#well jaster mention at least

[cuminhoid]

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

[bolithesenate]

On the topic of food.

Dooku, Sifo, Jocasta, Jaster **least** favorite food?

ohhh, now we're talking. hmmm

I think for Sifo I'll actually say that he is a pretty picky eater, at least compared to most jedi. idk, if I was overwhelmed with the weight of ten diffrent futures at all times I'd probably not want too pungent or strong tasting foods.

So the swamp stew is definitely up there, but I think any sort of blue cheese. Sifo hates them with a passion. waste of perfectly good milk.

For Dooku.... do you know those horrible, horrible sugar bomb burritos you sometimes see on social media? like where ice cream and all sorts of sweet gummied and sprinkles get wrapped in a burrito of candy floss or smt?

that.

Dooku doesn't have much of a sweet tooth anyways and stuff like that just gives him diabetes with just a glance.

As for Jocasta, hm, I could see her dislike something more because of the texture than the actual taste. So maybe anything glibbery, slimy like pudding or roe? Yeah, let's go with roe. Any sort of fish eggs you can hunt her with.

And Jaster i've mentioned before in the serennian cuisine thing i think, but he's mever coming aroumd to any sort of raw fish or meat. Especially when it's like a whole animal like certain mussles or fish, something deep inside him just refises to see it as food.

Mandalorians have the cultural predisposition for well-cooked, stewed into oblivion dishes, so it's umderstandable.

[vodika-vibes]

would you also write for Jaster Mereel (jangos adoptive dad, at least in legends I think)? There’s not that much information about him so I totally understand if he ist un-writeable but I really like him and thought I would ask 🤭

Matching

Summary: You decide to surprise Jaster. Unfortunately, neither of you are so good at talking.

Pairing: Jaster Mereel x Reader

Word Count: 1220

Warning: Dumbasses don't know how to communicate, and make assumptions.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: Asking me to write for my absolute favorite Mand'alor who has ever mand'alored? Oh, twist my arm why don't you, lol. Also, this story was very easy to write, probably because I've been mentally writing it since I got the ask.

Divider by Saradika

You’ve been in a relationship with Jaster, the actual Mand’alor, for years now. Technically you’re dating, but that doesn’t feel like the right term when you’re raising a kid together.

Technically, Jango is Jaster’s kid, but he calls you buir also, so-

And Jaster’s about as close to perfect as you would ever expect from a romantic partner. He’s kind and considerate. He’s respectful, and he doesn’t make any demands.

Well, no demands that you aren’t willing to give into, at least.

And you love him. Of course you do. Enough to put up with the bullshit that is Mandalorian politics (though you’re personally of the opinion that anyone who’s willing to put up with Mandalorian politics is a few crayons short of a full box). Enough to put up with childish temper tantrums, (from Jango) and threats against your life (also from Jango, though that hasn’t happened in years).

And yet, in spite of all of that, in spite of all the years together, Jaster hasn’t once asked if you’d be willing to say the riduurok with him.

If you were any less confident in your relationship, you’d worry that he was leaving himself a way out. But, well, raising a kid together. And you suppose you could ask him, but he’s the kriffing Mand’alor.

So you think on it. You bounce some ideas off your closest friends (“Dump him.” One said. “Fight him for the title of mand’alor.” Said the other. You really need new friends).

Jango, however, thought about it for a whole day when you mentioned your minor concerns to him, and he said, “Maybe buir is waiting for something showing that you’re interested?”

“What?” You asked at the time, “Is raising you not proof enough?”

And he just grinned at you, before he ran off.

So with that super unhelpful help in the back of your mind. You thought about the situation long and hard. Over the span of weeks. And you know that your distraction has caused more than a little concern in Jaster, but, as ever, he never pushed.

You really do love him more than life itself.

And then an idea came to you. Late one night when you both were getting ready for bed. There, tattooed over Jaster’s heart, is his clan sigil. You teased him about it when you first started dating, asking him if he was afraid that he would forget what clan he belonged to, but now it was giving you an idea.

So, early the next morning you wake with your alarm, drop a kiss to Jaster’s cheek and inform him that you won’t be back until late, and to not wait up.

And though he looks like he wants to ask where you’re going, he holds his tongue, and  you hope it’s because he trusts you and not because he’s afraid to know what your answer is.

Your destination. The one, single, tattoo parlor located in the area.

And, true to your word, you don’t return home until late that night. A new tattoo inked into your skin between your shoulder blades, and covered by a bacta bandage.

Jaster is already asleep when you slip into the room. He doesn’t stir until you slide into bed, laying on your stomach and wrapping your arms around your pillows.

“Mm…cyare?”

“Go back to sleep, love.” You whisper, as you slide over to him and press a feather light kiss against his temple.

He blinks at you, sleep fading from his gaze as he takes you in. “Welcome back.” Jaster murmurs.

“Sorry it took me so long.” You reply, “I did mean to be back before now.”

He opens his mouth to say something, hesitates, and then smiles, “Well, I’m glad you got back safe.”

“Of course.” You sweep your hair off your back, the sensation uncomfortable against the bandage, and you rest your head on your arms, “How was your meeting? With Kryze, right?”

“Uneventful,” Jaster replies, as he rolls onto his side, holding himself up on his elbow, “I’ll give you a full rundown tomorrow, if you wan-” He stops mid-sentence, his gaze snapping to the white bandage on your back, “Are you hurt?”

“In…a manner of speaking.” You admit with a sigh. “It hurts, but it’s…self-inflicted?”

“What?!”

“It’s…” You sigh again, that was the wrong word, “It was supposed to be a surprise,” You grumble, “Go ahead and take the bandage off. You’ll see.”

Jaster sits up completely, and you feel his fingers, light and warm against your bare back, as he carefully removes the bandage.

And then he stops.

Stops moving, stops breathing even.

You turn your head to glance at him, “Jas?”

His fingers glide across your back, and ghost over the new tattoo, “That’s my clan sigil,” He says faintly.

“Well, yes. I suppose I should have asked if it was okay before I did it…” You mumble. 

“That’s…cyare, that’s a rather telling show of loyalty.”

You scoff, “I’ve been sleeping in your bed and raising your son for years, Jaster. I think my loyalty is pretty solidly locked in.” You squeak in surprise when you feel his lips against the middle of your new tattoo.

“You never showed any interest in tattoos before.” He murmurs against your skin.

“Yeah, well…” You shrug, “I was beginning to wonder if you weren’t asking me to say the riduurok with you simply because you wanted a way out, so this is my way of saying you’re stuck with me, I guess.”

“...cyare, I never asked you because you never seemed interested.” Jaster says slowly, as he lightly flips you so you’re looking up at him.

“Why would you assume that?” You ask.

“Because we had a whole conversation about it, and you said that it was an outdated tradition-”

“When did I say-” You stop midsentence, and you stare at him incredulously, “You mean that conversation we had right about you turned 20 and the day after my long term boyfriend broke up with me?”

“Yeah.”

Your head flops back on your pillow and you laugh, “Jaster, cyare, I love you. But you are the dumbest smart man I’ve ever met.” You grin at him, “That was me being bitter, Jas. I was hurt and angry, and you were the only person willing to listen to me. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“What about the part where you said you wanted to push your ex into a star?”

“Oh. That I meant.” You reach up and caress his cheeks, “I already plan to spend the rest of my life with you, whether or not we end up married. But nothing would make me happier than being your spouse.”

Jaster exhales slowly, and he leans in to press his forehead against yours, “Was beginning to worry that you found someone else,” He admits quietly, “You’ve been so quiet these last few weeks.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I wanted to surprise you.”

“I’m surprised. And happy.” He kisses you, slow and deep, “Mostly happy.” He adds in a low murmur, and then he shifts so he’s kneeling between your legs, “Are you in pain, cyare?”

You smile at him, small and sensuous, “Not so much that it’ll detract from what you’re planning.”

He grins and pins your hands to the bed next to your head, “Good.”

[galacticgraffiti]

𑁍⋆ Eya - Ep. VIII ⋆𑁍

Rating: General Wordcount: 2.7k Characters: Eya (Nautolan!OC), Jaster (Eya's loth-cat). Mentioned: Kad (Clone Trooper!OC), Marilys (Dancer!OC), Dayra and Ach'la (vague Nautolan OCs) Warnings: some angsty bits, but also comfort. phantom limb of sorts.

A/N: Here, have some backstory. And some Nautolans headcanons. And some worldbuilding. Also the image of 8ft tall Eya with a tiny, old and greying loth-cat as comfort. Huge thanks to my forever-beta reader @baba-fett (I'm kissing you), and for my beloved @cyarbika's feedback on this chapter! ♡

Eya Artwork ⋆ Eya’s Charactersheet ⋆ My Masterlist

───── ⋆⋅𑁍⋅⋆ ─────

Home in Dreams

Coruscant. Lower Aquatic District. 20 BBY

Eya stumbles on their way in, cursing quite loudly as they stub their toe. Seeing in the dark may be easy for them, but their eyes are used to the silky darkness of being underwater. The darkness of dry land is something else entirely. While the upper levels of Coruscant are never really dark - lit by eternal advertisements, speeder lights and bars - all light in the lower levels is artificial- and once that’s gone, not even the faintest glow remains.

It has been a long night, and Eya has been looking forward to finding some comfort in the presence of their hearth-family. The thought of them makes Eya smile.

It is customary for young Nautolans to live in a small community - a ‘hearth-family’ - after leaving their relatives behind to explore the galaxy. As happy as the thought of their new family makes them, Eya aches when they think about the family they had to leave behind - their ‘heart-family’.

Such a small difference between the words in Basic, and yet the concepts are completely different from each other:

The heart-family is the family you grow up with - biological, adoptive, foundling… They are your home, your steady haven. Or at least, they are supposed to be.

A hearth-family is temporary, and it’s meant to be. Hearth-families change, they might go through dozens of constellations. One member leaves, and another joins. It’s an island in an ever-changing sea, a safe place to rest and relax and feel at home for a while. Once you leave, though, you may well not find your way back.

It’s the Nautolan way of life, one that not even Eya’s Mandalorian upbringing broke with. Kyreya had always known they would have to leave and find their own way, though when they were little, they never imagined things would come to pass the way they did. Finding your first hearth-family can be a lengthy process, the process of selection a complicated one. Everyone has to feel comfortable; it is supposed to be more than just a temporary living situation. These people are family, for the time being. Finding a hearth-family is not supposed to be a last way out, is not supposed to be rushed.

In Eya’s case, it was. It was a way out of being alone on the streets of Coruscant, of sleeping on a mattress in the back of the Arena, a way out of the loneliness that weighed so heavy on them that some nights they couldn’t breathe. And sometimes they still cannot believe how incredibly lucky they got with the family they found.

Eya shakes a little when they open the door to step through the entrance and into the community ‘cube’. It’s the biggest one of the flat. The whole aquatic district of this level is made up of these bubbles that can be flooded entirely, depending on the inhabitants’ preferences. On the upper levels, there are underwater districts, but living there is way, way too expensive for a modest bouncer at some Republic-subsidised bar. Eya doesn’t mind, really. They are not sure they would have fit in with the fancy crowd as easily as they have fallen in with their family down here.

The apartment-cubes are small, but comfortable and cosy. They have everything you need, and this street has clearly been designed for Nautolan living: Everything is a little bigger than usual, and the way the cubes are connected is something Eya knows other aquatics don’t tend to do. Everything is a little grubby, a little worn down, but Eya thinks it’s just the right amount. It reminds them that there were other hearth-families that have lived here before them. It’s nice.

The community cube connects the living cubes of each family member. Some Nautolans like to have their entire hearth underwater, but Eya and their family have agreed to keep the communal cube dry so it is easier to have non-aquatic visitors over. 

The communal cube is kitchen, living room, and dining room all in one, and it can get a little cramped when everybody is home, but none of them usually mind. If you want privacy, you can always just go to your room. The community cube is here to be with each other - to sit and not talk but know that the other is here; to play and read together, to cook together and eat together and hold each other the way they all know they need to. That is what this is meant to be: A home away from home.

Eya coughs a little as they make their way across the room to the door of their own cube. They rifle through their pockets while walking, turning on their hydro-pipe and inhaling a few drags until their throat does not feel like it’s stuffed with cotton anymore.

It’s late - so late it’s actually early again, but someone is usually awake at all times: Dayra cooking for her wife, or Achl’a waiting for his partners to wake up after he comes home from a night shift so they can eat together before he goes to bed. Eya has been hoping for someone to be there, someone who understands without asking, and gives them the soft physical comfort of being wrapped up in each other as Nautolans tend to do when they feel each other’s distress.

Apparently, though, no one is home. The cubicle feels… empty. Which it so rarely does that it takes Eya a second to identify the feeling, and right now they really do not like it. It’s the last drop in the barrel of bantha-shit that was this long night. It would have been nice to come home to someone.

They sigh deeply, finally turning on the lights as they shed layer after layer of clothing that smells like smoke and spilled beer and cheap perfume. If no one is home, no one will mind them traipsing through the barely illuminated dark half-naked. Eya drops the dirty clothes down the cleaning chute, and presses the button that opens the door to their own cube. 

At home, the cubes look like corals, organic and natural. Eya’s mind stumbles when they realise that they still think of Glee Anselm as home. Here on Coruscant, hearths are nothing like they are back h- back on Glee Anselm. They are poor imitations of the real thing; even if some architect was at least kind and educated enough to care about the needs of the diverse populace. The high-quality hearths of the upper levels may come close to those of the waterworlds, but the lower levels must take what they can get.

Eya is grateful to have this, no matter how little the architecture looks like their brain still expects it to. It is not what they are used to, but they remember stepping inside this hearth and feeling at home immediately. Because of the people, of course, but also because of the way their presence had inevitably changed this place and made it their own. It felt like a place Eya could fit into - and they do. Even if the walls are cheap plastoid and duracrete, they belong here so much more than they ever belonged in the beautifully designed coral of their parents’ home on Glee Anselm. More than they belonged in the caves of Concordia.

Kyreya’s cube has two bedrooms - a luxury - and one of them is entirely submerged in water. Usually, they both would be, but Eya drained one of the cubes after Kad started to sleep over more often. It’s not fun for him to have to be connected to an aquata-breather the entire night, and wake up all… shrivelled. Eya shudders a little when they remember the first time they found out humans went all wrinkly in the water. They scrunch their nose when they recall what Kad’s skin felt like the first morning after he spent the night here - a feeling not easily forgotten, and one that made them choose to drain the extra bedroom at the very next opportunity. What an odd species these little humans are.

After a night like this, filled with so many things Eya does not want to think about any longer, they would usually choose water over anything else, but the fact that no other occupants are here makes their loneliness grow heavier. Even when there is no one in bed with them to hold them, it’s different knowing there are other people home. Right now, Eya is all alone in the dark even while they long to be held by a friend. Kad is off-planet, and so is the 501st. Marilys had the early shift and Eya does not want to wake her; it would be selfish. There is no one here they could ask for comfort. Everyone is fighting on different fronts.

The thought of the war makes Eya’s heart crack until they feel like they can barely stay upright. And so, it is not water they choose, but company.

Jaster barely raises his head when Eya pads into the dry bedroom they nearly never use when they sleep alone. He has claimed this room for himself; this small corner that barely fits the huge bed Eya needs, since this and the communal areas are some of the only areas not completely flooded with water. Jaster blinks tiredly when Eya’s shadow falls across the room, trying to keep their steps as quiet as their broad frame allows. A small purr escapes his chest when he recognises their scent.

Eya lifts the tiny loth-cat up so they can plop down onto the bed without squishing him.

“Hey there, little man,” they sigh, burying their face in Jaster’s soft, dark fur.

They don’t know when they started talking to him - they always have; even as a kid. Talked Basic to him back when their accent was so atrocious they didn’t dare speak in front of anyone else. Jaster blinks calmly at the ruckus that they are making in spite of their best efforts, then curls up on Eya’s broad chest when they have settled into the bed. Eya smiles, though they can barely keep their eyes open.

“I’ve missed you, utreekov.”

Jaster meows indignantly. Sometimes Eya swears he understands them.

“Yeah yeah, sorry. You know I don’t mean it, little one… Hope you had a good time without me.” Eya cards their fingers through his fur, the softness of it so familiar to them. “Where’d all the others go, hm? ‘s too early for them to be gone for the day, too late for them to still be out.” Eya yawns more than they actually talk, but Jaster doesn’t mind one bit. He stretches, flashing his sharp teeth at Eya, who flashes theirs back.

Jaster’s purrs spread deep into Eya’s chest, calming them. This is home. Jaster always makes them feel like this - safe, and warm. Eya runs their fingers through his soft fur, up and down, up… and down.

Their eyes fall shut as they drift off to sleep, Jaster’s small cat-face pressed into the crook of their neck.

*****

There is a warm, light weight on Kyreya’s chest when they wake up, a comforting presence that rises and falls with each breath from their dry lungs. Half-awake, Eya grumbles something and is rewarded with Jaster’s high meowing.

“Me’coopani, pel’ika?” Their voice is barely more than a rumble in their chest, but Jaster starts to purr with renewed fervour.

“Ke nuhoyi tug’yc, utreekov,” Eya yawns. “Naas’au. Nay var su.”

Bones cracking as they stretch, they nearly fall off the bed. Cursing quietly, they pick up Jaster and place him on the pillow beside them, adjusting so that their nose is pressed into his soft, dark fur. From this close, Jaster’s purring sounds nearly like waves crashing around them, and Eya falls back asleep with Jaster snuggled up close to them, leaning into their warmth.

“Jaster!” The voice seems familiar, but wrong. Too young. When Eya looks down, their hands are nearly unscarred, and there’s no hollow weight in their skull, no whirring vibrating within an empty eye socket as they look up to take in their surroundings. Their mouth moves without being told to do so.

“Jaster, k’olar! Buir ven’kaden… Jaster!”

A tiny little furball barrels towards their feet, tripping over itself trying to climb up their leg. Eya grimaces more out of habit than actual pain, their tendrils fluttering in the air with amusement as the small dark furball of a loth-cat settles on their shoulders, tiny head nudging their jaw. Eya moves their tendrils to wrap around the cat on their shoulder, keeping it safe as they make their way across the artificial meadow. Their headtails swing in step… All of them.

Eya’s breath hitches. Tears fill their eyes when they look down to find themself fully intact, both of their frontal tendrils resting on their chest. Short, yes, shorter than they have been in years, but… they are here. Nothing bad has happened, it was just a nightmare. Just a bad dream. Eya is okay.

Before they can think too much about it, a voice long forgotten sounds across the air bubble in which the artificial gardens of Glee Anselm lie, calling Eya home, even if it is by a different name.

“Ne’kho! Yaim’ola! Jaster… Iviin’yc, vod, buir pare! Jaster! Ne’kho!”

Sharp claws bury into Eya’s soft palm and rip them from their dream. They growl, hissing at the little shadow that is pressing against their hand.

“Gev, Jaster- gev, GEV- stop it, for fucks sake!”

Jaster lazily blinks up at them as he finally retracts his long claws, leaving three tiny puncture wounds in Eya’s pink palm.

“Little idiot,” Eya mumbles. “For once I have a nice dream, just one fucking time, and you wake me from it.”

They swear Jaster looks guilty when he climbs up on their chest and curls up right on their middle heart. Eya sighs.

“Don’t give me those eyes, Jaster. They may have worked when you and I were wee, but they don’t anymore. You’ve grown old.” They yawn, some bones in their spine shifting back into place as they inhale deeply. “…and so have I, apparently.”

Eya lets out an indignant snort when Jaster meows in agreement. Their tendrils twitch, their long frontal lek wrapping around Jaster’s small, soft form. With the movement, the dream comes flooding back in full force: It wasn’t a dream, not really. It is memory, long lost in their subconscious. Only a few weeks after they’d gotten Jaster from the shelter, the first time Eya had been allowed to go to the Gardens with him alone. Their brother’s voice, calling Eya by a name they haven’t heard in years and years. The name their parents gave them. Ne’kho.

Eya whispers it, tries to wrap their tongue around the vowels that should feel so familiar and finds nothing but pain and loss. Jaster shifts on their chest, pulling them back to the here and now.

“Yes, yes,” Eya murmurs absently. “I know you know that name. Doesn’t belong to me anymore. Ne’kho died long ago.”

Jaster meows sadly, tapping his paw against Eya’s clavicle. The gesture makes them smile.

“No matter how old you get, you’ll always be a hungry, hoggish little furball, huh?” They grin, just barely, the missing weight of their lost headtail still heavy on their chest even as the dream fades into the background of their mind. Jaster yawns, claws digging into Eya’s skin until they yelp and concede, finally getting up even though they feel like they could sleep for a million years more.

“Come on then, pel’ika. Let’s get you some food.”

───── ⋆⋅𑁍⋅⋆ ───── Mando'a translations:

pel'ika, drashaa ruug'la - little soft one, you are growing old utreekov – emptyhead Me coopani, pel’ika - What do you want, little soft one? Ke nuhoyi, utreekov - Go back to sleep, idiot. Naas’au. Nay var su. - There’s no light. It’s too early still. Jaster, k’olar! Buir ven’kaden… Jaster! - Jaster, come here! Mother will be mad… Jaster! Ne’kho! Yaim’ola! Jaster… Iviin’yc, vod, buir pare! - Ne’kho! Come home! Jaster… Quick, “sibling”, mother is waiting! Gev - stop it!

this chapter was a long time coming, i was honestly just stuck on making jaster's design work because I wanted a visual for the old lad to go with this. i hope you love him as much as i do! ❥

taggies for the usual suspects (i adore you all)

@deewithani @ficsbynight @kote-wan @ariadnes-red-thread @rescuethewretched @twistedstitcher27 @asaucecoveredsomething @kakashibabe02 @writingbylee @purgetrooperfox @basilbumble @witchklng @lackofhonor @ashotofspotchka @sailor-blossom @misogirl828 @amyroswell @darkjedipoptarts @pinkiemme @sleepingsun501 @fett-djarin @samanthacookieone @tortor-mcgee @corrabell @lady--kenobi @elegantduckturtle @felinaone @palpipeen @wild-karrde @kik51199 @sharpbarnacle @obeydontstray @rain-on-kamino @nomercyforthewarrior @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @thefact0rygirl @everythingyouwanted @equalityforcats @cagrame @ladykatakuri @ulchabhangorm @damerondala @tachyon-girl @lucyysthings

[spade-andthe-microwave]

Chapter Two: Engine Hum Rating: M (mentions of gore, canon-typical violence, trauma) Word Count: 838 Link to Master List for other chapters

A/N: Chapters Three, Four, and Five are going to be a lot heavier, especially four and five. Sorry if the translations with Mando'a are a bit funky, I had to piece together things as best I could

“Dank farrik.” Jango panted as he ran into the hangar, Zam Wessel behind him as she carried Bendix Fust. “What now?” Zam panted a bit, standing at Jango’s side. “You better hope my daughter didn’t get caught in all of this.” Jango huffed, clearing his throat before letting out a loud whistle, a specific tune only he and Faovi knew. “I’m sorry. Daughter? You brought a child with you?” Zam shook her head, staring at Jango in confusion. “I didn’t have anywhere else to leave her. You’re the one who cost me my ship.” Jango let out the whistle again before a familiar head of hair popped out of a hiding spot, Faovi quickly sprinting to his side, blaster drawn but pointing towards the ground as she ran. “Your hair is singed.” “The ship exploded, I think my hair is the least of my worries, buir. Who’s that?” Faovi panted, following Jango’s lead onto one of the Firespray-class ships. “Questions later. On the ship.” Jango pushed her inside of the ship, out of harm’s way. He was glad she at least had the common sense to escape and hide rather than attempt to shoot her way through this. Zam followed on board, securing Fust in the hull before moving up front to the cockpit. She turned back to Faovi who was currently glaring at Zam, causing her to shudder a bit. Jango managed to get the ship out of the hangar, quickly destroying the hangar and the other ships before flying back out into space, setting the course back to Malastare. Once they were safely en route, he turned back around to Zam, the two practically bickering over what had happened in the prison

Meanwhile, Faovi was biting down on her lip, doing her best to hold back tears as she polished the small blaster Jango had given her for self defense on these kinds of missions, tuning out whatever argument the two were having. She was incredibly upset with the loss of “Jaster’s Legacy”, especially considering that it was her home. And here Zam was, insulting it and holding no remorse for practically being the reason the ship was destroyed in the first place. Once the blaster was polished again, she triple checked the safety lock and then slipped it back into the holster on her hip, shifting to sit down on one of the seats, clicking the seatbelt on for it. “We’re ready for a jump.” Jango announced, moving his hand to initiate the jump to hyper-space. Zam buckled herself in as well, looking back over at Faovi. “So, you’re the secret daughter of the big, bad Jango Fett, hm?” Zam smirked, looking over at the young girl. Faovi stared at Zam like the bounty hunter was holding out a handful of shit, eyebrows furrowed together and tears still slightly brimming her eyes. She turned her attention back to Jango, deciding to speak in Mando’a with the presence of Zam, though it wouldn’t take much context to know Faovi wasn’t exactly pleased with Zam’s presence. “Ni paguur kaysh, buir” [Rough Translation: I don’t like her, dad]

“Kaysh cuyir a narudar.” [Rough Translation: She is a temporary ally] Jango responded back, still focused on the space outside of the ship. Faovi sighed, muttering beneath her breath as she hugged herself. “Ni liser su paguur kaysh.” [Rough Translation: I can still dislike her].

“You two mind filling me in on what you’re saying?” Zam crossed her arms, resting her leg over the other one, a bit ticked that the two were speaking in a different language. “I know she speaks basic, so don’t lie that she doesn’t speak it.” “I was explaining that we have reached an agreement on splitting the bounty.” Jango said, plain and simple. “I doubt that is the whole truth, but I won’t push any further. What’s her name?” Zam looked back out towards space. “That isn’t important right now. She doesn’t like sharing her name with others.” Jango answered back once again, Faovi nodding in a silent confirmation. Zam groaned a bit and ran a hand down her face. “Fine. Waves it is, because you’ve got long, wavy hair.” Faovi said nothing again, just raising her eyebrows in mild confusion, but accepting the temporary nickname for the time being. “Nuhoy, ad’ika.” Jango spoke again, telling Faovi to sleep, silently praying that she would not be plagued by far worse nightmares tonight. Faovi sighed and pressed her back further into her seat, pulling up her knees to her chest as some kind of protective manner, resting her head on the top of her knees and closing her eyes. It took her longer than usual to fall asleep, not used to the sound of the Firespray quite yet. Eventually, the hum of the engines became comforting to listen to, though it wasn’t as comforting as Jaster’s Legacy. She felt her exhaustion washing over her in waves, and the moment she was fully dragged beneath the surface, she wouldn’t wake up again for quite some time.

[blackkatmagic]

A'SHARAD MY LOVE!! Oh i cannot express how much joy this chapter of i hunt for you has inspired in me. First there is Jaster, who is once again failing completely to demonstrate a single subtle bone in his whole goddamn body (which i love for him <3). Meanwhile Jon is Struggling to repress feelings for someone who ~clearly~ isn't interested (ha). Then he says TWO sentences about Savage helping him home and Jaster goes oh no, that's who he ACTUALLY likes, I can't believe I'm getting in the way of Jon's happiness, and RUNS AWAY. (possibly thinking about the roses, as well, which he might pin on the boss that Jon mentions)

But wait! There's more! Jango showing up at the Perfect Moment in the conversation with Savage and deciding that they definitely need his input is fabulous. In character, too. And Jon is making bread!! Which perhaps isn't the most exciting part of the chapter, but.. bread! Savage's concern is so sweet, too. .... i hope Jaster gets to meet Savage or at least see a picture sdjfgsk ASSUMING that Jaster isn't some well-known demon or something that sparks a conflict the second they meet.

AND THEN. MY BELOVED. A'SHARAD. Perfect timing, of course, and the 'i heard' 'i'm fine' is an excellent exchange, especially when Jango is most definitely interpreting it as about Jaster. Something something breakup so bad the OTHER ex is stepping in skdfjgsk. On top of Jaster not acting like it was a big deal, plus Jaster TAKING JON ON MORE DATES.... yikes.

This got a little long. I am simply enamored, your honor, and going to go read it again askgfgskfg

A'Sharad has absolutely no idea exactly how much drama he just stepped into. He thinks the Maul drama is going to be bad?? Just wait until he realizes his little brother is involved in three fake love triangles and one overlapping love quadratic, all of them based on a lie. A lie that Jon wants to kind of be true, except he can't say that because he has no idea how relationships actually work.

[kalinara]

I was thinking about the interrelationship between “ships” and canon in my own personal taste.

I generally find that I prefer “ships” that have SOME basis in canon.  I do not require the ships themselves to BE canon (and in fact, I sincerely dislike quite a few canon ships), but I generally prefer to choose characters who have some pre-existing interaction - either positive or negative - to build from.

I’m generally not a fan of crossover ships, or weird time travel ships, unless there’s something really compelling that makes me think the characters would vibe well.  (I’ve read a couple of Mandalorian time travel fics that paired Din Djarin with Jaster Mereel, and based on my very limited knowledge of the man, I feel like that could work!  It fits with the underlying theme of Din Djarin as the quintessential ur-Mandalorian.)

As a slasher, at heart, I am not married to a character’s canon sexual orientation.  In my heart, everyone is bi or pan.  Some of them may just not have figured it out yet.

I think there’s a big difference between ships that “have a basis in canon” vs. ships that “will happen in canon” vs. ships that “I want to see happen in canon.”

One of my very guilty pleasure ships, for example, was Rick/Negan in Walking Dead.  If you followed me during my Walking Dead phase, you may recall that I was pretty virulently anti-Negan (or at least anti-Negan apologia).  So the pairing was not one that I would want on the show.  But I did think there was an intriguing, borderline sexual dynamic between the two on the show, that authors have done very well at exploring in fic.  So, as a dark ship, I am/was kind of into it.

My biggest issue with Reylo fans, though, wasn’t that they shipped Reylo, but so many were very aggressive about their ship becoming canon, which is an idea that I find genuinely harmful.  (The actual execution in Rise of Skywalker ended up ambiguous enough that I didn’t mind it as much as I thought I would.  But the versions proposed by the loudest Reylo fans really were just awful )

But now the official story’s done.  There’s no real danger anymore of young girls internalizing the idea (yet again!) that they HAVE to forgive a man who hurt them.  IMO, the potential for harm has passed, Reylos continue to enjoy their ship and I have nothing against that.  

I get irked sometimes by accusations of queer-baiting, because most of the time, it seems to translate to “my chosen pairing didn’t happen.”  I’m sorry, but 911 is a show with multiple canon queer characters that have a substantial amount of screentime.  The fact that these two particular hot guys, with a close friendship, aren’t actually fucking is not an example of queer-baiting.  Bad taste on the part of the showrunners, maybe.  

I will maybe give Supernatural fans this one though.  I didn’t particularly feel the Destiel vibes throughout what I saw of the show, but that whole confession-sucked away into the void thing, did seem pretty blatant.  (That said, the way they reacted to Misha Collins accidently/incorrectly coming out as bi, as though it would have been somehow invalidated because of “queer-baiting” was just horrid.)

It’s annoying to me because I do worry sometimes that shows will get so fixated on the idea of not queer-baiting (because some fanbases are fucking scary) that they’ll start to avoid showcasing male friendships at all.  I don’t know if there’s any real basis to this fear, but I’ve mentioned before that I think there’s been a considerable decrease in the comfort end of hurt/comfort on television shows in the past ten years or so.  I watch my old DVDs of Stargate Atlantis, and see so many hugs, hand-holding, waiting at bedsides with a smile and soft words, and I realize that I don’t tend to see that in modern television shows anymore.  I don’t know why this changed but I don’t like it.  I feel like television has become a lot colder, a lot more focused on people suffering alone, and that’s really fucking sad to me.

Besides, I tend to like these “queer-baited” pairings too.  Of course I would like t see more explicit canon representation.  But that doesn’t stop me from enjoying canon-adjacent fic that use the pre-existing dialogue and dynamics to spin them in new directions.  It would be spectacular if Trent/Ted became canon in Ted Lasso, but I also appreciate how their complicated relationship has developed in canon, and I love seeing it explored in fics.

I don’t really have a point to this, I guess.  I like canon.  I like shipping.  I like when canon feeds the shippers.  But I don’t need ships to become canon.  And sometimes I wouldn’t want them to.  I can enjoy them anyway.

[phoenixyfriend]

I'd love to see an interesting adopted!Obi-Wan fic! Just. Not the way I usually see it.

"Republic implodes and attempts to slaughter the Jedi twenty years early, Obi-Wan is on the run and is found by Jaster after Qui-Gon dies" is a solid option.

IDK I can go with "Obi-Wan adopted by Jaster or Jango following Melida/Daan or Bandomeer" but only if it's accompanied by a massive misunderstanding and a touch of Stockholm tbh. Two steps to the left is Obi-Wan 'leaving' the Order because someone, usually Xanatos, faked his death (like, full on faking a corpse with Obi-Wan's DNA planted for Qui-Gon to find), and the Order did search, but what they found led them to grieving so completely that they never found him... but the Mandalorians did.

And my favorite "Anakin Stays on Tatooine" fic AUs for the Messy Bitch Quotient are the ones where Qui-Gon promised to come back for Anakin, but died before he could, and never got around to telling Obi-Wan about the situation so Anakin's convinced he got left behind as a JOKE and it's just like. No. He died, kiddo. You've spent ten years hating a dead man.

NOBODY IS AT FAULT (I mean not counting Sidious and Maul, but fuck those guys) IT WAS JUST A TRAGIC COINCIDENCE. Though sometimes in them I genuinely wonder if Padme just. Never bothered to ask 'oh hey, is that kid that helped us on Tatooine doing well?"

AU where Obi-Wan, frantic, shows up two years late like 'hey, the queen of Naboo JUST told us you exist, I'm so sorry, what the FUCK did Qui-Gon do to get custody of you in the first place?'

"This child is eleven, that's too old to be a Jedi, really, but I have to? Do something with him? Right?"

Or as @jebiknights put it:

Obi-Wan: is this what non-jedi feel like when they find out their father had an illegitimate child?? Anakin: Mister Qui-Gon never mentioned you Obi-Wan: QUI GON NEVER MENTIONED YOU EITHER THATS THE PROBLEM "I've at least got to bring him back to the temple so we can get all the legalities and paperwork sorted out I think"

What's your opinion on kid Obi-Wan gets adopted by a mandalorian fanfics? Usually by Jango/Jaster at Bandomeer or Melidaan.

Generally mixed, and very cautious. The premise tends to go hand in hand with either anti-Jedi or anti-New Mando sentiments, frequently both, and I'm really, really not a fan of those (especially when paired with True Mando revisionism).

Basically, I like it in theory, but I've rarely come across a variant that isn't chock full of tropes/fandom attitudes that set me off.

[crispyjenkins]

Jangobi. After Melida/Daan Obi-wan comes back to the order but qui-gon doesn’t want him anymore so one of the council members jumps at the chance to apprentice him. This leads to him being encouraged to pay attention to his visions and feelings from the force because THEYRE REAL AND YOU SHOULD PROBABLY GIVE THEM SOME ATTENTION OBI-WAN. Obi gets a vision and a feeling that he needs to follow and tells his master. This leads to them finding Jango while he was still a slave and them freeing him.

(*gonna start putting translations up here like i do on ao3*

cw: drug use, cw: non-consentual drug use. basically second-hand highs from working with spice, nothing graphic but is mentioned a few times.)

Mando’a: kad’au — “lightsaber”, used here intentionally in place of jetii’kad, “Jedi’s saber” “Vor’e te Manda” — “Thank the Manda”, with Manda meaning “the collective soul or heaven - the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit - also supreme, overarching, guardian-like” (mandoa.org) “Tion’cuy?” — “Who’s that?”, “Who are you?” confrontational urcir’ijaat — “honor duel”, lit. “honor meet” – look me in the eye and tell me the mandalorians don’t settle more than just elections with trials by combat “Tion’ad hukaat’kama?” — “Who’s watching your back?”, “Where’s your backup?” osik — “shit”

 Even completely fucked second-hand on the inch-thick dusting of spice on every surface of the slave transport, Jango knows the kid hadn’t been on Galidraan.

  Wide brown eyes blink at him through the ray shield keeping Jango and six other slaves in the cramped space barely big enough for two of them, and Jango had thought he’d burned through his rage years ago, but seeing the kid with a kad’au held at their side in a reverse grip ignites something in Jango that he’d thought long dead. 

  They’re not dressed like a Jedi, instead decked in spacer’s rags that hang too-loose from lanky limbs that have yet to hit their last growth spurt, and the chain marking them as a padawan is tucked up into a soft blue cap that clashes rather horribly with the little ginger hair that pokes out the front. They look human, but then, so had Jaster; every Jedi Jango has met before had been human as well, though he knows they’re as diverse as Mandalorians.

  “Vor’e te Manda,” the baby Jedi breathes, and Jango is far too high to tell if he had imagined it or not. He had not thanked the Manda in many years.

  He pushes shakily to his feet, needing to lean on the wall until his head stops feeling like it’s going to float away, and the other slaves skitter as far back into the cell as they can. “Tion’cuy?” Jango hisses, four years of venom dripping from the demand (Who are you?), but the baby Jedi just extinguishes their ’kad and hits the panel next to the door to power down the ray shield.

  “My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I’m here to rescue you.” They smile at everyone hiding behind Jango’s fury, and take a step back to gesture them out of the room. “If you follow this corridor to the starboard side of the transport, you will find a shuttle waiting with nine other freed prisoners,” they say with an obnoxiously-High Coruscanti accent that was completely imperceptible in their Mando’a. “I will not hold it against you if you take one of the escape pods, but my teacher is waiting on Concordia to reprocess your identities back into Republic systems, and we will do all we can to find and contact your families or peoples, if you so wish.”

  Teacher. Not master. And freed prisoners, not slaves.

  Jango growls under his breath, not trusting this Obi-Wan Kenobi as far as he can throw them, but the promise of freedom hangs heavy in the air, and it only takes a moment for his cellmates to decide the risk is worth it, scrambling and shuffling past Kenobi with murmurs of thanks in four different languages.

  Jango doesn’t move.

  He watches Kenobi’s throat bob nervously, as they make no move to follow their “freed prisoners” down the hall.

  He asks again, “Tion’cuy?”

  “Naas’ad jaon’yc.” No one important. “I was simply in the right place at the right time.”

  Banthashit. “Banthashit,” Jango snarls, and Kenobi has the good sense to actually flinch.

  “Look, I know the last thing you want right now is another Jedi, and if you were to demand urcir’ijaat on behalf of your people, I would accept with honor; but, no offense, in the state you’re in, it wouldn’t be much of a fight.” They hook their ’kad on their belt, and nod to the corridor once again. “Now, as engaging as this conversation is, I believe one of the smugglers was able to get a distress call out before I could stop him, and I would really prefer not to meet whoever picks up the signal.” Raising a single brow expectantly, the child gestures for Jango to follow. The kid’s right, of course, Jango couldn’t fight off a rat at the moment, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

  Growling, Jango shoves off the wall and somehow keeps both his balance and his feet underneath him, out of pure spite for the arm Kenobi offers in support.

-

  He had fully intended to take one of the escape pods and jettison towards Mandallia instead of Concordia, but halfway across the slave transport that seems even smaller than he'd remembered, Kenobi throws out their arm again, this time to stop Jango just before they turn a corner.

  “Oh, that’s not good,” they mutter and barely manage to duck under the blaster rifle swung at them like a bat, and Jango feels himself be shoved down to the floor against the wall.

  Above him, Kenobi ducks away from a hulking human with a rather unfortunate receding hairline, and all at once, the Jedi seems like a completely different person. Something shutters behind their eyes, expression dropping to a blank indifference that’s belied by the warrior’s ease with which they dodge both vibroblade and swinging blaster, dancing backwards down the hall and leading the yelling smuggler away from Jango.

  Dizzied by his sudden drop from standing to sitting, Jango doesn’t try to get back to his feet, instead watching Kenobi play the other human like a particularly ugly hallikset*. They don't even pull out their kad’au, remaining weaponless as they bounce and weave like they have all the time in the world; were Jango not stoned out of his mind, he’d probably be impressed. 

  Then something flips a switch in Kenobi, and without telegraphing a single twitch, they dive forward instead of away, using their whole arm to knock the blaster to the ground. In the same breath, Kenobi rams their head into the other’s chest in a move that would make most Mandalorians proud, relieving the stunned smuggler of his vibroblade before driving their knee into his chest. 

  The smuggler drops with a muffled clang, and Kenobi steps cleanly out of the way to watch him land face-first on the durasteel floor. Kenobi picks up the rifle, discharging the clip onto the ground, and chucks the whole thing through the nearest open door. They leave the smugglers’s body right where it is.

  “Sorry about that,” Kenobi murmurs, coming back to Jango and helping him to his feet. “I must have missed one of the guards near the back.”

  Something about the phrasing unsettles him, but it takes another moment of forced concentration to put his finger on it. “Tion’ad hukaat’kama?”

  Kenobi grimaces. “I’m not fluent in Mando’a.”

  “Who’s watching your back?” Jango growls, getting right up in their space. “Where the fuck is your backup if your master is on Concordia?”

  The kid —who’s really more of a teen, almost a young adult— winces and tries to start herding Jango towards the shuttle again. “I’m here alone,” they say, almost apologetic, “but I can handle myself.”

  “Your magic wizard mentor let you stage a spiceminer slave rescue on your own?” It goes against anything Jaster had taught him about the Jedi, about an apprentice’s master being as close to a buir as the Jedi will allow; not to mention the galaxy-wide understanding that, if you mess with a padawan, make kriffing sure the master’s dead first.

  Yet, Kenobi’s deepening grimace tells Jango all he needs to know.

  “He doesn’t know?”

  “Look, I didn’t have a whole lot of time, alright?!” Done with being patient, Kenobi grabs his arm and starts dragging Jango quickly through the ship. “We got separated and were going to rendezvous, but if I had waited for him, the spicers would have already moved on!” They yank him down one more hall before they reach the promised shuttle, docked directly to one of the transport’s exterior hatches. Out the nearest viewport, there is indeed another ship approaching, but Jango can’t tell if it’s friendly or not.

  Kenobi doesn’t give him time to figure it out, pushing him into the shuttle and immediately closing the boarding hatch behind them. 

  The other slaves stand around the small cargo bay in various states of drugged-up panic, and if Jango is counting correctly, only one had opted to take an escape pod.

  Far more carefully, Kenobi pushes Jango to the nearest bench, and then goes around the room coaxing the rest into seats as well. Even while gentle about it, murmuring words of assurance in as many languages as they know, Kenobi still moves and speaks with urgency — part of Jango wonders if they’re mind-tricking everyone into compliance. 

  He waits until Kenobi has detached from the transport and properly started their course to the nearest planet, a swirl of grays and browns that can only be Concordia, before following the Jedi up to the absolutely tiny cockpit. 

  There’s barely room for the two pilots’ seats, and the ceiling is so low that even Jango's hair brushes the roof, yet Kenobi looks right at home before the wildly overcomplicated controls.

  They say nothing as Jango drops into the other chair, merely glaring sideways at him until they’re a good ways away from the spicers’ transport. 

  “I do ask that you don’t kill me before we get everyone settled,” Kenobi finally sighs, and Jango almost laughs at them: did they think he came up here just to shivv them? 

  “I’m not going to kill you, Kenobi.” At least, not yet. “You knew who I was.”

  Kenobi winces and flips a blinking switch over their head. “I have a Jedi answer for that, and one where you’re less likely to use that vibroblade in your boot. Which would you prefer?”

  Jango considers them for a moment, and he’s certain now that Kenobi is younger than Jango had been on Galidraan, but not by much: they have one of those faces that eternally makes them look younger than they are, but if he’s over twenty standard, Jango is a Kryze.

  “Both. I want both.”

  “Right.” Visibly steeling themself, Kenobi swallows and adjusts their course slightly; wait, when had they gotten away from that second ship? Had Jango imagined it? Then again, he barely knows up from down at the moment, only grounded by Kenobi’s infuriatingly calm presence. “The easy answer is that I saw your name on the freighter’s manifest when it was docked on Mandalore, and recognised it. I’m on an extended mission in Mandalorian space, and, well, my master thought it would be good to catch me up on the recent history, as I had only briefly learned about the Civil War while in the Temple.”

  He’s pretty sure that makes sense, a logical A to B, an almost maddeningly ordinary explanation for the space-blown panic Jango had felt on first seeing them, on first hearing their relief at finding him.

  “And the Jedi answer?” he prompts quietly, fingers twitching at his lack of a weapon.

  They glance at him briefly, at his hands, before facing back forward. “I only knew to check the manifest because I had a Force vision, and I couldn’t knowingly leave you, or any of the others, to this fate. I knew what you looked like not from my lessons, but from what the Force showed me.”

  “What the Force showed you.”

  “Like I said, the first answer is easier.”

  “I’m too high for magic osik.”

  They wince again. “Yes, I suspected. My master has a spice specialist waiting for when we land, if any of you choose to detox immediately. She’s Old Clan, though — um, Vau Clan, I think.” The Vau Clan did not follow Jaster, but they certainly didn’t follow Vizsla either, and were unlikely to have sided with the duchy. Now, why Kenobi found that important...? “We couldn’t find any medics who used to follow Jaster Mereel,” they explain, as if reading his mind. “At least, not on such short notice. Obviously we wouldn’t trust anyone from Death Watch, or the New Mandalorians, or the mercenaries controlling Concordia, not with the Mand’alor.”

  Jango laughs before he can stop himself, but it’s a bitter thing. “I’m not the Mand’alor. I have no people to lead.”

  Kenobi’s frown only deepens as they steer the shuttle into Concordia’s atmosphere. “Perhaps we should discuss this when you’re not spiced burnt.”

  He can’t but agree. “None of this explains how your master knew to arrange all of this, if you hadn’t rendezvoused with him.”

  “Ah, well, I sent him a coded communication before um... finding this shuttle, and he only got back to me while I was searching the cells for you.”

  “You stole this?”

  “Listen, I was on a time crunch! I was going to give it back!”

  Despite his better judgment, Jango lets himself go boneless and laughs, the reality of the situation maybe finally hitting him. The disgruntled pout Kenobi sports as they contact the nearest spaceport only makes him laugh harder.

-

  Master Windu is waiting for them when Obi-Wan lowers the shuttle gangway, along with a flock of medical personnel and an Arconan with a datapad that reeks of Republic Judiciary.

  Everything Obi-Wan had told Jango had been the truth, except that his master had been able to comm him after he had nicked the shuttle and left atmosphere; he’d had no doubt that Windu would come through, of course, even on Obi-Wan’s rather strange and specific request for Dr. Vau, but, well, Obi-Wan still disembarks with the freed slaves expecting a swift dismissal from the Order.

  It’s worth it, he tells himself, watching Vau make a beeline to Jango Fett and knowing he’ll be in good hands. It’s worth it, Obi-Wan repeats to himself on loop as he slides his soft hat from his head and fixes his Korun padawan chain back behind his ear. This is far from the first time Obi-Wan has gone off script, has let his emotions get the better of him and acted against the wishes of a master, but it’s worth it, he tries to convince himself as he meets Master Windu in the middle of the flurry of activity of the hangar.

  He twists his hat in his hands and immediately bends forward into a bow. “I’m sorry, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan says quietly, and means it: how many padawans could say they had disappointed two masters thoroughly enough to be kicked out of the Jedi thrice?

  None, he knows.

  “I acted without thinking, I—”

  “It seemed to me that you acted with quite a bit of thought, padawan,” Master Windu says smoothly, a large hand settling on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Your communication was most thorough.”

  Obi-Wan wets his dry lips and keeps his gaze firmly on his boots. “I know I’m not supposed to lose myself in my feelings, to act as if they are fact, but there wasn’t time, and I—”

  “Obi-Wan.” 

  Snapping his mouth closed, he braces himself for the disappointment, the dismissal, but instead, Windu just sighs, and Obi-Wan only gets concern and apology from their training bond.

  “Obi-Wan, can you look at me?” 

  He tries, he really does, but something seems to lock Obi-Wan in place, terrified of seeing that disappointment on the face of a master he’s only had for two years, after Master Jinn had dropped him.

  Despite his fear, Windu isn’t angry when he doesn’t raise his head. “Padawan, the Force is not trying to catch you in a lie. For all that it tests us and pushes us, it would not show you things —past, present, future, or, yes, just feelings— if it did not deem them important. It is how you act that decides the future, not just what you see in visions.”

  “Mas... Master Jinn always said to focus on the now,” Obi-Wan mumbles, remembering the sorts of mantras he would meditate on while Jinn’s apprentice. 

  Windu hmms. “And, in some facsimile, he was correct. No, let me explain myself,” he says, holding up a hand to halt Obi-Wan’s confused protest. “There is danger in getting lost in visions, Obi-Wan, of focusing so much on the future that one forgets to live in the present; this is what Qui-Gon refers to. As I’m sure you realised, Qui-Gon is exceedingly strong in the Living Force, yes?” Obi-Wan nods hesitantly, and Windu smiles at him. “The philosophies he subscribes to, on top of not being particularly prescient himself, puts awareness of the world around you above all else; you can see why it would be difficult for him to understand how those like you, like myself, could give that awareness up for even a moment.” 

  “But isn’t letting go...”

  His smile turns rueful. “Ah, and now you see the Council’s frustration with him, for all that he is a magnificent Jedi.”

  Shuffling awkwardly, Obi-Wan resists the urge to tug on his padawan chain like he would his braid, and settles for wrapping it loosely around his finger. “You are not upset?”

  “Not with you,” he is quick to confirm. “You saved fifteen people’s lives today, Obi-Wan,” he gestures around them, “and allowed the arrest of several notorious spice runners. Yes, perhaps you acted rashly, but as you said: there was hardly time to hesitate. What matters is that you learn to discern when to act, and when to slow down.”

  “... I shouldn’t ignore them?”

  Windu blinks down at him, surprise quickly smoothing into something too tense to be entirely serene. “Ignore your visions? No more than I should attempt to ignore shatterpoints: the Force would not make us strong in abilities we couldn’t learn to control. I find I must apologise, padawan, I did not realise Qui-Gon... worked with you so little on your prescience; such an oversight is not one you should have had to worry about.”

  Obi-Wan swallows, floundering for words, and absolutely does not know what to do with Windu’s easy acceptance and understanding despite Obi-Wan having spent the last few years hiding his visions and lying about his dreams. 

  “But now is not the time to delve into this, nor worry about how we will move forward.” Unfolding a brown cloth from over his arm, Windu holds out what Obi-Wan realises is his robe, that he had thought lost when he was separated from his master. Windu waits for him to put it on to gently start herding him towards the ship they had first come to Mandalore on, and quietly starts catching Obi-Wan up on all that he had missed.

  He doesn’t know what to make of feeling Jango Fett’s eyes on him from across the hangar; nor the intensity with which they follow him until the ship’s hatch closes behind him.

(this took four iterations to write and i’m still not quite satisfied, but i’m very attached to obi-wan having a chain/beads instead of a braid after Melida/Daan; the lil wish-you-would-write snippet happens a few months before this!

thank you for the prompt and y’all’s patience! obi-wan has brown eyes now because you can’t stop me)

*hallikset a seven-stringed instrument that i think is just legends now. but cal plays one!

[generalobi]

You know... if you wanted to write more of the Melida/Daan story no one would stop youuuu, like literally any scene you want

The MelidaDaan Archives are in a small locked room in the Fortress. There are rows of shelves, two long tables with individual work stations and boxes of records. The Council agrees to give the Mandalorian delegation access, on the condition they don’t remove anything.

Jaster has been in politics for a long time, but searching through MelidaDaan’s records gives him a new kind of headache. Meticulous records of ridiculous feuds, hundred years gaps, and vague mentions of atrocious war crimes.

The Young kept no real records when they were fighting. He can’t really blame them, considering they were literal children but he’d really like any concrete evidence to present to the Council so they don’t depose him for making a trade deal with a planet of child soldiers.

He groans for what must be the fiftieth time and resists the urge to hit his head on the edge of the table. A laugh sounds from the doorway.

Minister Kenobi stands in the doorframe, arms crossed, “Lots of records, very little continuity.”

“You’ve been through these?”

“Many times,” he says, “They’re only in that order because I put them in that order. Before, they were mostly random piles of books and paper. Some without dates, some so degraded I couldn’t read them. Those ones are over there.”

He points to a metal box on the table next to Jaster’s.

“I wanted to give them their history, maybe even find the source of the conflict,” Minster Kenobi shrugs, “But I might as well have just gone through the Halls of Evidence. There’s no answer in there. Then again, I was fourteen and fresh out of a war. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

Jaster shakes his head, “I doubt it, but thanks for the encouragement.”

¬

Jango finds himself watching Minister Kenobi. His eyes stray to him during meetings, mealtimes and outings. He watches the way he laughs, the way the sun glints off his hair, the way his eyes soften whenever he sees children. Whenever Minister Kenobi meets his eyes, his stomach flutters. Jango feels like he’s a teenager with a crush again. He’s used to being able to ask anyone he likes on a date.

But he can’t tell Minister Kenobi he likes him. Not least because he’s five years younger and a foreign dignitary in critical negotiations.

“Prince Fett,” a pale hand waves in front of his face, “Prince Fett?”

He starts, catching the hand in his. Minister Kenobi stands in front of him, expression amused and wrist caught in Jango’s grasp.

“Minister Kenobi,” he releases his wrist quickly, “My apologies, I seem to have zoned out.”

“Don’t worry, that tends to happen in here. Nothing can tire one faster than scouring through old records from a centuries long civil war. And please, call me Obi-Wan. We’ve certainly spent enough time together. As I was saying, have you made any progress?”

Jango shakes his head, “Not really, I’m not the best researcher anyway.”

Minister K- Obi-Wan smiles slightly, sliding into the chair across from Jango. He pulls a pile of files closer to him, flicking through to examine the dates.

“You won't get much from these,” he says, “They’re from before the Melida and the Daan knew any Basic. I’ve done my best to translate, but considering your Council wants evidence examined by your eyes I imagine my translations won’t pass muster.”

Jango grimaces, “Unfortunately, you’re right. They’re being quite particular.”

He tilts his head, “Luckily, there’s a dictionary somewhere in here. I’m not sure where, though.”

“Honestly I think I need a break. What are you doing here?”

“Taking a break,” he says, gentle mirth in his voice, “I wanted to check in with you. The Manda’lor and Ser Myles are talking to come of the babies at the hospital.”

“Babies?”

He laughs, “Ah yes, that’s what we call the children who were basically babies when the war ended. The babies mostly live here, and we have a rotational schedule. But not all of them got through unscathed. Despite our best efforts.”

There’s a tightness in his voice as he says it, and Jango regrets asking the question. He regrets all of this digging. It’s necessary, it will help them provide a fair trade deal and understand the planet they’ve unwittingly stumbled into. But he doesn’t doubt it’s painful to have it all dragged up.

“I’m sorry,” Jango says softly.

“For what?” Obi-Wan asked, “Being thorough? Being curious? Despising war crimes? I don’t blame you for any of this. In some ways I’m glad to bring it all to the surface. We deserve to have our stories told. They deserve to have their stories told.”

[vodika-vibes]

some Jaster x Reader with a passionate kiss after one almost died please 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 I‘m starving for more of this man 🫠

I'm Still Here

Summary: After a series of assassination attempts against you, Jaster welcomes you home.

Pairing: Jaster Mereel x Reader

Word Count: 1238

Warnings: Mentions of child slavery, mentions of assassination attempts

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I actually love this AU that I'm slowly crafting, and baby Jango is the most adorable baby. And this is technically a sort of sequel to the most recent Jaster fic I posted. Well, it is in my head, at least, lol.

Jaster’s going to be furious. You know this. Your astromech knows this. The medical droid charging in the cargo hold knows this. In your defense, the mission was supposed to be a lot simpler than it turned out.

Your job was to protect a business man from his competitor. You’ve done it a million times. Normally all you have to do is stand there and look intimidating, and you get a nice little paycheck at the end. 

Normally, the mention of having a Mandalorian bounty hunter is enough to keep things peaceful.

That’s not what happened this time.

Turns out the competitor was actually a slaver who had kidnapped the client’s daughter and sold her into slavery to try and force him to sign a legal document. A fact that you only found out five minutes before walking into the meeting with said competitor. 

Which meant that your simple mission turned into a much longer, much harder fiasco. The client had been near tears, distraught over his missing child, distraught over the contract he had to sign to save her, and just distraught overall.

Luckily, you’re pretty good at thinking on your feet. A simple aerosol drug left the client in an altered enough state that he wasn’t allowed to sign the contract, and a simple explanation on your part that he caught a fever from a planet he visited recently, was enough to buy you two weeks to rescue the kid.

Which you did! It took you ten days, total, and at the same time you managed to completely dismantle the slave ring. It wasn’t your intention, but, well, it was the easiest way to ensure that the little girl made it to safety and back to her parents.

And though it’s annoying, it’s not the first time a mission became more difficult halfway through. It happens, people lie. Though you got the feeling that the client didn’t lie so much as completely panic.

No. The problem came later, after you had been paid. The client and his family had been thrilled, giving you a 150% bonus, which would go towards a very nice nameday present for Jango, and probably Jaster too, and they insisted on you spending the night while they celebrated the return of their child.

And when you finally returned to your ship, which was a wedding present from Jaster, it proceeded to blow up on you. If you had left when you were supposed to, the night before, you would have been in the middle of hyperspace, and killed instantly.

As it happens, aside from several very painful bruises covering your entire body, the explosion did nothing more than give you a bad start to the day. And then the Death Watch assassin showed up. Because your day couldn’t possibly get any worse at that point.

Luckily the Port security team was on point, and they immediately came to your aid, and the assassin was put down with extreme prejudice (they were not happy about the destruction of one of their docks), and you were given the option to go to the hospital.

You refused them, and just asked to borrow a ship so you can return home.

“Borrow” of course, turned into “Here, have this ship, we certainly don’t need it! Also it comes with a medical droid and an astromech!”

And of course you couldn’t say no. 

So here you are. On a ship that’s probably more expensive than every single ship that belongs to the Haat, covered in bruises, and wondering just how annoyed Jaster is going to be.

Of course he’s going to know what happened. Your former client said that he would “message the Mand’alor to reassure him that you’re alright” and really, you were kind of hoping that Jaster just wouldn’t find out about this.

Oh well. Nothing you can do about it now.

You grimace in pain as you lean forward to start your descent onto Mandalore, following the instructions to your personal landing pad. Your new ship is about the same size as your old one, so you’re not all that worried about it fitting. 

You set the ship down, and power it down. And then you lower the ramp and watch as the pair of droids leave the ship, following your instructions as to making themselves at home in your home. 

And then you limp down the ramp, and Jaster is there, waiting for you.

He looks deeply worried, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair is sticking up in every direction, indicating to you that he’s been running his hands through his hair. 

“Jaster, I’m home.”

His gaze snaps to your face, and he crosses over to you in several large steps. “Cyare,” he reaches out and lightly cups your cheek, “Blown up? Nearly assassinated?”

You lean into his touch, “I was lucky.”

“Lucky!?”

“I wasn’t in hyperspace when my ship blew up.” You clarify, “Which is where I was supposed to be.”

Jaster goes gray at the thought, “Don’t say that,” He says hoarsely, “I can’t even think about that.”

You reach up and gently cup his face with both of your hands, “I’m okay, riduur. A bit bruised, but nothing serious.”

Jaster releases a slow breath, “You’re sure?”

“Very sure.”

He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, and he just breathes for a moment, “When I heard the news that your ship had been blown up, and someone tried to assassinate you…I feared the worst. I was sure that something was going to happen before you got home-”

“Shh, you’re borrowing trouble, love.” You whisper.

He opens his eyes, “Do you have any idea how much it would kill me to lose you?” Jaster asks.

You smooth your thumbs over his cheeks, “If it’s anything close to how I would feel if I lost you, then I have a pretty good idea.”

He’s quiet for a moment, “I love you so much,” Jaster whispers after a moment. And then his lips are against yours as he pulls you into a deep, passionate kiss.

And then there’s a disgusted noise, and he breaks the kiss as he presses his forehead against yours, “I thought you were supposed to be in lessons, Jango.” Jaster asks.

“I was! But I got bored and I saw that buir is home!” You peek to the side and see Jango has his hands over his eyes, “Are you done being gross?”

You grin at Jaster, and press a quick kiss to his lips, “I love you too,” You whisper to him. 

He lightly traces a circle against the side of your neck, “We’ll pick this up later tonight.” Jaster promises in a low voice, and then he raises his voice, “Yes, ad, we’re done being gross.”

“Ugh, finally!” Jango runs over to you and takes one of your hands, “Jas’buir said that you were blown up! Are you okay?”

You grin at your ad, and you smooth a hand through his curly hair, “You didn’t think something as silly as a little bomb could hurt me, did you?”

And a delighted grin crosses his face, “Of course not! I told Jas’buir that you’re too strong to get hurt like that! I made you something, come see it!”

“Okay, okay. I’m coming.” You flash a small smile at Jaster, and he shakes his head with a laugh as he trails after you and Jango.

[coffiicorgii]

Yeah seriously!! The only time we really hear about/experience him being a bounty hunter is in the comics he got and his own game. I’m forever going to be upset that they didn’t do the episode with Boba and Cad Bane in the clone wars because we probably would have gotten some lore about Jango and Bane in there. I would love to know what their dynamic was like. :[

We need some more exploration of his backstory in canon stuff! They made Jaster canon so clearly we have someone that cares about Jango’s backstory to some degree working on Star Wars... Plus his story would work really well for a show or a movie I think :]. I was honestly desperately hoping for at least a mention of Jango in Dooku’s part of tales of the Jedi... But maybe if we get more Dooku backstory stuff we’ll eventually get a Jango mention... Or maybe even a cameo :0c (I can dream at least lol).

Honestly getting Jaster and the true mandalorians into canon would be really cool too... They’d be such a good middle ground in the Mandalorian civil wars :0c

ALSO YES!! I AGREE THEY NEED TO DO MORE WITH TEM!! I’m still so upset about Disney just ghosting him on season 3 of mando 😭 we were supposed to get more Boba!!!!

Jango enjoyers gotta stick together fr! I do seriously wish I could find a discord sever with more Jango Fett/True mandalorian fans :’] I have so many thoughts and headcanons about them all the time but nowhere to spill them

Reblogged your art and read your tags.

Same. SAME.

Jango Fett has been in my mind since I first saw him as a child and I can rightfully say he is my first and forever love. I hope you'll consider more art appreciation for Jango in a sea of Boba Fett, The Mandalorian art!

*big hugs for you* ♥

Ahh yay! :D It’s great to see another Jango Fett enjoyer!! I really liked him as a kid too, but I only realized what a cool character he is a little over a year ago when I got back into Star Wars and finally read his legends backstory. (On that note BLESS Filoni and the people working on the mandalorian for re-canonizing Jango being a real mandalorian and also making Jaster canon <3)

He’s such an underrated character tbh, he deserves more attention and love from mandalorian enjoyers 🥺… And if no one else is going to do it I will absolutely do it myself!!! >:D you have enabled me to draw him more now, so you can definitely expect some more Jango art from me haha 💙

[one-real-imonkey]

It's the Guard regulations, Senate crypt, and immediate public reaction to the videos anon. Sorry, I just have so many thoughts! But how did Little Keldabe (what some people use to refer to the Mandalorian neighborhood on Coruscant) treat the Guard? Did they know that the Clones had a sort-of Mandalorian upbringing / knew second-hand Mandalorian culture? Did they ever approach the Guard about it? What about after the videos were published?

Haha, don't worry, I crave interaction, lmao. I’m just not always the fastest at responding.

———

Little Keldabe, ohhhh, well, my Little Keldabe would be complicated.

For starters, I think with the way the galactic politics was going before the war, Little Keldabe was already struggling as a settlement. I always imagine it's half Little Keldabe and half Little Sundari, and while the New Mandalorian part is doing well enough, with everything that's happened, the settlement is just working to stay afloat. It's home, in my AU's, to a few clans, most notably Clan Delstee who run Little Keldabe, and several members of Clan Eldar, both of whom are considered to be unaffiliated clans but would have been aligned with Jaster and Jango had the Haat'ad survived.

So their interaction with the clones would be very interesting.

At first they’re shocked. Jango was aliit by clan ties and most of them beloved him dead. They were sure he’d been killed on Galidraan too for so long, and then the rumours of a bounty hunter who claimed to use his name emerged but surely Jango would have come back to them, to his family, so they doubted. Not to mention the armour was repainted. And then he’s killed for certain and all these children of his are left behind and sure they look and act like adults already but they’re Jangos blood and as far as they’re concerned his clan.

Which makes them family.

They want to help, it's just the sort of people they are, but it's far more than they are capable of. They want to do far more than is within their power, want to help more than is simply possible. They try, and they're certainly willing to smuggle clones off of Coruscant if they wanted to desert and they'd be very willing to provide medical assistance or a good meal for a patrol.

But the Guard don't ask for the help, they don't ask for access to their bacta, because they know the Mandalorians in Little Keldabe are struggling too, and they don't want to take anything away from them. They refuse to burden anyone, even though those people are more than willing to help take it off their shoulders.

That and a lot of the Corries don't have the best experiences with Mandalorians due to some of the trainers, so trust takes a while.

However, that doesn't stop them sharing stories and tales, doesn't stop them sharing art designs or armour designs, sharing names and culture and trying to reach out. It doesn't stop them getting some of the Guard patrols to take a break and convincing them to get some food, giving them someone else to speak Mando'a too.

They also open their library to the Corries, an offer enthusiastically received. It's almost guaranteed that if you go into their library, at least two of them will be in there.

Many of them also very openly claim the clones as aliit, because they genuinely believe they are. They're Jango Fett's ade, no matter what, and both clans were allies with clan Fett. They all followed the same principals, the same ideals, and some of the older Mandalorians in the settlements, the ones who remember Galidraan and life before it, they see Jango's soul in the clones, they see his teachings. One day they hope to get the truth about what happened to their friend, but they're willing to wait.

And once the videos drop, once the truth is released, they're furious, and a lot of them feel guilty for not being able to do more. For failing them. They definitely reiterate their invitations to the settlement, especially for the Corries, and if nothing else, it's a place to be that isn't their base.

Again the offer is extended to ship them off world if they want it, again they extend listening ears and their library and quiet areas as refuge away from it all. They offer advice and help and medical supplies and continue to help.

This time it’s more accepted, but it’s also less necessary. They have their siblings beside them once again. The TM open their offers to the rest of the GAR as well, but the corries are their clear favourites.

It’s no surprise.

———

Thanks for this ask, it was really fun to think about. To consider how they’d interact and everything in my AU. And in my AU this is how the surviving TM would react to the clones.

Thanks again. :-)

[atelier-dayz]

"I wish you would write a fic where": same age jangobi au, where bby jango is at the Coruscant temple for Some™️ reason (is he force sensitive? is jaster being hired to help out with smth? did bby jango slip away from jaster on a job and sneak into the temple just because his buir told him it'd be a bad idea?)

I already yelled at you about how much I love this prompt but AAAAAAH!!! Thank you for the prompt, CJ <3 I hope you like it!

Jango waits until everyone is preoccupied talking before taking the chance to slip out of the room. 

The meeting is important, he knows, but he's ten so it's not like he has an actual part in the talks. He has decided he could better spend his time exploring the temple. After all, he and Jas'buir are the first Mandalorians to set foot in the Jedi's temple in centuries.

Mandalorians and Jedi have been enemies for...ages, but recently there have been darjetiise poking around Mandalorian business, and if it's a choice between Jedi and darjetiise, history and good reason tell them to throw their lot in with Jedi. Less likely to get stabbed in the back, less likely for the galaxy to burn to the ground, Jas'buir says. 

So far, the Jedi Jango have met have been...nice. At first, surprised that he and Jas'buir are there, but then friendly. One of them, a Kel Dor, even slips him cinnamon candy.

The Jedi, he thinks, will be good allies against whatever the darjetiise are planning. But they have been cooped up in meeting rooms all day, and he wants to see more of the Temple. 

So he takes careful note of what room Jas’buir and the others are in and then sets off down the hall, back the way they’d come earlier. 

It takes him a bit, and a couple wrong turns, but he makes it back down to the great hallway off the temple entrance, and he takes a moment to just stare up at the tall columns and statues and vaulted ceilings. There's art all over the walls -- painted scrolls and tapestries and even intricate designs of curved lines and circles carved into the very stone. It's so pretty.

From the ways some of the others had grumbled about the Jedi, he hadn't expected their temple to be so pretty.

None of the Jedi he passes give him any trouble either, just a warm smile -- if their species is capable of it.

A soft bell tolls, marking the hour after he's wandered for a while. A few moments later, he has to shuffle up against the walls of the hallways as kids -- Jedi foundlings -- spill out into the halls. They chatter away about this or that in all kinds of languages. He keeps out of the way, and they pass him with little more than a curious look or a bright smile.

Eventually, all the kids disappear into different rooms or hallways, and he's able to walk freely again. He doesn’t linger anywhere for too long, still afraid someone might stop him and get him in trouble. He sticks mostly to the hallways, though he does peek into some of the open empty rooms he comes across -- classrooms, meditation rooms, and training rooms. Jas’buir had once mentioned the Jedi has a massive library, and Jango wonders if he’ll stumble upon it eventually. 

He’s made it onto another level, when someone says from behind him, “Hey, you shouldn’t be here.”

He spins around, hackles raised and ready to argue --

Then he blinks and stares, realizing that they hadn’t been talking to him. 

There’s a Jedi kid about his size on their hands and knees with their head stuck in the nook behind a statue. 

“Come on now, come on,” the kid is saying with a soft, lilting voice -- a voice someone might use on a small animal, actually. “How did you even get all the way here? Let me take you back home. Come on now.” The kid manages to squeeze into the nook, grabbing something, and then crawls out backwards until they can stand.

Jango finds himself staring at a human kid around his age, with blue-green eyes like the ocean, pale skin dotted with freckles, and red hair -- red hair that shines gold in the sunlight. 

“Nau’yc [1],” Jango says without meaning to, and then tries hard not to blush as the kid realizes he’s there. He belatedly realizes they’re holding a tiny baby tooka, tucking it securely against their chest as if it will run off -- though it looks to him like the tooka is perfectly content in their arms now.

“What?” asks the kid. 

“Nothing!” Jango says. “I mean--hello.”

“Hello,” the kid replies with a questioning tilt of their head. “You’re a visitor, aren’t you?”

Jango nods. “I’m Jango,” he introduces himself. “I go by he and him.”

“Oh welcome! I’m Obi-wan. And same!” the kid says with a smile. And then he  blinks, looking down at Jango’s feet and then his wrists for a moment, as if just noticing Jango’s armored boots and gauntlets. “Wait--” He glances around before asking in a whisper, “Are you one of the Mandalorians visiting?”

Jango frowns, not sure what he’s implying with that. “Yes, why?” Then he adds, “And how do you know about that? It’s supposed to be a secret.” 

Obi-wan huffs a laugh. “Well yeah, but of course if it’s supposed to be a secret, everyone knows about it,” he says. “It’s okay though, it won’t leave the Order.”

Jedi are, apparently, ridiculous gossips.

“And I don’t mean to...mean anything bad by asking,” Obi-wan continues. “I just thought you would all be meeting with the Council.” 

Jango wrinkles his nose at that. “It was boring,” he says. “I was just sitting in a corner all day.”

“So you snuck out,” Obi-wan says with a nod as if that’s what he would have done too. “Have you been exploring the temple?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you been to the Room of a Thousand Fountains yet?” 

“The Room of what?” Jango asks, his mind boggling at the idea of a thousand fountains. The temple is huge, but still.

Obi-wan’s eyes brighten as his grin widens. “The Room of a Thousand Fountains! It’s our greenhouse and biggest meditation garden -- well, gardens, actually. It’s also…” He lifts up the baby tooka, and the tooka meows cutely at Jango before Obi-wan cuddles it close again. “...where the tookas live. I’m going to take this little one back there, so want to come with me?”

Jango nods, because of course he does. 

Which is how he ends up spending the rest of the day exploring the Room of a Thousand Fountains -- which is huge and pretty and really does have a thousand fountains -- with Obi-wan. 

They both get in trouble when the adults finally catch up with them, but that isn’t important. What is important is their plan to meet up the next day to visit the Jedi Archives and the training dojos. 

Jango just doesn’t get why Jas’buir keeps smiling at him like there’s a joke he isn’t telling, but whatever. Adults are just weird sometimes.

Notes: [1] Nau’yc - directly translates as ‘illuminous’ or ‘shiny’. However, I’ve decided (for this AU at least) that since there isn’t an existing word for ‘pretty’, the Mando’ade call things (and occasionally people) that are pretty ‘shiny.’ :D

I’m sorry if the ending’s awkward, I couldn’t figure out the best way to end this alkdfja

[cienie-isengardu]

A bit about Jaster Mereel

Anyone who follows / visits my blog for Mandalorians most likely noticed by now I don’t talk much about Jaster Mereel, even though he is, Legends-wise, an important figure in their history. In general, I’m not a big fan of him or True Mandalorians and for sure I hate how tie-in materials glorified Jaster even though, from my perspective, he didn’t show anything that special in the main source (Jango Fett: Open Seasons).

Anyone may argue how comics is a very limited medium to present everything in great details, that the story was about Jango’s past, so it makes sense that Jaster, Montross and Tor were the supportive characters driving the plot and fulfilling important roles in Jango’s life (a mentor/father, rival/betrayer and enemy). But at the same time, even with limited space, Tor managed to lay two devastating traps (and one by using Jedi as a tool of doom, something that rarely happens, even less for Mandalorians), outmaneuvering both Jaster and Jango at some point in the story and showing good fighting & tactical skills. You don’t need to like him, you may disagree with his philosophy of life, behaviour and etc, but the comics built Tor as someone’s that leaves a strong impression based on his action that we actually could see with our own eyes while Jaster is mainly praised by tie-in materials as a great leader and some sort of reformator (what for me seems to argue with original source a lot) and sometimes, if remembered at all, by other Mandalorians. At the same time, comics didn’t show much Jaster in favorable circuments. I mean, we met him on the run from Death Watch and hiding in field crops that belonged to Fetts, then saving Jango only to almost die in fire and in the end being saved by Jango’s quick thinking. With the help of orphaned boy, he scored one victory on Concord Dawn then timeskip happened (sadly omitting the years of raising Jango) and finally Jaster led his men straight into trap, got betrayed by his own man and was killed on Korda VI. Understandable, Tor and Jaster played different roles thus comics made Vizsla the “active” character while Mereel was more “passive”. 

And you know what? Even with my despiste for the biased source materials that treat Jaster as some epic character while demonizing Tor and tons of personal jokes about Jaster / True Mandalorians shared with my close friend and fellow Tor fan (and god knows, we joke about them as much as we joke about Jedi), I do think that Jaster Mereel has a great potential as character and it is a true shame his story is not exploited beyond few basic informations. I mean, a former Journeyman Protector (a man of law) joining Mandalorian Mercenaries that kill for money / personal ambitions on right and left? The term a “reformed murderer” sounds intriguing on its own and there is the whole conflict with Tor Vizsla, the uneasy(?) relationship with Montross and family bond with Jango to explore.

And the sad thing about Jaster Mereel is how, despite the cult of True Mandalorians, he is almost forgotten. I know, hoping for New Canon to bring Legends Mandalorians to life is too much to ask when Jango Fett (and Boba) is barely recognised as Mandalorian in the first place but there is some irony that right now the true Mandalorians are tightly tied to Death Watch and TCW additional materials at least mentioned that Pre’s relatives / clan members were warriors of Death Watch and there was Bounty Hunter Code with Tor Vizsla’s Manifesto.So, Tor’s existence is/was to some degree confirmed even despite the drastic changes that happened to Mandalorian lore thanks to The Clone Wars & Disney.

And yeah, BHC did mention Jaster Mereel and True Mandalorians but in all fairness? The Bounty Hunter Code was so great but wasted opportunity to flesh out Jaster, who had/lead a company actually called “HeadHunter”on Korda VI

which may suggest Mereel’s True Mandalorians also took more typical bounty hunter jobs (and seeing how both Jango and Montross went into business, it seems logical to assume they both already had some experience in this field). This in turn could nicely connect Jango’s past to the career of Bounty Hunter, as in a way to explore the time he spent with Jaster Mereel, what he learned from his mentor/father figure and would absolutely make sense for Jango to pass the book/notes to young Boba. Especially since he wanted a clone for himself to pass the Jaster’s Legacy.

I understand that the Death Watch’s Manifesto was a means to connect the old lore with changes made by TCW. Even as a non-objective source, it has its own value but frankly, including it into stricte book about bounty hunters feels a bit off. Jaster’s own notes could give the fans the same information about Mandalorian history and even about the conflict between Death Watch and New Mandalorians, as a third (less involved?) party and it would make sense for Jango to have it in the first place (as a memento because Jango was sentimental enough to keep Jaster’s stuff years after his death) and pass it to Boba who from the start was meant to carry on Jaster’s Legacy.

And yeah, sure, it was possible for Jango to get hold of a top secret Death Watch book and pass it to Boba “to know your enemy”, but I personally think that Jaster’s notes would carry more emotional impulse. And well, I’m curious about Jaster’s mindset. And I’m saying that as a fan of Tor Vizsla because frankly, the manifesto doesn’t sound much like him (or at least the impression of him built for me by comics) and even Jango shares similar doubts about the authenticity of the author. So yeah, in regard to this one source, I would rather have Jaster’s POV than one dictated for TCW for Tor.

The other wasted opportunity happened in the latest Marvel comics (what is the real reason for the rant). You know, the War of the Bounty Hunters - in one of the issues, Boba had a sidequest and worked under the name of Jango. 

And I know this was supposed to be an emotional scene, a son using father’s name and canon remembering about elder Fett and so on. But the only thing I felt at that moment was how Jaster Mereel felt from grace and how it was easy to make a callback to all the older Legends sources (retcon?) of both Jango and Boba using Jaster Mereel’s name while working undercover. As you know, keeping the memory of a man supposed to mean so much to Jango and Mandalorian history - and by that allowing Boba to fulfil his own father’s desire. 

Yeah, I know, I wish too much and hope is overrated anyway. It is just bizarre how the perception of Mandalorian lore changed in the last 20 years.

I never thought there would come a day to say this, but Jaster Mereel deserves better than being some idealized symbol or obscure character forgotten at every turn. 

[clonemando]

Meeting the Tribe

Din convinces Boba to join him in meeting back up with his Tribe. Boba really doesn't want to but he can't resist his little brother's puppy eyes. AO3 Link

Boba sighed as he and Din entered a rather populated city together. The stares didn't bother him much, no one would be stupid enough to try to take on a pair of Mandalorians together without a full team and even then, he and Din could handle it. Plus if they recognized him and his armor, which by the terror he could feel as they walked slowly towards the market they did, then that was even more incentive to leave them alone. No, he wasn't so much bothered by the place than by the reason they were there.

Din needed to see his people. See who remained of what was once his tribe. Boba understood that. But what he didn't like was that Din insisted he come too.

"Din, I respect your beliefs but I'm not one of them. They won't want me there. I shouldn't know where the covert is located." He had tried to argue but Din had turned big brown puppy dog eyes on him and damn they were even worse when he could actually see them without the helmet in the way.

"You are one of us through me and they will not challenge that. If they do, I'll deal with it. I need to speak with the armorer. There was a lot of Beskar on the cruiser and it should be returned and used for foundlings. Not to mention you could use some repairs. And as part of my clan, you need the signet somewhere on your armor- if that's okay? I know it was your father's. Maybe we can get a new piece made instead…" Din had dissolved into muttering and Boba knew he wouldn't be winning the battle.

So now here they were slowly making their way around twisting and winding roads. Din finally dragged him under an arch and down some stairs and then they were there. Children were running around, all covered with a buy'ce on their heads but none seeming to even notice as they played. Parents watched nearby, eyeing the newcomers warily with the fierce protective streak all Mandalorians shared for children, especially their own. Boba felt like he was intruding and really wanted to leave but Din strode through like he belonged and getting separated seemed like an even worse idea so he kept up.

Even in the dark, in this place Din had never been, it was like he had a map in his mind and they were shortly standing in front of a forge. Din kneeled and Boba hesitated unsurely before following his example while a woman in a gold plated buy'ce made her way around to look at them. Boba knew this must have been the leader of Din's tribe, the armorer he spoke so highly of.

"You have returned. Was your task successful?" She asked Din, completely ignoring Boba's presence and he wanted to feel upset about it but mostly he was grateful.

"It was. The child has been delivered to a Jedi who can train him. He is safe now." He said and Boba wondered if the Armorer could hear the pain in Din's voice as he spoke the way he could.

"Jate. Good. Now tell me why you have brought this dar'manda amongst us?" She said and Boba winced because she said it so calmly. She wasn't even judging him, it was a statement of fact to her. That he existed with no soul. Maybe she was right.

"He is not dar'manda. He was… echoy'la… lost, searching. A foundling of our own kind found by others. Now he has been returned to us. He has been reborn and should be offered cin vhetin." Din said voice sharp as a knife and Boba could admit he didn't recognize all words. His Mando'a was rusty. But he knew Din was defending him.

"I told you I don't belong here, Din. It's fine. Let them call me what they wish. I'm not a child who needs to be coddled." He hissed at him, not sure how to handle being defended. It felt wrong.

The Armor's gaze shifted. "You brought Beskar." She said ignoring their staring contest to look at the container Din had brought with them.

"Yes. The imperials that we fought to get the child to his people had a large amount. It belongs back with our people." Din said setting the container in front of himself and opening it.

The Armorer examined a bar before looking over Din. "Your beskar'gam is still in repair. What do you wish me to make for you? Or shall it all be used for the foundlings?" She asked and Din met her gaze and held it even through their helmets.

"He is part of my clan and requires a signet. His armor is in disrepair and to let my Aliit suffer injury when I have means to protect him would be to break the creed." He said and Boba wanted to growl that he wasn't part of the damn creed or stomp out and leave Din there despite, or maybe because of, how generous he was being.

The Armorer looked between them again and sighed. "You have always had the most stubborn of hearts Djarin. Very well. What will you have me do for your vod?" She asked and Din looked at Boba who was trying to find a way out of this mess that wouldn't offend Din or shit all over how hard he was fighting for him.

"This armor was my father's I don't-" He started his voice coming out less firm that he wanted it to and more pleading. The Armorer seemed to accept that and she backed away, taking the Beskar and starting to work. Boba didn't know what she was doing but he flinched at the loud sound of the hammer feeling confined and on edge. He didn't belong here. He should have told Din no and stayed on the ship.

"Din, go out now. Paz was hoping to speak to you. When you return I will be finished." She ordered and he saw Din hesitate before nodding and leaving. The Armorer finally directed her gaze to Boba and he resisted the urge to squirm like a child. She wasn't Jango about to give him a scolding for sneaking out to play with the other clones. But she definitely had a similar energy to her.

"Boba Fett. Son of Jango Fett. Son of Jaster Mareel who was once Mand'alor. Din Djarin has claimed you as part of his clan and house. Do you know what that means?" She asked and Boba sighed shoulder's slumping despite himself. So he was getting a scolding. Mandalorians had to drag your whole family line into it too.

"We're just brothers. It's not like we're getting married." He grumbled.

"Family is family, no matter position. Love is love no matter the type. Your houses shall be one and the same. Your past will be his past and his your own. That is our way. Cin vhetin… He wishes for you to be given a clear start. Free of what you were before you were Mandalorian. He is offering a soulless being like you a piece of his own so you might join the Manda when you die. That is what it means. If you tarnish and ruin him, I will find you, and nothing you have ever done will compare to the wrath I will let fall upon you. Do you understand?" She said voice still level and calm, but that only made it worse.

"Yes. You are his mother." He said meaning to ask but it came out like a statement. The Armorer looked towards the door.

"They are all my children but the Mandalorian who found Din and raised him here died when Din was still young. To lose his birth family, and then the one who found him, he needed someone who would not fail him again. I claimed him. And now that means I must accept you. Do not let that make you think I like you, however." She said and returned to her work and Boba's head bowed as silence filled the space now, besides the hammering and sounds of her tools.

Boba wanted to be angry. He wanted to hate her for judging him on a life she knew nothing about. He wanted to tell her to stuff it and that this was all a mistake. But mostly he was tired. He found himself wondering instead how his father would like Din. Jango would probably remind Boba that trusting led to betrayal but he wouldn't dislike Din. He might even eventually come around when he saw how good Din was. His lips twitched slightly at the thought of his father arguing with this woman for the right to take Din as his son the way he had heard him argue with the Kaminoans. It would have certainly been a fierce fight.

"Stand." She interrupted his musing and Boba stood looking at what she held out for him trying to identify what the strip of metal would be used for but she didn't wait for him to ask.

"A neck guard." She murmured and fitted it between his helmet and armor and he felt his mouth go dry.

"Oh" Was all he could say and she met his eyes through their helmets.

"Stay still while I place your signet," She asked instead, and Boba was glad she didn't expect him to say anything. When Din returned followed by a hulk of a Mandalorian in blue painted armor, she had finished adding the mudhorn signet to the pauldron that didn't have his mythosaur.

"Boba, Paz will be coming with us when we return to Tatooine. He has some business there." Din said and Boba turned to pierce his gaze right to where he knew Din's eyes were.

"Are you suddenly the one who decides who can come onto my ship to my planet?" He asked in a low growl. Din didn't even flinch though at least Boba knew he wasn't losing his touch because the big guy that must have been Paz tensed. Din could just read him too well.

"I forgot. Oh great and powerful Boba Fett, who rules over Tatooine with a fist of Beskar, I beg of you to humbly allow my pathetic brother Paz to accompany us back to your home." Din said dryly and Boba grinned at the offended. "Hey!" From Paz.

"Hmmm… I suppose, when you ask so nicely, we can arrange to have him loaded in with the rest of the supplies." He said and he could feel the heat of Paz's glare which made him grin. This was more comfortable.

"I always wanted to stuff Paz in a box. Let's go then." Din said leading the way out with Boba and Paz following him. Maybe Boba didn't belong with the tribe, but he definitely knew he belonged with Din. So he'd accept this too.