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notthestarwar · 10 months

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Snippet from: what the living do

Obi Wan speaks to ghost Jango about loss, fatherhood, and what the hell lies between him and Cody.

Obi Wan feels his brow wrinkle as he tilts his head again. He is so very close.

Curiosity distracts from his anger for a moment as he has a realisation.

"Did you name any of the other clones?" He asks.

Jango's spine is ramrod straight. He is as still as prey caught in the gaze of a hunter. He swallows. "Only Boba. "

Which Obi Wan had known, so why did he ask?

He is so close, he can feel the displacement of air. He can see the blurred shape of it just outside his line of sight.

He waits.

Jango frowns down at his hands. "The thing about babies is they don't really do a lot. There's a whole lot of waiting."

The look on his face is almost earnest. He is giving Obi Wan this look like he wants to convince the both of them of something.

"The clones though, they'd made them so they grew twice as fast. I wanted to be good, for Boba. I'd messed up so many times before, this I wanted to do right."

Obi Wan frowns slightly trying to understand the link...

Jango's eyes have faded in to something distant.

"I wanted to be the kind of Buir Jaster was. I don't remember my first Buire, they died before I was old enough to make any kind of judgement, so I don't know if they were something I'd want to be or not. But I knew Jaster and Jaster was the kind of parent any parent wants to be."

"I imagine my first Buire were good parents, cause I was broken up when they died, I missed them like it was something tangible. Even now, I feel it. The day I lost them, the part of my heart that had always loved them turned to stone, frozen in time and I've carried that ever since. They must have been good, to have had that impact. But I won't ever really know."

"It's a funny thing. Standing there holding your kid, a little person that's completely dependent on you."

"I looked in to his face, that first day and I just realised that I had no idea how to do it. I was a grown man, older than my Buire ever got to be, but he grabbed my finger and he held on so tight and in that moment I just knew I wanted better for him than the man I was in that moment, I wanted to be better for him and I had no clue where to start."

"I hadn't had a parent since I was 15. But stood there, in that room, I suddenly felt like I needed one. I needed someone to tell me how they did it. I wanted to be able to ask them, any of them, Jaster, my Buire on Concord Dawn; but I couldn't because they weren't there. I spent more years living without a parent than I ever did with even one, what kind of parent would that make me."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "That isn't very Mandalorian of me you know."

"We have this saying 'Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.' No-one cares who your father was, only what kind of father you'll be."

"My whole life, i'd had this idea that you don't need a parent to be a parent. That once you have a kid, you just have to love them and you'll be what they need, you'd be a good parent just from that love. But suddenly, it seemed like a lie."

"It shouldn't have mattered to me, but it did, it mattered more than I ever wanted it to. I just felt lost. Even though I knew I shouldn't."

"I stood with him in my arms and I just had this foggy image of who Jaster had been for me. This indistinct feeling of who my first Buire had been to me. I wanted to give him everything."

Jango fell quiet.

He swallowed. "I knew that if i wanted to be a good Buir, I would need to learn and I wanted to do it fast, before Boba started forming memories."

Continuing with a frown."I didn't want Boba to know that I hadn't been ready. It wasn’t like he was a surprise, I should have been ready, I should have prepared better, but here he was and I hadn't. His first day in the Galaxy and i'd already failed him."

"If you want to learn something well, the best way is to have a good teacher. Jaster was like that, he taught me so much; to fight, to politik, to lead. He taught me histories, he loved history, and he taught me Maths and languages; anything he knew, he taught me and he did it well."

"But Jaster was gone, and there weren't any parents left in my life to teach me, so I needed to teach myself. That wasn't a problem in itself. I've been alone a long time, if I want to know something, I need to work on it myself."

" I've always been good at teaching myself. If I decide to learn something? Then I'll learn to do it well. There is no alternative. I don't go in with half my shebs. I commit."

"It is difficult to get good at something without practice. Especially if you are self taught. Practice, that is the cornerstone of competence."

No.

"They'd said the clones wouldn't think like people but once they got to about 2 you could tell that they were close enough. It was pretty strange, them all looking like me and it wasn't just that, i'd been told they didn't think like people but you wouldn't know it to see them, they were all so much like me. Some of them, even more so than the rest."

Were Jango a better man, were this a different story, this might have been a turning point.

He saw himself in those children and maybe in another life, to another Jango, that might have been the start of something. He might have realised that the Clones were people, he might have realised that like all people, they deserved compassion. They deserved anything else. He might have done anything, to improve things for them.

This isn't that story.

"There was this one little clone, in the CC class, and he really reminded me of myself. I know they're all clones but this one in particular, just had something about him. So I took over some of his training. "

Obi Wan knows the end of this story, he has always known the end of this story. That doesn't make it easier to hear. It makes it harder. There is no hope hearing this story in reverse.

There is no redemption for Jango Fett. Not in this story. Any chance for that had passed long before Obi Wan ever met him.

"It's difficult seeing someone day in day out, talking to them, having that kind of closeness, without having a name to call them by. It feels weird, using a number. A code. it's strange but, it turned my gut a little bit, to call him by a code. So I picked a name for him. "

He wants to put his hand over Jango's mouth. Like if he can stop him saying it, it won't be real.

He is beginning to see this thing between Cody and Jango for what it is. He wants to undo it. Make it unreal. He can see it like a shot put, dropped from a height and cold in his gut. He can't stop it. It's already happened.

"You named him." He said numbly.

Jango gave a slight nod. "Kote."

#snippet #mywriting ntwyw #Jango #Obi Wan #this one's an old one but I've been thinking about it today #Jango is strangely honest (it's a side effect of being a ghost)#my writing ntwyw

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din-djarins-riduur · 2 years

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The Book of Boba Fett | Thoughts Pt. VII

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Gif 1 : by @humanveil

Gif 2 : by @trashcora

Gif 3 : by @bobafettdaily

Kandosii ! That was so fun to watch ! It honestly breaks my heart how a lot of people didn’t like this show. Though it did have some flaws, overall, I would say this show is a 9/10. It felt a bit rushed in some moments, but what else could you do with only seven episodes ? I think they did fine with about one hour long episodes. For me at least, we got the perfect amount of fleshing out for Boba’s character and I know that this isn’t the last that we’ll see of him. Him and Din are vode now. Nothing can ever separate that bond. They’re aliit.

I loved this episode. It was full of action and kept you at the edge of your seat. I loved the environment, the sets and the amount of people they actually used to film. They didn’t just stick with Boba’s palace team, but also used civilians and the people of Freetown. I appreciated how much detail went into the costumes, the make up and the overall whole look and atmosphere of Mos Espa. They really brought so much more life to it and for once I don’t see Tatooine as just a sand pit. It has people who love living there and who want to see better things for it. It’s not just a planet for scum and villainy.

I also loved seeing Boba and Din working together. Of course, I’ve never seen them as enemies, but they come from the same culture in a way even if it’s a little different. It’s like a Mexican and a Chicano meeting together, sharing the same culture and beliefs, but also growing up in very different places. (I’m Mexican-American myself so that’s why I used the comparison) It was beautiful seeing them fight together and even helping one another up and shielding the other. As a fan of the Republic Commando books this was also very satisfying to see. In the Clone Wars, we only ever saw the Death Watch. And in Mandalorian we met a cult of Mandalorians with intense beliefs and rules. Here though, we really get to see what Mandalorians are truly about: helping a brother in need and fighting together to protect family and territory. When I saw these two fly in together I couldn’t help but see Walon Vau and Kal Skirata from the Republic Commando series. It was beautiful honestly.

Other parts that I loved :

• The stand off between Cad and Boba was so satisfying. I loved how Boba’s past insecurities showed up for a moment, saying he was no longer a little boy. And I loved how heated he got when Cad insulted Jango. I love that that’s never gone away from his character. Boba loved his father fiercely and protecting his buir’s honor is the most Mandalorian thing I’ve ever seen.

• The reunion between Grogu and Din was honestly the most gut wrenching thing I’ve ever seen. The way Grogu flew into Din’s arms and the way Din struggled to speak and cried made me so happy to see them together. Those two deserve one another and I don’t see it at all as Disney needing Grogu to stay for merchandizing. Mandalorians are a loyal to one another and cherish family and the relationship between Grogu and Din shows that.

• Lastly, I’d like to say the scene with Grogu and the rancor made me tear up. Idk it just made me gush with so much pride seeing how far he’s come, no longer being scared to use the Force. For so long he’s had to hide it, but Luke showed him that it’s okay. Grogu’s confidence in himself with the Force has grown so much and I’m so proud of my little green son. I can’t wait to see him learn more skills in his own time.

Bonus : This scene made me blush HAHA I had to fan myself and take a moment to breathe LMAO HOTTEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN. GOSH IM SUCH A NERD. ONLY A STAR WARS OBSESSIVE FREAK LIKE ME WOULD FIND THIS TOP TIER MALE ATTRACTION LMAO

Ugh can we please live in a world where men dress like this instead of t-shirts and shorts bahahaha

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Rex and Anakin Raise a Family: Part Two

Part One

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Anakin takes the news with... not grace, really, but an odd sort of resignation.

"Room to fix things," he mutters to himself, eyes set unseeing on Luke's tiny form.

Twins are often born smaller than single births, Rex remembers hearing somewhere. He hopes that's the only reason these two are so small. Leia feels absolutely minuscule in his arms.

He wishes he could ask Kix.

"Do you want to find Jango?"

Rex lifts his head to find Anakin staring at him with an earnest kind of depression. It's strange, and sad, and not helping with the question. "What?"

"You... you grew up with a lot of family," Anakin mutters, eyes cutting away to the side. "Fett would be a kid right now, yeah? He's... young. And you don't have the family that you used to have, but--"

"I'm not going to go out and find Fett to adopt him," Rex says firmly. "He was a genetic donor and once or twice a teacher. I have no interest in forming any bonds there."

He hesitates, but that was--Anakin was trying. Not succeeding, but trying. "Thank you for asking. It's... maybe if my childhood had been a little different, I'd have wanted that. But I don't, here."

Anakin winces. "Right."

Rex watches his general bounce a newborn, and thinks this is my life now.

There is no GAR to fight for, no brothers to save, no Empire to fight against. They'd thought there would be, but there isn't, not yet. They could find and warn the Jedi, but none of them would know Anakin. Nobody is going to look at Rex and see a clone. He's older than Fett, now.

"We're staying here," Rex decides. Anakin looks up from Luke's little face. "I'll figure out how to get us some Republic Idents. We'll get the twins registered. This planet is safe and out of the way, and we can figure something out for the money. You're a good mechanic, that's honest work, and I'm... I don't know. We've got a ship, so I can maybe do what Fett did and take bounty work. We'll figure something out."

"I can't ask you to stay with me."

"You're not asking," Rex says firmly. "I'm telling you. You don't get to push me away, sir. We're all the other has left, and you're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Okay," Anakin says. "If that's what you want."

------------------

They don't have a whole lot of money personally, but this was Padme's ship. She'd been rich, and prone enough to danger to know the worth of hiding money where she could. They may not have more than a few weapons on here, but they have money.

For now.

Rex knows his general is itching to go to Tatooine, sees the man muttering and twitching about it, needing to do something, and that the something has to do with Tatooine.

"Can it wait?" Rex asks.

Anakin stares at him, uncomprehending.

"Your kids are only a week old," Rex tries to explain. "They need you right now. Is this something that can wait a few months, where I can watch them while you take a week or two to handle what you need to do?"

Anakin takes Leia from Rex, and doesn't bring it up again.

------------------

Rex goes with Anakin, when they visit the nurse. He catches gossip about the two of them, but people don't go out of their way to approach. Mostly, people are just repeating the 'died in childbirth' cover that he gave before, telling each other who the strangers are, and why they shouldn't try to get involved.

The nurse asks only enough questions to get a medical baseline established for the twins. Anakin doesn't volunteer much, and when the Twi'lek woman asks if they'd like her to set up medical files for either of them, Rex has to immediately decline.

He has no idea what his blood is going to turn up. Genetic fuckery and something to deal with the advanced aging, maybe. He's not sure he wants to know, but either way, it's probably not going to be something this small clinic can handle.

"I'll have to set one up if you want to take the lactation aid," she tells Anakin.

"Yeah, okay."

She takes blood. Almost everything is mostly normal, except.

"Your midichlo--"

"I know."

"Are you--"

"Jedi aren't allowed to marry."

She doesn't dig further, just glances at how Anakin's holding Luke, and nods.

"It doesn't seem like there are any complicating factors. I can write up a prescription right now and you should be able to get it filled same-day. There will be a list of instructions and side-effects on flimsi when you pick it up, but I'd like to go over it in person first. Do you want Mr. Torrent to stay here with you as we do that, or to wait in the hall?"

"Up to him."

"I'll stay," Rex promises.

------------------

Three pills a day, one with every meal. Tissue stimulation by massaging the pectoral area, and allowing the twins to suckle even before there's anything to actually drink. Expect soreness and increased appetite, don't drink caffeine or take any form of stimulant while nursing. Here's a list of possible side-effects, the best way to handle the minor ones, and which ones to contact a medical professional about.

All very normal.

Anakin's rarely ever done anything with less than his whole heart, and Rex isn't surprised to know that Anakin is this dedicated a parent as well. He's... he was proud to serve his general, but he thinks there's something just as fulfilling as being by his side here and now. There's something better about helping raise the little ones that would never be found on a battlefield.

"Do you want them to call you Uncle Rex?" Anakin asks during a feeding. "Or... ba'vodu? Or do you want to just..."

"Just what?"

"...we're going to be co-parenting," Anakin says, not meeting his eyes. "And every time I try to suggest you go and find something for yourself, something that doesn't revolve around me, a person you were literally tube-grown for, you say you don't want to leave. So if you're going to be sticking around, really staying for years and years... we could tell them to call you buir. If you want."

"Oh."

Oh.

It's a lot. It's something Rex has maybe fantasized about before, getting to be a parent instead of just a soldier, but he'd also resigned himself to the fact that it wasn't really an option. Even now, he'd just expected to be a friend of the father, maybe an honorary uncle if he was lucky, or--

"Are you sure?" Rex asks, before he can start to hope. "I don't--I don't want to take Padme's place."

"You're not," Anakin says, fierce as anything. "You won't--nobody can ever take her place, but there are people with five parents, or none, and I'm not going to--I don't want to--"

Anakin squeezes his eyes shut and breathes harshly for a few moments. Leia fusses, like she's seconds away from crying, and Rex watches as his general holds the child in his arms closer to his chest, visibly focusing on calming down in a way he rarely, if ever, had during the war.

"It's okay, Papa just got a little upset, it's fine, we're calm, I'm sorry I got sad, honey, I'm sorry you had to feel that," Anakin whispers under his breath as he bounces the baby.

(Raising Force-Sensitive children was never going to be easy anyway.)

"You're sure about this?" Rex asks again.

"You want to be involved in their lives," Anakin mutters. "So... yeah, you should get to be their dad in name, too. And if you use Mando'a, it'll be easier for them to have different names for us."

"People are going to think we're together."

Anakin shrugs. "People think a lot of things."

Rex wants this. He wants to imagine the twins toddling up to him, grins on their faces, calling him buir and meaning it. He wants to have what he saw at the Lawquane's, where a lack of blood connection and a half-sliced age hadn't stopped those children from claiming Cut as their father. He's only thirteen, technically, but he wants to have a family, even if it's as broken as what they've found here.

"I'd be honored, sir," Rex says. "I... thank you. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

"You don't have to," Anakin mutters, refusing to meet his eyes. "I can feel it."

Right.

"They already love you," Anakin continues, as if his goal today is to just smash Rex's decorum to pieces. "Part of that is just baby stuff, I think; they don't exactly know more than us yet, but you're around them all the time and are primary caregiver whenever I'm not... not okay. So they love you, so much, and I just... I'm not going to ignore that when you already love them too. So you should get to be their dad. If you want."

He does want.

"I'd like that," he says, and knows that he hasn't bothered shielding in days, so Anakin knows just how sincere that is.

Anakin hesitates, visibly so, and then stands and crosses the room to join Rex on the couch, each of them holding a twin.

A head rests lightly on Rex's shoulder. He lets it.

"There are rites," Anakin says quietly. "On Tatooine, for the slaves lost to the desert. People that died in search of their freedoms, where there's no body to bury but you still need to mourn."

Rex knows this. He says, "the clones had mourning traditions for the brothers who died in explosions or behind enemy lines, the ones we couldn't retrieve."

Anakin knows this as well. He nods.

They sit together, quietly, as calm as they can be for the too-perceptive children in their arms, and they know they need to mourn properly.

Rex can only hold his jagged edges in place for so long.

#Rexwalker #anakin skywalker #captain rex #star wars #the clone wars #time travel #Skywalker twins #male lactation #but otherwise rated T for teen #grief #depression #parenting #phoenix posts #Rex and Anakin Raise a Family #and yes this IS eventual rexwalker but right now it's just... a whole lot of grief #they'll get there eventually

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crispyjenkins · 3 years

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very quick scene from time travel boba

for @realizationin321 because they've been so hype and kind on all of my wip ask game posts (ღ˘⌣˘ღ) and i'm not above letting someone enable me

(in reference to this post. Obi is almost 18, Boba is 5, Jango is 22-ish. Obi-Wan has been stuck on Mandalore for almost two years.)

“You’ve never met him?”

It isn’t the first time one of their hosts has asked Obi-Wan this, nearly every Mando’ade that’s realised he only knows what Jango looks like from holos has been curious, but that doesn’t make it any easier to explain.

Hmming, Obi-Wan pulls their thin blanket up to cover Boba better, where he’s using Obi-Wan’s arm as a pillow and sleeping on his back like he has not a care in the world. Across the firepit, their current host lounges across several cushions, Kal Skirata’s gaze as discerning as it is friendly, and though many of the Mando’ade Obi-Wan has met in the past year claimed to personally know Jango Fett, he actually believes it of Kal.

“Truth be told,” Obi-Wan says with a small smile, “I hadn't even heard his name until I met Boba. Last my people heard, Jaster Mereel was the leader of the True Mandalorians.”

Kal snorts. “Jango was Mand’alor for all of a tenday before the Haat’ade were massacred.”

Obi-Wan hmms to himself again, not answering right away, as he brushes Boba’s curls off his forehead; Maker, but they both needed a haircut. “Many say he still is.”

“If he’s even alive!” Kal laughs, though there is no mirth in it. “But he never did pass the title on, so if he is alive, yeah, he’s Mand’alor still.”

The night sounds of the desert outside Kal’s tiny shack are actually comforting in their familiarity, Obi-Wan having grown quite accustomed to them since the start of his mission. Of Qui-Gon’s mission. Force, but is... is Qui-Gon even still looking for him?

He’d heard that Satine had been elected a duchess of sorts, but then nothing else, not with Vizsla and Death Watch keeping Obi-Wan and Boba on the run all over Manda’yaim; surely when Qui-Gon finished the mission, he had told the Council he was still missing?

Obi-Wan isn’t sure, because Qui-Gon certainly hadn’t told anybody after he was stranded on Melida/Daan.

The five year old in his arms snuffles, his closest hand twisting into the fabric of Obi-Wan’s borrowed tunic, and Obi-Wan gently taps his forehead against the side of Boba’s head in an almost-Keldabe.

Kal watches this all silently, but not without a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “Jango would be proud, how well you’re taking care of him.”

Obi-Wan blinks at him. “I’d rather thought he’d have a conniption if he knew who was taking care of him.”

“Hm, you’re not wrong about that. But Jango is weak for ad’e: one word from Boba and he’d be at your feet.” Something sly and amused crosses his expression, and Obi-Wan doesn’t trust it for a moment. Indeed, when Kal next opens his mouth, it’s “So how many Mando’ade have asked if you’re his riduur?”

“All of them,” he sighs. It had taken a little while, and he’d had to ask a random Mando in Cirillia about the meaning of the word, but, yes, Obi-Wan is well aware of the sorts of stories their different hosts are sharing about him. And he can’t even blame them, not when Boba calls him buir just as often as he calls him vod. “Boba certainly doesn’t help matters, with the way he talks about us both.”

“Y’know, I never really expected Jango to physically have a kid,” Kal says, sitting up a little straighter only to stretch out his legs until his boots almost touch the brazier. “A foundling someday, maybe, but he’s not... Kriff, I don’t know the word in Basic.”

Obi-Wan just chuckles, because even at seventeen, he knows the same about himself. “I believe the scientific term is asexual,” he murmurs, “But my people tend to just say Indifferent.”

Kal’s face scrunches, the shadows from the fire cutting him into even sharper relief. “Oh, that boy is far from indifferent.”

Laughing outright, because Boba had once said the same, Obi-Wan decides he likes Kal, even if he maybe doesn’t trust him enough to reveal that he’s a Jedi or that Boba is a clone, that Jango had gotten around his asexuality spectacularly to have a genetic child anyway.

Boba, of course, doesn’t know the details, but apparently Jango had never been secretive about his origins, and Obi-Wan only feels his respect for him growing. Maybe someday he’ll even get to meet the man, and see how much Boba’s hero worship had colored his stories.

“You said you got separated from your mentor.”

All at once, Obi-Wan’s good mood evaporates, Kal clocking the change with narrowed eyes, but Obi-Wan doesn’t know if it’s in sympathy or distrust.

“Over a year ago now,” he answers softly, glad their borrowed blanket hides him tightening his grip on Boba’s skirts.

“Wait,” Kal mutters, “that’s... You’ve been taking care of him that long? You’ve been on the run that long?”

“I couldn’t very well leave him behind, Kal.”

“You’ve been running from Death Watch, from Vizsla, on your own, for over a year.”

He’s quick to shake his head. “No, not alone: we wouldn’t have made it this long if it weren’t for the Haat Mando’ade and the old clans.”

Kal snorts. “That humility is quite the contrast to Jango’s arrogance, vod.”

“... Something tells me he will not return to Manda’yaim the same as he left it.”

Mando’a: Mando'ad/e — lit. “child/ren of Mandalore”, “Mandalorians” Haat'ad/e — lit. “true children of Mandalore”, True Mandalorians (slang shortened to Haat'ad/e) Mand'alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore Manda'yaim — the planet Mandalore ad/'e — “child/ren” riduur — “spouse”, “partner”; when gendered in Basic, “husband”, “wife” buir/e — “parent/s”, gender neutral vod/e — “brother/s”, “comrade/s”, “sibling/s”, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brother/s”

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wolffe-simp · 3 years

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Heart Of A Wolf

This is just a random thought I had and may make it into a series, not sure yet but I hope you enjoy. This is a 3am thing, so it may not be as good as it could be.

Translation :

Evaar'la wolf means young wolf

Buir means Father

Jedi Master Plo Koon must face the past when an unexpected arrival at the Jedi Temple causes certain events to unfold and Commander Wolffe is entrusted with his Generals most important possession.

The force works in mysterious ways, it lives in every creature, big and small, taking many shapes and forms among the vast populations of living organisms. But it was not the force that had brought you to the Jedi temple on Coruscant, it was fear of the darkness that had followed you halfway across the universe, nipping at your heels as you ran away. Everything that had been, everything you knew was gone, now ashes on a planet that many had overlooked and forgotten.

Ever since you had landed on Coruscant, you had made your way to the temple, your mind focused on one task, to find the one person who would be able to help you in your time of need. Now you stood, staring up at the towering structure of the Jedi Temple, the setting sun bathing its stone walls in a warm glow, like a beacon of light, like a beacon of hope. Taking a deep breath, you made your way over to some temple guards who were stationed at the entrance, they watched you as you approached, observing your every movement to ensure you weren't a threat.

"Sorry, but no civilians are allowed inside the temple without permission from the Jedi or other personnel." One stated when you stopped in front of them.

"I've heard, but I need to find someone. A Jedi who has this emblem,its important." You replied, pulling a small necklace from your pocket, a wolf head pendent dangling from the chain.

The guards seemed slightly taken aback by the sight of the necklace, they shared a look between each other, seeming to have a silent conversation before finally moving to let you pass. Two of them followed alongside you as you entered the temple, leading you down a few halls, already you had lost your way and you wondered how they remembered what hall led to where. You received many looks from passersby, temple workers, clones and even a few Jedi themselves. After a while, the guards stopped you outside a pair of double doors, asking you to stay put while they went inside to sort things out.

You watched as they disappeared, shuffling awkwardly in the empty corridor, alone once again. You turned to the open windows, deciding to sit on the ledge of one while you waited, the city of Coruscant spread out before your eyes. It was so different to what you had known, there were no open fields of green, no birdsongs to coax you from sleep, no rushing rivers to guide you home when you lost your path. It made you feel small, as if you were a child again but now you did feel lost, lost in the vastness of the galaxy.

It seemed like forever when the doors of the room finally slid open, you expected the guards to come out and tell you to leave but instead, you were greeted by the figure of a Kel Dor. You slowly got up from your seat, nervously playing with the necklace in your pocket , you opened and closed your mouth, trying to find something to say. Yet you couldn't find your voice, eyes downcast to stare at the floor as if were suddenly the most interesting thing in the galaxy. Did he remember you? Was he even aware of who you were? or of where you came from. Would he even believe you? You were so conflicted, your mind was too loud for you to even think clearly, every thought making your chest tighten with fear and anxiety.

"Evaar'la wolf"

The words made tears well in your eyes, the memory of the name spoken softly to you as a child suddenly swam in your mind, a younger version of yourself clinging to the side of the Kel Dor as you drifted to sleep.

"Buir." You whimpered, flinging yourself at him, arms winding around his waist in an embrace.

Despite being watched, Plo Koon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer as you cried softly into his chest. It had been many years since he had seen you, many years since he had left you in the care of your mother to continue his life as a Jedi. He remembered the few times he had seen you, never truly having a stable presence in your life. You were two by the time he first held you and you were five when he had last held you in his arms and you had cried like you did now, clinging to him like he would suddenly vanish and he had. He always wished you would understand why he had done what he had once you had grown. Now you were here, a young woman, as beautiful as her mother. Your lack of resemblance to him had always put him at ease, making him hope you could have a peaceful life without being ridiculed by some for being the child of two species. You were Mandalorian, like your mother, but you had his heart and spirit.

"Come now, young one."

He kept his voice soft as he let you go, guiding you into the room he had been occupying only moments before. You huddled into his side, greeted by the eyes of a few clones and what looked like two other Jedi. Plo Koon took you over to a create for you to sit on, along with two clones wearing grey and white armour, they were two of three that wore it, the last standing not so far away. You sniffled softly, feeling your father wipe away a few of your tears before turning his attention to the others in the room.

"Obi-wan, Anakin. If I may ask, would you do me the favour of rescheduling the meeting until tomorrow morning?"

"Of course Master Plo, I believe more important matters need to be tended to." Obi-wan replied, bowing his head respectfully before leaving the room with the Anakin and their clones.

The other clones stayed, looking towards their general for orders to leave but none came, so they were left to watch as Master Plo Koon crouched in front of the girl that had called him father. The clones were use to the caring side of their general, he treated them equally and fairly, making them feel like they were more than just numbers from a cloning facility. Yet it felt different now, as if he was treading in uncertain territory.

"You are a long way from home, young one."

"Home is gone father." Your voice trembled as you spoken, filled with sadness. "Its all gone, home, mother, everything."

"What happened?" One of the clones asked, his hair cut into two rows, savage scars running down the right side of his face and his amber eyes watching you closely.

Silence feel over the room, the words dying in your throat. You didn't know how to explain it, maybe they would think it was all your fault and your father would hate you for getting your mother killed. You knew the laws of the Jedi about attachments but you knew he cared for your mother nonetheless. You didn't want your father to see you like this, weak and broken, you weren't a damsel in distress but you needed him now more than ever.

"It started with the nightmares, mother said it was just my imagination running wild. I saw the forests set ablaze, the animals trapped among the flames, mother calling for me and then everything fading into nothingness, it all felt so real. It was the same dream, every night until my name day. Instead of the normal dream, a wolf came to me, telling me it was time to embrace my destiny and to allow the force to guide me down the path presented to me. It was the same day the separatist invaded our home, searching for something."

They listened to every word you said, even though you didn't go into detail, they were able to understood what had happened, Plo Koon more than the clones.

"It is possible, that a spirit of the force was able to contact you and warn you of the coming danger." Plo Koon hummed.

He stood up, stroking his masked chin in thought as he paced for a moment. To attack your home, to attack you and your mother in a place so far from the war was a concerning matter, one be would have to bring to the council as he sensed something else was at play. Right now, he was just happy that you were alive and thanked the force that you had found him.

"Commander Wolffe, I require a audience with the council. I trust you to keep my daughter safe until further notice."

"Yes General." The clone in question nodded briskly, saluting your father.

You shared a look with your father, knowing the unvoiced question and nodding. You would be fine without him for a few more hours, you had commander Wolffe to look after you so hopefully no harm would befall you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Within the long hours you spent with Wolffe after your fathers departure, you had managed to become quite close with the other two clones, Boost and Sinker. They had made it their mission to ensure you felt better, every small giggle of smile encouraging them to do better until your mind was rid of the thoughts that invaded your mind. Sometimes, they would get to far with their jokes and almost hurt themselves or potentially you, which meant Wolffe would have to intervene and tell them to reel it in.

Eventually, the two headed off to what they called 79's while Wolffe took you to his office to he could keep an eye on you while he finished some work. Sinker and Boost had invited you to go along with them but Wolffe declined their offer for you as he didn't want you to be overwhelmed with the likely bombardment of questions from other clones after his drunk Vod let loose that you are Master Plo Koon's daughter.

You sat in the chair opposite Wolffe, looking around at his plain, bland office with a look of empathy, you had heard of how badly clones were treated. He was a soldier and yet, he couldn't even get a decent office because of how people looked down on him. You sighed softly, crossing your legs and adjusting yourself in your chair, trying to keep yourself somewhat entertains now Sinker and Boost were no longer around.

"I like your scar."

Wolffe looked at you in shock, he was halfway through one of his datapads. He had suspected there would be some small talk, but he hadn't expected you to make a statement as bold as that, especially about the one thing he himself, felt very subconscious about.

"Thank you." He mumbled in return. "Though, it scares a few people."

"Of course it scares them." You scoffed. "The people who sit back and relax while you fight their war, are scared by your sacrifice to make their world a better place."

Wolffe stared, from the crying girl he had met only hours ago, you had suddenly become another version of his general. He hadn't expected you to be so caring towards him despite the reason you had ended up here. He could still seen the pain in your eyes but he could also see a small spark, hidden deep in the depths of your iris. He had been sceptical of you at first, merely out of wanting to protect his general and his brothers from a possible trap from the separatists, after all, you could be someone in disguise, the Jedi had done something similar themselves with Kenobi.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Wolffe reassured you, gracing you with a rare half smile. "Not many see us the way you and Master Plo do."

"Dad has always seen people for who they are, rather than what they are. Life is the right of all beings after all, we have no control over how we are created so we shouldn't be judged by our places of origin."

"Whats your place of origin?" Wolffe asked before he could stop himself.

"My origins are a planet far from here, where a Mandalorian went to hid from her people, outcasted and branded a witch for her shapeshifting ability. A woman who saved a Kel Dor from a crashed ship and nursed him back to heal and in return, he gifted her a child, so she would no longer be alone. A child with the heart of a wolf and the spirit of a Jedi."

You smiled at one another, continuing to chat into the late ours of the night, talking about anything that came to mind. Eventually, you fell asleep in your chair while Wolffe explained a story about how Boost had eaten a spicy fruit from of of the planets they had visited. Wolffe chuckled softly at your sleeping form, moving to scoop you up in his arms. He carried you bridal style to his general quarters and tucked you into bed, knowing Master Plo Koon will be a few hours more and would likely take the couch. Until Plo Koon arrived, Wolffe took a chair and sat it outside the door, his blaster in hand, ready for any threat that might come for you.

#star wars #clone wars #jedi master #plo koon #commander wolffe #kenobi #sith #jedi #shapeshifter #reader insert #original character

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inkformyblood · 3 years

Text

towards an unseen day

Day 03 of @bobadinweek prompt: Caretaking

Warnings: None

Laughter echoed down the small side tunnel, deep and rumbling through the earth like an aftershock, and Din paused, letting the sound wash over him.

His hand — still pressed to the wall — brushed over the symbol carved there, the chill of the stone settling into his bones as his bare skin traced the lines he couldn’t read but understood all the same.

There had been a strange look in Boba’s eyes when he took Din’s hand — pausing first, his gaze flickering upwards in a silent question — to place it against the symbol when he first carved it into the rock wall. He had mentioned the Kaminoans, and their fluorescent ink that the clones had quickly learned to hack into their HUD display, with a note of mournful laughter in his voice, but hadn’t said what the symbols meant. His free hand had curled through battle-signs as he spoke, so Din could guess well enough: home, safety, return.

An ache had settled into Din’s bones, and every step closer to home lightened his burden, but still he waited, his head tipped to one side as he listened. There was a second current of laughter, tumbling after the first like a shadow, high and uncoordinated. His steps were faster now, warmth flooding through his chest and he input the code as quickly as his trembling fingers would let him.

Light filled the small room, heralded in a thousand shimmering fragments from the mirrors suspended above, reflecting the scrap of sunlight that fell through the barred window. Lining one indented wall was an array of packaged ingredients but the order was disrupted by clear gaps like missing teeth in the neat rows. Across the opposite wall hung a tapestry, currents of scarlet and bronze dancing through a background of dark blue, the careful images of the constellations above Tatooine picked out amongst a stylised set of Mandalorian armour, but the figures in front captured Din’s attention utterly as he pulled his helmet off, clipping it onto his belt.

Boba was without his armour, dressed in instead in a loose linen shirt that clung to the broad curve of his shoulders and fell past his hips to his thighs, and dark trousers. The birikad across his chest had been modified with the dark green fabric tied around the ring on Boba’s shoulder to allow Grogu to watch the world around him.

The child’s hands were stretched towards the fruit laid out on the counter in front of him, already stained with the dark berry juice, and, as Din watched, a sliver rose into the air. It hung for a moment, commanded by a power Din could barely wonder at, before Boba plucked the fruit, his hands stained with purple smudges and threw it into his mouth.

“Patoo!” Grogu demanded, his ears twitching, but his darkening mood passed in an instant as Boba ducked his head to smooth a kiss over his forehead, tapping the curve of one ear carefully.

“Later, kid. Save some for your buir.”

Boba tipped his head, his grin broadening as he caught Din’s gaze, and picked the knife back up. Grogu babbled, waving a hand towards one of the bowls before twisting to peer up at Boba.

“Yeah, that’s the next one. Good job.”

Din’s chest felt too full, too warm, barely able to breathe for fear of disrupting the scene in front of him. He had never imagined that he would have a life close to this. The closest he got to imagining his future was a shapeless plan to provide as best as he could for the foundlings and his covert. His usual grace had abandoned him as he stumbled forward, resting his hand on the table as the expected aches and pains made themselves known, radiating down his spine and legs.

Grogu turned with a shriek of delight, his eyes bright and reached from the pouch, almost over balancing to try and reach Din sooner. He caught the child, scooping him up to press their foreheads together. The scent of tart berries clung to him, mixing with the comforting warmth of blue milk and the herbs that were mixed into the laundry to keep them fresh.

“Missed you, womp rat.”

This close to Boba, he could sense rather than see the grin that spilled across his face, but Din moved up to kiss him before it could reach fruition. The scars on Boba’s lips, ridged against Din’s oversensitive skin made a shiver roll down his spine, the action mirrored as his beard scratched against Boba’s cheeks. Din broke away, shifting to press his forehead to Boba’s, Grogu cooing in the crook of his arm in satisfaction. The slight pressure of the Force against the back of his head made Din pause, but Boba was already moving to blindly tap his finger against Grogu’s cheek in gentle admonishment.

“We’ve got the memo, kid. Don’t need any outside help here.”

Din chuckled, reflexively trying to stifle the noise at Grogu’s disgruntled whine, and gently rocked all three of them, his free hand slipping to rest on Boba’s waist. The shape of a modified blaster, carefully hidden beneath the loose fabric made him pause, his laughter breaking free once again.

“Could hear you coming down the tunnels. But can’t get complacent.” Boba’s words were grave and tinged with bitterness, and Din nodded, careful to not break their connection.

This small room attached to both of their chambers and Grogu’s room had become a sanctuary of sorts. The shelves held ingredients suitable for long term storage in case they needed to shelter, and next to the door lay the familiar shapes of their grab bags. Grogu’s had been a new addition — a small brown knapsack, contrived to have as many pockets as possible — and Din knew some of them were already filled with the snacks he enjoyed, and that the kitchen staff kept slipping to him when Din and Boba pretended not to notice.

“How was the job?” Boba stepped away with one final gentle kiss, squeezing Din’s hand around his waist before he picked up the knife again. He picked up the bowl Grogu had indicated earlier and removed one of the yellow fruit from within. It’s skin was tough and ridged, and Boba anchored it on the board before working on piercing the knife through it.

“Well as could be expected at first. The traps and countermeasures he had set up against the Imperials were well-made, and just as effective against me.”

Din felt Boba’s worry rumble through him as if he was back on the ship, the rthymic sticky sound of the knife blade pausing as he looked him over. Grogu babbled, patting his chest plate, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I managed. That’s why you pay me well.”

Boba scoffed, and Din knew that his plans for the evening had just changed. The palace boasted an impressive set of heated baths in its depths, and Din had been looking forward to sinking into them. Boba wouldn’t rest until he catalogued every new wound and every purpling bruise.

Din let his thoughts wander for a moment, lingering on the warm steam that seemed to stick to the skin and the press of Boba’s hands — the callouses so like his own, rough but a sign of skill and training that made his head swim — against the ache that had settled in the curve of his shoulders and the fresh wound wrapped around his thigh. His gaze drifted to Boba’s, taking in the knowing grin on his face.

“Later,” he promised, an eyebrow raised as he inclined his chin towards Grogu curled into Din’s arms.

Din’s answering blush was immediate, feeling as if he had scorched his skin with his flamethrower, the heat spreading down his neck and across his chest. “He took some convincing but the information you gave me is still good.”

⁂

The blaster shot cracked against the wall just above Din’s head, the heat leaving a burning line across the edge of his beskar. He bit back a curse even as a grin, wide and unrestrained, slipped across his face.

His approach to the small encampment had been slow, a careful waltz around the concealed jagged traps that lined the walls of the ravine — all carefully at head-height for the average human and designed to be deadly. Their make was familiar, the twisted knots at the top arranged in a pattern that almost looked like a hand gesture. Boba tied knots for his snares the exact same way.

The intelligence he had managed to gather independently of Boba’s thriving informant network hadn’t proven to be of much use. A sea of closed mouths and gazes that turned away the moment they could, as impenetrable as any wall, greeted him at the small bar next to the single spaceport. The man had clearly managed to win their loyalty, something that seemed to be a reoccurring thread with these missions.

He was skilled with a blaster, proving it with another shot, curved through a modified barrel to try and draw Din out of hiding. Din went with the motion, catching the shot on his vambrace and directing it harmlessly into the dirt, and he ran towards the next outcrop, hearing the clicks and whirs of the blaster reloading echoe clearly.

“Kark off, Imp!” The man’s shout was clear, rage clear through every word, and Din watched the flicker of the shadow move, elongated through the setting sun. “I’m not joining your karking plot so you can shove it up your arse!”

“Boba Fett sent me!” Din called. A bubble of laughter settled in his chest, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, but he pushed it down. There would be time later.

Siblings, wherever they were found, held a note of similarity between them, and Boba and his many brothers were no different to Din and his covert.

The face that appeared in the small gap of the overhanging rock, barely visible theough Din’s visor, was similar enough to Boba that he could chart the similarities: the same unhinged grin, the same dark eyes and the same way of assessing the situation, his gaze focused like a sniper’s guide. But the clone had a shock of dark curls shot through with grey, grown wild after being cut back for so long and hanging at uneven lengths, and faint tattoos around his eyes, pale lines tracing around two large ovals like a Togruta’s markings.

“Boba? My ori’vod’ika sent you?” His voice in sharp contrast to the ringing shout before was quiet and pensive before his jaw closed with a snap and the rifle was drawn to his shoulder once more. “Talk faster.”

“Remember Docking Bay Seven!” Silence greeted Din’s call, as it had everytime before. Boba had shared many parts of his childhood on Kamino with Din from the small quarters he shared with his father to some of the training missions he undertook with the other clones but there was a wealth of adventures and occurrences that he couldn’t speak of.

Din understood. He couldn’t put into words the time he spent with Paz, the hours of meaningless conversations or the spark that had bloomed between them on their first meeting, tipping his face back to stare into the half-finished tattoos that ran over the other boys face like lightning strikes. But that phrase… it meant something precious to the clones Din had managed to retrieve from their bolt holes.

The clone above him laughed, wild and unrestrained. “Bob’ika has done well for himself then! Word of advice, your armour reflects sunlight like a signal flare. I saw you coming yesterday.”

“But you didn’t run.”

The man swung himself down, the muscles in his arms flexing in a deliberate display of power and control. When he stepped closer, it was a swagger, confident and sure of himself. “I am still a soldier, not matter what happened. I don’t run from a fight.”

“None of the information mentioned a name or a signifier,” Din began, and the man’s eyes widened for a moment, old surprise still fresh and burning. “What would you like to be called?”

“You retrieve many clones for our Boba?” The man’s gaze slipped over him, lingering on the mud horn on his pauldron and taking in the careful free space waiting for Boba’s mark. His grin was worn with melancholy, and his hand moved to touch the fanged necklace corded around his throat before brushing against the dotted lines tattooed across his cheek as it circled his eyes.

“Enough. There’s a compound on Tatooine many of them stay at. Some travel.”

“Tatooine?” Laughter rumbled through him, a burst of humour several of the other clones had displayed and Din couldn’t begin to wonder at. “Of course it is.

“Call me Alpha-17. That’s the name I chose for myself before all this.”

⁂

Boba hummed as Din finished recounting his mission, pausing to tap the blade along the board, now slick with a pale green juice.

“Alpha-17 helped train the younger clones after the trainers focused their attentions more on the speciality tracks. The Alpha class was one of the few that my buir hand-trained.”

Boba reached over, a piece of dripping fruit cradled in his palm, and Grogu plucked it carefully, his claws piercing slightly into the exposed flesh. The juice ran over his arms, glistening trails darkening the fabric of his robe, but Din’s attention was captured by Boba. He had raised his palm to his mouth, pale liquid spilling down his chin, and heat bloomed in Din’s belly, immediate and severe.

What he had left out of his recounting was the question he placed to Alpha-17 as they travelled. Food had been important to the covert, and learning a new recipe and perfecting it was considered the first true step towards a formal proposal.

The man had laughed, immediately plucking Din’s intentions from his careful questions, and answered as honestly as he could remember. Jango’s food was sacred to Boba, each remembered meal a sacrifice and a prayer, the kitchen made holy by his devoted attention, so Din worked at reconstruction, following the thread as devoutly as he would a bounty.

Boba paused, stretching out to draw Din down to kiss him once more, his mouth sweet and sticky, and Din marvelled at the life they had made and the possibility of what came next, each carving out a place for the other to shelter.

#bobadinweek2021 #BobaDin #the mandalorian #Star Wars #din Djarin #boba fett #grogu djarin #my writing

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dew-itowo · 4 years

Text

Baby Anakin part 1

@anakinandthecaptainrex

(So sorry this took so long.)

Fives and Echo were usually the source of Rex's headaches. Pranking people, getting others in trouble. You get it. They're maniacs.

So yes Rex was having a God damn stroke over this. His General is litterally a kriffing baby for Jango's sake!

On minute he's sassing the queen of hoodoo the next he's a little baby naked as day in his pile of robes. Honestly he deserved it. Karma was after all a bitch. But it didnt hinder any kind of hilarity to the Arcs.

Reaching down to the little General Echo giggled. "Aw, now look what you got into Jetti. Rex told you it was bad idea." Anakin's eyes watered and his lip quivered. As if Echo were his mother he held the back of his fuzzy head and pulling him close to his chest. "Oh hush now. I'm here. You're okay Jett'ika." Fives looked almost as shocked as Kix. Wide eyes like he hadn't expected a joke to go so far.

"Dont you comfort him" Talzan hisses, reaching to grab Echo's arm. Receiving a deep set, viscous glare from the Arc trooper.

"Watch your tone Witch, or I'll give you something to complain about when I knock your pretty teeth in."

If it weren't for Fives and Kix's shock with how protective Echo just got, Rex would've been in a corner rocking himself to insanity. "Turn him back now." Someone said over the low growl coming off of Echo. Everyone's eyes, including the tiny Generals, finding Rex. He hadn't even recognized his own voice. "Turn him back, or so help me Jango you'll never know pain like I'd give you Talzan." It was a thought at best.

"Bad little boys who threaten get punished Captain." Even Dogma cringed somewhere in the crowd of troopers aiming their rifles for the hag.

The tiny Generals hand flat against Echo's chest plate as he watched Rex. With tired, big, impossibly blue eyes. Rex found it hard not to love the adorable tiny Jedi. Though Kenobi would be on his death bed the moment he saw him like this.

"Turn. Him. Back." Fives growled having enough of this. Though so hypocritical.

"I can't." She yelled, setting Anakin to cling onto Echo and the peice of his robe hed been wrapped up in. Troopers instinctively moving closer to Echo and Anakin. Protecting the Ad.

Fives looked quite unamused. "Why?"

Talzan glare at the floor. "Because the moment He's like this the spell cannot be reversed." Rage boiled deep in Rex's core. Setting his nerves on fire.

"How long does the spell last." Echo whispered angrily. Trying to comfort Anakin.

"A week to a month depending on how it affects the person." A sigh on relief left Kix. As the acting mother of the 501st, or at least how he acts, Kix couldn't deal with the reality of raising up a once full grown himbo. It was just too much. And even Echo wasn't fit to take care of a baby let alone a force sensitive baby. Kenobi on the other hand knee kids, but has never cated for a baby. Maybe hed be more fit?

It was all so confusing when Rex found himself in his quarters with the tiny General in his lap, asleep like nothing had happened. He looked so peaceful like this. Holding onto Rex's index finger with his tiny hands.

Maybe once or twice he'd held a baby during campaigns. When mothers often came to thank them. Bringing their children along to see the soldiers. One time being quite memorable when a little blond human girl and her mother asked if any of the men were hungery. Of course Rex tried to decline by saying they had rebuilding to do. But the woman and her adorable daughter insisted heavy. So Rex and the others joined them for dinner. All sitting and eating, laughing, talking, telling stories to the young, listening to stories for the old, drinking, singing, dancing, living. Anakin looked so happy to see Rex and the others just let loose and have fun. To forget about the war, the death and the greif. To just live a little. Maybe that was why Anakin always pushed them to have fun on leave. Pulling Tex out of his office and dragging him to 79s where hed inevitably forget why he was there in the first place and go back laughing like it was normal. Drunk as a wine aunt at a family reunion. Holding onto Anakin and giggling the whole way there while the Jedi just laughed and talked with him more. Staying with him till he fell asleep, then moved Rex to his bed.

Anakin made a happy noise if Rex's arm as he slept. The Clone enjoying the peace the rarely came when around this jedi. Thanking Jango above for the one moment of breath before Kenobi lost his shit tomorrow over this.

"Gods Rex wont you let go of the General?" Jesse teased faux annoyed with his Captain. Pressing sass into his tone.

Rex chuckled looking down at Anakin on his hip. "No I dont think I will. And plus he enjoys being held." He sighs smiling softly. Kixs voice wasn't one to be ignored usually but his bantha shit was still bantha shit.

"I bet he thinks hes the Jett'ika's buir now." He laughs earning a glare from both Anakin and Rex.

"Can it Kix, you're one to talk." Someone oo'd. Perhaps Fives who watched with Echo from where they shoveled Food into their faces. The table going quiet as the Medic sputtered and finnaly gave up.

"Oh shut your shebs." He groaned letting Rex have the last word. Laughing at Kix's frustration while waiting for the boys to finish eating. Anakin watching the same. Eyeing Echos untouched ration bar carefully.

"I think Tinykin is hungery." Fives chuckled, nearly choking ofn his food. Anakin made a sound of anger at the nickname.

"Fives, dont call him that. You know he cant defend himself from your teasing." Echo scoffed.

"Suddenly you're a mother now."

The men laughed.

"Ha ha funny Echo. Like you didnt baby him on Dayhomir like a god damned wet nurse." Echo paused. Holding back a smile at the funny insult.

"What's a wet nurse?" Fives asked looking genuinely confused. Rex could see the internal conflict in Kix's eyes on whether he sound explain it to a dumbass or let Fives be an confussed dumbass. Either way both option were tempting.

"Kix can tell you later. Tight now I need you all to act like nothing wrong when Kenobi gets here and leave the sheb beating to me." They nodded. There was not a fate worse than death. If... You have met Kenobi. His lectures where fatal. Boring you so bad you die inside and then out like a disease. Eating your guilt up like apple sauce and topping it of with a punishment that had you bored out of your own sanity. It's why the 212th was always so well behaved. Because Kenobi was not merciful when it came to punishments.

"Good luck Rex." Jesse breathed almost looking concerned for his captain.

"Luck doesnt exsist Jesse boy." He whispered walking away toward the landing docks where Kenobi would be waiting now. Having stalled already for too long.

Gods have mercy...

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #captain rex #arc trooper fives #anakin skywalker #arc trooper echo #sw #fives and echo #obi-wan kenobi #part 1 #oh my god #hello there #baby anakin

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colehasapen · 3 years

Text

(ONE SHOT) every word i say is kindling STAR WARS

Jangobi Week Day 1 - Enemies to Lovers

A03

When they meet, it’s as enemies.

He’s been hired to help destroy the trust the Republic has in it’s sainted Jedi guardians. Jango is an assassin, a merciless killer, and a father to one. He’s raised Boba to be the legacy that Jango could never be, to carry on Jaster’s memory where Jango has only been a disappointment.

His hate burns in his chest like a second heart, and his fury tastes like ash in his mouth. He’s given so many pieces of himself to his mission that he no longer knows who he is, but still he gives more, pushed on by the memories of his people’s bodies scattered in the snow of Galidraan and the phantom smell of burnt flesh in his mouth. He remembers snow crunching under his boots, stained red by his people’s blood, and the feeling of bones breaking under his hands.

Tyranus has offered him the perfect way to get the vengeance that has been pushing him to survive all these years, the vengeance that had kept him warm those cold nights in chains.

Jango hates the Jedi, and he hates himself too, for what he’s become.

He’d avenge his people; he’d destroy himself to give them the room they needed to live free, and Boba would succeed where he’d failed. He’d raised Boba to continue what Jaster started, he’d raised Boba to be better . Jango would tear himself apart thousands of times over, millions more than he already had, if it meant that Boba would lead the people Jango had failed. He’d destroy the Jedi so that the Haat Mando’ade could grow and flourish once more without the threat of them. He ignores the pain he’s causing, he ignores the millions of children with his face and blood, if it means that his mission is complete.

Jango is not a good person.

He’s the survivor who never should have survived, the Mand’alor who had no people to lead, the leader who led his people to their deaths. He’s a coward who left the shredded remains of Jaster’s people to flounder on their own, because he had lost all semblance of honour when his armour had been stripped from his living body, he had lost any right he had to lead through his failure.

Jaster would hate the man he had grown to become.

When Jango meets him, he’s a shadow of the man he once was, fueled by the burning hatred in his heart, and by Manda does he hate .

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Jetii. He comes to him soaking wet and completely at a loss. He has no idea of the plots in motion to destroy him; he’s naive, and too charming for his own good, and Jango hates him. Hates the cultured accent that rolls off his tongue, the mischievous sparkle in blue-green eyes that reminds him too much of Myles. He hates the way he talks circles around everyone, like Jaster had once done, and he hates that this Jetii reminds him of the people he had lost.

He hates himself too, for the faint stirrings of attraction he feels the moment the reckless jare di’kutla Jetii kicks him with enough force to knock him right over the edge of the landing platform, despite the cord that attaches them. He hates himself for the thought that crosses his mind as the Jedi follows him to Geonosis, the one that whispers to him that Jaster would like this man, the one that tells him that he’s Mandokarla. It stings of betrayal, that he’d actually find himself hesitating as he stares down at the redhead chained up to die, wondering about his choices.

Kenobi is young, Jango can tell at a glance, smooth features hidden by a beard like it was an attempt to make himself appear more mature. He wonders how old the Jedi had been when Galidraan happened, and he knows deep down that the man had had no part in it. Looking at him, looking young and hurt, chained to that post and trying to keep up a mask of bravado that so many young warriors wear, strikes Jango like an electric shock, chasing away the fog of rage and pain and hate that had been seeping into him over the years since Galidraan. It makes him remember that the Jedi aren’t just some shadowy organization at the beck and call of the Senate, not just leashed dogs to be set on innocents - they’re a culture too.

He remembers late nights listening to Jaster read from ancient histories, of the texts his Buir liked to read and study in an attempt to rebuild the Mandalorian culture that had been gutted by the Republic and the New Mandalorians, and rebuild it for the better. He remembers the respect his Buir had had for the Jedi Order, not just as another warrior culture, but as another warrior culture so much like the Mandalore he wanted to build. There were children in the Order, Foundlings adopted into another multiethnic culture much like they were as Mando’ade. Children, and the old and sickly, the infirmed; they weren’t all the bloodthirsty monsters from Galidraan.

Jango doesn’t know how he could have forgotten that.

It’s like breaking through a wall, and when fighting breaks out, Jango sides with the Jedi and fights alongside them and the clones that arrive to rescue them.

Jango survives Geonosis; he survives the battle and finds himself fighting side by side with Kenobi. The Knight he had almost killed and led into a trap vouches for him when he’s confronted by the other Jetiise. Jango is one step behind Kenobi when they go to confront Tyranus, one step behind when the man’s Padawan nearly abandons him for the pretty Senator Jengo had been hired to kill, and one step behind him when he learns Tyranus’ true identity.

Dooku.

The man he had been working for, the man who had hired him and promised him vengeance for his slaughtered people, for the bodies of his siblings that had been left abandoned in the snow, had been the very man who had led the slaughter against them. It’s a lightning strike of clarity in the muddled world of vengeance and hate he had been living in for over twenty years.

He’s been tricked.

Jango survives Geonosis, he survives to take his son and share what he knows with the Jetiise . He doesn’t like it, he clenches his teeth through the whole thing, vibrating with sickening anger at the sight of the circle of space wizards surrounding him, staring down at him with dispassionate eyes, and he keeps a protective hold on Boba through the whole thing. Kenobi stays at his side, a calm rock in the storm of his emotions, with his furiously compassionate eyes that Jango hated.

He survives Geonosis, survives the unmasking of the Sith Lord hiding in the Senate, and he keeps surviving as the Clone War rages. He keeps meeting Kenobi too, the younger man makes a name for himself as the best warfront tactician the Jetiise have. He works well with the clones assigned to him; Kote had always been good, competent, and if Jango had let himself think about it, he’d even say he had Mandokarla. Jango watches their progress on the holoweb, keeps bumping into the Jetii, and eventually, Kenobi becomes Obi-Wan.

He seeks him out, and eventually, he realizes that Obi-Wan has been seeking him out too. They bump into each other when the Jetii is on shore leave, and Jango finds that he likes the younger man, likes being around him. Jango finds himself falling in love with the man.

A rustle of movement pulls Jango from his thoughts, bringing him back to the pleasant ache in his body, and the former Mand’alor blinks his eyes open, chasing the fog of sleep from his mind. Obi-Wan is sitting up on the edge of the hotel bed, pale back facing him, an expanse of freckles and scars and red marks that Jango had very smugly left there the night before. “Leaving already, Mesh’la?” He asks, voice rough and deep, and he watches the way muscles ripple as Obi-Wan pulls on his boots.

Jango sits up, sheets pooling around his bare waist, as Obi-Wan turns to him, offering him a gentle smile. “Some of us have work to do, my dear.” He teases playfully, and Jango huffs, reaching out to curl a hand across the Jetii’s hip, absently tracing a bruised bite mark, a flame of smug pleasure kindling in his gut.

He wears his marks so prettily.

“Thought you were on shore leave.”

Obi-Wan chuckles, twisting to press a sweet, lingering kiss to Jango’s lips, and the bounty hunter finds himself melting into the touch as his lover’s long, graceful fingers brush across his jaw. He doesn’t want him to leave, wants to pull him back into the bed and keep him there.

“Well, responsibilities wait for no man.” The Jetii says cheerfully as he pulls away, and Jango carefully doesn’t flinch. Obi-Wan watches him with blue-green eyes, gently tracing across the scar on the Mandalorian’s cheek, expression soft, with a wry twist of his lips. Jango grumbles, shifting towards the red head, and he tugs him closer, other hand moving to trail across his waist and up his ribs, tracing the scars across his chest and more bite marks. Obi-Wan coos teasingly at him, ruffling dark curls when the older man presses his head into his shoulder. “Still tired, my dear?”

“Well,” Jango says, petulant, “most people sleep in during their time off.”

“If I were most people,” his Jetii laughs, “I’m sure we wouldn’t be in this situation. You don’t seem to be the type to fall into bed with just anyone.”

“One of a kind.” He teases, pressing a kiss to the side of Obi-Wan’s neck, feeling his beard drag against his temple. Jango grips at him protectively, and when he speaks, his voice teeters towards pleading, “Stay?”

Obi-Wan sighs, and Jango knows the answer even before he says anything, “You know I can’t, Jango.” His hands tighten on his lover’s torso, sliding across planes of packed core muscle, the Jedi’s skin chilled against his own, and Obi-Wan’s hands press against his own. They’re silent for a long moment, curled together, before Obi-Wan gently lifts one of Jango’s hands to press a kiss against his palm. “Ask me again after the War.” His voice is quiet, slow, like he’s trying the words out, playing with them on his tongue.

“After the War.” Jango repeats like a promise, like an oath, and he feels his Jetii smile against his skin.

Taglist: @a-mediocre-succulent @yellowisharo @spoofymcgee @roseofalderaan @everything-or-anything @bellablue42

#cole writes #jangobi week 2021 #day 1 enemies to lovers #jango fett #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #Jangobi #jango lives #trans obi wan kenobi #star wars fanfiction #jangobi week day 1

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crimson-dxwn · 4 years

Text

At Odds: Chapter 3

Summary: Hey all, so I decided to change this from a Reader Insert fic into third person (?). Tbh I hate this chapter but it sets up some necessary things. Decided to just bite the bullet and just post since I’m probably gonna die in a snowy ditch in MT tomorrow.

Kal thinks about some things, Laseema gets the deets, and doc comes back to Kyrimorut

Warnings: Sexual harassment? idk there’s not much to warn for here. Slight mutual pining

Words: 4040

Kyrimorut, Northern Mandalore

Spring

Kal suspected the situation with Parja had been a lot hairier than the doc had let on; it was just a feeling really, he didn’t have any knowledge about anatomy or birth or babies. But he did have a keen eye for how people worked under pressure, and that woman had nerves of steel. Like he told her before, she was mandokarla, she had that rare combination of daring and compassion that he’d once seen in Etain. The right stuff. People didn’t realize that the right stuff was different in everyone. Besany had proven it when she chose to commit espionage against her own government, Parja had showed it every tough day with Fi when he couldn’t even remember his own name, let alone walk. Laseema raised Kad without even a question, because she loved the boy and Atin.

She had raged at him, managing to hit him in that well of self-loathing that he usually kept carefully covered with his hatred for the Empire. Etain and Darman, the men and boys he’d lost, being disowned by his own sons, all of it he could bear, but he couldn’t - wouldn’t - seem to forgive himself for anything. He felt like a failure in every way that mattered. He wondered when it would break him.

If he dwelled on his failures too long, he would drown in their sheer volume, and he realized that when Kal watched the doc work, he simply couldn’t recall any of them, or at least they didn’t weigh so heavy. And then somehow they’d fallen into bed together like two teenagers, practically ripping each other’s clothes off. It turned out that her sharp mind and nimble hands were good for more than just delivering babies. He didn’t think he could recall the last time he’d gotten that hard that fast - definitely before Kamino. A mistake, she called it. Maybe it was, but he couldn’t deny that there was an undeniable attraction between them.

“Buir?” Ordo’s voice rings out behind him and Kal turns to meet his eyes, finding concern there. Ordo had always been protective of him, more so the older they both got. His mind had a hard time reconciling how fast his boys grew up with how much time had actually passed.

“What is it, son?

“I...uh,” he says, “wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Fine, Ordo. Just seeing the doc out. Let’s get back to breakfast before it’s gone.”

They walk in companionable silence down the hall, though Kal can tell that something is bothering Ordo. By now, he knew all of his sons’ anxious tics and twitches as if they were his own.

“Something on your mind?”

Kal wasn’t able to wheedle it out of him, as they’d reached the door to the karyai and the chaos that made up breakfast time in the huge household. Ordo made his way back to Besany’s side, where Mird was still chirping and wagging his tail furiously and Walon was considering the scene with a shit eating grin on his face. Oh.

Guess he’d get to see the doc again after all.

Laseema, sitting with Kad on her lap, just rolled her eyes knowingly and shoveled a bite of food into her mouth. The blue twi’lek seemed to know everything before the rest of them, as if all the news and gossip of the family flowed through her first and then filtered out to the rest. Kal decides he can’t bother to try and comprehend women. It isn’t a new feeling for him.

He thinks on the hurry that the doc left in and what she’d said when he caught up with her. Kal was pretty sure he hadn’t done anything to upset her, after all she was just fine when he left her in his room. No, it must have been something else.

Walon Vau finally breaks the awkward silence.

“Mird seems to think you two have something to announce,” he says, an amused look still on his patrician face. Vau sips his strig as if he has all the time in the world and Kal half expects the man to rest his boots on the table, only his manners are too good.

Ordo looks at his wife with a bewildered expression - he’s at a loss as to what to say, that much is obvious. The null is trying in vain to shoo Mird back to where Walon is sitting.

Laseema raises a tattooed eyebrow, still bouncing a silent Kad. Scorch and Sev are at the table in their shorts and undershirts, and they glance between their buir and the null ARC expectantly like two vultures. They’re ready for a fight.

“Spit it out, Ordo,” teases Scorch, oblivious.

“I’m pregnant,” Besany blurts out tearfully, and stands so fast her chair tips over behind her. Mird scrabbles backwards as she storms past it and out of the room.

If there wasn’t going to be a fight before, there certainly was now. Ordo, unable to stand seeing Besany upset in any way, rounds on Scorch. Kal does see a flare of contrition on his face, but Ordo’s imminent anger flips a switch in the commando and he clamps down, readying himself for what comes next. Vau’s boys always did have skewed self-preservation instincts. They were all feeling cooped up lately, and it was obviously making tensions run high.

“Enough,” he says, from the vantage point of his appointed chair. A harsh word from Kal is typically enough to make just about anyone who lived in the vicinity stop what they were doing, even two oversized grown men fighting over nothing. Ordo and Scorch remain standing, but their postures have relaxed, if only marginally.

“She wanted to wait to tell people,” Ordo growls, looking from Vau to Scorch to Mird and back.

“Ordo, son, why don’t you go make sure Bes is okay.” Maybe he wasn’t the best with emotion, but Kal could infer that she probably didn’t want to be alone right now. And it had the added benefit of keeping at least a few solid stone walls between Ordo and Scorch until the tension simmered down.

They ate in silence until Sev and Scorch traipsed off to get ready for the day and Walon decided to open his mouth again.

“Men need a good fight,” he says, staring into his strig, “been cooped up too long.”

“I think for once, you and I agree,” answers Kal.

“You may get what you wish for,” Laseema pipes up. Her mouth is set in a grim line. Never one to underestimate, Vau considers her with another vaguely amused look. “When I was in Keldabe, there was talk of an Imperial garrison being set up there.”

Vau’s amused look is gone. It was a surprise to both of them. Imperial transports had been making their way in and out of the system for a while, that they already knew. Mereel had been monitoring transmissions, but an occupation of the Mandalorian capital hadn’t been in the list of encrypted messages they’d managed to decipher. The Empire had been smart enough to ditch the dead Republic’s encryption after Order 66. Smart, he thought, but really kriffing inconvenient for them. Jaing and Mereel were only able to make out a word or two, rarely full sentences from the transmissions they were able to intercept. Nothing about a garrison.

He kicks himself for not utilizing Laseema’s skills earlier. Women could go where soldiers, even ones trained to infiltrate, could not. Twi’leks especially. As unfortunate as it was, the fact that her species was an oft-chosen one for slaves and servants had a sort of advantage. And something about Laseema made people want to tell her things. It might do for her to make another trip into Keldabe soon. Atin wouldn’t love the idea, but Kal had a feeling that Laseema would be on board.

“I believe it’s time for a proper recon mission.” Vau stares intently at Laseema, who returns his sharp gaze. She’s come a long way from Qibbu’s.

The mood on the planet, or at least what Kal had gathered from their excursions to Enceri, was becoming increasingly grim. Even more unsettling was the news trickling in from the core and the inner rim as Palpatine’s new Empire gradually tightened its hold. And to top it all off, the last time Kal had seen Mij Gilamar his old friend hadn’t cracked a smile the entire time. There was an outbreak in Sundari, something like Candorian Plague, sweeping through the shelters of people left unhoused after the Republic had taken back the city from Maul. It was the first time Kal had seen the man look his age. It was just another worry to stack on top of all the others.

----

Two weeks later, Keldabe, Mandalore

Spring

Keldabe is a mash of buildings and dwellings of various ages. Pale brick, duracrete, steel, even wood and thatch mix together on the blocks. It makes for good hidey-holes, places to meet in secret, in the shadows thrown by the rooms stacked on top of one another lining narrow alleys. Keldabe is the unofficial capital of the planet, and the oldest city, older than Sundari by far and located in a much more hospitable location.

Laseema is on Baker street, one of the oldest in the city, pretending to be just another citizen doing their shopping for the day, comparing prices and quality. It’s Keldabe’s market day, and the crowds make for good cover and good listening; the vendors are always eager to trade gossip for business. She even buys a pan of the sweet rolls that she knew Atin likes. Baker street, near the outskirts of the city, is one of the most popular and packed avenues, and every so often Laseema can see the gleam of a pure white helmet over hair and beskar-clad heads.

She still finds it hard to call them stormtroopers. They’re clone troopers, her brain tells her, you’re safe, it’s Atin’s brothers under there. But she is wrong, and these stormtroopers would haul her off to goddess knows where if they knew who she was connected to. A rush of cold comes over her and she burrows back into the crowd, away from the nearest white helmet. There are more this trip, almost twice as many as her last time in the city, some on patrols and others on leave, weaving through the throng of people with their helmets off, chatting with their buddies. Some are nat-borns, as Atin called them, and others are clones. You can tell the difference by the way they carried themselves. The nat-borns are sloppy, slouching, the ones who joke with their friends and flirt with pretty girls whether they were on leave or on duty, and more often wearing officer uniforms. The former clone troopers walk in solemn silence, forever in sync, without even their painted armor to distinguish them.

She has a mission here. She’d offered because she wanted to help and because Kal had asked, though he’d never make her do anything she didn’t want to do. But Laseema wanted to feel useful outside of making food and taking care of Kad. It felt like everyone else was in danger constantly and she felt horribly guilty being the one who got to stay safe at home.

She can handle playing the dumb twi’lek role. At Qibbu’s it had always been the most reliable way to get the best tips, and she played it well, even now, years after she’d danced around a pole. The downside was that it made her seem like an easy target, which is why she always approached the slimiest, fattest, slowest-looking officer she could manage. Laseema wasn’t big, but she was fast and now she had her knife hidden on her person for anyone who decided to try something. She hoped it didn’t come to that.

She already has good intel from the merchants she’s seen so far. But she wants more; to get it she’ll have to take on a proportional amount of risk. She is on Baker Street for its popularity, but also for its proximity to the bathhouse positioned on the corner at the end of the street. She has...unpleasant memories associated with such establishments that try to bubble up, despite knowing that this wasn’t that sort of place.

It’s old, made of cracked creamy yellow brick, with a domed top and big wooden doors. Surreptitiously, she brushes her hand up against the credits Kal had given her in an inside pocket of her tunic, and makes her way up the stairs and through the great doors. The old woman at the desk smiles warmly at her.

“Su cuy’gar,” the woman greets.

“Su cuy’gar,” replies Laseema. She can tell they are alone in the atrium out of the corner of her eyes, but gets up close to her nonetheless. With any luck, Kal had been able to contact her and smooth things along. If not, she’s prepared. Fortunately, few Mandalorians in the North, including Keldabe, were sympathetic to the Empire. Yet.

“A towel for you,” the owner says, handing the article to Laseema.

“Thank you.” She moves to press the credits into the older woman’s hand, but the woman pushes her fist back.

“There’s no need. Tell our friend Ayati says hello.” Ayati jerks her head towards the locker room on her right. “You’ll be working steam room two today.”

Laseema only nods and heads to the changing room, and quick peek reveals a worker’s uniform hidden within the folds of the towel. She stashes her old clothes and quickly dons the new tunic and cropped flowy trousers that were unisex and ubiquitous throughout the facility. Steam room two, she reminds herself. That must be where the good pickings are. It would be officers, preferably; the grunts never got the full scope of information, let alone plans for the future.

Grabbing a stack of towels, she exits the locker room and heads past the pools and baths, down a long hallway at the back of the complex that houses the private steam rooms. Numbered doors are cut out of the paneled wood wall. Laseema is alone in the hallway, standing outside steam room two, towels in hand. She positions her ear cone close to the crack between the door and its frame, listening.

Four voices, maybe five come from inside. Her heart beating is making her blood rush in her ears and she wills it to slow, unable to hear much over the sound of her anxiety. Finally, she can hear more of the conversation from inside.

“- not the worst place I’ve been stationed.”

“Me either.”

“You never know what you’ll get with these Mando girls with their helmets and armor on though”

“Just keep the helmet on!”

They laugh.

“- more troopers coming in a month,” one says, “Should add a little variety that won’t stab you in the back when you’re taking your pants off.”

More laughter. A bench creaks and Laseema holds her breath.

“New barracks better have nice beds than what they’ve got us in now-“

“Beds on the floor, what kind of savages-“

“It’s 1500. Better get back, boys.”

“Aye, captain,” come echoed voices

Laseema makes for a quick exit and then changes her mind. She can handle a little risk, after all, this wasn’t the worst situation she’d been in. And if it helped Atin and their family, the risk was worth it. A hand rattles on the doorknob as it opens and Laseema scampers to position herself where they’ll see her, a little down the hall, holding fresh towels in outstretched arms.

Four men exit the room and she keeps her eyes down, praying they’ll ignore her and keep talking. She thanks the goddess they’re in shorts and not naked. Atin had been...less than keen of this plan for multiple reasons, this being one of them.

Three take a towel without a word or second glance. Laseema is not so lucky with the fourth, who takes a towel and pauses to look her up and down. He’s one of the younger ones, tall with a forgettable pinched face.

“Now here’s something you don’t see every day.” She dares look him in the eye, remembering the knife in its sheath around her waist, hidden by her tunic.

“A Mandalorian tailhead?” The man’s lips twist into a smirk and he directs his attention back down towards her, amused by his own cleverness. “How much?”

“How much what?” Laseema knows what. She’s been asked before, many times. It’s a phrase men like him keep at the tip of their tongues, because in their minds anything can be bought, including - especially - people.

“For you.” He looms over her as the other men watch from a distance.

“I’m not for sale,” she spits out, barely containing herself. If she starts something here, she won’t be able to finish it, not four against one.

The man runs his knuckle down one of her lekku and she yanks it away, scandalized, and shudders. The man laughs under his breath. Laseema lets her eyes focus on a bandage that hangs half off his upper arm instead of on his face.

“I have to get back to work,” she says, still avoiding his eyes, “please excuse me.” And she walks away, slowly and calmly, barely able to restrain herself from breaking into a run. Atin would’ve broken his fingers one by one, she thinks, and I would help. It was probably best her husband didn’t know about her run-in with the tall imperial.

It was worth it, even for the small amount of information she’d gleaned. New barracks. More troopers. One month.

Back at the compound, Kal, Walon, Ordo and Laseema digest the information.

“Sounds like an invasion,” says Ordo, his mouth full of food.

Kal knew Laseema would pull through for them. Initially Atin had seemed a little put out by the notion but had said nothing, only shooting Kal an angry glance when she came home in one piece, if not a little shaken up.

“We knew it was only a matter of time.” Walon Vau somehow looks even more grim than usual. He runs a hand through his grey hair, thinking. “A month…”

“You know there aren’t enough of us,” Kal says, and Vau nods in agreement.

“I know,” he replies.

“Then we’ll just have to get creative.”

———

The long speeder ride from Keldabe to Kyrimorut gives her time to think.

She’d been lonely for a long time, at least as long as she can remember, the short sorry course of her dating life culminating in a few brief relationships that ended sourly. Long, punishing hours were usually the answer to any painful thoughts, and it had worked well for her, at least until Kyrimorut, where every emotion she’d worked so hard to ignore had threatened to spill over and drown her.

And there was Kal. At first she was sure he hated her guts, but the way he watched her work during Parja’s delivery and the absolute awe in his voice and on his features was as sincere as she’d ever seen. It touched a part of her that she’d thought was long gone, deadened by years of loss and rejection. Somehow she feels they had forged a small connection, that he understood in some small way that she couldn’t quite put a finger on.

She’d left the foolish hope of her twenties behind, and with it the illusion of finding someone who would and could keep up with her long hours and nights away. So far she’d been disappointed, but not surprised.

Kyrimorut was remote and well hidden, though not too far from Enceri, the nearest trading post, by speeder. She’ll have to face Kal again, but any apprehension would be easy enough to hide behind the real reason she were at the compound.

It feels like almost no time has gone by since she’d stormed out two weeks ago. Gently, she reminds herself that she is here for business and not to fall back into bed with the patriarch of Clan Skirata.

A familiar face answers the door when she knocks. Fi stands in the open doorway, looking much too chipper for a new parent.

“Sorry, baby factory’s closed.”

“Feels like I never left,” she replies, wishing she hadn’t.

“Come on in. You should stay for dinner, Atin and Laseema are cooking tonight and it’s bound to be something good. If you want your tastebuds burned off, that is.”

She laughs. “I’m Mando, how could I not?” Loving spicy food was practically a cultural requirement.

Fi leads her through the halls and they chat about he and Parja’s little one. Lael was a quiet little thing, much to the chagrin of his talkative father. They reach Ordo and Besany’s pod of rooms and Fi takes his leave, giving her a little hug and a peck on the cheek as he goes.

The couple is sitting inside, Ordo looking both elated and horrendously nervous at the same time. She wonders if he needs a garbage can nearby and make a mental note to have him sit in the delivery room when the time comes. Fainting husbands were a very unwelcome addition to the stress of a birth.

The appointment goes well, with the exception of Ordo’s constant questioning and Besany’s futile attempts to calm him down. She suspects some of his anxiety is compensation for the guilt of putting her in this situation. She’s been sick, and these soldiers aren’t suited to sitting around and watching people they love suffer.

“Only a few more weeks to go and you’ll probably be feeling better, cyar’ika.” Besany smiles weakly back at her, unconvinced.

A normal sonogram later, they’re both happy and relieved, fawning over the sono printout and she leaves them to it.

Much to her displeasure, Kal is waiting outside Besany and Ordo’s door. He’s wearing his armor, the gold of the beskar gleaming subtly in the morning light. Her stomachs drops into her feet at the sight of him, having to face him again.

“We’d feel better if you were here instead of alone in Keldabe,” he says. Kal’s hand is wrapped around her upper arm, gently pulling her back towards him. She can feel her heart pick up at his hand on her bare skin. “There’s some osik going on with the Empire and we’re not sure what it is yet.”

“I can take care of myself, Kal. Kyrimorut is too far from my patients and the hospital to make it work.” Never one to take no for an answer, he tries again.

“I don’t think you understand. They’re planning something big.”

“Why me?”

“What?” He stares at her, annoyance plain on his face. It’s always easy to get Kal riled up, but today it takes no effort at all. He must truly be concerned about what’s going on with the Empire; it gives her pause for the first time that day.

“Why do you want me to stay?”

“Bes is going to need you,” he replies.

“So what you’re telling me is that you’re gathering up all your tools and closing up shop? Besany isn’t the only person who needs me, Kal. I can’t just quit my job and come live here, as attractive as that might sound right now.”

She can tell his frustration is mounting as his expression sets on his lined face. A tired, lonely part of her brain is begging her to just say yes, to let someone else take care of her for once instead of the other way around. She wants to stay with him, wants to feel protected, wanted, valued outside of her work.

What if the Empire did dare invade Mandalore? For some reason it seemed unfathomable until this point, having lived on the planet her whole life with the exception of medical school, she’s used to being surrounded by warriors; the idea of occupation has never even crossed her mind.

She’s seen the stormtroopers in Keldabe, but so far nothing has transpired. Talks with the Empire’s representatives were going well according to the Mand’alor - Fenn Shysa still believed that Mandalore could avoid occupation.

Taglist:

@clonewarslover55 @leias-left-hair-bun @cherry-cokes-world @wolfangelwings

@nelba @passionofthesith @808tsuika

#Republic Commando #Kal Skirata #OC #my writing #At Odds #At Odds 3

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morganas-pendragons · 4 years

Text

take us back | obi-wan

as soon as i got this ask, i couldn’t pass it up. i also woke up in a mood to write obi-wan because i actually wrote this exact prompt into a oneshot for my oc last night while listening to this song and yeah.. this happened. have fun!

requested by: @kaminobiwan + connecting to his fake death in the rako hardeen arc

the song used is the night we met by lord huron and the reader is the jedi!reader from the other obi fics i’ve written, so this is for a female reader :) screw canon

tag: @dressed-up-heartbreak // @obiorbenkenobi // @anakinsahsoka

obi-wan tag is open! if this angst sucks, blame (SPOILER) jesse for dying because i haven’t been able to angst well since tcw finale

***

You only have one thought in your mind whenever you watch - in indescribably slow motion - the body fall from the rooftop in which Obi-Wan had chased the owner of the rogue bullet that had broken your quiet camaraderie with Anakin and Ahsoka. You’re almost naive and oblivious enough to miss the flash of auburn hair.

I’m not fast enough, I’m not-

“Master!” Your grandpadawan cries your name from the shadows as you sharply turn the corner and come to an abrupt stop at the sight in front of you. Ahsoka Tano - your grandpadawan who is so close to your heart - has collapsed in the alleyway with Obi-Wan Kenobi cradled in her arms. He’s not moving. Not breathing.

Your heart stops in your chest and you lose all ability to breathe. This isn’t the first time you’ve lost Obi-Wan Kenobi, oh no. Jabiim left a scar on both you and Anakin.

“No, no.. you cannot leave. Not yet! Not yet! She-She needs you.”

I am not the only traveler

who has not repaid his debt

This isn’t the first time you’ve felt helpless around him either. You’d long surrendered to the idea of loving him despite The Jedi Code years ago. That was why the wedding band hanging on the chain around your neck feels like it now carries the weight of the world.

Your shoulders sag in defeat.

i’ve been searching for a trail to follow again

“I need you.”

You do need him, but you don’t have that luxury now. You lost him. He’s gone.

Take me back to the night we met

***

You and Obi-Wan Kenobi met at the tender age of ten and twelve. Even though you’d grown up in the same créche as him and Aayla Secura, somehow The Force had kept the two of you apart until the most convenient moment where he’d been in the midst of fighting Bruck of all people, and you’d been the one who’d pulled him out of it. The calm to his storm.

He had stuck close to you ever since. Your Force - the very essence of your soul that exuded light - was the thing that kept him grounded in the midst of all the suffering he’d endured since he was a child. Even after Siri and Xanatos and Naboo and all the death he faced.. Obi-Wan always came back to you.

And years later, you were always waiting.

***

You weren’t waiting anymore.

The funeral is as all Jedi funerals are. There is no mourning, no grieving, only expressionless masks of Jedi Masters and Knights as you and Anakin watch your husband and brother be put into the ground. You hate it. Despise it. Just the sight alone is enough to make her leave The Order and never look back.

But then Anakin would be alone, and Ahsoka would be helpless to look after him. You couldn’t do that.

He died and you weren’t there to save him.

Not to them.

His Padawan braid weighs heavily in your hand. One of the bands that had been attached to your own had been for kriffing force healing, for Makers sake, and you could’ve saved him from this had you just been faster. He’s dead. He’s dead, and you can’t mourn him because you have to focus on Anakin and Ahsoka, and Maker- Satine will not stop sobbing-

And then it hits you full force just as his body is lowered into the ground. Cody and the 212th are not aware that their father has just been buried. That their jettise is dead.

Your son will never forgive himself for it. Cody is just that type. Loyal to a fault, and guilty beyond comprehension when he feels as if he hasn’t performed his duty.

And his duty is always going to be to his jetti-buir.

“Where are you going?” Anakin has the audacity to yell after the funeral is over, unaware of how closely he’s being watched, as his Former Master flees the room and moves towards the hangar where their speeder is waiting for you. “We need you here!”

A monster, born of repressed grief and rage over the circumstances in which you and Obi-Wan were in when he was lost to you again, flashes in your eyes and it’s enough to make Anakin wince and slowly back in the opposite direction.

“i have a company of clones-“ You meanssons, and he knows that. “Who need my attention more then you do right now, Anakin. Go home.”

The Hero With No Fear has one fear in that moment as he watches his former Master walk away: It’s that he will lose you too.

***

“Why didn’t you save me? You were right there, we were together and happy and you were just.. useless.”

I had all and then most of you

Something that I never knew

Your dreams are haunted by him. He’s everywhere. And the cruel thing is? He looks exactly the same as he has since you were both knighted. He looks like Obi-Wan - the very soul that yours was drawn to - and that stings because there’s nothing you want more in this world at the moment then the ability to just... hold him. Kiss him. Have him.

Take me back to the night we met

If you dwell on him any more then you already have, you will succumb to your desire to just slip away and be with him in the peace of eternity forever. The Cosmic Force sounds like bliss compared to the hell you endure every time you open your eyes and find yourself met with a cold bed and an even colder home.

That doesn’t even begin to cover the broken force bond. Your skull thrums with the ache of the emptiness inside your mind - the spot where Obi-Wan used to occupy - and there comes a point where you’re in so much pain that you cannot move from your bed.

He hovers over you while you sleep. Your dreams are not kind to you. They’re taunting. All the what-could’ve-beens that the two of you had not had the time to experience together.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

“Take me back to the night we met.” You whisper. To who, no one knows, but you like to imagine that even in death, he’s waiting for you the way you spent so many years waiting for him.

Your grief turns into an irrevocable numbness. You go for so long without social contact from anybody for fear they’ll unravel you. So long without feeling the love of your family in the Order that you start hallucinating him. He looks real, he feels real-

“Kark you, Obi-Wan Kenobi! For dying and for leaving me alone and for not telling me you love me before you go!” You yell in the dead of night until your voice is hoarse and your fingers are clenched so tightly that they’ve begun going white, and part of you wonders if you stopped living and started existing when you watched his body fall from that rooftop. “Stop haunting me!”

when the night was full of terror

and your eyes were filled with tears

You almost wish you hadn’t said it because as soon as you do, the apparition dissipates and you are alone.

when you had not touched me yet

The sound of your heart breaking in your hands is what lulls you to sleep.

oh take me back to the night we met

***

When you meet Rako Hardeen and he has Obi-Wan Kenobi’s eyes, you’re not sure if you want to kill him or kiss him.

So while Anakin Skywalker goes supernova in his anger against his former Master for lying about his whereabouts and his mission for the Council, you bask in your silence by the cruiser that transported you and the clones to Naboo’s surface. You’re not sure what to say, if anything. You just want to look at him.

It’s not until you’re safely ensconced in your quarters that you can act on touching him.

“Darling, I-”

You hesitantly approach him, hand outstretched and eyes shining because you are so close to breaking - and then your fingers graze the skin of his collarbone and his knees buckle.

“You’re-” You swallow the knot in your throat as he winds his arm around your waist and presses your back to his front so he can bury your face in his hair. “You’re real.”

You waited for him.

“I’m real.” He whispers in your ear. “And I’m never leaving you. Never again.”

And he’d come back to you.

#Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader #Obi-Wan x Reader #Star Wars imagines #Star Wars oneshots

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