meta fic? exposition fic?
I'm not sure what this kind of thing is called, except 'not really fic.' It's more along the lines of ... figuring out backstory by writing about characters trying to figure out their backstory. With a dose of domesticity, because there is not enough post-ROTJ fluff.
I know, scintillating. But it helps, and the idea of Luke and Leia and Han as plucky backstory detectives amuses me. Especially if I get to (mostly) ignore the EU while I'm at it. Therefore, I give you backstory-centric (not)fic:
------------------------------
Title: Legacy
Fandom: Star Wars (OT)
Fanverse: Personal headcanon!
Blurb: Brother and sister, huh? How did that even happen?
Major characters: Han Solo, Leia Organa, Luke Skywalker
Length: 816 words
Warning: slightly AU of ROTJ, very AU of the PT
--------------------------------
Han woke slowly. It was the first morning in years that he’d had any certainty of surviving, and he intended to enjoy every minute of it.
A droid beeped.
“Don’t take that tone with me, you tincan - ”
Chewie growled something that Han’s brain was too sluggish to translate. From a slightly greater distance, he caught human voices: Leia’s clear and ringing, Luke’s decorously lowered.
“He did what?”
“- told you . . . reactor . . . wanted to see . . . expect?”
“I don’t know what I expected. Maybe that he’d be able to keep himself from chopping your other hand off! Not this.”
They were talking about Darth Vader? At - he inched an eyelid open - less than a hour past dawn? Damn Vader and his cosmic powers, anyway. He managed to ruin Han’s mornings even after he was dead.
“- no, he didn’t . . . gave in . . . easy . . . Dark Side - ”
Han gave up and stumbled to his feet. Two blurs, one dark and one light, turned towards him. “Uh-uh,” he said, making his way to the cockpit. “A man’s got to draw the line somewhere. No religion before breakfast.”
He tried to focus his bleary gaze in their direction. The dark blur resolved into Luke, already in full Jedi regalia, the white into a flinty-eyed Leia.
“Good morning to you, too,” she said.
Luke only smiled and gestured at the teapot, which obligingly whistled. “Oh, sorry. Was that too much religion for you?”
“Don’t make Chewie smack you. Is there any chocolate left?”
“Luke ran out three months ago,” said Leia.
He looked tragic. “It’s tea or caf.”
“Caf.”
“I’ll get my tea.”
It was almost exactly like any other morning. Han watched the princess of Alderaan reach for obscenely priced tea, while water heated itself and dishes settled on the table, and wondered how long it had been since he’d even noticed any of it.
They drank in comfortable silence. Then C-3PO brought out breakfast, and Han said:
“Brother and sister, huh? How did that even happen?”
“Well,” said Leia, “when a man and a woman love each other very much - ”
“We're not sure,” Luke said hastily. “Obi-Wan didn’t say much about your real father, Leia: just that he was an artist. Honestly, he didn’t say much about any of it. He didn’t even tell me our mother’s name.”
“I don’t remember,” said Leia, her brows knitting in concentration. “I suppose I must have heard it, but I just thought of her as Mama. I . . . don’t think I saw her very much. She always had something to do somewhere.” She gave him an inquisitive look.
“She was a politician, not a Jedi,” replied Luke. “Obi-Wan did say that much, when I asked. The Force was with her, a little, but she never got trained.”
“If she wasn’t a Jedi and she didn’t serve in the wars, General Kenobi might not have even met her,” Leia said. She looked inexplicably pleased. “He was Papa’s and - and Captain Skywalker’s friend, after all, not Mama’s. Perhaps he doesn’t know what happened.”
Han’s head spun. “Wait, wait. What? I don’t - you mean - hell, there isn’t enough caf in the galaxy for this.” He poured himself another cup anyway. “You’re some painter’s daughter, not the King of Alderaan’s? Then how - ”
“I am not Papa’s natural daughter,” Leia corrected. “I could remember my original family, a little, so of course I always knew I was adopted. I thought everyone did. Moreover, Papa wasn’t the king. Technically.”
“So, at four years old, or six, or whatever it was, somebody up and decides that you’re going to be adopted by royalty, while Luke goes to kriffing Tatooine?” Han stared at them incredulously. “And your family just went along with it? What were all these people taking? Death sticks?”
Luke and Leia exchanged a glance.
“I don’t know for certain,” Luke said finally. “My father - well, Vader had defected to the Empire by the time I was a year old. I’m sure Father’s brother seemed an appropriate choice, as well as a safe one.”
“Mother died at around the same time,” Leia added. “I never saw her family again, so I think they must have, too. Perhaps there wasn’t anybody left to complain.”
Han frowned. He was old enough to remember the bloodbath that had accompanied Palpatine’s succession, if only vaguely; one wrong word from their mother-the-politician would have been more than enough to condemn her entire family to death. And their servants, pets, and droids.
“Damn. And you’ve got different fathers? ’Cause I’ve heard about Captain Skywalker - so has everyone who lived through the wars - and somehow painting never came up with the bits about blowing enemy fleets to smithereens and crushing clone armies beneath his heel.”
“Of course we do,” Luke said, his mouth twitching. “My father was still a Tatooine farmboy when Leia was born.”
“Hard to imagine your father was ever a Tatooine farmboy.”
“You have no idea,” said Leia.
I know, scintillating. But it helps, and the idea of Luke and Leia and Han as plucky backstory detectives amuses me. Especially if I get to (mostly) ignore the EU while I'm at it. Therefore, I give you backstory-centric (not)fic:
------------------------------
Title: Legacy
Fandom: Star Wars (OT)
Fanverse: Personal headcanon!
Blurb: Brother and sister, huh? How did that even happen?
Major characters: Han Solo, Leia Organa, Luke Skywalker
Length: 816 words
Warning: slightly AU of ROTJ, very AU of the PT
--------------------------------
Han woke slowly. It was the first morning in years that he’d had any certainty of surviving, and he intended to enjoy every minute of it.
A droid beeped.
“Don’t take that tone with me, you tincan - ”
Chewie growled something that Han’s brain was too sluggish to translate. From a slightly greater distance, he caught human voices: Leia’s clear and ringing, Luke’s decorously lowered.
“He did what?”
“- told you . . . reactor . . . wanted to see . . . expect?”
“I don’t know what I expected. Maybe that he’d be able to keep himself from chopping your other hand off! Not this.”
They were talking about Darth Vader? At - he inched an eyelid open - less than a hour past dawn? Damn Vader and his cosmic powers, anyway. He managed to ruin Han’s mornings even after he was dead.
“- no, he didn’t . . . gave in . . . easy . . . Dark Side - ”
Han gave up and stumbled to his feet. Two blurs, one dark and one light, turned towards him. “Uh-uh,” he said, making his way to the cockpit. “A man’s got to draw the line somewhere. No religion before breakfast.”
He tried to focus his bleary gaze in their direction. The dark blur resolved into Luke, already in full Jedi regalia, the white into a flinty-eyed Leia.
“Good morning to you, too,” she said.
Luke only smiled and gestured at the teapot, which obligingly whistled. “Oh, sorry. Was that too much religion for you?”
“Don’t make Chewie smack you. Is there any chocolate left?”
“Luke ran out three months ago,” said Leia.
He looked tragic. “It’s tea or caf.”
“Caf.”
“I’ll get my tea.”
It was almost exactly like any other morning. Han watched the princess of Alderaan reach for obscenely priced tea, while water heated itself and dishes settled on the table, and wondered how long it had been since he’d even noticed any of it.
They drank in comfortable silence. Then C-3PO brought out breakfast, and Han said:
“Brother and sister, huh? How did that even happen?”
“Well,” said Leia, “when a man and a woman love each other very much - ”
“We're not sure,” Luke said hastily. “Obi-Wan didn’t say much about your real father, Leia: just that he was an artist. Honestly, he didn’t say much about any of it. He didn’t even tell me our mother’s name.”
“I don’t remember,” said Leia, her brows knitting in concentration. “I suppose I must have heard it, but I just thought of her as Mama. I . . . don’t think I saw her very much. She always had something to do somewhere.” She gave him an inquisitive look.
“She was a politician, not a Jedi,” replied Luke. “Obi-Wan did say that much, when I asked. The Force was with her, a little, but she never got trained.”
“If she wasn’t a Jedi and she didn’t serve in the wars, General Kenobi might not have even met her,” Leia said. She looked inexplicably pleased. “He was Papa’s and - and Captain Skywalker’s friend, after all, not Mama’s. Perhaps he doesn’t know what happened.”
Han’s head spun. “Wait, wait. What? I don’t - you mean - hell, there isn’t enough caf in the galaxy for this.” He poured himself another cup anyway. “You’re some painter’s daughter, not the King of Alderaan’s? Then how - ”
“I am not Papa’s natural daughter,” Leia corrected. “I could remember my original family, a little, so of course I always knew I was adopted. I thought everyone did. Moreover, Papa wasn’t the king. Technically.”
“So, at four years old, or six, or whatever it was, somebody up and decides that you’re going to be adopted by royalty, while Luke goes to kriffing Tatooine?” Han stared at them incredulously. “And your family just went along with it? What were all these people taking? Death sticks?”
Luke and Leia exchanged a glance.
“I don’t know for certain,” Luke said finally. “My father - well, Vader had defected to the Empire by the time I was a year old. I’m sure Father’s brother seemed an appropriate choice, as well as a safe one.”
“Mother died at around the same time,” Leia added. “I never saw her family again, so I think they must have, too. Perhaps there wasn’t anybody left to complain.”
Han frowned. He was old enough to remember the bloodbath that had accompanied Palpatine’s succession, if only vaguely; one wrong word from their mother-the-politician would have been more than enough to condemn her entire family to death. And their servants, pets, and droids.
“Damn. And you’ve got different fathers? ’Cause I’ve heard about Captain Skywalker - so has everyone who lived through the wars - and somehow painting never came up with the bits about blowing enemy fleets to smithereens and crushing clone armies beneath his heel.”
“Of course we do,” Luke said, his mouth twitching. “My father was still a Tatooine farmboy when Leia was born.”
“Hard to imagine your father was ever a Tatooine farmboy.”
“You have no idea,” said Leia.