#kyr’tsad

[itstimeforstarwars]

On the one hand I could let the death watch kids escape and grow up mostly functional and have a happy life down the line and probably end up meeting kix at some point

On the other hand i could also have them end up back in death watch and then when ben ends up getting captured during the mandalorian civil war...well :)

Decisions decisions.

[0h0possum]

A Codywan and How to Train Your Dragon crossover that turned into a the Mandalorians factions are dragons AU, because I can never just do something simple and for the heck of it.

If you’re not interested the AU lore, leave now or suffer my rambling lol.

Basically, the idea is that Mandalorians started as a race that could shift into dragons. The Mand’alor line and those of most influence were notably ‘Fury’s (for example Mand’alor Tarre Viszla was a Nightfury and so is his generational line). But over time most Mandolorians who could shift were killed off or just lost the ability as more non-shifter Mandolorians married in. Eventually only a few of the Fury’s were around, and when Mandalore split most chose factions lead by the remaining Fury lines. AKA: the New Mandalorians/Lightfury’s, the Haat Mando'ade or True Mandalorians/Duskfury’s, and the Kyr’tsad or Death Watch/Nightfury’s.

Basically this also helps explain (in my head) why Mandalorians would follow Death Watch (terrorists) or the New Mandalorians (Intense Pacifist). It’s because they see those lines that can still shift as chosen leaders or a physical embodiment of the Ka’ra’s will.

How is Obi-Wan a shifter though? Well in this AU he’s the son of Tor Viszla. Long story short, early on when Obi-Wan was born he displayed being force sensitive, and Obi-WAN’s mom (Tor’s wife??? Idk it’s not important to the story) basically went ‘Aw hell naw’ and tried to drown Obi-Wan. Only to be stopped by a traveling Jedi who stole Obi-Wan and saved him. Totally unaware that this baby was Mandalorian, the son one of the biggest Mandalorian factions, AND also one of the last few existing Mandalorian dragon shifters. (Also Obi-Wan’s mom doesn’t want to admit that she lost Obi-Wan to a Jedi and just tells Tor that he was force sensitive and she succeeded in drowning him).

Maybe I’ll get into it later but basically Obi-Wan grows up as normal in the Temple, but obviously at some point he shifts and has the biggest panic of his life. But with help from friends (Quinlan, Garen, Siri, and Bant) he figures out shifting (enough to control it) and helps keep it a secret (Mandalorians and Jedi still don’t have best relations and Obi-Wan is paranoid about being kicked out of the Order anyways *cough cough Brandomeer cough cough Melinda/Daan*). To be clear, Obi-Wan isn’t like ashamed of what he is. He just doesn’t want the judgments of coming from CLEAR Mandalorian roots, and Death Watch at that. Plus he kinda just decides to not think about how he’s pretty much definitely related to well known terrorist Tar and Pre Viszla, because then he doesn’t have to address it. Besides he’s happy as a Jedi.

Anyways, NOW CODY-

So without getting to detailed (mission failed lol) all the clones ARE shifters (Duskfury’s just like Jango Fett), but they have it suppressed by the Kaminoans (probably part of their chips? I haven’t thought it fully out yet). BUT THINGS HAPPEN, probably Cody and Obi-Wan get stranded alone somewhere for a long time and Cody gets his chipped fucked up somehow, and now he’s shifting into a dragon???? And scaring the shit out of both him and Obi-Wan. But Obi-Wan exposes himself as a dragon shifter as well to comfort Cody and show that he will keep his secret. Plus he clearly understands him. (At this point they both are under the impression the clones aren’t shifters, and think Cody is just an outlier and “late bloomer” so to speak). Cue them learning how to be dragons together and be comfortable in their other form.

And eventually they get rescued and find out somehow all the clones are shifters, and therefore find the chips and discover Palpatine’s plan, SO THE GALAXY IS SAVED!

(Additionally the clones get rights and go to form their own society/group (Obi-Wan comes with to be with other dragons, but mostly to be with Cody), and they form an alliance with the New Mandalorians and accidentally unit Mandalore purely by the three Fury types (Nightfury/Obi-Wan, Duskfury/Cody, Lightfury/Satine) being around each other lol.

[thegreenlizard]

Mand’alor Kenobi (Duke Kryze)

Obi-Wan leaves the Jedi, marries Satine, gets widowed and ends up as Duke Kryze.

Two alternative endings:

1) Jango Fett resurfaces and returns to Mandalore; or

2) After the war, Cody and his brothers receive an offer for repatriation from the Duke.

Obi-Wan leaves the order for Satine—and for Mandalore, ravaged by a civil war that never truly stops.

During his mission to Mandalore, Obi-Wan not only keeps Satine alive but is invaluable in consolidating her power. However, the hostilities never truly cease, the political situation is a powder keg, and at the conclusion of the Jedis’ mission, Satine sees how it’s Obi-Wan who’s holding the tenuous peace together. She asks him to stay and he leaves the order—not only for Satine, but for Mandalore and her people whom he feels the conclusion of their mission leaves hanging.

In the following months, everybody is running ragged trying to keep Mandalore together. Having already proved his worth as a negotiator/mediator, Obi-Wan quickly rises to a lynchpin position in the new government. Despite his background as a Jedi, his actions during the clan wars have earned him the respect of the more traditional warrior clans and he’s seen as a more moderate option to Satine’s extremism. Tl;dr: instead of treating Obi-Wan as arm candy, Satine puts him to work and inadvertently puts a lot of political power in his hands. What can you say? Sizeable and/or politically influential fraction of Mandalore’s population/clans likes Obi-Wan better than Satine—or perhaps, finds Satine more palatable with a warrior partner.

To prevent her fragile and fractious government from splintering further (and to put an end to the talk about republic agents), Satine and Obi-Wan decide to make their relationship official and marry. Half of it is because they truly care for each other, but half of it is to consolidate the political power and marry the separate factions within their government together. They have irreconcilable differences of opinion when it comes to politics, but they both want what’s best for the people and that’s a unified leadership that’s not fighting with itself. So they have screaming matches in private, but pull together in public.

Stuff happens, Death Watch kills Satine (with or without the involvement of the Sith)—and New Mandalorians/Sundari/Mandalore unites behind the widowed Duke Kryze.

SO: That’s either a plot or a setup for the erstwhile Mand’alor Vhett to resurface, with or without an army of clones, a galactic war, the return of the Sith, and perhaps a political marriage that may finally unite Mandalore.

Perhaps:

- Obi-Wan grieves his wife, he truly does. But in the aftermath, he hardly has the time. And in retrospect, he has to wonder if half of the reason why achieving compromise always seemed like an uphill battle wasn’t because he spent half of his time fighting Satine and trying to moderate her extremism to something more palatable to the clans.

- In the aftermath, Obi-Wan may or may not finally succeed in putting down the Kyr’tsad and winning the Darksaber, which may or may not go a long way in convincing the remaining traditionalist and Kyr’tsad clans to get in line.

- Any Sith coming to take a piece of Mandalore or its Duke may find they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.

- Korkie Kryze may or may not be Satine and Obi-Wan’s son. Or maybe he is Satine’s baby nephew—Obi-Wan and Satine may still end up adopting him, depending on who else is left.

- Bo-Katan Kryze may or may not survive Kyr’tsad, but regardless, a Death Watch lieutenant is not going to be accepted by the people. She may get a seat in Obi-Wan’s council to placate Kyr’tsad loyalists, but she has no shot at getting the rule. Tbh, Obi-Wan would absolutely be the type to adopt his late wife’s feral terrorist little sister.

- Obi-Wan ends up adopting a full squad of feral murder children, in a true Mandalorian fashion.

- Jinn may or may not be alive; Anakin may or may not be his apprentice or have taken refuge on Naboo after his death; Obi-Wan may or may not be carrying a grudge towards the Sith for killing the man who raised him. And then killed his wife.

- The idea of marriage is probably actually first put forward by the clans who dislike Satine but find Obi-Wan acceptable. That would be a compromise solution: they’d accept Satine’s rule, but with the moderating influence of Obi-Wan as her husband.

- Actually, wasn’t ��Ben” a nickname that Obi-Wan was originally given by Satine? He might then go by “Ben Kryze” after his marriage.

- Mand’alor is the sole ruler → before and during the Clan Wars, Obi-Wan is titled the duke. After he’s unified Mandalore under one sole government, he’s the Mand’alor.

- Timeline fuckery: instead of 15, Obi-Wan and Satine are ~20, early 20s. Young, but not teenagers. Satine may be a few years older.

- Jango may think he’s coming to Mandalore to oust the hu’tuun Duchess’s Jetii widow, only to find said widow to be a) the most mandokarla verd he has ever met, and b) more widely supported than he himself ever was. There’s no ousting the Duke now and if Jango were to kill him, he would only succeed in making him a martyr and uniting Mandalore further in avenging him. Jango… deals with these revelations. Well—he tries.

ALTERNATIVELY: After the war, Marshal Commander Cody and his brothers receive an unexpected offer of repatriation from Duke Kryze of Mandalore, who was tragically widowed during the war.

And perhaps:

- The offer may or may not be unexpected: if the Sith decided to go after Mandalore, there’s no saying what the Mandalorians might have discovered and whether their Mand’alor might have taken a proactive approach to the threat.

- The second dark sabre wielding Jedi Mand’alor might be something of stuff of legends—or nightmares—in the republic space/among the clones.

- Jango Fett might not have wanted the clones, but apparently this Duke Kryze does. If he is to be believed, Fett might have been the vode’s dar’buir, but according to Mandalorian law, there is no such thing as a dar’ad. Whether Jango Fett ever called them his sons or not, the mere fact of consciously partaking in their creation is enough to make them recognised as such in Mandalorian space.

- And so, here in Cody’s hands is an offer of citizenship for all of his vode; colourful pamphlets about various welfare and retraining programs; and apparently, a seat in the Duke’s council for the aliit’alor Vhett.

- Cody is torn between crying from relief (an end to the indeterminate arguments in the senate between citizenship and decommissioning?) and justified suspicion (a no-strings offer of home and sentient rights for all of his brothers? Too good to be true).

- Mandalore’s famous warriors have been decimated first in the clan wars and then in the galaxy wide conflict, which has left Mandalore in a more precarious position than may outwardly seem. The offer is not purely altruistic (Mandalore would be gaining an army of millions), even if Obi-Wan does also see it as justice. To Cody who’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop, this feels like relief. This, he can understand. What’s honestly more confusing is the Duke rushing to explain that acting in defence of Mandalore is something that’s expected from every citizen, not just the vode. Moreover, if someone can not or chooses not to fight, they are not forced to do so, simply expected to do their part in another way.

- And if the clones want to ply their trade as mercenaries? Well, it’s a time honoured profession on Mandalore—of course they may. As it happens, in the aftermath of a galactic war, there’s no end of work for hired guns. This may… upset the struggling republic. Any vode that decide to seek work in republic space keep their buckets tightly on as they may or may not be recognised as sentient, still—and other Mandalorians do so in support. Not all of them may *like* the clones, but treating other mandalorians as lost property? Not cool.

- Culturally, I would absolutely see Mandalorians as the sort of a culture that would not only think that their children are their future, but also that their people are their strength. The republic might see millions of vode as mouths to feed and bodies to house. But Mandalore? They see millions of trained warriors the republic doesn’t seem to want anymore and think “the greatest prize in the galaxy, up for grabs”.

- If Obi-Wan went on the offensive, he could declare that the vode are citizens of Mandalore by birth and the republic better stop treating Mandalorian warriors as expendable slaves or else. He can’t, of course. But it doesn’t stop him from wanting to.

- If Jango Fett dies as in canon, Obi-Wan’s family of adorable murder children might or might not include Boba. If the kids don’t kill each other, Obi-Wan will go down in history as Mand’alor the Unifier. This sort of adopting the offspring of your slain enemies is not ethically unproblematic btw, but on the other hand, I could see how the practice might fit in the Mandalorian culture.

About politics & war:

- Point of contention: Satine wants to exile the traditionalists to Concordia, there to fight each other to extinction in a pointless battle for dominance (canon, what the fuck?). Obi-Wan wants to unite Manda’yaim, not divide it further. This point alone, if he manages it, would win him points over Satine. So: instead of all traditionalists exiled, Obi-Wan manages to wrangle a shaky alliance of New Mandalorians and moderate traditionalists. Not necessarily the same bunch as Haat Mando’ade though there might be overlap.

- Satine, meanwhile, would be happy to import agricultural products from Concordia to the biodomes of Sundari. That’s a mess from an economic and food security standpoint. Again I ask: canon, what the fuck? You exile the unwanted parts of your population and then rely on them for food production? That’s not actually a realistic plot point, maybe scrap it and write something that provides actual political tension that doesn’t make caricatures of any sides/characters.

- Actually, the New Mandalorian policies in the preceding years are probably a large influence in the development of the extremism of Kyr’tsad. (Canon—wtf, I might be tempted to terrorism if my government unilaterally exiled large fractions of the population?)

- During the clone wars, Kyr’tsad still allies with Dooku and the Sith. The civil war, which had been on a slow simmer, boils over again. In the fighting, Satine is assassinated. Obi-Wan is not only the best but practically the only option to succeed her and keep the precarious alliance of New Mandalorians and moderate traditionalists together.

- It’s a long and a bloody fight against enemies both at home and in the shadows; fought with guns, with diplomacy, with fixing the deep divides in their society, and hunting the shadows fuelling the flames. Obi-Wan proves himself the same military genius and negotiator as he did in canon. He’s decisive, ruthless and compassionate.

- And eventually, he manages to defeat the leader of Kyr’tsad in single combat, wrangle the warring clans to the negotiation table, hunt the Sith, and unite Mandalore. And that’s how the Mandalorian civil wars and the Clone Wars tie together at the end there, and how Obi-Wan emerges from those wars: with united but weakened Mandalore, a dead wife, and a couple of orphaned foundlings. Victorious, but grieving. The erin on his armour long since painted over with black and gold (which he has earned many times over now, avenging his wife and his people). While the rest of the galaxy is reeling from the aftermath of the war, the republic shaken to its foundations, the separatists defeated but but still seceding, the weakened republic unable to hold onto CIS territories.

- This is the man Marshal Commander Cody meets. This Mand’alor, who seemed to have emerged from the funeral pyre of his wife in the image of the legends of old, reforging the Mandalorian empire anew. But still: just a man, victorious but grieving; with a core of beskar, but a heart so full of light it makes Cody’s teeth ache. Cody: Himself one expendable clone among millions, defying his fate and rising to lead armies to victory or ruin. And yet, a man fresh out of a war that has decimated his brothers and broken his faith in the galaxy.

[feybarn]

Ha! Bet you thought I'd forgotten about my little prompt request. I did NOT! I just intimidated myself by trying to come up with full fledged stories for everything. NOPE. This is about getting back into the habit of writing! We are writing what comes to me, so here we come back with a nice, short snippet.

Uhhhhhh punch in the face Kenfetti meet cute @queenaelinwildfire

“Kark!” Jango reeled back, bringing his hand to his now bleeding nose.

Oh, that was broken. Definitely.

The instinct to lunge forward and into the fight itched beneath his skin, but Jango restrained himself. He was trying to not be noticed right now. A scuffle would be.

The kid in front of him snarled, holding onto the helmet he’d just smacked into Jango’s face with one hand, the other hand gripping tight the blaster pointed at Jango.

“What the kriff was that for?” Jango demanded, eyeing the blaster warily. He could probably get the blaster away from the kid—and he couldn’t be older than nineteen—but that would put him in range of the helmet the kid was using as a bludgeoning instrument.

“What the kriff are you doing in my room?” the kid shot back.

The room was supposed to be empty. Jango had double checked the inn’s records and this room had been left unmarked. Apparently that wasn’t quite as accurate as the records indicated it was. It looked like someone had had the same idea he had.

“You paying for it, kid?” He ripped a piece of his shirt and used it to try to stem the bleeding from his now broken nose. That had been a solid hit.

Kid just bared his teeth. “Not a kid.”

“Not an answer,” Jango pointed out. “Something tells me that you’re not supposed to be here any more than I am. So how about you put down that blaster and the two of us handle this like civilized people.”

Raised voices from down the hallway had tension running down Jango’s back. He was without his armor—and that was the last time he tried to go incognito—and had no significant weapons to speak of besides his own westar. Jango had killed more than a few people with his bare hands… well, he didn’t fancy taking on three fully armored kyr’stad hunters as he was.

Jango took a step into the room, shutting the door behind him; his assailant stepped back, keeping the blaster pointed unerringly at Jango.

“You going to start a fight?” Jango asked. He really did not need that right now.

The kid narrowed his eyes, but shook his head. He lowered the blaster, but didn’t put it away, eyeing him with obvious wariness. HIs gaze flicked behind Jango to the door and Jango suspected he was listening for the same thing that Jango was, the kyr’tsad hunters coming closer.

Jango had been aware that he hadn’t been the only one they were hunting, but he hadn’t known who the other target was. He suspected that now he did.

He wondered what the kid had done to get on their radar. He dismissed the thought. If kyr’tsad was hunting him, then that made them allies.

Jango could use all the allies he could get.

[vodika-vibes]

Hello! Congratulations on making it to 650! Your fics are some of the best and you deserve all the love and attention.

Okay, could I ask for a romance with Jango Fett in a medieval or fantasy AU? I don’t know; the idea of Jango dressed in warrior king attire just waltzed through my mind and won’t leave me alone. Maybe something along the lines of the relationship started as purely political, but it turns out you’re good for one another and it’s just mutually falling for each other.

For The Dancing

Summary: Your marriage to Jango Fett was decided long before you were old enough to understand what was happening. And it was supposed to be a purely political marriage. Love was never meant to be part of the hand you were dealt. You’re not upset, however, when love appears.

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

AU Prompt: Fantasy/Medieval AU

Word Count: 1550

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, reader is referred to as wife

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Alright, so here is the first fic of my new event, and naturally I had to start with Jango! I hope you like it~

“You seem troubled, wife.” You don’t pull your gaze away from the garnet colored wine that you’re sipping when you hear your husband’s voice from the doorway behind you.

“Not troubled,” You reassure after a moment, as you finally lower your glass back to the table, “Just pensive, I think.”

“May I join you?”

You finally turn your attention towards the man waiting in the doorway, an amused tilt to your lips, “You hardly need to ask for permission, Jango.” He’s dressed down, his ceremonial armor likely sitting neatly on it’s stand.

Oh, how far you and he have come since the day of your wedding.

There was a time when Jango would never dream of allowing you to see him without his armor.

You watch him as he steps onto the balcony and sinks into the chair across from you. Your expression doesn’t waver as he almost falls into the seat, as though there’s a massive weight on his shoulders.

“The talks went poorly then?” You ask, taking in the tension in his frame and the stress lines on his face.

He shifts in his seat and rests his cheek on his hand, “Don’t they always?” His dark gaze scans your face, “The Duchess asked after you.”

“Of course she did.” You reply dismissively, “Likely worrying about how I’ve been treated by you...godless heathens.” You add with an amused smile.

Jango’s lips quirk up into a small smile, “Those were her exact words.”

You shake your head, exasperated. “Honestly, you’d think she’d be better at this by now.”

He chuckles and leans back, “If it helps, she did seem to be genuinely concerned as to your well-being.”

“Hm. Yes, I don’t doubt that at all.”

“You have no intention of seeing her, I take it.”

You lift your wine glass again and absently twist the stem between your fingers, “There’s no point. Satine and I haven’t been close since we were children. And the last time we spoke, she had some things to say to me in regards to our marriage.”

“You’ve mentioned that before.” Jango allows, “Is that why you’re wallowing, wife?”

“Wallowing?” There’s a hint of laughter in your voice, “I suppose it must seem like I’m sulking a little bit.”

“Miles says that you haven’t left our wing since Satine and her entourage arrived.” Jango murmurs, “I am...concerned.”

You regard him fondly, “I have little love for large gatherings, Jango. You know that.”

“I would never dream of asking you to interact with people who cause you distress, wife. Were it in my power, I would cast Satine and her entourage out of our kingdom so that you might be less distressed.”

“It is in your power,” You remind him with an adoring smile, “But I would never dream of asking such a thing. You need these talks to go well.”

Jango taps a rhythm out on the table, “Is that what is troubling you?”

You pause, “The Kyr’tsad have become more bold with each passing day. Entire families have gone missing from the mining villages. Our people are afraid, husband.”

Jango grimaces and rubs the back of his neck, “I know. My hands are tied until Satine and her…” He makes a face and mutters something in Mando’a, “Until she agrees that we need to take decisive action.”

You straighten, “And what, pray tell, is my honorable cousin’s suggestion for dealing with the situation?”

“She would like us to talk.”

“...I...what?” For the first time, in a very long time, you’re properly befuddled.

He chuckles, “That has been the reaction of a lot of people. Including the Jedi who she brought with her to act as mediators.” Jango shakes his head, “The Jedi told her that her suggestion was a fool’s suggestion and that she needed to take the talks seriously, and she doubled down-” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck again.

You set your wine glass back on the table and smoothly stand to walk around the table. Gently, you settle your hands on his shoulders and start working out the tension in his shoulders and neck.

“I am not so eager to become a widow, Jango.” You murmur as he all but melts under your careful touch.

Jango tilts his head back so that his dark gaze is able to lock with your worried one. His hand comes up and presses against one of your hands, “I have no intention of leaving you a widow, wife. I will always come back to you, that I promise.”

“Gods willing,” You murmur in reply.

Slowly Jango turns the chair so that he’s facing you properly, and he stands so you’re standing chest to chest. He reaches out and lightly cups your cheeks with his warm hands. “Have you so little faith in my skills, wife?” He rumbles low in his chest.

Your eyes close as the scent and feel of Jango surrounds you, “It is not your skills that I have no faith in, Jango.” You press your hands over his, “Marching into battle with unwilling soldiers at your side-”

“That will never happen. You needn’t fret, wife.”

Your breath hitches as he presses his forehead against yours, and your eyes slide shut, “Satine is a fool, and she would see Mandalore lost before she gives up her ideals.”

“You know her better than I.” Jango says after a moment, “Would she truly sacrifice our homeland for the sake of her pacifism?”

“She believes that her way is the best way and that everyone will be better following her rules.” You murmur, “In a way, she’s just as fanatic as Pre Vizsla, just in the opposite direction.”

“Are you allowed to say that?” Jango asks, amused. “You are her cousin after all.”

You open your eyes and make a face, “I’ve always been a bit more even-keeled than Satine.”

“And I am grateful for it,” Jango admits, “And so our people.” He lightly strokes your cheek with his thumb and there’s something soft in his gaze. “While I would never dream of asking you to do something that you’re not willing to do, wife, I could use your silver tongue in the meetings tomorrow.”

You hum softly, “Then you shall have it.”

“Thank the stars,” He mutters, “Between you and the Jedi, I think the meeting will be less contentious tomorrow.”

You smile at him and lean into his warmth, “You are still so tense, husband.”

“It has been a very long day.”

“How can I help?”

Slowly, Jango drags his hands down from your cheeks, over your shoulders, and down your arms, until he’s cradling both of your hands with his own. “How long has it been since we last danced?” He asks as he lightly guides you from the balcony and back into the safety of your shared quarters.

“It’s been a couple of weeks, at least. You’ve been busy.”

“Well, that’s no excuse.” He twirls you into his arms, and starts dancing with you around the bedroom. There’s no music, but it’s perfect all the same.

“Careful, Jango.” You murmur as he spins you and then tugs you so you’re flush against his body, “You run the risk of making me fall in love with you.”

“Are you not already? Then I’m not trying hard enough.”

You laugh softly, and lightly brush your lips against his jaw. His hand, settled lightly on your hip, tightens. You’re no fool. You know that Jango loves you, you can tell in the way that he touches you, the way he looks at you, the way he protects you.

In truth, you love him too. You wouldn’t worry so much about him if you didn’t.

And he knows it.

The words are unnecessary at this point.

“I love dancing with you,” Jango murmurs, as he draws you closer to him and tilts your head back so his lips hover just over yours, “Have since the day of our wedding.”

“I feel the same way,” You murmur, “You’re the perfect dance partner.”

Jango closes the gap between your lips and his. He kisses you like you’re his most valued treasure, his lips warm and gentle against your own, though there’s a hint, just a hint, of roughness behind his lips.

Someday, you’re going to push him to see what he looks like when he’s not trying to be gentle with you. But not today.

He breaks the kiss and bumps his forehead against yours one more time, “When this crisis is over,” Jango murmurs, “I would like to speak with you about having a child.”

You blink at him, surprised, and then you smile, soft and slow, “A baby Jango.” You murmur.

“A baby you,” He corrects, “With your clever tongue and my strength.”

“He’ll be perfect.” You murmur with a warm smile.

“Yes. She will.”

You laugh, and slide your arms around him, “Alright, alright. As soon as this is dealt with, we can start trying for a baby.”

Jango grins, “Well, now I’m motivated.”

And then he sweeps you into a deep kiss, and you wrap your arms around him and allow yourself to be lost in him.

Love might not have been in the cards when you married him, but it’s in the cards now. And nothing could make you happier.

[fearmypaintbrush]

Sometimes my brain reminds me that, out of all the mandos who tried to put to words what it means to be a mando, you have the original resol’nare aka the 6 actions, which inspired the canons of honor, which in turn was inspiration for Tor Vizla’s Kyr’tsad (Death Watch) Manifesto, and Jaster Mereel’s Ori’ramikade (Supercommando) Codex.

And I think about the LENGTH differences between a single phrase of six core values, a group of canons, a manifesto and a codex. Like, I can’t stress enough that the reason we don’t have a canon Supercommando codex is because a codex is an entire book, a compilation of rules, lists, values, and priorities grouped together, organized, and put into book form.

And I think of the man who, upon seeing corruption right in front of him in the system he was apart of, his first response is to kill the superior officer who was apart of that corruption. Then when he’s been kicked out for killing a superior, and he sees that the corruption and injustice and dishonesty spread far beyond the Journeyman Protectors of Concord Dawn, that its everywhere in the galaxy, his response then is to write a fucking book.

[phoenixyfriend]

Rex and Anakin Raise a Family 8

Chapter 8: Custody Visitation

The kids have a cousin, now.

Rex brings the twins to Anakin, and makes Mereel and Jango wait on the couch while they get the babies to stop squalling. They are upset, screaming, and red in the face. Rex doesn’t care what the Mandalorians want. The kids come first.

He hands Anakin a blanket to cover up while feeding. Anakin rarely minds people seeing him nurse the twins, but something in Rex hates the idea of Mereel and Jango seeing it.

“So,” Rex says. He keeps his eyes on Mereel, and doesn’t look at Jango. Shmi is pressed into Rex’s side and trembling. “What brings you here?”

“I think you know,” Mereel says. “You look rather a lot like—”

“Let me rephrase,” Rex interrupts, because he has no mind for being polite right now, “how did you know where we were, or that we even exist?”

Jango is fidgeting, but Rex can’t see details from his peripherals.

Mereel is stupidly calm, and Rex is jealous. “We heard rumors of someone wandering around in armor that had blue, black, and grey in enough of a quantity that we had someone come by to find out if there was Kyr’tsad in the area, see if maybe we’d stumbled across a new base. They found out you were here, heard you had kids and no interest in bounties or getting involved in any kind of politics or law, and then saw your face and realized… well. You look a lot like Jango’s father. We thought maybe an uncle, or something. Jango says he doesn’t know enough about his grandfather to know if there was any chance of his father having siblings he’s never met.”

It's the sensible assumption. Wrong, but the truth isn’t going to be anyone’s first thought.

“I don’t want to get pulled into your war with Death Watch,” Rex says. “I’m not putting my kids at risk for you.”

“You’re Mandalorian!” Jango bursts out. “So that means—”

“I’m not,” Rex says. He waits for a second to see if either of the people across from him will object, but they don’t. Jango is frozen, and Mereel is… patient.  Rex doesn’t like him. “My biological parent was a Mandalorian, but he never gave me or my brothers the grace of acknowledging us as his children, and the training we received may have been Mandalorian in culture, but we only got to learn the fighting and some of the language, but never to fluency, and never anything that wasn’t useful in battle. Even my armor is plastoid.”

“Brothers?” Mereel prompts.

“All dead,” Rex says. He ignores the wounded sound from Jango, like a little bubble of hope just got dashed.

Mereel makes a low hum of a noise, and says, “there are ways to become Mandalorian.”

“I’m not swearing the Resol’nare,” Rex carefully does not snap. “I am not swearing myself to you. Like I said, my own kids come first.”

The hand on Jango’s shoulder may well be the only thing keeping him from jumping up to pick a fight. Mereel is still so damnably calm. “I understand. That said, can we discuss some possibilities for having you in Jango’s life, as the only remaining blood relative?”

Rex purses his lips, and looks to Anakin. The twins, he thinks, are finished, and Shmi doesn’t feel as tense or scared as she did earlier.

“I’d prefer to have this conversation without the kids in the room,” Rex decides. Anakin twitches next to him. “Shmi, do you mind taking the twins to your room? If you’re okay with it, Jango could go with you and… I don’t know. Help you with one of your books? He’s a bit older than you, so he should know how to read.”

Jango looks offended. “I learned how to read years ago!”

I don’t care, Rex thinks. “Then you should be able to help her, yeah?”

Shmi leans away from Rex’s side to look at him, and then Anakin, and then back to Rex. There’s something calculating in her eye, but she nods. “Okay.”

She gets up, and grabs the hoverpram, and Anakin… well, he puts the babies down, which is more than Rex expected of him, honestly. He kind of expected a fight.

The kids leave. Anakin stays tense, and far away, and Rex listens for the closing of the door.

“So,” Mereel starts.

(Continue on AO3)

[angelcqre]

Ti Te Ka'Ra

Mandalorian!141/Jedi!Reader / 55 BBY / Eventual GhostxReader

The first night is spent meditating, projecting calm into the force and trying to ignore how loud these men are. You can hear every step, every sharp bark of laughter, every word of murmured mando’a. You can feel their intent. There’s a grim sort of camaraderie that permeates the ship.

It feels like family - like belonging, similar but not quite the same to the temple’s home-sense. Stubborn, more possessive, but that lingering home-sense is thick and heady. You wonder how long they've been a team. From the feeling of it, years. Echoes of them remain in the force, lingering like a blown-out candle, stuck to the walls and ceiling and vents.

If the captain - Price, he tells you, narrows his eyes and puffs it around his cigarra - thinks anything about the fact just you haven’t moved from the stool in the past ten hours, he doesn’t say anything. Merely mutters something about shabu'jetii and drops a mug of tea down in front of you.

You take it appreciatively. Offer him a smile and gesture for him to sit in one of the stools beside you, the baby in your other hand. He does with a groan.

“Swear to the stars, they get more uncomfortable each time I sit.” He mutters, lips pressing thin when his gaze flits back to you and realizes what you’re doing. Admittedly, it’s a superfluous use of the force to float your mug up to your mouth, but you’ve got your hands full of exhausted youngling and tea only stays good when it’s hot. Maybe you should stop. You don’t.

“Have you had the ship for long?”

It’s a polite question - you know he’s had it for years, the pervading home-sense is indication enough of that, but you’re eager to divert his attention away from disapproval and discomfort. You’re here. You’re a Jedi. You’re going to use the force, whether he personally approves of it or not.

“Almost ten years,” He grumbles, chewing on his cigarra, setting warm eyes beyond you. “Been flying her longer than I’ve been in the current mand'alor's service.”

Your brows quirk, hum softly.

“Rare for a mandalorian to be running missions for the republic.” You say, a question but not. Give him space to decide whether he wants to answer or not. The force in the ship is strange - thick with tension, edged with copper and spice and life that feels so alien compared to the serene blanket of the temple. It feels too rich, too vibrant, almost spicy.

You drink your tea. Let the flavors soak your tongue sharp and acrid, pull you out before you sink back into the meditative state.

"Rare for the child of a senator to end up on the battlefield of a civil war," He counters, brow quirking in what feels like another accusation. "Millions of parsecs from coruscant. That not curious to you, jed’ika?"

Of course it’s curious to you. There are countless bad actors that could be attributed to the kidnapping of a force sensitive baby, countless bad actors that could be attributed to the child of a senator, but together? It’s implausible. Strange. Something out of a shab holonovel, not reality.

You don’t voice that.

“You don’t think it’s your…” You trail off, pinch your brows. Search for the word that he’s said before and fail to grasp it, the shapes of mando’a not quite familiar enough to hold.

“Kyr’tsad. Death Watch. No. S'not Kyr'tsad. Would've killed her."

Your eyes go wide at how casually he says it, at the ease of it, and instinctively, you grasp the child closer, brows pinching. You've seen your fair share of suffering - as a watchman, you go where the force feels you're needed, and you're often needed where people are suffering, but..

But the way he says it is too settled. Like he's seen worse. Like he doesn't have any faith in the enemy, like he's seen things firsthand. He probably has. You fight the urge to soothe the stress away in the force, instead wrapping yourself and the child up in a blanket of calm, weave it nice and warm and watertight against the sluice of dread that fills the air.

"Could be one've your dar'jetii," Quips a voice as the handsome one - Gaz, his name is Gaz - approaches, dropping heavily into the space beside Price, loosely clutching a cup of caf in his hand. Once again, his bucket is off, and his face is schooled into neutrality, "No reason to think it's one of ours."

"It's not."

"How d'you know?" Gaz leans forwards, eyebrow quirked, takes a sip of his caf and narrows his eyes.

"Because it's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible, love." Price this time, his gaze still glued to the baby. The anxiety that twists your stomach at his implication is displeasing, and you begin to thumb at the baby's swaddle, realizing there's embroidery across it.

"This is," You say, voice flat, unamused, thumb running over the letters, the aurebesh crisp and fresh, trying to figure it out from touch alone. Mikha, maybe - mern-isk-kreath-aurek - though that doesn't feel right. "We would know if it was the sith. We'd feel it. It's not possible."

Mikha doesn't feel accurate. Micha (mern-isk-cherek-aurek) or Mika (mern-isk-krill-aurek) or something like it. The third letter is strange, the cursive aurebesh almost too vague for you to gauge on touch alone. You ignore the anxiety that tightens your core at the idea of the sith.

You'd know. You'd know.

"You'd feel it?"

You try not to bristle at the incredulity, tell yourself it's not meant to offend, that mandalorians are intense and passionate and unschooled, that they're not held to the same culture of passivity and serenity that you are, but it's difficult when the captain looks at you with pity and condescension. Like you're some child, hopeful and pitiful and naive.

Like you're a fool.

You are definitively not a fool. There's nothing naive about the knowledge that you'd know if the sith were still around - they're all but extinct now, a child's tale to keep crechelings from misbehaving. Kark it, you're a jedi, for force's sake. Clever and encompassing and wise beyond your years.

And yet, the men before you look at you with that same doubt, and you're the first to break the staring contest, glancing down.

Mira. Mern-isk-resk-aurek. A sweet name for a sweet baby.

"I'd know," You tell her. "I would."

[ranahan]

Today’s entry in the “project rewrite canon dictionary definitions,” mostly inspired by Umei no Mai’s translation of Canons of Honour as Aliigai’se b’Ijaat & browsing Wiktionary in different languages. Comments welcome, as always—I often come back to my first drafts to fiddle with them some more as new ideas and perspectives emerge.

alii’gai

Noun

clan name, surname

flag, standard, banner

flag, colours, ensign

pennant, pendant, vane: woor’alii’gai, “weathervane”

(pl; also alii’gai’ke; might separate this sense as a different entry, not sure yet) pennant, pendant, streamers, confetti; long, narrow flags or pieces of material used as decoration

headline, title: evaar’alii’gai, “news(paper) headline”

standard, banner, rallying point: Evaar Mando’ade joruu chur alii’gai be Kryze. “The New Mandalorians gathered under the banner of (clan) Kryze.”

(pl) allegiance, identity: jur’alii’gaise be Kyr’tsad, “bearing the colours of Death Watch” (i.e. declaring allegiance to Death Watch)

flag, label, identification

rule, standard, canon, anything displayed as a profession of principles: Aliigai’se b’Ijaat, “Canons of Honour”

(usually plural) standard, mark, benchmark, criterion, goalpost, a principle example or measure used for comparison; a level of quality or attainment: kandir alii’gaise, “scoring criteria”

(playing cards) suit

ti alii’gaise

(also t’alii’gaise)

present, in attendance, “with the banners”

alii’gaila

Adjective

flagged, labelled, identified, color-coded

bearing flags, colours, or identifications

having recognised excellence or authority: alii’gaila gotale be ruyot, “standard works in history”

qualifying, passing, achieving the benchmark or fulfilling the criteria, achieving standards or requirements

[jonathananubian]

Standing in a large meeting room filled with planetary governors, leaders, and royalty- Obi-wan Kenobi placed his face into his hands and let out a long sigh.

The moment Satine had tried to flirt with him, in her usual aggressive manner, Jango had practically jumped down her throat.

Then Pre got involved and... since when had Pre known that he had once infiltrated Concordia? He most certainly had been involved with Pre for a short time, pretending to be a servant of the Clan while trying to find out more about Kyr’tsad, but he’d thought that Pre had forgotten all about him

Nearby Nield was sniping at all of them, telling them that he’d known Obi-wan longer and that Melida Daan had claimed him years ago.

On one side of him Quinlan was cackling at Anakin, whose mouth had fallen open in shock. On the other Cody was looking out over the mess with a completely neutral expression on his face.

Finally his Commander seemed to have enough of the noise and took a deeep breath, prompting Obi-wan to use the force to protect his ears.

“Enough!” He bellowed, drowning out the crowd with a voice meant for battlefields.

Everyone went quiet, even Jango, as they stared at the man in surprise.

Cody cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Who here either- has a claim on Kenobi, has fallen in love with Kenobi, or has slept with Kenobi?” He asked the room at large.

More than half the occupants threw up their hands.

Obi-wan ignored the indignant squawk and sudden spluttering of his former padawan.

“I will Skira’kaanir (Revenge Duel) anyone in this room who’s laid their hands on Ob’ika!” Jango snarled, bristling.

A slow smile crept across Cody’s face as he crossed his arms and shifted his stance. “I’ll take you up on that offer, Prime.”

Both Jango and Satine let out affronted noises and Obi-wan felt his ears going red as he put his face in his hands again.

This... might get a little ugly.

[stellanslashgeode]

My ship didn’t get past the first round of the @sapphicstarwars rare pair voting but that’s okay. I’ve got a crack team of lawyers coming up with objections and am planning a rally (it will be wild) but until then I thought I would post a snippet from Sundari Accelerando.

It was the deepest sleep she had experienced since that terrible night of loss. Possibly since before Petranaki Arena. She felt a little warm, granted. But not uncomfortably so. No, it was more emotionally and physically spent. Oxidized serotonin sloshing around her nervous system. A patina of salt painted uneven across her bare skin. Her mind and body were like a landscape after a storm had passed someone would clean up the broken branches later. She smelled… chamomile and hair dye?

She opened here eyes and saw a head of messy purple hair. She had been sleeping on her side and Sergeant Rook of the Kyr’tsad was all snuggled up next to her like a nuzzle shrew in its cozy den. Her arm was tucked up under hers as if she were hugging it. Long, deep breaths. Legs tucked in and crossed. She seemed more at peace than Barriss.

She took great care to extricate her arm and gradually sit up without disturbing her. Her head felt a bit swimmy once she was upright. She swung her feet onto the floor, knocking over a foam container of instant blue noodles that one of them had prepared in the middle of the night.

She took a last look down at Kast before rising. She looked softer and more feminine in this pose, without the extra bulk of her armor. Barriss let out a deep breath and left to find where they tossed her clothes.

She put on her armor as well, maybe in a vain hope that the Karta Beksar would protect her heart for what was to come. She padded quietly, glad that her artificial foot had a rubberized sole, over to the cockpit to bring the ship out of low power mode.

“What are you doing?”

“Prepping the engines.”

“Another sensor sweep?”

“I need to get back to check on the wounded.”

“Oh…”

Kast joined her, going over to the navigation console and flipping some switches. Barriss looked over her shoulder. “Sergeant Rook, you are out of uniform.”

“In my defense, officer, it wasn’t my doing.”

She watched her for a moment, trying not to ogle. Quite a bit perplexed. Barriss always had a different posture, carried herself differently when nude. Hugging her chest, stooped. It was discordant to her seeing someone carry herself as comfortable as if fully clothed.

“Could you put something on? Please?”

Kast gestured with her palms turned upward. Barriss struggled to maintain eye contact and not to dwell on her toned belly, that muscle definition line running down from her hip bones to her thighs. “Why? Did we receive guests recently?”

Barriss turned her attention back to the flight controls. She heard an exasperated sigh behind her. “Fine!”

They called out their tasks to each other for their post-docking shutdown, then Barriss unbuckled her restraints and made her way out the cockpit.

“That’s it, you’re just going to leave?”

“I’ve got places do be. Why, should I stay so you can torment me more?”

“If that’s what you want to call it. It doesn’t matter, I’ve already won.”

“Pardon?”

“I defeated your Jetii inhibitions, inspired you to rut like a victorious Mando after conquest. Took less time than I had imagined.”

Barriss glared at her. “I’m sure you’re pretty pleased with yourself.”

Kast picked a strand of hair off her nightshirt. “When’s the next patrol?”

“I guess I’ll let you know.”

“You’ll be back. Now that you’ve had a taste you’ll be back for more.”

“Hardly. Goodbye!” She stormed away. Then somehow found herself back in the cockpit giving Kast another passionate kiss despite herself. She exhaled. Gave her one last peck. “Right.” Then departed.

Rook Kast watched the Jetii make her way across the docking bay. She took Barriss’ headband out of her pocket and felt the stretchy fabric between her fingers before making her way to the refresher to wash up.

[thegreenlizard]

Bare beskar

On the eve of marching to war, Obi-Wan makes plans and digs out his old armour. Musings on Mandalorian armour and culture, the ethics of commanding slave soldiers and how that affects one’s self-image.

Could be the same AU as “Not Obi-Wan’s first slave uprising” and “What makes a military genius” (where Obi-Wan is presented with a battalion of slave soldiers, says please and thank you, and starts plotting how to take down the slavers).

Obi-Wan has Mandalorian armour, courtesy of the Kyr’tsad who failed to kill him when he was seventeen and running for his life on Mandalore. The Jedi frown on such soldierly things, so the armour has mostly gathered dust in his closet for the past decade and some. But Obi-Wan has fought in a war before and recognises that no matter how good one is, sometimes armour is all that stands between bleeding out in a ditch and living to fight another day.

So on the eve of marching to war, Obi-Wan digs out his armour to clean and repair and condition every piece. He looks at its light green for peace and green for duty, the order’s wings on one pauldron/over his heart. He strips it all off. He has no right to wear any of it now, and the bare beskar is a statement of its own.

Plus

- Feels about how bare unpainted beskar could be silver for seeking redemption, disavowing all ties (in that there’s no one and nothing to paint his armour for), for being an outcast (which in his heart, he has already decided to become), or all of them. Leading a slave army to war is really really not in the Jedi mission statement. Obi-Wan, having experienced his own stints as a slave, having brought up a padawan who was born a slave, and having already left the order once for an army of child soldiers—well, he has some feels about it.

- Obi-Wan’s closet doesn’t just have armour, it also has a veritable armoury of, ah, useful souvenirs from his various missions. Maybe it makes him a bad Jedi, but Obi-Wan has some difficulty with letting go of possessions that have saved his life. Such as the sniper rifle from Melidaan, a blaster from here, and a vibroblade from there…

- Cody’s/The 212th’s reactions to their Jedi whose luggage apparently includes a full set of arms and armour and little else.

- There’s a story that armour tells for anyone who can read it and I wonder if the clones could. There are only a few things that a completely unpainted beskar’gam could mean. Either it’s completely new and the owner hasn’t had time yet to paint it. But Kenobi’s beskar’gam isn’t new: the metal has scrapes all over it and some fittings are clearly newer than others. It could be second hand, but as the weeks pass, the metal stays bare. And even though some shinies joke about their shiny, very visible general, Kenobi won’t even put on a matte base coat, just thanks the men politely and keeps on shining. It has to be intentional.

- When Obi-Wan eventually repaints his armour, it’s in gold for the 212th and black for justice for the vode.

In the days between accepting his marching orders and shipping out to meet his battalion, Obi-Wan researches, plans, and packs. He sleeps fitfully and dreams of Melida-Daan, of Bandomeer, of Mandalore. He tears through the archives and with echoes of the Young in his ears, downloads anything that might help keep his men alive. With a growing cold like deep sea mines, he reads the clones spec sheets, reviews galactic law, and speed reads his way through the last few years of the senate’s bills.

He pulls out of his closet possessions unbecoming of Jedi—things he has kept because he has been unable to let go of the fear of . There’s his old XX sniper rifle from Melida-Daan. A blaster from here. A vibroblade from there.

And there’s the armour he got from Mandalore. It’s painted in green for duty and erin for peace, the order’s sigil on the pauldron. He can hardly stand to look at it. Standing here, at the eve of marching to war that is to be fought with slave soldiers, he has no right to wear any of it. Not the green of duty, for he has forsaken his duty to protect all sentient life in accepting command of an army of slaves. Not the erin of peace, for he is marching off to fight a war to force worlds to stay in a republic they don’t wish to be a part of. Not the sigil of the Jedi order, for he has already forsaken his vows in these actions—and has already decided to forsake his duty to the republic.

Obi-Wan strips the beskar bare. Before refitting the armour, going through the straps, buckles, replacing worn parts and reconditioning the rest. He spends sleepless nights in the salles relearning to fight in armour.

“Paint? I painted it when I was seventeen. I, ah, stripped it when I accepted the draft.” Kenobi grimaces, but sets his jaw and continues. “I couldn’t keep the paint I had after that.” There’s an odd, bitter clang to his words.

[ms-kio]

Forging the Past

Rook Kast/The Armorer X Clone Wars/The Past! 795 Words

CW: Mentions of blood, gore

Rook Kast had spent many years as the Armorer, beneath the surface of Nevarro and guiding her covert. She had been waiting for the Stormtroopers to arrive, depriving them of a clean death. Her hammer and tongues were splattered in blood, the bodies beneath her still warm as a twisting sensation made itself present in her stomach. The distinct feeling of wrongness came over her, and the noise in the city above changed. Beneath her buy’ce, Kast’s eyes narrowed. She checked the holoport, staring at the date for a moment. Before the New Republic, before the Empire, before the Clone Wars, before Galidraan… Korda VI.

She could change the past. But how would she go about doing it? She was a stranger to everyone now, with no connections or anyone to vouch for her. Kast’s status as a Goran was probably the only thing that would help her in that regard. Not to mention, she could no longer claim Clan Rook to be her allit. If she tried, she would probably be gunned down for not being on their records. “Goran be nayc allit.” She murmured to herself. She supposed she could claim that title. Her covet didn’t exist yet, and the Shadow Collective almost certainly didn’t exist yet either.

In her past and this time’s potential future, Kast had spirited away with a handful of Death Watch to Nevarro. Mostly foundlings and children, to heal them from their training and teach them to have independent thought, not the hive mind they were forced into. She had taught them that it was okay to show their injuries to trusted mando’ade and ask for help when needed. However, the rules she and the alor created were different in their sect; Such as never taking off one’s helmet in front of anyone aside from allit. And only having one beroya on the surface at a time. They had to be ghosts to survive, to be both hunter and prey.

Joining arms with Jaster would probably be the best move on her part. Saving the life of the Mand’alor would undoubtedly win her a hefty amount of trust and respect, and a sprinkling of loyalty. If she wanted to get to the Korda system on time, then she would have to leave soon, according to her chrono.

With that, Kast erased any evidence of life from the sewer passes, cleaning her hammer and tongues before locking up the armory. She left with only what was on her person, with her favored weapons slung across her back and a pouch of credits tied to her hip.

Up on the surface, her helmet drew eyes, but it also allowed her to negotiate for fair prices aboard a transport. She ran into little trouble, stowing away on a cargo ship to Korda VI at the layover planet. She couldn’t have Kyr’tsad wise to her presence just yet.

: : :

Kast was glad she showed up when she did. Not an hour after landing on Korda VI’s surface, she heard blaster fire and jetpacks. She crept around to Death Watch’s side of the field, silently picking them off by twisting their necks with the shaft of her hammer. She kept her eyes peeled for Tor, Montross, or Jaster, spotting the latter of the two. Montross was with a pair of Death Watch, who were manning a rapid-fire gun, and aiming towards a prone Jaster, who was hoisting himself to a knee.

As Kast ran towards the gun, crushing the ribs of any Death Watch she passed, she realized how young she felt. Like she was in her prime, really. Had her body reverted too? Kast took off all three’s buy’ce with upward swings of her tongues, crushing their skulls with a second pass of her hammer. She’d bought Jaster at least another minute, but now she was the center of attention.

A lazer bolt clipped her on the pauldron, and the perpetrator was promptly gunned down by a trio of Haat Mando’ade. Kast gave them a nod, before running to the alor and hoisting him into a fireman's carry. She was covered by the trio as she made it back to Jasters lines, the Kyr’tsad beginning to retreat as she was approached by a younger verd. “Buir!” Ah, so this must be Jango. Boba’s template, and the template of the Clone Army.

“He’s still conscious. Don’t let him join back in the fighting until he’s been checked by a baar’ur.” Kast ordered.

“Elek, Goran. Vor’e.” Jango acknowledged with a nod, taking Jaster from her shoulders.

Kast turned to a group of verde, beckoning them. “You, with me!”

“Elek, Goran!”

“Oya!” Kast faulted over the ridge, lunging a few steps before crushing the neck of a nearby Death Watch warrior.

“OYA!” Ah, she missed this.

[chocobothis]

No one tagged me for this. I just wanted to practice with photopea and my blorbos. Here’s the blank!

Notes: This is working with how I view Manda’lor Pre Vizsla not Governor Pre Vizsla. Solus Ve’tra is Kyr’tsad Aligned, Aliit’alor Ve’tra instead of Senior Jedi Padawan Solly Vetra.

[morganwrites-starwars]

Time is a social construct pt. 23

Mandalorian Time Travel AU

Summary: Din is trying his best, ok? But between trying to find a teacher for his magic kid and learning there were other Mandalorians who follow a different creed, Din is very confused and lost. So when he ends up on a plant that his HUD says is Manda’yaim and encounters two teens on the run from a group of dar’mandas called Death Watch, Din figures he may as well help them. He never meant to adopt them. Or become Mand’alor.

Masterlist

<Back/Next>

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•

            The kids were up to something and weren’t trying to hide it. Din didn’t know if that meant he’d need to teach them about subtlety, if they didn’t think he’d notice, or if they didn’t care. Din took solace in the fact that they weren’t including Jango too. That did leave the two of them alone as they darted between stalls and shops, and Jango kept making little remarks. Din was questioning if this current Mandalore was just failing in teaching subtlety.

         Din was just considering approaching his kids as they left another stall- a stall selling various pieces of metal works. Obi-wan whipped around towards him and whispered frantically to their group. Bo-Katan moved over to a group of younger ade being watched over by their buire as they played. She talked to the buire, gesturing to Din. Din stopped in his tracks and sighed as the adults laughed and nodded to Bo-Katan.

         “That looks fun,” Jango commented.

         “Yeah.” Din sighed. Bo-Katan walked back over to Din, and the buire said something to their ade. They exclaimed and began to follow after Bo-Katan. It was cute, the 7 ade following after a serious-looking Bo-Katan. Obi-wan and Satine were laughing at him.

         When Bo-Katan reached Din, she turned to her little followers and announced, “This is Din. He’s a beroya and fought Kry’tsad to save my vod’e!”

         The ade gasped, and Din had 7 pairs of awe-filled eyes turned on him. He was then bombarded with overlapping questions in basic, Mando’a, and what Din was pretty sure of Ryl. Two of the ade, a Twi’lek, and a human female, latched onto his legs. Din looked to Jango for help but saw Bo-Katan dragging him away. Jango was laughing, the traitor. The buire of the ade currently trying to climb him and talk to him was laughing as they walked closer. They didn’t try to help Din, but they did send him sympathetic looks.

         Din tried to field questions while spreading his attention equally. He watched as Jango and his ade walked into another shop, feeling a mix of pride and annoyance.

         “Is it true that you fought off 10 Kyr’tsad by yourself?”

         “Is your ad really a Jetii?”

         “Are you really a Taung, and that’s why you don’t take off your buy’ce?”

         “Did you really kill 6 Jedi with your bare hands?”

         “That was Mand’alor Fett, di’kut!”

         “Sheb!”

         “Rid’ika!” One of the parents scolded sharply. The ad, Rid, apologized. Great, Din now knew one of their names.

         “Ok, ok,” Din took advantage of the moment of silence. “One at a time, please.”

         The kids bickered with each other on who got to go first, and Din sent a comm to Obi-wan not-quite begging him to come back. Leave the other Mandos to their scheming. Aren’t Jedi supposed to help people?

         Obi-wan left him on read. Din would have to talk to Jinn about his Padawan’s manners.

         One of the ade- the little Twi’lek- tugged on his hand to get his attention. Din kneeled so he could better heat the ade, so he didn’t loom over them.

         “’Lek?” Din asked in his softest voice.

         “Are you really gonna unite Mandalore?” The little girl asked. Din hesitated in the face of her open and earnest expression. Din didn’t know where she’d gotten that idea- if Bo-Katan had brought it up or if that rumor was spreading about him. Despite Din’s feelings on the matter, he didn’t want to disappoint these ade. They were all looking hopefully at him.

         “I’m going to do my best to help,” Din answered. Not a total lie. “That’s not a job only one person can do.”

         The ade seemed happy with their answers and continued to ask him questions, many about his bounty hunting and how he’d met Satine and Obi-wan. Those were questions he could easily answer, and he did so. Din was still checking in on his ade’s location- even in the heart of Sundari, there was a chance of a Death Watch attack. Din trusted that Obi-wan and Jango could protect Satine, Grogu, and Bo-Katan, but he was still going to be on watch. Plus, they were all wearing some sort of head covering to protect their identities. Not that Din wasn’t recognizable enough to give that away. But the Mandalorians in their section seemed happy to pretend they didn’t know them.

         After maybe 15 minutes, the ade ran out of questions- and wow, there were a lot of wide rumors and stories spreading about Din- and began to demand Din show off some of his skills. Fortunately, the ade’s buire stepped in and redirected their attention. One of the buire- Rid’s if Din’s memory served, stepped up to him.

         “ Thank you for that,” they said. “You’ve become quite the tale among the ade. Some of the adults too. My name is Ove, by the way.”

         “ It was no problem,” Din replied. “ My ade seemed eager to distract me.”

         Ove laughed. “ They certainly did seem like it. I’m sure it is for a good reason.”

         “I doubt it ,” Din said with a sigh.

         “It is good to see them able to act like kids,” Ove said, looking over to where Din’s ade were standing outside a shop with their heads bent together. “ It has been a hard time for them .”

         Din nodded. “ Makes up for the dread.”

         They laughed together before Ove said goodbye, but not before inviting Din back to entertain the ade another time. Din found himself seriously considering it. When Din walked towards his little group, they actually allowed him to get close enough to talk to them. He was met with innocent smiles.

         “Have fun?” Obi-wan asked.

         “…Yes,” Din answered as he took Grogu from Satine. Grogu huffed and pulled himself closer to Din. Din chuckled. “No need to be jealous, Grog’ika. What were you kids doing, and do I have to worry about it?”

         “You’ll see, and it depends,” Bo-Katan helpfully answered.

         “Great.”

         “Jango is helping me talk to some of the Haat Mando’ade. I want to hear the opinions of the citizens,” Sainte added. Jango didn’t look terribly thrilled at the idea of re-introducing himself to his people. Din didn’t feel pity for him. Serves him right.

         “That’s smart,” Din praised. Satine smiled at him.

         “We also wanted to introduce Obi-wan,” Bo-Katan said. “Ya’know, introduce a non-threatening Jetii.”

         Obi-wan frowned. “Hey-“

         Din nodded, purposefully cutting Obi-wan off. “An ikaad Jetii is more likely to be welcomed by the Mando’ade.”

         “Oh, come on-“

         “Better than Dooku. Or Yoda, the troll,” Jango said, muttering the last bit. Obi-wan seemingly had given up. Din patted his shoulder.

         “You are a good fighter and Jetii,” Din consoled Obi-wan.

         “Yeah, Obi,” Satine said.

         “Vor’e,” Obi-wan said with a smile. “And don’t forget Bo and Jango talking up Din. Especially to the buire.”

         Bo-Katan winced, but Jango met Din’s stare head-on. Bo-Katan quickly copied him, and Din found himself in the middle of a staring contest with the two of them.

         “Oh, please,” Satine sighed. “Jango, stop trying to pawn off your responsibilities. Din, just accept that you are becoming popular. And Bo, stop instigating.”

         They dropped it, but as they continued to walk around the market, Din began to notice the people looking at him. There was less curiosity and more intrigue.

         “Don’t worry,” Obi-wan whispered to him. “I made sure to compliment Jango’s political return behind his back for you.”

         “Good ad,” Din said and patted his head. Grogu reached out and patted Obi-wan too.

         They all stopped in front of a store selling various types of blades. Bo-Katan was practically pressing her face into the transparisteel of the shop front. She was fixated on a vibroblade. It was small and discrete. Probably wouldn’t do too much damage, but it would fit nicely into a boot.

         “What are you looking at, Bo?” Satine asked as she stepped up next to his sister. Bo pointed the knife out, and Satine bit her lip. Din could see that she was warring with herself. Satine worried about Bo-Katan’s safety, and a vibroblade would help the girl defend herself. But Satine was still adjusting to the thought of carrying around anything that wasn’t a stun blaster. Armor was easy enough to adjust to; it was inherently protective, and any deadliness was an add-on. Din would’ve offered to buy Bo-Katan the blade, but he thought it was important for Satine to make the decision.

         Eventually, Satine sighed. “Ok. Do you want it?”

         Bo-Katan lit up. “Really?! I love this less stuck-up you, Satie!”

         Satine frowned as Bo-Katan grabbed Obi-wan and Jango and pulled them into the store. “I wasn’t stuck up. Right?”

         “Uhh.” Din didn’t want to answer that. “You are, uh, very opinionated and stubborn. Still are, but you’re better about it?” Satine, thankfully, didn’t get offended at Din’s fumble (Grogu was laughing away). She just nodded. “Do you want a blade too?” Satine gave Din a look he couldn’t read. “It would make me feel better?”

         Satine shook her head, but Din could see her smile. “I’ll think about it.”

         They walked into the shop. The shopkeeper looked over at them from where they were talking to Bo-Katan. They looked faintly shocked as if they couldn’t believe Satine was walking in. Din shifted to stand in front of her. The shopkeeper looked away quickly. Din and Satine walked over to the rest of their group. Obi-wan and Jango were bickering about blasters vs lightsabers. At the same time, Bo-Katan listened intently to the shopkeeper explain the specs of the vibroblade.

         On one of the display stands, something caught his eye. It was a long metal tube with holes and a sharpened tip. Din wracked his brain for the name of it but came up blank. The merchant saw what Din was looking at.

         “Ah, I see this bes’bev has caught your eye,” they said with a smile. They walked over and picked the tool up to show it off. “It functions both as an instrument and a weapon. It is a beskar blend, so it is very strong. And this-“ they pointed to the engraving on the side of the bes’bev- “was hand engraved by my riduur. It depicts the beautiful landscapes of Mandalore of old.”

         “It’s beautiful,” Satine murmured. She shook her head, as if breaking a trace. “But I’m afraid I only have the credits for my sister’s blade on me today.”

         “That is alright,” the merchant said, setting down the bes’bev. Bo-Katan took Satine to the droid manning the front desk to buy the blade. The merchant stayed by Din, and Jango and Obi-wan moved to stand next to him. All three men were looking at the bes’bev and between each other.

         “I could put it on hold if you’d like to come back for it?” the merchant suggested.

         “ You would do that?” Jango asked, faintly surprised.

         “It is nice to see the Duchess widening her horizons, ” the merchant admitted. “I believe a bes’bev is the perfect weapon for her at this point, elegant but still dangerous. I hope it will help in changing her views.”

         Din agreed, and the merchant marked the bes’bev on hold for a week. Din was pretty sure he couldn’t afford it on his own, but he’d probably be able to convince Jango or someone else to pitch in.

         They exited the shop, Bo-Katan showing her new vibroblade off to Din, who made sure to react with the appropriate amount of awe and sternness in making sure she would be able to use it properly. Grogu was also watching, fascinated by the swishing movements. Satine was talking to Jango- the two getting into debates frequently. They had stopped getting heated for the most part, but Din kept half an ear on it just in case. Obi-wan was walking silently, his lips pulled down into a slight frown. Din was about to as the Jetii what was wrong as they turned down a side road, but Obi-wan stopped in his tracks.

         “Obi?” Satine asked in worry. Obi-wan looked around frantically, causing Din and Jango to reach for their weapons. Grogu whined, his ears flattening. His son’s eyes widening at something behind him that alerted Din to the danger.

         Without a second thought, Din tossed Grogu to Satine and spun on his heel with his blaster at the ready.

         There was a hiss, gasps from the group, and a bright red light began to descend on Din. It was too close to shoot, so Din lifted his arm to block the blade. He grunted with the force of it- the attacker had dropped down from above- but despite the awful sound of a lightsaber (for Din was sure that’s what it was- despite its red color) on beskar, he held firm. He managed to push his attacker back in order to pull out his own vibroblade, not that it’d do much against a lightsaber. Of all the times to forgo his spear.

         The attacker- a Zabrack Din was able to identify them as- lunged again. This time it was towards Satine and Grogu. The Zabrack moved unnaturally quickly, so Din couldn’t get in between his ade and the attacker. But Obi-wan was and met the red lightsaber head-on with his own. The Zabrack growled. Obi-wan’s face scrunched in effort, so Din stepped in as he barked orders to Jango.

         “ Get them out of here!” Din didn’t wait for a response but noted that Jango quickly grabbed Satine and Bo-Katan and began to run. Din hoped that one of them had commed for help. Preferably a Jetii.

         Din raised his blaster to shoot the attacker’s back, but he pulled back from Obi-wan in time to deflect it straight back at Din. The shot hit his pauldron, and Din could already feel the bruise that would form. But it didn’t stop Din from moving forward to meet the Zabrack’s blade. At the same time, Obi-wan moved to hit the attacker’s back with his own lightsaber while Din kept the attack’s blade occupied.

         The Zabrack grinned- an unpleasant sight made worse by the unnaturally yellow eyes- and hit a button on his blade’s handle. Another equally red blade sprung from the back and nearly skewered Obi-wan. The Jetii barely managed to avoid it, but it did singe his arm. Din grunted and pulled back, and Obi-wan did the same.

         The attacker was still grinning ferally as he looked between Din and Obi-wan. “Run back to your Master, little Jedi,” he purred. “I’m not here for you.”

         Obi-wan’s face hardened. “As if.”

         Din took the opportunity to rush the Zabrack. The Zabrack wasn’t taken by surprise at the motion- Din was pretty sure he could also use the Force- but he wasn’t ready for Din straight up tackling him. It was a weakness Din had noted in all of the Jetii he’d seen fight. They never expect you to charge them. Granted, that was probably due to the lightsaber, but Din was mostly well-protected from those. Mostly, the sharp burn that appeared on the back of his thigh where there were no plates, reminded him.

         They fell to the ground and rolled. When they came to a stop, Din lashed his fist out and caught the Zabrack’s cheek. He was rewarded with a gnashing of teeth and the feeling of being shoved over by a brick wall. Din managed to roll to his feet and partially resist the movement, but he was still pushed back enough that the Zabrack could get it.

         But it was too late. The commotion had drawn in Mandalorians from the street. Fully armored and armed Mandalorians who apparently had taken a liking to Din. And, go figure, when faced with 20 fully trained warriors and a Jedi, the Zabrack retreated. He jumped, making it farther in the air than was natural, until he reached a rooftop. Some of the Mandalorians with jetpacks followed him.

         “Get to your ade,” one of them told Din as he prepared to follow. “We will follow him and lead the other Jetii to him.”

         Din nodded, and the Mandalorians dispersed. Din rushed to Obi-wan, but besides the slight burn, he seemed unharmed.

         “Are you ok?” Din still asked, gently grabbing Obi-wan’s arms.

         “Yeah, you?” Din nodded, choosing to ignore his wound. It didn’t hurt much yet, and he could still walk on it.

         “Let’s get back to the place now.”

         The two of them began to run, but as they reached the main street, they stopped. Because all around the city, there was an explosion in the distance. Screaming and blaster fire erupted, and Mandalorians zipped through the air as they fought. Din saw a group fly by and felt the breath lead him as he finally discovered where the explosion was.

         Death Watch was here. And they had bombed a hospital.

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·  

Masterlist

<Back/Next>  

[direwolfrules]

3 Mandos and a Baby AU: Hijacking Death Watch

While Ursa and Alrich are in Sundari preparing their future Mand’alor for rule Bo-Katan is on Concordia desperately trying to set up a power base to take down Pre. Her Nite Owls are easy enough to recruit, most of them sided with her in her last life too. Really her main issues amongst her girls comes from Rook Kast and her insane group of True Believers.

Bo doesn’t really blame Rook for her sheer devotion to the cause, the girl wasn’t exactly a willing volunteer when she first came to Death Watch. Tor Vizsla’s old recruitment plan was basically just kidnapping kids and torturing/brainwashing them into obedient little attack dogs (Bo’s had a lot of regrets in her life, but one of the biggest would have to be willingly joining an organization that did that to kids). Sometimes it backfires really hard, like when Arla Fett full on snapped and killed Tor’s oldest son and preferred heir, Dral Vizsla, in the middle of the training yard.

The loyalty of some holdouts is easier to get than others. The Bralor twins and their brother have nearly deified Bo after she saved their little sibling from a training accident. The screaming match she had with Pre after, where she called him all sorts of names for putting a child in a live fire test, becomes legend amongst the Kyr’tsad. As does the shiner Bo proudly bears around base after Pre calls her to his office for “discipline”.

Bo can’t challenge Pre too much, tipping her hand too soon would get her killed. If not by Pre than by his followers or even, and the thought of this makes her shudder, his Sith backers. Sideous is just frothing at the mouth for an excuse to subjugate Mandalore, Death Watch provides the perfect humanitarian reason. She has to move in secret, for her people’s sake.

Young Lieutenant Patrok Ru-Saxon of the Sundari Protectors receives a mysterious comm message. It contains no words, only an address for somewhere in the lower levels of the dome city. He’s just gotten off a rather exhausting night shift and honestly he just wants to sleep, but the message gives him one of those feelings his buir said would make him a great investigator one day. Patrok follows the message, and there at the specified location is a folder, taped to the wall. He looks inside, blanches, and calls his boss to say he got an anonymous tip and they need to evacuate the Lily Flower Walkway and to get the bomb squad on the way right now.

Patrok may never know this, but his call that day saved the lives of 38 Mando’ade, 17 of whom were children on a school trip. Now every time he gets a message from that unknown comlink he comes running. He arrests dozens of corrupt officials, foils many Death Watch plots, and earns many promotions. Bo-Katan watches from afar and delights in her good judgement.

Pre is fuming. He’s lost so many loyal soldiers these past few years it’s been ridiculous. The Saxon brothers died when their Kom’rk’s stabilizers blew during aerial combat simulations. A faulty circuit led to a cascade failure in the part, and there went two of his best commanders. Ruusaan Jatte tried to change the mixture of her jetpack’s fuel again and wound up paying for the experiment with her life. His own cousin, Malos Vizsla, was caught red handed trying to poison ration packs heading to the Draboon system’s Protectors. Rather than face arrest and interrogation, Malos ended his own life.

Bo is having the time of her life. The Saxon brothers’ habit of never running a preflight check meant they never noticed a stabilizer circuit had been tragically damaged. Ruusaan Jatte’s love of experimenting with different fuel mixes provided the perfect opportunity to test out Amis’s newest explosive discovery (Ursa had told her over a bottle of netra’gal about how Amis had discovered if you add a very common accelerant to jet pack fuel, it’ll blow up. The fact that Ursa’s eyebrows were drawn on was not mentioned, though it felt relevant). And Malos Vizsla was just a happy accident. Those tips to Ru-Saxon were really starting to pay off.