The day it happened, it had taken the clones only one look, one sniff of the air to know that something was up as the scent abruptly changed, something was going on and no amount of trainers or longnecks could stop them from noticing the beacon following Taun We.

A young, seemingly male baseline human with red hair gathered back in a nerf tail and a braid swinging with beads and threads as green eyes warily observed everything, seemingly unnerved and shocked despite hiding it well from Taun We.

But not from the clones.

They could feel it in their bones, the others emotions. He was nothing like the clones and nothing like the trainers.

Something was different.

This one was different.

They hadn’t had any kind of reaction like this to the trainers, regardless what they were though they were less fond of the Death Watch bastard due to how the Prime reacted to her. Clearly the Prime hated her despite hiring her to train them and no one could claim she wasn’t skilled.

But this one, the Jedi they realized, something was very different.

And it was clear in how the Prime reacted too, the way the man had frozen in the clear hallway above them, eyes on the Jedi that stared him in the eyes, a challenge and a hunger in the Prime’s eyes at the same time.

Somehow, the Prime, Fett, has a handle on that hunger and the challenge, despite being unable to take his eyes off the Jedi that walks on the other side of Taun We, clearly aware of the hunger in the other human.

There is an even more vigilant look in the redhead’s eyes as he disappears with the Prime and Taun We.

Its not until they are on Geonosis that they see him again, this time bruised, injured and bleeding from a split nose, his hands in chains and yet he fights fluidly, falling into line with the troopers as if he knows where he belongs, as if he has fought a war before.

He’s perfect in the vode’s eyes.

His name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, padawan to one Anakin Skywalker, the so called chosen one of the Jedi order, whatever that means. Obi-Wan is turning twenty by human standards this year and he’s a stewjoni.

A fucking stewjoni, the troopers know, they might be clones but hell, the Prime hadn’t neglected this part of them. He had taught the alpha clones the important bits of Mandalorian culture and the alpha clones had taught the rest.

They knew this part as intimately as the back of their hands as learning about it had made them hungry in a way they couldn’t explain or sate.

Stewjon and Mandalore had always been tightly entwined, to claim a Stewjon was a prize no Mandalore should resist if given the opportunity.

Stewjoni with fire in their veins and battle as born and war breed as any mandalorian’s will ever be and that includes the clones, the drums of war beating in their soul as much as anyone else.

And Obi-Wan proves that he is of Stewjon’s blood.

He breezes the war fields as easily as he breathes to the discomfort of many Jedi despite his own master ruffling his hair and praising him with an easy smile and a proud glint in his eyes when Obi-Wan can take over the battlefield.

Cody is the one to become Obi-Wan’s commander when he is knithed, he’s the one that gets to see that the new General has little issue in ordering them around on the field.

But when the battle dies down, something in Obi-Wan falter, as if orders are no longer something he can give and the confusion in him is clear as he struggles, peering coyly at the troopers from under lowered lashes before practically hiding behind his master much to the blond’s confusion and concern.

Its clear Anakin Skywalker knows nothing of the connection between Stewjon and Mandalore.

Something tells Cody that had the blond known, he’d never leave them alone, would have threatened entire battalions to ensure his padawan’s comfort and chastity.

Anakin Skywalker had strange ideas of virtue Cody had to admit, considering how he tries to cover his former padawan up as best as he could.

There is also one more thing that draws inevitably draws the mandalorian’s to stewjoni’s.

Their fertility.

Stewjon is a harsh planet, difficult to survive and due to it, it is common for most members to be intersex.

And the troopers want, hunger, deep in their bones as green eyes stare back at them, challenging yet somehow meek at the same time.

Yet no one makes a move, uncertain how to approach a situation like this.

So they hunger and they watch each other, like circling wolves, nipping at each others heels.