’s a lightin his eyes that Marc knows means nothing good for his sanity. “Forgivemy spotty memory. You are…?”

“Marc Spector,” Marc says, a little wary.

The feeling of bony fingers closing around his shoulderdoesn’t help at all.

“What a pure heart,” Khonshu says, hungry. “Don’tyou want to touch it, my knight? Possess it?”

With the ease of long practice ignoring his god, Marccontrols the blush he wants to have, dismisses the clutch of talons against hiscloak, and says, “You have wounded.” After all, healing the 212thand the 501st helped put him firmly in their captains’ good graces;there’s no saying the same method won’t work again.

“A healer, then?” Kit asks warmly, and steps close, clappinga hand on his shoulder. His fingers go right through Khonshu’s. “How fortunate!Our medic was lost in the last attack, and several of the men are sufferingfrom more than a bacta patch can cure.” He pauses, smile going crooked, andsays, “I confess I have little talent with Force healing, myself.”

That puts him head and shoulders above Marc, who doesn’thave any. Still, he at least has a god in his head, and Khonshu can earn hiskeep for once.

“I can handle anything more serious,” he says, and hopeshe’s telling the truth.

Kit is watching him, close, quiet. His smile is small, alittle odd, but when Marc eyes him warily, it splits into something far moregenuine. “I believe you can,” he says, and squeezes Marc’s shoulder lightly,then steps back. His head tentacles sway, and he cocks his head curiously.

Perfectly unwavering, perfectly aware, Kit’s eyes fall onKhonshu, still looming behind Marc, and—

He smiles.

“Glad to have you,” he says, and Marc notices what’s missingfrom that statement more than what’s in it.

Kit hasn’t called him a Jedi even once.