#Jango Fett mention

[auxxrat]

Kamino's Lullaby

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

This little oneshot is based on a post from @fisharela, and I was just too inspired and heartbroken by it not to write something. Added a bit of my own headcanons and lore to fill in the blanks !! I'll be posting it on my ao3 too if you want to check that out! I hope you all enjoy !!

Tags ↓

angst/comfort(as much as we're gonna get in this situation), parental!shaak ti, jango mention, SMALLEST BIT of jango/shaak mention, child!clone ! Mention of death !

Kamino was cold. Not just in how it chilled any warm-blooded species to the bone, but in how it froze the heart. Everything was the same color, making it feel like the hallways were never-ending paths, pulling you in further to mindless walking. It was quieter than an abandoned city, footsteps were more common to the ear than any sort of laughter, the color grey scaling every wall and voiding any room or person of personality–

Not any place for children. 

Shaak had come to terms with it long ago. She had walked these halls so many times, back and forth for hours on end, yet she couldn't find a justifiable reason that children would need to be raised for war. A Jedi had no business letting life be created for the sole purpose of dying, letting Padawan’s on the front lines…. But what else could be done? Shaak searched for the answers, but there were none. This war was being played out with unfair rules, but when had they become so desensitized to disaster? To suffering? When had they forgotten that the clones were people?

And then the question of what was to come after the war. The Jedi allowed these innocents to be brought up for slaughter, so it was their job to make sure that they lived– after all of this fighting. There was still no compensation for this loss, for the lives lost, the brothers missing. 

Shaak had watched so many of them grow. She had watched the face of Jango be reborn thousands of times at this point, watched as the versions of himself that he would never be walk past. Five, then six, to the teenage years, then back again to an infant. From a smiling child to an age he never got to reach. They grew and reminded her every day of what she lost, what she’ll never see again, not really. They had peace, as much as Shaak could give them, then grew and marched off to war. 

They never came home, not all of them. Some came home in bodybags, some only pieces made it back, and others never made it back home. 

But tonight, those children were tucked into bed tightly, or at least they should be….

The softest of smiles broke across Shaak Ti’s face as she did her nightly walk, hearing the little whispered voices and hushes. After doing so many of these nightly walks Shaak found that no matter how many times she tucked them into bed, the little solider boys still found a way to crawl out of bed and a way to wake the others. The smile faded quickly though, Shaak got closer and closer and the voices became clearer with each step. Tears.

It was no wonder. Today was… a hard day on Kamino, an even harder day for the little ones. A long funeral had taken place at the very bottom of Kamino, where a large platform braved the waves and hovered just above the water. Shaak had found it during the first few years of the war, when bodies just continued to come home and she accepted this is what Jango had left for her, it was a quick decision on what to use it for– the clones deserved a proper send-off. 

What they deserved was to be dressed in their culture, alive in some other place where there is no war, where there are no parentless children. The best she could give them was the waves, and an old Mandalorian song to honor them. 

It was always hard on them, especially the nights following. Nothing exempted these boys from nightmares, writhing in their sleep drenched in sweat until Shaak or one of the older clones wakes them. They can never recall what the nightmare was about, no matter how many times she’s asked, across all of them– they can’t remember. 

It caused many hard nights. 

Shaak didn’t know if there was anything she could do anymore. The kaminoan scientists were strict, they were the ones who treated the clones like nothing more than investments, in their eyes these were not children– they were property. Nothing but walking science. It was hard to even… care for them in the presence of Lama Su… or any of them for that matter. Showing any sort of parental action towards the clones was met with scorn and a warning that–

“If this continues any longer, The Jedi Council will hear of it, Jedi Master Shaak Ti”

And she had already been warned once before. 

These poor boys… Shaak could barely round the corner before her knees were being smashed into. It’s like they could sense whenever she was near. She scooped the upset boy into her arms and quickly tucked him back in before it started a domino effect of them all waking up, but there was no doubt they were all already awake. Awake, with a fresh new set of nightmares. 

She couldn't hold them all, she couldn't fight away what they were facing. It was just like on the battlefield, forced to watch them fall with the expectation of not being crushed beyond repair. She can’t help them, she can’t help them, she can’t help them. 

The boy didn't go down without a fuss, the big brown eyes that she had once looked into so long ago, on a different face– stared back. He gripped her hand tightly to his chest, lying there in his bottom bunk with a horrified look. Shaak already knew not to ask, he already knew not to even try to explain. They just sat there in silence, a mutual understanding that they couldn’t help each other, just comfort. Shaak sat there and brushed his dark curls from his forehead, dabbing the sweat away with her robe. 

“Go back to sleep darling, the night isn’t over yet” 

“I can’t,” the boy said quietly, defeated. 

“The nightmare again?’ Shaak Ti asked, and the boy nodded.

“It’s different this time,” He interrupted Shaak’s next words, “He’s there, watching me”

“Who’s watching you, dear?”

“I don’t know.” His lips pressed into a thin line and his eyebrows drew together, as if in deep thought, “He looks like us… but he’s not. He’s just watching me”

Shaak hushed the boy, her hand still caressing his wrinkled forehead. It was a common theme in all of their dreams, ones that they slowly stopped talking about when they got older. It was just another endless thought for her to mull around in her head over and over again, it was useless trying to decipher it now when she could never fully wrap her head around it in the first place. Was it Jango? It couldn't be, his soul was part of the Force now and there was nothing left of him. 

“Is something wrong with me?” 

“No. Go back to sleep, it’ll all go away in the morning” She cupped her hand around the boy’s chubby cheek, still hushing him quietly, “I’ll be right here”

“The whole night?” His baby brown eyes widened.

“The whole night, I promise” 

The promise must have stuck because he snuggled himself back under the covers, hand still holding onto three of Shaak’s fingers tightly– still scared she would leave. She wasn't going anywhere, not if it meant leaving them behind. 

His dark eyelashes began to flutter, eyes no doubt heavy with sleep after getting so worked up. But like any stubborn child, he refused to close his eyes just yet, fighting the sleep that he so badly needed. 

“Can you sing me to sleep, please?” The whisper was so soft that Shaak had barely heard it under all of the shuffling of his brothers.

She had sung many of the clones to sleep throughout the years of this war, so many with their own personal song after having fits that only she could calm. 

Shaak tucked the blanket up to the boy’s chin, nodding while urging him to roll over and sleep– slowly beginning to hum as he closed his eyes contently. 

She hummed an old tune, rubbing the boy's back and threading her fingers through his curls, watching him succumb to a more peaceful sleep. Shaak sat there for a very long while, just humming, looking at the soft sleeping face in front of her. He was so small in her hands, with such chubby cheeks, and the most perfect curls. Everything she wanted was just out of reach, given to her in the most cruel and twisted way. All of them were perfect, such joyful children despite their situation. They deserved to be loved, to be mothered. Jango…what have you done? 

Long after the boy was asleep, Shaak got up and continued her rounds while humming her song. Even more little ears were awake, rocking themselves to sleep in sadness until her soothing voice reached them. 

Kamino was cold and colorless, yet Shaak managed to be the warmth and color that the clones needed. Her song echoed through the barracks, reaching anyone who would listen, to any child up rocking themselves to sleep. After all the bombs and gunfire, after seeing all that blood… she was the only comfort. So much so they could almost mutter her name as ‘mother’.  

So many lonely children sat up in the hallways that night, listening to her echoing song, finally feeling the comfort of what their books call mom. 

[jonathananubian]

The Power of Names (SWs oneshot)

It was nice to sit with his brother and have a drink without being interrupted for once.

“Seventeen, how’s your General been treating you?” His brother asked as he sat down with a pint of ne’tra gal.

“Kenobi’s been running himself ragged again. Little di’kut is going to get himself killed.” He groused as he took a swig of his own ale.

Fordo chuckled and slapped him on the back once.

Nearby he could hear the younger generations ‘whispering’ to each other about the two of them. It made sense, they were ‘famous’ after all.

It took maybe three minutes before they were approached by a group of CTs, all of them painfully young looking compared to himself and his brother.

“Um, excuse me, Sirs! We have a question if, if it wouldn’t be imposing?”

17 snorted and Fordo gave him a look. “What’s the question?” For someone who was considered one of the biggest badasses in the GAR his tone was soft and even, almost gentle. The exact opposite of 17′s.

The CTs brightened. “How did you get your names, Sirs? It’s just... we don’t have any and we... well we don’t want to be just numbers anymore.” The kid seemed to recognize his mistake when 17 turned to raise a brow at him and quickly backtracked. “N-not that having a number for a name is a bad thing!”

Fordo let out a chuckle and smiled. “Udesii, vod’ike, you’re fine. He just looks intimidating.” He said with that calm smile that always made 17 want to punch him in the face. “My name was a gift from one of my brothers. He’s marched on now, but as long as I have this name to remember him by he will never be forgotten.”

17 hid his frown with another gulp of ale.

The CTs nodded along to Fordo’s words like it was sage wisdom. Young idiots.

“Wh-what about you, Sir?” The CTs turned their collective gazes towards him but only one of them seemed particularly eager for an answer.

Ah, the kid must not have a name yet, or maybe he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of a name. “When the aiwha-bait gave me my ‘Designation’ they decided that was that, that’s all I’d ever be.” His eyes flashed dangerously as a smug grin crossed his face. “So I’m going to take this name, Alpha-17, and I’m going to make sure they know that it’s mine. That even when I die, kicking and screaming and taking the bastards who did it with me, that no one else will ever fit the designation ‘Alpha-17′ again. Because it belongs to me.”

The looks of awe on their faces made him want to grimace. Honestly, they were far too young and untrained for war.

Fordo took over the conversation from there and 17 barely paid it any attention, lost in his own thoughts. Once the CTs were gone he side-eyed his brother.

“A ‘gift from a brother who’s marched on,’ huh? Odd way to refer to the Prime.”

Fordo gave him an amused grin. “But not completely untrue.”

17 couldn’t really deny that, so he didn’t try.

“...you could use the name he gave you, you know. It won’t make you any lesser if you do.” Fordo said quietly.

17 scoffed. “I’m not using anything that bastard left me.” He bristled.

Fordo reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder, a smile crossing his face. “Don’t worry, vod, I know why you don’t. I’ll keep your secret.”

17 was an asshole, that was certainly true. But Fordo knew the truth. He’d loved the Prime just as much, maybe even more since he was one of Jango’s favourites. 

But Names had power, and if 17 sacrificing his name meant that more vode realized that their numbers didn’t have to be a shackle- then he would gladly discard the last gift Jango had given him before his death.

That was just the kind of man he was.

[phoenixyfriend]

ONLY ONE IS CANON. PLEASE READ THE QUESTION.

* For the purposes of this poll, both Legends and Disney qualify as canon.

** Eminent domain

Don't give away the answer before the poll ends! I'll reblog with an explanation once it's done.

"Why the big red--" I've already had five people vote in the wrong direction.

[foxgirl95]

I’m just gonna put this here cause I feel like I never hear people talk about this and they should 😍

[fanfic-obsessed]

Time Given and Taken

This one is another time travel fix-it, also somewhat AU even beyond the time travel.  Our time travelers are Obi Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody, both from after their own deaths.  Let’s even put it after the Empire falls. 

They have reunited and through Force Shenanigans are sent back to five years before the Clone wars start (dealers choice if they chose to go back or just found themselves back in time), they land specifically on Ord Mantel, their bodies have been reformed at peak age and physical fitness (Late 20’s), there is not chip in Cody’s head and his aging has been slowed to match Obi Wan’s force assisted aging (Look if the Force has to build their bodies anyway it might as well get the best results possible); but we’ll get back to them in a moment. 

Now The Force did have to make some preparations for them, as it could not have two versions of the same soul existing in this universe at the same time.  Thus, in this universe,during the Naboo crisis Padawan Obi Wan Kenobi died in place of his Master Qui Gon Jinn. Jinn was still struck by Maul and Obi Wan did still bisect the Sith, but then the Padawan used a nearly unknown healing technique to heal Qui Gon at the expense of his own life.  Padawan Obi Wan’s last words to his master were ‘You said the boy needed to be trained, now you can’. He was mourned by everyone who knew him. 

That same year Unit CC-2224 was decanted stillborn, which happened at about the same rate of stillborns/miscarriages in natborn births. The Kaminoans did the typical cursory exam to make sure there was not a larger issue, and found that there had been a small difference in the nutrients in CC-2224’s growth pod that resulted in the stillbirth. No one knew to mourn the being he would have been at all. 

Having Qui Gon Jinn as a master did not actually make things better, or easier, for Anakin; though it also could be argued that it did not make things significantly worse either. It was different though. Though Qui Gon had more experience than Obi Wan would have in the original timeline, there were other issues now at play.  And Anakin was growing up in the blinding light of the memory of Obi Wan Kenobi, the perfect Jedi padawan who killed a Sith then died to save someone.  He was also growing up in the shadow of Xanatos, the talented, powerful former padawan that Fell and died a decade ago.  This is offset, just a bit, by Feemor coming back, telling Qui Gon that he could kriff off with his repudiation and installed himself as Anakin’s Padawan brother (“like I should have with little Obi Wan”). It is made worse by Anakin overhearing the wrong parts of a few conversations that heavily implied Obi Wan died because he felt he had little left to live for (Because Obi Wan was being replaced by Anakin)

It is likely that, left alone, growing up with the ghost (in tha he haunted the narrative, not that he was actually there) of Obi Wan would have made Anakin resentful of his dead padawan brother.  However Palpatine, who he still had frequent private meetings with (look no one was suspicious of this happening the first time around, Qui Gon would likely not have felt it was suspicious either), never met any potential resentment that he could not turn to his advantage.  Instead of letting resentment grow for Obi Wan, Palpatine instead leaned into this saintly memory of a young man Anakin only spent a little time with (a lot of, ‘I’m sure young Obi Wan would not have treated you like that’), something similar to what he supposedly did with Qui Gon in canon.  Basically polishing the image of Obi Wan Kenobi in Anakin’s head until the dead Padawan could do no wrong. Palpatine could have eventually used the memory of Obi Wan to further separate Anakin from the Jedi (“The Jedi let Obi Wan Die/Got Obi Wan Killed because he was the last good Jedi” kind of rhetoric).  

Had the dead man stayed dead. 

With that established we step back to 5 years before the Clone wars were due to break out, Ord Mantel, where Cody and Obi Wan find themselves appearing, young bodies, old minds, and a small amount of the local currency (not enough to destabilize the economy, but enough to start gambling with). They quickly, and quietly, win enough money to buy a small cruiser (taking care to keep their individual ins small enough not to catch the attention of anyone), just big enough for the two of them. 

Then they make their way to Kamino.

They very deliberately decide not to go to the Jedi just yet. There are a number of reasons.  Some are trauma based (the last time Obi Wan was Coruscant he was walking through the ruins of the temple and finding the bodies of children; the last time Cody was on Coruscant he was deserting the empire after Desix). Some are for practicality(Coruscant is Palapatines domain already; They do not realize that their alternate selves are dead here and do not want to run into Knight Obi Wan).  But the main reason comes from the fact that Order 66 caused two genocides, Jedi and Clone. They both reasoned that, while focusing on preventing the Jedi genocide (Going to the Jedi, killing Palpatine) would not necessarily prevent the Clones from being abused, used, and trapped by the chips, Freeing the Clones would, by the very nature of what happened, prevent the Jedi from being killed. 

So they go to Kamino. Talk their way into Tipoca City and to speak with Jango Fett.  First they help Jango remove his head from his ass and realize exactly what he did (effectively selling his genetic children into slavery to destroy a culture for revenge he was clinging to in order to keep from facing his culpability in what happened-Not only were the Jedi lied to at Galidraan, Jango shot first; he escalated things and it backfired on him). It took a few days (and included bringing Jango and Boba down to one of the creche rooms holding the clones the same physical age as Boba, putting Boba in clone uniform and asking Jango to try and pick him from the crowd. Jango promptly had a panic attack when he was face to face with 200ish Boba’s and unable to look away from the reality of what he was doing).

SIDE NOTE: Has anyone else noticed the parallel between Jango Fett and Maul. Both were obsessed with getting revenge for situations where they suffered from being in the instigator and losing. Essentially they fucked around, found out, and decided to get revenge, and it cost them everything they had left.  

Once Cody and Obi Wan actually got through to Jango, they told him everything. Being from the future, what Project Knightfall actually did, Cody talking about what it was like under the control of the chips, of never realizing why he betrayed his Jedi general or was willing to hunt down Force users, of waking up after the chip was removed and realizing exactly what he had done, Of the brothers he had lost to suicide, due to the horror of what had happened. They talked about the Empire and what it did to Mandalore. 

The three of them decided what to do next.  

Jango, looking at himself realistically for the first time in a decade, realizes quickly that he should not take the mantle of Mand’alor again. He was too young the first time, but had been growing into the role. Had Galidraan not happened, he likely would have been a good leader, but it did and the years of slavery (with its exposure to Spice) plus the trauma from Galidraan made their mark. Jango would, however, throw his support behind Cody as Mand’alor (Cody made sure it was clear that Jango would also be throwing in his support behind Obi Wan as Cody’s Jedi husband, alternately Cody and Obi Wan would share the Mand’alor title. Jango was fine with that).  

It is also decided, after much debate, that they would also inform the Kaminoans of the fate of their species in the original timeline (destroyed as soon as they could be) and get their cooperation.  There had been consideration for simply taking Kamino, or Tipoca city, but it was decided that it was simply more work than it was worth.  It took two months (during which Obi Wan and Cody functioned as additional trainers for the Cadets) before they were ready to present the truth to Lama Su. Thankfully they had enough working knowledge of things they should not, and were able to get enough proof of what they had to say, that they were able to convince Lama Su that aligning with the Sith would doom the Kaminoans; an if there was one thing the Kaminoan valued more than profit, it was their own survival. 

The Clone project, overall, was at a point where communication between the project and the Sith was infrequent at best (so that attention was not drawn to a seemingly empty patch of space too early), so Tyranus did not have cause to notice that Kamino started ghosting him (It should be noted that they also kept cashing his checks, ostensibly so that he would not notice anything wrong). 

With the Kaminoans on their side now, Cody, Obi Wan, and Jango got to work.  There were a few trainers that did need to be killed outright (Priest and Reau, whom Cody got to kill during one of the cage fights they were arranging-which forever endeared him to the Clone cadets, especially the batch he would have belong to in another life, who were around 10 years old developmentally,  who found themselves drawn to Cody, the trainer that looked so much like Jango Fett that he could have been a clone himself), and a few that asked to be paid so they could leave (and were paid extras so that Obi Wan could remove the details of what as going on from their mind, for safety reasons), but most were willing to follow Cody and Obi Wan as soon as it was clear that Jango has sworn himself to them (non sexually and non romantically, Jango is very AroAce, and very Sex/Romance repulsed). 

The next step is starting to remove the already embedded chips, which went quickly with the help of the Kaminoans, and partially demilitarizing the education of the cadets.  While they would be Mandalorians (as a warrior culture there is a certain level of military in their education) the cadets training would no longer be solely focused on being soldiers and nothing else.  The Kaminoans also keep cloning (Technically the original order was for 1 million clones for the Jedi, they may be taking Tyranus’s money and ghosting him, but they would fulfill their contract-It was decided by the Kaminoan Council that Obi Wan qualified as ‘Jedi’ for the purposes of the contract, so giving him the clones is really fulfilling their written contract)

Cody and Obi Wan, with the council from the remaining trainers and Jango, decided that they would spend the years between their arrival and one year before the Clone Wars was due to start on Kamino, still largely out of contact with the wider galaxy. In that time they develop their own culture (their own version of ‘how to be mandalorian’ built in part from the remaining True Mandalorians, the clone culture Cody brought from the previous timeline mixing with the ever evolving clone culture of the current timeline-which quickly became different from how Cody remembered it, Part of the Jedi traditions that Obi Wan brought with him from the previous timeline-some of which he may or may not remember correctly due to trauma and the length of time he spent repressing those memories). They also worked over talking points on how to unite their faction with the New Mandalorians, including going over what traditions/parts of their culture they would be willing to relinquish as a compromise and what parts they absolutely will not.  On Jango’s occasional trips out into the wider galaxy, to take jobs, he makes a point to get as close to Keldabe as he can to get a feel for the New Mandalorian as a faction (Obi Wan has inside knowledge, but it may be early or outdated is all kinda colored with ‘Satine died in my arms and it was my fault’). There was also a concerted effort to discreetly acquire enough ships for everyone. 

So we are one year before the Clone Wars were due to erupt. Palpatine is on Coruscant waiting for the perfect opportunity to enact his plan, believing that he had a handy clone army at the ready for the war he has been fanning. Tyranus, who has still not realized he has not spoken to Kamino in about 4 years, is quietly building his forces with the droid armies about 4 months from being completed. 

The Newer True Mandalorians (The name suggestion was from Rex’s-He still picked the same name and was adopted by Codywan along with Fox and Ponds, batch; the name is being workshopped) leave Kamino for Concord Dawn. They take with them a treaty between them and the Kaminoans that includes mutual protection, a live and let live clause, a few NDA’s about the Kamnoan’s gene manipulation process,  and a decent trade agreement where the Kaminoans provide genetic research and the clones provide free advertising for the success of the Kaminoans cloning process. 

Basically out of nowhere, as far as the galaxy is concerned, the True Mandalorians reemerge after being all but wiped out almost 20 years prior, and in far greater numbers than they had before. Numbers that sharply spike, as outcasts from the New Mandalorians and Death Watch, plus other remnants of the True Mandalorians flock to their banner. These are great enough numbers that when they reach out to discuss a treaty, and a possible merger for factions, with the New Mandalorians, the New Mandalorians actually take it seriously.   

This faction, the entire galaxy is surprised to learn, is being led by someone who looks an awful lot like Jango Fett, but is clearly not since Jango Fett is standing next to him (by this point Cody and Jango call ach brother, further confusing the issue) and a red haired man going by the name of Obi Wan Kenobi, who clearly is, or was, a Jedi. 

Tyranus and Sidious, realizing that Jango Fett showing up anywhere with a massive amount of being might be contrary to their plans, try to contact Kamino. Kamino doesn’t answer and their ‘we’re busy, don’t call us we’ll call you’ message included a virus that made it so they cannot find or contact Kamino again.

The heads of the New Mandalorian Government arrange to meet with the heads of the Newer True Mandalorians, including Cody and Obi Wan. Satine recognizes Obi Wan. It is at this point that they find out this timeline’s Obi Wan has been dead for almost a decade. They had known that this timeline’s Cody was never born, but had never thought to check on Obi Wan. 

The negotiations between the New Mandalorans and the Newer True Mandalorians lasts months, but eventually is hammered out between them, along with a new government structure. Cody and Obi Wan would jointly preside over a council made up equally of New Mandalorians and Newer True Mandalorian (and, should Death Watch want to actually come in from the cold, Death Watch representative, but the faction would have to swear to the agreed upon laws and to follow the joint Mand’alor’s- Satine insisted). While Obi Wan and Cody would have the final say in most cases, if at least 90% of the council agreed they were wrong there was a veto power that could be used. Membership on the council is decided by the faction in question, and if a new faction splits off and gets to a certain size (Generally enough people to populate a medium sized planet) that faction will also be able to put representatives on the council. 

Meanwhile in the Republic the reappearance of the True Mandalorians (it doesn’t matter that they have a new name as far the Republic is concerned) has derailed 90% of Palpatine's plans (he does not have time to grow another army, even if he could get in contact with Kamino again and he cannot start the war without an army).  The news that the Red Headed leader of the reemerged faction appeared to be Presumed Dead Obi Wan Kenobi, famed in song and story and all but sainted in Anakin Skywalker's head, derailed 90% of the rest. 

Padawan Anakin Skywalker, upon hearing that Obi Wan Kenobi might be alive, vanished from Coruscant. Just took off for Concord Dawn to potentially rescue his hero, or avenge him if it was someone else pretending to be him. Or something like that, Anakin was not thinking at all beyond that he needed to see Obi Wan, the man he knew for maybe a week when he was nine.  He also left prematurely, had he waited six more hours he and his master Qui Gon Jinn would have been assigned to investigate the identity of the presumed Obi Wan. 

Qui Gon did not know where Anakin was headed until he reached Concord Dawn (Anakin left a note that he was going radio silent to work on some course work he was behind in, so Qui Gon left him off the mission-This Qui Gon is just a little oblivious)  and was promptly led to a holding cell by some of the Mandos (I kind of want it to be Waxer and Boil, or one of the Alpha’s) who gestured at Anakin inside, glowering like a bristly wet cat, going ‘is this yours?’

I Imagine this ‘reunion’  is weird and awkward from every angle. Like this Obi Wan remembers holding Qui Gon as he died, raising Anakin, Anakin’s Fall, everything of the original timeline. But this Qui Gon held his Padawan as he died (which hold the residual guilt of surviving, plus the guilt of Obi Wan dying to save his life), has added the normal rosy shine to his memories of his padawan (gloss over the bad times to focus on the good times). This Anakin has few actual memories of Obi Wan, but a massive case of hero worship. possibly to the point of Obi Wan being akin to a deity to Anakin, so massively unhealthy(Which Qui Gon also realizes for the first time)  but in a way that is difficult to break. Palaptine inadvertently created the Cult of Obi Wan, with one cult member and brainwashed him so well that he fucked up his own plans.  Now that there is a living Obi Wan, it is everyone's problem. Cody is prickly with both of them, because he remembers the things Obi Wan, his husband, told him about his Padawanship AND remembers both Reckless General Skywalker and Darth Vader. 

I am not sure how much they actually tell the Jedi, but they definitely tell them that Obi Wan and Coy are from a different timeline, and no they can’t go back. Just so that they do not start thinking that Padawan Obi Wan somehow faked his death (they are just a little concerned how Anakin would react).

Eventually Cody gets to kill Palpatine, as a treat.

[varpusvaras]

We can talk about if Jango was a good or a bad parent to Boba, but for me, there’s one thing that tells me that Jango really, really wanted to be a dad.

And it’s the fact that he had the option to have Boba be unaltered and not have accelerated aging. Yeah yeah you can say that Jango wanted Boba to be unaltered because he wanted an exact clone of himself so he could live through another being blah blah listen. Listen. Look me in the eyes and listen. Babies are tough. Babies scream and cry. We lived in a massive house where me and my older brother had a whole floor of it to ourselves with a full bathroom and all, and our baby sister still kept everyone up during the first year of her life because she had stomach problems and screamed about it. Jango decided to go through that. He was given an option not to and he chose to have a baby. Only a person who really wants to be a parent does that when he doesn’t have to.

The Kaminoans were like: you know that we can age him up just a little bit, so you can get past the first years of development faster?

Jango, already knitting little socks and getting his photo albums ready: no fuck off

[cuminhoid]

i love when Jango disguises himself with the name Jaster as though it's not true that everyone who wants any info on him would know that one of his parents' names was Jaster

[josephsaturn]

Library visit (AU DRABBLE)

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Shmi thinks about things while she gets ready to go to the library

(This is a drabble for an AU I have where Shmi was taken by Jango to be a nanny for Boba)

WORDS: 595

CW: none as far as I know

Note: Shmi’s thoughts on the Jedi aren’t my thoughts on the Jedi, nor how the Jedi would be portrayed if I made a full-on fic for this AU

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Even though it’s been 3 years since Mr. Fett brought her from Tatooine to Kamino, Shmi was still shocked by how different the two planets were.

Tatooine was hot, dry, and sandy, and Shmi didn’t miss it one bit, but Kamino was cold. The cold was omnipresent, from the moment she woke up in her apartment to the moment she went to bed. On top of that, no matter how many layers she put on, the cold would always worm its way through to her skin. She didn’t think she could hate anything more than the anger of Tattooine’s suns boiling her alive, but Shmi thinks she’d prefer it over the constant, unyielding cold.

This cold isn’t just in the environment, either; evidently, the cold seeped into Kamino’s dominant species.

Shmi dreads to talk to any of them, with their callousness toward the sentient life they’ve made of Mr. Fett’s DNA, or their callousness in general.

That’s another thing, too: the clones.

Seeing as Shmi isn’t a trainer, she’s not allowed back there to be among or train them, but…there are windows nearby. When she’s feeling stir-crazy, Mr. Fett is planetside (which is usually only for a week or two between months-long bounties) and Mr. Gilamar is busy (which he usually is), Shmi will walk to a window and just…watch them train.

Children, the lot of them.

Children as young as 3 (physically, Mr. Gilamar had been very insightful on how they differed from her sometimes-charge when she asked), hooked up to machines for hours on end, staring at screens that beamed military training into their minds.

Children as young-looking as 6, learning how to take apart blasters and wield knives to take down men two times their size.

For a planet with a seemingly-infinite amount of water, this place is no more free than Tattooine.

And just like Tattooine, the Jedi won’t come to liberate these boys.

No, they’re an army for the Jedi: bought and paid for, even. The Jedi will come here in a few years to pick them up, and make them their loyal lapdogs, with no chance for these boys to live their own lives.

She should’ve spat in Master Jinn’s face when he asked to take her son.

“Miss Shmi?” A voice asks at the same time she feels a slight tugging on her dress.

Turning around, she sees her charge, the reason Mr. Fett brought her to this forsaken place.

Boba Fett, Mr. Fett’s 3 year-old son.

The only clone who’ll get to have a childhood. To grow up, to live.

“Can we-can we go to the li-b’rary now?” He asks, looking up at her with wide eyes.

Shmi lets out a soft puff and gives a small smile.

“Go put on your shoes, Boba.”

It’s not this boy’s fault for this, she knows that. He’s just as innocent as the other clones.

No, the one she truly despises is Mr. Fett. He sold his DNA to make an army, he treats everyone with indifference at best and hostility at worst.

There’s no positive emotion in her body for that man, not a lick of it.

Shmi smiles as Boba walks over, shoes on his feet. “Ready!” He shouts, giving her a thumbs up, and Shmi holds her hand out, not moving until the boy’s small fingers curl around her own fingers.

They both walked over to the front door of the apartment.

“So, which book do you plan on getting today?” She asks as the door slides open.

She might not be able to do anything for the other boys, but she’ll help boba in any way she can.

In spite of Mr. Fett.

[cienie-isengardu]

Jango Fett' childhood on Concord Dawn

One of the things that I think bothers me the most about Jango Fett: Open Seasons comics series is how a 8 (or 10) years old Jango was told by his dad to repair a harvester

and then… left alone for who knows how long in the middle of a crop field?

I was born in the city so obviously I don’t know how life on a farm goes and all so forgive me my ignorance but:

A) Jango was introduced with a weapon in his hand, while he walked through his own family’s property

and was taught by father how to use a blaster at the age of 8 - 10.

At this point in the story, I think it is safe to assume Jango’s dad knew Mandalorians were in his field, as he brought food to Jaster and his men. So I assume he was contacted by comlink or he already talked in person with Jaster and he probably had some idea of what was going on - unless Jaster didn’t warn him about Death Watch on his trail, but I think this is pretty unlikely, as the Mandalorians stayed hidden in the field, instead of coming to Fett’s house.  

So there is a reason to think that leaving a kid alone in the middle of the field was not the smartest idea.

B) Jango has never been any technology genius or even that good with it in sources? His jetpack was repaired by a droid whose main job was to take care of little Boba on Kamino. I’m pretty sure Jango as a Mandalorian Merc was capable of maintaining his armor, weapons and ship but if the harvester was so important to put back into use - and I assume this is the case, as Fett’s parents were usually described as simple farmers and the first part of comics clearly represents the season of summer (childhood) and this was very likely grain harvest time  - then I would not pick a kid to do the job, unless the kid was Anakin Skywalker who could fix all kind of machinery, as it was his specific gift. Jango though? I’m not so sure about his 8-10 year old self’ skills.

Of course, the harvester’s problem could be a simple matter but then why not send Arla, Jango’s older sister (14 years old) to either do the job, or help Jango to speed up the repairs? Not saying Arla did not have her own share of duties and all (unless the kids were treated unfair, as Arla did not hold/use a gun against the invaders

but that could be just matter of her being too terrified or there could be not enough guns which is why only the mother was armed), but considering how the comics implies that Jango’s dad, mother and Arla were at home when he was working during sunny (if not hot) day, in the middle of a field, no shadow, repairing a vehicle bothers me a lot. 

And sure, on Concord Dawn living on farm could be just that tough even for kids, but looking at AotC novel (that admittedly does not mention Jango’s time with Mandalorians at all) 

Other than that, though, this was just a  job,  well  paying  and  easy enough. Financially, he couldn't have asked for more,  but  more  important, only the Kaminoans could have given him Boba - not just a son,  but  an  exact replica. Boba would give Jango the pleasure of seeing all that he might have become had he grown up with a loving and caring father, a mentor  who  cared enough to criticize, to force him to perfection.

or

This, then, was Jango Fett's greatest reward, right here, sitting  with his son, his young replica, sharing quiet moments.   Quiet moments within the tumult that had been Jango Fett's entire life, surviving the trials of the Outer Rim alone  practically  from  the  day  he learned to walk. Each trial  had  made  him  stronger,  had  made  him  more perfect, had honed the skills that he would now pass along  to  Boba.  

and old source material like outdated starwars.com’s databank entry:

Fett all but disappeared from bounty hunting circles as he took time to raise his son. He sought to experience what his life might have been like had he been raised by a caring guardian.

I can’t help but wonder about Jango’s childhood before the Mandalorians showed up.

So far my research showed, only Fact Files v.3 #14 mentioned he had "as idyllic a life as could be while making a living off the land, in close family unit with his mother, father and sister, Arla"

which gives some hope Jango's childhood although tough, was a relative happy one.

[Just to be clear here: I don’t think Jango’s biological family was by any means pathological, I just think Concord Dawn is a pathological place as this planet's record is not the best when it comes to people's backstories.]

[kill-the-feels]

cuyan

a/n: hey everyone! i didn’t mean to leave y’all on such a cliffhanger last time for so long, but real life got in the way. once more, minimal Jango content, but the next chapter will fix that, promise! enjoy! :) (previous part) (masterlist)

word count: ~3.9k

warnings: implied/referenced slavery (Gardulla returns), implied/referenced child abuse, injury mention, blood/stabbing mention

It has been nearly ten years since the last time you stepped foot on Tatooine, and nearly twelve years since you found yourself being bartered away from Gardulla’s service.

For a long time, after escaping Gardulla, even on Kamino, you lived life like you were waiting on the other shoe to fall.

You didn’t let yourself be all the way happy, because you were so afraid that something would come and take that happiness. Anytime you felt joy, you carefully smothered it, tamping it down in your chest, like you were keeping the universe from finding out and snatching it away.

And then, just when you weren’t looking, just when you let your guard down, felt such unbridled joy, the universe did snatch it away.

But.

You are not going to go quietly.

The planet has not changed much — the same harsh winds, relentless suns, and ever-shifting sands. But what was once a palace that housed Gardulla and her ill-gotten gains has fallen into a bit of disrepair.

As you stare up at the spires, once as tall and as sharp as her tongue, you see the way they’ve started to crumble in on themselves.

Once a place for lookouts, they’re now defunct and in need of serious repair.

The front door is much the same. Time and whipping sands have stripped the paint; the lavish purple now a dull grey lavender, bleached by the harsh environment.

The hinges squeak as you push open the door, and no one is there to stop you.

It seems in the dawning of a new era, Gardulla has quietly and slowly — but surely — been left behind.

Perhaps you won’t have to part with as many credits and weapons as you thought.

The inside of the palace is dark, the lamps long since spent of their fuel, and a layer of soot covers everything. The helmet allows you to see more than you normally would, filtering the shadows and increasing the contrast automatically. No wonder Jango can see so well in Kamino’s storms.

Grit crunches under your boot as you take the familiar path towards Gardulla’s lair, at the very center with her precious throne.

There’s faint music playing, but it’s scratchy — a recording and a far cry from the live bands she once entertained.

A mass of people is huddled in the room, much more subdued than you’re used to, a smokey haze curling around everyone.

Few people give you an interested glance — most look bored out of their minds. You recognize none of them; the old girls and the people who used to hang out here are gone or dead, a product of the life they were forced into.

And there, in the very center, is the Hutt herself. She’s snapping something churlish at a young man who holds a tray, and he scurries off, tripping over her tail as he goes.

You follow his path, stopping when you see the little girl at the end of Gardulla’s tail.

She’s young, far younger than you ever were, with long, stringy hair, and brown eyes that seem to look right through you, as she becomes the first person in the room to take real notice of you.

“Bring me a fucking drink,” Gardulla howls in Huttese, skin quivering in rage.

It’s a strange power dynamic now. Here you are, back in the same room, looking at a little girl in the same spot you were. Only now, you’re the one in the armor; you’re the one with the hidden past and the ulterior motives.

You step out of the shadows without a word, waiting on Gardulla to notice you. Her tail tightens around the little girl’s ankle, and you watch the girl wince before she catches herself, shoulders straightening.

White hot anger courses through your body, and ultimately, it’s what gives you the strength to speak.

“Gardulla.” Her name is a harsh sound in the midst of the droning music, and you watch as she turns to you, visibly trying to place your voice through the crackling modulation of the helmet’s filter.

You don’t give her a choice.

“I need a bacta tank. No questions. Fifty thousand credits.” The Huttese is rusty on your tongue, but as you speak, it comes back to you. She stares at you, silent for once in her life, as she processes your words.

“Who said that?” she asks, and you step further forward, until you’re in the center of the room, in the center of the circle.

“I did.” She stares down at you from her throne, and you’re struck by the irony. She used to be so big to you, and in your mind, she’s always been this hulking shadow, never quite vanquished.

But now, up close, with all these years removed, you can see her for what she is: just a scared and conning gangster, trying desperately not to lose what little power she has left.

“You’re not Fett,” she says, narrowing her eyes at you. You study her for a long moment in return, refusing to cower away.

“Doesn’t matter who I am. I need a bacta tank. You can get it. And you clearly need the credits.” She waves a hand, obviously stalling.

“Still, I should think you would be willing to… indulge me. You come into my house, start making these demands? I would think you’d want to get on my good side.” The young man returns with the drink, and she snatches it up, taking a long draw before tossing it away.

It glances off the little girl’s shoulder, and she barely flinches. Your fists curl in an effort to refrain from removing one of Jango’s blasters and ending the Hutt where she sits.

“I should think for fifty thousand credits you’d be willing to listen to my demands,” you say. Her head tilts.

“And yet, there’s something familiar about you. And if there’s one thing I like almost as much as credits, it’s having my curiosity satisfied.” You stare at her, weighing your options.

Finally, you reach up and snag off the helmet. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust in the dark, hazy room, and you blink back the sting of smoke.

You see when it registers just who you are. Her mouth opens and closes as she mouths your name, and you tilt your head impatiently, ready to get on with it.

“I thought you died,” she finally says. You reach into the bag and pull out a handful of credits.

“Fifty thousand for a bacta tank and no questions. And another fifty thousand for the girl.” Gardulla stiffens and the little girl’s head jerks up.

“She’s not for sale. I’m training her to be a dancer.” You let out a humorless laugh.

“For what, Hutt? There’s no one around even remotely interested in that. Your place is shit. Take the credits and fix it up. Get someone better down the line.” Her lip curls, but you can see it in her eyes. She’s not going to turn you down. She values the money too much, just like you knew she would, greedy bastard that she is.

“Fifty thousand for the tank, seventy-five for the girl,” she counters. You know she’s expecting you to protest. What she doesn’t know is that you were prepared to part with much more, before you saw the state of things.

“Deal. Where’s the tank?” She’s flustered. Her tail loosens and the girl shoves it off, rushing to your side. She’s a little younger than Boba, and despite the heat, she shivers beside you.

“Well, I-I didn’t realize you’d take the deal. What I meant to say is that it’s seventy-five for both.” She tries to backtrack, and your hand drifts down to one of the blasters as you pull your helmet back on.

“Don’t piss me off,” you warn. “I can take these credits elsewhere and leave you with nothing.” She grits her teeth. Gardulla doesn’t like to lose.

You cock your head, waiting.

She hollers for two of her guards.

“There’s a spare tank in the north room. Bring it to me.” You cross your arms as you wait, and finally, the two emerge, the tank on a floating platform between them. Carefully, you count out the credits, still mildly surprised she agreed to this in the first place, without you having to part with any weapons. The girl says nothing as she watches you.

Finally done, you push the tank forward and out of the room, nodding at the little girl who follows closely behind you. Remembering how scared you were in her position, you wait until you round the corner, out of Gardulla’s sight, then kneel beside her, careful not to touch her.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve been where you were. Once I get you out of here, you’re free to go wherever you want, okay? What’s your name?” She shakes her head, and you nod.

“That’s okay. I’m not big on trusting people either.” You glance down at her feet. Like your past self, she has no shoes. You have no cape, but you do have the bag the credits were in, so you tear it up.

“The sand outside is hot. It burns. If you put this on your feet, it’ll help.” You show her how to tie it off, fighting the urge to go kill Gardulla when you see the raw skin around her ankle, where Gardulla’s tail must have constricted, day after day.

“When we get out of here, I’ll find you something better,” you whisper. She hesitates, then looks up a you with a tiny nod. Something swells in your chest, and you consider it a small victory.

As you step outside, the late afternoon suns hit you in the face. Even with the helmet, you’re squinting, and the girl cowers back. Without thinking, you reach up and tug off the helmet.

“Here. This will help filter the sun so it’s not so bright.” She pulls it down over her head, and it tilts slightly to the side, just a little too big for her.

A cruel laugh echoes over the sand.

“As a live and breathe. A former Gardulla Girl.” You turn. There, slipping out of the crest of a dune, is a pink Twi’lek. You squint in the sun.

“Maswoni?” Years and years ago, the Twi’lek was one of the favorites. Now, it’s clear that the years have not been kind. She’s scarred and missing some of her right lekku. The bags under her eyes are visible, even from a distance, and the provocative dress she wore as a dancer has been replaced by a baggy flightsuit and utility belt. She’s picking at her sharp nails with a blade.

“In the flesh,” she replies. Her gaze is hostile as it lands on you, jumping between you and the girl.

“Still as noble as ever,” she adds. In a flash, Maswoni flings the blade at you, and you duck, shoving the girl down behind the tank.

“Stay here,” you tell her, trying to draw Maswoni’s attention elsewhere. If she messes up the tank, you’re back to square one.

You’re also aware you’re running out of time. The longer it takes you to deal with Maswoni, the more time you waste that you could spend helping Jango. If you don’t die first, that is.

She charges at you with a shriek, and you duck as she fires the blaster at your head. You’re a terrible shot with the blaster, so you know you’re going to have to get in close.

Jango’s lesson comes rushing back to you.

Don’t fight to win, fight to get away.

“Listen to me,” you whisper to the girl. “I’m going to distract her. I want you to take and push this towards the city — it’s over the dunes. There’s a ship with blue and yellow details, twin blaster cannons, real funny looking. I need you to take it there. Please.” She looks between you and the still-charging Maswoni, visibly torn. Finally, mercifully, she nods, then grabs your arm. You watch as she takes off the helmet, pushing it into your chest.

“Are you sure?” you ask her, and she nods again. You waste no time in slipping it back on.

You step out from behind the tank, unholstering your blaster as you do.

The armor, as you have seen, can take a few hits. But the closer she gets, the deadlier they’ll be. You have to knock the blaster out of her hand, you decide. Get rid of it, engage her in a hand-to-hand fight. That’ll keep her busy long enough for the girl to get away, then you can run.

To throw her off guard, you fire a few shots near her, but it’s painfully clear you don’t know how to shoot.

She pings one off your right shoulder, and you stumble backwards, tripping in the sand. It’s been years since you’ve had to move around the shifting sands, and the armor adds weight that you’re not used to. As you stumble, you catch your hand in the spare utility belt hiding the old blaster shot. It tugs to the side, exposing it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the little girl and the tank, slinking away. Good. Boba will know what to do if she makes it to him. But that’s a big if.

You fall flat on your back as another shot hits your other shoulder, the wind knocked out of you. Everything in you screams at you to get up, but a quiet voice keeps you still.

Anything can be a weapon. She needs to be closer.

You play dead, blaster shot in the middle of your chest on prominent display. To her eyes, it looks like she got you center mass. A kill shot.

It’s a calculated move, because the little girl is still not far enough away, but Maswoni is entirely focused on you. You hear the crunch of her footsteps in the sand, feel the stray grains she’s kicked up dust over the helmet. Your eyes remain fixed on her figure, the benefit of a helmet. She can’t tell you’re watching her, waiting.

Ten feet. Seven. Five. Two.

She leans over you, nudging you with her toe, and still, you don’t move.

It’s not until she bends down, tries to snatch the helmet off you, that you spring into action.

With a cry, you kick at her hands, knocking the blaster away. She cries out too, falling backwards and taking your helmet with her, even as she reaches for her other blaster. You don’t give her a chance, instead tackling her backwards and pinning her in the sand. Frantically, you toss the blaster as far away as you can get it.

The two of you wrestle there, you just trying to subdue her, Maswoni trying to kill you.

She lands a solid punch on the side of your head, leaving you dazed as she rolls away. Maswoni scrambles for the blade she threw at you to start this whole fight. You reach for your own blade, still stuck on your back in the sand, blinking away the grey at the edge of your vision.

With a howl, she leaps at you, knife pointed at your neck. Your hands fumble as you try to get your own knife up between you two, to block the blade. She lands on your chest, and you tense, prepared to feel the sting on your neck, feel the hot blood seep out.

Instead, she goes limp, a gasping cough escaping from her lips.

Your knife is buried in her chest, sticky blood starting to seep over your hands.

Her hand trembles and she tries to force it to work, to stab you, but she’s too weak. Carefully, you role her off you, and stand on shaky legs, swallowing the bile that rises in the back of your throat.

“Why did it have to be fucking you?” Maswoni says in between gasps.

You kneel beside her, not relishing the ending she’s been dealt. She’s right. Your roles could oh, so easily, have been reversed.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. She scowls, looking away at the suns, which have started to slip below the horizon, casting long shadows over the two of you.

“We used to talk, y’know. About how long you’d make it. Every single one of them thought he’d kill you. But I knew you. You were too fucking stubborn to go down so easily, even if you acted scared all the time.” Her voice is choked and bitter, the words spat at you.

You gently pry the knife out of her hands, biting your lip as you look down at her.

“Maswoni,” you say, trying to figure out how to apologize. For stabbing her, for what she’s been through, all of it.

“Don’t,” she says. “Let me have my dignity. You beat the system. You won. Now get out of here. Before it pulls you back in.” Her eyes close and a sad, bitter smile graces her lips. Her next words are delivered softly, as if she’s resigned herself to what comes next.

“It never would have been me, anyways. Every time he’d come in there, he was always looking at you.” Carefully, you take her hand, hands smeared with blood and sand, wanting her to have some comfort, a gentle touch, something, before she dies. She snorts softly, pressing a hand to her wound, and with one long exhale, she’s gone.

You hang your head, fighting a sudden rush of tears. It isn’t fair. Maswoni, who used to be vapid and mean, but also entirely ready to protect the other girls at Gardulla’s, the one you could always count on to fight back.

Gone. In a blink.

The winds pick up, shifting the dunes, starting to cover her feet. You find your blade, and hers, and tuck them both into your belt. A quick look around reveals the helmet nearly covered, and you tug it back on, leaving bloody fingerprints on it, watching through the twilight as the sands reclaim Maswoni. Another breath, and she’s gone, the sands perfectly undisturbed, no evidence of your fight except the extra blade.

Your force your feet to move on, and when you crest the dune, you don’t look back. ~~~ You find the girl, stumbling through the sands, resolutely pushing the bacta tank, and you help her get it the rest of the way, slapping the side of the ship to let Boba know you’re back.

The ramp lowers, and you shove the tank up, catching the girl’s hand when she hesitates.

“You can come in,” you tell her. “I told you I’d get you out of here, and then you’re free to go wherever.” She settles in the corner as you position the tank along the wall and toss the helmet in a nearby seat.

“Boba!” you shout, and he rushes down the ladder. You’ve never hooked up one of these, don’t know what to do, and neither does Boba, but surely between the two of you, you can figure something out.

Boba notices the little girl as he messes with the control panel.

“Who’s she?” He glances between you and the girl, and you catch the way his eyes linger on the dried blood covering the armor. You tug a spare tube, trying to figure out what it connects to.

“Gardulla was keeping her. I didn’t like that.” You’re vague, having never really told Boba about your past, and now is not the time to elaborate.

“Buir, how did you even find this?” Boba asks, a strange inflection — awe maybe? — in his tone, and you shake your head. Not the time, you repeat.

The girl creeps out of the corner and touches your hand, pointing to one last spare tube. You frown.

“I see it, but where does it go?” She hesitates, glancing between you two for permission.

“Go ahead,” Boba says. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” Her eyes go wide, but she scurries under the tank, pulling the tube and connecting it to some unseen valve.

The lights flicker on, and the tank starts to fill.

“Yes!” You and Boba cheer.

“Okay,” you tell Boba. “I’m going to get Jango in the tank. Can you get us in atmo?” He nods and the girl slinks back to her corner. Boba pauses right before he climbs up the ladder, instead heading for the bunks in the ship.

He returns, carrying Ai-Ai. Gently, he places the toy in front of the girl.

“For you,” he explains. “He makes me feel better.” The girl watches him with big eyes, and you blink a few times to clear the tears, frozen as he climbs the ladder, so mature and so calm in that moment. You’re not sure when he grew up. Just that one moment he was a baby, and now he’s just like his father.

Right.

Jango.

With the little girl watching you, you carefully strip the remains of Jango’s flightsuit.

You’re in the process of adjusting the bacta levels — not wanting to splash it everywhere when Jango is put in — when the little girl sits up suddenly.

Her eyes stay focused on Jango as her grip tightens on Ai-Ai and you pause.

“What’s up?” you ask. She shakes her head, unwilling to look away, and you step closer.

He isn’t breathing.

The realization sticks your feet to the floor, wasting precious seconds and your body goes hot then cold in the matter of a second.

“Shit,” you hiss, falling on your knees beside him. You don’t know what to do.

Patrons used to die at Gardulla’s all the time, in sudden and increasingly creative ways. You’ve never seen them brought back to life, though.

Think.

You close your eyes, wracking through your brain for anything. There was a safety training video you half-watched once, listening as Boba watched on the holopad while you worked on something else.

You have to press his chest, hard. And breathe air into his lungs.

The girl curls into a ball, and you bite down on your lip, placing the palm of one hand on the back of the other. In the video, they pressed hard enough to break ribs.

Jango’s ribs already feel pretty busted when you press, but you suppose it’s either busted ribs or death, so hopefully he’ll forgive you.

You’ve no idea how many times you’re supposed to press, so you take a guess, stopping when your arms ache. The breaths. You’re fairly sure it was two breaths, long breaths at that, so you tilt his head back, holding his nose — it feels like a logical conclusion, a way to keep the air in.

You slot your mouth over his like a twisted kiss and blow, once, twice.

Nothing.

You go back to pressing on his chest, the tears coming quickly now.

“Don’t you fucking do this to me,” you plead, pressing hard enough that you feel something give.

“I need you. You told me you were a survivor. That we were survivors. Cuyan. Cyare, what am I supposed to do?” Back to the breaths.

His mouth is cold against yours, a fact that registers uncomfortably at the front of your mind.

“Please,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his.

Jango coughs, just once, and draws a raspy breath, then another. You sag against him before drawing yourself up. Into the bacta tank. You can’t wait any longer.

It takes some finagling, but you manage to get him in with minimal jostling, tugging a mask over his face to give him air, and pushing a button to seal him in.

Now. You wait.

[sameenbyhat]

Nobody tagged me for Six Sentence Sunday, but I don't care.

So if – if – that proved to be true, he could have everyone use stunners. They had a brig. There would be a Jedi coming to pick up Obi-Wan – oh shit he had to go arrange that. He started climbing out of the nest. Obi-Wan muffled a whine. Jango gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. I’ll send you Silas again, all right?”

[mis-mcgifsten]

I loved this little vignette. I've often seen Obi-Wan Kenobi being translated as no one, child of no clan but flower of the damned is a new and fascinating one. Those stewjoni really don't like force sensitive babies, eh?

hmmm! how about a canon divergence from bandomeer? those are always fun. rescued from the deep sea mine by someone other then Qui-Gon maybe?

Jaster isn’t really sure how he ended up in this situation, but he’s got a tiny Jedi on his ship. Well, a tiny not-really-a-Jedi. He found the tiny Jedi in a deep-sea mine on Bandomeer, being worked to death. Usually, he would’ve gotten on with the job and left well enough alone, especially where Jedi are concerned. But the tiny Jedi, name still unknown, offered to blow himself up to help free everyone. 

Now, Jaster isn’t always the most moral man, according to the rest of the Republic, but he’s Mando’ade. And he will not leave an ad in the care of people who teach children their lives are worth so little. 

And the kid is cute.

He regards Jaster with suspicion, and looks ready to fight despite the fact he barely comes to Jaster’s chest.

“Where are you taking me?”

Jaster spins in the flight chair to regard the tiny thing. He’s strapped himself in, but he’s so small the straps won’t stay on. Was Jango ever this small? Jaster really doesn’t think so. 

“Where do you want to go?” he asks, and the kid frowns.

“Why didn’t you just leave me with the other kids? You had no problem letting the authorities take care of them.”

Jaster smiles to himself, “Well, you’re a little Jetii, and you helped rescue all of the other children. The other children will be returned to their families or funnelled into the care system in the Core. I don’t think either of those things suits you.”

“I’m not a Jedi,” he says with surprising vehemence.

“Your tunics say otherwise.”

“Other organisations wear robes,” the kids frowns.

“Other organisations don’t take in small force sensitive children and then leave them in deep sea mines.”

“A Jedi didn’t leave me in the mines,” he pauses, “Well, he’s not a Jedi anymore.”

Jaster whips his head around to stare at the kid so fast he gives himself whiplash, “The Jedi actually left you there?”

“No,” he says slowly, “I just said, he’s not a Jedi anymore. And neither am I.”

He’s not going to get anywhere with this kid. At least not right now. 

“I’m Jaster Mereel,” he says, looking at the kid expectantly.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The kid, Obi-Wan, glares at him, daring him to react. Jaster doesn’t give him the satisfaction. He doesn’t doubt there’s trauma there, but he’s just removed a bomb collar from around his neck. Trauma isn’t a surprise. Kenobi, child of no one. Obi-Wan, the flower of the damned.

“You should take a shower, Obi-Wan,” Jaster says, as gently as he can, “And then we can talk more, and eat.”

Obi-Wan scowls at him, but unbuckles himself and rises unsteadily. He stumbles to the door, but Jaster knows better than to offer his help. He pauses in the door.

“Thank you, for rescuing me.”

Then he hobbles off down the passage. 

Jaster sighs. He always picks up the stubborn ones.

[phoenixyfriend]

Okay I have yet ANOTHER AU idea and it's vaguely historical fantasy setting where, due to their respective fathers' deaths and alliance, Jango is king of Mandalore with Satine as his heir (despite being less than a decade younger than him).

Jango arranges for Satine to marry the grandson of the Jedi count Dooku, which is fine, they find out they get along well enough, but they have trouble conceiving. Since this is a Dualsex Obi-Wan setting, the solution to this incredibly uncomfortable situation is for Jango to get Obi-Wan pregnant in hopes that Satine's the one with low fertility, because that's basically his stepsister and Jango does NOT want to fuck her.

Obi-Wan does get pregnant, but then they find out that so did Satine, and Jango's house is just full of his pregnant heir, her pregnant husband, and two under-tens with anger issues (because Obi-Wan brought his illegitimate half-brother with him, and the kid has some ongoing conflict with Bo-Katan).

I think that while Satine has zero interest in going through another birth, Obi-Wan... really wants more kids and Misses Being Pregnant so it's time for an awkward conversation with Jango about helping out again.

Satine's pregnancy was Korkie, and Obi-Wan's was Boba... plus maybe more. Not sure if the first two Obi-Wan pregnancies should be Boba+Cal, then Omega, Boba+Omega, then Cal, or Boba, then Cal+Omega, or if I should scrap Boba being the oldest Jangobi baby, and have his first be Alpha-17 or something. There's room for a bunch of kids, I think Obi-Wan wants a whole lot of pregnancies in this AU.

Satine's a bit uncomfortable about the sperm donor being Jango of all people, but whatever, that's what being royalty is like, and honestly when it comes to pregnancy, she's very 'better you than me' about it because ow.

[eelfuneral]

Does this fandom realize that a character does not magically become “white” after being whitewashed and that the criteria for being whitewashed in the first place is being, well, not white? Are we really going to just go along with the whitewashing and go “okay, sure, this character cloned from another character played by an indigenous man is white” and call it progressive or….?

The animators seemingly erasing their ethnicity is not a signal for us to do the same. In fact, doing so is a form of whitewashing, I would argue.

[cuminhoid]

how it started: jango getting railed where it ended up:

For the first few years, Kal hadn’t really gone out of his way to help Jango transition to life with the Haat’ade (a feeling Il’buir shared)...