#the entire fucking mandalorian government

[radiosummons]

Tarre Vizsla: And I would like my saber to be given to the Jedi Temple, as I have come to see both the Jedi and the Mandalorians as my family. It is my greatest wish that my people will continue to prosper for thousands of years after my passing, and that my two families will be united in their shared values of community and honor. Clan Vizsla, years later: *robs their ancestor's grave, steals his most sacred personal possession, founds Death Watch (i.e., one of the most notorious terrorist organizations throughout the entire galaxy), and continues to violate literally every single creed that's supposed to make a Mandalorian, a fucking Mandalorian*

Also Clan Vizsla: Tarre Vizsla HATED the Jedi and EVERYTHING they stood for! He HATED THEM SO MUCH that he LEFT the Order to become one of our greatest Manda'lors!

(No, no, don't ask why the Jedi Order let him keep his title as a Jedi Knight, even though he went on to become our leader. Yeah, they let him keep his title, but that doesn't mean they actually respected his wishes even though they still refer to him as a great Jedi and still teach history lessons about him. Yeah, okay, yes-despite the fact we stole I mean, we liberated the Darksaber from them, the Jedi have never tried to get it back from us. But guys, guys that's totally what they WANT us to think. They're actually playing this super elaborate long con on us and you guys just can't see it-)

And NOW the only way a Mandalorian can be the TRUE MANDA'LOR **cough cough-something something about irony, something something hypocrites, something something who are the True Mandalorians again?** is if they wield the Darksaber through mortal combat! The very saber wielded by our GREATEST LEADER, WHO TOTALLY HATED THE JEDI, TRUST ME GUYS!!!!! THIS IS HOW WE'VE ALWAYS RUN OUR GOVERNMENT!!!!! DON'T ASK WHAT WE DID BEFORE TARRE VIZSLA--(who totally wasn't a Jedi, guys, no no no. Don't ask how he made a Darksaber, no, it's not important. Guys, seriously! Stop asking!)--TOOK ON THE MANTLE OF MANDA'LOR!!!!! (Please, stop asking us why this only became a thing after WE decided it should be a thing. We totally weren't acting like children/sore losers/assholes when we broke into the sacred temple of a religious order ((that we literally have no actual beef with unless we deliberately go out of our way to provoke them into having to defend innocent lives against us because of our own actions)) just to start yet ANOTHER civil war. All because we couldn't stand the idea of someone else taking on the mantle of Manda'lor.)

This is TOTALLY what our ancestor, the GREAT TARRE VIZSLA would have wanted!!!!!

Tarre Vizsla: >:/

[cosmicmordecai]

“ Why do people hate things being Jedi critical? It’s okay if they’re flawed.”

There’s flawed and then there’s presenting the idea the in universe religious minority who essentially have to fucking do everything as narratively ‘flawed’ bc they don’t appease everybody essentially. Be it Anakin, be it their philosophy, etc and correlate to the idea of how that leads to their fall. Most ‘Jedi critical’ points just assigns a unusual level of onus on them for simply existing. Jedi are human/human-like so we know they’re flawed to a point but when they’re accessory to slavery, accuse them of child taking, or whatever points and ignore context, it’s not being critical. Y’all just wanna slander.

Whats actually annoying is how this fandom & this franchise can look at this religious minority group (composing a lot of PoCs & allusions to other cultures) who get literally persecuted by a politician who created a entire army called Stormtroopers, which is right on the nose for Nazi allegories, and go “lets craft ideas & stories that suggest they’re at fault for really existing & not being perfect paragons of good.” This is the same fandom to say the Sith made some good “points” despite being a part of the problem, ignore the Mandalorian’s weird ass system of government, and find ways to sympathize with characters who participate in murder & genocide because they’re hot (Anakin, Kallus, Maul).

And to top it all off, the story had them killed via mind control to shoot them in the back by people they bonded with for maximum hurt & efficiency after fabricating a war using OTHERS.

[lady-djarin]

yes sir

din djarin x f!reader (drabble)

warnings: pure smut, semi-brat tamer din, outdoor sex, spanking, some degradation, teasing, p in v unprotected sex (wrap your willies!) 18+ minors dni GO CHILDREN GET OUT

word count: 1.8k

a/n: just a short drabble… tbh sometimes i hate writing the end of a smut story, i never know what to do lol. i just really wanted to write brat tamer shit with din, enjoy my lovelies!

Three days. You had been hunting this quarry for three days, non-stop. you were tired, covered in sweat and dirt and not happy. The tropical landscape normally would have been your cup of tea, if you had a large cup of spotchka instead of chasing a madman through the forest. You and your Mandalorian companion were growing impatient with this hunt but the bounty was large enough to make it worth it. He was wanted for trying to blow up a government building on Coruscant and multiple accounts of aggravated assault; clearly a gnarly guy. You knew he was no match for the two of you.

You two worked like a well oiled machine, complimenting each other in perfect harmony. He was the big strong brute force and you were the sly and stealthy one. You were both smart that’s for sure and that’s why this case was particularly frustrating. On the third day, the sky decided to open up and pour down on you as if you didn’t have enough issues. You both groaned at the first droplet, knowing what was coming your way. Almost as soon as the first drop hit your head, the next thousand rained down all at once you both quickly ducked into a cave nearby, just deep enough to shelter both your bodies from the downpour.

“Dank Farik…” The large man slumped down on the wall of the cave, a small thunk from his helmet hitting the stone. You did the same on the opposite side, your legs touching in the small space. “We just can't catch a break.”

“Maybe if you stopped picking the hardest bounties we could actually get some of them done…,” you mumbled, only slightly to yourself.

“Me? You’re the one who suggested we follow behind and stay quiet instead of just jumping his ass in the first place!” You were both exhausted, and you knew it, but that didn't stop you both from getting in each other's faces. It's normally very civil between you both, some slight disagreements but nothing serious. You could recognise the anger bubbling up in your gut but didn't have the energy to stop yourself.

“Maker forbid I have any input! You're always the one deciding what we do and where we go next! Fuck, I’m so tired of it…” You got up and paced across the entrance to the cave, like a lothcat behind bars. Running your hands over your face you could tell the Mandalorian got up to meet you. He was on you in a second.

“If you’re complaining, I can leave you on this fucking planet for all I care!” Mando never curses, like ever. You knew he was pissed, especially the way his voice tore through the modulator and he was backing you against the stone wall.

“Maybe you should!” The air suddenly became wired, a tension running between you two. You were both breathing heavily, you could see it fogging his visor this close. The anger burned in your blood, so why was the only thing you could focus on the sudden need to have him touch you. Your body screamed for his hands to roam your skin, wishing his hand was around your neck. You were ashamed to say that this was actually turning you on.

“Don't try me, sweetheart,” his voice was a low rumble that you felt in your chest. Just as he went to turn away from you, you shook your head as you sarcastically rolled your eyes.

“Yes sir.”

He paused, his heart stopping as he smirks under his helmet. Sir? Why did he like hearing that so much from you? You had always been a little bit of a smart mouth but ‘Sir’? He never thought he would love one word so much.

“What?” He stepped even closer, pressed up against you entirely. “What did you say?”

“I said… ‘yes sir’,” you knew exactly what you did, but didn’t know if it would actually work, until now. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just tilted his helmet at you, pinning you down with his gaze. You started to worry that he might have taken it the wrong way but when his hand grazed up your arm, you knew you read him right. You had a feeling he felt the same as you but didn’t know for sure until now. Before you could even think, his large hand wrapped around your throat, just tight enough to make your head spin. Finally, the tension was broken and you smiled against his helmet.

“You're such a brat, you know that,” you smiled wider, knowing what was coming. “Am I going to have to teach you a lesson?” You felt your heart drum in your chest and your core clenched around nothing.

“Maybe…” The end of the word was strangled by his palm pressing on your vocal cords. The seams in the leather gloves were pressing deliciously into your delicate skin, somehow turning you on more.

Suddenly you were spun around, your hands flying out to keep you from colliding with the cave wall. His hands disappeared from your body for only a second before one returned to the back of your neck, and they were his bare hands.

“Unbutton your pants…now,” his voice was something you had never heard before, something almost scary. You did as he instructed, practically ripping the button and zipper off. Before you could push them down, Mando tore them down over your ass along with your underwear, the cold air causing you to jump. You thought that was as shocking as it would get but maker, were you wrong. Before your mind could register anything else, a loud crack split the air as his hand came down on your ass cheek. You shrieked in response, a sting left behind along with no doubt a large red mark in the shape of his hand. “You like that? Hmm? Like when I spank you for being a brat?”

Another slap. You were dripping, your slick coating your inner thighs as his hand came down on your ass another time. The hand around your neck was tightening with every spank. How could this man already read you like an open book, how could he know your every desire? Your brain was trying to think but all your body could focus on was the low grumble of his voice as he started to roam his hands over your soft skin, his fingers starting to trail up your inner thighs. Mando used his boot to kick open your legs, spreading them without having to ask. You moaned softly as he pushed on your upper back, bending you over as you were on full display for him.

“Mmm, look at you, so easy for me.” You were almost ashamed of yourself at how easily you followed his command, considering how much you fought him in every other aspect of your partnership. You were putty in his hands now, and he knew it. He reveled in the feeling of you relinquishing control to him, knowing that you were completely his in this moment. “You're so pretty when you listen, so obedient.” You were trying hard not to mewl at every word he said but for a man of few words, you wish he never stopped talking.

His fingers were grazing every part of you except where you wanted him most. You tried to rock against his hand when he got close to your clit, but never close enough to build any friction. You grew frustrated after not receiving enough attention on your clit, your legs already beginning to shake.

“M-Mando, please, just to-touch me,” you were trying not to sound too pathetic but the way he was teasing you, that was becoming harder.

“I like you begging for me.” Another loud smack on your ass earning a squeak from you. When all that came from you was a moan, his hand came down on your reddening skin again. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes! Maker, please just– please, I need more,” you begged, begged for just one touch. Like magic, his fingers found your dripping center and circled your bundle of nerves. Your whole body sagged at the releaf, pleasure spreading in your veins like fire. He moaned, moaned, at seeing you respond to him and your slick on his bare fingers. He could tell that he was going to lose control soon, getting lost in the feeling of you. “Mmm, Man-Mando, more… I need more,” you whined again, hoping to get him to relent.

“Fuck– I can’t wait to be inside you,” you heard the sound of his zipper being opened and your whole body burned with excitement. You felt the large man shift behind you, his hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. “You want me so bad? Fine, I’ll give you what you want, but I want you to scream my name.”

“Yes Mando please, wha-whatever you want,” you were a stuttering mess, the only thing on your mind was finally feeling him inside you.

“No,” he stopped himself for a moment with his tip lined up with your entrance. “Din. My name is Din.”

His name. He gave you his name, his real name. You felt your head swim and your heart ache. Not only was he giving you your deepest desire but he was giving you a part of him.

“Din,” you liked the taste of his name. “I need you.”

A low grunt escaped his chest as he thrusted his hips forward, sheathing himself fully inside you. You both froze, the feeling so incredible and new, it felt like your world was turning on its axis. You had waited so long to know what he felt like, what he would fuck like. He was certainly not small, he was filling you up like you had never felt before. Once he adjusted to the feeling, he started moving his hips slowly before snapping them into your ass. The metal covering his thighs hit the back of yours and the cold bite of the feeling brought to your attention that he was still fully clothed and a helmet on his head. It felt almost wrong how much you loved it all; his roughness, the contrast in clothing and this all happening basically out in the open.

Your hands were barely holding you upright against the cave wall as he pounded into you. His length hit that perfect spot inside you every time he moved, causing the coil in your lower stomach to tighten again. Your knees began to shake, almost buckling under the pleasure of Din’s motions. As you started to slide down the wall, Din wrapped his arms around your body holding you tight to his chest, never ceasing to hammer into you.

“All this time… this is what you needed? Huh? This is all it took to get rid of that attitude? You fucking brat.”

You couldn’t even respond, you were done for.

“Use your words…”

“Y—yes…yes sir.”

You were sure that if anyone was in those woods, they heard both of your screams.

[roseaesynstylae]

Star Wars: Republic Commando: Triple Zero, Chapters 3 & 4

Chapter 3

"So she did what she had been drilled to do without thinking since she was four years old. She fought."

It can be hard, sometimes, to differentiate what is what in this series. For example, Jedi-bashing or just general stupidity (either on the character or the author's part)? It's hard to tell. But, given these books' track record, I'm going to err on the side of cautiousness and give this a point.

Jedi-Bashing: 5

Because the phrase "without thinking" makes me think of brainwashing and certain anti-Jedi arguments. Am I jumping to conclusions? Maybe. Has this series given me any reason not to? No.

"It was another reason why Ordo adored his sergeant: he was the archetypal Mando'ad. A Mandalorian man's ideal was to be the firm but loving father, the respectful son learning from every hard experience, the warrior loyal to constant personal principles rather than ever-changing governments and flags.

He also knew when to apologize."

That adoration is screwing you, Ordo.

Also, if Kal Skirata is the ideal of a traditional Mandalorian, then Satine's reforms were both entirely justified and did not go far enough.

Chapter 4

"'--but you'll probably have help sooner, because Delta Squad are in transit.'

'Oh, we'll never hear the last of this...'

'You haven't met them yet, son.'

'Heard enough.'

'Rough, rude boys,' Fi said. 'And rather full of themselves.'"

Out of all the characters in this series, Delta Squad have the most right to be full of themselves.

Deltas, Move Out: 1

"The image that shimmered before he showed one man in a familiar suit of Katarn armor, squatting with a DC-17 across his thighs. The blue light distorted natural color, but the dark patches on his armor suggested red or orange identity markings.

'RC-one-one-three-eight, General, receiving.'

It was time for names. 'You're Boss.'"

THEY'RE HERE!!!!!

Deltas, Move Out: 2

"'Boss receiving. Sorry, we had to stop and ask for directions.' He had a voice very like Atin's but with a stronger accent. 'My boys are now going to show you how to do an extraction properly, so take notes because you might blink and miss it. There's a Sep ship with missiles up the sprout about three minutes behind us.'

'Can we bring some friends?'

'The more the merrier. We're going to align with your cockpit, slap an isolation seal on the viewport, and Scorch will cut through. Then you shift it fast, and we RV with Fearless for caf, cakes, and hero worship. Got it?"

You are magnificent.

Deltas, Move Out: 3

"Fi eased off his helmet and inhaled fresh air. Except for Scorch, they had all taken off their helmets. Delta was one of fewer than a dozen squads that had survived intact since decanting, a true pod as the Kaminoans called it, and they seemed to think that made them an elite within an elite. They had been raised and trained together, and they had never fought with anyone but their brothers. It was a luxury few enjoyed."

They are an elite within an elite. And they improve this book drastically with their mere existence.

Deltas, Move Out: 4

Jedi-Bashing: 5

Mando-Shilling: 1

It's a Man's World: 1

Shut the Fuck Up, Kal: 1

Deltas, Move Out: 4

Mird, My Beloved: 0

Is This The Bad Batch?: 2

Main Post

I'm going to go back to obsessing over the High Republic now.

[phoenixyfriend]

The older I get, the more I understand how much of my take on certain topics (now including Star Wars, particularly the genocide of the Jedi and the many civil wars of the Mandalorians) stems directly from Balkan Cultural Trauma.

Like. There is not a way to really explain my feelings on Mandalorian imperial history and the genocide of the Jedi without getting into things like (and this has links because I do not have the energy in me to explain everything in detail because it's just so much shit, people do entire doctorates on just tiny parts of any given one of these):

five hundred years of Ottoman oppression of the region (especially the blood tithe of devshirme and its role in the Janissary slave army; the English Wikipedia article is significantly kinder about the practice than the Balkans remember it being), and the rise of nationalism in the wake of its dissolution

the attempted genocide of the Serbs in Croatia in WWII (the Nazi regime of Croatia operated the third-largest concentration camp in Europe, and targeted ethnic Serbs more than all other groups combined, resulting in several hundred thousand dead Serbs at the hands of far-right Croats and Bosniaks, with records kept so poorly that estimates range from 200k to 500k, all committed without the use of mass extermination tools due to lack of adequate equipment), which most of the Western world has no idea about but features heavily in my own family's history

the attempted genocide of Croats and Muslims in greater Yugoslavia by the Chetniks in WWII (far-right Serb nationalists and Yugoslav royalists, resulting in the deaths of about 55k-73k Croats and Muslims)

the same shit happening in the 90s, once again on the same religious/ethnic divides (basically the same thing in the Balkans, a large number of conservative parties are of the opinion that a Serb who converts to Catholicism is now ethnically a Croat, and if they convert to Islam they are now ethnically a Bosnian/a Bosniak), resulting in tens of thousands of Bosniaks dead at the hands of Serb nationalists, and upwards of a million displaced. (Bosnian and Croatian forces also engaged in war crimes against each other and Serbs, but to a much smaller degree.)

The entire mess that is Kosovo, where even I can't really start to explain what's going on because it's been going on for so many years in so many directions and it's probably another 'the Ottomans fucked everyone over and then we turned around and went for each others' throats after they were finally gone'

Within that context, you have all this bullshit about propaganda fed to the people by the government, propaganda fed to the outside world to shift over international perception of the events, propaganda used to help the outside world forget about a horrific historic war crime, arguments about which nationalist attitudes were a direct result of Ottoman oppression instead of a later development, which current conflicts can be traced back to Ottoman oppression and who resisted versus who cooperated, who lied about what, who initiated what, which crimes can be attributed to a rogue military and which to the government, which crimes were supported by the population and which were supported only by the wealthy or high ranking, about what even actually happened, about who even actually died, about how many things were initiated by outside forces since there are theories that the CIA helped kick off or at least inflame the many conflicts of the 90s and 00s--

And I was raised in America, and have tried to do independent research every time my parents told me a story about history because I don't want to trust the words of two people on the history of millions, and it's always so much more complicated than you think.

Except for two rules, really, which is that almost everything traces back to the Ottomans fucking us over, and the Rroma always suffered for everyone else's bullshit even though they weren't involved in the conflicts in the first place.

[short-wooloo]

I really hate that the fucking human pet guy keeps popping up on SW tumblr

and he has some of the most irritating takes too

like how the Galaxy joining together to fight the sith in ROS shows that centralized government is unnecessary

never mind how the fleet from all over the galaxy was gathered and lead to exegol by Lando, aka was organized by a central leadership and didn't just show up on their own

And never mind how the first order rapidly conquered the galaxy precisely because they wiped out the central government, and in the absence of said central government many worlds adopted "look out for themselves" stances, which only further guaranteed the first order's successful conquest as those worlds had little chance of resisting alone

and that's just one thing, centralized government is needed in SW at the very least for dealing with common threats

threats such as...

What if the first order regroups and keeps fighting?

What if the mandalorians start conquering again?

What if we get another separatist type situation where a bunch of mega corps make a sham government that says its about democracy and self determination but really is just a corporate-military dictatorship?

What if Kanjiclub, the Guavian Death Gang, or other crime factions want to rank up from criminal organizations to actual territorial powers?

in a similar vein, what if the Hutts decide now's the time to make a comeback?

speaking of the hutts, If there’s no centralized government how do you effectively combat slavery? How do you keep slavery illegal?

What if one of the highly aggressive alien species from legends like the Ssi-ruu, the Yeventha, or the Yuuzhan-Vong get brought into canon?

what if the Chiss decide to give galactic conquest a try?

what if the Chiss start conquering worlds to harvest resources to fuel there wars against the Grysk, Vagaari, or other unknown regions powers?

what if the Yinchorri (big aggressive mind-trick immune turtles) start attacking like in legends?

which btw, was only stopped by a collective effort organized by Chancellor Valorum

Or what if stronger planets start bullying/conquering weaker planets, thus encouraging planets to create tangled webs of alliances between each other, and that in turn creates a WWI-type powder keg where a minor dispute between two planets drags their varying networks of allies into a galactic scale war?

Central government would be good for preventing that

it would also be good for enforcing a ban on superweapons and preventing the spread of that technology

very important in the post-ROS galaxy, as planet killers can now be mounted on smaller ships and mass-produced

(Not mine) The villains' plot in *The Phantom Menace* is only possible because Palpatine *takes the central government out of the picture*

and the backstory of SW is the centralized government has worked for several thousand years

so why does a few decades of it being deliberately sabotaged discount the entire concept?

Because they don't like the concept that's why

They are so obviously libertarian

I mean, their whole thesis comes down to "centralized government is unnecessary because if the collective people need some service or task done then people will just do it"

Textbook libertarian crap, the stuff that gets a town taken over by bears

And all the above is just the more dramatic exciting stuff

A central government is essential for mundane things like maintaining a universal galactic currency

Trade agreements

Consistent tax rates

saftey ratings being the same across the galaxy

Maintaining travel and communication infrastructure (eg hyperspace routes, however comms work)

exchange rates for more archaic currencies

[mercurydancer]

An Unexpected Chance Pt. 20

Taking Overs and Happenings

_

Boba would give Jango the pleasure of seeing all that he might have become had he grown up with a loving and caring father... - R. A Salvatore, Attack of the Clones Novelization

"The government he would serve would be Authority personified. Human Authority… At war's end the aliens would be crushed, stripped of all they possessed, and their systems and their wealth would be given to the hands of the only beings who could be trusted with them. Human beings. Dooku would serve an Empire of Man."

"He's no longer even entirely human. With Grievous, the use of those bio-droid devices is almost forgivable; he was such a disgusting creature already that his mechanical parts are clearly an improvement. But a blend of droid and human? Appalling. The depths of bad taste." [Dooku to Sidious about working with Anakin] - Revenge of the Sith Novelization Matthew Stover pg. 49; 51

(and anyway did you all know that Dooku was a racist ableist bitch because I tell you the fuck what... Dave Filoni makes those fucking weird choices broskis.)

_

          Shmi Skywalker stood on the exit ramp leading to a place that a piece of her heart had always lingered, and yet had never seen, and knew that it was time.

          Her husband, Cliegg beside her, Owen and his wife Beru, behind them, and even further back four Nightbrothers that had joined them in their quest, had become a part of the White Sun. To free others like them, certainly, to find the one that had saved them, absolutely.

          Shmi took a few steps into the Jedi Temple Hanger, aware of the eyes that were on her, the recognition that spread, and wondered how long it would take before…

          The doors at the far end of the hanger burst open, and for a moment Shmi was staring at the living embodiment of her own heart, staring at a young man in dark Jedi robes, Padawan haircut strange and resplendent, blue eyes that held the skies of Tatooine within them, and a smile that rivaled the sun.

          Ani.

          Her boy ran towards her with more speed than seemed possible, and enveloped her in warmth, in the depth of his love, and in that one moment it did not matter that he was taller than her, it did not matter that she could feel the power that radiated towards her in a way she never could when he was young… All that mattered was the arms that were wrapped around her belonged to her boy.

          Shmi Skywalker Lars was holding her son, and it was like no time at all had passed.

          Shmi pulled back slowly, reaching up to brush her hand through her son’s bristly hair, taking the padawan braid in her hand. She looked over the beading, the careful weaving, and then looked to her son’s eyes, smiling.

          “I am so proud of you.”

          Anakin’s eyes filled with tears, and he smiled at her. “Mom,” he said softly.

          “Hello, Ani,” she said, “it’s so good to see you.”

          “It’s…” Anakin took a step back, wiping his eyes, “it’s so good to see you,” and then he looked back at the others, taking in her small family – their small family, and the Brothers they had with them. “What…what brings you here?”

          “I came to see my baby,” Shmi said. “But I have also come to reunite Brothers and because White Sun was called.” She smiled at him, “You apparently have a lot of slaves to help free. We are only the first, the Mandalorians are coming as well.”

          “The Mandalorians?” Anakin asked, and then blinked, looking back at the Brothers, and then smiling at her. “You’ve been working with Maul.”

          “We have,” Shmi smiled. “But before he gets here come, I need to introduce you to some people.” Shmi took his hand and brought him over, standing him before her small family. “This is Cliegg Lars, he is my husband.”

          “Hello, son,” Cliegg said, and then almost immediately winced, “not…that I have to call you that now, you…you likely have to get used to the idea. I understand. I’m sorry, I…”

          “I…have a dad?” Anakin asked, his nose wrinkling slowly as he looked at him, and Shmi laughed aloud.

          “You do,” she said, walking forward to press a kiss to her husband’s cheek, and then taking Owen by the hand, “and this is Owen, he is your step-brother, and this is Beru – his wife.”

          Anakin absolutely boggled, and Shmi could not stop the laughter that rose in her chest, the warmth in her at seeing her small family interact. The Brothers were hanging back, but there was nonetheless a quiet sort of joy in the way they watched. Once Anakin seemed to have settled into the idea of having this bit of family, once he had realized that they were not vanishing, and could see the way they loved each other, could see the way they fit, Shmi took the hand of the oldest brother and led him forward, smiling at seeing how the brothers linked hands together, all approaching as one.

          “Anakin,” she said, getting his attention, “this is Venom,” she said indicating the tallest and the oldest, his tattoo markings standing out black on orange, “this is Spite,” she said about the shortest, who stood beside him, tattoos curling and elegant. “This is Grudge,” she said about the one whose skin was the darkest and whose tattoos were sharp and black. “And this is Wrath,” she indicated the last, skin yellow as the sun, and eyes quick. “They are looking for the one that saved them. They are looking for Maul.”

          “They have found him,” Maul’s voice rang out, and Shmi turned her attention back finding him standing there as well as other faces that she had grown more familiar with over the years, as well as two other Brothers.

          Shmi smiled, she remembered the reports from Soln, she knew who was standing there.

          Maul had brothers. She supposed the ochre one was Feral, the one that had been with Soln as he took him to the Temple. The other, Savage…well, she had been less than pleased to hear the report from the one that took him.

          Hondo was always a pain to deal with, made worse when he was preening, and he had been preening about something even more annoying given the fact that Shmi found herself interested. Shmi looked directly at Maul and found herself smiling.

          “I see that you have found yourself restored,” she said. “I am pleased to see it, though I see it came with a few added centimeters?” she raised a brow, smiling. Maul ducked his head briefly and she laughed quietly, approaching, and standing before him, putting her hands on his shoulders. His skin was warm, and whole, and he stood before her silently as she looked him over. “You look good,” she said.

          “Thank you,” Maul said. “It is good to see you, thank you for coming.” He paused. “Why did you come?”

          Shmi smiled, “I was called,” she said, backing away, and looked to Mace who approached, his hands folded before him. “I hear you have a lot of Blood Slaves that need help.”

          “We do,” Mace said. “I do not believe it will be the same that you usually deal with, but we are not sure. Tiq has been the one that has been talking to them the most, and he will be able to help.”

          “Healer Tiq, who helped both of my boys, where is this Rodian, I would like to thank him.”

          “Oh!” a voice called, and her attention swiveled to a blue Rodian, who took a few steps forward. She met his red eyes and smiled. “Hello,” he called out as he approached, and her smile widened, reaching out to take his hand that he was very happy to give her. “It is good to meet you in person, congrats on your marriage.” He dipped his head to her husband, and smiled at her family, and Shmi watched as her husband glowed, taking a few steps forward.

          “Thank you,” he said. “I got the best deal out of it, I’m sure.”

          Shmi laughed, “Hush.” She turned to Tiq again, taking in his smile, “thank you for doing what you have. Thank you for taking care of them.”

          “Of course,” Tiq said softly, “I had much help.” And the look he gave her was warm and significant, the Rodian that she had spent much time talking to through all hours as the night as they worked together a dear friend. “They have both been wonderful and I am proud of them every day.”

          “So am I,” Shmi smiled, and squeezed his hands in both of hers, before turning to look at Maul. “I brought more of your Brothers. They have been wishing to see you, and have been very patient.”

          Maul took a moment to look at Shmi, and then to turn his attention to the Brothers, Shmi very aware of the way Wrath took a few steps forward first, the others slowly following. But as Maul watched, as his attention fixed they froze. Shmi watched as Maul’s hand curled into a slight fist, and she could see the slow shifting of something like grief, something like sadness in his eyes.

          Feral walked forward then, laughing, and carefully hooked his horns in his brother’s, and as he did Shmi could suddenly see the resemblance for what it was, could see the similarity in jaw, in facial structure, and she beamed. Feral tugged Maul’s head into a gentle angle, pointing the horns off to the side, careful, “Don’t worry,” he called, “come on, Wrath, my brother is not going to fight. He was enslaved by another Master; he does not know yet how to make friends. We shall teach him, though, yes?”

          And Shmi watched the realization spread, even as Maul’s body language relaxed, as he fell further into the invitation, and Wrath’s face spread into a wide smile.

          “Of course, we will teach him much!” and the laughter that bubbled in his voice was audible. “First lesson, then?”

          “Destructions are always better when~”

          Shmi caught the way Feral whispered to his brother, caught the moment when Maul started to stiffen and then very carefully relaxed, and that was the moment when Wrath barreled into him.

          Maul allowed himself to be rolled over in a tangled mess of fabric and limbs and laughter, helped along by the others immediately working to join in, squishing in close, Maul sitting in the middle of a tangle of brothers, including two of his own blood…

          Shmi was aware of the tears that slid down her cheeks.

          Shmi did not care, unable to stop, and unwilling to, pride and joy mixing in her chest. She remembered the young man that had first found them, the one that was looking so hard for a place to belong, a place where he could be himself, a place where he could learn… To see this…? It was all that she had ever hoped for and more.

          Shmi could also see…the moment when it began getting too much.

          Maul was a complicated and utterly tragic combination of touch-starved and so utterly alone that overstimulation was not just likely it was almost always close to the surface. She saw the moment when his enjoyment turned to that prickling desire to pull away, to run. She also saw the moment when something else shaded his gaze as well, and she wondered.

          Being a child for nearly seven months, only to finally grow, to come back, and to be…so different. For everything to be different.

          His Master was dead. Had Maul even been given the opportunity to truly process that, to process what it meant?

          But her worry was alleviated when Savage softly began extracting them, when he pulled his brother up to his feet, and when Maul turned and walked away did not do anything to stop him, nor even appear upset. Instead, he took hold of Feral’s hand, and knocked his horns against the other Brothers, ones that Shmi realized Savage likely knew.

          “My brother has been alone for a long time, and much has changed,” he said softly.

          “It is alright, Brother,” Venom said, “he will be alright.”

          Shmi caught Tiq following after, and she turned her attention to Mace, before looking back to Anakin. “We will have more time to be reacquainted soon,” she said, “but we have been called for a reason.”

          “We have more Blood Slaves to help,” Anakin smiled, and Shmi could feel nothing but pride.

_

          Maul walked.

          He did not particularly know where he was going, and he was not sure if he cared. All he knew was he had to move, he had to…

          So much was happening, so much had changed, and he still did not feel right, and he had been… Maul had been behaving erratically for a Nightbrother. They had seen him and known that he did not belong and that was why… Maul thought of all the other Brothers that he had saved. All of the other Brothers that he had taken to safety before he had heard of the Holocron… All of the ones that had been distant, that had not wanted to stand near him…

          Maul had thought they had been afraid of him because of what he had rescued them from. He had thought it had been because they were wary of his touch and his presence… Now Maul was realizing that he had simply…warded them off. He had not known how to welcome their presence and so none of them had come.

          Maul was buzzing. He did not know if it was better or worse to understand that it was because he truly did not know how to exist as a Nightbrother.

          And then…and then…Maul’s Master, he had been…

          But…

          “Maul,” Tiq’s voice called out, sending his thoughts stuttering to a brief halt, even if his legs kept walking, and Tiq quickly caught up to him, walking alongside. “Talk, pressure, movement?”

          And the question was so familiar, was one that they had worked on, a quick and dirty sort of way to figure out what his first need was, and then the possibility of going from there.

          “Movement,” Maul said, almost without thinking of it, led by the feeling of itchiness in his skin, the slight stutter in his walk that he was sure only he could feel. He needed to get used to his own body once again, and the fact that it was once again was somehow even worse. How much more could he go through? What else was he required to give? How many bits of his own hearts would he have to sacrifice before…

          “Come,” Tiq said, and turned on his heel, walking without once touching him, and Maul followed immediately. It was a drill they had perfected over the years, one that Maul could fall into and just…not think about it.

          Maul was tired of thinking.

          Maul stood in the elevator next to Tiq, closing his eyes, bouncing on his toes, feeling the way he wanted to balance, aware of his own weight in a way that he was unused to. Everything was strange.

          “Obstacles or contact?” Tiq asked softly.

          “Obstacles,” Maul said. He did not want to touch anything, not even if it was to hit it.

          He was at the point where he was certain that he would wind up hitting harder than he wanted to.

          “That’ll be good for you, yes?” Tiq hummed, “give you an opportunity to feel how your limbs want to work.”

          “Yes,” Maul agreed softly. “I am sorry.”

          “Do not be,” Tiq said. “Let’s get your energy out, give you a chance to get used to yourself, and then we can go from there. Orientation times five, yes?”

          “Who, what, where, when, why,” Maul hummed. “What is the date?”

          “The fifteenth, fifth month of the year 7954. It is eleven fifty-four in the morning, and we are in the Halls of Knowledge on the elevator heading towards the Master’s Training Room. It seemed appropriate given the circumstances.”

          “I agree,” Maul said softly. “Tiq, who am I?”

          “You are Darth Maul,” Tiq said softly, “you are a twin, you are twenty-six years old, and you are the younger brother of Savage and Feral. You have an unnatural fondness for spice,” Maul smirked, “a tendency to fling yourself in situations that are much too big for you,” that smirk shifted to a smile, “and you are also someone that I care for a very great deal.”

          Maul opened his eyes and met Tiq’s own, taking in the smile.

          “I am very proud of you, Maul,” Tiq said. “You are alright. You have been given a great deal to hold all at once, do not worry if you find yourself unable to hold it all. It is expected that you will leak a little. Let us get all of that energy out of your system and we can work on processing it.”

          Maul was quiet for a moment, taking all of that in, and softly, “Pressure would not be bad…” he breathed.

          Tiq immediately pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing, Maul finding himself leaning into it, and finally going to hug him back.

          The sound of the elevator doors opening caused Maul to take a step back. The hollowness was still there in his chest, but it was not as yawning.

          “Come on,” Tiq said and led him to the training rooms.

_

          Tiq was aware of the way that Maul was buzzing, could feel the burn in the other’s presence, the flickers of flame that shivered. Tiq could not blame him, and when they finally came into the training rooms, Tiq walked off to the side, very aware of the way Maul launched himself forward into a sprint.

          Tiq picked up the player that he had left here, and flicked through the songs, before finally humming and picking the tune he thought would work the best, and pressed play.

          Tiq moved to sit with his legs crossed and watched.

          As the music swelled Maul ran, leaning further and further forward before finally rolling forward and springing up, landing on his hands and letting himself fall backwards in an arch, catching himself on his feet and once again springing. He smoothed his motions as the words in the song crooned, allowing himself to stretch his limbs, to roll and pose, to leap and to adjust.

          It was always spectacular watching Maul move, and he had only improved with age.

          As the song crunched Maul sped up, letting his knees go to his chest, his limbs to akimbo, his feet to nearly fly across the mats, twisting and rolling and spinning, and then when the singer’s voice began he once again slowed his movements, letting himself stretch, to grow accustomed to that extra length.

          Maul slowly grew more comfortable, letting himself leap higher, roll longer, and finally begin to leap off the obstacles that were scattered. He ran up walls, swung himself over edges and plummeted sheer drops, rolling and spinning and twisting as he did so. As the song ended, Tiq picked another, humming quietly as he crunched through and found one whose energy cranked even higher.

          The drums pounded, escalating, as it beat and beat and beat…

          And finally, it all exploded, and Maul launched himself into motion.

          There were no attempts to stretch this time, no attempts to slow it down, the motions violent, a kata in air, all swift kicks, and fists and what would be blood.

          And then finally the song cranked down, and Maul froze, foot high in the air above his own head, a straight-line drawn heel to heel, and he slowly lowered that foot down, brought it level to groin, and held it, still keeping to that line with his thighs. It wound itself up and Maul kicked straight up, fell backwards, and rolled into a series of twists and rolls, ending finally as the song warbled and trailed off with that same line with the other leg.

          And finally, he stood there, bouncing on his toes, and began slowly easing himself into a much gentler series of movements.

          And so Tiq played one last song, smirking softly as the soft cords resonated, and the song truly began, and Maul blinked, before laughing, and then closed his eyes and just let himself move.

          Sweeping low, all movements about length, about reach, about growing used to the limits of his own flexibility… He let his limbs stretch and curl and pull and push, shifting as the pitch warbled, as her voice bent and he slowly allowed himself to follow. Tiq watched as the last song moved him through a cooldown, as he let himself roll forwards along the ground, to touch his toes, to lean his chest to the floor between his split legs and bring them slowly up over his head, and then slowly to stretch out along the floor again.

          Tiq was certain his own bones would have broken.

          The song carried Maul through his final movements, through the drawing of several lines, and finally Maul lay on the ground completely flat, his eyes closed, and the tension that had been in his limbs, had been vibrating just under the skin had finally eased.

          “I would have thought you’d develop a spine with age,” Tiq called softly, “it seems I was wrong.”

          Maul laughed.

          Tiq counted it as a win.

          Maul slowly stood up then, shaking his limbs out once and then finally approaching Tiq, and Tiq could see how much smoother he was, how his gait had gentled, and he seemed to fit himself more, before finally sitting down crossed legged before him.

          “Hello,” Tiq said with a smile.

          “Hello,” Maul said, breathing deep and slow. “You said you had something for me?”

          “I do,” Tiq said. “And for as much as I wish to give it to you now, I think we need to settle everything else first. It’s…a gift, but it can also be a double-edged one.”

          “And double-edged sabers are handled with much care.”

          “Exactly,” Tiq grinned. “So first…how are you?”

          “I…” Maul laughed, rough, and understandably wet, “Tiq I do not understand, so much has happened, I just…” he closed his eyes. “I feel like everything is moving so fast, and I am… I have brothers? I have brothers and they love me, and I remember…so much and not enough, and I have…all of this is inside of me, and I do not know where it goes, I do not know where it fits with who I am and what I became, and… There is a part of me that feels like I can allow…I can allow…myself to breathe…the space to relax…and the other part of me that knows better. My Master is dead, and my brother killed him to spare me… My Master was the Chancellor, and he was…kind…to me…” Maul wiped his face.

          “Tiq, why was he so kind to me? Was he just…was he trying…and when he said…was he just trying to fool me? To destroy me?” Maul held his hands out and Tiq took them, holding them within his own softly. “Tiq I do not understand,” he breathed. “I do not want… I want…” Maul’s expression crumbled, and he pulled his hands back, fisting them in his lap, “why would I grieve? Why would I grieve when I know…I know that he must have… Tiq…do you think that he hated me?”

          Tiq smiled, and it was rough, and it was hard. “And so, we once again are at the question at the center, and this time I do have an answer. And it is one I think you know, which is why you keep questioning it. It’s the reason you find yourself grieving even when you hate. And I know you hate him. I know you do. I know that you are not grieving the man. You are grieving the ideal. You are grieving what you wished it could have been. And this, Maul, is the most natural thing in the Galaxy.”

          “I hate it,” Maul hissed.

          “I know,” Tiq said, “and that is okay. That is okay. It is perfectly understandable.” Tiq took a breath and sighed. “Maul, if I had…if I had any other choice I do not know if I would talk to you about this so soon. But things are out of my hands…  Count Dooku…was your Master’s latest weapon, and I was forced to blackmail him.”

          “You-Tiq…wait, what?”

          Tiq smiled, “you see, Dooku was under the mistaken impression…that he was worth something to your Master. That he was worth something to Darth Sidious…but he was not. He was a weapon. Something to be used and discarded. But…in order to get this through to him I was forced to tell him about you…and about the fact that while your Master believed him to be expendable, to be…exploitable… Maul,” Tiq breathed softly, “your Master did love you, as much as I think he could love anyone.”

          Maul was silent for a moment, his eyes so wide, and so… “Oh,” he breathed.

          “But Maul,” Tiq said, and reached out, Maul taking his hands, unthinking, unhesitatingly, holding so tight… Tiq could feel the tremor, could see… “Maul listen, this is one of the most important things about love that you have to understand – Love is not enough, and in some cases, in many ways…love can actually be used to hurt, to cut. And your Master cut you deep with it. His affection was possession, and his love was in the form of control and, too, in a way, on an ideal. That you could not meet this ideal is not anything to do with you. It is entirely to do with him. You did not deserve to be under that. You did not deserve to be controlled and twisted like that. In a way, it does not matter that he loved you. His actions show precisely what he was, and what he was…was cruel, and evil, and vile, and I am happy that fucker is dead.”

          Maul’s face broke into a grin, a laugh tickling at the corners of his mouth, and Tiq leaned forward, Maul’s horns pressing to his forehead unthinkingly, gentle, gentle…

          “You never deserved to be under the care of a man who told you that all you were was a body. You never deserved to be brought up by someone who hurt you, and good fucking riddance. Good fucking riddance I hope it hurt, I hope he was awake and aware all the way down, and I hope he knew just how powerless he was. I hope that he knew just how much we all fucking hated him. Because yes, Maul, I do not think there was a Jedi in that Senate that did not hate him. And we hated him for you. And I want you to understand something, yes? We were glad to hate him.”

          “I think I was right,” Maul said softly, “you probably would be a good Sith.”

          Tiq laughed and pulled back, pressing a kiss to his forehead, a gesture that made Maul grin, “Do you really think so? Would I be a good Sith?”

          Maul paused, the grin fading as he stared at him, thinking, and then he finally sighed. “Oh, very well, so I may be indulging in some wishful thinking.”

          Tiq laughed, “There is nothing wrong with that at all,” he assured softly. “I think I’m even flattered.”

          “You should be,” Maul sniffed, “I do not think that many Jedi would make good Sith, or even spend time thinking about it.”

          “Truly?” Tiq asked, grinning. “No one at all? Not even someone like…oh, you teased him enough about it, but Obi-Wan?”

          Maul pulled a face that was so utterly disgusted, so completely unimpressed that Tiq was hard-pressed to not burst out laughing. “Obi-Wan Kenobi would be the most obnoxious Sith in all of history.”

          Tiq failed at holding his laughter in.

          “He would…he would be so aggressively annoying,” Maul said, his mouth squiggling, his eyes narrowing, “he would…by the Force, Tiq, why would you wish that upon me?”

          Tiq laughed harder. “OH,” Tiq wiped his eyes, “that was about as funny a reaction as I had hoped it would be.”

          “Rude,” Maul huffed. “I am going to have nightmares.”

          Tiq lost it. “Oh, Force, regrouping, Maul, please, how do you feel?”

          “Better,” Maul said, and the complete lack of hesitation was so good to hear. “I…” Maul paused. “I…understand that his love was control. That it was bad for me, and it would almost have been the same as if he hated me. But it is…to know that he did love me… Why?”

          “That I do not know,” Tiq said, “but I do know that whatever the reason it would have never been good enough, and so in this instance the why is beyond consideration. Why? Because he could. Because he wanted control more than he wanted your well-being. Because he was perpetually angry and wanted to take it out on someone that relied on him, none of these reasons are good and none of them are ones that you should hold in your hearts as though they are ones you deserve. His meanings and his reasonings are utterly irrelevant outside of this one simple fact, are you ready?”

          “What is it?”

          “He is dead – and your Master will never be able to hurt you again.”

          Maul took that in for a moment, silent, silent, and Tiq was prepared for the moment when he bowed forward slow, and softly, “Tiq…do you have…do we have the footage. Please, please can I…”

          “Yes,” Tiq said, and pulled the player over, fishing through datachips to finally press one into the machine. “We were able to piece together a record of the fight and how it happened. The holocam in the Senate was damaged, but it was still running. We do have the footage. You can see him die.”

          Maul swallowed, shifting to properly see it, but it was not the death that opened it up, instead, Tiq showed him the interrogation.

          Maul could not stop laughing.

          The opening salvo, the first line of a simple ‘Shut up, bitch’ had been enough to send Maul into a near fit of it, doubling over and his hands over his mouth like he was trying to hold it in for dear life, but it escaped anyway.

          As Tiq chipped away at him, insulted his being and his job and his ability to listen… Maul remained scrunched, almost hiding it, but it was audible, and it was visible, “Very good!” the Tiq of the holocam called out, giving a loud and very exaggerated clap, “that is ten points to the Chancellor of the Republic, you are very good at this, aren’t you?”

          “Yes…I am…”

          And Maul finally started howling.

          Tiq paused the footage, let Maul get over his doubled-up pose, to straighten, to rub at his face and regain his composure. “Tiq,” Maul managed his voice choked, tears in his eyes, “Tiq, you cannot do this to me, this is too much.”

          “Your Master is a bitch! It’s not my fault at all.”

          Maul giggled, a sharp and breathless sound, but so full of joy, and Tiq beamed.

          Tiq let Maul take in the fact that it was an accusation of molestation that had finally gotten him to cave and paused it briefly. “It is, Maul, because I realized he did love you, and he would have had some lines in his behavior towards you. I made a guess as to what it was, and I got lucky. But I need you to know…”

          “That his love was poison,” Maul said briefly, “his love was a chain. And I am free from both.”

          “There is no more poison in your veins, and no chains around your neck,” Tiq agreed softly, “you are free. Now I’m going to skip…”

          “Do…do you have the part where you blackmailed Dooku, please? I want…I want to see that, and to see… I need to see…”

          “I will show you his death,” Tiq promised. “You will see him die, and you will know it to be true.”

          Maul huffed quietly, “am I that obvious?”

          “It’s understandable,” Tiq said softly. “We have claimed Sidious dead before, and it took a Holocron that reverted you to a child for us to be made aware of our mistake. I deeply regret that…”

          “It is alright,” Maul said. “I did not…I never once…”

          “That isn’t entirely true,” Tiq said, “do you remember banning Anakin from speaking to him on his own?”

          Maul blinked. “Do you think…that he would…”

          “I think he would have tried,” Tiq said. “Considered among so many Jedi to be the Chosen One to bring Balance to the Force? What would be a more thrilling conquest than turning that against us?”

          Maul took that in quietly, and softly, quietly, “he would have destroyed him.”

          “He would have,” Tiq agreed, “which is why it’s so crucial, and honestly quite so funny that you simply banned him from seeing him… It is a testament to Anakin’s love of you that he listened. It is very hard work getting a teenager to listen. You did it very easily.”

          “I made him promise on his mother,” Maul said.

          “Ah,” Tiq grinned, “that would definitely do it.” Tiq paused. “Still loves you a great deal, though.”

          Maul laughed. “He is like a younger brother…at least what I imagine it would be like… Tiq…” Maul stared at him for a moment, and there was something so amazed and something so soft in his eyes, “Tiq, I am a twin, I have brothers.”

          “You do,” Tiq smiled, “and I am so glad that you were able to meet them. I am so glad that you found each other.”

          Maul said nothing for a moment, almost basking in it, before he finally sighed, “you were going to show me how you eviscerated Dooku?”

          “Eviscerated is a little strong,” Tiq said, laughing.

          “Incorrect,” Maul said, grinning. “Now let me see!”

          Tiq laughed and worked on scrubbing through the fight, delicately avoiding the moment when he got electrocuted, and then finally let it play as Tiq pressed a few buttons on the chair.

          As Maul realized that Tiq had not known that he was about to call Dooku, as he realized that Dooku had habitually called him ‘My Master,’ Maul doubled over, and nearly shrieked with laughter.

          “HIS FACE!” Maul managed, tears sliding down his face as he absolutely lost his shit, “Tiq!!! You didn’t tell me…he outed himself???”

          Tiq laughed, “I was waiting for this moment. It was worth every second.”

          Maul finally settled slowly, watching the rest of the encounter, and as he took in Bail’s expression, he wiped his eyes. “I want to call him; can I call him?”

          “What are you going to do?”

          “Mock him relentlessly,” Maul answered, purring.

          “Maybe when we get him back to the Jedi Temple. He needs to be contained in a proper cell.”

          “Are you going to rehabilitate him like you did with me?” Maul asked, and there was something almost quietly tolerant.

          Tiq was quiet for a moment. “I do not know what we are going to do with him. With you…you were different in a way. The way you were trained…how you were raised…you knew no other way. It was rehabilitation but it was also almost reeducation. Dooku…” Tiq was quiet for a moment. “Dooku should know better. He was about to…I have seen what your Master was planning, Maul. I have…” Tiq’s face tightened. “Dooku was not just complicit with slave labor, he was working on undermining…” Tiq shook his head. “There is a great deal that he has been doing that is absolutely vile, a great many people have died because of his actions, and…” Tiq paused. “It is interesting, I believe, how a person can trick themselves so thoroughly into believing that they are doing the right thing.”

          “I do understand that,” Maul said with a nod and a shrug.

          Tiq smiled at him and opened his arms, Maul allowing himself to sink into the hug. “Thank you for asking if we do plan on rehabilitating,” he said. “Unlike you, Dooku exists and is a Citizen of the Republic, and he is being tried like one. If I have the opportunity I would, but admittedly I don’t know if he would listen to me.”

          “Why is that?” Maul asked.

          “I’m non-human,” Tiq answered with a shrug.

          “Fucker.”

          Tiq laughed. “Indeed,” he agreed.

          “I hope it stung like hell when he realized that I was the one our Master cared for.”

          “I rather do as well,” Tiq agreed. “But that’s vindictive and I will let that go.”

          “I’ll hold onto it for you.”

          “Thank you,” Tiq laughed. “But it is not necessary.”

          “I will do it anyway,” Maul said. “Because I want to hold it over him.”

          “Sith.”

          “Jedi,” Maul returned, and finally laughed. “I have missed you.”

          “I have missed you as well,” Tiq said. “I am so proud of you. I am so proud of you…you have done so much… It is so good to see that you are alive, and you are well.” Maul shifted to hug him tight, and Tiq laughed quietly, “You’re not quite as easy to hold anymore.”

          “I don’t know if I like it,” Maul said, pulling back. “You cannot tell anyone…”

          “Not a soul,” Tiq agreed.

          “I liked my height,” Maul said. “The fact that most people could pick me up…”

          “It’s a good way to alleviate some of the touch starvation,” Tiq nodded.

          “It is that,” Maul agreed, waving a hand almost grandly, “but more importantly it leads to the idea that I am easier to kill, and therefore makes them easier to stab. They pick me up, I merely…” he mimed stabbing at someone under the ribs, and Tiq wheezed, doubling over, and laughing aloud.

          “Maul!”

          “What?” Maul shrugged, “it is true! If I allow you to hold me in such a manner then…” he shrugged. “I care about you a great deal. Touch starvation or…” Maul trailed off.

          Tiq was quiet for a moment. “You worked with Mandalorians and with Hondo’s pirates, yes? As well as Shmi Skywalker?”

          “Yes,” Maul said. “I was…I was not completely alone.”

          “Just mostly,” Tiq said quietly. “Well. That likely may change.”

          “What did you find out, Tiq? What was my Master planning?”

          “First…” Tiq sighed, “First I am going to show you his death, and then I am going to give you what I found.”

          Tiq opened the footage and allowed Maul to take it in, watching the way Obi-Wan provided such a good distraction from the actual threat of Savage. Maul took the holoprojector from Tiq, replaying the footage, watching as his Master was impaled again…and again…and again…

          And finally put it down and shoved it away from him.

          “Tiq…” he breathed, “my Master is dead…”

          “Yes,” Tiq agreed quietly, “he is dead.”

          Maul paused for a moment, so still… And then, quietly, Maul began to laugh.

          It was a desperate broken little sound, hitched and broken, slowly shifting to something louder, fuller, and finally outright hysterical. It was a shattered, utterly desperate sort of laugh, Tiq waiting, watching, and when that hitched and pained sounding laugh became the start of hitched and pained sobs, Tiq was ready, and opened his arms. Maul folded himself close and wept, and there was such anger in the sound, such… “I hate him, Tiq,” Maul breathed.

          “I know,” Tiq said softly. “I know, it’s alright. You can mourn. It is alright to mourn. It is not fair, and it is not right. You are allowed to mourn.” Tiq held him until he finally ran out of tears and pushed himself back, wiping at his eyes… Tiq caught hold of his hands, squeezing. “Gentle,” Tiq said softly, “there is no reason to make yourself hurt. You are allowed to be kind to yourself, even for something like this. Grief is complicated.”

          “Grief is awful, and I hate it,” Maul grumbled.

          “Understandable,” Tiq said. “But still…be kind.”

          “What did you have for me, Tiq,” Maul said softly.

          Tiq paused for a moment and finally sighed. “Reach for my mind, Maul, feel.”

          Maul narrowed his eyes, and Tiq felt the soft tickling heat of Maul’s Force-presence reaching out for him. Tiq reached out slowly and offered the memories that he had stored. Maul’s presence flickered near them, before it flared in realization and wonder, and Tiq felt the way he brushed against them, and softly, softly… “Tiq…what is that?”

          “Those are your memories,” Tiq answered softly. “Your Master did not just cut them out he kept them. These…I have not looked at them, Maul, but I can feel them, and they are sound.  Your Master kept them, and I think…eventually he was going to give them back. But now…I am.”

          Maul blinked, “can…can you do that?” he breathed, “is it possible, can you…is my mind not too…?”

          “It is not too broken,” Tiq said, “nor is it too scarred over. The brain has a natural elasticity, and in this instance it wants to be whole. I believe…that should we work together, they should be accepted.”

          Maul was quiet for a moment, and softly, quietly, “please.”

          Tiq tilted his forehead towards Maul, feeling the horns press up against him, closed his eyes, and took a breath, feeling Maul do the same…and slowly.

          Steadily…

          Breathed out…

          And plunged into a mind that he knew.

          Maul pulled back with a gasp, standing, his body reeling, staggering away from Tiq and finally falling to his knees.

          “Maul, can I touch you?” Tiq asked, his voice soft, and Maul braced his hands against the ground, breathing, breathing, feeling like he wanted to throw up. There was so much…as so much was flowed into him, as his memories…

          As that dark pillar was given a face.

          As he stared up at Palpatine.

          And thought of him as father.

          Maul vomited into a wastebasket that hadn’t been there, shaking, his body heaving as he emptied everything in his stomach.

          It had been Palpatine, it was him, all of it was him, and then the wastebasket was moving and Tiq was closer, gently hushing, still not touching, still not…

          “Please,” Maul managed softly, and Tiq pulled him close, settled his head on his lap, let him sprawl out, ran a hand up and down up and down his arm…

          “It’s alright,” Tiq breathed, “it is alright.”

          “I loved him once,” Maul breathed. “I loved him. He raised me. I knew him from…my earliest memories…if only as a presence that… Tiq… Please…I don’t want…I don’t want to think of this anymore. I don’t want…”

          “Hush,” Tiq said softly, “you know that is not true.”

          “There is so much…” Maul managed, his voice trembling, “Tiq…”

          “A lifetime, right up until seventeen,” Tiq said. “It is alright. Let yourself settle, I’m right here, grab on.”

          And Maul reached, clinging tight to Tiq’s Force-presence, allowing himself to sink into the Jedi’s peaceful aura, letting it calm him, slowly allowing his mind to trail down paths and links that it had not been able to make in so…long…

          Tiq remained stable and cool, and Maul slowly let himself bask in it, letting his mind settle, flow the anxiety, the hurt, the… There was so much hurt…so much hurt… And it framed…all of those conversations, those moments…

          “Tiq…” Maul breathed, “he wanted me back…”

          “I do think so,” Tiq said, and the hand on his arm was protective, and the presence he basked in was warm, and so welcoming, “but he did not get you. And he will not. You are not his. You are not ours. You are yours. Your chains are broken, Sith. You are free.”

          Maul took that in, closing his eyes and breathing it close.

          Maul was free.

          He was free.

          “Thank you,” he breathed.

          “Of course,” Tiq said. “How are you feeling, Maul? Do you want a spar?”

          “I could use a distraction,” Maul said, and slowly began to push himself up.

          “Excellent,” Tiq said, “because I think that someone…”

          The door to the training room burst open, Obi-Wan marching forward holding…

          Maul was on his feet and as the pike that had been his weapon and his companion for so long flew through the air he reached out…and caught it.

          And let the red blade THRUM into existence, heat and death and warmth in his hand.

          “Aw shit,” Maul cussed, placing it next to him and taking in where the blade length rested on him. “It’s too short.”

          “That is a bit of a challenge,” Obi-Wan hummed, “but I’m certain it’s nothing you can’t overcome?”

          “Fifteen words to tell me to simply spar anyway, Kenobi,” Maul sniffed, eyeing him. “And yet you call me verbose~”

          Obi-Wan gave a regal shrug before pulling his saber from his belt, twirling it into his favored Soresu, and Maul could see the initial twirl had allowed him to readjust the power on it. It would scald, but not kill.

          Maul hummed, “A moment.”

          Obi-Wan gestured for it, remaining in his ready stance.

          Maul smiled.

          And then twirled the pike, his eyes closed, feeling the weapon, feeling the way it wanted to rest on him, learning where it pressed against his limbs, feeling the brief flashes of heat as it grew too close and adjusting it with the slightest of movements. Familiarity bloomed, and when he finally knew where it would fall, when he knew that he would not hurt himself as well as his enemy, he fell into his own opening stance, pointed at Kenobi, checking the balance to make sure, and casually readjusted the power in his own.

          It was truly only sporting.

          “Very flashy,” Obi-Wan hummed. “But have you ever fought anyone with an actual saber?”

          Maul grinned, baring all of his teeth, and let the low hum of his Force presence darken and darken, and BURN. “No,” he answered, almost purring, “and so I thank you for the opportunity, Kenobi~”

          Maul was aware of the others that were coming in, could see the way Tiq had gone to join Plo at the far end of the room, could see the Nightbrothers as they sat on either side of his brothers, and could see the utter curiosity burning in Ahsoka and Anakin.

          “You know I live to serve,” Obi-Wan said, flicking his saber, and finally, Maul flicked his saber into a guard, and launched himself forward – the pike leading.

          Obi-Wan pulled back, knocking the pike blade up into the air with his saber, only for Maul to catch it and spin it back, sending the butt of the weapon towards his chin. Obi-Wan leaned back, flicked his saber across and sent it to the side, and Maul pulled back, spinning it around with a flourish and as Obi-Wan went to block he twisted the mechanism that kept it solid and instead granted it added flexibility, the interlocking parts gaining just enough gap to grant just enough wiggle without threatening structural collapse, and best yet would allow it to still weather any need to block.

          It was one of the Armourer’s proudest achievements.

          “Oh, that’s not good…” Obi-Wan managed when Maul lowered it to eye-level, a grin on his face.

          “It might be smart to run~?”

          “Might,” Obi-Wan agreed, and then launched himself forward.

          Maul laughed aloud as he brought the butt of the weapon once again into play, forcing Obi-Wan back, and following up with a low sweep that threatened his ankles, the Jedi leaping up and still back. And then Maul twisted the weapon around so the pike was threatening and humming, allowed Obi-Wan the moment to realize it was pointing directly between his eyes, and then began a series of short sharp stabs towards him, always pressing forward, always at different angles, that added flexibility giving the pike an almost unpredictable amount of devastation.

          It was hard to tell where it was aiming, and as Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes and began working on blocking and parrying, Maul grinned wider and wider.

          Maul twisted the mechanism to solidify it, spinning around with the butt of the weapon and managing a direct hit to Obi-Wan’s shoulder, causing him to stumble back, and as Maul swung the pike back around Obi-Wan launched himself forward. Maul grinned and rolled backwards, gaining distance. Obi-Wan spun his saber around, working on attacking while Maul’s focus was on retreating, and Maul finally launched himself up in the air, the lightsaber pike deactivating as he landed to balance upon it, a grin splitting his face.

          Obi-Wan blinked up at him.

          Maul took a breath, and with an internal laugh, channeled the Force in a scream of power that took the form of a single solitary word –

          “KENNOOOOOBIIIIII!!!!!!”

          “Oh, that’s not good,” Obi-Wan managed and he turned on his heel and ran.

          Maul twisted the mechanism, launched himself forward with his weapon rattling a terrible facsimile of a death rattle, and Obi-Wan managed a single hard block, but the pike went back around, hit the Jedi’s hand, and sent the lightsaber flying, that pike swinging back once again to point directly at the Jedi’s neck, that mechanism twisted yet again to stabilize it. There was no true point in burning him.

          “Well,” Obi-Wan managed. “That was…frightening.”

          Maul tilted his head. “Yield?”

          “Now,” Obi-Wan paused. “I could…” Maul leapt up and spun over the saber that had been aiming at his back, catching hold of the hilt with a boldness he never would have used if he had not known that it was still set low and therefore would not cut off his hand should he miss. As it was, it was a perfect catch, and Maul aimed the blue sword at its owner’s throat. “Oh, well, that was rather impressive. Yield, yes, I think that sounds like a good idea.”

          “Thank you.” He deactivated the saber and tossed it towards its owner, Obi-Wan catching it and hilting it. Maul deactivated his own pike, grinning. When Obi-Wan went in for a hug Maul initially blinked, feeling it close around him with a momentary start, before allowing himself to hug back.

          “Don’t ever yell my name like that again.”

          Maul laughed aloud and tightened his grip, hitting his back hard once. “I’ll consider it.”

          Obi-Wan pulled back and rolled his eyes at him, laughing himself. But it was good. Maul had needed something like this.

          “Well done,” a voice said that Maul had not been expecting, and he turned to find the one who had made the weapon standing there, as well as a medley of Death Watch that also included Soln. The Armourer approached, and Maul hesitated before approaching as well and holding out the weapon. She took it from him, held it in her hands, and then looked to him, her helmet cocked slightly as she took him in. “You did not grow in the way that I expected.”

          “I don’t know that it was expected by anyone,” Obi-Wan said, taking a step forward. “Hello, are you the one that made that weapon?”

          “I am,” she returned, “I am the Armourer. You fight well…for a Jedi.”

          “I will of course take that as the highest compliment,” Obi-Wan smiled. The Armourer tilted her head to him in a gesture of amusement, and Maul knew that he had managed to get in her good graces.

          “I will reforge your armor and the saber,” she said to Maul. “You will have need of them soon.”

          “Thank you,” Maul said, putting his fist over his chest and offering her a low bow. She returned it with a dip of her head and walked away, Soln approaching. “What brings you here?”

          “We were told you have a problem with some Mandalorians,” he grinned. “We are here to help reclaim them.”

          “Ah,” Maul said. “Fill me in.”

_

          Maul stood on the deck of a ship, staring out over the waters of Kamino.

          Maul had listened while Soln had spoken, listened as the Jedi filled further gaps. But as they spoke, Maul had remembered.

          Darth Sidious had never told him the entirety of the plan, but there were echoes, things that Maul remembered. A plot to destroy the Jedi. A plot to use the Senate they loved so much against them. It had made Maul want to laugh.

          There was a brilliance within it that was frightening, not the least because a part of Maul could admit that he admired it. It was a brilliant plan.

          His Master had always been brilliant.

          But now Maul stood overlooking what was meant to be his Master’s crowning achievement, and the knowledge that it would never be used against the Jedi… It would never be used against his family, or the Galaxy that they loved.

          Maul wondered if they realized how much they loved it. He wondered if this would have been what made them realize it just as it was stripped from them.

          The Separatists had been weeded out, cut from Dooku they had fizzled, and ultimately there was nothing to unite them. There was to be no war…

          And so, an army that had been created needed to be dissolved.

          And millions of men needed to be helped to find purpose beyond a war that would never happen.

          The Jedi’s entire Mind Healer force had been pulled from all corners, after they had managed to find replacements, of course, and were currently being debriefed by Tiq. Maul himself had helped in some of the debriefing.

          Yoda was currently on Kamino and had been making observations, talking to the Clones that were there. The knowledge that they were dealing with men that in some ways were a bit like Maul had been.

          Men fashioned into Weapons.

          Beings that had no concept of themselves as anything but tools of destruction.

          Maul was not sure if he was ready to see them. What Maul had not expected was for the way the Brothers understood. And not just Feral and Savage, but also Venom, Spite, Grudge, and Wrath. Yet…in a way he supposed he should have.

          What were they for?

          What were they for…

          But in the end they stood with him, and their presence was a balm in a way Maul did not know how to reach for. They often included him regardless, and he had learned slowly of the ways that a Brother asked for another’s presence.

          Tiq had also been with them, a constant presence, talking, gentle, as well as a consistent reminder that they did not have to see them yet. Maul could take his time. They all could. They would do what needed to be done.

          Tiq had laughed just about as hard as Maul when the Nightbrothers had looked at him.

          “Always remember you can take a step back,” Tiq had said, and they had promised to remember.

          He knew they intended to keep that promise.

          But for now, Maul was going to see what could be done.

          They came in for a landing, and Maul continued watching.

          As the rest disembarked Maul waited.

          He was unsurprised when the Armourer finally found him, and he turned to her.

          “It is finished,” she said. “The second iteration of my greatest creation. You will wield it well.”

          “I will,” Maul agreed, and followed her to where his armor waited.

          He took the pike in hand and finally left himself, clad in the armor of the Mandalorians that had been his own. Influenced by the aesthetics of the Sith. Influenced by his own.

          Maul kept his distance, his presence small, unnoticeable as he walked amongst them, and watched. His Brothers had approached, had walked to them with an intimate knowledge that Maul could not quite match. His own childhood had been spent in loneliness, in solitude, his own training wrapped around the fact that there was only himself… And the reflection he saw in glass. And the more that he saw the more he felt as though he was staring at an imitation, at a broken and shattered mirror that showed him so much of what had been…and ultimately what he no longer was.

          Maul stood in a transparisteel tunnel and stared out at a sea of men that moved in unison, trained in unison, that awkwardly attempted to talk to the Jedi that had spread amongst them, that had no idea how to integrate with them, even as he could see the way they longed to…

          The Mandalorians had spread, the splinter of Death Watch that Maul had stumbled upon when destroying the mines of Zygerria…and those were the ones that were ultimately the most gravitated to. Outside of course, of the Brothers…the Brothers that were gaining a following that was growing.

          Soln had been called for good reason and Maul wondered quietly whether or not this would be something they latched onto. Perhaps Death Watch would grow. Maybe they would finally be enough to destroy the group led by Pre Vizsla.

          Maul would not mind. From what he recalled Jango was considered a member of the True Mandalorians, but as Maul looked out at the men that clearly had no understanding of existence outside of battle…outside of fight…outside of being a weapon… He could not believe that Jango had remained a part of that faction.

          And the more he looked…the angrier Maul grew.

          There were children.

          More in pods waiting to be decanted.

          All of them had been meant for war.

          And a single man had agreed to it. A single man had seen fit to take these children, take these beings, and enslave them to war, and act as though they did not matter.

           Weapons.

          Maul was looking out at an army of weapons.

          It was something he recognized implicitly.

          Jango had been gone, a job he had been on taking him away, and it was during that time that they had begun their work, but Maul had little doubt that he would not be gone for long.

          Maul had avoided all Kaminoans, watching from above the way they interacted with the ones that had been under their care and known that he would be unable to keep the hate down.

          It was all too raw.

          Maul did not know what he would do.

          But Maul would find out.

          For now, he would watch, and as he watched Maul found himself so thankful for Tiq and his Group. Maul was so thankful for the Mandalorians he had found and their utter insistence that he come with them.

          It was strange to think that this had been the splinter faction that Meltch Krakko had belonged to.

          It was strange to think that he may have grown up amongst them if…

          But his Master had still been alive.

          It was likely that all Maul would have done would be invite death.

          Yet now…Maul’s Master was dead.

          Now…all of their chains were broken.

          It was simply a matter of getting them to see that.

          Maul took a breath and finally decided to move amongst them.

          His distance was no longer helping. Maul allowed his iron control of his presence slip, and began walking down to meet the rest of the men.

_

          Tiq was surrounded by an ocean of numbers.

          He was thankful for much, but the fact that numbers had always been easy for him to remember was in the top tier. It would be an awful thing to forget or to butcher when their batch numbers was literally all that these men had to their person. At least…until they either decided they wanted a name or decided that their number would fit for a name.

          Either one was acceptable, at this point it was closer to discovering another race than it was being amidst Clones of one man. If their naming practices involved a great deal of numbers then it deserved to be respected. And then Tiq’s attention was pulled to the Brothers, and he found himself smiling.

          “So…” one of the men was saying, CC-3636, if Tiq wasn’t mistaken, it was in the Aura – this one’s crackled, “you…you’re Venom, and you’re Feral, you’re Spite, and Wrath, and Grudge, and…you’re Savage?”

          “Yes,” Savage answered, grinning, “and he is Maul,” Savage nodded towards…

          Oh.

          Well.

          Tiq rather thought he understood how that could be terrifying.

          Maul had always been soundless, but to manage that with a suit of armor was a particularly intense sort of task. That black armor with its crown of horns that were so much larger than Maul’s own, the face that slowly came into view as he stopped before them and tilted his head slightly to look at them… And also offered a horn-lock, one that was immediately taken up by Feral, who hooked tight and grinned.

          “It’s not quite the same, they’re a good deal less…living, but I have to say I do like them,” Feral said, taking a step back and reaching up to touch the tips. “How many have you killed like this?”

          “Enough,” Maul answered and the grin in his voice was sharp.

          The Brothers laughed, a warm thing, amused, and there was a certain delight in the sound.

          Tiq felt the desire to roll his eyes, but there was no denying the way the men around them were reacting. There was a kinship there that they seemed to not have expected.

          And how could they have…but now that it was there, Tiq could see the beginnings of interest.

          “You can name yourselves things like that?” CC-1993 asked.

          “Why would you not be able to?” Venom asked. “Though admittedly most of us were named by our older Brothers.”

          “Oh, does that…does that mean you need to be blood to name another?”

          “Oh, apologies,” Venom said. “While it is true that we four are blood, and they are blood,” he indicated Maul and Savage and Feral, “Brothers is nonetheless what we call ourselves. We are Nightbrothers, even without Blood, we are connected in battle and in soul.”

          There was a slow building interest, and Tiq found himself smiling.

          This was an unlooked for, but certainly helpful line of familiarity.

          This was something that could be used to help.

          They had already started to shift from the way they stood together, the slow relaxing of shoulders, the movement to start to copy postures. They were also all very interested in the Brother’s tattoos. As they explained, the Brothers smiling as they indicated them and what they meant… The Mandalorians had also approached, and together they were pulling a crowd.

          There were younger ones approaching then, recently decanted, and the Brothers welcomed them with an ease that seemed to win the men over more…

          The sound of a ship passing by overhead drew Tiq’s attention, and he was aware then too of Maul.

          Maul who focused on the man that was coming in through the door dressed in full Mandalorian armor of his own, and as he approached, drew his pike, and then Maul’s voice cracked out, “Demagolka! Aruetyc hut’uun! Naast be ade! Aruetii ti aliit bal manda… Gar buir duraa.”

          Tiq felt his eyes widen. Well.

          That was one way to start a fight.

          Jango launched himself forward, a roar of anger and pain, and Maul met him. It was an almost wretchedly one sided fight.

          Jango was skilled, there was no doubt, and similarly no doubt that Mandalorians were warriors born… But so, too, were Nightbrothers.

          And Maul was not playing fair.

          Jango used whatever weapon he could think of, but if they ever threatened the crowd that was still watching a Jedi was able to send it back…but more importantly, Maul was willing always to use the Force, to rip Jango from his feet and throw him across the room, to send the flames that Jango sent at him back at his own face with a single palm raised up. And when Maul had finally tackled Jango to the ground, had finally knocked his helmet away and brought a single blade to his throat, that was when Maul finally tore off his own helmet and began to speak.

          “You call yourself a True Mandalorian, Jango?” Maul purred. “You call yourself someone your father would be proud of? Knowing that you call yourself a Mandalorian while you disobey the first basic tenant, while you allow yourself to become demagolka and destroy your manda and theirs? Why?”

          “They aren’t people,” Jango hissed. “They’re nothing…”

          The sound of a harsh and rasped gasp brought Tiq’s attention to a little boy, one that had… Oh.

          Tiq had heard of…

          “Filth,” Maul hissed. “Your vengeance has blinded you to everything…even the needs of the one you called son. Tell me, Jango? How can you possibly know that you are worthy of existence, worthy of love…when every single being bearing your face, bearing your soul is also worthy of extermination? How can you elevate one to a son, when you do not even see them as human?”

          And Jango was staring at his boy. Jango was staring at the child who had frozen, who stared into his eyes, “Boba…” Jango breathed, and that was when Boba turned and ran.

          Tiq kept track of the boy with the promise that he would check on him later. He had a feeling the boy needed time…

          Jango fought against Maul then, struggled to get out of his grip, but Maul was Zabrak. Maul had twice the muscle density and wound up pinning Jango on his front, that knife at his ear. “Stop,” Maul commanded softly. “Just stop. You have lost. You are just a man, Jango. You are just a man…”

          And Tiq could see the way the other men had straightened, could see… And he found a slow smile pulling at his mouth. And he understood what Maul had decided needed to be done.

          Maul had shown them that their tormentor was mortal. Maul had shown them that he could be beaten.

          And softly, quietly, “Jango…why would you attempt to get revenge on the people that only reacted to your orders? Why would you get revenge against them when you shot first and you know that by right their actions were just?”

          Jango said nothing.

          “Would you like to help us kill Pre Vizsla?”

          Jango blinked. “What?”

          “You killed Tor Vizsla, that much is true, but you have not killed all that remains of him. There have been others that have followed in his footsteps, have taken Death Watch in his image. Would you like to destroy them?” Maul asked. “Would you like to regain your honor? Would you like to avenge your father?”

          Jango paused, and then slowly looked up at him. “But Death Watch…?”

          Soln laughed quietly and stepped forward, crouching down alongside him. “We are Death Watch. Or rather…Death Watch as it should have been. Before Tor twisted us. Pre Vizsla has further corrupted what we stood for. Destroyed the honor that it once possessed, stripped the non-humans from its ranks, and has the gall to call himself Mandalorian by the rule of a sword he did not win. His father may have won it. It may run in his family…but it was not won by him.”

          “We are going to kill him and destroy the rest,” Maul said pleasantly, “and we are offering you the opportunity to make up for what you have done. There will be no war, Jango. The Jedi will not fall. But you can still have your revenge. A more…ultimate revenge.”

          Jango paused, and then tapped the floor twice. Maul let him up.

          “Who are you?” Jango asked softly, looking to him.

          “I am Maul,” he answered. “If you continue to test me you may find out why.” Maul grinned with all of his teeth, and Tiq heard the soft ripple of laughter that spread, the shock slowly dissipating.

          And then Maul stalked away, leaving Jango with Soln, who put his arm on Jango’s shoulder and also led him away.

          Tiq left to find Boba…and eventually found him with Maul.

          Tiq listened for a moment, took in the soft words, and gave the slightest of nods.

          For now…for now Boba would be alright. Upon turning, Tiq found a blond-haired man standing, and as he saluted Tiq smiled, “he’s just ahead. Maul is with him.”

          “Thank you,” he said. “I…thank you.”

          “There is no need,” Tiq said. “We are happy to bring you to freedom. It will be a hard road, but it is one you can learn to walk.”

          The man nodded stiffly, and looked beyond him, “can I…can I talk to them?”

          “Of course,” Tiq said softly, “I dare say Maul would even welcome your presence, and whatever help you can give…”

          “He’s still…” the man paused, and then softly, “he’s still my brother.”

          “He is,” Tiq agreed, “go.”

          “Thank you.”

          He slipped away and Tiq wished briefly that he had remembered to ask for what the man’s number was. Tiq hoped that he would be able to help Boba.  

          Tiq entered the main room once again to find the men buzzing. There was an energy and a spark in the air that had not been there before. He also saw more than just the one man going to find Maul.

          Tiq could not help but grin.

          Seemed Maul had broken more chains than he was perhaps expecting, and in its placed…forged a few rings. Perhaps more than a few.

          It was a good thing.

_

          Maul sat quietly, kneeling in the dark. The Armourer sat before him, her hands on her knees, silent.

          It felt like ages since the last time he had done this. A lifetime ago, and in a way it was. His Brothers were free…

          Maul had done it.

          All of the work…all of the sacrifices, all Maul had done… They had done it. The Brothers were free. And now they had freed the Vode. The Vode who had been fed the Liquor of the Sands, had come to their own freedom with their help, the Brothers standing as ally and friend, and slowly integrating.

          They had taken names, tattoos, and shared similarly Mandalorian customs, as well as their own culture that they had assembled in the hell of Kamino.

          Maul was proud, and he knew that he was not the only one, the Jedi a constant presence that had worked so hard… And then there was Shmi. Shmi and her family of White Suns. They had worked to be someone to gravitate to when the Brothers or the Vode felt lost. The Galaxy was big, and they were many, but they were relatively young in the Galaxy. There was so much to learn.

          But the Senate had been a big help as well, Padmé and Bail leading the work to allow them citizenship, to allow the Vode and the Brothers into the Republic.

          Bail had been promoted as Chancellor.

          Maul had voted for Padmé.

          Maul had almost forgiven Bail for winning.

          It had been over a year of constant work, of shaping the Galaxy around them, of learning their place and spreading out.

          But now they had come back.

          They had one last order of business.

          Death Watch needed to be unified.

          The Mandalorians must rebuild.

          And so, the Armourer had come to him…and Maul had no idea why.

           “Why…have you asked me here?” Maul asked.

          “We are going to kill Pre Vizsla,” the Armourer responded.

          “Of course, you are,” Maul said. “That has been a goal of Death Watch since I freed you from bondage…but what does this have to do with me?”

          “Vizsla has the Darksaber,” the Armourer answered. “He has the power to unify the masses under that banner which means whoever kills him has won it. They have won Mandalore.”

          “Mandalore is ruled by a Duchess,” Maul returned. “A Duchess that does not share in the beliefs of those that follow the Saber.”

          “But for those that do, they are the only ones fit to rule,” the Armourer returned. “And it is possible that these ones may…overthrow others…”

          “You wish to oppose Duchess Satine?” Maul asked, raising an eyebrow. “An interesting proposal. What do you plan to do when she asks the Jedi for aid? Would you turn against them?”

          “We do not need to directly oppose her,” the Armourer denied. “We Watch for Death, Maul, but that does not mean we are always the cause of it. I do not know that we would have to oppose her in direct confrontation, but there are those that may seek the Saber.”

          “Then you must think well of who you wish to wield it,” Maul answered. “The battle is to keep your head as well as the Saber, I would expect.”

          “It is,” she said. “Which is why I am asking you to fight for it.”

          Maul blinked.

          “What?”

          “Maul,” she said, and her voice was more patient than he expected she wanted it to be. “You are Sith, but you are also ours. You are Death Watch. You have more right to the saber than some could even dream, and you are also one of the most powerful beings in the Galaxy. But you are also loved by many. If you took the saber there may be some that might wish to challenge you…but they would have to get through many others to do so.”

          “And who, precisely,” Maul began, contempt lacing his voice, a skeptical hiss, “would fight for me?””

          Maul whirled to face the crash behind him, startled to find not just… It was not just Death Watch that had come. It was the Vode…it was the Brothers…as well as his brothers. Feral and Savage stood there, grinning.

          “We would have you as Mand’alor…”

          And it was Soln that spoke, Soln that stepped forward, the one that had been leading Death Watch since Maul had freed it.

          Maul stood slowly, turning to face them, to look at them all…

          And blinked at the presence of Jango.

           Jango stood staring off into the distance, his arms crossed over his chest, defiance in his posture…but as Maul approached he straightened, meeting his gaze evenly.

          Jango had been talking to Tiq, Maul was aware, but the complexities eluded him. In a way, Maul had not cared. He knew that Boba was safe, was with someone who loved him for his own sake and that had been enough.

          It was one of the reasons Maul had not gone through with his proposal to Padmé to take Bail out, the knowledge that Boba had been given to Bail and Breha and was doing very well. Much better than Maul believed he had ever been with a father that had seen him more of an experiment to how he would have turned out. A child that was not loved for their own sake was rarely a happy child, and Boba had deserved better…just as the rest of the vode had.

          But now here Jango was, and the realization of what it meant…

          “You would have me for Mand’alor,” Maul said, staring at him.

          Jango said nothing for a moment. “Yes,” he said finally. “I would see you as Mand’alor. We have too long been divided…and I know that you have united more than just Death Watch to your name. The Armourer is right…you are the right choice.” Jango paused. “You also saw to it that Boba…that Boba was taken care of. I know you were one of the first to help him, and I…” he paused. “I am grateful.”

          Maul was quiet for a moment. “Have you asked for visitation rights?”

          “I do not know that Boba would want to see me,” Jango returned.

          “Try,” Maul said. “I will vouch for you.”

          “Why?”

          “Because that is the first I have heard that you actively considered Boba for his own sake. Because I can see that you miss him.”

          Jango said nothing.

          But Maul could see the slight smile on his face…and he could feel the contented excitement in his aura.

          It was a step…and it was a very good one.

          But now Maul still had the choice. Now Maul had to stand with the weight of the fact that they had asked him to rule.

          “I had planned…on rebuilding the Sith,” Maul said. “I joined your Death Watch in honor of a father I lost. I follow your tenants, but at the core of me I am Sith.”

          “The Mandalorians and the Sith have worked together before,” the Armourer said.

          “And the Sith need a people and protection while you are growing,” Soln said, stepping forward. “You need not split yourself in two. And you do not need to rule without help.”

          Maul took this in for a moment. “You want me as a figurehead.”

          The laugh was soft, and Soln put his arm around him, “This is not about use, Maul. We do not wish to use you. We wish to help you. Advise you. You would not be a puppet without power. I don’t know that we could do that to you to begin with.”

          “You could not,” Maul said. “I would not take it well.”

          “Thought not,” Soln grinned.

          Maul took in the offer, looked at the ones standing there, the Brothers he had thought to invite, to try… And thought of what it would mean. He would be giving a true unification to his people and the Vode, given the opportunity to unify Death Watch with a people that still needed a home, to create a world where they were home.

          And he would not have to do it alone.

          “Very well,” Maul said softly. “I shall be your Mand’alor.”

_

          “Jango.”

          The call of his name was enough to bring Jango’s attention back, finding Maul standing there.

          The Zabrak had changed into his armor, outside of the helmet which he was resting on his hip, the horns that covered his own, weapons in themselves, but he knew it was not all the Nightbrother had.

          “Maul,” he returned easily, as Maul stepped up next to him. “What is it?”

          “Will you be my Second?” Maul asked, turning to meet his gaze.

          Jango blinked. It was an unexpected question. Jango had initially thought that Maul would have gone with Soln, or perhaps one of his own brothers. There were many that would have jumped at the chance to watch Maul’s back…and yet he had gone to Jango.

          “Why?”

          Maul sighed. “I have no ulterior motive, Jango,” he said. “I merely asked you ages ago if you would like to be the one to claim revenge. I intend to give it to you, and while you cannot be the one to kill him…I would nonetheless trust you with my back.”

          Jango took that in for a moment, staring at a man who he realized was giving him the opportunity for everything that he had wanted…that was doing his best to give him what was promised. Jango didn’t even mind that it was late, it had needed to be. There had been so much that had needed to be done. So much that had needed to be done to fix Jango’s mistakes.

          “I will be your second,” Jango said. “I will watch your back. Though you must promise that this fight is fair. You cannot use that darjetii osik, Maul. If you fight him in a way that he cannot match then you will lose – not just honor but face. They will challenge you.”

          “You don’t have to worry about that, Jango,” Maul said. “I intend to fight him fair. I have no doubts in my ability to kill him without the Force.”

          “So, you’ll give him what you didn’t give me?” Jango asked, the slightest of smiles on his mouth.

          Maul eyed him like he had said something incredibly stupid.

          “It was not about fighting you fair,” Maul said, “it was about proving that you could be beaten. That you were not the most powerful thing that those men had ever seen…and you were more mortal and breakable than they thought. It was about showing you were a man, Jango, and not some monster that was unbeatable.” Maul paused. “That’s my job.”

          Jango laughed aloud, unable to help it, taking in the flashing fangs in the other man’s smile, the slit of his eyes and grinning, even as he felt that twist in his chest. “I don’t know that it worked. They love you, and I am grateful for it. You were right to do it,” Jango said finally. “And you were right to challenge me. I did abandon everything. I did allow my need for revenge to destroy my principles… I did…shame my father.”

          “Grief does strange things,” Maul said, staring out at the starscape, his gaze distant, and it brought his profile into sharper view.

          Jango looked at him, taking him in in a way he had not before…and found that he was young.

          “How old are you?” Jango asked.

          “Twenty-six,” Maul said without hesitation, apparently without thought, “I had thought twenty-seven, but I was informed that our gambling with my age had proven incorrect.”

          Jango stared at him. “You do not want to be the Mand’alor,” he said softly.

          “I am willing,” Maul said. “There is much that I can do with that position that I have wanted to do.” He paused. “But no. No. I do not know how well I will lead these people… You claim that there are those that would advise me, but I am…” Maul spread his hands. “No one has claimed their position. I do not know if they are waiting for me to prove victorious…”

          “I would,” Jango said, looking at him. “I have not…I do not have a good track record when it comes to my decisions. If I had not chosen to shoot first…if I had merely attempted to talk to the Jedi then it is possible…” Jango said nothing for a long moment. “Healer Tiq would be proud of me. I don’t know that I have said that without growing angry before…without trying to deny it…”

          “Healer Tiq is frequently proud of all of us, I believe,” Maul said softly.

          “I was young,” Jango said. “I recognize that now.”

          “I am young,” Maul returned.

          “You are. And a better man than I was.”

          Maul laughed, bitter, almost scoffing. “I have been given opportunities and I have played them,” he said softly.

          “We all deal the hand that we are dealt,” Jango agreed. “I am older now. And wiser…if you would seek what I have…”

          “I would take it,” Maul said. “I would also…so long as it was not a challenge for the Darksaber…be willing to indulge you in a fair spar?”

          Jango grinned and clapped the man on his shoulder. “I would be honored. And do not worry, Mand’alor. I know where my loyalties lie. Now tell me, how do you intend to counter the saber? Your pike may be considered an unfair advantage, as would your double-bladed weapon.”

          “Do not worry,” Maul said. He paused then. “Would you like to meet the man who originally offered to be my Second?”

          “You turned him down?” Jango asked.

          “I made a promise,” Maul said with a slight shrug. “I intended to keep it. I agreed to accept his weapon, though. He was willing to agree to that.”

          “Oh?” Jango asked, following Maul as he headed out into the ship. Jango walked beside him, watching the man in his peripheral vision as he greeted the people he passed with a nod, or a gesture.

          “Yes,” Maul said finally, looking to him out of the corner of his eye. “He was my Teacher. I attempted to be a Jedi for a time.”

          “Did you,” Jango said softly, a brow rising.

          “Didn’t take,” Maul said, a smile pulling at his mouth. “I am too angry.”

          Jango laughed, surprised.

          He paused for a moment and then briefly, quietly, “You were wrong, though.”

          “About?” Maul asked.

          “I always did love my son. But it was in that one instant that I…” Jango paused. “You made me recognize that I had been hurting him. In a way that I…” he trailed off. “I wanted to thank you for that. And for…for following up and fighting to allow me visitation. He is happy.”

          Maul was quiet for a moment.

          “I am sorry, Jango,” Maul said. “I did not want to keep you from your son forever.”

          “I know.” Jango paused. “They do not think that it has to be forever. But there is much I have done without…knowing.”

          “It is hard,” Maul said.

          “It is.”

          And then they finally turned the corner into a meditation room…and there sat a tall dark-skinned man, his eyes closed, meditating silently. It was a Jedi, which he had suspected, but one with a sterner expression and heavier countenance than Jango had anticipated.

          “Teacher,” Maul said, and the man looked up, and Jango watched as his expression softened.

          The man stood smoothly, approaching, and his attention turned to Jango.

          “This is Jango Fett,” Maul said. “Jango Fett, this is Mace Windu. He was my Teacher, as I said.” Jango inclined his head to the other man, something that was returned. “He is the one that I have promised as my Second. He has agreed.”

          Mace Windu took that in for a moment and then nodded, looking to Jango directly. Brown eyes met his and their gaze was fixed and stern. “Take care of him.”

          “You have my word,” Jango said, putting a hand to his chest. He knew a worried buir when he saw one. Jango understood. “I plan to see to it that he only has to focus on the fight before him.”

          “Good,” Mace said, and his expression pulled into a smile, “thank you.” He paused and then turned to Maul. “Would you like to take it now or later?”

          “When are you comfortable parting with it?” Maul asked.

          “I am comfortable with you growing familiar with it,” Mace returned.

          “Then I shall take it now,” Maul said, and Jango watched as Mace pulled the lightsaber from his belt and held it out to Maul.

          Maul took it carefully before igniting the blade, and purple streamed out.

          It was a beautiful weapon.

          Jango nodded.

          “That’ll do.”

          “Indeed,” Maul said softly.

_

          Feral stood alongside his twin, Savage framing his other side, and Jango at Maul’s back.

          Feral understood why he could not be Maul’s Second, and even understood why Jango was the one that they had chosen, but it nonetheless rankled. Jango had inclined his head politely towards the two Brothers when he had seen them, and Feral had returned the gesture. But ultimately, Feral wanted to be with his brother.

          Feral was so proud, and so utterly amazed that he sometimes did not know how to handle it.

          It was strange to think that this was the same brother that he had gotten to know. It was strange to think that this was the same brother that would hide with him from younglings by lying atop pillars, would tease them with limbs just out of reach to allow them to try and catch… The same brother that would similarly use those pillars to hide from Obi-Wan and have Feral inform him that he would not be talking to him.

          Feral had learned so much about his brother, Savage often joining them when he was able, which was not as much as he would like.

          Savage had agreed to help Viscous. He was the spokesperson for the Nightbrother Diaspora that were still attempting to settle and so was often busy, but they always were together when they could be.

          Maul had spoken of the possibility of making this more common, of the opportunity to unite their peoples with the Vode, and the Mandalorian splinter group that was still in existence and had been growing.

          Feral did not understand much of Mandalorian politics… He understood that there was technically a Duchess, one that Maul seemed to hold in some manner of…not perhaps contempt, Feral had seen his brother hold people in contempt before and she did not hold the same level of ire, but certainly a level of annoyance. But they were not attempting to retake the whole of Mandalore. Not yet, as Maul had put it with a very intent look at Obi-Wan which the Jedi had pretended to ignore.

          The Duchess had apparently called Maul after that, and Maul had simply hung up on her.

          Repeatedly.

          Feral had been unable to stop laughing.

          But from what Feral did understand, Maul had no intention of going after the Mandalorians that were upon the planet, and instead was perfectly willing to leave them be… But he was planning on reuniting the factions that were under another man.

          A man that Maul had to kill. A man that Maul needed to take a saber from.

          Feral could understand that.

          Symbolic weapons that held the power to unite the peoples underneath them was not an unknown concept to Nightbrothers, though theirs had all been lost to them. As it was, Feral walked next to his brothers, and knew that he would kill to keep them together.

          Feral walked next to his brothers and thought of a small boy that had stood in their midst and the man that he had turned out to be. Feral was proud.

          And more than a little amazed.

          Feral knew it was not all his brother.

          Feral knew that the Jedi had helped the Vode, and similarly he knew that the Vode had latched onto the Nightbrothers, and he also knew that the Death Watch had been what had helped free the Brothers, and similarly so had White Sun which had been so instrumental in not only showing the Brothers that not all women wished to enslave or hurt them, but also that there was more out there. There was a constantly reaching hand that had been extended towards each of them…

          But Feral could not forget Maul in that Holocron as he spoke of not knowing if he would ever come back.

          Feral could not forget the little boy that had loved.

          Maul looked to him briefly and Feral smiled.

          “You ready to be the Maul’dalor?” Feral asked, his smile given teeth.

          Jango laughed, even as Maul rolled his eyes.

          “We should start calling it that,” Jango said, laughter in his voice. “Mandalore is still under the rule of the Duchess, and supposing you don’t mean to take over…”

          “Obi-Wan is not here, is he?” Maul asked, looking around unnecessarily.

          “He is not,” Savage answered, laughter in his voice and in the slight curve of his mouth. “As you very well know. You forbade him from coming, and as you are about to be Mauld’dalor…”

          “That is even worse than calling me Mand’alor,” Maul said.

          “Very well, Mand’alor,” Jango said immediately.

          Feral and Savage both roared with laughter, Maul turning to stare at Jango, the man smiling at him without fear or worry.

          Maul rolled his eyes once more and continued walking.

          “I do not have an interest in actively opposing or hurting the Duchess Satine because she is…well. I do not know if she considers me a friend…”

          “You have probably seen to it that she does not,” Feral laughed.

          “But I do enjoy her company,” Maul said, talking over him. “And I do not wish her harm. She is an idiot. Her ideals on pacifism are not only misplaced they are extreme, but I believe they are reactionary to what the Mandalorian people had become. And I do respect her ability to stand by those ideals even if I do think that given enough pressure she would break her own people before she allowed them to break.”

          “You have thought about this a good deal,” Jango said briefly.

          “I have,” Maul answered. “I have also decided the possibility of stealing her citizens right underneath her nose by simply being a better ruler of her people would be more entertaining than any attempts I make to actually dispose of her.”

          Savage laughed. “It likely would be,” he agreed.

          Jango looked at his comm briefly, giving a soft sound. “They’re in position. We can seek an audience with Vizsla whenever you feel up for it.”

          Maul paused at that.

          “I am hesitating aren’t I?” he asked.

          “You have made us walk around the perimeter…four times now,” Savage pointed out.

          “I was waiting for them to get set up,” Maul said. He paused. “Can I do this?”

          “Take Vizsla’s head off?” Jango asked. “Undoubtedly. Rule an entire people?” Jango paused, “your Brothers are loyal. The Vode adores you. Death Watch…” he trailed off. “It is funny to me…that I have joined with someone who is seeking to rebuild what killed us.”

          “We were thrown out before you even entered the picture,” Maul said. Then paused. “Fuck.”

          Jango laughed. “You’re claiming it. You have recognized its history. You know its tenants. You are willing to follow.”

          “I have. I do. I will.”

          “You care.”

          “I do.”

          “I think that will make you a great leader,” Savage said.

          “I think they would kill for you,” Feral said. “And they will not be the only ones.”

          “More importantly…” Jango said, and his voice was low, and it was hard, “I think they would die for you.”

          Maul made a soft sound at that.

          “Are you ready?”

          Maul closed his eyes, for a moment breathing deep and allowing himself to center, Feral feeling the tension in the bond that connected him to his Brother, the uncertainty. Feral brushed up against it, and Maul grabbed hold, Feral gripping tight to his brother’s aura and feeding him slowly with feelings of certainty, of loyalty, of love.

          Feral had no doubt that Maul could do this.

          Maul’s hold tightened briefly, warming Feral with feelings of acceptance, of gratefulness…

          And then Maul slowly let go, breathing out.

          “Very well,” Maul said. “Tell them we are going to enter the compound.”

          Jango sent the message across, and Maul led them into the mines.

          Pre Vizsla was waiting.

_

          Pre Vizsla hung up the comm, his head bowed.

          Talking to Satine was exhausting. He stood before her as her chosen Governor when for years…for years all Pre had wanted to do was claim her spot. All he had wanted to do was rule Mandalore, to return it to the Glory. All his life Pre had heard of the battles of his Ancestors. The sword that he carried a legacy to a people that had been. To his family and what they had created.

          Pre had looked back upon his line of greater men and found himself small in a way that he could not stand.

          He was standing upon their shoulders…but there was nowhere he could reach.

          Pre had joined with the Count, made attempts to broaden his resources, to reclaim Mandalore…

          And yet here he stood, and the Separatists had fallen to pieces.

          The Count had been imprisoned.

          Grievous was even gaining therapy the last he had heard, which he would never have believed.

          There was nothing left. All that was there was him…and Bo-Katan, and the remains of a force that they had created.

          The problem was, Pre had no plan.

          Pre could no longer operate in the shadows. There was no way to show that Satine’s leadership had holes. There was no way for him to take over in a way that would lead to the people trusting him.

          There would be no war…there would be nothing that he could use to conceal his efforts.

          They would have to start again.

          Pre wondered idly whether or not it was even worth doing. Dooku had been captured, surely…surely at some point he would tell them of Death Watch.

          Surely Pre’s life would be forfeit as would the rest of them. He had no doubt that Dooku would attempt a plea bargain, and it would be everyone else’s neck but his. It was infuriating.

          Pre had no desire to spend his last years in a cell. Pre hated idleness and he hated the idea of wasting away more than anything.

          His ancestors had been proud warriors, ones that had even stolen from the Jedi themselves, and now here he stood…

          Here he stood.

          In an old mining catacomb in a moon that had almost been destroyed… Governor of a people of warriors that could not fight.

          Pre wished for many things.

          An honorable death was one of them.

          Pre looked over as Bo-Katan approached, taking in the woman as she nodded to the members of the Watch she passed, her gaze nonetheless fixed on his. Pre did not know what to tell her. She had abandoned everything, family her home, her sister in order to be with the Watch, had carved out the Nite Owls. Her dreams had been the same, to see The Mandalorians returned to the warring peoples they were. To see their honor and glory restored…

          But what did they have left?

          Pre sighed, turning to face her as she finally came to a stop before him.

          “What did she say?” Bo asked.

          Pre thought back to the conversation, wondering what was actually useful, what Bo actually wanted. Sometimes he thought that she missed her sister. Sometimes he thought that she wanted for him to tell her that she had changed her opinions, that Death Watch should be reinstated. Pre wasn’t even all that sure he blamed her.

          Satine was still her sister.

          But at the same time, there was the way that she had said it. There was the annoyance in the tone, and Pre could never tell.

          “She spoke of Dooku,” Pre said. “About how he was going to be making a plea bargain. Mentioned Death Watch.” Pre paused before smiling. “She told me to be careful.”

          “Then it’s all over then,” Bo said softly. “Unless we run now…”

          “Where would we run?” Pre asked. “Would you have us go underground? Have us refuse to take off our helmets, go into a galaxy as common bounty hunters? Leave our names and selves behind?”

          “There has to be a way,” Bo said. “Maybe we create our own army. We have…”

          “What resources do we have?” Pre asked. “Who would we go to that are not villainous scum? How can we trust them to have our backs? What happens when they realize that Death Watch does not have the numbers to truly oppose them?” Pre sighed. “I cannot see a way out, Bo. Can you?”

          “There must be something,” Bo said. “Surely…my sister would offer clemency, we could…”

          “You wish to take an offer from your sister? Even if it would put us in the position to betray her later?”

          Bo said nothing.

          “I had thought not.”

          There was silence and Pre sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

          “Are we just going to give up then?” Bo asked. “That’s it? This…this is it?”

          Pre looked to her, spreading his hands. “What would you have me do? All of our power, all of our dealings we had in secrecy, but they were nonetheless underneath Satine’s nose. They were nonetheless done with a group that is now being prosecuted.”

          Bo drew herself up, angry…

          An explosion shook the camp, and Pre stood up, for a moment wondering whether or not Satine had figured it out and had sent for them… But this was Satine. She would never have resorted to violence.

          So, what…was this?

          The sounds continued, a fight, coming towards them, and then…

          The doors were blasted open. His troops poured in, retreating, sending bolts that…

          That froze…in mid-air… Hovering before them like some sort of deadly light show.

          They stopped firing, and the shots were sent away, sent back into the walls harmlessly.

          Pre could not believe what he was seeing. Three men entered first, one of them dressed as a Mandalorian all in black, and the two behind them were… They were Nightbrothers. The one in front was a Nightbrother, his horns tall, each of them walking forward with an air of utter confidence, a swagger that spoke of warriors born…

          And behind them came another man… A man that was repeated in the faces on the ones behind him, and… More Nightbrothers.

          And then someone that Pre remembered, someone he never thought he would see again.

          Soln.

          Soln Wor.

          Death Watch had been cleansed of the non-humans that had once inhabited it by his father. Soln was amongst the number, as were… And as Pre watched he realized what this was…

          And found his attention drawn once again to the Nightbrother at the front.

          Blood-red skin…eyes that glowed in the dark, and an expression that was almost…

          Bored.

          And then those eyes locked on Pre.

          And Pre remembered hearing of this being.

          Pre remembered the whispers of the one that was tearing apart Zygerria. Pre remembered the temporary fear of what would happen if those stripped from Death Watch came back. He remembered fearing what they may do…

          Pre looked into those eyes…

          And he saw his death.

          Pre watched as the force before him spread out… His gaze fell upon Jango Fett… Jango Fett…who was staring at him with a smirk on his face…

          And then the one who walked forward froze in the wide arena that they had used to challenge each other in, the arena that would be his death.

          “I am Maul,” he said, his voice a rich growl that rumbled low, and then a singular finger pointed towards Pre Vizsla, “and I challenge you – one warrior to another…for the right to wield the Darksaber. I challenge you for the right to rule Death Watch.”

          Pre looked back to the men and the women that had followed him, the ones that he did not know how to help… And stared at the one before him.

          Maul.

          Pre tilted his head.

          “So be it,” he said, and stepped forward into the ring.

          Pre knew that he would not be fighting fair. He had seen the way the Nightbrothers had used the Force. He also knew that the one that had to lead their people was one that had to be tricky, had to be quick, had to know that life would not play fair…

          And so, he stood before him and ignited the Darksaber.

          And then Maul ignited his own weapon, and purple came forth.

          The blade of a Jedi.

          But Pre did not think that this man was a Jedi.

          It was only as he attacked with the Darksaber, it was only as Maul met him on even footing…that he realized that Maul intended to kill him without the Force.

          Good.

          Maybe he would be able to give him a scar to remember.

          Pre attacked fiercely, attempting to put the man on the defensive, to get him to stumble back, but Maul was even with him, and indeed was more skilled. Pre could see the slightest of smiles on his face, and the realization that he was amusing him was almost more than he could take.

          The feeling of a boot in his face, sending him back caused him to pull a blaster, firing immediately and with every shot Maul deflected it, none of them were back towards Pre, but it was clear that Maul could block him. Pre launched himself forward with the saber once more, the jetpack boosting him forward.

          Maul caught the blade with his own, pushing him back, and Pre changed his angle, managing to elbow the man’s head…

          It was only as Maul reared backwards in surprise at the sudden blow that Pre could feel ringing through his bones that he realized he may have made a mistake.

          That same head that Pre realized was crowned in horns and was made for it bashed into his own heavily, Pre finding his vision going temporarily black, stumbling away, and he slashed with the saber instinctively, feeling it be caught, aiming another stroke, and then sending his wrist-mounted flamethrower directly towards him.

          Maul dropped below it, diving forward, sending Pre toppling, the flamethrower dying as it became too dangerous… Pre also realized his danger in grappling with a Zabrak.

          Pre could feel it, the strength in the limbs that sought to pin him, to keep him…

          Pre sent the blades mounted in his wrist straight-up, Maul forced to back away, fall back, and for a moment he saw blood…

          There was that scar…

          Pre rolled himself to his feet, and once again launched himself in the air, throwing bomb after bomb as Maul rolled…

          And then he launched himself up towards him, one of the first times that he actively utilized the Force, and it was to equalize their playing field. Pre felt the boots on his chest, felt the crunch as he hit the ground and rolled, pressing the button to release the death-trap from his back and kicking it towards Maul, who dove underneath it and came up with the saber yet again.

          Pre brought his own saber up, attacking and parrying, feeling the jar in his arms as the blows from someone so much stronger rained upon him. And all the while blood trickled down Maul’s face, trailing through the red of his tattoos.

          Pre knew that he was grinning.

          Pre kicked, feeling the impact of a boot on his own face even as he sent Maul backwards with his own. Maul stood first, Pre forcing himself upright, unable to let it happen like this.

          It would be on his feet, or it would not be…

          Pre shot his rope trap, catching Maul around the legs… Maul cut the rope off, and Pre shot the saber from his hand, charging forward, and the hope… There was a hope…

          Pre attacked and Maul caught hold of his sword arm, and Pre knew that was it.

          Maul bent his arm back, nearly breaking it across his own shoulder, Pre forced to let go.

          And that was the moment when Maul once again began attacking.

          Fists and feet and Pre could not keep up… Maul was a superior warrior.

          Maul sent him to his knees… And Pre could not…

          Pre forced himself to tackle the other man, to send him back, to go for his throat… Maul forced his way through Pre’s hands, smashing his horns against Pre’s forehead, and the black spots were back, and they were worse… Pre fell backwards, sent to the ground…

          Maul stood…and Pre heard the sound of the Darksaber…the knowledge that Maul had claimed it.

          Pre forced himself slowly to his feet and Maul waited, watching, the blood trickling down his face…

          “It is as you said…” Pre said roughly, feeling his legs tremble beneath him, staring into the face of his death. “Only the strongest shall rule.”

          And then nothing.

[spacelizzbian]

S1ep3

"You told her that?"

Poor Sabine, getting dissed left and right

Uh oh, my force sense are telling me Ahsoka is about to do an Anakin training session

Nevermind, she did an Obi-Wan or Terra Sinube like training. Neat

In EVERY level if the new republic?? So also governing? That doesn't entirely sound like a good idea

Between this and the mandalorian s3, the new republic is looking like a bunch of shortsighted chumps

Granted in the mandalaorian they at least looked like they were trying but here they're like

"aaah what's the worst that can happen, he's probably dead anyway"

"We have evidence that he isn't"

" YOU ARE MAKING THIS PERSONAL >:c "

Uuuuh yes it would? Ahsoka you're talking as if you participating in a "dire situation" didn't accelerate your training at all

NON TRADITIONAL LINE OF JEDI HAH

Disaster lineage cnfrmd canonically disasters

Her sneer and jab at the cup 😭

Very rebels humor

Ah THERE is the Anakin training, turning a life threatening situation into an exercise 🤙

"What do you need?"

Now that? That is Ahsoka training

I love the familiarity they both have with these moves. It actually FEELS like they trained together and came up with these.

Sabine's excitement at getting one aww

"Pweaaaaasse UwU" Huyang is sucha little shit I love him

Why did Ahsoka look and sound so much like a mom when she said "we can't help him if we're both dead"

The fucking epic flute theme set to Ahsoka walking out on the ship in the silliest space suit 😂😭💀

Ahsoka on the ship looks so silly but it's exactly what she would do cause she has done so many ridiculous things and it's so so clone wars and I love it

(Obligatory it would've looked better in animation but that applies to the whole show and I don't wanna say that 254 times)

Ahsoka, floating in space, completely deadpan: "did you fix the ship yet?"

11/10, so stupid but exactly my type of stupid

Ok, the Purrgil setting for the chase is suprisingly claustrophobic and disorienting? Good, that is how that would feel

"Standard jedi protocol"

Lol. Lmao even.

Manifesting an infiltration of the big ring next episode, that'd be fun af

This guy showing up to say one thing at the end of the ep to remind us he is also here

[mandoa-for-dummies]

Ancient Space Racists, History, and Other Initial Considerations

I am waiting for my big fat phonology handbook to ship in the mail. Until it gets here, let’s talk about Mando’a and some of the Canon Headaches that come along with it.

The biggest, baddest and (in my opinion) most interesting Canon Headache is that, as I mentioned in my introductory post, Mando’a is supposed to be an auxlang or auxiliary language. Why is this Canon Headache Number One?

Because auxlangs don’t work outside of societies of hobbyist nerds dedicated to learning and speaking them. They’ve never been widely adopted and naturalized, much less by an entire culture. There are probably a number of reasons for this, but a big one is that a technocratic fantasy that underpins the creation of many auxlangs is essentially that languages are complex because human beings are inefficient. This is just not fucking true. Languages are complex because human beings use language in breathtakingly complex ways. When real redundancy or irregularity occurs in a language, speakers tend to abandon that feature of the language over time, except in cases like Old Irish, where irregularity was artificially frozen in writing as a mark of class prestige. You can try to invent a language that does all of the things that natural languages do as “elegantly”, “regularly” or “simply” as possible, but you do tend to run into the problem of making normative judgments about what is elegant, regular or simple, probably from the unconscious perspective of your own native language use.

But we’re playing pretend, here, so let’s imagine that a society did come up with an auxlang and successfully implement it--or claim to have done so, anyways. They would almost certainly have to enforce this new language with violence. It would be a pretty fashy and authoritarian society. People will fight hard to speak their mother tongues, probably especially whatever highly collectivist society are the forerunners of Mandalorians. 

Well...it doesn’t not sound like Mandalore, so far.

Anyways, the official pretext for Mando’a (that it can be picked up easily by any convert to the Creed) is also outright nonsense. It presumes a humanoid facial structure, for one thing. What about Tuskens? What about any alien with keratinous beaks or mandibles, for whom all of those B and P sounds are going to be a serious hassle, if not damn near insurmountable? Then again, I’ve never seen in-canon representations of Mandalorians who aren’t humanoids. Maybe this is another political innovation of the ruling class of let’s say ~6000 BBY Mandalore. You say that the unifying feature of your society is religion and not race, and according to the letter of the law, that’s true. You say that your religion is enshrined in the Creed, which you’ve happened to rewrite in your newly-purified language. It’s very difficult for non-humans to speak it. Oops! Guess only a very select few can be full participants in the Creed. [shocked pikachu face]

But how long can a truly authoritarian regime really last without pushback? A few hundred years? Mando’a has evolved in the intervening millennia. Speakers quickly identify in everyday life where “official” Mando’a falls short. In the waning hours of old Mandalore, rebels, subversives and forward-thinkers adopt the “underground” borrowings from the linguistic ancestors of Aurebesh and Huttese as a political statement. By the time the reform government's new dynasty is well-established, there has been a massively popular and successful campaign to introduce a supplemental sign language to standard Mando’a, borrowed heavily from the Tuskens. Although Mandalorian society is still overwhelmingly humanoid, sign support is still considered an integral portion of Classical Mando’a--especially because, for a blip in Mando’a’s history, sign language enabled you to communicate in ways that the regime-sanctioned auxlang didn’t allow: and to do it, moreover, without being picked up by radio surveillance.

Maybe a cult like Din’s is trying to “restore” Classical Mando’a and looks favorably on avoiding “outside influences” to the language--especially now that the reality of its oppressive history has been blurred by romanticization and nostalgia for a past that never really existed--but it’s a lost cause, in the same way that trying to speak Old English in the 21st century to do 21st century things would be a lost cause. Mando’a as it is spoken in Din’s lifetime has evolved into a natural language with very little resemblance to Classical Mando’a. Most Mandalorians only use Classical Mando’a on ceremonial occasions of great significance. *cough* Like taking their wedding vows, for instance.

Stay tuned for the rudimentary stages of language building as we puzzle over a far less interesting canon headache: Goddamn Motherfucking Fantasy Language Apostrophes.

[finsterhund]

My first impressions on the Ahsoka series (first two episodes)

Okay while I was still high and teetering on the edge of using trigonometry or whatever to judge the location of my grandparents farm using the curvature or the Earth I had a friend say "AHSOKA IS OUT HAVE YOU WATCHED IT YET" presumably followed by spoiler memes. So I did not open Discord and instead I watched it. After all I had a good experience watching some of the latest episodes of The Mandalorian while dealing with my pain med gummy silly boy side effects but oh my god no. God please help me.

There are reactions to the first two episodes of the Ahsoka show here. I repeat there are reactions to Star Wars spoilers after the readmore. For fucks sake do not click the readmore unless you are prepared to experience secondhand spoilers through the disease riddled brain of a mentally ill problem child who watches Star Wars and is incapable of not thinking about dogs.

I did not really have anything coherent to put to paper until Sabine stood up the dumb public appearance thing. Because that was a very Red Spot thing to do. Did not even realize this was Lothal at first because I guess I was too zooted. And then the Red Spot things intensified and I had a bit of an autism about the whole thing. BRO NOT SABINE PULLING A RED SPOT AND THE ENTIRE TIME IM LIKE YOURE NOT GONNA MAKE IT YOU ARE LIMITED IN SPEED UNLIKE HIM but then it turns out through manner of character relations and akira bike slide she succeeds at what she was trying to do without needing to aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Sabine Wren Red Spot character parallels yay. Depressing though that not even the rebels/new republic are conscious enough of the sufferings of, let's be honest, a former child soldier, to understand that the type of trauma these sets of circumstances this type of character has gone through really fucking needs therapy. They're trying to parade her around like a show dog too for fucks sakes. No wonder Sequel Trilogy Luke regressed so bad and had spaniel rage moment on Kylo. Conspiracy theory hat time. The empire was based on the US, the Rebels the Vietcong. George said so in an interview. Disney sips that sweet American government nectar so maybe they're intentionally trying to make the rebels and New Republic look bad to try and make what black and white mortality almost, and in some ways literally into something more grey and more "it's good to uphold the status quo unless you have cool powers. But you DON'T get cool powers in real life so..." I'm exaggerating how I feel but I'm aware of how the US military funded the MCU. Also owned by Disney. So hmmm. Still. I never figured the New Republic was this out of touch. God now that I'm actually getting my creative energy back I finally may be able to sit down and read the Thrawn Trilogy like I've wanted to for six thousand years except Cazza died and I lost the ability to turn off my dyslexia(???????) but anyways I might actually be able to now to actually assert the most widely accepted extended universe canon for this era. See if Disney is wildly deviating or not. I intentionally made modern Power Island backwards in a way I always thought the Rebels and New Republic weren't but we saw a lot of fucked up new republic fumbles in the latest season of The Mandalorian too so I've just gotta accept the New Republic is more on par with Modern Power Island's infuriatingly dated approach and repeated incidents of shitting the bed which fucking hurts me thanks didney

Really mixed feelings about this show so far tbh. Still technically high as a kite and I keep fucking thinking about pikmin. It is really fucking hard to not think about Pikmin when I have having an autism about Pikmin and also I am watching Star Wars which is also an autism and I have had the weed gummy. Everybody make a wild guess what part of episode 1 the End of Day theme earwormed its way into my brain with the force of a semi truck and win a prize. Also the stakes just don't feel high? Like I'm not able to take it as seriously. I'm really kinda upset that nobody is taking Sabine's really blatant survivors guilt and PTSD seriously. I am now pissed off that I'm on the edge of "the lightsaber wound should be fatal" and "if they kill her off before her trauma recovery arc is ever resolved to show how strong little fucked up white dog with the eye crusties is I'm going to be so mad"

And on that note. I have no clue what the dark side apprentice character is named yet. Idk if they said her name or not. But she straight up looks like a little sopping wet shivering white dog with those big goopy tear stains and I am just FUCKING LOSING MY MIND. I burst into fits of giggles whenever there's a face shot and I'm so mad at how fucking stupid I am about it and how much my brain won't let me dispel it. I am physically incapable of not thinking about those little fucked up white dogs whenever she's on screen. There's all these thematic callbacks to Darth Maul in the Phantom Menace with her in the first episode and I'm a huge fucking Phantom Menace apologist but it's completely sidelined in my experience by how she's one of those little fucking white dogs. The lightsaber fight was awkward and janky but it is fully believable because Sabine wasn't force sensitive as far as I'm aware, and Ashoka only briefly trained her with the darksaber in Rebels? Unless this show is implying more. I guess it is because how she's able to have a saber fight at all in the first place not to be too spoilers but wtfff? Both these teenagers, Sabine is still meant to be a teen I think?, are just glowstick baton-ing all over the place and I'm thinking "bruh someone come separate these children before someone gets an eye poked out" and I really don't see how Sabine went down at all. Usually I'm like "Disney Star Wars has too much plot armour" but this time I'm like "bro Sabine is mando and did all that shit in Rebels who fucking nerfed her? Did she find some weird spice-based essential oil through a pyramid scheme and self prescribed it as a sedative for her undiagnosed PTSD???? At the very least she should be able to body the trembling little eye crusties dog. I'd like to stress that a force sensitive "little pathetic white dog with the eye crusties" being taken into an abusive master and apprentice relationship with a skilled dark side user could definitely work, but I really don't think that's the angle they're taking with this character with an extensive backlog of past accomplishments and growth.

Also one of Thrawn's allies just so happens to have the name Morgan and unfortunately my brain refuses to not associate that name with Bantam's Musical Morgan who coincidentally is a sad fucked up looking antique mohair stuffed dog that predominantly was solid white in color.

Oh shit I see what's happening. Sabine keeps getting the fucking shaft by everyone. Everyone except Hera who's been absent. Not allowed to take advantage of her own areas of expertise both in universe and in the writing. It's like they're trying to respond to the critical reception that Rey got without actually realizing that Sabine is an entirely different character with an extensive backlog of past accomplishments and growth.

Oh my god I just noticed eyecrusties has a padawan braid now. I'm assuming that's a new development otherwise I would have noticed by now.

Oh shit I thought Sabine based her lightsaber off of Ezra's but it's actually just his. Okay so I'm still going to assume she's not force sensitive and Ahsoka just tried to train her with the darksaber. Bro am I missing memories from watching Rebels or something(?)

Oh my god can Sabine and Ashoka just talk to each other!? Ashoka have you just shut off your force perceptions about Sabine ENTIRELY? Yeah I know I can tell you have unresolved trauma yourself in regards to Anakin but don't fucking let the cycle of abuse continue as emotional neglect use the force to fucking understand or some shit AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHGGGHHH Also apparently Sabine IS force sensitive????? because lightsaber building droid from the clone wars cartoon said so???? (I really like his live action translation from the cartoon design btw) which I mean???!!! Uhhhhhh!?! Was this hinted at at all? I can't remember. Like she struggled with the Darksaber because she wasn't force sensitive???? I literally did a full marathon of Rebels like a year ago???? Also I really think he should have been a bit more cautious with "the only time you're wasting is your own" thing because she very clearly needs some level of therapy or support structure that doesn't mean she should rush right back into training. Like yeah she's "wasting her time" not benefiting from having an adequate support structure but rushing right back into things to compensate??? Man.

Oh my god the protocol droid choosing the right exact time to bring up a grievance they had knowing full well it was relevant information right at that moment who basically said fuck my job malicious compliance was very relatable for some reason. It'll end my job but it will also destroy your whole career. Fuck your shit up fascist sympathizer scum.

Also just fucking shoot down the hyperdrive transport! I'm with Chopper on this one. Fuck the port. That one Corellian facility committed like treason or something. I understand putting a tracker on it instead I guess but I crave violence and bloodshed and explosions.

Me: please don't do the Mulan thing Sabine: does the Mulan thing Me: screams

Sabine over here hacking off her hair with a knife instead of more healthy coping mechanisms.

Me: sees the eye of sion for the first time Me: wow are they fucking making a stargate or something lmaooooo

And then episode 2 of this two part season premiere is at an end. I struggled to take it seriously but I'm still invested and don't want to wait. I guess that's a good thing but man. I guess I'm underwhelmed. Disney's mediocrity finally catching up to me I guess. Love these characters and don't feel the actors are bad at all but it feels like this is a product of the writing strike even though it was made before the strike. Maybe there's executive meddling at play here that's also reflective of the conditions that lead to the strike.

Also I fucking love the lothcat designs. BABIES AAAAAHYGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH

[radiosummons]

Me: Clan Vizsla fucked up the entire Mandalorian government so badly that several generations of Mandalorians actually believe Tarre Vizsla hated the Jedi. And not only that, they managed to so effectively rewrite their own people's history that the average Mandalorian genuinely believes that the only person who can run their government cannot even do so without first winning the Darksaber in mortal combat. And, irregardless of how well the current Manda'lor might actually be at their job, if the current Manda'lor were ever to lose the Darksaber, then the new Manda'lor can effectively destroy any actual good progress the previous leader put in place.

Because of Clan Vizsla's childish handling of petty clan politics, the Mandalorian people are essentially doomed to an endless cycle of civil wars and planet wide instability. This has resulted, and will continue to result, in the entire planet of Manda'yaim being absolutely decimated and barely void of life, their people scattered across the galaxy, their entire way of life nearly destroyed, and generations of trauma that will take centuries to heal from. Millions of Mandalorians have died as a result of endless conflict between warring clan factions, Clan Vizsla being one of the main contributors to the death toll, due in no part to them founding Death Watch; a terrorist organization whose motto has led to Mandalorians killing their own people, all in the name of a false ancient history that Clan VIzsla came up with to "justify" the horrific actions they took to "defend" their "right" to rule.

Also Me: LMAO DIN IS THE NEW MANDA'LOR!!! GET FUCKED, BABY GIRL!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! YOU'RE DOING GREAT, SWEETIE!!!!!!!!

[bylightofdawn]

WIP Sunday

NGL this almost didn't happen mainly because I've been kinda disatified with a lot that I've written today. I did get this scene with Jaster and Mij written and I've gotten to the next part where they are observing a suspected Death Watch safehouse so the plot is inching forward slowly.

I've just been so damn sleepy all day because of the shit weather and my bones have been aching which just makes me want to bundle up under blankets and not do anything but sleep. So the brain fog has been real.

So I have this scene, I'm not happy with it and can't really figure out how to write it in a way I am going to be happy about it. Sometimes you just gotta accept things aren't going to be perfect and you just need to push through to the next part. I might end up heavily editing this once I figure out some stuff in my head. I hate how we have no real firm idea of what the Mand'alor system is beyond vague autocratic? Prolly? Surely they have councils of advisors right? No one person is going to be able to rule a dozen planets without some kind of system in place. Is it a sorta of feudal court system a la say Charlamagne? We canonly have barons so is it more of a medival pre-Barons Rebellion England sort of system with huge planetary barony being represented at central court?

WHO THE FUCK KNOWS. There has to be some kind of representative government of some kind though? Surely. -drags hands down face- If not, I think Jaster is just going to suggest that because autocracies never end well. Pffffft. Fuck me I think I'm going to have to do some reading on early Greek democractic governing. I detest the idea of the Roman Republic era Sentate with it's horrifically unbalanced power-structure of the Patrician and equastrian classes versus the plebians. But I of course, as an American fully recognize the failures in OUR version of demoncracy. And I'll be the first to admit I've never been a huge student of Greek history beyond like the broadest of strokes.

Hi yes, I am debating if I need to invent an entire cobbled together style of Mandalorian government for the needs of my fanfic. Welcome to my stupid blog where we obsess over the STUPIDEST of details for hours or days on end.

ANYWAY, WIP Sunday, right let's post this before it's Midnight shall we?

As always, it's unedited blah blah blah. You know the drill.

“I see you two are getting along famously.” Jaster drawled as he took up Jango’s place in packing the food away.

“He’s a good kid. For the most part.” 

“He is.” Jaster agreed, not taking offense to that little caveat because he was all too aware of how maddening Jango could be at times. “How is he doing? He was pretty upset.” 

“He’s gone through a lot recently. I’m not going to lie it’s definitely taken its toll. And he’s blaming himself because Montross go away.” Mij confessed with a frown.

“He screwed up, there’s no doubt about that.” The dark-haired man was frowning down at the container in his hands. “But I would have done the same thing at his age. Hell, my first instinct was do do the same thing but Jango just doesn’t have the experience yet to see running directly at a problem isn’t the only solution.”

“He’s young, hopefully that’ll come with time.” 

“I’ll need to talk to him about it. But now probably isn’t the time. He’s so damn prickly, I swear, half the time I say the wrong thing and make it worse.”

“Welcome to having a teenage son. Or teenager in general I suspect.” The younger man stated blandly. 

Jaster shot him an exasperated look over one shoulder which didn’t bother him in the least.

“He’s desperate to be treated like an adult and his ego is about as thin as a piece of flimsi so if you treat him like a kid or if he even perceives you are treating him that way, he’s going to shut down on you.”

He reminded himself Mij had been right, the last time they talked about Jango. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll talk to him about it.”

“If I can make a suggestion? Don’t put it off too long. the kid feels pretty bad about how things went down with Montross. His head might not be in the game if he’s worried about disappointing you twice in one night.” 

“I’ll take it under advisement, thanks, Mij. Though, I’m also going to politely ask you to butt out of my personal life.” Jaster said as he put the food container down and turned to look fully at the doctor. “I know you called Plo Koon to come here tonight. Myles was passed out and there is no way Jango would have ever voluntarily invited him into our problems.” 

To his credit, the younger man didn’t quell under his heavy stare. 

“Understood but I’m not going to apologize for doing it. You went through a traumatic event tonight and needed support. Who all here would you have turned to?”

The infuriating thing was he wasn’t wrong and he knew it, but it set a terrible precedent and he needed to nip it in the bud right now. 

“It puts Plo in a precarious position though. What we’re planning on doing? Not going to fly with the Coruscanti government if we get caught. Imagine the scandal if a Jedi is linked to that. There’s a reason I was trying to keep him away from this bantha-karked rodeo.” 

Mij seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding. “I see your point, I won’t call him in again.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the thought and there is some truth to your words. But there’s a reason the adage about being lonely at the top exists.” 

“That’s a terrible expression and blatantly untrue. I can cite plenty of studies that show a leader who has a strong support system around them has a much more stable history of commanding while those who try and do it all themselves tend to burn out, become paranoid despots who cling to their power or generally suffer a decline in leadership ability.” 

“If I start showing despotic tendencies, I’m sure you will call me out on it.” He pointed out with a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

“It doesn’t need to get to that point is what I am saying,  Jaster.” Mij said firmly. “I know asking you to trust right now is pretty damned hard. But you have a chance to build up a support system around yourself. Especially now that the garbage that is someone like Montross has taken themselves out of the picture.” 

“You’re right, it’s too much to ask for right now.” Jaster stated flatly.

“I get that, but you can start thinking about it now. Realistically, do you have to be the one taking point on leading the company on campaigning? Imagine if you handed some of the day to day operations to a few trusted lieutenents so you can focus on the big picture? Things like this peace summit.”

“I’m not going to abandon my people or my post.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all. Stars, I swear in so many ways, Mandalorians have this all or nothing propensity for absolutist thinking that is positively maddening” Mij grumbled, sounded frustrated. In a lot of ways, because he had come to the Mandalorian culture as an adult, he was both blessed and cursed with an outsider perspective on his adopted culture’s strengths and weaknesses. 

Jaster often found he had some genuinely interesting insight which was why he put up with the man’s often cranky or borderline insubordinate attitude at times. 

“Then what do you mean exactly?”

“I’m not suggesting you retire from your post but realistically, do you not have enough trusted commanders who can handle a lot of the day to day headaches like planning out the next campaign, worrying about logistics or even negotiating with clients?”

“So giving up leadership essentially?” Jaster asked with a trace of annoyance in his voice now. 

“Delegating. You can still supervise but do you really need to be in the field every single time in the thick of things?” 

“This is how I became Mand’alor though. You’re suggesting I  give up the thing that is central to my power-base in a lot of ways.” 

��It would give you more time to shore-up said power-base and expand it. You implemented the council of advisors and that helped give you the power-base to get this far. Try expanding upon that idea. There are other ways of ruling than just being a simple autocratic rule.”

“I like bending tradition as much as the next idealistic fool but you can only bend it too far before the people will rebel. There’s a reason things have always been done this way for the most part. Yes, there have been short-lived experiments and attempts at doing things different ways but they almost always ended in disaster.”

“Because things have worked out so well for Mandalore thus far?”

“We’ve survived thus far.” 

“That is a load of bantha poodoo and now you’re just being contrarian to be contrarian because you don’t believe that <I>osik</I> anymore than I do. We wouldn’t be here if that were the case.” 

He couldn’t really argue with the doctor because he was right, Jaster’s pride just objected at admitting that. 

“So what are you suggesting, exactly?”

“I think you should talk to someone like Kryze who’s prolly go more experience in the matter than both of us combined.” 

“With all that free time I have right now.” 

“I’m sure you’ll find some time to carve out on this trip. He seems like a pretty solid bloke, all things considered.”

“He does, and I don’t necessarily disagree with you on the experience point. He’s definitely been born and raised in the politics side of things so maybe tapping him for advise isn’t a terrible idea.”

“Thanks, I have those on occasion.” 

[clonehub]

i mean part of the reason why arcane is as good as it is, besides the stunning visuals, is because it was in development for 6 years. they had six years to go back and forth on the look, the style, the story the story the story. 6 fucking years. that requires patience. that requires cooperation from all writers and directors. that requires seeing the culture change and responding in kind to reflect what people would like to see.

you notice how there's so many female characters, and while even though some of them are on thin ice a little (jinx/powder being that mentally unstable wide-eyed violent young woman/girl who doesn't really wear a lot) they've got beautiful stories that connect deeply with one another's without being centered on a man at all. look at vi's body shape. look at the range of body shapes for female characters, the range of faces. even how they walk (I love Vi's walk). you have a the tale of two cities, political depth and manipulation, meaning displayed in the way character's dress, stand, walk, how they're designed, what their hobbies and interests are, etc. all these things that would take time to figure out. that's partly why arcane is so good. they had time.

anyone who's been following me for a while knows where this is going. im sorry but the reason so many star wars shows falls flat for me is because these stories do not have the time to develop. i see development in the singular. one year here. one year for another show. maybe the concept existed for a while (with DF and GL, it seems they always have concepts that exist for a long time) but because they're concepts and because they basically go in the freezer until they're needed again, they don't really have the time to develop both deliberately and organically. the misbalance of the book of boba fett. whatever is happening with the mandalorian. the general mess that is the bad batch.

arcane is fundamentally a show about politics. you can't have a council, and oppressed class, the rich/poor divide, and all the ways that the class divisions have affected people (vi's incareceration, silco's manipulations, the lack of children in the undercity, viktor's disability) and not have the show be about politics. the writers understood this.

in the bad batch, a show about that takes place during the post-war rise of a fascist regime that has just speedily and aggressively replaced not only an entire republic, but also succesfully committed genocide and now spreads its terror throughout an entire galaxy, hunter, a soldier, says he and his team never cared about politics.

and indeed, theres a clunky way that the bad batch handles the inherently political existence of the clones, the empire, etc. politics should be permeating the interactions that the batch has with greater galactic society, but instead they relegate political discussion to specific episodes or scenes, and then say "okay we'll focus on that later, let's get back to X and Y". the extrajudicial execution of civilians is a political act. running from the empire is a political act. joining the empire is political. having one episode and a handful of scenes dedicated to the political side of their lives doesn't cut it.

its probably because i majored in political science that this is bugging me as much as it is. i know ive moved very far away from the thesis of this post, but bear with me lol. figuring out the political structure of a world and how it affects the characters within that world is hard. like. its not easy. it's not as simple as making a government and slapping a few laws onto it (and notice how even in the well-done political fantasies, there rarely is a government structure that hasn't already been seen in the west specifically). arcane's works as seamlessly as it does because they took the time to figure that out WHILE being aware that there would be large swaths of the audience that know nothing about league of legends (me, all my friends, etc).

people who wanted to watch the bad batch asked if they needed to have seen tcw or any other part of star wars to watch it. most bad batch fans said no. ive seen the bad batch and even i would tentatively say no. but then you watch the series, and nearly every episode has a cameo that you can tell is significant story wise, but if you've never seen tcw and have no idea who anyone is, you'd be really confused as to why everything grinds to a halt to dramatically reveal a character you've never seen before. and then they take two episodes to focus on the development of a character from another series. anyone watching can tell that they're filling in gaps and closing arcs or opening stories for people you will never see again. the bad batch wasn't written with non-star wars fans in mind, as much as people would like to insist otherwise. the main characters want to be apolitical in a politically tumultuous time, while living politicized lives. the political world is not set up very well.

(although i dont know that the "Right" amount of development would have changed much. DF and GL seemed dead set on having their little Trope Troupe, so they may have been doomed from the beginning)

so i know ive contradicted myself in some ways. if the bad batch had time they'd be better but also they've existed for a while and they're still bad and also theyve been doomed from the start. i think all of these are true. conceptually, as characters, doomed from the start--but at least an inch of thought and consideration for the current sociopolitical climate would have undoomed them at least a little. worldbuilding, not doomed from the start but the writers definitely needed more time to consider all their options and write a clear beginning, middle, and end to bridge through, if That Interview with Rau and Corbett signifies anything.

its time and its intent, and arcane takes the cake

[courtofchaos]

Rating Mandalorians on their ability to fuck up and to rule.

Bo Katan kryze. Killed her sister joining a terrorist organization, lost the dark saber twice 10/10 ability to fuck up 0/10 ability to rule

Satine Kryze Banished factions who disagreed with her, senate helped prop up her rule, no ability to compromise, corruption at high levels on her watch 10/10 ability to fuck up 3/10 ability to rule. Just remember to dye hair blond beforehand

Sabine wren. Made a mandalorian genociding machine, Gave the dark saber to Bo, 10/10 ability to fuck up 4/10 ability to rule, why was she the one to decide who gets the dark saber?

Tor Vizla. Inability to finish civil war and atrocities get senate involved in mandalorian affairs, inspires people to betray others for him, pisses off jango fett 10/10 ability to fuck up 7/10 ability to rule. Would trust to lead a battle but only if I was going scorched earth style

Jaster Mereel. Trains Jango after getting his entire family killed but doesn’t teach him negotiations or bioethics. Gets betrayed on an easy mission, leave Jango in charge at like 14 10/10 ability to fuck up 7/10 ability to rule would trust to follow some laws and be a military leader

Jango Fett. Leads his people into a massacre, clones himself for war, works for person who helped massacre his people, 10/10 ability to fuck up 5/10 ability to rule, can lead commandos but not happy about it

Boba Fett. Does crime for Vader, tries to blow up ships with other clones, falls into sarlacc pit, actual crime lord 10/10 ability to fuck up 7/10 ability to rule, eventually gets the hang of it, won’t sacrifice you unnecessarily.

Din djarin. Gave up grogu originally, Not communicating with covert leads to lots of mandos dying, didn’t pay attention to history lessons when young, didn’t want the dark saber 10/10 ability to fuck up 5/10 ability to rule, does not want to rule anyway. Doesn’t know enough about politics.

They all need to learn about elective representative government styles

[kingofkingdom-archive]

So Much Like Stars - Part ONE

Pairing: Boba Fett x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (read part two here!)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’ve known nothing but snow and cold wind your whole life. When a mysterious hunter arrives at your village, you find yourself drawn to him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, vaginal fingering, breathplay, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, naked female clothed male, come marking, unprotected sex, mentions of death (no character death)

Word count: 8.2k+

A/N: This fic is entirely self-indulgent. No one asked for it, but here it is. Boba Fett fucks and we all know it. Or maybe you disagree, in which case you’re wrong. Anyway, enjoy! As usual, there’s no use of Y/N here and please heed the warnings before reading.

Across the windswept, snowy plain, you watch as the ship approaches its landing. It slows, rotates, and then lands face-up on the flat expanse. It’s maybe a kilometer and a half away from the outlook you’re perched on; your binocs are old, no longer reading distance, so the best you can do is guess. The wind blows the snow towards the east, blurring the landscape into obscurity for anyone without a trained eye.

Your cloak, woven from the heavy fur of the Kintur that roam your planet, keeps the driving wind from seeping into your bones. Every inch of your skin is covered, from your leather boots and thick leggings to your goggles and well-worn face mask. You carry a pack, as you always do, to which are strapped your net-shoes that allow you to traverse over massive snowdrifts. At your hip is an old Republic-issue blaster and at your side is your staff, which often acts more as a tool to clear paths and knock snow from tree boughs than anything else.

This planet is nearly uninhabited save for the village you were born in. Seeing a ship is rare, and it’s even rarer to see one that’s unaffiliated with a galactic government. You take note of its location and strain to see if you can spot the pilot as he emerges, but you have no such luck.

You sigh, the wind whistling in your ears, the drifts of snow shifting and growing around you. Father will want you back soon. The newcomer is undoubtedly going to head towards the village, and you’ll need to be there when he arrives. You stow your binocs away in your pack and unstrap your net-shoes, attaching them quickly to your boots.

The trek back is one you’ve managed countless times before - that doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but the sheer cliff faces and howling, punishing winds are not strangers to you. 

Your village is small by the standards of other planets in the galaxy, from what you’ve heard (the Elders’ stories of Coruscant never fail to amaze you), but in your eyes it’s vibrant and bustling despite the harsh climate. There’s almost always a tavern with its lights on and music flowing out, a friendly face and warm hearth never far.

It’s located in a secluded valley between towering mountains, out of sight of the vast plains from which the mountains seem to erupt without warning. There are no foothills; only flat land interrupted by harsh terrain. It’s very easy to find death in the mountains, but they have sustained your people for generations. Hunting is your main source of food, whether it be the Kintur that also provide their hide or the massive snow-bison whose fat and bones keep your diets regulated. In the warm season water flows endlessly - the streams that run from the mountain peaks are known to have healing properties, and often they seem to glow with a supernatural shimmer. There is a small mine some distance from the village where many men work, and though the job is a dangerous one, the mountains never run out of the ores you need.

Your people’s existence is not especially complex, but they are tougher than most. The landscape requires it.

You arrive back at the stone walls surrounding your village and greet the gatekeeper, a man who recently inherited the job from his father. 

“Hello, Isrwill.” You plant your staff next to you and lean on it, taking your weight off of your feet. “Have you heard anything of the visitor?”

The man nods. He’s about a decade older than you, but underneath the goggles and mask his face is youthful, eyes kind and always merry. “Savakya returned not long ago. She says he will make it here within the hour.”

“Did she say anything of his appearance?”

“Only that he wears armor, and a helmet. She could not make out any features, other than that he’s shaped like a man.” Isrwill leans back against the wall.

“Ah,” you reply. “Well-dressed for the weather, then.”

He shrugs. “Yes, but also well-dressed for battle.”

You can hear the concern in his voice. The question is one you’re sure your whole community is asking: what has brought this foreigner here? 

“Thank you,” you tell him, and he nods while pushing the gate open.

Once inside the walls, you remove your net-shoes as well as your goggles and immediately head toward the building where you know they’ll bring the stranger. Your father will already be there, conversing with the Elders and with the Committee to prepare for whatever news or needs this foreigner might have. There are protocols in place for such an event, but they haven’t been used in your lifetime. As you walk to the meeting-house, you try and recall the words you studied so long ago, when your father taught you your people’s laws and customs.

The meeting-house is constructed of solid, ancient wood, imported from a forest planet and stark against the gray stone that most of the village’s homes are built from. Inside there is a massive hearth cut from a single stone, the fire inside it already raging. In the center of the main room there is a curved table; on one side sit the Elders, on the other, the Committee. At the head sits your father, next to your empty seat.

“You made it safely, my child,” he greets you when you arrive, a swirl of snowflakes following you in. Smiling, you pull down your face mask.

“I always do, father.”

He smiles from his place at the table, giving you a look. “That does not mean I do not worry.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you lean over to kiss him on the cheek. The other people at the table chat amongst themselves, though you can feel the undercurrent of unease at the visitor’s imminent arrival.

You walk around to take your place, setting your pack, staff, and outer layers near the hearth to dry. You are left in a long-sleeved, high-neck shirt and tunic over your leggings, your hair done up in its usual braids. Usually you would go home and change into something more suitable for Committee business, but there was no time. 

You turn to your father, who sits next to you with all the grace and poise befitting a benevolent leader.

“Isrwill told me the stranger is arriving soon. Do we know any more?”

He nods, though he doesn’t look entirely pleased. “Yes. From what Savakya described, it seems he’s a Mandalorian.”

The name isn’t familiar to you. “Is that a race?”

“No.” Your father leans back in his chair. His arched brows bely a concern that is rare to see on him. He strokes his white beard, staring off into space. “The Mandalorians are more of a culture, a people. I’ve only ever heard stories of them. They say they are fierce warriors, and that many of them are bounty hunters by trade.”

That’s odd. You frown, confused. “Bounty hunters? Why wo-”

You are interrupted by three sharp knocks on the doors. Beside you, your father calls out “enter! ”, and the doors swing open.

Two village men, two of the strongest of your people, flank a man clad in armor. His helmet has a T-shaped visor with a short antenna, and on his back is a rifle. You take note of the blasters strapped to his hips as well as something that could be a weapon at his knee. 

Isrwill was right. Well-dressed for battle.

You sit up straight and keep your eyes trained on the Mandalorian. Though you are a member of the Committee, you are also well-versed in how to use a blaster, perhaps the best trained of any at the table. You are also a protector of your fellow Committee members, the Elders, and most importantly, your father. 

“What business brings you to our planet, Mandalorian?” Your father’s voice is stern, strong in a way you hope to emulate when you inevitably assume his role.

“I am in search of a bounty, your excellency.”

The hunter’s voice is deep and slightly muffled through the helmet’s vocoder. He sounds weathered and rough, though you imagine that’s life as a man who fights and kills for a living.

“Sir will suit me just fine,” your father tells him, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “As for your bounty, it is highly improbable that any individual has survived outside of our village longer than a day. There is no stranger here but you.”

The Mandalorian sighs, looking down at the floor and then back up again. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir. The tracker isn’t wrong. He must be hiding somewhere in the mountains.”

Your father shakes his head. “Those mountains are impossible to pass without a guide. If he was there, surely he is dead by now.”

Though you can’t see his face, the hunter’s helmet is surprisingly expressive. He looks at your father for a long moment, and then glances around at the other people at the table. His gaze finally lands on you.

You set your jaw and stare back, unintimidated. A man with guns does not scare you, no matter how he tries.

“Alright,” he says, but you suspect he is not satisfied with this information. “Might I at least inquire about some lodging for the night?”

-

Later that evening, you find yourself in your favorite tavern, sitting in your usual booth, watching the townsfolk mingle and chat. Your drink of choice is a fermented ale that is produced in the warm season and aged for consumption outside of those short couple of months. 

No one pays you any mind unless they’re a close friend or they have news. They know to leave you alone, to let you sit with yourself as you prefer to do.

You’re watching a young couple you grew up with dance to the music when the tavern’s door swings open. You glance over at it but do a double take when you realize who stands in the doorway.

The hunter.

Around you, conversation quiets as everyone takes in the stranger. His helmet scans the room, like he’s looking for someone in particular. Internally you scoff. The bounty would never show his face here, he’d stand out too much amongst your people.

The hunter’s visor stops moving, aimed directly at you.

Kriff, you think, taking a swig of your drink. He wants information, and he’s not going to give up quite as easily as he did with your father.

The Mandalorian walks into the room, headed directly towards your booth. People watch, heads turning to track the stranger’s movements across the floor. His steps are heavy, intentional, large frame imposing as he approaches you.

Certainly a man built for survival. For conflict. If he were a different person, you might find it attractive.

He stops when he reaches your booth, looking down at you just as you stare up at him, brow raised. 

“This seat taken?”

You shake your head and gesture to it. “Not at all.”

From the corner of your eye you can tell the rest of the tavern’s patrons are watching, waiting. As the hunter sits, you wave your hand discretely, telling them to return to their conversations, to each other.

The noise picks up again.

“You’ve got some influence here, princess.”

The name both rankles and sends a shiver of something unwanted down your spine. Now that he’s closer, knees almost brushing your own, you really get a sense of how intense this man’s presence is.

A warrior, to be sure. None would debate that. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “We are not the subjects of a king, hunter.”

He scoffs, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Forgive me. What are you to them?”

“I do not see how it concerns you.” The words are harsh but your face remains neutral. Your father taught you how to deal with men like this - how to steel yourself against posturing, against prodding, against teasing.

The Mandalorian chuckles. “I just like to know who I’m talkin’ to. No need for the theatrics.”

You don’t respond. He’s the one who approached you - you have no desire to get in his good graces.

He sighs, glancing over to the wall at your left, his right. “I’d never heard of this planet before the tracker brought me here, much less your people,” he tells you. It’s not a surprise.

“That’s how we like to keep it. We stand no chance against something like the Republic or the Empire. Our only means of survival is staying under the radar.”

His visor is trained directly on you, staring, studying your face. You stare back, wishing you could somehow get a sense of what he looks like underneath the mask.

“How long have your people lived here?”

You know it’s not because he’s genuinely curious. Your mind is buzzing with all the different reasons he’d have for asking - he wants to know how familiar you are with the landscape. He wants to know how well-established your system of governance is here. He wants to know if you know how your people arrived. 

He wants to know how vulnerable you are.

“Generations. Since before the Elders’ grandparents were born. Memory of our arrival here has been lost to time.”

He tilts his head. “Is yours the only settlement on the planet?”

You nod. As far as you know, anyway. Attempts have been made to reach out, to try and see if any other peoples live in the outer reaches of the landscape, but none have returned successful. 

The Mandalorian hums. He glances over into the tavern, at the other patrons and the bartender. You watch as the bartender, a woman a few years younger than your father, uses a rag to clean out a cup, but you can tell she’s watching your table from the corner of her eye. When she notices the hunter’s helmet turn towards her, her eyes flit up to you, then over to him.

The hunter waves, as if to signal that he wants something. The bartender glances back at you and you nod. She sets down the cup and begins walking over.

You look over at him. He’s already staring back, chin tilted down like you’re a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The bartender’s voice does not waver, but it’s tense nonetheless.

He gestures to your drink. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender nods and leaves. You take a sip of your ale, finding comfort and clarity in the warmth it brings you. 

Across from you, the bounty hunter shifts in his seat, removing his gloves to reveal a pair of  calloused hands. You glance down at them and follow their movement as they reach up, thumbs curling under the bottom of his helmet, and lift. 

The hunter’s weathered face greets you. He’s a man, like any other, like you expected him to be. His brows are arched and dark, but the rest of the hair on his head has been burnt away by something that left scars across the crown of his head and his face. His eyes are cold, haunted, calculating as they look at you.

He sets the helmet on the table with a thud . 

“You’ve seen death,” you observe, holding his gaze with your own. “Been close to it.” His brown eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, princess.”

Ah, you think. He underestimates me.  He thinks you’re the coddled daughter of a village leader, fed by the kindness of your people and adored for your status. You raise an eyebrow and take another swig of your drink, smirking into the amber liquid. 

You set the cup down on the table. “There is more in those mountains than snow and wind, hunter.”

He doesn’t move, save for a slow blink. “Tell me, then.”

You sense movement from the corner of your eye - the bartender has returned with his drink. He nods to her in thanks and she gives a tight smile, glancing at you before hastily returning to her station.

The hunter takes the cup and brings it to his lips. You watch as he takes a sip, swallows, and his eyes widen. A small cough forces its way up and out of his throat.

You smile at him, a hint of a grin that curls the corners of your mouth. 

“A bit strong for you?”

He glares over the rim of the cup and pointedly takes another swig. He sets the cup down, large hand dwarfing it. 

“What is in those mountains?” His voice has gotten lower, rougher, like you’ll be intimidated by a show of verbal force.

“Nothing you’ll concern yourself with,” you reply, refusing to back down. “Unless you want to encounter your own mortality again.”

“I am perfectly fine with a bit of a scare.”

You bark out a laugh. “You wouldn’t survive an hour out there without a guide. And no one here will take the job, not when the options are either a fruitless search for a dead body or a shootout between two criminals.”

He leans forward, face pressing close to yours, warm breath blowing across your cheeks. His nose is inches from your own.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “I didn’t come here for a bounty, little one.”

Your brow furrows and you draw back, pressing your shoulders against the cushioned stone behind you.

“Word has got out of a large deposit of kyber somewhere in this system. The Empire has not yet caught wind, but soon they will.”

You don’t recognize the name of the material he’s referring to, but you do recognize the Empire and know exactly what something like that might mean for a small, defenseless village such as your own.

It’s much different than a simple bounty hiding in the mountains.

“Why didn’t you tell the Committee this?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if this is where the deposit is. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary concern, especially considering the… size and scale of your village”

You purse your lips and lean your head back, staring up as you consider this development. This man has come in search of something you aren’t sure exists, and if it does, it means certain death for you and your people. 

You look back down at the man across from you. “Then why did you decide to tell me? You’d have been better off going to my father with this information.”

He huffs out a chuckle, then grabs his drink and takes a swig. He sets the cup back down and rests his arm on the table beside it. “Because I need a guide, little one. Someone with knowledge of the terrain, who I won’t have to watch out for. I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

The dots begin to connect in your brain. You raise a brow at him. “I have no need for your credits. They’re next to useless here. Besides, how can we know this - this kyber is there at all?”

“Is there anything unnatural about the mountains? Anything that would point to something powerful within them?”

You frown, thinking on it for a moment. All of the ores found in the mine are naturally occurring, the creatures that live on the peaks are all native, and the --

It hits you. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your heart rate increases. A falling feeling in your stomach takes the sensation from your legs for a moment, ice cold and burning all at once.

“The water.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. You glance around to make sure no one’s heard you. Everyone in the tavern seems oblivious to the two of you, despite their stares earlier.

“We have to leave,” you tell him, fishing a couple of coins out of your pocket and depositing them on the table. “We can’t discuss this here. Come with me.”

Hastily you stand, taking your cloak from its hook on the side of the booth and pulling it on. The hunter follows suit, sliding his helmet back on and looking around the room.

You start towards the door, heavy footsteps following behind you.

-

You bring him to your home, the only place where you know you won’t be interrupted. You live in a small building tucked in a quiet corner of the village, between a storage silo and the village’s north wall.

Inside, the hearth has been going all day, fueled by coal and snow-bison waste chips. There are four rooms; three downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. You bring the Mandalorian to your study, where the fire roars and there’s a few soft chairs and a couch to sit on. He takes a seat on the latter and removes his helmet, watching as you search your bookshelves for something.

“Care to tell me what you meant by ‘the water’?” He slouches, thick thighs spread over the couch cushion.

Your eyes follow the movement of his legs for a split second. It’s supremely distracting, how inviting he looks right now. You glance up at his face and see a small smirk on his lips. A blush colors your cheeks, caught in the act of looking. To hide it, you turn back to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of your books.

“In the warm season there are streams that flow from the mountaintops to the valley. It pools in an area not far from here and forms a small lake, not much more than a pond, that freezes over once the cold sets in again. For centuries we’ve brought our sick and dying there to be healed.”

The hunter hums. “And it works?”

You nod, turning to look over your shoulder at him. “I was brought there as a child. I would have died of the fever had it not been for the water. Our Elders drink if regularly after they reach a certain age, once they haven’t been killed by the elements.”

“Are you saying your people live longer because of it?”

You pause. That has never crossed your mind, since using the water’s magic has always been normal to you, a yearly practice like any other. “I don’t know. How long does man usually tend to live?”

“It depends,” he says. “I’d say a hundred years at most.”

That has you taken aback. You look over at the bookshelf again - this is life-changing, world-shattering information. Dread begins to settle in your chest, like everything you thought was real is a lie.

The hunter leans forward, hands on his knees, concern etched on his scarred face. “How long do your people live, little one? How many years?”

You inhale and look over at him. “Hundreds. A thousand, if we’re lucky.”

“Kriff,” he swears, leaning back with a hand over his mouth and nose. 

Turning back to the bookshelf, you resume your search to calm your racing mind. You find the book you were looking for, a collection of stories gathered by your family over generations.

“Here,” you say, sliding the book out of its place and taking it over to the hunter. He scoots over, but only slightly, so when you sit next to him you’re tucked snugly between him and the arm of the couch. His thigh is warm against your own and you get chills down your neck when he shifts to put his arm behind you, around your shoulders.

You clear your throat and open the book, letting it rest on your legs.

“There are a few accounts that speak of the water,” you tell him, flipping through the pages until you find the one you’re looking for. It’s half a page of writing, the other taken up by a crude map of the mountains.

“The waters are life-giving,” you read, tracing along the words with your index finger. “They shimmer and glow in the sun when it shines upon us. The source is deep within the mountain, covered by ice and snow in the cold season. No one has seen the source of the waters and survived. Many have tried. It lies in the heart of ongrol territory.”

“Ongrol?” The hunter’s voice is deep, low in your ear. You look up at him, absentmindedly biting your lip between your teeth.

“Yes,” you reply. “A vicious species of massive snow lion. It’s rare to see one and live to tell the tale. I’ve only ever seen their prints.”

He hums, eyes flitting across your face as he studies you up close. “How large are they?”

You shake your head. “We can only guess, but certainly bigger than this building.”

The Mandalorian nods, his eye contact with you intense and unwavering. You meet it head-on, the warmth you feel in your bones spreading into your thighs and your ribs and your --

You blink and turn back to the book. The map is shaded to indicate the creatures’ territory, with a dot to indicate the general location of where the source is thought to be.

You point to an area just outside the shaded region. “This is as far as I’ve been. I can get us to the source - it’s the ongrol that are the problem.” You look back up at the hunter. “You’re sure the kyber is what’s causing this?”

He nods. “It’s one of the most powerful materials in the known universe. Little else could heal your people the way it does.”

“How do we hide the signature from others, to keep them from finding it?” The unspoken question there hangs in the air as you speak; how do we protect ourselves from attack?

He furrows his brow, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I’m still trying to work that part out, little one.”

That does not do much ease your anxieties, but you have to accept it for now.

You close the book with a sigh and stand to return it to its place on the shelf. When you turn back, the hunter has placed his other arm on the back of the couch, spread out like a king on a throne.

He looks comfortable - at home, here in yours. It’s unlike you to bring a stranger into your dwelling and not feel uneasy about it. Yet here he is, and it’s like he belongs right there on your couch, armor and all. You cross your arms, observing him.

“Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, I do not.”

He smiles, like your answer pleases him. “It's mine.”

Boba. The name is unusual, but it suits the man before you.

“I’d tell you mine in return, but I’ve grown fond of the names you’ve chosen for me, Boba Fett.”

A deep sound pushes its way out of Boba’s chest through his throat - half a chuckle, half a growl. He gives you a once-over with his dark brown eyes, like he can see right through your thick base layer and loose tunic. You watch as he does so, trying to calm your nervous breathing. His gaze is so penetrating, so intense, that after a moment you have to turn away from him, towards the fireplace.

The orange-blue flames dance in front of you, warming your face even further. A mirror hangs above it, but your eyes are focused on the hearth.

You hear Boba shift behind you, metal on fabric. “Tell me, little one,” he says. You can sense him moving closer. “Do you have any suitors, here in the village?”

The question makes your heart race even faster. “No.” You refuse to look at him, knowing that what you see there will render words impossible. “I’ve not had any interest in them.”

“But have men tried? Asked to court you?” He’s right behind you now, the warmth of him nearly matching that of the flames in front of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You can see his shadow from the corner of your eye.

“Yes,” you nod. “They have tried.”

Boba hums. His hands come up to gently, but firmly, rest on your shoulders. He slowly smooths his gloved palms down your arms, taking them from being crossed over one another to resting loose at your sides.

You risk a glance up at the mirror in front of you. He’s already looking at you, eyes locked on yours. You meet his gaze and dip your chin ever so slightly, so you’re staring at him from beneath your lashes.

A ghost of a smirk dances across Boba’s lips. He breaks the eye contact and you watch as he looks down at the nape of your neck, one of few exposed pieces of your skin. His right hand brushes your hair from over your shoulder onto your back, gathering the long tresses together. The women in your village grow their hair out as long as they can, not only to use for braids, but also to keep warm. 

Boba’s fingers brush lightly against you, the rough material of his gloves a contrast to the smooth skin of your neck.

“Why haven’t they been successful, princess?”

You clench your jaw. Boba looks back up at you, his hand resting across your nape, fingers curled ever so slightly. The feeling of it makes your thighs tremble, your core responding to this silent, easy display of authority. It shows on your face, how much you like this, and you know Boba sees it.

“None of them could give me --”

Your words are cut off by Boba’s hand snaking around your neck, firm grip tightening around the column of your throat. You gasp, a soft, breathy noise, and the man behind you chuckles. His thumb and forefinger press into your jaw, forcing your head up, though your eyes are still locked onto his reflection in the mirror.

You choke out the rest of your sentence. “-- Give me what I need.”

“Is that so,” Boba murmurs, the words a deep rumble in his rough voice. He presses just a bit tighter, and your eyes flutter closed in response. “I think I know just what you need, my dear.”

His words burn through you like fire on wood, like a cold wind rushing through an open window. Your legs grow weak and your hands grapple at him, trying to find something to hold onto. Your left hand catches on the gauntlet covering his arm and you draw it around, so his arm covers your hip and his hand rests possessively on your lower stomach.

“What a pretty thing you are,” Boba mutters, sliding his hand lower on your front until his fingertips brush your mound. You let your head drop back against his shoulder at the feeling of him cupping your most private of areas, like it’s his, like it’s always been his. Your legs shift further apart to make room for his wide palm. “A stoic princess who desperately needs someone to take care of her.”

You whine at that, at what he’s offering you. It’s true; of all the eligible men in the village, not one has taken you to bed and been able to let you fully cede control to them. They see you as a leader, as someone not to be messed with, as someone to be respected above all else.

“Oh, yes,” Boba hums, curling the fingers of his left hand into your cunt, hooking them into you through your clothes. “They might follow your orders, little one, but you’ll follow mine.”

It sounds like paradise, letting him have you like this. You nod against the armor on his chest, movement limited and head growing dizzy thanks to the hand around your neck. Boba presses his lips close to your ear, his large body now curled around yours.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you melt against him. “I am going to go take a seat, and then you’re gonna take your clothes off for me. Can you do that?”

You open your eyes and there he is, in the corner of your vision, gaze dark and full of heated promises. You study his face for a moment, memorizing his features while he’s close like this, and then you nod.

“Yes, Boba.”

“Good,” he tells you. He then moves his hands away, and though you mourn the loss of his touch, knowing what’s to come keeps you patient.

He turns, walks back over to the sofa, and sits. He spreads his legs as he did before, arms on the back of the couch, watching you.

Boba looks so much like a king in that moment that it makes you want to bow before him, to prostrate yourself like you aren’t the daughter of the Chieftain. To worship him as he demands. 

The thought crosses your mind as your fingers begin to unwrap your tunic, taking the woven material from its intricate adornment on your body. You feel a blush rising on your cheeks at the implications - what would the village think of their leader’s daughter, the one to assume his role in the future, imagining such things about a stranger?

Your mind wanders, racing, thinking of seeing him upon a proper throne, all silent confidence and heated gazes from behind the visor of his helmet. Maybe he’d bring you there, show you off to a court, hold you in his wide palms like a treaty. Set you upon his lap like a rare trophy from your far-off snow planet. You’d wrap your arm around the back of his neck and listen to his dealings while he kept a firm hand on your upper thigh.

Dignitaries and crime lords alike would watch, whispering, unable to look away.

It thrills you, to have these secret desires.

You deposit the tunic on the floor next to you and toy with the hem of your top, pulling it out from where it was tucked in your pants. Boba’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin that is revealed as you raise the shirt higher, higher, and higher, until in one motion you’ve slipped it over your head and off entirely.

He stares at your chest and it makes you smile. Men will be men.

Feeling emboldened by the way Boba is looking at you, you turn around and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants. You slowly slip them down your hips, over your thighs, and past your knees, bending over as you do so.

Behind you, you hear shuffling. You toss the pants to join the tunic and shirt and turn to see Boba’s codpiece and gloves removed, his hand shoved down the front of his pants.

“I’m enjoying the show, little one,” he says, and waves at you with his other hand, even as you begin to see movement at the crotch of his trousers. “Continue.”

You smirk, a sly thing at seeing the effect your bare form has on him. You tuck your fingers under the band of your bra and pull up. Your arms block your view of Boba’s face as your breasts are revealed to him, but the hungry look in his eye once you can see him gives you a good idea of it.

“Kriff,” Boba swears, jerking himself faster, rougher. The sight of it makes your breathing become heavy, the labor of it causing your chest to heave. His eyes drop from your face to your tits - somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed like you might usually. 

You just feel wanted. It’s intoxicating, that he wants you for you , not your title.

There’s only one article of clothing left on your body now. You turn around again, your back to him, and take the front hem of your underwear in your fingers. Slowly, almost teasing, you slip it over your hips, arching your back and pushing your ass out towards Boba. The underwear slips down your thighs until it falls to the floor.

You straighten up again and look over your shoulder at him. He gestures with his free hand, a ‘come here’ motion that you’re all too eager to follow.

“Beautiful kriffing body,” he murmurs as you approach. He reaches out and puts his hand on your hip, fingers curling into your ass cheek. His eyes stare at your mound, at the patch of hair there. “Bet you’re already wet for me, huh?”

He glances up at you. You blush, watching as he removes his hand from his pants and snakes it in between your legs, calloused fingers feeling the evidence of his effect on you. His fingertips catch on your clit, rubbing and feeling and stoking the fire within. You moan wantonly, comfortable in the privacy of your home.

“You are. Kriffing soaked. Just begging for my cock, aren’t you?”

His words make your pussy clench just as he slips one of his thick fingers into you, surely spreading his own fluids across your tight, hot skin. The girth of it forces a whine out of you, brows furrowed, and your hand flies down to hold onto his as he fucks you with his finger. Your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

“Look at you,” he mutters, baring his teeth as he watches you writhe on his hand, using his thumb to rub your clit just so. Your mouth drops open in pleasure, sparks shooting down your legs and up into your belly at the feeling. 

Boba hums, circling his thumb and flicking it over your puffy, sensitive nub. “What would your people think if they saw you moaning like a whore for an old man, hm?”

Your legs turn to jelly at the force of the arousal that hits your cunt. You sway forward, knees buckling, and Boba catches you as you fall. 

He uses the hand on your ass to guide you into a sitting position on his lap, so now you’re straddling him, bare chest pressed to the cool metal of his armor. You tuck your face into his neck and revel in the feeling of a second finger teasing at your opening.

“You like that, little one?” His words cause his throat to vibrate, and the deep tone draws your lips in to kiss at it. Your nose brushes against the underside of his jaw as you move from kissing to licking, getting drunk on the taste of his sweat on your tongue.

Boba groans, sliding the second finger into your cunt with ease. You sigh, blowing cool air across the skin you’ve just wet with your tongue. “You do.” He runs his free hand up your thigh, holding tight to the firm muscle there, toned and strong from a lifetime in the ice and snow. “So desperate for my cock.”

You nod, though your lips hardly leave his neck. “Please, Boba,” you whisper into his skin, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get. 

His fingers still their movements within you and you whine. Boba shushes you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from pouting when he pulls his fingers from your pussy. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and leans back.

“I want you on your hands and knees, princess. Right here on the couch.”

You nod frantically and there’s not a moment of hesitation in your haste to follow his order. You arrange yourself next to him, forearms propped on the arm of the couch and your knees keeping your ass aloft in the air.

Boba turns and positions himself behind you with ease, half standing with one foot on the floor, his other leg bent and kneeling on the cushion.

He may call himself an old man, but he’s got the physicality of someone half his age. It makes the spot between your legs hotter and wetter just to think of it. Your cunt throbs for him.

You look over your shoulder and watch as he reaches into his pants, hand spreading your wetness across his dick, and your eyes widen as he draws it out from the confines of his trousers. Your gaze zeros in on him; he’s thick and long, just as you suspected, and every inch is one you want to feel as deep inside you as possible. Honestly, it makes sense - you’ve always heard that the men with the most to make up for do so in their personalities. 

Men like Boba don’t have to compensate, which makes them all the more attractive.

You glance up to his face. He’s smirking down at you, eyes traveling down to your ass, pushed out and open for him. He runs a hand along the soft swell of your rear, caressing you like you’re precious, like you’re prized.

“I could get used to this,” he tells you, guiding the head of his cock to notch at your opening. “Seeing a future queen all bare and ripe for me.”

Your eyelids flutter as you feel him press in further, deeper. The sight of him kneeling behind you, fully clothed while you’re naked as the day you were born, sends a wave of arousal through you. Your brain doesn’t even register what he’s called you, how wrong he is, because you can’t think of anything beyond his dick.

“C’mon, Boba,” you whine, his slow pace driving you mad. “Fuck me like you mean it, old man.”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is almost non-human with the way it reverberates around the room. His hands dig into your hips and he thrusts , unrelenting and rough, spearing you onto his thick cock until his balls slap your clit. You choke out a moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how perfectly full you feel.

“Ah,” he grunts out as he immediately sets to fucking you roughly, deeply. “The little princess does want to be treated like a whore.” His words are accompanied by the lewd sound of his cock moving in your wet cunt, his hips slapping against your own. You moan, loud and uninhibited, unable to conceive of shame or propriety.

For your whole life you’ve been looked up to, treated as both fragile and untouchable.

Boba Fett fucks you like you’re nothing more to him than a pet.

He snarls his words into the air. “Woulda fucked you there on that table in the cantina, shown the whole village how well you take me.”

You keen, arching your back further to give him a better angle. He runs his left hand up your side, gripping your waist and pulling you back onto his cock in time with his thrusts. He’s deeper inside you than anyone’s ever been - you’re beginning to think men in your village must be small, or maybe Boba’s just unnaturally big, because you think you can feel the head of his cock bruising your cervix. 

The thought of him taking you in the tavern has you clenching down on him even tighter. Maybe you would have gotten on your knees for him, hid beneath the tablecloth and kept his cock warm in your mouth.

“That turn you on, princess?” He slows his thrusts just slightly, drawing out so he can slam back in with even more force. You cry out, nodding, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Of course it does,” he grunts, and you can feel the crest of your climax steadily approaching as he speaks, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies he’s bringing to life. His thrusts speed up again, rough and brutal, just as you need.

“You were just waiting for someone to -- ungh -- come along and fuck all the thoughts outta that clever little head, weren’t you?”

You whine, because he’s right - your normally sharp, observant brain has been put out like water over a fire. Boba leans forward, placing his hand on the arm of the couch next to your elbow, and brushes his lips against the back of your neck. It changes his position enough that his cock hits you just that much deeper, pounding against that elusive sweet spot deep within your cunt.

“Kriff, Boba --” You barely get the words out, your voice hoarse and strained and your mind turned to mush. “So -- so big.”

Against your ear, you feel more than hear him chuckle. His teeth catch on your earlobe, hot breath skating down the side of your face.

“Yeah? You like having my big cock in your tight little pussy?”

You keen, high-pitched and desperate. “Please, Boba, I’m gonna --”

His teeth trail down the side of your neck, biting firmly enough to leave a trail of red marks across your skin. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he leans up again so he can grip your hips more firmly.

“Gonna come, little one? Go on --” his words trail off for a moment - or maybe your hearing fades out as the crisis within you rises to its limit. Right as you’re on the edge, your face flush with sensation and your cunt fluttering around him, his rough voice fades back in.

“-- wanna feel you, princess. Come for your king.”

You have no choice but to do as he says.

Boba’s words scratch that small, hidden itch in your brain you’d taken a glance at earlier. Your mind whites out for a split second, as blinding as a snowstorm, before you return to yourself.

He’s still fucking you. Using you. Oversensitive and trembling, your senses absorb the world around you - Boba's hands on your hips, the scrape of his armor against your thighs, the crackle of the fireplace somewhere over your shoulder. 

The rhythm of Boba's cock inside you, chasing the same high you'd found moments earlier.

You moan, pushing back, encouraging him to find his release. A glance over your shoulder gives you the sight of his eyes focused on where he's thrusting into you, lip curled, a drop of sweat trailing down over his jaw.

Boba glances up at you and smirks, though the flash of teeth makes it more of a sneer. "Where do you want me, princess?"

A serene smile crosses your face and you pretend to think on it for a moment, lazy in your post-orgasmic haze.

"On me," you reply. "Wherever you want."

He grunts, looking back down, and thrusts a few more times, deep and bruising. As soon as he pulls out you mourn the loss of him, the fullness inside of you, but you're rewarded with a vision unlike any you've seen before. Boba takes himself in hand, and with a loud groan, cums across your ass, his spend dripping down your thighs and onto your pussy lips. He covers you with himself, marking you up.

Once he's finished, Boba runs a hand through the cum on your skin, pressing firmly and rubbing it in.

"Been wanting to do that since I saw you in the meeting hall, little one."

You hum, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of it. What a scandal - the Chieftain's daughter falling for the stranger, the first foreigner to visit the village in living memory.

Behind you, Boba shifts off of the couch. He stands beside you and then you register that he's moving you, strong hands arranging your limp body so he can pick you up. One arm slips beneath your knees and the other under your back.

"Bedroom's upstairs," you murmur. 

He brings you there, tucking you into bed carefully and then turning to undo his armor. As you watch him methodically remove each piece, you get the feeling that you're privy to something rare. Though you're sleepy, your eyes remain open, intent on keeping this memory clear.

The thought crosses your mind that this man must know so much of the universe. He's probably been to hundreds of planets, has hundreds of stories.

You've only ever known snow and wind. 

"Boba?"

He's just finished with the last of his armor when you speak. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and puts his hand on your side.

"Yes, princess?"

You gaze up into his eyes, dark but soft when looking at you.

"What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to?"

He smiles at that, letting out a soft chuckle. "I've been to so many places that it's hard to keep track, little one."

You pout. He moves to settle into bed next to you, under the layers of fur and fleece that keep you warm.

"You must have a favorite," you insist, curling up against him, head resting on his bicep.

He's quiet for a minute, thinking. You wait, though sleep threatens to pull you under. Boba's words lull you out of the beginnings of your slumber.

"I think you'd like Naboo," he tells you. You've read about it, about their system of governance. You can't recall seeing any pictures or illustrations, though. 

"It's very green," he explains. "There's meadows and forests everywhere. Their cities are vast, the buildings beautiful in themselves. I traveled there with my father when I was young."

You want to ask more, to learn about this place so different from anything you know. Your mind is racing with imaginings when you fall asleep, cozy and warm against Boba Fett.

In the night, your dreams glow as bright as the sun.

[gffa]

YOU DON’T REALIZE HOW GOOD THIS EPISODE IS UNTIL LIKE YOUR THIRD FULL REWATCH OF THIS SHOW AND TWO STRAIGHT YEARS OF ARGUING ABOUT STAR WARS POLITICS AND ALSO FANDOM POINTING OUT EVERY SINGLE “ECHO AND RHYME” WE CAN POSSIBLY FIND. The first time I saw this episode, when I was tearing through TCW at speed because it was new and I was hooked and it was so good, this one didn’t really have much of an impact on me.  Not my favorite characters, I appreciate that Toydarians got some better portrayals other than Watto, but man the middle of it definitely dragged for me. Then I rewatched it, after two years of examining politics in Star Wars and having fun with all those parallels and echoes of stories.  And this time the episode hit me like a goddamned brick. It’s an episode about whether or not Toydaria should remain utterly neutral in the war or let themselves become a staging area for humanitarian aid to Ryloth, which has been under siege by the Separatists.  Lott Dod of the Trade Federation pops up and is like, yes, but it’s under a Separatist Blockade and, if you help, the Separatists will see it as breaking your neutrality.  Which means your entire planet will be at risk, your own economy could tank because you have vital contracts with us and it’ll force us to cease trade with Toydaria.  You can’t just have a humanitarian base, you’ll get drawn into the war, you’ll be a military base, that’s how war goes. Bail Organa counters with that the Twi’leks didn’t ask to be invaded by the Separatists, they didn’t ask to be taken hostage and dying in a war they didn’t ask to join, either.  Don’t let them suffer just for the sake of your neutrality! King Katuunko and his advisers debate for a brief while--all while clones and Jedi and Twi’leks are dying on Ryloth--and eventually says that we cannot get involved in this war.  No matter that compassion is one of the most important tenets of our society, for the sake of my people, we must remain neutral. Stuff happens, King Katuunko eventually realizes that neutrality is maybe not actually a great thing when people are out there dying and you’re not doing anything to help--yes, even if that means you get drawn into the war. That’s it, that’s the message:  When innocents are dying at the hands of invaders, neutrality is not a compassionate, caring choice. What of course made me sit up and take notice was the deliberate use of the word “compassion” being used as one of their tenets and we all know who that reminds us of:  The Jedi have compassion as one of their central tenets as well.  The Jedi, who have already been drawn into this war. And this is exactly why I don’t think the Jedi could have made any other choice, shouldn’t have made any other choice, about joining the war. Billions of lives are at stake--even Hera Syndulla says in Rebels, how she remembers that clones and Jedi working together saved billions of people, including herself.  We literally see the innocent people of Ryloth suffering because the Separatists attacked them.  It doesn’t matter that many of the people in the Separatist Senate and worlds who joined did so because they were sick of the Republic ignoring them and their valid concerns.  (Doesn’t matter in the sense of whether or not it affects trying to remain neutral in the war, not doesn’t matter in the sense of trying to find peaceful solutions, that’s an important difference.)  Because this was always going to happen.  Innocent worlds were always going to be invaded and held hostage and murdered and stripped for resources because of who was running the show over there. Being neutral in such a conflict was narratively shown as the wrong choice, that’s why Katuunko realizes his error.  That’s why Bail Organa (a character we know is caring and compassionate) argues in favor of the Republic, why Alderaan joined the war.  That’s why Padme, even when she wishes she could remain neutral, argues her way back to saying she must try to change things from within.

This is a sentiment that’s at the heart of the theme of the episode, that Ahsoka echoes it in the classes she teaches to the Mandalorian cadets.  And it’s one that’s important to the themes of Star Wars characters’ actions, especially in the prequels--that it’s the very heart of the Republic vs the Separatist war. Do you remain with the system and try to improve it from within? Or do you leave it and bombard it from the outside in hopes of burning it down to create something better? The answer depends on context and the situation and whether or not there’s hope for rooting out the corruption.  For example, Padme believes that they’re at that point with the Republic.  Bail believes they’re at that point with the Republic.  That they still have the belief they can make it better.  They still have hope. This is why Bail joins the Rebellion under the Empire, though.  Because the Empire being worse isn’t just a matter of contrast, but it illustrates having passed a moral event horizon, where it’s not possible to salvage it anymore. The issue of the above and the issue of neutrality overlap a lot in this episode (”Corruption”), but the point of many in the Republic is that neutrality was not an option because it ignored that they could be doing something. And that’s why I cannot possibly imagine the Jedi not trying to help.  I cannot possibly imagine them saying, no, we will abstain from this war, when people were going to suffer and die if they didn’t.  That’s even setting aside that George Lucas describes them as literally being drafted into the war, that that was the narrative take-away, how could they possibly have refused? Even in Kanan: The Last Padawan, Depa says she thinks they made a critical error in accepting titles in the war, but the clones vehemently disagree, because she’s underestimating the importance of clarity of chain of command, so that people know what they’re doing and where they’re going and how to get organized, so they’re not half-fighting each other and half-fighting the Separatists, which would have gotten even more people killed.  There’s no clean answer to that problem, because they can both be right--the Jedi accepting titles in the war led them into being seen as the villains of the conflict by those who were tired of the war (Star Wars Propaganda makes the very clear point of how this narrative was painted onto them, rather than what they created for themselves), but the clones are also right that unclear lack of chain of command would have made everything an absolute hot mess. So, neutrality was a really shitty option and, further, what does it even gain anyone?  Satine Kryze fought so incredibly hard to keep Mandalore and the other worlds neutral, because she didn’t want to drag her people into war, and how did that end up for Mandalore?  Even setting aside that they were refusing to help fight against the evils being inflicted in the galaxy, even setting aside that whatever points they made, they ignored worlds like Ryloth? It got them nowhere good:

Their neutrality still didn’t protect them from trade routes being closed to them and their world suffering through a supply crisis. This is what politics in the GFFA does.  You cannot just ignore it and say, “Fuck politics!  We’re not going to play that game!” because then you end up like Mandalore--starving and cut off from the connections you need to survive. That would have happened to the Jedi in a heartbeat.  Their granted legal authority to help anyone?  Cut off.  Their Republic funds for their Temple, their home, their food, their clothing, their ships?  Cut off.  Add in scary mind powers and people would turn on them incredibly quickly, as well as they have the hauntingly clear illustration of what happens to neutral worlds when people are in a war and scared and not thinking clearly--they lash out, they react, they turn their backs.  Mandalore managed to scrape by for awhile, but it was unstable and chaotic and we can see how that unfolded. It doesn’t make the situation right, not even close.  But it’s the situation that you deal with, you work within the system of government you have, you do what you can to try to make it better, you try to help as many people as you can. And neutrality doesn’t help anyone but yourself--and, even then, ultimately that’s not true, either.  We see that illustrated very clearly.