#he's not a Jedi or a Mandalorian or (as far as I know) a high-ranking well-known General

[eyrieofsynapses]

*pulls pillow off my head* ok done screaming. so how about that Zeb cameo in The Mandalorian today, folks? anyone else hold their breath for a second thinking "no, it's just a Lasat, there's no way--" before hearing Steve Blum's voice and going "OH SHIT OH SHIT IT'S HIM" and stopping the episode for a solid minute or two to deal with the overwhelming excitement and message their friend in all caps? or is that just me?

#so as someone who is deeply attached to Rebels at a spiritual level #I am just. SO PLEASED. SO PLEASED Y'ALL HAVE NO IDEA #he looks!!! so good! #so good!!!!!!!!!!!!! #and it's ZEB it's ZEB it's FUCKING ZEB #I MISSED my badass dude #and ngl this is EXTRA exciting bc... well... I honestly wasn't sure if he was even going to show up at any point #like he's the only one who's not SUPER relevant to what's happening right now in terms of his background-- #he's not a Jedi or a Mandalorian or (as far as I know) a high-ranking well-known General #so I wasn't sure if he was going to be brought in #but no! he's here! HE'S HERE #and moreover HE'S THE FIRST LIVE-ACTION REBELS MAIN CHARACTER #like AAAAAAAAAAHHH #I was expecting it to be Sabine or Hera! #but no! it's Zeb! #and I love all of them so I'm not mad at all I'm just SUPER EXCITED #because ZEB!!!!!!!!!! #grumpy uncle/older brother figure! #anyway this is more or less me intentionally yelling into the void so #(I don't feel like incurring the SW fandom's general attention) #just gonna. go continue to lose my mind for a while #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #spoilers #star wars rebels #synapse talks

[ryucreates]

im making headcanons again for star wars and you cant stop me -the first time Anakin tried Obi-Wan's "tea" he had to spittake because what the kark, Master, why is it s p i c y ? Anyways, turns out spending a year or more on Manda'yaim gets you real into behot teas, and Obi-Wan has had a soft spot for Shig ever since he was introduced to it while on the run from Kyr'stad. - Growing up in the temple on Coruscant was fun and all, but what was even better was sneaking out of the temple- and in turn, seeing how far away Obi-Wan could get from his minders before eventually having to turn back. We may think of Obi-Wan as some sort of pinnacle of control, boiled essence of mastery of the force- but in reality? He was Chaos Untold on the creche masters.

-Jango Fett was never particularly "willing", per se, to make a clone army. While he had fallen, yes, while he had suffered, yes, he was a Mandalorian still- even exiled from Mandalorian space, even Dar'Manda as he named himself, even as he divorced himself from the crown of Mand'alor. He was Haat'Mando'ade, and he followed the super commando codex. There's this one line, said by the Kaminoans- something about how the best way to control a slave is to make it think it is free- and we all know of Dooku's machinations. Do you really think Jango would not recognize the man who slaughtered his people at Galidraan? Do you really think he would agree to manufacture child soldiers for the Republic? Even- no, especially after being enslaved himself, how could anyone believe him capable of turning on his own morals like that, without serious Sith Majicks afoot? - I'm not saying that there aren't force sensitive clones, but I am saying that midiclorian counts are pure bullshit for actually measuring one's connection to the force- i would think that they are somewhat like a different organism all together, some symbiotic being that can congregate around force users, but doesn't always- meaning there are force users with low midiclorians but high control in the force, and those with high midiclorians but seemingly no control of the force at all. Midiclorians are also likely not genetic, if they are a symbiotic single cell organism. - ki adi mundi is a bitch and i hate him - While the Mandalorians do not trust the Jedi, that does NOT mean that they are unkind to force users- yes, Kyr'stad may have a harsher view of them, but Kyr'stad is a terrorist group first, and Mando'ade second. Most Ad'e see force sensitives as seers, wise ones, and gifted warriors- they have special training, and special positions, they become treasured guards and Goran'e and Baar'ur'e, Alor'e of tribes and clans due to their visions or gifts. No Mandalorian worth their salt would ever give up a child due to their abilities, ka'ra blessed or not. - Most clones refer to themselves as the Vod'e- or the Vod'e An- Brothers All. First generation clones, trained by the Cuy'val Dar and Jango Fett himself, learned Mando'a straight from the source, and when the Alpha and First gen rank clones began teaching the next generations, they passed on the knowledge as well as they could. Most clones are at least passably fluent in the spoken tongue, and can, at a glance, finger count up to twenty in the language. Only the first few generations can reliably read Mando'a, and as far as is known, writing in the language has just been contained to the Nulls, and a select few of the Alphas. (i wrote over 8k characters part two incoming

#ryucreates #star wars fanon #headcanons #star wars headcanons #my headcanons #omg #let me have cryptid clones #hate ki adi mundi #worst jedi ever #commander fox #commander howzer #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #jango fett #boba fett #jon antilles #midiclorians are bullshit you heard it from me #my thoughts #ryurambles #ehehehe #cryptid clones #clone troopers #star wars #jedi #kamino

[elendiliel]

New Friends

Disclaimer: I have not read any Republic Commandos books, so my characterisation of Mij owes a great deal to other fics (notably those of or shared by @itsstrangelypermanent and @imrowanartist), a little to Wookieepedia and quite a bit to my imagination. I hope it's OK.

---

Nothing could have prepared Mij for Coruscant traffic. He’d known, intellectually, that a planet-spanning city meant more people, and thus more speeders, than there were on Mandalore and Alderaan put together, but there was a big difference between theory and the reality of the three-dimensional insanity that was Galactic City. At least his taxi driver seemed to know what he was doing, and things were a bit calmer in the Temple district, his unlikely destination.

His heart rate was definitely elevated as, having paid the driver, he made his way to the entrance to the Jedi Temple, but he hid his emotions well. So, naturally, did the masked Temple guardians, even though he was obviously a Mando’ad, and thus a hereditary enemy. He could, he supposed, have left his armour behind, but he’d been a Mandalorian too long to feel properly dressed without it.

Besides, these jetiise at least didn’t object to his presence. He gave his name and was told he was expected; when the main doors swung open, they revealed a dark-complexioned human male in Jedi robes, who greeted the newcomer with perfect courtesy, introducing himself as Master Mace Windu. Mij had heard of him – a high-ranking member of the Jedi Council and a famous duellist (and, incidentally, Jango Fett’s killer, not that Mij held that against him; it was surely self-defence), but taking the time to welcome his guest personally. A born Mando, especially one of the more traditional kind, might have been suspicious; Mij, being cin vhetin, merely appreciated the gesture, and the architecture of the graceful, elegant building through which Windu led him. The Jedi evidently valued beauty a great deal, as he’d suspected. He had only met one Jedi before – Shaak Ti, the one who took over the training of the clone cadets after Jango’s death. The Cuy’val Dar had mostly already gone by the time she arrived, but Mij had wanted to be sure his students were in safe hands before returning to his clan holdings. Having met her, he definitely had been. She might not wear her heart on her sleeve, but he hadn’t had to try hard to see her compassion towards her new charges.

He didn’t see her around, though. Windu, probably sensing his curiosity, told him she was overseeing the winding-down of the clone training program on Kamino and the cadets’ transfer to better homes. (And keeping them out of the longnecks’ hands, he didn’t have to add.) The few Jedi they did pass were mostly on their way somewhere else, probably somewhere important. Knowing the Order’s reputation, Mij wasn’t surprised. The war was over, but the Jedi weren’t going to rest until the galaxy was at peace in reality as well as in law, and all the survivors were being looked after as far as possible.

Windu finally led him to what looked like a standard briefing room, containing three more human men – one auburn-haired, bearded, pale and not far short of middle age, one dark-haired, slightly tanned and little more than a boy, and one (the only non-Jedi) a clone, a veteran to judge by his eyes, though the rest of his face looked younger – a near-human young female with a passing resemblance to Tani and a small green being of a species Mij had never seen before, leaning on a wooden cane. All but the last were seated as Windu and Mij entered (the clone and the woman were quite openly holding hands; presumably they were the ones he was supposed to be working with on the upcoming mission, and getting into character already), but rose to their feet with varying degrees of grace to greet them.

The woman spoke first. “Olarom, Doctor Gilamar. Ijaat urcir gar.” Welcome, Doctor Gilamar. It is an honour to meet you. Her Mando’a was good, heavily accented but grammatically sound (not that Mando’a grammar was hard, for a speaker of the linguistic mongrel called Basic), without a trace of hesitation. Where, and why, would a jetii learn it so well?

Mij couldn’t help but return her friendly smile. “Balyc ijaat urcir gar. And Basic is fine.” It was his mother tongue, after all. He’d become bilingual over the years, retaining a distinct Alderaan accent, but still preferred his first language for most purposes.

Windu cut in as a faint blush spread over the young woman’s face (Ka’ra, was she even twenty-two?), introducing Mij to Master Yoda (the green one), Master Obi-Wan Kenobi (the auburn one), Anakin Skywalker (the dark one), Helli Abbasa (the woman) and Sergeant Torrent (the clone). Torrent had apparently trained as a medic under one of Mij’s pupils, alongside the standard infantry track, but Mij forced himself not to let the meeting dissolve into reminiscences. “I assume Lady Kryze briefed you on her plan?” He addressed Torrent and Abbasa in particular, though the question was also directed at the others.

“Brief would be an understatement,” Abbasa commented. She seemed annoyed about something, but was mostly keeping her feelings in check, as a good Jedi should. “Tirade would be nearer the mark. But yes, she did explain it to us.” Lady Bo-Katan Kryze, heiress to her sister, the late Duchess Satine of Mandalore, was determined to dislodge the ex-Sith Lord Maul and his puppet Almec from their stolen positions of power, but she needed the Republic’s help, and the Republic and the Jedi needed proof of wrongdoing. Lady Kryze’s idea was that a clone and a Jedi, posing as an off-world Mandalorian, a son of Jango Fett, and his new bride visiting his ancestral homeworld, could both gather intelligence and confirm Maul’s presence and intentions. Mij, the most reasonable of Jango’s old circle, had been recruited to help maintain their cover and show them around – and perhaps, though she hadn’t said so, keep an eye on the Republic agents. “It’s not a bad idea, not by a long way.”

“I believe even Satine would approve,” Kenobi added. Mij just saw a shadow of pain in the Jedi’s eyes as he named the fallen Mand’alor (Mij felt she had earned the title; it took a great deal of courage to try to reshape a whole society as the Duchess had done). He must have known her, and cared about her – perhaps cared for her.

“And it’ll help that everyone thinks neither Jedi nor clones can get married,” Skywalker put in. “You two already have a perfect cover.”

“We are married,” Torrent clarified. His left hand was still entwined with Abbasa’s right; Mij now saw a durasteel band on his fourth finger, and a matching one on the young woman’s. Not just props, then. He blinked in surprise. “Since when?”

“Yesterday.” Abbasa gave her husband a look full of love, even adoration, which he returned with interest. “But if you mean since when have Jedi been allowed to marry, the general rule does still apply. Though apparently spectacular acts of idiocy masquerading as courage are grounds for exceptions to be granted. I was the idiot in this case, I hasten to add.”

“And pointless to keep these two apart, it is,” Yoda remarked, adroitly changing the course of the conversation. “Destined for each other, they are, as friends or otherwise. The only ones, they are not.” As the Jedi exchanged meaningful but, to anyone else, unreadable glances, Torrent caught Mij’s eye, clearly just as baffled by jetiise at times, despite being married to one. Mij hadn’t expected that, but it would surely make their lives easier if the couple didn’t have to pretend so much. (And it explained why Abbasa was not in a good mood. Being dragged from one’s marriage bed, even with one’s spouse in tow, the morning after one’s wedding would annoy anybody.)

There wasn’t much point in delaying; Abbasa was even packed already, and Torrent’s few belongings were either in her bag or at his barracks, where they would stop off on the way to the spaceport where Mij’s ship was berthed. As Mij followed his new friends to the communal garage to find a speeder to take them there, he found himself eager to discover what else this “working honeymoon”, as Helli (she invited him to use her first name as soon as they were away from her superiors) called it, had in store for them.

---

Mando'a glossary:

Mando'ad (may be shortened to Mando in either language): Mandalorian.

Jetii(se): Jedi (singular/plural).

Cin vhetin: lit. white field; often indicates adoption into a Mandalorian clan, regarded as a totally fresh start, a clean slate.

Balyc: also.

Ka'ra: stars; mythical council of fallen rulers.

Mand'alor: ruler of Mandalore.

#star wars #the clone wars #mij gilamar #mace windu #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #clone trooper oc #original clone characters #jedi oc #original jedi character #yoda #fanfic #healing au

[blackkatmagic]

Could I please request a drabble with Mace meeting Jaster? Time travel shenanigans would be loved and heart-eyed, but are not required.

“A Jedi is hiring a Mandalorian for a job?” Jaster asks, one brow raised, and can't help the thread of incredulity that creeps into his voice. “Perhaps you're confused, Jetii, but our people have been enemies for millennia.”

“I'm well aware,” the Jedi says, unmoving. Jaster has, admittedly, never been quite this close to a Jedi, and he can't help but be faintly impressed at the man’s stoneface, particularly given the bright-eyed Chalactan girl peering around his side. Her hands are hooked into his sash without any apparent fear of being shaken off, or any apparent concern for her Master’s dignity, and Jaster finds himself reluctantly amused despite the man’s temerity.

“Oh?” Jaster asks, leaning back in his chair. His blaster is within easy reach, and the Jedi is far enough away that Jaster has the advantage. “Bold of you to approach me with a job offer, then.”

“Is it?” the man asks, and reaches up, folding his hood back. Jaster stills, startled, because he hadn’t thought there were Korun Jedi—Myles has always been very insistent that the Korun people have their own Force traditions, and outsiders aren’t welcome to step into them. He’s a handsome one, too, tall and broad shouldered, with a lean strength to him that even the loose, comfortable robes can't hide. Steady, he meets Jaster's eyes, and says, low, “It seems to me, Mand’alor, that our status as enemies means no one will suspect me of having hired you.”

Ah, Jaster thinks, smiling. Like that, is it. He hums, then says, “Jango, who don’t you show this lovely padawan the gardens? I'm sure she would like to see them.”

“What?” Jango demands, outraged the way only a fourteen-year-old can be. “Buir, I'm not leaving—”

Jaster levels a pointed look at his son, and his mouth snaps shut. He scowls, deep and affronted, and crosses his arms over his chest. “You shouldn’t be meeting with a Jedi alone,” he says grumpily. “Myles is going to yell at you.”

“Myles will survive,” Jaster says, though it’s likely true. “Master Jedi, I hope you don’t object to speaking privately.”

“Of course not,” the Jedi says, perfectly calm, and glances down at his padawan. “Depa. Be polite.”

That is, Jaster reflects wryly, an incrediblyfamiliar tone of voice. He’s willing to bet the girl gets herself into almost as much trouble as Jango, given how practiced it sounds.

And, on cue, the girl beams up at her Master without hesitation. “I'm always polite, Master Mace,” she protests, perfectly, wickedly innocent. Mace doesn’t answer, just sighs, and Depa laughs, rising up on her tiptoes. She hauls him down, no thought given to dignity, and plants a loud, showy kiss on his cheek, then hops back two steps and turns that smile on Jango, who freezes like he was just dipped in carbonite, his eyes going wide.

She is, Jaster thinks with amusement, a very pretty girl. He wonders how quickly Jango will manage to stick his foot in his mouth this time. Within ten minutes, judging by last time. Jaster doesn’t precisely have high hopes for their interaction, but at least this isn't the daughter of a high-profile client that Jango is going to offend. The Jedi needs them, not the other way around, and given Jedi morals, he likely won't turn to the Death Watch the instant he’s insulted.

“Depa,” Mace says, a warning, but Depa ignores it, grinning at Jango and folding her hands behind her.

“I would love to see the garden,” she says cheerfully. “Jango, was it?”

“Jango Fett,” Jango says, only a little mulishly, and takes a careful step forward, like he’s worried she’s going to bite him. “It’s this way, I guess.”

He couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if he tried. Jaster rather suspects he is.

As the door slides shut behind their two witnesses, though, Jaster's amusement fades slightly, and he turns his gaze on Mace, narrow and thoughtful as he considers the man, his presence on Mandalore, the quiet, entirely understated way he arrived.

“This isn't a mission from the Jedi Order,” he says, weighing. “I might even go so far as to say they have no idea of your presence here.”

“They don’t,” Mace says bluntly. “I'm here on my own business, and acting on information the Jedi Council isn't privy to.” There's a pause, and then a rueful curve just touches one corner of his mouth. “Believe me, Mand’alor. I do not go behind the Council’s back easily. This is vital, and I'm willing to provide the funds to prove it.”

Jaster smiles, a little humorless, a little thin. He’s not fond of being played, and this sounds very much like Mace is trying. “I have plenty of credits, Master Jedi. Why should I find yours any more appealing than anyone else’s?”

Mace doesn’t hesitate this time, just raises his chin. “Because I have something that is far more valuable than credits,” he says calmly. “I can provide you with information.”

It is, Jaster will admit, a tempting prospect, but he’s still wary. “Jedi information? Access to the Archives, perhaps? If I wanted dry Jedi tomes on political law—”

“No,” Mace interrupts, flat, and takes two steps forward, until he’s right across Jaster's desk. “Far more important and immediate information. Such as the name of the traitor who will kill you. And the location of Jango Fett's older sister.”

Jaster freezes, hardly daring to breathe. Arla was gone by the time he’d made it back to the Fett homestead on Concord Dawn, and no trace of her has ever surfaced. Jaster has been looking, because Jango speaks of her endlessly, but—

“That,” he rasps, voice half-caught in his throat, “could be considered blackmail, Master Jedi.”

Mace tips his head. “Proof of my desperation,” he says, and there's no self-consciousness to it, just blunt honesty. A pause, and then he says, faintly rueful, “I’ll give you her location whether you take the job or not. The Death Watch has her.”

Jaster was afraid of that. He breathes out, slow, careful, and—the willingness to offer up half of his bargaining chips makes him more inclined to trust Mace, even if a flicker of wariness still remains. “And the job is?”

Mace doesn’t waver, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch. “I want you to assassinate the senior senator from Naboo. Sheev Palpatine. He’s a Sith apprentice.”

Of all the things that Jaster was expecting, that most certainly wasn’t among them.

It takes him a long moment to scrape together a coherent response, another still to get the words right. “Apprentice,” he echoes. “Usually, an apprentice follows a master. Who is the Sith Master, then?”

“A scientist and a banker,” Mace says coolly. “Palpatine is the more dangerous target, and a better duelist. I can handle the Master, but the apprentice I would leave to someone more adept at assassinations.”

It would hardly be the first time the Mandalorians have been hired for such a thing, and Jaster is more than willing to do it. Knowing that Mace will be fighting his own battle allays some of Jaster's fears as well, and he leans on one arm of his chair, considering the man.

“A fraught mission,” he says, “on both parts. You have a plan, I assume.”

If anything, Mace looks amused at that. “The Jedi do not plan,” he says, a trace of humor in the words. “I trust the Force to see me through, however. And as I am training Depa, I will have all the time I need to see things through.”

Jedi, Jaster thinks, and doesn’t roll his eyes. Quite. “And would you care to tell me where you got this information, Master Jedi? Particularly about a traitor within the ranks of the True Mandalorians. I must admit that one surprises me.”

Mace is silent for another moment. “From the future,” he finally offers. “I traveled back with the help of a Force nexus. In the time I came from, the True Mandalorians were wiped out, and the Sith won.”

Something cold slides down Jaster's spine, and he rises slowly, comes to his feet to face the Jedi. Mace meets his eyes, holds his gaze, and—

He looks tired, Jaster thinks, calculating, considering. Tired in a bone-deep, weary way that Jaster had managed to miss before, buried as it was by his determination. Traveled back from the future, through time itself, and Jaster didn’t know such a thing was possible.

Not possible for most people, he thinks, watching Mace. And not optimal even for this one.

“Very well,” he says after a long minute of silence. “But on the condition that you stay here and provide your information throughout the mission. I won't have a Sith kill my men because you think you have better things to do.”

The relief that slides over Mace's expression is subtle, but—Jaster catches it easily. “Agreed,” he says. “We will rely on your hospitality, Mand’alor.”

“Jaster, please,” Jaster says, and moves around the end of his desk, taking Mace's arm. Muscled, he thinks, and that’s likely a good sign. Not a useless Jedi, hopefully. Not if he’s certain he can take on a Sith. “I think the use of first names is allowable now that you're my guest.”

“You have a liberal interpretation of guest,” Mace says dryly, but he doesn’t pull away as Jaster leads him out of the office, and Jaster is willing to count it as a win.

[On AO3]

#my writing #jastermace #jaster mereel #mace windu #star wars

[mandoalorian]

Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader]

ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 2: The Way ✩࿐ ˚.✧

Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.

Word Count: 2500>

Warnings: Domestic!Din comes with his own warning.

Series Masterlist **reblogs appreciated!

Din pulled up the throttle and exited hyperspace, thankful that he was now in the perimeter of the hot and arid world of Mandalore. He'd never been to Mandalore before, only heard talks and folklore from the creed who raised him. He had thought that, since the war, Mandalore had become inhospitable. He'd thought a lot of things— but now, as it turned out, not everything was as it seemed.

When the Imperials took over Mandalore, it was said that they slaughtered the monarchy, ruthlessly, and showed no remorse. Whilst no body of yours was ever discovered, the absence in communication from you, the princess, was enough to assume that you had passed away alongside the other Mandalorians. Kriff— even a memorial had been held for you.

Din didn't know how to feel… he was being sent out to protect and marry a princess. Him, out of all people. Din sighed, leaning into the plushness of his leather pilot chair. "I don't understand kid," he hummed, shaking his head as his ship glided through the stars. He watched as he neared your planet, anxiety nesting in his tummy. "Why couldn't she assign Paz to marry her? Or one of the other Mandalorians."

Grogu, Din Djarin's little green bean of a son, garbled something incoherent, blinking his big black eyes innocently. "Hey! Speak for yourself!" Din chastised, wiggling his finger. Grogu giggled and Din rolled his eyes under his beskar helmet. He had no idea how this would possibly go, but as long as he had Grogu by his side, he knew he'd be okay.

As he approached Mandalore, he set the ship for landing. He apprehended some Imp infiltrating the comms system, requesting Din to state his business; although strangely, nothing of that nature occurred. He wasn't going to argue over it. It just meant he'd spent the last four hours making up excuses as to why he was going to Mandalore for no good reason.

"I could say we're going to Mandalore for…. a farmer's market. Do you think they have a farmer's market?" Din quizzed. Grogu spluttered in disagreement. "What about… sourberry picking?" Din shrugged helplessly and Grogu made another sound of dismay. "Well I don't see you having any bright ideas!"

The child reached over to a lever on the ship and groaned wantonly, his little claws flexing as he yearned to grab the ball his father would always let him play with. Din sighed in defeat, unable to resist his son, and unscrewed the silver ball from the lever. Grogu squealed excitedly and immediately used his special powers to lift the ball in the air. He watched it float around the cockpit with a curious glint in his eyes and Din let out another deep exhale.

"No doing the magic hand thing on Mandalore either, especially not in front of the princess. You heard what the Armorer said about you guys… the Jedi. If there was a war between the Jedi and the Mandalorians then the chances are she's not going to take a liking to you lifting up rocks at your own free will. Just please be on your best behaviour. Please?" Din asked. Grogu curled his large ears in understanding and Din smiled. "Thank you. Now, I'm going to make some bone broth before we land. Want some?"

Grogu grinned happily in affirmation, his two little teeth pointing over his lips and the corners of his round eyes crinkling with delight. Bone broth sounded yummy right now.

"Your highness, The Razor Crest has requested permission to land in docking bay 94 of the palace. Do you accept or deny?" An Imperial soldier asked you.

You blinked momentarily. Razor Crest? That ship was pre-Empire. "Yes, that's fine." you nodded casually, looking down at your hands until the guard had left your quarters.

You had to play it cool. Nobody knew that you had sent out a distress call and nobody could know— it had to remain a secret, because if an Imp found out, they'd have no choice but to tell Moff Gideon. And if Moff Gideon found out that you were communicating with surviving Mandalorians, he'd have you done for treason. You may have been the princess, but he was still technically the Manda'lor, and not only that, he was a high ranking Imperial officer. You couldn't mess this up.

You pulled yourself out of your bed and slid your feet into your fluffy slippers, grabbing a silk robe and draping it over your body. They were here already. You couldn't believe it. Your protection. You wondered many things; would they be human or another far off species? How many eyes would they have— and what colour? Blue? Green? Brown? Pink? Would they have hair, and if so, is it long or short, curly or straight? So many questions.

Din held Grogu tight in one arm as he left the ship, and let a nervous hand drop his thigh holster just in case he encountered any trouble. He was thankful to be able to dock within the palace walls because it meant he didn't have to walk for miles in order to reach you. The anxiety was beginning to settle in. Mandalore was important to all Mandalorians, and the monarchy was something they respected very much. Din couldn't even think about marrying you and what that meant, even though the beskar wedding rings that the Armorer had forged were already weighing him down... all he could fixate on was how he was even going to talk to you. You were literally royalty. You came from the Kryze bloodline who were some of the greatest Mandalorian leaders. He'd read about you and your people in storybooks. Leaving Nevarro was one thing; because Din had left his home planet many times to do bounties and Guild Work. But this time, he wasn't even sure when he'd return or if he'd return. Mandalore could be his new home. If he were to marry you, this could be his new life, and Din wasn't sure if he was ready for such a commitment.

As he approached the palace, a cold chill hung over his shoulders and Grogu scowled at the onlookers. The Imperials who guarded your home watched as Din walked through the gardens, their own fingers feeling very trigger happy. A Mandalorian on Mandalore? What were the chances? It was said that the Mandalorians had been obliterated; wiped out and scattered amongst the galaxy to fend for themselves. Of course it would be ridiculous to assume that their entire creed had become extinct, but no Imperial would have ever expected to see a Mandalorian, suited up in full beskar armour, back on Mandalore. Especially since the princess had been announced dead by Moff Gideon after the great take-over. Immediately, the Imperial guards knew that something wasn't right. A Mandalorian had no reason to be on Mandalore— not after everything that had happened to their people.

As Din approached the gates, he couldn't help but feel the glares of his enemies grow colder, and their stares burned into his sheathed body. Grogu made a questioning noise and Din shushed him.

"I don't know…" Din mumbled, not wanting to cause too much fuss or bring too much attention to him and his son.

The point was; the princess had accepted the Mandalorian's request to land in the palace docking bay. The princess was apprehending his arrival. She knew about this.

The two troopers who manned the entrance of the palace did open the doors to Din, although begrudgingly. The strange feeling that surrounded the duo was not lost on Din. He wondered if it was in fact a trap. Maybe the plea the Armorer had received was an old holo recording of your voice that the Imperials had utilized to get a Mandalorian sent out. Either the Imperials were expecting Din, or they weren't expecting him at all. But Din had just assumed the princess had at least made it safe for him to come.

The lobby of the palace was enormous. Beautiful marble floor that must have been centuries old. Ornaments and flower arrangements stood erect on every corner and tall, gold pillars held the building together. Din wondered where he'd find you, but his pondering was cut short when he heard your delicate footsteps clicking against the floor. He turned around, his grip on his son tightening in anticipation, but the moment his eyes met yours, his whole body deflated.

There you were; the Princess of Mandalore.

Din couldn't find words. His whole body involuntarily tensed up as his gaze raked your body. It was perfect; you were shaped like a goddess, or perhaps one of the angels from the moon of Iego. Your hair was the most beautiful colour and Din admired the way it shone under the amber candlelight. Your eyes were doe-like and sparkling just like the stars, and your lips were simply the perfect plumpless.

But your heart was struck with fear when you saw the Mandalorian; fully dressed in beskar armour and a helmet. Not a single inch of skin was on sight, and your vision immediately turned red. There was only one Mandalorian tribe who never took off their helmet; and it was the tribe who was responsible for the death of your mother. It couldn't be…

Grogu's sweet little voice interrupted the silence, his garbles echoing throughout the extensively sized yet empty room.

Your lips curled into a smile as you approached the child, extending your arms and taking him out of Din's grip. "Hello friend." you cooed, and the little green bean giggled under your touch.

"He likes you," Din said, his voice modulated from under the helmet. "He doesn't like many people."

You ignored Din's comment, too busy fussing over the child. Grogu laughed and squeaked as you caressed his floppy ears. "Grogu, hm? You're a cutie."

Din furrowed his eyebrows together, perplexed. He wasn't the best at understanding Grogu, but how did you know his name already? Din hadn't told you.

"Oh, you like it?" You asked curiously, taking your earring out of your ear and placing it in Grogu's claw. "It's a ruby."

Wait— you were talking to him. You could understand him. The only person who could fluently communicate with Grogu was Ahsoka Tano, and that was because she was force sensitive. Of course Din could understand menial gestures and phrases, but here you were, the princess of Mandalore, having a full conversation with the little green bean. For a brief second, Din considered if you had any force-like abilities similar to what Grogu and Ahsoka had. But the thought passed fleetingly. There was no way a Mandalorian could have force powers. Not after the war between Mandalore and the Jedi sorcerers.

"His name is Din Djarin… I see." you nodded knowingly at Grogu before glancing up at the Mandalorian.

"Uh- yeah, that's me," Din said awkwardly, taking a step closer to you. "It's an honour to meet you, your highness. I must admit, I wasn't expecting to visit Mandalore tonight. Or ever- really." Din rambled, picking at his mustard coloured gloves.

"Do they still… do they still think I'm dead?" you asked uncertainly. Din nodded and you swallowed. The Imperials had really done a good job of covering up your existence then. You glanced back down at Grogu, and back up at the Mandalorian. "You walked through the palace gardens… dressed like that?" you asked him with a frown.

Din looked down at his armour in bewilderment— your comment suggesting that there was something wrong with what he was wearing. "Uh- yes?"

Your eyes went comically wide and you thrusted the child back into Din's chest. "Are you out of your mind?" you gasped, slapping your hands over your mouth in distress.

Din placed a hand on his hip. "Excuse me?"

"Take off your helmet." you demanded, your eyes stone cold.

"What? No!" Din gasped, taken aback. "Why aren't you wearing your helmet?"

You blinked. "Why would I? I'm not in battle!" you argued, raising your voice slightly. "Take off your helmet, that is an order from your Manda'lor."

"How could you ask me to do such a thing?" Din asked defensively, his fingers curling around his blaster pistol. "Are you really the Manda'lor— or are you an imposter? A true Mandalorian wouldn't ask me to remove my helmet."

No. You weren't the Manda'lor, you didn't have the darksaber anymore. But Din didn't need to know that.

"Are you… are you a Child of the Watch?" you whispered, feeling genuine fear wash over you.

"What?"

"What is your tribe's mantra?" you beckoned further, your eyes desperately trying to search for his through the visor of his helmet.

"Our secrecy is our survival. Our survival is our strength. This is the way." Din informed you.

You gulped and looked away. He was Death Watch. His people were the ones who teamed with Darth Maul and attacked Mandalore. They were the ones who killed your mother, and now, for the very first time, a Death Watch Mandalorian stood right before you.

You had sworn that, on the occasion you met a Child of the Watch, they wouldn't live to see the dawn of a new day. But this man… this man was a father. And killing him would orphan a child, just like you were orphaned as a young girl. You could never do that. You were not a fighter.

"I think you should go." you whispered, hating the way the words left your lips. You sounded weak.

You were struggling to hold it together. You didn't realise how much it would hurt, seeing a Child of the Watch. You didn't realise how it would bring to life a million memories of your beautiful mother.

"What? I just got here."

"I am sorry for bringing you out here, and I'm even more sorry for asking you to remove your helmet. But you need to go." You said more sternly. Din didn't move. "Go!" you shouted, and Grogu flinched slightly.

"No." Din insisted.

The tears were spilling from your eyes now, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You shuffled backwards until your ankles hit the first step of the grand staircase. You sunk down onto the steps and held your head in your hands, sobbing. You missed your mother so much; it was like every bone in your body ached for her touch. You missed the way she'd comfort you and hold you and whisper the Songs of Eon's Past to lull you to sleep. She was the greatest of leaders— a pacifist who would never hurt a single soul. She renounced all wars, even at the cost of her own life. She wouldn't want you to hurt Din. All these years you told yourself you'd kill the Children of the Watch for vengeance. But how could you now?

Hesitantly, Din placed Grogu on the ground, and padded towards you. He sat down next to you and wrapped a big arm around your body, pulling you into his beskar clad chest and hugging you. It was the first time in over a decade you'd had the pleasure of feeling human touch. You sunk into him and whimpered, letting your tears fall and dampen the black material under his chest plate. Din said nothing, only shushed you and rubbed comforting circles into your back.

He had no idea what caused the onset of your tears, but he knew better than to ask. There was no shame in crying. None at all. All Din knew was that he was not going to leave you. Not now, not ever. He was going to make you his wife.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #baby yoda #grogu #the mandalorian fic

[heavensfinest]

Mandalorian Season 3 (Hopeful) Prediction:

Paul Sun-Hyung Lee's fighter pilot character (Carson Teva) is going to paint Din as a vigilante against the remnants of the Empire. 

Think about it: he first chased The Crest down and saved Din on that ice planet which established Din as a blip on Carson Teva’s radar.

Before this, The Crest and security footage of a New Republic prisoner transport ship were probably reported and analyzed after Matt Lanter’s character sent that distress signal. Second, he knows about the incident with the Imperial outpost on Nevarro. The outpost on Morak could get out, if Migs starts to talk about his "friend Mando" who was involved (a bit of a stretch, but still, bear with men). 

Even if he doesn’t, there are still lines to draw between Mando and Migs. Who was put into New Republic custody after the prisoner transport incident? Migs Mayfeld. Who was taken out of the Karthon Chop Fields by New Republic Marshal, Cara Dune? Migs Mayfeld. Who "died" on Morak as a prisoner in custody, and thus had to have a report filed for his death, and the incident probably looked into especially if it was connected with the Empire? Migs Mayfeld. Sure, they were enemies and Mando "betrayed" them, but they know Marshal Dune has connections to Mando, and Mando has... conflicting connections to Migs on paper. 

I digress - next up is the fact known associate of our Mando from that Nevarro Imperial outpost incident, Cara Dune, took Moff Gideon, an extremely high ranking leader of the Empire into custody. Cara most likely mentioned something about the arrest to her superiors other than just handing him over without explanation.

Which brings up another point - Carson Teva knows Cara. Recruited her personally. Teva’s got more connections to Din than either of them realize unless he does some digging.

Even if lines cannot be connected (because a lot of this is circumstantial and we don't know what info got passed around after what incidents), there will have to be some kind of Mandalorian pushback on the Moff not being executed for genocide. Mostly by Bo Katan - who will try to get Din involved since he holds the darksaber and therefore influence over Mandalorian issues. It will somehow come to light who exactly caught the Moff: the mandalorian who holds the darksaber and by traditions, is their people’s king. This offers an incentive on why he fights back against the Empire, not for family-based reasons.

I’ve completely left out any talk about the New Republic’s connection to Luke Skywalker in any significant way because his involvement remains to be seen. He doesn’t seem ingrained in politics, more so focused on training the new generation of Jedi, but if there’s any recognition of the mandalorian whose son he trained, the person he’d tell first is his sister. And we know her involvement in the Republic thus far - so it’s not completely discounted. Either way, if the proposed rumor spreads and/or Din Djarin is pushed into taking up the title of leader in order to reclaim Mandalore, Teva is vindicated. He’s got to be involved in the series more than he already is. They show him too much for his role to be so insignificant in the grand scheme of the narrative. Whether or not Din likes it, he’s going to be the face of some kind of revolution based on the Unwilling Main Character™ luck he’s had thus far. Thoughts? Anyone wanna elaborate?

#the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu djarin #the mandalorian season 3 prediction #star wars

[crispyjenkins]

fic with ahsoka as Obi-Wans Padawan? Maybe some angsty jangobi? (Used to be together but broke up and now they pine from afar™️)

(i’m devastated that i don’t get to write ahsoka much, especially as obi’s padawan, so that an anon would come into my inbox.... and request jangobi on top of it..... seriously, though, thank you! can’t say i wasn’t inspired by @autumnchild22’s Kenobi Tano AU, but this doesn’t share almost anything with their take of events (ノ*´◡`) i’m flattered y’all thought i could do something of theirs justice lmao

i have written entirely too much backstory for this one, i think my brainstorming ended up longer than the actual fic so like. rip. 

support artists and writers by reblogging, message me for more info if this confuses you!)

  It surprises everyone except Obi-Wan that not only does Jango join the clones on the front lines, but he does so as the ARC troopers’ medic. That the son of the Mand’alor murdered by the Jedi would allow his kid to be apprenticed by a lifetime Council member is already hard enough for the galaxy at large to swallow; believing that the man who had at once been the most feared bounty hunter in the Outer Rim wouldn’t even ask for a command position? Impossible.

  Obi-Wan knows better. Just as Obi-Wan had picked up Soresu because he could not protect his master on Naboo, Jango had learned to put people back together because he could not save his buir on Korda 6. 

  Besides, Obi-Wan thinks Mace is a wonderful match for little Boba, even though he’s joining the Jedi older than even Anakin had been. Knowing Mace was among the Jedi to liberate the spice freighter Jango had been sold to, and that he had continued to check in on Jango for years after he got his armor back, Obi-Wan actually finds it rather silly that others on the Council had thought Jango would trust Boba to anyone else. 

  Which does leave Obi-Wan in quite the predicament, when less than a year after Anakin's knighting, Mace sends him a new padawan in the middle of a campaign. 

  Ahsoka smiles with all canines, and calls Anakin Skyguy, and has to be tricked into wearing more armor because, according to Cody, she is "not to take the General's lack of self-preservation as the status quo, nor as the basis for field safety." Which, rude, Obi-Wan wears plenty of armor when the situation calls for it; he simply doesn't find many situations where plasteel has kept his men or the Jedi from dying horribly.

  Letting Ahsoka gallivant around a battlefield in a tube-top without even a cloak, however, is out of the question, and Obi-Wan thinks Waxer does a brilliant job in sizing down the armor to fit their collective padawan over the next few months. Force, had Anakin really been younger than she when he first started taking him on missions?

  "Master?"

  Obi-Wan blinks, and smiles down at Ahsoka standing next to him, his apprentice looking quite dashing in the orange paint of the 212th. "Sorry, my dear, what were you saying?"

  She shrugs, eyeing him suspiciously. "'Was just asking if we would be working with the ARC troopers on Kiros; Captain Fordo said he would show me how to use a blaster rifle next time they were on the Negotiator."

  The Kaminoans intended for a few ARC troopers to be sent with each battalion, but it had quickly become clear that Jango had not trained them that way. Instead, he had raised and created a strike team so efficient, it would have been a waste to separate them; Obi-Wan knows Jango had hand-picked them from cadets, had searched for a spark in them that the Kaminoans hadn't already snuffed out completely. Jango had been like that once, too.

  "I would be surprised if we didn't," Obi-Wan decides on, turning back to observe the 212th loading into the Negotiator, and he would be, because the ARCs are often deployed with Obi-Wan’s men, have been since the Battle of Kamino. "But I have not heard anything from Master Shaak Ti, nor Captain Fordo as of yet."

  Ahsoka scrunches up her face into a pout, an amusing show of her age that she usually does not allow. "We'll probably get halfway through the mission and they'll just show up."

  Obi-Wan chuckles. “Hm, yes, probably,” he agrees, starting to make his way down to the hangar to join his men with Ahsoka trotting along behind, “but perhaps I can convince Captain Fordo not to surprise us too badly this time.”

-

  When the ARC troopers finally storm the Kadavo Processing Facility with Anakin and the Jedi on their heels, the warden Agruss is already dead.

  The sudden swell of Jedi presence is nearly blinding after a month of helplessness, but Obi-Wan can't tap out, not yet. Rex, satisfied and vindictive and relieved, sways dangerously and automatically reaches out to Obi-Wan to steady himself. 

  That Rex trusts him enough to not even think about rank before asking for help warms Obi-Wan in ways he doesn't yet have the words for — he wraps Rex's arm around his shoulders and takes half his weight happily.

  "Thank you," Obi-Wan finds himself murmuring as he helps Rex towards the doors, and only smiles at the captain's bemused expression. 

  "Whatever for, General?" he asks, even as he looks back over their shoulders across the room, to Agruss impaled to his chair with the electrostaff still sparking. Then he returns Obi-Wan’s smile, shaking his head. "That's not very Jedi-like of you, sir."

  "I'm afraid I haven't felt much a Jedi since Kiros, my dear." Which is perhaps too honest to allow himself before he's had a proper meal and a full night's rest, but if there is anyone who will understand, it is the man that lived it with him. "We could wait up here for Anakin to find us, but it will likely be a while before they can spare him to start looking; do you think you can keep your feet long enough for us to reach the ground floor?"

  Rex snorts and gives a vague wave of his free hand towards the elevators. "Well, I'm certainly not going to wait up here like some damsel, sir, and General Skywalker would kill me if I let you wander around on your own."

  "Well!" Obi-Wan laughs, for the first time in weeks, and hitches Rex up to get a better grip on his waist. "In that case, we really should not keep him waiting."

  They somehow time it perfectly for what the 187th and the 501st to have just finished rounding up the slavers in the courtyard when he and Rex hobble out of a side door of the warden's tower. Lieutenant Law oversees the Togrutas' move to Mace’s flagship Solace, and Obi-Wan easily picks him and Boba out from the crowd, standing at the base of the loading ramp and speaking with the Kiros colony's governor. Anakin is nowhere to be seen, but Obi-Wan doesn't get the chance to keep looking before Kix spots them from his place by the medical frigate; a shout passes over the nearby clones like a wave, until Kix and an ARC trooper break away to (gently) manhandle both him and Rex to the frigate. 

  The 187th's medic, Oro, is already on board seeing to the Togrutas too injured to wait for triage on the Solace, snapping a distracted salute that Obi-Wan quickly waves off as he helps heft Rex onto a hoverbed. He fully intends to duck back out and check in with Mace, though things seem well in hand without him, but the ARC with Kix takes off his helmet and glares, until Obi-Wan meekly shuffles to the next hoverbed over.

  He could never refuse Jango, after all. 

  "You repainted your armor," he says conversationally, as Jango pulls a scanner from the bandoleer around his chest and has Obi-Wan roll up his right sleeve. 

  "'Lost the last set to a sarlacc before our deployment to Kiros," Jango snorts, Concord Dawn accent stronger than any of his clones. "Though it looks like your mission had its fair share of excitement." Running the scanner over the electrical burns on Obi-Wan’s arm, Jango raises an eyebrow at the dried blood on the shoulder of his tunics; Obi-Wan honestly doesn't remember if it's his or not.

  And he can only smile at Jango, because even with a decade and a war between them, the corner of Jango's mouth still twitches when he's stressed. "Well, it certainly wasn't boring, my dear," Obi-Wan says, opening the neck of his tunic enough for Jango to stick him with a hypospray that hopefully won't make him too high. "And I can't say I'm looking forward to what is surely going to be a long dip in the bacta tank."

  He gets a laugh for that, and can't think of the last time they had done more than make eye contact from opposite sides of a ship. Perhaps it had been Kamino, when Taun We had first sent for the Jedi to meet the army created for them. 

  Obi-Wan had rather thought Jango dead until then, when he had disappeared from the galaxy abruptly as if he had never lived in it at all. For a time, Obi-Wan believed he had just gotten cold feet, that finally meeting Anakin made it all a little too personal too quickly, but then even Mace could not get a hold of him and no one had seen a Mandalorian bounty hunter in months.

  Their... conversation, Jango's stilted explanations of his absence and of how little he actually knew about the purpose for the clones he helped create, left far too much unsaid, but then Obi-Wan had been sent to Geonosis and, well. It's been nearly two years now, and Obi-Wan isn't sure if he's even seen Jango without his helmet since then. 

  His eyes flick over Obi-Wan’s face, the left side of his lips twitching as if knowing exactly what Obi-Wan is thinking — and he might not put it past him. 

  "Where are Anakin and Ahsoka?" Obi-Wan hears himself ask, when the silence grows heavy with those unsaid words. And he really would like to check in with his padawan, he can't imagine her last month has been a picnic either.

  Jango sticks him with another stim before answering, "Mace sent Skywalker to make sure no slave is missed, and no slaver isn't arrested. As for your new foundling..." That little smile comes back, as Jango nods out the back of the frigate to where someone is cutting a line through the clones guarding their new prisoners. 

  "Oh dear," Obi-Wan mumbles, barely having time to brace himself before Ahsoka is launching herself at him, and all he can think is how relieved he is to see her out of her slave disguise. Jango steps cleanly out of the way to let Ahsoka smother herself in Obi-Wan’s chest, though it doesn’t stop him from starting to prep bacta patches to tide him over until they can get to the Negotiator’s medbay.

  “Hello, little one,” Obi-Wan murmurs, carefully loosening the tight net of his shields for the first time since Zygerria and letting Ahsoka’s presence flood his mind. 

  “It’s good to see you, Master ‘Nobi,” she says into his tunics, and her voice does not waver at all.

  He manages a chuckle, though it does not hold nearly as well as Ahsoka’s, as he feels himself finally relax. Anakin, of course, senses the both of them immediately and prods at their minds, but neither Obi-Wan nor his padawan acknowledge him. “I take it the Queen is dead?”

  Ahsoka sighs and pulls back enough to nod. “Count Dooku was there, Skyguy barely got us all out.”

  “That was a week ago,” Jango adds, not looking up from the datapad he’s logging Obi-Wan’s injuries into. “Even with the Queen giving us the location of the Processing Facility, we had to wait for the 187th to catch up.”

  Running his palm from the top of her head down her hind lek, Ahsoka melts back against him with a Togruta churr he rarely has the pleasure of hearing from her. “Hm, and I imagine Boba was thrilled to work with the ARC troopers.”

  Jango snorts, because they both know Boba is thirteen and his rebellious stage where he wants nothing to do with his father for fear of losing his independence. “Originally, the 104th was the closest battalion, but were held up in their own campaign. ‘Honestly didn’t think we could keep Skywalker from rushing in anyways.”

  And Obi-Wan has to wince at that, because no matter what he does, he can’t seem to find a way to teach Anakin about attachment in words he understands; truthfully, Obi-Wan wouldn’t have had him knighted until he had at least attempted to master that part of his mind, but, well, the War had different opinions.

  “I’m actually just surprised he didn’t try to fight Dooku,” Ahsoka admits, finally releasing Obi-Wan only to hop up on the hoverbed next to him. Jango immediately pulls Obi-Wan’s bare arm back to himself to start slapping the bacta patches over the worst of his burns. “Master Windu had a talk with him, though, I think it was good for him.”

  “I’d like to see that!” Jango barks, only half sarcastically: he knows better than most, the sorts of things Mace Windu can talk someone out of, and if it worked for one ex-slave, why shouldn’t it work on another?

  Ah, perhaps that shared history should not have slipped Obi-Wan’s mind, not here with thousands of freed slaves needing aid for injuries Jango is intimately familiar with.

  “And are you alright?” he asks before he can talk himself out of it, as Jango is cutting his sleeve further back. His brow ticks back up, clearly bewildered by what Obi-Wan could be referring to, but it’s Ahsoka that leans around Obi-Wan to sniff triumphantly up at Jango.

  “I told you he still likes you,” she says, and Jango’s hand freezes on Obi-Wan’s wrist.

  Obi-Wan sighs. “Ahsoka.”

  But instead of denying that he might have actually had such a conversation with Obi-Wan’s padawan, Jango coughs on a laugh. “So you did, edee. To be fair, I did not think that was the issue.”

  Ahsoka rolls her eyes, leaning back into Obi-Wan’s side as he automatically raises his arm to accommodate her. “He thinks he lost his chance, Master ‘Nobi,” she tells him. “Even Cody thinks he’s full of banthashit.”

  Where Obi-Wan feels a little shell-shocked by the turn in conversation, Jango simply keeps that tiny smile — even if it looks bittersweet and self-deprecating now. “Your foundling has spent the last week talking me in circles about this, I almost think she’s as stubborn as you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think,” Obi-Wan returns, sarcasm an automatic, subconscious response. 

  “I wouldn’t need to talk you in circles if you two just talked to each other.”

  Shaking his head in bemusement, Obi-Wan gently fixes Ahsoka’s slika beads to lay properly around her montrals. “I’m afraid there’s quite a lot of history there, little one; most of which I’m sure Jango did not actually share with you.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “No, he refuses to tell me anything except that you met on a mission. And that he saved your ass from Jabba the Hutt.”

  Obi-Wan snaps his eyes to Jango, who looks absolutely anywhere but at him. “Is that how you remember it going, my dear?”

  “Could we do this later?”

  “Because if I recall correctly, and I do, this is not the first time you’ve lost your armor to a sarlacc.”

  Jango looks to the ceiling for patience. 

-

Mando'a: buir — “parent”, gender neutral  Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. edee — “teeth”, “jaws”, used here as an affectionate name for Ahsoka. because she teeth.

#thinking about opening the ask box again but keeping anon off #i miss y’all ꒰๑·̥﹏·̥๑꒱ #WHY DO I KEEP WRITING 3000 WORD PROMPT FILLS #well i mean it’s cause i don’t want it to seem slapdash or not thought out and i always have so much plot #but it’d still be nice to not put my chaptered fics on the backburner ‘cause i can’t multitask between them T0T #prompt fill #crispy writes #jangobi #jango fett #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #captain rex #prequel trilogy #au #force sensitive boba #alternate events at and post galidraan #medic jango #clone oc #oro is mine (ノ*´▽`) #real talk tho #i’m super fucked up about everything happening with achievement hunter right now #it’s been a rough couple of days #i hope you’re all safe and healthy and taking care of each other #believe victims not abusers #hashtag crispy stop tagging so much

[eyayah-oya]

Do Not Touch My Vod’e

Cloneship Week - Dragons - @cloneshipweek

Kix/Coric (background Cody/Rex, Fives/Echo, Waxer/Boil)

Rating: T

Warnings: some violence but no one really gets hurt, Krell, Umbara

Ao3 link

More ideas for world-building on Ao3. SEND ME ASKS ABOUT THIS AU! I MIGHT CONTINUE THIS ONE!

           There were Mandalorian legends that spoke of the terrible power dragons possessed.  They were the protectors of Mandalore, long ago, blessed by the Manda and the Ka’ra to bring peace to their people.  The gift was passed down from Mand’alor to Mand’alor through the millennia until the people of Mandalore began to die out.  The dragons were hunted down and killed, deemed to dangerous to be kept alive by politicians driven by their greed and fear.  Legends told of the beskar mines on Concordia, Concord Dawn, and Mandalore were the remnants of the hearts of the dragons as a final way to protect the people they loved.  The beskar was valuable, and the significance of the metal was destroyed along with the culture of Mandalore, save for a very few who still strived to adhere to The Way.

           Jango Fett was one of the last Mand’alore to guide and protect The Way of the Mandalore.  The Last Dragon, the Jedi Killer, the Forgotten Mand’alor.  His people fell, and Jango himself disappeared.

           Nearly twenty years later, Jango was found, and so was his legacy.  The Jedi had no idea what they were placed in command of when they met the clones of Jango Fett.  The Manda and the Ka’ra gave Mandalore a final chance.  A chance to survive and to thrive once again.  Millions of clones possessed the same gift that had been given to the Mand’alore of the past.  Their blood was red, but their hearts were lined with beskar, graced with courage, and filled with love for their brothers and their Jedi.

           Thousands of clones were killed as the war progressed, dying for people that refused to care for their lives, and often beside the Jedi that recognized the beauty of their souls.  They died and painted whole planets with their blood, protected only by a pale mimicry of true beskar armor or their own scales.

           The clones, referred to as Vod’e by each other and their precious Jedi Generals (though not every General cared about their troops), rarely shifted from their smaller, more vulnerable forms into their dragon bodies. The Kaminoans hadn’t realized what they had created, as no vod ever shifted in front of them, but Jango saw. And he trained the Alphas, who then taught their little brothers about their heritage and their sacred duty. But since so few people knew the true nature of the clones, the Venators were not built to suit their needs. Battlefields were dangerous, with injured brothers and very squishable Jedi underfoot.

           Kix, however, was ready to turn into a dragon.  The anger in his heart resonated in the hearts of his brothers and in the fabric of the universe itself.  Kix could feel the despair, pain, and heartache in the air surrounding his brothers, accompanied by the bitter taste of their fury.  They had all been betrayed, and the one who sought to harm them could not be allowed to roam free.

           “Waxer, send out two of your scouts along with two of my men to send a message to General Kenobi.  Use whatever means necessary to communicate with him as soon as possible, including flying,” Rex instructed.  “Dogma, Shiver, you go with them and report to the General.  Do not leave any of Krell’s actions out.  The General needs to know it all.  Understood troopers?”

           “Sir, yes sir!” Dogma and Shiver saluted before shifting and taking off into the dark Umbaran sky.  The four dragons flew away at top speed, obviously taking Rex’s words to heart.

           “Captain, what about the rest of us?” Tup asked.

           Rex bared his teeth.  “We’re going to relieve that demagolka of duty and leave him for the Jedi.” There were several loud protests, many brothers itching to tear Krell apart for his crimes, but Kix understood why Rex had ordered them to capture but not kill the traitor.  “I refuse to let another brother be harmed because of Krell’s actions and that’s what will happen if we kill him.  There are far too many nat-borns who despise and fear us, that they will use any reason they have to hurt us or kill us.  I will not allow that to happen.”

           Kix straightened his spine, absorbing the Captain’s determination and anger as his own, and he noticed many others doing the same.

           “We’re with you, Rex,” Waxer said, coming to stand at Rex’s right shoulder.  Kix took his place on his Captain’s left, as he was the highest-ranking officer in the contingent of 501st soldiers that had been sent to stop Umbarans wearing clone armor.  The only reason Krell’s plan failed was the inherent knowledge within nearly all clones of the whereabouts of their brothers.  They’d all sensed the 212th before they’d ever spotted the distinct white and gold armor.  The Manda and Ka’ra saved them with the gift they had all been given.

           Rex’s eyes flash gold in the dim Umbaran light, lit with a fire inside that would consume worlds if allowed to be unleashed.  A rippling, tearing growl began low in his chest and the call was taken up by every other vod with them.  All around the three leaders of the two platoons, brothers tightened their grips on their blasters and released savage snarls and ferocious roars.  The anger, hate, and determination, all fueled by the powerful love for their fallen brothers filled the space around them, so thick, Kix could barely breathe through the emotions battering against his defenses.

The Vod’e were going hunting.

Kix let loose his own feral grin, the dragon deep inside of him slamming against his mental shields, anxious to be free of the chains that kept him locked tightly inside.  Never before had Kix felt the overwhelming desire to utterly destroy a single being nor a single planet before.  Everything about Umbara set his every nerve on edge the longer he remained on the planet. Not even Geonosis, both times he had been deployed to that planet, jarred his mind this much.  Kix needed to let his dragon out of his cage and release him on the world.

           “You can back out of this at any time until we confront Krell,” Rex cautioned the vod’e.  “You will not face any repercussions if you choose to stay out of his arrest.  I do have to warn you, however, you might have to face heavy and severe consequences from the Senate and the GAR if you do choose to help.  We are going to relieve a Jedi and a General from his posting, which counts as high treason within the Republic.”

           Not a single vod stepped back.  Not a single one of them wavered in their determination, though there were many spikes of fear.  They all knew what would happen if they were sent back to Kamino.  But their courage didn’t waver despite the fear coursing through their veins.  Kix had never been so proud of his brothers than in that moment.

           “Any further questions?” Rex asked after a minute of silence.

           “I have something to say.”  Kix stepped forward.  “Your forms, as they are now, will not hold up against lightsabers.  If this turns into a fight, which I believe it will, shift immediately.  It will take a lot more for Krell to kill you or even chop off a limb if you are dragons and we will have the advantage of size, our claws, tails, and fire.  Use them.”

           “Excellent advice, Kix,” Waxer grinned and saluted him. “Stay alive, boys!  The General and the Commander will be coming, and we’ve got to be there to greet them when they arrive.”

           Rex looked around the vod’e one more time and nodded. He put his helmet on and stepped forward, a fist raised in the air.  “OYA VOD’E!” he cried.

           “OYA!”

           As the vod’e entered the airbase, Kix felt the cold numbness he’d felt around Krell from the beginning spread over his mind once again. Appo and Coric shared a hushed conversation with Rex, Waxer, and Kix, who quickly briefed them on the situation and their plans.  Kix watched as his own fury was echoed on his riduur’s face, infuriated at the way their brothers had been treated.  As medics, they took their oaths very seriously, and this campaign had worn on both Kix and Coric the longer it had progressed.

           “Let me get this straight,” Appo said.  “We’ve been sent on suicidal marches with the worst battle tactics I’ve ever seen, you were threatened with Krell’s lightsaber and so was Fives, two of our brothers were nearly executed for saving the entire campaign while a third is currently trapped in space with no way to communicate with us, and Krell attempted to have Nabat and Torrent kill each other?”

           “Yes, Appo,” Rex said, voice tight with carefully controlled anger.  “That’s a good summary.”

           Coric snarled viciously, his eyes shining golden and a warm orange glow building in his chest.  “Can we roast him alive?” he growled.  Kix automatically reached out to Coric in his mind and soothed the flickering fire until it was less likely to consume him.

           “No, but we are going to arrest him.  You don’t have to join us,” Rex explained.

           “Like kark we’re not going to be right beside you when you confront that hu’tuun!  We’re with you, sir.  All the way,” Appo declared, his fire blue and solid and a steady rock for Rex to lean against.  Coric’s only answer was to pull his helmet back on and ready his blaster.

           “Good.  Inform your men of what happened while I go free Jesse and Fives from the brig.  Anyone who wants to help is welcome.  Anyone who doesn’t should stay in the barracks so they don’t get caught in the crossfire in case this turns bad,” Rex instructed. His gaze softened slightly.  “I’m glad you’re both with me on this,” he said softly.

           It hit Kix, then, exactly how much their Captain had been dealing with on this campaign, largely on his own.  Neither Kix nor Fives had helped much, constantly challenging his orders and especially with Fives getting into trouble with Krell multiple times.  Rex had stood alone against the battering ram of Krell, the only defense between the demagolka and his little brothers.  Kix swore to take care of the Captain once they were free of the stains of Umbara and flying far away from this hell planet.

           Rex, Appo, and Waxer split off to discuss a few strategies and how they wanted to set up the men that decided to help them relieve Krell of his duty.  Kix, however, immediately found himself pressed up against Coric’s hard armor, their helmets banging together harder than they usually did.

           “How are you?” Coric said as soft as his vocoder would allow.

           “Alive,” Kix answered.  “Everything else will have to wait until after we stop Krell.”

           Coric sighed heavily.  “I know, but I wish it didn’t.  You could have died so many times in the last two days, and I wasn’t even there to help. I couldn’t save you and I couldn’t save any of our vod’ikase!”

           Kix closed his eyes and allowed Coric’s despair to wash over him, joining his own as they tucked it close to their hearts to deal with later.  No medic, no vod ever wanted to be kept on the sidelines of a battle, especially when their vod’e were calling for help.  Kix knew if their places had been exchanged, he would have had a hard time not going to help his little brothers, regardless of what Krell had ordered.

           “Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,” Kix murmured and tapped his helmet against Coric’s.

           “Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la,” Coric finished.  “We will remember their lives and their deaths. None shall be forgotten.”

           “If Krell attacks, don’t take any chances,” Kix ordered.  He didn’t fear for himself, but he feared for his vod’e and especially his riduur.  He couldn’t lose Coric, not so soon after everything that had already happened.  “Shift. Tell the others to shift.  Don’t let him get close to you and don’t let him hurt you.”            “Only if you do the same.”  Coric shook his head.  “You’re going up there with Rex and probably Fives and Jesse, aren’t you?”

           It was a question that didn’t really need an answer. Kix needed to see that cha’kaar brought to justice.  Coric would watch the vod’ikase on the ground while Kix kept an eye on those in the tower.

           “I’ll come back to you.  Haat, ijaa, haa’it,” Kix swore.  Manda forgive him if this was the one promise he wouldn’t be able to keep.

           “You better,” Coric said.  He gripped Kix’s shoulders as best as he could through the armor.  “K’oyacyi, ner kar’ta.”

           “K’oyacyi, ner runi.”

           Coric gave him one last tap of the helmet before he turned to follow Appo to brief the rest of the 501st on the situation. Rex appeared at Kix’s elbow, eyes soft and warm, despite the exhaustion nearly dousing his flame.  Only his anger was keeping the Captain on his feet at the moment.

           “Are you ready?” he asked.

           Kix nodded.  “Let’s go free our brothers and arrest that hu’tuun!”

           “Oya,” Rex responded with a grin.  “Tup, Waxer, with me.”

           Fives and Jesse were rightfully angry, the heart of their raging infernos readily visible on their chests through their blacks. The soft, grey-blue of Fives’s fire (Kix still wasn’t used to seeing the accompanying navy of Echo’s flame) burned brighter than he’d seen since that fateful mission to the Citadel.  Jesse was more subdued, but the dusky red pulsed to the rhythm of his heart and the determination of Waxer and Rex.  They practically demanded to be there when Rex confronted Krell.

           As expected, the arrest did not go as planned.  Some of the vod’e attempted to get closer to try to stun the fallen Jedi before he could pull out his lightsabers, but they were easily pushed to the edges of the tower room.  That was when Krell pulled out his lightsabers and ignited all four blades.

           “You cannot defeat a Jedi.  I will not be undermined by any animal grown in a lab.  You’re nothing and you have no power!” Krell roared. He whirled the lightsabers around threateningly, preventing any vod from getting too close and deflecting their stun shots.

           “Don’t get close!” Kix shouted at some of the troopers who had tried to sneak up on the Jedi.  They leapt back in time to avoid getting cut in half, but it had been too close. “Rex!  We need Plan B!”

           “Fives, Waxer, Kix, on me!  The rest of you, get out, however you can!” Rex ordered.  Immediately, the younger vod’e left, guided by Jesse, though his reluctance cut through the room like a vibroblade.  However, Rex was entrusting the safety of their vod’ikase to Jesse, and the recently promoted Lieutenant would not let their Alor’ad down. Jesse would keep them safe and alert Appo and Coric of the situation.

           Kix breathed a bit easier when there weren’t as many vod’e around to get killed by Krell.  But it also made those who had stayed easier targets.  Krell’s mocking laugh cut deep into Kix’s chest, attempting to douse the fire in his heart.

           “What can four clones do against me?  I have the Force, and you are nothing!” Krell scoffed indignantly.

           Without needing any hand signals, the four vod’e spread out, blocking all paths Krell might try to take.

           “General Krell, do you confess to committing treason against the Republic and sabotaging your own troops and the success of the war?” Rex demanded.

           “Of course, Captain.”  The way Krell said Rex’s rank slid against his nerves like thick, black, oily sludge. “Count Dooku has promised to show me the pathway to immense power.  The Jedi have been blinded for too long, and my eyes have been opened for me.  The Dark side is not evil, but liberating from the constrictions the Jedi have enforced for millennia.”

           “Then you are under arrest, General Krell.  For the last time, comply with the order!”

           Krell snarled and threw Rex against the wall with a wave of his hand.  Hard. Kix swallowed down bile at the audible crunch he’d heard.

           “I do not take orders from clones,” Krell snarled.

           Waxer stepped forward and took the lead.  He seamlessly shifted into his long, lithe form, orange scales clashing against the blue-green glow of Krell’s sabers.  The frills around his shoulders fluttered angrily, flashing red and orange and black, instead of the usual pink or purple. With a thunderous roar, he called to Fives and Kix, both of whom were quick to respond.

           Reaching deep within himself, past the connection to his brothers and the world around him, Kix cupped his fire in the palms of his hands and let it flicker and build until it engulfed his entire body.  Unlike the other vod’e who were left in the tower, Kix’s fire burned white, hot with his anger and ferocious determination to love and save as many of his brothers as he could.  His fire was the pure essence of his soul, nurtured from the time he was in the gestation tube and coaxed to life when he’d been decanted. And now, it reenergized him.  The dragon roared approval, as Kix opened his mouth to echo Waxer’s call.

           With white scales, usually shimmering a light silver, Kix stretched his paws and extended his claws.  Coric had once described his dragon form as a scaled nexu, with the powerful legs, long, thin tail, and pointed ears atop his head.  He didn’t have any hair like some Vod’e, but instead had jagged ridges around the crown of his head that could be folded back when he wasn’t actively in battle.  Kix’s eyes always shifted from their usual light honey color to a disturbing pure white. There were no pupils, no irises, just unsettling white.

           Kix crouched down to the ground, all four legs tightly coiled and ready to launch himself at the disgusting Jedi.  Now that his senses had been extended beyond the near-human capabilities, he could smell the rot coming from the Jedi that he assumed was the Dark side.  It was thick and pungent with overwhelming hate.  The crystals within Krell’s lightsabers screamed with an awful, wailing agony that jangled every nerve Kix had in his body.  He’d once heard General Kenobi explain how the Sith got their red lightsabers, and now, he understood what he’d meant by “bleeding” the crystals.

           Across from Kix, Fives stood in his majestic glory. He was one of the biggest dragons Kix had ever seen in a standard CT.  The only Vod’e who were larger were the CCs and the Alphas.  His snout snorted out a stream of blue plasma, singeing the floor by his large, clawed paws.  The beautiful wings, last seen on Rishi, were folded against his body, tucked close to keep out of the way of those awful lightsabers.  With blue eyes that “held the galaxy” as Echo used to say, fixated on Krell, watching his every twitch of muscle.

           Waxer roared and spat a pillar of burning-red liquid fire towards the dar’jetti, keeping his focus away from the downed Captain. Krell let out a loud cry and desperately flung the fire away from him and towards Fives.  Unfortunately for Krell, the fire simply dripped off of Fives’s fireproof scales and onto the floor where it immediately began to melt the durasteel.

           [You will stand down, Krell!  It’s over!] Waxer growled.  His voice reverberated through every mind in the room, a rushing warmth for the Vod’e and a low, grating gravel in Krell’s.

           “You cannot beat me!” Krell cried desperately.  He ran towards Kix, the smallest of the shifted dragons in the room, and swung both lightsabers at his head.

           Without hesitation, Kix leaned back on his hind paws and grabbed the lightsaber blades, a bone-shattering scream of fury raging through his chest and out his open mouth.  Neither saber so much as singed his paws, and Kix stretched his lips wide over his sharp fangs in a snarl.

           Kix wrinkled his nose as the dar’jetti’s foul stench filled his nostrils.  He could feel how cold and achingly empty Krell was more poignantly than ever before, and for a moment, Kix nearly impaled him on his own sabers.  Instead, he just jerked them from Krell’s hands and crushed the handles until they were completely unusable.  The kyber crystals’ screams gentled down to soft whimpers now that they wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else and Kix nodded in satisfaction.

           Fives swept out an enormous paw and batted Krell into the wall.  In a fit of desperation, Krell attempted to push Fives away from him using the Force, but absolutely nothing happened.  None of them so much as twitched, even though Kix could practically see the Force being forced to Krell’s will.  As soon as the power reached Fives, it parted around him, leaving him completely untouched.

           “What is happening?!” Krell screamed in rage.  He tried to fight against Fives’s hold on him, but it was useless against the bulky weight of the dragon.

           [Get Rex,] Fives ordered, jerking his head towards the softly groaning Captain.

           Kix immediately pounced across the room, avoiding the hole Waxer’s fire had melted into the ground.  He nudged the Captain’s leg, reaching out to the Manda to feel if Rex had any significant injuries.  He’d heard a crack, so he knew something was wrong, but not what had broken.

           “I’m fine, Kix,” Rex grumbled.  “Cracked my pauldron.  He knocked me unconscious, but other than that, I’m uninjured.”

           Kix huffed.  [I’ll believe that when I can get you into a real medbay.  Fives subdued Krell and we managed without any fatalities or injuries.  Waxer’s fire melted the floor, though, so don’t fall down the hole.]

           “Noted,” Rex said as he pushed himself to his feet. Kix pressed against him to support him on the way up, watching carefully for any sign of dizziness or disorientation. But he truly was fine.

           “You will pay for this, clone!” Krell shouted.  “I should have executed you myself!”

           [Sir, you might want to shift.  Krell is still dangerous,] Kix suggested once he was sure Rex could keep himself steady.

           “I’ve got some binders.  Do we have any force-suppressing ones?”

           [I do,] Waxer answered.  [With how many times General Kenobi has fought Ventress or Dooku, we started carrying them in case we could capture them.  One of my men gave me their’s so we’d have enough to secure Krell properly.] Stepping away from the growling and struggling dar’jetti, Waxer shifted back to his more vulnerable form and pulled out two sets of force-suppressing cuffs.  He handed them to Rex and then readied his blaster.  “He probably won’t be able to do anything with Fives holding him down like that, but I’ll cover you just in case, sir.  Figured you’d want the honors since he’s hurt your men the most.”

           Rex nodded gratefully at the Lieutenant and snapped the binders over Krell’s wrists.  Only then did Fives step away, huffing a hot breath over the Jedi in disgust.  He turned and nudged Rex with his snout, a little harder than he probably meant, to check on him.

           “I’m alright, Fives,” Rex grumbled and patted the dragon on the nose.  “Let’s just get Krell down to the brig and let the rest of the men know what happened. My bucket was recording the whole thing, so I got his confession for the GAR and the Council to review as evidence of Krell’s betrayal.”

           [Smart thinking, Cap,] Fives said.  [Come on, I’ll give you a lift down.  I haven’t been able to stretch my wings in ages.]

While Rex and Fives were focused on each other, Waxer shifted back to his dragon form and opened his mouth to blow a stream of his fire at the viewport. They watched it melt immediately and drip down towards the ground.  [Kix and I are smaller.  We can take the lift down and put Krell in the brig,] Waxer offered.

           Kix nodded and only stopped to pick up the smashed lightsabers.  Maybe the Jedi would be able to help the crystals heal.  They didn’t deserve to be hurt like that, and there was no better place for them to get better than the Jedi Temple.  Together, he and Waxer wrangled Krell into the brig until finally he was secured.

           [I’ll guard him for now.  Have Rex set up a rotation to come relieve me.  I need to check on some of my men.]

           [Yes, sir,] Kix said with a nod of his head.  They all had plenty to do in the hours to come and little time to rest, regardless of how much they all needed it.

             Kix wasn’t paying attention when General Kenobi arrived on the airbase with the rest of the 212th, nearly fourteen hours later.  He did notice when a cute kitten-like dragon pounced on Waxer’s back and woke the Lieutenant up from his nap.

           [Wooley?] Waxer groaned.  [What’re you doin’ here?]

           [We’re your support!] Wooley chirped.  [Though it looks like you’ve got everything handled here.] He curled up against Waxer’s side, nuzzling along the underside of his jaw.  It was ridiculously cute, and Kix wished he could take a holo for Waxer.

           “The General’s talking to Captain Rex and the Commander,” Boil reported as he arrived at a much more sedate pace than the little dragon Waxer was now curled around in a tight hug.  Or what counted for a hug as dragons.  “Ona and Rye told us what happened when you met up in the jungle.”

           Waxer huffed out a snorting laugh, nearly blowing out a stream of fire as he did so.  [I’m fine, you worry-wart.  We had a tiny skirmish with the Umbarans, but they quickly decided to give up when they saw the base was being held by a hoard of dragons.  We’re all okay.  You can sit down and rest for a bit.  Or better yet, shift and come cuddle Wooley and I.]

           Wooley chirped a cheerful agreement from where he was nearly completely buried by Waxer’s long tail.

           With only a put-upon glare as a protest, Boil shifted into his dragon form, about the same size as Waxer’s but a bit stockier in build, better for ramming into things than slithering through tiny spaces.  His burnt orange scales complimented Waxer’s own bright orange.  Once shifted, he shook himself over once, folded up his wings, and curled up at Waxer’s back.  Immediately, the frills along Waxer’s shoulders turned lovely shades of pink and purple, accenting his warm, violet eyes.

           Kix observed the three of them for a moment before deciding that the cluster of three was better left alone for now.  Instead, he went in search of his own riduur.  Coric had left his side sometime while Kix was asleep, and was probably either in the makeshift medbay—big enough for both medics to fit into as dragons—or combing the battlefields for any more survivors.

It didn’t take long to find him, and surprisingly, he was reporting to Commander Cody and General Kenobi.  The Commander hadn’t shifted, but from the way the medium-ish sized dragon was draped across his back, it wouldn’t be long until he joined the rest of his men in their natural form.  Rex huffed poutily at Cody’s hair, large brown eyes pleading for attention.  Cody hummed soothingly for his riduur, and Rex settled down, careful to keep his sharp claws away from anything that could get ruined or would injure someone.  General Kenobi looked like he desperately wanted to ask questions, but refrained for the time being.

           Kix had always believed that Coric was the most beautiful dragon he’d ever seen.  He was black with bioluminescent blue outlining his scales.  Though every dragon was different, Coric was the only one Kix had ever met with wings like his.  The wings were large and cupped, much like those pleasure gliders that civilians would use to fly without a speeder.  Coric, once he was in the air, rarely had to touch down to earth to rest. He could fly for days if he needed to, much like the man himself.  But it was the electric blue of his eyes that always drew Kix in.  Shards of beskar silver glinted within their depths, almost hypnotizing anyone who happened to look too deeply.  Kix could gaze into them for hours and just drift alongside his riduur’s presence in the Manda.

           [From what Fives and Jesse reported, Hardcase was still alive directly after the explosion.  He shifted right before the explosion and must have curled into a hibernation ball,] Coric reported.

           “A hibernation ball?” General Kenobi asked.

           Commander Cody nodded.  “As dragons, we’re able to curl ourselves into a ball with our head and most vulnerable parts inside and the rest of our bodies covered in an impenetrable armor.  When in hibernation, a vod doesn’t need to breathe as much as we do in a fight or as humans.  And we can go a lot longer without food or water.  As long as someone can get to him soon, he’ll recover just fine.”

           [Tup found what was jamming our communicators. Krell had rigged it up to block all calls within a zone of thirty clicks from the airbase.  That’s why Nabat couldn’t contact you earlier.  He removed the jammer, and we contacted Commander Tano in orbit to send someone to retrieve Hardcase,] Rex said, refusing to budge from his spot against the Commander’s back.

           Kix stepped in before any of them could continue. [Pardon me, General, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to borrow these three for the next few hours.]

           Commander Cody raised an eyebrow while the General ran a hand across his mouth.  “And why, pray tell, do you need to borrow these three?” General Kenobi asked.

           [Because Rex hasn’t slept in nearly three days and is suffering from battel fatigue currently.  Commander Cody is the best qualified to help the Captain.  And I need my riduur.  We’ve been through hell the past few days, General, and we all need a break.]

           That sobered them all up, though Rex threw a betrayed look at Kix.  But if the Captain chose to neglect his own health, then Kix was more than happy to tattle on him to the Commander.  Especially as that had the added effect of coercing the Commander into taking care of himself.  There was nothing Kix could do about the General’s poor health habits, as he left that squarely in Helix’s jurisdiction.

           “I apologize, Kix, Cody, Rex, Coric.  I should have considered your health.  I need to report all of this to the Council anyway,” General Kenobi said with an apologetic bow.  “I believe the call should last several hours, so feel free to take your time to check up on your men and each other.”

           [Thank you, General,] Kix said and then watched as the General left them to go inside the tower to make his call.  Kix turned to the other Vod’e.  [I’m going to go round up a few dozen shinies, Tup, Dogma, Fives, and Jesse and we’re going to all huddle together for a few hours.  No excuses, no exceptions.  Manda knows we need it after everything we’ve been through on this planet.]

           Rex deflated at that.  [I am worried about Dogma and Jesse.  They were really shaken up when I last talked to them.]

           Kix gave a single nod, as though that was the outcome he’d always expected.  It was the one he hoped for, but when he got into one of his moods, Rex refused to give into any suggestions regarding his continued health.  And then he darted off, Coric by his side, as they went off in search of their vod’ikase.  A giant pile of dragons was exactly what they all needed.

           His riduur by his side was all Kix needed.

Credit for the use of Nabat Platoon to @cacodaemonia Please go check out her Reconstruction Corps AU here!

#clone/clone #kix/coric #fives/echo #cody/rex #waxer/boil #clone trooper kix #captain rex #clone trooper waxer #arc trooper fives #pong krell #umbara fix it #hardcase lives #waxer lives #cloneshipweek2021 #day 4 | dragons #cloneshipping

[keldae]

New Beginnings

Sorand had known for most of his life that he had never completely been a child of the Empire. Sure, he'd been born as a citizen in Imperial Space, along with his brother, and he'd known his father was also Imperial by birth. But his mother, the Corellian Jedi who had hidden her Jedi training and come to Imperial Space with her husband… she had never become a citizen herself, a secret she’d held until her death. And he knew now that his parents' plan had been to take their sons and escape to the Core Worlds before Sith Academy recruiters came snooping for young prospects.

And then his mother had been murdered only days before their planned flight, and life had gone to hell, and Sorand still wound up on Korriban after all. He had still looked for a way to escape to the Republic once he was free of a slave's chains -- first as an apprentice under Darth Zash, and then as a Lord while trying to survive Darth Thanaton’s schemes. But with a Dashade constantly looming nearby, and Imperial eyes always watching, and both Zash and Thanaton tracking him too closely for him to slip away… besides, would the Jedi have believed his claim to be the son of one of their own, even if he had been able to defect? Ashara's first masters on Taris certainly hadn't been willing to talk to him. Honestly, until he had met his sister, Ashara had been the only Jedi willing to hear him out, seeing beyond the black robes and red lightsaber.

And then the odds of a Dark Councillor being able to defect after he’d been abruptly elevated by Darth Marr… less said about that, the better. But at least by then he'd found his father, and the Empire was more bearable with Reanden there. Knowing that his brother and sister were both safely in Republic territory helped, even if he was envious of his siblings for being free of the Empire.

When he had slipped away from Dromund Kaas to join the fledgling rebellion against the Eternal Throne, he hadn't been thinking of any possible citizenships, or really, anything beyond a desperate attempt to rid the galaxy of Zakuul. He hadn't been surprised to hear that Acina had been furious enough to rescind his Imperial citizenship and his title as a Darth. But he had a place in the Mandalorian clans with Shara, and then a purpose in helping free his sister and backing up her efforts to fight Arcann and Vaylin. After Valkorion's destruction, he had joined the rest of the members of the Alliance in asking "Now what?" 

Of course, he hadn't had time to think about that, between the uprisings across the galaxy and the Iokath debacle. At least being Xaja's stand-in to run the Alliance while she had been first pregnant, and then too distraught by Theron’s dumbassery to function, had kept him busy, even if he had started finding a worrying amount of grey strands in his dark hair after Umbara happened and Theron staged that (stupid, idiotic, dumbass, shittily-planned, plain moronic) betrayal. 

Ossus was the first time that he had properly been able to work with Republic forces. Tau Idair had given him some serious side-eye when she heard the Imperial accent that still lingered in his voice, and Nadia Grell had eyed him with no small amount of caution; but Doc had remembered him from the Revanite incident and greeted him as a friend, and Master Gnost-Dural had cautiously accepted him after Xaja vouched for him. From the looks the other Jedi and the colonists gave him, he figured he wasn’t going to be accepted readily, despite being the Hero of Tython’s brother, and quietly resigned himself to the suspicious stares and mutters. At least one good thing had come out of his duel with Darth Malgus in the ancient library: despite getting his ass handed to him and nearly being killed by the Sith, he seemed to have earned the respect of other Jedi and the colonists for standing with Gnost-Dural.

But even after that, and with the resurgence of the conflict over Onderon and Mek-Sha, he had never dared to let himself hope that he would be permanently free of the Empire. Now that he was in the heart of the Republic fleet, surrounded by other members of the Odessen crew and Republic personnel, the new (and perfectly legitimate) identicard that labeled him a Republic citizen still didn't seem real. He subtly pinched his arm, just to confirm this wasn't a dream.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Reanden offered his youngest son a smirk, leaning back against a table in Carrick Station's cantina with a tumbler of Corellian whiskey, looking as comfortable as if he had always been a Republic citizen, not an Imperial one. While Sorand knew his father had been a deep cover SIS operative for longer than he or his siblings had been alive, he was pretty sure this was the first time Cipher Nine had been able to openly relax in Republic Space.

"I never thought it would actually happen," Sorand murmured, still staring at the identicard. A former member of the Dark Council, one who was still known as Darth Imperius to more than a few Imperial soldiers and citizens, holding proof of his new Republic citizenship… Darth Zash and Darth Thanaton would both be turning in their graves at his new status. That thought pleased him almost as much as what his mother's reaction would have been. He looked at his father and gave him a small, melancholic smile. "Mum would be so thrilled if she could see this."

Reanden's dark eyes softened for a moment. "This was the endgame she and I had planned, getting the lot of us back home where we'd wanted you to be. Took the long route getting there, but we got here eventually." For a moment, his contentment vanished behind a scowl. "And just in time for me to be informed that I'm being retired from active field work and getting put to work in training cadets. In case you ever meet him -- the Director’s a dick."

"Aww, I'm sure there's plenty of miscreant cadet spies who need to get whipped into shape. Besides, knowing you, you’ll get bored enough to make him send you back out on missions." Sorand grinned and nudged his father's arm, earning an incoherent mutter and an eyeroll over the whiskey. He then looked at Shara on his other side, contemplatively sipping on an ale. "How are you feeling about this, cyar'ika?"

"It still hasn’t sunk in yet. Never thought I’d be offered Republic citizenship -- I almost wonder if that old Chancellor might’a put in a good word for me or somethin’." Shara shrugged and offered a small half-smile. "Never woulda thought Mandalore would be takin’ up with the Republic either. Weird how life works out -- but I think it’ll all turn out fine." She glanced at a small cluster of station personnel, all eyeing the former Imperials cautiously. "Once that lot all gets over hearin' Mando'a an' Kaasian accents, anyway. Odessen used to be almost half ex-Imp, so there’ll be lotsa Imp accents kickin’ around for a while."

"Trying to change accents is a pain in the ass,” Sorand said with a short laugh, with a passable accent that wouldn’t have been out of place in Hutt Space. Force knew he’d had years of practice in listening to and mimicking Hutt Space accents as a youth. "It’s a work in progre-- oh, hello, Master." He inclined his head to Gnost-Dural, who was just making his way up to the group. 

"Ah, just the former Sith I was looking for." Gnost-Dural nodded. It was hard to tell with the mask, but if the warmth in the Force was any indication, Sorand was pretty sure the old Jedi was smiling. "I was hoping I could steal you for a moment, Impe-- Sorand."

"Of course." Slipping his precious new identicard back in his pocket, Sorand followed the Kel Dor a few paces away to a quiet alcove. The flickerings in the Force gave him no indication of what the Jedi was thinking. "What can I do for you?"

"Less a favour, more a proposition for you. One that your sister might have asked of you if--"

They both heard the muffled shriek of "Kira!" from the upper ring around the cantina, and Sorand could feel a burst of relieved joy from Xaja, accompanied by hurried footsteps as she ran to greet her former protégé, dignity be damned by the sounds of it.

"... If her former Padawan and the former Wrath hadn't just walked up." Gnost-Dural chuckled. "She'll be occupied for a while."

Sorand grinned, glancing up in the direction of Xaja's bright Force-signature, then back to Gnost-Dural. "And she's already the happiest I've seen her in years. Being back in the Republic is good for her."

"The Republic is fortunate to have her back," Gnost-Dural agreed. "But how are you feeling with this change? It's certainly not the Empire."

"Definitely not," Sorand nodded. He hesitated for a moment. "Force knows I wish I’d been able to leave the Empire far sooner. If I had had my way, I would have defected on my own years ago. Being a Sith was… a survival mechanism, and by the time I was elevated to a Darth…" He shrugged. "I honestly figured the Republic would have no place for a former Dark Council member, if they didn’t just shoot me on sight."

"You are far from the first high-ranking Sith to turn their back on the Empire," Gnost-Dural assured him. "Your sister had the Wrath leave with her, after all."

"Yes, but Scourge never really swore himself to the Republic," Sorand pointed out. "He was more focused on taking down Vitiate than in helping defeat the Empire entirely."

"Not untrue. But you…" Gnost-Dural seemed to be looking him up and down. "Every dossier I ever found about you showed you trying to change the Empire from within, or trying to aid Republic operatives when the opportunity presented itself. It is a pity we couldn't open a path for you to come to us before now." He sighed. "But, this is one positive that came about from the changes we've endured over the last few years, ever since the Zakuulan invasion. It's been easier for people like you to slip away in the chaos, whether to the Republic or to the Alliance."

Sorand nodded his agreement, his hand brushing over the pocket of his nondescript jacket where his identicard rested. "After everything that's happened, it feels surreal that this is finally happening. I still feel like I'm going to wake up any moment now."

Gnost-Dural chuckled, then seemed to grow more serious. "What are your plans, now that Odessen is a member world of the Republic?"

"My wife and I haven't discussed it much yet," Sorand admitted. "With Mandalore signing on with the Republic as well, Shara's thinking of contracting out her hunting skills. There were a lot of families that were split up during Zakuul's invasion, and the SIS can't find everyone."

Gnost-Dural nodded. "And yourself?"

"I'm not sure." Sorand shrugged. "I'm pretty sure Xaja will still want me around as her deputy, at least until Odessen has a finalized government beyond being a military outpost." He frowned slightly. "Although I dearly hope she's not planning on asking me to be the Senate representative."

That got a chuckle from the old Jedi. "You really are like your sister. She has never been fond of politics either." He paused for a moment. "I may have a proposition for you, one that should hopefully give you an 'out' from being a Senator."

"What is that?"

Gnost-Dural shifted to cross his hands behind his back, comfortably at ease. "The Jedi Order has a long road back to recovery, as you know. Your sister accepted a role on the newly reforming Jedi Council, but we do need all the help we can get. You would be a great asset. I would like to formally offer you a place in the reforming Jedi Order."

Sorand had spent years learning to hide his emotions, masking his reactions and thoughts to everyone around him during his years as a Sith. And every bit of those honed instincts abandoned him right then, eyes widening, mouth falling open for a second before he recovered. "A place in the… you're serious?"

"Dead serious. Your knowledge of the Sith is helpful, but your power with the Force; your skill with healing; and your knowledge of the history of both Jedi and Sith is a rare and valuable asset." Gnost-Dural nodded. "You wouldn't be a Master to start, of course -- you would start as a Padawan. But I don't see you staying in that rank for long." He chuckled. "And you're far from the oldest recruit to join our ranks."

A Jedi… even in his wildest, most deeply secret dreams of defection, Sorand had never dared to truly let himself imagine being offered a place in the Order's ranks. Even if he was restarting as a Padawan, this was already a dream he had never dared to hope for. "I don't know what to say. I'm… I'm incredibly honoured," he breathed out, then hesitated. "... I am married with a family, though, and my first commitment is to them. Will that be a concern?"

"A decade ago, perhaps. But I think the Jedi are evolving with the galaxy -- some things do change. Besides, your sister is also rejoining us with a husband and a child. It would be rather hypocritical for her to keep her family, and to ask you to give up your own. I understand you're both Corellian as well -- it is the tradition of the Green Jedi to have families." 

"It is," Sorand acknowledged, inwardly trying to control his sheer excitement at being extended this offer. "Who would be my Master?"

Gnost-Dural chuckled again. "Well, if you're content with having an old man as your Master, I think it's time I took on a new Padawan myself. And after fighting against Malgus with you on Ossus, I would be pleased to have you at my back. You're a good man, despite what the Sith tried to turn you into."

"I had a good teacher as a child," Sorand murmured, thinking back to the lessons his mother had taught him… the lessons that had kept him sane and attuned to the Light, even in the darkest parts of the Empire. Even looking past his excitement, he could feel the Force all but pushing him to accept the offer. He swore he could feel his mother's spirit proudly beaming at him. "I… I'm honoured to accept. I can think of no better teacher."

He was sure Gnost-Dural was smiling under his mask. "The honour is mine, Padawan. The Jedi are fortunate to have both your sister and you." The old Jedi reached out to clasp his new student's shoulder, then stepped back. "Take the evening to relax and enjoy your new citizenship. We'll begin your training tomorrow."

"Thank you, Master." The phrase that he had absolutely loathed during his years as a slave, and his tutelage under Zash, felt comfortable and easy here, when directed to a Jedi. He managed to keep his elation somewhat tempered down until after Gnost-Dural took his leave… and then let the broad, excited grin take over as he made his way back to his father and his wife.

Reanden raised an eyebrow as his younger son rejoined them. "Well, you look particularly gleeful, buddy. What's up?"

Sorand felt his grin lessen slightly as he wondered how the news of his new status would be taken. "Well…" he slowly said, "of all the titles I've had or planned to have… I never expected 'Padawan' to be on that list."

Reanden's eyes widened. "Padawan, is it?" Then he looked over at Shara and grinned as he held his hand out. "I win. Pay up, kiddo."

“Wait.” Sorand blinked. “Did you two have a bet going for what that chat was going to be about?”

"Totally thought it was gonna be Alliance osik," Shara ruefully said with a smirk as she pulled a few credits out of her pocket and handed them to her father-in-law, then looked at Sorand. "The Jedi know we're a package deal, right?"

"Yes. Apparently that's going to be a little less of an issue in the new Order." Sorand grinned and hugged Shara across the shoulders, kissing her forehead. "You're still stuck with me, cyar'ika… just with much less ambient lightning."

Shara laughed and stretched up to kiss his cheek. "Long as you ain't replacing that with jetiise preachy osik, we're good. I can't wait to see your brother's face when he gets the news."

Oh, Korin's reaction was going to be hilarious, Sorand knew… even if he was pretty sure Theron was trying to push the spacer in the general direction of the SIS. But that was something to think about later. Right now, it was an evening to celebrate. The Empire reeling from a successful Republic blow; a new citizenship and a place in the ranks of the Jedi; and the knowledge that he would never, ever need to return to the Empire…

Yes, he thought, smiling as he waved his brother over to tell the news to. Life was the best it had been in years.

#SWTOR #Kel writes #holy shit we have FIC! #post-Onslaught #Sorand #Reanden #Shara #feelings! #someone is DELIGHTED to be out of the Empire for good #LS!Inquisitor #you know he was totally going to join the Jedi as soon as he got a chance #Gnost-Dural #these two are gonna get along swimmingly #pair of bookworms FTW #wonder how long it'll take before he's graduated to Knight #I need to roll up another consular for him #also #I need to write the story of his and Malgus' duel on Ossus #ex-Sith bro here has a bitching facial scar from it #ex-Darth Imperius -- now with much less ambient lightning

[haru-sen]

IAL: Mandalorians 2

Thanks, 3-D Render Anon, with your adorable voodoo dolls.  That was the serotonin I needed.

I should be working, but I’m posting this.  The Mando’a phrases and cultural dishes are from Wookieepedia.  I’ll post the actual translations in the fic, but I don’t have time right now.

You woke up in a tent, your entire body aching.  You were tucked under some blankets, a bedroll under your head.  Your sabers were still on your belt.  

“Query: are you done yet?” HK-53 asked, from overhead.  “Also, are you sure I can’t kill these Mandalorians?”  

“I am going to track down that pacifist module and shove it right up your accessory port,” you muttered.  “Just you wait-”

“Shock: Master, how could you threaten your loyal droid this way?  When did Master get so cruel?  I am very proud of you!”  

Laughing, you held your head for a moment. “What happened?”

“Recollection:  You collapsed. The blue-armored meatbag injected you with kolto, and carried you here.  The black-armored meatbag kept his gun on me, and I made sure neither of them did strange things to your person while you were inconveniently indisposed. It has been a little over a standardized hour since you lost consciousness.”  

You sat up slowly.  The sun was still up.  “Where are we?”

“The witch is alive.”  

You blinked, the black-armored Mandalorian standing in front of you.  He was not wearing his helmet. Tall, with dark skin and clawmark scars across his cheeks, he loomed over you.  He was well-groomed, his beard neatly trimmed, his black hair was immaculately styled.  How did he not have helmet hair?  

Blue scrambled over, also with his helmet off, also younger than you expected.  He was blonde, hair gelled and styled.  What the hell? Did Mandalorians discover the secret to preventing helmet hair?   He smiled at you, with eyes as blue as his armor, his cheeks flushed. “You’re recovering much faster than I expected. How are you feeling?”

“Like I drank Delta Squad under the table again…”  You said, rubbing your forehead.  You had overdone it back there.  Between the terentatek corruption, the Ataru form, and the subsequent wounds, you had pushed yourself too hard too quickly.  

“Jedi drink?” Blue raised a brow.  

“No, we just absorb dew through our pores,” you scowled.

“This Jedi witch is about to get dunked in a lake if she keeps giving me that attitude,” Skull said coolly.  

“Well, I am thirsty,” you said.  

To your surprise, Blue offered his canteen, looked thoughtful for a moment, took a drink, and then offered it again.  “It’s not poisoned.”  

“Disgust: Not poisoned, but definitely contaminated,” HK-53 said.

You hesitantly accepted the canteen, drinking down some of the metallic-tasting water. “Thanks.”  You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “What do I call you?”

“Reaper,” Skull said. “76.” He pointed at Blue.  “You?”

“Strike,” you said,  climbing to your feet.  The world wobbled, but did not tilt too far on its axis.   You looked around.  This encampment was small, but there was a cold firepit and vehicle tracks. They had not set this up in a couple hours.  They had been in this area for awhile.  

“Strike,” Reaper said, expression grim.  “I think we need to talk.”  

“No, I need to get to Nar Shaddaa,” you said.  

The men looked at each other.  “So do we.”  

“That’s what we need to talk about,” 76 said, crossing his arms.  

You stood there for a moment, a little intuitive nudge already sending your thoughts into overdrive. This was about to get even more complicated. “Because you really like casinos?  Right?” You asked, with a sigh.  

“Because we need to get one of those kids back,” Reaper said.  

“...Of course, you do,” you said, staring up at the sky.  You were glad someone had survived to hire mercs to rescue their kid. And you didn’t really care if the child chose to avoid training on Tython. But you did not need battle-happy Mandalorians ruining your operation.  “Which one?”

“Xenya Itera, human female.” Reaper held out a holo of a little girl with a tiny spherical droid floating over her outstretched hands.  She was dark skinned, her hair in several long tiny braids. She was smiling.  “You can rescue the others, but we are obligated to retrieve her.”  

“And if she doesn’t want to go with you?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“Then she doesn’t have to,” Reaper said with a shrug, surprisingly unbothered by the question.  

“Your bounty?”

“Not your problem,” Reaper said coolly.  “We just need to get the kid away from the Cartels. Simple enough.  Easier too if we go after them together.”  

...Two sensible, non-volatile suggestions from Mandalorian mercs in one day? Was the world coming to an end? ...Or was it a trap? There was a long history of bad blood between Jedi and the Mandalorian clans.  

“What clan?”  You asked suddenly.  

“Excuse me?” Reaper said.

“What clan are you?”

The men looked at you for a moment, like they hadn’t expected that question.  “Clan Ordo.”  

You nodded.  You didn’t have any standing grudges with Clan Ordo.  Hell, you hadn’t really ever dealt with them.  But they weren’t Clan Lok, Rook, Varad, or Viszla, so you were probably good for the moment.  “I can work with that.”

**

“You should be fine with Ordo,” Rogun said, over the comm-link.  “They were one of the clans that backed the Crusader’s Schism, several years back – wanted to side with the Republic instead of the Empire.  Whole thing got crushed by Mandalore the Vindicated, and Ordo was eventually welcomed back into the fold, with honor.  So they likely don’t have the grudge that Lok and Viszla do.  I can’t speak for the individuals though.”

“Good to know,” you said, sitting cross legged in the tent.  “And Talon?”

“...I guess you’re right, Strike.  There are no coincidences.  He’s been spotted on Nar Shaddaa, near the slave markets with an entourage.”  An entourage? Did that mean…?  Rogun gave a rough laugh.  “The Force moves in mysterious ways.”  

“No, the Force is a mean bitch with an axe to grind, usually in my face,” you scowled.  

Rogun guffawed, the lethorns on the side of his head shaking.  “You’re never going to make Master with that kind of talk.”  

You rolled your eyes upward, like that was the only thing keeping you from obtaining the rank of Master.  Ha!  “Just so you know, I got quizzed by the Council on our association.”  

“I’m sure you said nice things about me,” he said, his grin mean.

“I said, your sandwiches suck.”

Rogun scowled back at you.  “It was the best I could do during an active bombardment!”

You knew adult Chagrians often lost their sense of taste due to environmental factors, and maybe that was the reason the food had been awful, but it was rude to point that part out.  “Yeah, well, I talked you up a little too.  Made sure they knew that despite your questionable occupation, you’re a friend of the Republic.”

“Great, so when they come knocking at my door for favors or charitable handouts, I know who to blame.”  

“Just give them one of those sandwiches, that’ll send them on their way.”

Rogun squinted at you.  “It’s a good thing you’re useful, Strike.”

You laughed.  “Thanks, Rogun. Keep me updated on Lord Talon’s movements.  I’ll make you a delicious sandwich in gratitude.”

“Go kiss a sarlaac,” he scowled, and hung up.

“You certainly have a way with people,” Reaper said, hovering by the entrance.  

You had not noticed his approach. How much had he heard?  “That’s me, making friends wherever I go,” you said with a shrug.

Reaper gave a low chuckle.  “You and that mouthy droid.”  

You glanced around, realizing HK-53 had not been over your shoulder for your conversation with Rogun. You got up, a little concerned.

“Relax, he’s shooting bogstalkers with 76.  They were attacking the comms equipment.  I’ve already updated my people. I’m going to finish breaking down the camp, and then we can go.”  

You started to disassemble the tent, watching as HK and 76 sniped at the leathery reptilians that fluttered in the sky.  

“What are you flying?” Reaper asked, packing several weapons into crates.

“The usual – Rendili Defender-class light corvette.  It’ll get us where we need to go.”

“And you think your credentials will be enough to get us through Olaris?” He asked, because the Republic-held city wasn’t too friendly toward Mandalorians.  

“I can, but it might be easier if you leave off the helmets.  I know that’s culturally insensitive, but we’ll move faster if I don’t have to pull rank on a bunch of terrified soldiers and customs agents,”  You shrugged, bundling the tent tightly.

“Sensible,” was all Reaper said.  

**

“So what’s it like, traveling with a Jedi Knight?” 76 asked, lowering his rifle.

“Declaration: That is a broad question, meatbag.  Be more specific,” HK-53 said, rifle aimed at a ferrazid hound, the mutated creature already tearing apart a broke receiver.  

76 laughed.  “Do you get in a lot of fights?”

“Bragging: We get in so many fights.  The number of people who want to kill Master is very high. And it doesn’t seem to get lower, despite how many people we do kill. If I wasn’t so busy killing her enemies, I would want to fight her one day.”  HK-53 paused, its head twitching.

76 frowned.  “Why does she attract such enmity?  Just who are you killing?”

“Aggravation: Master has killed many things, usually enemies of the Republic, but she has also made many rules about what I am not allowed to kill.  It is unnecessarily complicated.  For example, Master generally prefers to let the enemy make the first move of aggression, to ensure that it is adhering to her archaic rules of “moral” combat.  Sometimes she even talks people out of fighting her.  Can you believe it?  She knows they’re her enemies and she lets them walk away! She should just kill them ahead of time, not spare them.  What is she thinking?” HK-53 gunned down the mutated hound-beast.  “But Master is a Jedi, and Jedi have to follow silly rules,” the droid muttered petulantly.  

“How did a...violent murder-happy droid like yourself end up with a Jedi then?” 76 asked.

HK-53 tilted its head, giving 76 a very skeptical look.  “Suspicion: Such flattery. Why are you asking so many questions, meatbag?”  

“I’m just curious about the people I’m traveling with,” 76 said, rubbing the back of his neck.  “It’s not every day I meet a Jedi Knight or such an...enthusiastic battle droid.  It leaves an impression.  There’s a story there.”

HK-53 stared at him, those eyes glowing.  “Satisfaction: We are impressive. You don’t need to know more.”  Turning back to the swamps, HK-53 surveyed the area. “Observation: Oh, it looks like Master and the other meatbag want us to return.”

76 just laughed awkwardly.

**

“Concern: Master, that meatbag was asking a lot of questions about us.”  HK-53 was secured to speeder on the seat behind you.  The Mandalorians were on the other. You were technically using their equipment, but you didn’t exactly trust a bunch of battle-happy maniacs in the driver’s seat.  That included your droid.

You zoomed over marshlands and fields, the Mandalorians riding parallel to you.  

“What kind of questions?”

To your surprise, HK-53 just replayed the recording of the conversation.  Normally, he was all too happy to summarize an interaction, and intersperse his own commentary, but he let it play out without interruption.

“Query: There is subtext that I do not understand, Master.  Is he probing for weakness?  What angle is he coming from?  What does he hope to learn?”

You sighed.  “It could be socially-motivated, but I’m sure he’s also trying to gather intel.  People often let a lot of things slip in friendly conversation.”  

“Query: What did he let slip?”

“Not a lot,” you said, thoughtfully. “But he’s trying to be diplomatic, and he seems to have a personal interest in Jedi.”

“Query: How can you tell?”

“The enthusiasm,” you said. “He’s not just asking for intelligence purposes.  He’s interested in the topic, and he wants to make a good impression on you.  I’m not exactly sure why – Mandalorian mercs aren’t really known for their diplomatic skills, but I think if we talk to him more, we’ll figure it out.”  

“Statement: These Mandalorians are not what I expected.  Normally, we just fight them, and it’s a little difficult, but it’s done.  This change in behavior is...disconcerting.”  

“Yeah, I know.  Nothing about this mission is what we expected,” you muttered.  

**

  “Clean, sturdy, and fast,” Reaper said, looking over your ship.  “Not bad.”  

“Spacious,” 76 said, with a nod.

Given the fact that it was just you and HK-53, the ship was almost too big.  “You guys can make yourselves comfortable in the crew quarters,” you said, gesturing to the rooms.  “Let me know if you need anything.  I’m going to make some calls before we reach Nar Shaddaa.”

But first you needed to change into an intact top, and check your wounds.  Your robe was ruined, and there were three parallel gashes across your low back.  They nearly spanned the entire width of your back, and were each a couple inches wide, and thankfully not too deep.  But they would take a while to heal.  76 was right, you would scar.  Your healing skills just weren’t up good enough.  Still.  

The auto-navigation was engaged, cockpit locked.  You wouldn’t have to take the helm till you reached Nar Shaddaa.  You didn’t exactly trust the Mandalorians on your ship, but you could feel them settling down, sharing one of the two sleeping rooms - there were multiple berths on your ship, but they holed up in one together. And they were behaving. To your surprise, when you reached Olaris, the Mandalorians had tucked their helmets into their bags, and quietly followed you through the spaceport.  HK-53 attracted more attention with his running commentary, but boarding had gone smoothly.  

You put HK-53 outside the comm room and shut the door.  

You first called Master Amari, to give her the update for the Council.  Yes, you were going to Nar Shaddaa.  Also, Orgo the Hutt had a terentatek and had tried to feed you to it.  You did not have time to finish the beast – but you would return to take care of it, after you rescued the children.  You had picked up some Mandalorians – they were also tracking one of the children and on their best behavior.  

Master Amari had been interested to learn they were Clan Ordo, but seemed satisfied with your progress.  You did not mention Lord Talon.  

The next call was less staid.  

“A terentatek, Theron,” you snarled.  “How did you manage to leave out that detail?”

“I don’t keep an inventory of every crime lord’s dungeon!”

“It’s a goddamn terentatek, not a monkey lizard!  How did he even get one?”

“Did you try asking him?” The spy asked snidely.  He lounged on the comm unit, looking nothing like the sickly boy you’d met on Haashimut. “I was too busy trying not to die!”

“Sounds like a “you problem,” he shrugged.  “And stop whining, you didn’t die.”  He grinned at you.  

“No, thanks to you!”

“You didn’t invite me.  You could still invite me,” he said, leaning forward, his eyes bright and too eager.

“Pfft, since when did you care about a dozen potential padawans?” You asked, even though you knew the answer, just like you knew why you had not invited Theron along.  It would get too complicated for a variety of reasons.  “This is barely even Jedi business.  It’s a criminal venture that happens to have Imperial ties – not really relevant to the SIS or your career.”

“...I heard you saw the Grandmaster,” he said, suddenly subdued.  

And that was exactly why you had not invited him.  Theron was a shady son of a bitch on the best of days.  That said “bitch” happened to be Grandmaster Satele Shan was just another level of complicated. There were so many reasons the situation was screwed: she had given him up immediately, his father was “unknown,” and he didn’t have enough force sensitivity to blow out a candle.  His solution? He’d gotten some kind of high end cybernetic implant and gone off to play spymaster for the Republic, instead of working through his feelings.

But there was always an underlying layer of bitter regrets that accompanied his dealings with the Jedi Order.  

“Yes, she looks healthy,” you said, playing it off like it was not a big deal. “It was going to be a disciplinary hearing, but that changed, because I’m just a pawn in some greater philosophical argument.  Or maybe because they needed me to do a job,” you scowled.  “I still annoy her, don’t worry.”  

“Wanna wager which one of us is the greater disappointment?” Theron asked, his smile deceptively cheerful.  You knew better than to answer that question.  “Just kidding, Strike.  It’s obviously you.” He made finger guns.  “She hasn’t given me a second thought.”  

You shrugged, pretending like you didn’t hear the open wound in that statement. “I doubt it’s anything so important.  I just get a lot of lectures from the Council.  You can probably guess what they think about strong emotion and any activity that isn��t meditating in front of a fountain.”  You paused. “Look, do you want to be there when I report back to them?  Like as an SIS adjutant or something?”

Theron let out a harsh laugh. “Are you trying to get kicked out, Strike? You show up to a High Council meeting with the Grandmaster’s bastard offspring in tow?  How’s that going to look?”

“...You’re the one asking to come along,” you scowled.  “Make up your own mind, Theron.  I don’t offer to drag you into stupid Order business, you complain.  I do offer to bring you into stupid Order business, after you ask, and you decline and point out why it’s a dumb idea.  This is why you don’t have friends.”

“You’re one to talk, unable to make real connections because the Order stunted you for the first half of your life. Now here you are, running around with that psychotic defective HK unit, like it will replace what you lost on Corellia, chasing after Lord Talon like he’s the one you’re mad at, instead of-”  

The world narrowed to a single point.  Red light flashed across your field of vision.  

“You need to stop talking,” you said, your voice going cold.    

Theron blinked, his eyes widening.  “...Druk.  Strike, I didn’t mean-”

You cut the connection, the room blurring around you for a moment.  It took a couple seconds for your vision to adjust.  To realize how angry you were.  Sure, Theron was an asshole, but he’d only peeled back the scab on a still-festering wound.  You tilted your head back.

Breathe in.  Hold.  Breathe out.  Hold.  Repeat till the darkness recedes.  

Gradually, your control steadied.  But you sat with that cloud of anger, not letting it go, nor letting it take ascendance.  It was there, a pulsing reminder of your humanity.  

You were going to kill Lord Talon and maybe his apprentice.  Not because you hated him, though you did.  Not because it was the right thing to do, though it was.  You were going to kill him for personal reasons, and unlike the rest of the Order, you were not going to lie to yourself about it.  And if that brought you down, if that decision made you fall, well, you were prepared.  You had taken the appropriate precautions. There would be no Sith Lord Strike.  

There was a ping as you received an incoming message.  It was from Theron. It was only five words.  

I’m an ass.  I’m sorry.

You shook your head, not ready to respond just yet, and left the comm room.  

**

“Is that the best you can do?” 76 laughed, and then there was whumpf, before you heard a body hit the floor.  

You peeked into the bunks, to see the Mandalorians stripped down to their shorts, wrestling on the ground.  Both men were muscular, with noticeable scars from blasters, vibroblades, and even some teeth and clawmarks.  But the tattoos were interesting… Reaper had a full left sleeve, and 76 had some very colorful creatures etched on his back.  Was that a varactyl?  

“See something you like?” 76 asked, glancing over at you.

Reaper looked up at you, narrowing his eyes.  “Or are we being too loud?”

“I wasn’t sure what was going on, just making sure it wasn’t a murder,” you said.  “Carry on then.” You abruptly turned around, shoulders taut.  You would not stare.  And you certainly would not get caught staring.  

“Hey, you seem kind of stressed.  Do you want to spar or something?” 76 asked.  

“That’s not a good idea right now,” you said, tensing.

“Why, because you’re still weak from getting your ass handed to you by a Sithspawn freak?” Reaper asked, casually.  “Don’t worry, witch. I’ll go easy on you, if you ask me nicely.”  His grin was savage.  

You turned back to face him, feeling the anger pour off you in waves. “...Mandalorian, do you need someone to humble you that badly?” You asked, your voice low and harsh.  

Reaper laughed.  “You don’t scare me, witch.  Choose your weapons.  And if you need to hide behind your fancy light swords-”

“Practice blades will do,” you said.  “Come on then.”  

Reaper squinted at you.

“You don’t think I’m going to tear up this room, do you?  The sparring mats are on the lower decks,” you said, already heading down.  

**

You picked up two blades off the rack, choosing a full blade and a half-length blade.  The cargo hold was equipped for exercise, as you did not normally transport a lot of goods.  You stretched, ignoring the whispered conversation between the Mandalorians.  

“Oh good, the medbay is across the hall-” 76 said.

“Whose side are you on?” Reaper growled.  

“You’re out of armor, cyar’ika,” 76 murmured. “She’s a Jedi.  The outcome is obvious.”

“Hut’uun,” Reaper spat.  “Verd ori'shya beskar'gam.”

“Don’t be salty because I’m telling the truth, mir’osik.” 76 laughed.

Maybe you should have called HK down here.  He could have translated the Mando’a for you.  Except he’d be calling for real bloodsport instead of just sparring.  And you didn’t need that temptation right now.  

You took a few practice swings, reviewing your forms.  Niman would be the most sensible.  This was just a sparring match. It was an all-around style, and Reaper had a lot more muscle mass than you did.  You did not need to go all out. You swung the longer blade, feeling the air part in front of you.  

Reaper glowered at 76, then stalked over to the weapon rack.  

“Don’t worry, Mandalorian,” you said, your mouth curving in a mockery of a smile.  “I won’t use my witchcraft to beat you.  I’ll do it with my own two hands.”

“You don’t sound much like a Jedi right now,” Reaper said as he stepped on the mat, holding a single vibrosword.    

“What do I sound like then?” You asked, as you began to circle each other.  

“A real soldier,” Reaper said.  “Which is impossible, because everyone knows that the Jedi like to hide in their fancy temples praying for peace, while their soldiers die.”  

You just smiled, the insult gliding right by your ear.  You had made that argument too many times to be offended by it.  Especially when it was from a Mandalorian braggart trying to get under your skin.  But it said everything that this was how an outsider viewed your order.  

You spun your swords, the heavier one in your dominant hand, feeling just right.  The anger boiling under your skin seemed to evaporate.  It was just energy now, ready to power you through another fight.  Your mind slid back into its seat of balance.  

Reaper charged you, lunging forward, the blade cutting through the air in a horizontal arc.  You sidestepped, ninety degrees to the right, just out of his reach.  And while his blade was extended, you slipped around his guard, and dragged your short sword across his back, a thin line of blood appearing seconds later.

He whirled, swinging the sword at you.  You parried with your left hand, and glided forward, under his guard, so close you couldn’t swing your other blade.  Instead, you grinned up at him, and rammed the hilt into his stomach.  

Coughing, Reaper doubled over, glared at you, and then his leg snapped up.  You slid backward, but a half-second to slow.  He kicked you in the chest, and you had to catch yourself in a spin.  It was suddenly hard to breathe.  

He charged you again, blade raised overhead.  

You instinctively raised your swords to parry, catching his blade between both of yours.  You twisted, and the vibrosword flew out of his hands, and landed on the floor of the cargohold with a clatter.  

“Do you yield?” You asked, spinning your swords. “Or would you like a moment to go retrieve your weapon, Mandalorian?  That’s fine.  I’ll wait.”  You grinned. “Because I can do this all night long.”

Reaper stared at you, eyes dark, nostrils flared. He was bleeding, breathing hard, and sweat glistened on his velvety skin, but he didn’t look like he was done.  

“Maybe you’d like to try both of us then?” 76 asked, his eyes narrowed. He picked up Reaper’s sword and then a stave for himself.  He placed the sword in Reaper’s outstretched hand, and took up a stance beside his comrade.  “Tion'ad hukaat'kama?”

You tilted your head back, moving your head from side to side.  76 held the staff like he knew how to use it.   You closed your eyes, feeling the currents of the force flow through you, a picture of the field forming in your head.   They stood side by side, but they would attempt to box you in.  They both had excellent range, but 76 would have the advantage of reach.   You could see the range and motion of their attacks before they made them, and while it would be difficult, you were good at this. “What are you waiting for?  An invitation?”

76 lunged first, sweeping the staff at knee-height.  

You leapt over the attack, even as Reaper slid to your right swung the vibrosword in a downward arc.  Elbow bent, wrist pressed to your head, you blocked the strike.

76 struck again, thrusting the staff like a polearm.  

You jumped backward out of his range, disengaging from Reaper’s sword lock.  You spun around toward Reaper, blades outstretched.  

76 swung the staff around, blocking the area across Reaper’s torso.

You struck the staff with a clang, and had to swing your right blade to block Reaper’s counterattack.  You disengaged again, dancing to the side, putting Reaper between you and 76. He tried to swing his sword, but you parried the blow again, and whipped your other blade across his cheek with a little flourish.  

The skin split and instead of countering, he stared at you, with an intensity that made you hesitate.  

From behind Reaper,  76 thrust again, striking you in the side with the staff. You hissed, and kicked Reaper backward into 76.   The blonde man steadied his friend, and together they stayed on their feet.  

You touched your side, knowing that the area would need extra healing later.  But it wasn’t enough to bring you down now. Breathing hard, you took a deep breath and whirled toward them, blades spinning in your hands.  

Still leaning on 76, Reaper didn’t have a chance to take a strong defensive stance.  You caught his vibrosword between yours, and scissored them, sending his weapon flying once more.  You couldn’t quite kick him aside, so you circled around to 76.  You got close, too close for him to use the staff properly.  He could block your blows, but he didn’t have the space to maneuver.  Your blades slid off the staff, but still scraped against his chest, slicing a long gash through the pink skin, the tip of the short sword catching on a gold ring.  

“Haar'chak!” He yowled.  

“Ke'pare!” Reaper shouted.  “Wait!”  

You froze, having not noticed the little gold rings on his nipples. “Disengaging,” you said, dropping your vibrosword, and very carefully freeing the short blade from the piercing.  “Why the hell would you leave those in for a sparring match?” You asked, backing up.  

Wincing, 76 held a hand over the right nipple ring.  “I...forgot,” he mumbled.  

“Showoff,” Reaper said, shaking his head.  

“I’ll get the kolto,” you sighed, setting the blades back in the rack, before you went across the hall to the medbay.  You grabbed the first aid kit and headed back.  

76 sat in the middle of the mats, rubbing his chest sheepishly.  Reaper sat next to him, shaking his head.  

“Hold still,” you said, crouching down in front of him to examine the cuts on his chest.  You cleaned the wounds with a sanitizing wipe and then applied a layer of kolto over the cuts.  You glanced at the nipple.  It was pink and a lot more swollen than the other one, but still intact.  You hadn’t torn the piercing or cut anything off. It wasn't even bleeding. Squeezing a little more kolto onto your thumb, you rubbed it lightly against his nipple.

76 stiffened, inhaling sharply as you put the healing gel on him.  He was breathing hard now, chest and face flushed from the exertion. He watched you with hooded eyes, teeth clenched.  “Do you patch up all your conquests?”  

“No, normally there isn’t enough left to fix,” you said, meeting his gaze.  

He studied your face for a moment.  You could feel the heat pouring off him.  He leaned closer.  “So I’m one of the lucky ones?”

“Very, you almost lost that piercing and more.” You said, your mouth suddenly dry.

“It’s still sore, maybe you could put some more kolto on it,” he purred, a very knowing smile on his face.

“No, I think you deserve to suffer a little for your stupidity,” you said, backing up.  You glanced at Reaper.  “Do you need kolto?”

“Go on then,” Reaper said coolly, sitting up straight.  

You crouched back down in front of Reaper, keeping him partially between you and 76.  You worked quickly, your fingers lightly tracing the scar on his face.  He watched you sullenly, as you quickly applied the gel.  And then he turned around, silently giving you his back. His skin was hot under your fingertips, and you tried to seal the wound quickly, very conscious of 76’s hungry gaze. You slapped a bandage on it, and he turned back around, plucking the kolto out of your hands.

“Let’s see those ribs,” Reaper told you calmly.  “76 hit you pretty hard.”  

“I can take care of it myself,” you said.  

“No one’s going to pounce on you,” Reaper said.  “And even if they did, you could handle them.” He did not look at 76.  “Now don’t be stubborn and try going up that ladder with your ribs cracked. That’s just foolish.” There wasn’t any of the previous malice in his voice, just a gentle chiding that reminded you a little of Master Amari.  

Sighing, you unfastened your sash, and peeled back your robes, wincing as you touched your left side.  

His head tilted to the side, Reaper applied the healing gel to your bare skin, his warm hands gently massaging it into your left side.  You bit your lip, placing a hand near there as you tried to convince the bones to knit back together correctly.  

Between the kolto and the little bit of force healing you could manage, the pain began to subside.  

“Better?” Reaper asked, his palm still pressed to your side, close to your hand.  

“Yes,” you said, swallowing roughly.  “I should be good.”  

Reaper bowed his head.  “You won, Jedi.  I am...humbled by your prowess.” He nodded to you, giving you a slight smile.  “But I would like to try against you again later.  Perhaps barehanded next time.”  

You remembered seeing them rolling around on the ground, wrestling.  Your breath caught.  “You’re welcome to use the sparring mats,” you said, pulling away, closing your robes and tying off your sash.  “But I need to go meditate.”  

“Will you join us later?” Reaper asked.

“...We’ll see,” you said, glancing at 76, who lounged on his side, one hand cupping his sore pectoral.  

76 winked at you.  “Feel better?”  

You blinked, having already forgotten why you’d agreed to spar in the first place.  “Yes, thank you, but I really need to go meditate.”  

“I can think of some other things that would help you out,” 76 said, looking you up and down with a smile.

“I really should go,” you said, already halfway out the door.

**

“I need to go meditate?”  Really?  That was your best excuse?  It worked, but still…

Grumbling you, shut yourself in your quarters, limping to the fresher for a shower.   It was quick, and you changed into another clean robe – today had been hard on clothes – and then settled on your floor cushion, still feeling the force run through you.  

You did not contemplate the temple fountains, nor the forests of Tython, nor any Jedi object.  You stared out the window, into the void of space, the stars twinkling in the distance.  You fully expected flashes of red light, or even that dark haze that settled over your mind when you really got to thinking about the past.  

But the force continued to move through you in strong currents.  It was like sitting up to your shoulders in a warm ocean.  The world took on a soft gray glow, and you let yourself drift.

It was the most peaceful you had felt since Corellia.

**

“Knight Strike, are you occupied?” 76 asked over the intercom.  

You opened one eye, focus settling back into your body.  “Do you need something?”

“We took the liberty of making a meal, and thought you might be hungry,” he said.

You blinked. “Oh, I’ll be down in a minute.”  The offer took you by surprise.  HK-53 had said nothing about them moving around the ship. You rose, tightening your robe, and left your quarters.  

A warm savory scent hit you as you opened the door.  The entire deck smelled of rich spices and sauteed aromatics.  It was coming from the conference room – the one you used as a makeshift dining room back when… Back when there had been more people on your ship.  

The Mandalorians were inside and had set up hotplates and a kettle on the table.  Reaper was back in his polished black armor, sans helmet, stirring a pot. He did not look up when you came in.  He just lifted a battered spoon to his lips and tasted the stew or maybe it was a casserole?  If so, it was heavily sauced.    

76 stood over his own battered iron skillet, an amber colored cake within.  He cautiously poured some syrup over the cake.   Then he cracked open a bottle and poured an even more generous amount of dark liquor over it.  “It’s almost done!”  

“If you want to cook, I have a small kitchen setup in my quarters-” You paused, realizing that maybe you did not want them traipsing in and out of your bedroom.  

“Oh? Really? I would like to see that,” Reaper said, looking up and smiling at you, heat in his gaze.  He lifted the spoon from the pot, offering you a taste of the bright orange stew.  It had chunks of mystery meat, vegetables, and what looked like beans.  It smelled like fire, smoke, and peppers, clearing whatever spacedust might have been clogging your sinuses.  You hesitantly took a bite.  It was savory and hot. The layers of earthy and smoky spices blended well together and even though you were still chewing, you wanted another bite almost immediately.

Even if you had never tasted this dish before, there was something immediately comforting about it.  The meat was smoked.  The vegetables had likely been dried and reconstituted in the sauce.  The “beans” were actually some kind of grains, soft and fluffy with just the right amount of chewiness.  “That’s very good,” you said. “What is it?”  

“Tiingilar,” Reaper said, watching your face.  “It doesn’t burn too much, I hope.”  

“The seasoning is excellent.  I’m very fond of peppers,” you said, raising a brow.  Was he hoping that it was too much for you?  That seemed a possibility.  You had beaten him in combat, so he was going to compete with you in other ways.  Still, if it meant that he cooked a nice dinner, you wouldn’t take too much offense.    

Reaper just smiled at you.  “You are full of surprises.  The last non-Mandalorian I fed this to accused me of poisoning her.  It was...too hot for her delicate mouth.”  

“She wasn’t as well-traveled as Knight Strike,” 76 said, flipping his skillet and dumping the cake onto a battered metal plate.  “Uj'alayi. It’s a traditional dessert,” he told you, pulling out a combat knife and slicing it into six pieces.  “It can be made in our helmets.  Reaper insisted that I use a pan this time.” He winked. “But I think the helmet adds to the flavor.”

“Interesting,” you said, glancing at Reaper, who just chuckled.  “Should I get-”

“No need! We have tiingilar, uj’alayi, and behot tea.  Plenty of food to go around,”  76 said proudly.  He paused, gesturing to the table.  

“And I have a few extra bottles of kri’gee and narcolethe, if you’re interested,” Reaper said, a little too innocently. “Now I think he is trying to poison me,” you said, because you weren’t an idiot.  Those liquors were very potent.  

“I have some extra ne’tra gal,” 76 said, gesturing to the bottle he had.  “It’s a much nicer ale.”  

“It would go well with the uj’alayi,” Reaper said, setting a bowl of his spicy stew in front of you.  He poured you a mug of tea.  Then he began doling out portions for himself and 76.

76 put a slice of cake in front of you, along with the open bottle of ne’tra gal.

You took a sip of the sticky sweet ale.  It was more potent than you were expecting, but it was Mandalorian alcohol.  You then took a small bite of the dense cake.  It was rich and sticky, filled with dried fruit, nuts, and some kind of sweet syrup.  The syrup had carmelized a little on the outside of the cake, but the inside was almost too sweet, except for the ale that soaked in.   You washed it down with more of the ale.    

76 watched you eagerly.  “What do you think?”

“It’s rich,” you said.  “But the ne’tra gal does go well with it.”

“It was originally army rations – lots of calories for a march,” Reaper said.  “We thought you might enjoy some traditional Mandalorian food.”  

“That was very kind,” you said. “It’s delicious.”  

“Do Jedi have tasty traditional food?”  76 asked.

You sat with that for a moment. “...It’s actually kind of bland,” you sighed.  “Nutritious, but not fancy.  They don’t want us to be “distracted” by such things.”  Back in the day, Theron had smuggled you candies, snack foods, and even alcohol.  You felt a twinge of annoyance.  Back in the day, Theron hadn’t been such an asshole.  “I like trying new things though.  I had to sneak around in Coruscant – make it look like I was only stopping because I needed “sustenance.”  Not because the food stall smelled delicious.”

“We are not encouraged to be easily distracted by food,” Reaper said with a frown.  “But there is no harm in enjoying it.”  

“...Jedi aren’t supposed to “enjoy” things,” you muttered.  “Well, they can, just not…too much.”

“What counts as “too much?” 76 asked, taking a big bite of cake.  

You shrugged.  “That’s a philosopher’s debate.  But we’re meant to focus on denying most temptations.  Want and attachment lead to other negative emotions, which lead to hate, which leads to the Dark Side.  Let me summarize it for you: everything fun leads to the Dark Side.”  You rolled your eyes and took another swig of ale. “Depending on who catches you, that lecture can go on for hours.”

“Enjoying cake leads to becoming a Sith Lord?”  76 chuckled.  “I want to eat more.  Will that get me my own lightsaber?”  

You laughed.  

“Your Order has a real fear of this Dark Side,” Reaper said, sipping his tea.  “It seems a little convenient, like a method of control.”  

“The fear is legitimate, but the safeguards are controversial.”  You took another bite of his spicy stew.  “It’s complicated.”  

“So what happens when a Jedi goes to the Dark Side, becomes dar’jetii? Why is this so dreaded?  I have met the dar’jetii of the Empire.  Some are reasonable.  Many are not.  But they are not Jedi, and they are not so much more fearsome.”  Reaper’s brows furrowed.

“We’ve fought dar’jetii,” 76 said, chest puffed out.  “And we’ve won.  Didn’t get to keep the lightsaber though.  Captain got it.”  He gave you a rueful smile.  

“I assume dar’jetii means “Sith.”  And that’s part of the problem.”  You took another sip of tea, staring at the wall.  “There are two different understandings of the terms.  The political difference is that Jedi are force-sensitives who work for the Republic.  Sith work for the Empire.  It is an overly-simple explanation.” You held the mug between your hands, its warmth comforting.  

“That is how we understand it,” Reaper said.  

“Then you have the philosophical definitions.  There are two sides to the Force, Light and Dark.  The choices you make in life determine your alignment.  There are Imperial Sith, who are fair-minded and compassionate.  Even if they may not follow the Jedi Code, they are of the Light, though it would be unwise of them to advertise that.”

“And there are Jedi who are cruel and bloodthirsty, and they are of the Dark?”  Reaper asked.  “Your Order allows this?”

“No, they do not.  In fact, they are dismissed from the Order, and sometimes they are imprisoned.  Sometimes it is...worse.”  You did not look at them.  

“That seems like a tactical disadvantage,”  76 said.

“...It’s more than that.”  You switched back to the ne’tra gal. “Sometimes singular choices can swing a Light-side Jedi to the opposite end of the spectrum.  They go from honorable, kind, and patient to violent, cruel, and despotic in seconds.  Falling is a sudden kind of madness. Often they turn on their friends and allies, killing the people they swore to protect. Sometimes they recover who they were and regret what was done.  Sometimes they just become monsters.”  

“What causes it? I haven’t heard of Sith having such experiences often.” Reaper asked.  “Do they fear an inverse effect?”

You laughed, imagining that for a moment.  “No, I guess I haven’t heard of a Sith suddenly being filled with an uncontrollable sense of altruism.  At least, not to the same degree.  They may switch sides or work to seek redemption, but these are conscious choices.”

“So what makes Jedi so much easier to influence?” 76 asked.  

“Well, the Sith Code does encourage a certain amount of violence and backstabbing, but that’s the question, isn’t it?  The Jedi Order thinks if we, as individuals, keep our distance from the world, do not get attached to others, and live like ascetics, we can avoid falling.  If we just follow their rules, and live in our cloisters, we will be safe.”  The bitterness of your words surprised you.  

“Is there no middle ground?”

You took another bite of the stew.  “That’s also complicated. Allegedly, there is.”  You thought of the Gray Jedi. “But it is not an explanation accepted within our Order.  I have witnessed people falling.  It is...horrible to see someone you have known your entire life changing into the antithesis of themselves.”

“So if...attachment makes them fall, what brings them back?  Do you appeal to their honor?”  76 asked.

“Maybe,” you said, because you would give a lot to find the answer to that question.  “I think...reminding them what they found to be so important can help.”  You thought of Nomen Karr.  “But sometimes they are just in denial.  They think they are infallible, they think that excuses whatever actions they take, and that accumulation of corruption combined with their own hubris destroys them.”  You sighed.  

“What causes this madness?  The revelation of their own hypocrisies?” Reaper pressed.  

“Force users are...vessels.  The Force runs through us, it is like a constant stream of energy.  That energy can manifest in different ways.  Light Side users have certain powers, Dark Side users have others.  And then there are some abilities that are so rare, it’s hard to say where they come from.  Those are the extremely talented few: I have a friend who can heal broken minds.  But I have no idea how to do such things.  I am just a better-than-average fighter.” You smiled wryly.  “But one of my teachers has a theory.  Jedi spend so long keeping out the Dark, that sometimes, if we lower our guards, if we make an emotional choice toward the Dark, suddenly we have opened ourselves up to an outpouring from it.  Some of us do not know how to cope and that system shock is too much too quickly, and then we swing to the opposite side.”  

“So maybe you should do a few bad things, to keep your mind safe,” Reaper said with a shrug.  “Easy enough.”  

You laughed.  “...maybe.  Or maybe that slow acceptance of corruption just makes it easier to fall.  That’s a high-risk theory for me to try to prove.”  

“So what is an example of how a Jedi falls?” Reaper asked.

You sat there, knowing it wasn’t any of his business, and that you were drinking too much.  But it was not a secret.  And he wasn’t actually asking about your past. “Say you go into battle, and you really hate the person you are fighting.  You have thought long and hard about how they need to die.  You know that it is against everything that your Order has taught you, and you don’t care.  They might want him as a useful prisoner, but even if he surrenders, you are going to kill him.  Or perhaps, you are going to disobey orders – you will pursue him off the battlefield, even if it means leaving your comrades or charges behind.  There are many ways.  But I think it comes down to, you will look at your choices, you will know that what you choose is wrong, and you will do it anyway.”  

Reaper snorted.  “That doesn’t sound evil: foolish and undisciplined maybe.  But killing certain enemies is sensible.”

“But if it throws off your sense of self…”  76 rubbed his chin.  

“That is a problem we do not have to deal with,” Reaper said, brow furrowed.  “Perhaps the cost of sorcery is too high.  Or perhaps Jedi are weak-minded.  Their strictures are too rigid; the conditions they set are unreasonable.”  

“This fear of attachment and strong emotion,” 76 mused.  “How are they as parents?”  

“...Jedi are good caretakers, but not good parents.  Because Jedi are not supposed to marry or have kids, so we usually recruit externally,” you said, trying not to think of Theron.  

Both men blinked.  “What?!”

“We’re warrior monks,” you muttered.  “Or supposed to be.  There are exceptions, but in general, marriage and other romantic attachments are not encouraged.”  

76 and Reaper exchanged meaningful glances.  

You could feel the judgment.  You finished your ale, suddenly wishing for more.  

“So no sex?” 76 asked, his eyes wide.

“...We’re not supposed to,” you said, looking at the table, suddenly embarrassed.  

There was a long moment of silence.  

“But you don’t always do what you’re supposed to, do you?” Reaper asked, his voice warm and amused.  

You bit your lip.  “That’s really not your business.”  

Reaper gave a low laugh.  “I didn’t think so.”  He tilted his head to the side, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.  “There’s no shame in indulging or abstaining.  But something tells me that you’re not the type to shrink away from a challenge.”  

You crossed your arms, staring hard at him.  Did he need another lesson in humility? “What are you trying to say, Reaper?”

“I’m saying, if you choose to indulge, we’re both interested,” he said plainly, and took another bite of his tiingilar. “And if you don’t, we respect that too.”  

You nearly choked on air.  

“But we’re a package deal,” 76 said, his expression uncharacteristically somber.  

“...Wait, are you married?” You asked, because it was easier than processing what Reaper had just offered.

“Promised,” Reaper said, giving 76 an appreciative smile. “But this one has fought at my side for years, and that matters more than any words spoken.”  

76’s cheeks burned pink.  He gave Reaper a warm look.  “Traditionally, we can just say the vows whenever: in person, over comlink, through letters, and it’s done. But our clan wants to be there to witness it and throw a big party, which isn’t exactly traditional – they usually can wait till afterward.”

“But certain clan-members are insisting that they should attend,” Reaper said.

“And if we didn’t make the allowance our sisters and the Captain would never forgive us,” 76 said with a sigh.  “You don’t cross the Captain.”

“And our sisters are unreasonable and very good with their flamethrowers,” Reaper said.  

“Oh,” you said, like it all made perfect sense.  They were about to be married, but they wanted to invite you to their beds?  How did that make any sense?  You groped for words. “That’s lovely.”  

“You could come too,” 76 said.  “There will be plenty of food.”  

“...Uh…” You blinked, not sure how to process the proposition, the wedding invitation, and the entire situation.  

“76 and I take pride in performing well, be it fighting, cooking, or other recreational activities,” Reaper said smoothly.  “If you’re concerned, we’d be happy to give a demonstration.”  He leaned over, one arm around 76’s shoulder.

76 nodded happily. “You can think of it as exercise or stress relief.”

“Or you can just watch, if you like, we don’t mind,” Reaper purred, stroking 76’s hair.  Those thick metal gauntlets tightened into a fist, pulling 76 closer.   Reaper leaned over, pressing a hard kiss to 76’s neck.  

The blonde man moaned.

But Reaper was watching you, those dark eyes glittering.  

“...I should go meditate,” you said, abruptly standing up and retreating from the room.

#SWTOR #IAL #Crackfic #Reader-Insert #overwatch fanfiction #In Alio Loco AU #In Alio Loco

[greaterawarness]

Brothers Ch. 6 "Retired Commander and Captain"

(A slow morning for Cody and Rex.)

Cody was up by 0600 like most mornings. When he was in the army, he would consider 0600 sleeping in. He supposes he’s gone a little soft since being out. His morning routine was nothing glamorous. He normally showers but today he’s skipped that step, shaves, spends a small amount of time making sure his hair is in order, then dresses in sensible clothing. Today he plans on going for a run, so he wears breathable workout clothes.

“What are you doing? Come back to bed…” A sleepy voice calls. Cody walks out of the bathroom and leans against the doorway with a smile. Obi Wan is turned on his side with their red sheets resting at his waist. His usual neat and tidy hair now sticks in every direction.

“Can’t. Promised Rex I’d kidnap him for a run.” He walks over to sit on the bed. Obi Wan reaches out to gently touch Cody’s wrist. Cody leans forward planting a gentle kiss on Obi Wan’s forehead. “Go back to sleep. I should be back before you finish getting ready.”

Obi Wan grabs his shirt when he starts to pull away. He presses his lips to Cody’s before falling back on his pillow and rolling to his side of the bed.

“Very well. Run an extra mile for me.” He yawns while pulling the sheets up to his shoulders.

“Always do.” Cody pushes himself off the bed. Before leaving their room, he walks to his closet out of habit. He checks on his Mandalorian armor making sure it was still in tip top shape as if it would change from his last inspection before bed. With there being no changes, he leaves their room.

Cody and Obi Wan live in a luxurious spacious apartment. Only riveled by Padme’s and Skywalker’s. He walks across their pristine white marble floor to their white clean kitchen. Everything is sleek and modern just how they liked it. After leaving the Jedi Order they both developed a certain taste for things. Ahsoka had called it being boujee. Whatever the hell that means. He starts the caf so it will be ready when Obi Wan wakes and for when he gets back from his run. He leaves their apartment and makes his way down to the lobby.

“Morning Wooley.” Cody says as he passes his brother behind the main desk. After Obi Wan purchased this building, he gave a few jobs to the 212th. They’re simple jobs but his men seem to enjoy it. It doesn’t hurt that they all congregate in the speakeasy in the back. Easy to make 212th meetings if you work in the building.

“Early as ever Sir. Want me to pull your speeder around?” He asks.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just call a cab.” Cody says. When he’s on the street he hails the cab while taking in the sun’s rays. Cody always loved Coruscant in the morning. Wasn’t as busy as during the day or rowdy like at night. Though, things definitely got more interesting when the sun went down. Cody sits in the back of the cab admiring the buildings as they passed. Rex didn’t live to far and he could have walked it but knowing Rex he only has a finite time to reach him before the man collapses back into deep sleep. When the cab parks in front of Rex’s building, Cody slips out and pays the man. Before walking inside, he can’t help but glance at Skywalkers building only a block further down. Most people in this area are Senators or work in high-ranking positions. Not even on the handsome funds that Cody and Obi Wan pull in from the Jinn clan could they afford a place in this area.

Cody walks through the lobby and nods at the stern man behind the front desk. He meets his eyes before looking back to his screen. Cody punches in the code that grants access to the lift and rides it up to Rex’s floor. When he approaches Rex’s front door, he can already hear the madness on the other side. Cody grins before knocking. After a few moments the door opens when a blue twi’lek girl appears.

“Good morning Luna. I’ve come to kidnap your father.” Cody says. The teenager turns her face inside.

“Dad! Uncle Cody’s here!” She yells. She steps aside so Cody can walk in. While Obi Wan and Cody preferred a modern home that mostly consists of white marble and sleek finishes, Rex liked a more rustic feel. While the wall facing outward to the city is made of almost entirely of glass the other walls are exposed brick with exposed wood beams and columns. His floors, when not covered in scattered toys or clothes, are a light hardwood. It definitely felt more homy then Cody’s.

“You off to school?” Cody asks when the door shuts behind him.

“Yeah, just waiting on the gremlin to get ready.” She says, crossing her arms.

“That’s not a nice thing to call your brother.” Cody eyes her.

“Sorry,” She nods. “I meant to say bantha.”

Cody has to hold back a laugh. Luna slides across the floor in her long school socks to retrieve her datapad. Cody almost jumps when a woman rushes down the stairs holding a human toddler in her arms. Her blonde curly hair bounces with every jerk of her head. Cody crosses his arms with a smile waiting Morrigan to notice him. Her frantic busy eyes scan the kitchen island that is cluttered in papers, cups, and toys.

“My keys… where are my keys?” She asks with her one free hand held out frustratedly. Cody takes this time to walk forward. She stares at him slightly taken off guard before calming back down.

“I believe,” Cody starts while reaching for the thing in the toddler’s hands. “I’ve found them.”

Morrigan closes her eyes relieved.

“Thank you, Cody.” She says placing a hand on his shoulder. “You must be here for Rex.”

“Yes, I had planned on kidnapping him.” Cody explains. He leans against the messy kitchen island. She gives a sarcastic eyeroll.

“Good luck. I’m afraid my nine year old has beaten you to it.” She walks over to her bag to rummage through it. As if speaking his name summoned him, Rex walks down the stairs with his son slung over his shoulders.

“I don’t want to go!” Bjorn yells but shows no real struggle. Rex lets out long sigh.

“I know,” He says while setting the boy down. Bjorn’s a spitting image of his father. Well, Cody guessed all clones really, but he was Rex’s boy through and through. “But you have to. Otherwise, mum and I are going to go to prison!”

The boy rolls his eyes. He tries to walk away but is stopped by Rex’s hand. Rex pulls out a pair of glasses and puts them on Bjorn’s face.

“But…”

“No buts. You’re wearing them.” Rex waves a finger at the boy with a stern eye. Bjorn says nothing while grabbing his school bag and walks over to his eldest sister.

“Be safe! Don’t take your eyes off each other!” Morrigan calls when the two eldest children walk towards the front door.

“We know!” They yell back before closing the door behind them. With two out of the three kids gone the adults took this moment to breathe. Rex looks to Cody for the first time.

“Sorry that you had to walk in on our hectic mornings.” Rex says looking more tired than he did when they left to go home last night.

“Don’t worry about it. Love any chance I get to see my favorite nieces and nephew.” Cody says. Morrigan shifts her daughter while slinging her bag over her other shoulder.

“Well, I’m off to work. I’m running late as it is. Cody, try not to kill my husband. I do enjoy his company.” She says walking past him. She walks for the door making Rex chuckle.

“Love?” Rex calls.

“Yes?” She turns back around.

“I’m not sure how your meeting is going to go while holding Serin.” Rex crosses his arms. Morrigan pauses realizing her daughter is still in her arms. She shuffles over and hands her to Rex before giving him a quick kiss and rushing for the door. Rex calls out “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Morrigan responds by letting out a loud and sarcastic laugh while running out the door. Rex shakes his head while smiling at Serin who is content just sitting in Rex’s arms.

“If its just you and Serin we can go for a run another day?” Cody offers. Rex lets out a tired sigh.

“Nah, we’ll bring her along.”

After getting little Serin situated in a stroller Cody and Rex do a short stretch in front of Rex’s building. After they feel warmed up, they start jogging. When Cody goes for a run with Obi Wan they usually start out much faster and go for longer but ever since becoming a dad Rex has lost a bit of his steam. They run a few blocks before stopping at a crosswalk. Rex leans over with his hands on his knees breathing heavily.

“You okay?” Cody raises a brow at him.

“Don’t judge me Cody… I’ve got three kids…” He breathes before straightening up and pushing the stroller as he continues to run. Everything is so different now then it was when they were in the army. Before he and Rex ran a tight ship. Nothing got past them, and they were constantly working to keep their bodies and minds in top physical condition. Now, they’ve learned to take it easy and take things as they come. Not that they’ve gone completely soft. Cody and Rex still pride themselves on their combat skills and marksmanship.

They decide to end their run early when Serin starts to get fussy. They now walk at a comfortable pace after stopping to buy the child a juice box. Cody and Rex drink one of their own.

“So,” Rex says after they toss their drained juice boxes. “What are we going to do about that batch of clones?”

That batch. Cody knew exactly what he was talking about. Cody lets out a sigh through his nose.

“I could use some guys like that. It’s hard to find younger clones so willing to run into battle.” Cody starts.

“True but running headfirst into danger isn’t always a good thing.” Rex says making Cody laugh.

“Ironic coming from you!” Cody says wincing when Rex elbows him.

“All I’m saying is that they seem a little to eager.”

“What do you expect? They’re too young to have seen any battle but to old to not remember life and training on Kamino. They trained for a Republic that already didn’t want them.” Cody snorts. They fall silent for a moment. Memories of the days after the war. When it first ended everyone was so happy. It may have only been one real battle but so many clones and Jedi had died. Everyone celebrated and the clones were seen as heroes. For a time. Then the Jedi who had fought beside so many of the clones turned away from them. Some completely abandoning squads on random planets trying to wrangle up any remaining separatists. The anger from those times still burns in Cody and Rex.

As they contemplated on the past, they can hear the shouting of protests. Cody and Rex exchange looks before continuing on. They find a large crowd surrounding a stage built of crates with a few clones standing on top.

“We fought their war and look how they treat us?” A clone yells. Cody stops to stare at him. He looks familiar. “Clones only earn a small percentage compared to any other species on Coruscant but we far outnumber any other species when it comes to homelessness! We’re denied basic rights!”

Cody is both surprised and pleased to see that the crowd is a good mix of nonclones and clones. Serin starts to get fussy again, so they start to walk on. As they walk away from the rally, they can hear them chanting “We fought your fight now give us rights!”all the way down the block.

They decide to take a rest on a park bench and let Serin stretch her legs.

“That was Slick up there, wasn’t it?” Rex asks. Cody nods. He holds a twig that Serin hands him before she waddles off.

“I just hope he keeps it peaceful.” Cody sighs. Rex lets out a snort.

“He’s not wrong though. Some clones are lucky and get decent jobs and live a normal life. Most aren’t. unless they want to live like us working as bounty hunters and mercenaries. We do okay but this life isn’t for everyone. It’s most certainly not one I want my children.”

Cody looks over at Rex who keeps his eyes on his daughter.

“Bjorn looks just like us. What happens when he’s older and he can’t get a job because his face resembles mine? Serin… well I tell myself she’ll do fine because she’s a girl and she takes after her mother thank the Force. But I do worry about them.” Rex scoops his daughter in his arms and holds her close. She doesn’t appreciate this and squirms out of his arms to continue playing.

“I hate to break this to you Rex old boy, but your son is probably going to become a bounty hunter just because he has your wife’s attitude.” Cody says making Rex laugh.

“Oh, don’t I know it too?” Rex shakes his head. His face settles into a sad smile. “Still… I want him to have a choice.”

Cody lets out a breath while leaning back.

“Then I guess we’ll have to hope Fox and Padme can pull through.” Cody looks up at the sky before staring at Rex when he lets out a pfft.

“Never thought you would be saying that did ya?” Rex snorts making Cody laugh.

“Fuckin’ Fox man… who knew?” Cody shakes his head. When they fall silent again Rex leans on his knees.

“So, what are we going to do about that batch?” Rex asks again. Cody leans his head back with his eyes closed.

“I don’t know…” He groans. “Wolffe has probably already recruited them but… then they have the Force sensitive ones and I’m sure Skywalker will throw a fit if he doesn’t get them.”

“Yeah, probably. He and Ahsoka were fighting about it the other night. But they were drinking so it quickly turned into who’s fault it was who crashed the last ship.” Rex says with his chin perched on his hand.

“… It was Anakin, wasn’t it?”

“It’s always Anakin.” Rex nods making Cody chuckle. They sit in silence again while watching Serin play.

“You don’t think that day we ran into that batch wasn’t a bit…”

“Perfect?” Rex finishes for him. “Yeah. I know.”

“I mean all three of us were recruited for the job and then the batch is there for no apparent reason, and they were carrying blasters which according to our research none of them can afford. Seems like that whole event was planned.” Cody watches Rex carefully. His face is unchanging but deliberately still. “It has her fingerprints all over it.”

“I know.” He says softly.

“That means those boys are probably in over their heads. It might be best if we cut off all ties with them. Save ourselves a headache.” Cody says aware of how stiff Rex is next to him. It’s so apparent that Serin walks over to try and mess with his face. He loosens up so not to bother her.

“I’ll deal with it, Cody.” He says sternly. He stands with his daughter in his arms. He puts her back in her stroller telling Cody it was time to go. Cody doesn’t push the subject any further. Rex has a complicated history after the war. It often comes back to haunt him. Cody walks beside his friend feeling bad for even bringing her up. They would have to come up with a plan for that batch another day. Today Cody was only focused on getting back to the apartment to catch Obi Wan before he left for the senate.

Read full story HERE at AO3

#Commander Cody #Retired Cody #Cody #cc 2224 #Captain Rex #Retired Rex #CT 7565 #Slick #Rex has a wife #Rex's kids #Rex is a dad #nothing new there honestly #Don't get attached to the kids names #probably gonna change them #just needed to post something #obi wan kenobi #cody x obi wan #Brothers #Ch. 6 #Retired Commander and Captain

[thelastenvoyyy]

What’s the story of your two bounty hunters Yin and Zraxajj?

Yin Dal'qorr (Top) became a Mandalorian well into adulthood but not for the noblest of reasons. Indeed, he was a well-established bounty hunter already before joining his clan and his respect for Mandolorian culture went as far as to acquire the armour, the equipment and the training to become the best hunter in the galaxy.

Born on a backwater planet on the fringes of the Sith Empire, he became notorious for tracking down wanted gang members. He committed his first murder at the age of fifteen and his second aged nineteen. By twenty-five, he took a ship to Hutta where he signed up for the Great Hunt and first encountered the Mandalorians and began to make a name for himself among their ranks.

Yin's methods are simple. Do as he says and he won't hurt you too bad. Work against him, and he gets mad. Wielding dual blasters and a jet pack, to have Yin Dal'qorr on your tail may not be a death sentence but it will certainly make life more difficult for you.

Among Yin's repertoire, he has collected the bounties of many high-profile figures, among which include Alderaanian nobes and the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic himself.

He isn't always successful, however. Despite being a prolific Jedi killer, he failed to apprehend the former Jedi-turned-space-pirate Narzu'chev who outwitted him and escaped his clutches aboard his own starship.

Yin considers his inability to claim the bounty on the Twi'lek to be his greatest failure. Few dare mention his humiliating defeat out of fear of finding out how it feels to have several inches of a beskar dagger in their eye.

Zraxajj Xendred (Bottom) is an unusual bounty hunter in many respects. As a Rattataki, he already defies many stereotypes of his species by being relatively peaceful and avoiding confrontation at all costs. As a bounty hunter, he confounds many of his peers by refusing all jobs that require bringing the bounty in dead.

A freelancer in every sense of the word, Zrax absolutely refuses to join the Bounty Hunter Guild despite potentially benefitting from higher-paying jobs. His one rule is that he always operates alone.

Given his gentler nature compared to most of his ilk, many wonder why on earth he even became a bounty hunter in the first place. Whenever asked this question, Zrax's response is always the same: "It's the only thing I know how to do."

That isn't to say he isn't intimidating, however. Given his stature and his armour, he makes an imposing figure. His chalk-white skin, blue tattoos and silver piercings, which are characteristic of his species, also tend to unsettle those who happen to look upon him helmetless.

Indeed, because he rarely takes off his helmet, many assume that he's human, especially in the xenophobic Sith Empire where aliens are regarded as second class citizens at best. In full gear, Zrax has the liberty to go places that are otherwise inaccessible to him.

An accomplished pyrotechnic, Zraxajj manages to wipe out a group of enemies fairly quickly if the occasion calls for it and can get out of a scrape like no one else. This has earned him the rather apt title of Blaze by those who know him by sight but not by name.

Did Yin & Zrax ever meet?

Their paths crossed only once and both vowed never to work with one another again. 

While it was beneficial to partner up to claim a particularly difficult bounty, Yin's more deceitful and ambitious nature caused him to betray Zrax and beat him pretty badly.

Zrax got his revenge, however, when he managed to torch Yin's rather expensive jet pack, causing it to fly off Yin's back and explode in mid-air. The distraction was more than enough to allow Zrax to escape.

#swtor #star wars the old republic #swtor ocs #bounty hunter ocs #oc: yin dal'qorr #oc: zraxajj xendred #rattataki #rattataki oc

[starwarsfic]

Mirci'runi

Originally posted August 20, 2020

Summary: He noticed the slow, terrible formation of the bond only because he was a Jedi. Obi-Wan knew his mind perfectly and the dark tendrils seeping through what had been near-impermeable shields could not be missed.

Details: Jango/Obi-Wan. Soulmate AU. Sithspawn Stewjoni AU.

CW: lots of consent issues. There's no actual r*pe in this, though much of what happens is very non-consensual.

xxxxxx

There was blood dripping from Obi-Wan's nose. If he didn't have worse things to worry about, he'd be concerned about the blue tinge, as if the medications to keep his iron content high were giving out.

No, he barely noticed it as he stumbled through his room to his fresher, clawing at his tunic. His chest was on fire, as if the skin had been scraped away and acid was being dripped onto the muscle and bone underneath.

When he was finally bare, staring at himself in the mirror, there was no damage. There was just a mark, dark and intricate, resting right above his heart.

A soulmark.

Humans didn't have soulmates, for as much as their culture was responsible for most of the romanticizing of the phenomenon, but Stewjoni did. Yet Stewjoni were born with their Marks, no matter if their Match existed yet or not.

They did not suddenly develop their Marks in their 30s like they were living in a holodrama.

And even then, no one hurt this badly developing a Mark. Obi-Wan had studied them as all Jedi did, to be ready if one of their fellows was Marked or when dealing with others who were. There was none that spoke of pain so awful he thought he was dying.

When he'd finally calmed himself, he took a holo of his chest for the Temple records, cleaned up the blood, and went straight to the Halls of Healing.

They, too, were baffled.

***

He noticed the slow, terrible formation of the bond only because he was a Jedi. Obi-Wan knew his mind perfectly and the dark tendrils seeping through what had been near-impermeable shields could not be missed.

Nothing he did could dislodge them, only slow them down. They caught like his barbs on flesh, but he caught not cut into his mind to extract them.

Once enough had settled, the fleeting feelings came--not overly much, not overly strong, he knew instinctively that whoever this bond connected to was far away. But enough to unsettle him, to interrupt him in the middle of a conversation or force him from meditation.

Then came the dreams. These could almost be what the holonovellas claimed they were, if he had wanted it. A phantom lover was the furthest thing from his desires, no matter how his mind (and his body, in the waking world) reacted to the caresses and embraces.

He found himself missing his Match during the day, desiring more and more to sleep when before he'd often need to be forcibly reminded to do so. He didn't, his willpower still held out, but that need ate away at him.

Jedi did not hate. Stewjoni weren't even capable of it. And yet Obi-Wan was starting to wonder if that's what he felt towards the Mark he'd developed, towards the Match at the other end.

***

The mission was a simple one: infiltrate a base, slice some data, blow it up. Obi-Wan was the only Jedi, his job mostly to make sure they avoided being noticed.

Inevitably, he failed.

As soon as they dropped out of hyperspace, he became aware of his soulbond--stronger and deeper than it had ever been before. On the other side, his Match must have noticed, anticipation thrumming across their connection.

They still had not fully Settled, would not until bare flesh touched bare flesh and their bodies served as conduits for their minds, so Obi-Wan could not tell much. But he knew his Match wanted this bond, wanted him, and he wondered what species he might be that such a horrible, late developing bond was so desired.

He warned the others on the mission that they might be compromised, but everyone decided to continue. Might be compromised and were compromised were two different things, after all, and for as much as they accepted "Jedi kriff" now, he knew there was still a level of distrust to his "mystical" abilities.

They got into the facility without issue. They even reached the datacenter and copied over the data. All the while the anticipation on the other side of his bond made Obi-Wan's muscles tense, his eyes constantly searching in shadows and doorways.

On their way out, the trap was sprung.

He had only a second of warning, the anticipation turning to triumph and making him push away from the others, knowing instinctively this was about him. That they could still complete their mission if he could just distract his Match enough.

That his Match was a Separatist was somehow not even surprising, anymore.

The droids poured in, cutting him off from the exit, and he did his best to keep all the attention on him. When they were joined by another fighter, a humanoid in beskar'gam clearly not trying for lethal force, Obi-Wan felt sick--and he hoped Fett was experiencing that, over the bond between them.

Officially, the resurgent Haat Mando'ade were neutral in the war, though everyone who fought in it knew Fett worked with the Separatists. But they couldn't prove Mand'alor Jango Fett of the True Mandalorians and the bounty hunter going by Jango Fett were the same person. Satine and Obi-Wan had many, many holo exchanges sharing their frustrations over that.

Fett being Obi-Wan's Match was impossible, though, his mind reeling with just the thought of it. They'd met in person multiple times, they often clashed on the battle field or in missions like this. If they were Matches, they would have known.

And yet Fett wasn't fighting to kill and when Obi-Wan was sure his people had gotten away and surrendered, it was accepted without issue.

He reluctantly rolled his lightsaber hilt towards Fett, who was in the process of taking off his buy'ce and didn't even seem to care. Smug satisfaction radiated down their bond, increasing as Fett walked towards him.

"It can't be you."

His Match laugh, dark amusement flowing from him. "You know it is. We're soulmates now, cyare."

"Now? Fett--"

He just managed to catch him as he invaded Obi-Wan's personal space, hands grappling for the weak points of the armor to push him back. But hand-to-hand combat against a Force user was something Fett had trained for and within moments Obi-Wan felt his arms being twisted behind him, their torsos flush against each other.

Fett looked up with an almost shy expression, the bond flowing with an unusual softness that forced Obi-Wan to relax with it.

Then Fett struck, his lips against Obi-Wan's, the bond tearing through the rest of his shields and clawing its way to his very core.

That hurt, too, nearly as much as the initial Marking had, and at some point Obi-Wan thankfully passed out.

***

He came awake, of course, in a bed, stripped down to his lowest layer. From the cramped quarters and the thrumming in the metal walls, it was in a ship that had already entered hyperspace.

Obi-Wan had to wonder if any of the data collected was worthwhile or if the entire mission had been a trap just for him.

The bond was not just background noise, now, he could feel Fett as he might once have Anakin--if they were standing in the same room with no shields at all at a point when their Master-Padawan bond had been its strongest. The emotions bled into him and, he assumed, his own bled back out.

After a lifetime of being bonded to people who respected the sanctity of someone's mind, it was jarring.

Fett had noticed he was awake, of course, and there was a moment of concentration which Obi-Wan took as him double checking the navcomp before making his way towards the room. Standing from the bed, Obi-Wan placed himself in the center, arms folded together as he didn't have sleeves to tuck them into.

The amusement that filtered into him let him know that his own awkwardness had been caught, and acknowledged.

Fett didn't bother knocking, striding into the room and going straight into Obi-Wan's personal space. Not that there was anything new about that, Fett had been doing that since their very first meeting.

His hands on Obi-Wan were a sudden shock, still, because it had felt as though the bond could not get stronger but then it did. He felt almost lighthearted from the intensity, not even caring at the way Jango's proprietary touch moved over him, peeling off the thing shirt he'd been wearing.

Technically, Obi-Wan wasn't defenseless. Even if he'd been human, he wouldn't be. And yet the idea of hurting Jango felt...impossible. At least until he had more control over his side of the bond.

"The Taungs, my ancestors, thought it was sinful for a the most skilled warriors to not join us," Fett murmured, hands sliding along Obi-Wan's body, seeming to pay the closest attention to the scars from the surgeries that made him look human. "There were ways to fix that, though, and one special way available to the highest ranking warriors."

Fett, the Mand'alor, was all but purring against him as Obi-Wan shivered in the closest semblance to horror he could manage.

"If the Mand'alor sees one skilled enough, mandokarla enough, to be their Match, what right does fate have to keep them apart?"

"You--this was--" he couldn't even bring himself to articulate the pieces he was putting together.

"You were meant to be my soulmate, cyare, I just made it so." He was kissing Obi-Wan, now, his neck, his shoulders, down his chest and tracing over the Mark. "The ritual was difficult, you were so resistant, but as soon as I knew what you were, I knew it would take. Taungs and Stewjoni have been Matched so many times before."

He felt lightheaded and stumbled back to the bed, Jango following, his own steps not entirely steady--at least he was affected by the bond, too.

This was a threat he hadn't even known could exist. In his thoughts it was wrong, so wrong, but the pressure from the bond pulsed rightness and belonging through him.

Even if he wanted to fight, to break free...there was no way he could go back to being what he had been. He was too compromised. And Fett--who was working with the Separatists, working with the Sith--might have even worse tricks up his sleeves if Obi-Wan did flee.

None of the lessons on Marks ever called them cages. None of the lessons on soulmates ever called them captives.

xxxxxx

A/N: I made a post on Tumblr about how often even innocent soulmate AUs can be interpreted as possessive/obsessive/dubcon and gave an idea for a darker soulmate AU that I ended up writing lol

This utilizes my sithspawn!Stewjoni headcanon wherein Obi-Wan isn't actually human, but is from a race of humanoid sentients that had been experimented on by Sith alchemists. It could arguably be seen as a sequel of sorts to my first drabble where I used the idea.

Jango Fett is the sort of person who would help bring countless child slave soldiers into the world to commit genocide against a religious order, so while I like softer Jango stuff (and, in fact, have written softer Jango stuff), this is not soft Jango.

mirci'runi comes from mircin (cage)/mircir (capture)/mirci't (prisoner) and runi (a poetic form of "soul")

#character: obi wan kenobi #character: jango fett #ship: kenfetti #verse: soulmate #verse: sithspawn stewjoni #theme: dark #theme: possessive behavior #theme: mandalorian culture

[ace-oreos]

Hamilton writing prompt #8

Those were for asks, right? I’m gonna feel dumb if they’re not

Haha yes, they were for asks. 

In true Dar fashion, I took this in a different direction than it was presented in the  show. Sort of. Also, does it still count if I don’t use the exact quote?

Hamilton prompt #8: “How ‘bout when I get back, we all strip down to our socks.”

(tw: mentions of alcohol)

Being coerced into attending another one of these social functions General Kenobi greatly enjoys would be bad enough without the Null ARC.

Alpha isn’t exactly surprised to see Mereel make his way through the crowd, glass in hand, charming anyone who will spare him half a glance. He’s smiling and flirtatious and nothing about him suggests he’s anything more than a harmless civilian enjoying a night on the town. 

Which he isn’t.

Which Alpha really couldn’t care less about. 

Normally.

Except he’s stuck in a suffocatingly hot room surrounded by several hundred people waltzing around in varying degrees of intoxication until General Kenobi returns from his negotiations with the Mandalorian duchess. A glorified bodyguard at best. 

Alpha kind of hates his life.

He also hates Mereel, which is why he sees no reason to acknowledge the other ARC. Mereel, having the mentality of a five year old and also just being Mereel, waves his hand in Alpha’s face until Alpha finally grumbles something that passes as a hello. 

“You’re such a killjoy, you know that?” Mereel says brightly, draping an arm over Alpha’s shoulders like they’re old friends. 

(They’re not.)

“I’ve been on babysitting duty for three hours,” Alpha informs him. “Excuse me for not prancing around holding hands with everyone and singing some aruetyc osik.”

Mereel rolls his eyes. “You’re so shabla dramatic.”

“That from the king of drama.”

“King is such a limited term, don’t you think? We prefer something a little more neutral.”

“We?”

“Unimportant,” Mereel says airily. “The point is - ”

“Mereel, I don’t give a - ”

“ - you need to expand your horizons,” Mereel finishes, poking Alpha in the chest.   

Alpha already knows far more about Mereel’s ideas for expanding his horizons than he ever wanted to. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Still hung up on upholding Fett’s legacy, eh? Can’t let your hair down with the rest of us mortals for once?” 

Alpha stiffens. “That’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Look, I’m not asking you to get disgustingly drunk, have an illicit affair with a high-ranking ambassador, and unwittingly destabilize an entire government. It’s not nearly as fun as it sounds, for one thing.”

“Wait, what - ”

“All I’m saying is, let your guard down a bit. Have some fun.” Mereel twirls the ornate glass between his fingers. “No one has to know.”

“Do you ever contribute anything to the war effort?” Alpha demands. 

“I’d love to discuss classified information with you, ner vod, but you’re dodging the issue.” 

“I’m not dodging anything!” 

“Coward,” Mereel mutters. “Wait one.”

Mereel marches away before Alpha can get a word in. He lets out a long sigh, thinking maybe he’s gotten off easy for once. Sadly, Mereel returns not two minutes later, accompanied by a woman who is gazing up at him with a look of complete adoration. 

Alpha fixes Mereel with a glare. “You can’t be serious.”

“Hearts and minds, Captain.”

“You are such a - ” Alpha glances at the woman and rapidly changes track. “Um, nice to meet you?” 

“Your brother?” the woman asks Mereel like Alpha isn’t standing right there.

“Yes,” the Null answers, reaching out to ruffle Alpha’s hair.

Alpha swats him away. “No.”

“But aren’t you - ”

“Genetically identical?” Alpha interrupts wearily. “Actually, no.”

“I’m a headcase,” Mereel says helpfully.

“That’s true.”

“And I’m older.” 

“By a few months. That’s not that big a difference.”

“I see,” the woman says. She manages to look politely interested.

Mereel disentangles himself from her and throws his arm around Alpha’s shoulders again; Alpha promptly grinds his heel into the other ARC’s foot. Mereel winces almost imperceptibly, then tightens his hold until Alpha is crushed against his side. 

“With my brother being so young and all, he hasn’t gotten the chance to… experience the social scene to its fullest. I thought you might be able to do something about that.” Mereel grins and adds impishly, “He’s shy.”

The woman, sadly, seems to be interested by this train of thought. Alpha, quite frankly, would rather die.

Mereel frowns like he’s thinking. Then his face splits into a stupid grin once more. “Tell you what, I’ll get us some drinks, we’ll have some fun, maybe go somewhere less crowded, and strip down to our socks.”

Alpha, very aware that his face is bright red, can only manage to stammer out a horrified “Mereel!” 

Based on how all twelve years of Alpha’s life have gone thus far, he has very little faith in the will of the Force or anything like that, but when Obi-Wan Kenobi chooses that moment to reappear at the far end of the room - casting rapid glances over his shoulder and looking a little more red-faced than when he left - Alpha is devoutly thankful. 

The room erupts in chatter at the sight of the Jedi. Alpha takes advantage of Mereel’s momentary distraction to duck away and leave the crowd far behind.

Mereel still finds him half an hour later. He looks surprisingly steady for someone who’s spent the last several hours sampling the finest wines this side of the Core. 

“I wasn’t joking when I said you were shy,” he observes. 

“We’ve been over this,” Alpha grumbles. “You know I don’t… I’m not…”

“Well-versed in women? Precisely why I offered to help.”

“It’s not that,” Alpha sighs.

Mereel tilts his head. “Men? I can help with that, too.”

“Neither,” Alpha says firmly. “All that stuff you were talking about - I’m not interested.”

“The drinking part I can understand, you’re underage and I know you’re a stickler for rules - ”

“Not that, di’kut. The other stuff.” 

“Oh, the - ah. Right.”

“I’m serious. None of that interests me.” Mereel looks like he might actually be listening, so Alpha takes a chance and continues, “Look, I’m not looking for a relationship, alright? I don’t want one. Ever. I’m okay with that. In fact I’d prefer it that way.”

Mereel studies him. Alpha waits to hear you just haven’t met the right one yet! Or the ever-popular how do you know if you’ve never tried?

“It’s all good, ner vod,” Mereel says at last. “It’s your life.” He reaches up to ruffle Alpha’s hair. 

Alpha catches his wrist. “Don’t push your luck.”

Mereel takes the hint but still bumps his shoulder into Alpha’s on his way back inside. “K’oyacyi, vod’ika.”

“Where are you off to?” Alpha asks, letting vod’ika slide for the time being. 

The Null smiles crookedly. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll hear about it.”

“Are we talking explosions or something a little more… subtle?” 

“Don’t ruin the surprise, vod’ika. It’s my big moment.”

“Next time you get an op like that, we’re trading places.”

“Deal.” 

“Keep me updated on the general’s proceedings with the duchess.”

Alpha rolls his eyes. Kenobi and the duchess are another headache he won’t ever be prepared to deal with. 

“You might want to keep an eye on that,” Mereel tosses over his shoulder. “I think they’ve wandered off again.”

Yeah, Alpha’s had about as much as he can take of these little social exploits.

#alpha-17 #alpha 17 #obi-wan kenobi #mereel skirata #alpha is aroace #i will die on this hill #star wars #the clone wars #fanfic #answered asks #thanks for the prompt!

[rebelsofshield]

Star Wars: The Clone Wars: “Old Friends Not Forgotten” -Review

The years awaited finale to Star Wars: The Clone Wars explodes onto screen in a fantastically cinematic episode that ranks as the best of the season and one of the strongest installments of the series.

(Review contains episode spoilers)

The Clone Wars are raging. The Jedi and their loyal clones are sent out to the far reaches of the galaxy to fend off a wave of invasions by General Grievous. Midway through the defense of the planet Yerbana, Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi receive word from Ahsoka Tano and her new Mandalorian allies that Maul might be finally vulnerable to capture. With a limited window of time, the plea is made for the Republic to assist in a siege of the Mandalorian capital of Sundari. However, when a surprise attack is made on the planet of Coruscant, Obi-Wan and Anakin must make a difficult decision about loyalty.

Wow. Any concerns about the potential aimlessness of this final season of The Clone Wars are more or less evaporated in this thrilling half hour of television. Never before has Star Wars animation seemed more cinematic and confident than in “Old Friends Not Forgotten.” From the first frame that opens up with the classic Lucasfilm logo to the sweeping musical score to the fantastically layered and complex action sequences, The Clone Wars finale feels like an experience meant to be on part with the most grand of the franchise’s big screen counterparts. There is quite simply nothing else like this and the idea that we are only one fourth into this final adventure is nothing less than thrilling.

There’s quite simply just so much to talk about in “Old Friends Not Forgotten.” It feels like an intense labor of love from all involved and not a moment is wasted in the episode’s extended runtime. Dave Filoni’s script is perfectly paced, tonally varied, and emotionally nuanced.

On its most basic level, it’s impressive how much the set up and execution of The Siege of Mandalore really does feel like the culmination of the series’ many different themes and plotlines. It’s an organic amalgamation of everything that has come before and feels surprisingly more inevitable than you would expect. It’s honestly an impressively large amount of storytelling ground to cover as The Siege of Mandalore not only has to offer closure to Ahsoka’s story arc, but also Maul’s, Mandalore’s, and Anakin and Obi-Wan’s, while also tying into arguably the darkest point in Star Wars history.

It’s ultimately Ahsoka that ends up being the star here and rightfully so. Filoni smartly positions her as fully jaded of the Jedi’s role in the war and galactic politics and her support for Bo-Katan and her people feels born out of a want to help the needy and to direct her talents and powers to those that actually need her assistance (even if her determination to assist Bo-Katan still feels a tad flimsy). It’s a smart evolution of her story arc and seeing her lead a crusade to help others independent of Anakin or the Republic feels like the right step for her character. It also creates an interesting hypocrisy in her. Anakin and Obi-Wan’s want for caution in assistance for Ahsoka’s mission to not only to protect existing treaties with Mandalore but to also make sure that they are available to help other planet’s in need like Coruscant, feels grounded in a certain logic that makes sense. Sure, Obi-Wan may be too cautious and may be slowly slipping away from the compassion that always defined his character, but their decision to play things careful feels logical. Ahsoka’s rejection may not be, but it’s fitting for her character. It makes sense that after her ordeals that she wouldn’t see the judgement of the Jedi Council to be worth a damn. There’s a recklessness to her resolve that feels classically in tune with her character even if she has evolved to a more capable role than ever. Considering what is about to happen, it could be argued that Ahsoka’s involvement could in fact have disastrous consequences for the people that she is trying to protect, but we will have to wait and see. Maybe, I’m reading too much into this. Who knows. Prove me right, Dave.

The entire sequence of Ahsoka’s reunion and bargaining with Anakin and Obi-Wan is some of the smartest writing and voice acting that this series has done. Obi-Wan’s pained defense of his feelings for Satine to Bo-Katan feels like the right culmination of his character here. He’s still a compassionate and human character, arguably more so than any of the other traditional Jedi, but at this point he’s as caught in the cogs of the Republic war machine as anyone. Anakin’s eager want for reconciliation carries an emotional heart to it that is hard not to fall for. This is a moment that he has been waiting for for some time and Matt Lanter sells Anakin’s bargaining for some kind of resolution between him and his former apprentice with intense sincerity. Considering the awful acts that are about to happen, there’s a heartbreaking tragedy hanging over it all. Perhaps most impressive is the nuanced emotional state given to Ahsoka. There’s definitely a want to reconnect with Anakin and his gestures of good will are accepted, but there is a hurt there that isn’t mended. Ashley Eckstein sells her dialogue here with a sense of reticence and conflict. She can recognize that there is a bond there between her and Anakin, but it’s not one that is going to heal anytime soon.

It also makes perfect sense that it would ultimately be Rex that Ahsoka feels the most comfortable with at this point. It’s easy to see Rex as playing as much as a conflicted role in the war as she is and his connection to the larger Republic institution or the Jedi Order is tertiary. There is a bond here that feels trusting and still strong and it’s sweet to see the affection between both characters.

The fact that director Saul Ruiz and Filoni allow so much time for this sort of character interaction is a testament to the stellar pacing in “Old Friends Not Forgotten.” It’s a smart sequence of scenes that offers much of the emotional closure and connective tissue that fans have been clamoring for for years.

If the first half of “Old Friends Not Forgotten” was heavy on character, Ruiz kicks into high gear with the second half. The raid on Mandalore contains some of the most spectacular and larger than life action that the show has ever realized. The airborn battle between Republic drop ships, Mandalorian starfighters, jet packed Bo-Katan loyalists versus Maul’s men, and Ahsoka hopping from ship to ship is complex and cluttered with moving parts. It could have easily been a chaotic mess, but the direction here is fluid and exciting. The scale and violence of the conflict is sold without sacrificing character and coherence and there is likely no moment more cheer worthy in this series than Ahsoka’s thrilling descent to the landing platforms of Sundari.

It’s also impressive just how much of the complex political situation on Mandalore is kept intact. I was almost worried that the delightfully slimy Prime Minister Almec or the loyally fluid Gar Saxon would sit this one out, but they get their time to shine just as much as our heroes. Given the context of past season’s stories on Mandalore and taking account the larger story of this planet in Rebels and The Mandalorian, it really feels like no balls were left in the air. This is a pivotal moment for many characters and factions in the history of the saga and it’s nice to see that none of this was brushed aside.

The only clunky area for “Old Friends Not Forgotten” is the handling of Maul’s larger scheme. While the idea that the Siege of Mandalore was developed as a last ditch effort to trap Obi-Wan to exact revenge is a smart twist in the overall narrative, it’s hard not to feel that there are some rough edges around the handling of Maul’s status at the start of this episode. There was really never going to be a way to explain away the events of the Son of Dathomir in the context of the series. Covering it in a traditional Clone Wars style recap would be clunky and unneeded and retconning it would do no good for anyone. For viewers of the show only, it basically reads that Palpatine arrived to stop Maul’s operation on this planet only for him to end up exactly where he started. It’s more than a little awkward and head scratching. Maybe we will get some descriptive dialogue somewhere down the line, but I can imagine some series only fans being more than a little put off by this development.

“Old Friends Not Forgotten” ends on one of the most thrilling cliffhangers in the history of the saga. There is quite simply so much at stake and given the absolutely stellar execution of this first chapter, it’s hard not to count the minutes until the next chapter drops. For all the awkward roads here and all of the tragedy that is about to follow, The Clone Wars looks to end on a high note. Thank goodness.

Score: A

#Star Wars #The Clone Wars #Clone Wars #Star Wars: The Clone Wars #review #reviews #Ahsoka Tano #The Siege of Mandalore

[lady-tenten]

Title: Stars Ignited (A Star Wars AU) Pairing: NejiTen Word Count: 3404 Chapter: 3/?

Summary: When Mandalorian bounty hunter Tenten is commissioned to kidnap King Neji, will she have the heart to go through with it when the two start to get to know each other?

AO3 link - Google Doc Link or read below

previous chapter

A day had passed between when they left Naboo and when they landed and Tenten and Neji were immediately escorted to meet the king of this new system. It didn’t take long at all for the negotiations to start though how long it was that Tenten had to sit on the sideline while the negotiation took place, she wasn’t sure. She did have to fight off the urge to fall asleep where she sat though. Admittedly she had a hard time falling asleep the night before, after learning all that she had about the king. He was more or less just as quiet as he promised he would be after their conversation but he left her with much to think about. On one hand, she and Lee needed the money and they were already locked into this mission. The commissioner who threatened them made sure of that. But on the other, her conscience was beginning to eat away at her. Could she really allow herself to be the reason this man died? Or worse? The remainder of the trip was spent with her sitting up at the controls with Lee, with her gaze occasionally drifting over to him idly as she became lost in thought.

It didn’t help that the negotiations were also incredibly boring to listen to. Tenten hated listening to politics. No matter what system she was on, politicians all made her sick. However, of what she did care to listen to, there was something different about Neji’s style of running things. He seemed to genuinely care about the people of his system. It was easy to tell with his tone and how stubborn he could be on some points that what he did was genuinely for the benefit of his system and its citizens. Admittedly, she didn’t know the first thing about what it took to run a system but she still found herself somewhat impressed by how Neji was handling it so far. Naboo would be losing a really good leader.

Tenten sat up when she noticed the meeting had concluded, her hands moving to her lap as she watched the leaders bow to each other. Her eyes fell on Neji, watching him bid the other system’s leader goodbye after a long session of negotiations. To her, he seemed so in his element, as though he had been doing this his whole life. Her attention moved to his face, his expression was polite yet for the most part unreadable. Tenten felt a knot form in her stomach as she kept her focus on him. He was so unassuming, carrying himself like he wasn’t going to meet certain doom in a matter of time. She stood up as Neji approached her, attention focused up at him as he stopped before her.

“We’ve finished negotiations for the day. Let’s head out now.” Tenten didn’t object and immediately moved to stand by Neji’s side as they left the room. A content breath escaped her as she was relieved to be out of that room and was now able to stretch her legs. “I apologize for the meeting taking as long as it did. Thank you for waiting for me.”

“Hm?” Tenten looked up at Neji as they walked briefly before refocusing on their path and giving a small shrug of her shoulders. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” she responded nonchalantly, then falling silent again. She looked back up at Neji out of the corner of her eye briefly, then looking back forward. He looked better now, more relaxed. Tenten could only surmise that his calmer demeanor now was the result of being less stressed. The meeting, from the small amount she paid attention, seemed to have gone well. If he was as new to being a king as he said he was, she could only imagine how stressed out he was before the meeting.

“We’ll be staying here for the night. The king already has rooms for all three of us to stay in. And he wants us to come to dinner tonight as his guests,” Neji informed lightheartedly. He felt a small sense of pride build up in his chest after that long meeting. He was thankful that the king he had negotiated with was so agreeable. He could only hope that the next two negotiations would go as smoothly. The idea of getting to stay on this system as guests was also appealing to Neji. He had only shared a room with Sion for one night and he was already tired of it. He snores too much and mumbles incoherently in his sleep.

“Really?” Scora looked back over at him with her eyebrows slightly raised, clearly intrigued by the invitation. “That sounds nice. I take it that means everything went smoothly?”

“It did,” Neji looked down at her and nodded. “Naboo gained a strong ally today. I’m hoping this means something good for the remaining two negotiations as well.”

“I’m sure it does,” Tenten responded kindly. At least everything was going according to plan so far.

The rest of the day had come and gone. Anything the three of them would need while spending the night had been loaded into their respective rooms and they were allowed some free time until dinner. Neji had changed clothes, exchanging his heavy robes for something more simple and suited to the occasion. Dinner had been nice. Neji observed that there weren’t too many people at the table, just the three of them and the king of this system and his spouse along with a senator and a few ambassadors. Thankfully it was easy to keep the conversation going with the various contributing voices. Neji didn’t think it would go as well if it was just the king and him. Conversation was never his strong suit. However he did notice that Scora and Sion were speaking even less than he was. They seemed to only speak when spoken to and even then, they would speak as little as possible. Their posture also seemed stiff and tense, though why they both seemed so unrelaxed was a mystery to him. He wouldn’t comment on it now though, and risk making them even more uncomfortable.

After dinner, Neji decided to check on his companions. Sion had somehow already managed to fall asleep by the time Neji got to his chamber. That was alright, he would just check on him in the morning. He then made his way over to Scora’s chamber, allowing his presence to be known and patiently waiting for her to allow him in.

Dinner had felt uncomfortable for Tenten to say the least. She and Lee had been surrounded by high ranking public officials, not to mention security. There was a fear that they might say the wrong thing, or say something that would get them caught. She had instructed Lee to speak only when spoken to, and to say as little as possible to lower the chance of that happening. That aside though, Tenten found herself enjoying the lavish dinner. She could get used to eating like this. Getting to go to her chamber though was the nicest part of the night. She spent some time exploring the room when she first arrived. It was a big room, with a big bed neatly done with silk sheets and an expensive looking blanket. Close to it was a desk with elaborate patterns carved into the wood and a chair to go with it. There was a couch and a small table on the other end, and scattered throughout the room were various small plants and ornaments. She wasn’t sure what they were made of but they did look expensive. Tenten made a mental note to pocket a few of them. They could be worth something if she sold them. The part that intrigued her the most about the room though was the balcony. She stepped out onto it, resting her arms on the rail to look out over the rest of the district. She took in the sight of the unusual nature of the planet, noting the various shapes and colors the plants came in here. Some of them even glowed. Tenten had been to many different planets in search of work but she seldom ever got to slow down to take in the systems she was visiting. Getting to do that now it felt...nice.

Her attention quickly shifted to the door, hearing that someone was there. She quickly moved to the door to open it and her eyebrows raised slightly seeing who it was waiting for her on the other end.

“Your highness,” she looked up to him with confusion, her gaze then shifting out into the hall behind him and then back up to him. “Is something wrong?” Tenten shifted aside to allow him in.

“Master Jedi. I just came to thank you for your service today,” Neji responded simply before walking in.

“Oh. Uh...no problem. I didn’t really do anything but I’m glad I could be of service.” Tenten smiled. That couldn’t be it though, there had to be something else he wanted. Why else would he come inside her room? “By the way… you don’t have to call me that.” The fun that came with pretending to be a jedi had quickly worn off. She couldn’t pinpoint why, but being addressed that way was beginning to make her uncomfortable. At least she was used to the idea of using fake names. “Just...Scora is fine.”

“Alright. Scora it is.” Neji gave a short nod and the corners of his lips pulled up in a small smile. She seemed very different now, with her hair braided over her shoulder as opposed to being pulled up in twin buns, and having exchanged her jedi attire for something more comfortable. She seemed more relaxed now as opposed to dinner. It was a relief. “I also came to ask, if you don’t mind me doing so, were you alright at dinner? You and Sion were very quiet.”

Tenten blinked at the question and hesitated. He was more observant than she thought.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry about it,” she quickly dismissed with a wave of her hand. “It’s a...jedi thing. We’re taught that it’s better to sometimes just sit and listen.” Was that true? Tenten wasn’t sure. She could only hope it sounded preachy and obnoxious enough to pass as something a jedi would say. It seemed to be good enough for the king though, as he didn’t press on any further.

“I see. Well then I’m relieved it’s nothing. I feared that something had upset you or made you uncomfortable.” Tenten was somewhat taken aback hearing him say that. It wasn’t often people outside of just Lee expressed worry for her. Even if it was something this small. She wasn’t sure what to make of the feeling. It was strange, though not necessarily bad. Her shoulders relaxed. She hadn’t even realized she was tensing them to begin with upon Neji arriving in her room.

“Thanks for the concern. I’m fine though, really.” Tenten smiled up at him gently before looking around the room. “It’s kind of hard to be uncomfortable when you’re staying in a palace as beautiful as this one. I’ll bet you’re used to staying in palaces like this one though.” As she spoke she walked back over to the balcony, then looking back to Neji to make sure he followed after her. She rested her elbows on the railing once more and looked out over the land, enjoying the fresh air that came with the light breeze flowing around her. Neji soon joined her. He stood up straight beside her and moved his arms to lightly cross over his chest as he took a moment to take in the view.

“Actually, no. This is my first time in another king’s palace. Well really, my first time leaving Naboo all together,” he admitted. “I agree with you though, this palace is very nice. Along with the rest of the system.” Neji moved forward, moving to rest his arms on the balcony railing and looking out into the distance. Tenten looked over at him with somewhat raised eyebrows, intrigued.

“Really?” She held a tone of disbelief as she spoke and she brought a hand up for her to rest her chin on as she watched him for another moment, then looking back out over the balcony. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to just be stuck on one planet all the time.”

“I’ve never really thought about it before. Even back as a prince, I had plenty to keep me busy growing up between my royal duty and looking after my sisters.” Neji shifted, turning around and leaning back against the railing. “I’m certainly enjoying this experience more than I thought I would though, all things considered.”

“Your sisters, huh? Is that who those two girls standing behind you were back on Naboo?” Neji seemed much more family oriented than she thought he would be. Tenten had always assumed the worst about royalty, that they only cared about themselves and the power they had over others. Neji seemed different though. Unlike any other politician Tenten had encountered, either for a bounty or otherwise, she realized that Neji seemed to actually have a heart.

“Yes, that’s them. Well, technically, they’re my cousins. They’re both the daughters of the previous king. But we were all raised together so really I can’t help but think of them as my sisters,” Neji explained, his arms then moving to loosely cross over his chest. His gaze wandered up briefly to look at the stars before his gaze traveled down to her, lingering on her face and taking note of the way the stars and the various glowing plants down below reflected off her face and eyes. He found himself liking the tone of this conversation better than their first one on the ship. When the topic wasn’t heavy, and he himself was relaxed, he found her to be an easy person to talk to. “Their father had always been a busy man and so growing up I took it upon myself to look after them both. I don’t know where I would be now without them.”

“Mhm...well if you’re as good of a brother as you are a negotiator, I’ll bet they feel lucky to have you,” Tenten responded honestly, her gaze then shifting back up to his face and a small smile momentarily pulling at her lips. She was quickly starting to find the dynamic of Neji’s family quite intriguing. Maybe it was just the fact that she never really had a family of her own before that made her so interested in listening to the small things Neji would reveal about his own? Even then though, his family dynamic felt different than the traditional ones. There were pieces missing from the story that Tenten couldn’t fill in on her own. She kept her attention on him and curiously tilted her head. “But...what about your own father? Where’s he?”

Neji felt a sense of coldness grow in his stomach after hearing her question and for a moment he didn’t speak. His lilac eyes stayed trained on her somberly for another moment before they drifted to the ground. After all these years, it was still a sore subject for him.

“He was killed by the resistance group, known on Naboo as Daybreak. I was only four years old at the time.” Neji closed his eyes and let out a quiet breath through his nose. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Neji mustered up the ability to tell the painful story. He then opened his eyes and looked back down at Scora briefly before his gaze trained on the ground in front of him. “My uncle was generally disliked by the people of Naboo, and Daybreak had always been a radical group who was very vocal about their hatred of him. They’re the same group that I had mentioned was rumored to be aligned with the Separatists. They’ve been trying for years to overthrow my uncle and multiple assassination attempts have been made on his life and they were almost lucky once. You see, my father and uncle were identical twin brothers. One of their attempts to assassinate my uncle was mistakenly made on my father instead and, unfortunately, they succeeded. Since then I have been raised under my uncle’s care, along with his two daughters.” Neji let out a quiet sigh after concluding his story. Silence hung in the air and he continued to stare at the ground. It had been sixteen years since then and it was still a difficult topic for him to speak about. After another moment, he continued.

“I don’t agree with the way my uncle ran things as king. He was selfish and only did things for his own benefit, or the benefit of the elites of our system. I can understand why the people of Naboo didn’t like him. That’s why I need these negotiations to work. I need to restore the people of Naboo’s faith in its leadership again and I need to do right by them.” Hearing his story and then hearing his resolve, Tenten was reminded of why she was here in the first place. She felt her heart grow heavy and then felt it begin to sink, realizing that she would be taking it all away from him.

“Hey,” she called softly, turning around so her back was to the railing. She stepped  toward him and tilted her head to try and get his attention. “Listen...I’m no politician or anything but for what it's worth...I thought you did well today. If the way you did things today means anything for how you can run a whole system, I know Naboo is in good hands,” she tried to reassure him against her better judgement. Why it was she was trying to console the subject of her bounty, she had no idea. Perhaps it was the guilt weighing her down, knowing that she would directly be the reason that his vision for his system would never be realized? Or maybe she wanted him to believe everything was going according to his plan for now until she thought of a way to get out of this. Either way, she was prepared for another long, restless night. At least she got to see that her words put the king at ease when she saw his facial expression relax.

“I appreciate that, Scora. It means a great deal to me, knowing someone thinks that.” He looked back up and gave Tenten a small gentle smile. She looked up at him and their eyes locked for a moment before Tenten’s gaze trailed to the side.

“It’s...don’t mention it.” She stole one last glance up at his face before her eyes trailed over to the door. “Anyway...it was very sweet of you to come check on me, your highness. Thank you.” Neji’s eyes stayed focused on her face for a moment before he turned to start walking toward the door.

“You’re welcome. And by the way, it’s Neji.” Tenten’s eyes widened slightly after hearing the correction and she looked back up to him. She quickly moved to follow him to the door.

“Oh. Well then...good night, Neji,” she responded, taking the opportunity to try out his name.

“Good night, Scora,” Neji greeted back, taking a second to look back at her with kind eyes before he exited the room. Tenten closed the door behind him and for a moment stood still, her hand gently resting on the door. She sighed deeply and bit her bottom lip as the sense of guilt in her chest grew. This wasn’t right but at the moment she had no idea what to do about it. She was too exhausted to come up with anything but she also knew she would never get to sleep that night. She looked back at her bed before padding over to it. It was a shame how warm and inviting it looked to sleep in when she knew she would be spending the night tossing and turning instead of relaxing in it. Nonetheless, she still climbed under the sheets and closed her eyes while trying to make herself as comfortable as she could. This would be a long night and she had a lot more to think about.

#Neji Hyuuga #Tenten (Naruto) #NejiTen #Rock Lee #Naruto #Naruto x Star Wars #Team Gai Star Wars AU #my writing