suspense

So, age swap Obi and Ani, with intersex Obi finding the clones. Clones that claim him due to his stewjon status. I know its been done before, stewjon being somewhat of a status symbol to mandalorians, so I figured I’d try it with you and a youngish Obi?

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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.

Holy shit JANGO. Distant pain Jango’s alive!? I mean, not injured clearly by the tech he has at the throat but still, I’m so excited what comes now.

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Setting the crate down, Jango smiled at his son as Boba came rushing down the ramp Slave 1, quickly checking his father for injuries. Ever since that fateful day on Geonosis, Boba had become rather protective of his buir and had not wanted to leave him alone for any missions.

Not that it was a hardship, not really, Boba was skilled but going into a clone camp…

Well, he would have stuck out and Boba realized it.

Didn’t mean he hadn’t worried and that was why Jango allowed the pat down, despite just wanting to load up the crate and get out of the damn body glove. He had already ditched the armor but he hadn’t wanted to run around nude. “I’m fine Boba, no one noticed me.” He soothed quietly, inwardly keeping his uncertainties to himself.

He actually wasn’t sure about that, even as Boba grumbled slightly and glared up at him with that adorable pout he had yet to grow out of.

While leaving the camp, he had felt like someone was following him, felt eyes in the back of his neck but…

Well, he hadn’t seen anyone, every clone around him rushing around doing their own things and the Jedi were all busy.

Well, except for Kenobi, he hadn’t seen him at all except for in passing when the man had entered his tent with his dragon around his neck, two black and silver painted clones following him. A bit strange honestly, they were the only two with black and silver on them at all, all the others had blue and yellow or completely bare armor but Jango had no interest in Jedi.

“We should leave then, we got enough supplies to head for the next system.” Boba spoke up, huffing a tad before bending and picking up the crate before Jango could, a smile crossing his lips.

Opening his mouth, Jango was about to answer when the trees rustled at a breeze… but it was the voice that spoke up that stopped both Fett’s in their tracks.

“Well, hello there,” A posh drawl echoed and Jango turned on his heel, firing in the direction of the voice on auto pilot. The blast echoed into the trees but there was no cry of pain, only a low chuckle. “Ah, I can throw my voice, so you won’t be able to hit me by shooting at my voice.” The voice continued, suddenly on the opposite side of the camp.

Jango gritted his teeth at that, pushing his son behind his back. “Come out.” He snarled.

The same voice chuckled again. “Admittedly, when I noticed what I thought was a rat in camp, I had to wonder,” The voice continued, Jango grinding his teeth hard with his blaster aimed at the trees. He couldn’t lower his guard even if he couldn’t see the person. “But to find out the rat was Jango Fett himself… well, it seems like I just came across a golden opportunity, oh Mand’alor.”

Jango froze.

He hadn’t been called that in years, decades even.

Not even the few Haat Mando’ade survivors he could find to recruit as trainers for the clones had called him that, mostly on Jango’s own wishes.

Now a Coruscantian High accented voice called him it.

‘…It has to be Kenobi. He’s the only one it could be, that could have followed me without a trace and has that kind of accent.’ Jango was sweating inside his body glove, the prosthetic of his throat working hard as he swallowed. “…There is no Mand’alor.” Jango answered instead, levering his blaster higher when he heard a small rustle.

There was an agreeing hum. “No… there is not. There’s a Duchess… did you know I was on Mandalore during the civil war and succession crisis?” It was Kenobi for sure then, though Jango’s brows raised a bit at learning he had been there.

But he didn’t say anything, simply kept Boba behind him as the breeze rustled the trees of the clearing again.

“I’ll take your silence as a no, but I was. The Republic sent Jedi to protect the Kryze you see, finding them the better alternative,” Scorn was dripping of Kenobi’s voice and Jango blinked, thoughts pausing slightly. “It was, compared to the Kyr’tsad of course, but it wasn’t what the people wanted. But between a despot pacifist and a murderous tyrant, what could they do…”

It was like lighting from clear sky. “You… don’t like Kryze.” He stated numbly.

The Jedi didn’t like Kryze, a figurehead for peace, someone he clearly knew by the way he was talking. He must have even personally guarded her, Jango knew there was a rumor about the Duchess and a Jedi.

But to call her a despot…

There was a loud snort in answer. “Satine is a woman of her words and her convictions, she’s strong in those… but if you aren’t willing to pick up a weapon to defend, to proclaim neutrality when others suffer, then I have no regards for them.” Kenobi stated strongly.

Numbly, Jango’s blaster slowly sunk and he glanced down at Boba behind his back, large brown eyes looking back up at him worriedly, clearly remembering the last time they encountered Jedi. “…What do you want?” Jango asked.

Kenobi could have stopped him at any moment if the theft of supplies was important.

Instead he had followed Jango, had made no move or reference to the stolen goods, outside of calling Jango a rat.

Away from the other clones, away from the other Jedi, away from camp.

There was a long pause before there was a rustle and Kenobi dropped from the trees, landing smoothly in the opening of the trees Jango himself had entered. Cool green eyes looked calculating and considerably at Jango, as if dissecting him.

Though, Jango was doing the same back.

His feathered dragon was wrapped around the Jedi’s neck, peering at Jango with curious wide eyes. The man’s hair was up in the faux mohawk with his helix piercing on display he had seen earlier and he was sporting the sleeveless black shirt and grey leggings that went with his black boots.

His lightsaber was on his belt.

The weapon was in full view but not in his hands.

Not a danger yet even if the man in front of him was extremely capable and extremely dangerous.

Kenobi placed his index finger to his chin and his thumb below it, rubbing lightly. “…I think that for now, I simply want a chat Jango Fett.” He stated before reaching for his saber.

Jango tensed only to jerk to when Kenobi threw his saber at him, catching the hilt of silver and black by reflex more than anything.

Kenobi didn’t need his saber to kill… but he had thrown it into Jango’s hands.

A gesture of good will?

Jango slowly looked at him, looked at Boba behind him again then back to the Jedi. “…Alright, come inside, we can speak over shig.” He settled on, watching as a slow but satisfied smile crossed the others lips.

Like a cat that got the cream and the canary.

hey there! just got caught up, is there any chance that you’d continue distant pain at some point? 👁 the obi-as-a-vod-but-also-fucked-up-bc-of-qui-gon-and-yoda-being-an-arse is absolutely fucking deliiiightful

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Frowning as he came to a stop, Obi-Wan looked around the camp.

Everything looked like normal.

Trooper bustling around, Skywalker and Tano using some time to work on her studies and thankfully keeping out of Obi-Wan’s path, Qui-Gon meditating by the century large tree on the west side…

But the Force was prodding Obi-Wan to look.

Look past the obvious, look past the easy.

Around his neck, Cotton gave a curious little chitter and Obi-Wan reached up on auto-pilot to gently scratch at her feathered head. With the Force quietly prodding at him, Obi-Wan looked, reaching into the Shadows and undercover skills he had earned through a decade of pain and torment.

And he found what was different.

There.

The Shiny carrying a crate.

Obi-Wan made sure not to look right at them after catching what was unusual.

The shiny was moving far too fluidly, like a veteran, to be what he was pretending to be. But when he paused and put down the crate at his feet, a few clicks from where he had started and pulled his helmet off for a few seconds, Obi-Wan could confirm that the person was indeed a clone.

He wore the same face, a tad more lined than a shiny should have but that could be a defect in the cloning process, it had happened before. But the way he was messing with the helmet…

Obi-Wan eyes narrowed slightly.

Then they widened with realization as he took in that the crate was medical supplies and food.

There was only one person that could pass for a clone and yet not be a clone as no deserter clone would ever come close to the GAR if they could help it. And Obi-Wan knew this was no clone as the equipment was clearly unusual for him and he moved too fluidly in his armor to be a shiny and even then, as a shiny, they should be used to the helmet… unless they had another type of helmet they were prior used to.

Jango Fett.

‘But Jango Fett died on Geonosis… didn’t he?’ Obi-Wan continued watching him, watching where he was going.

If he remembered right… no one had found the man’s body or armor afterward.

Or his ship.

It had been assumed that Boba Fett had run of with it, taken his buir’s body for burial somewhere and the ship to fly away, much to the discomfort of many Jedi aware of it, Mace the foremost since he was the one to dispatch of Jango Fett.

He was just a child after all and none of the Jedi had the resources or time with the war to find him, despite being uncomfortable with the idea of the child just drifting around after what had happened.

But…

‘If its him, how did he survive. I know he was injured, I saw Mace saber pass through his throat…’ Obi-Wan puzzled even as he quietly started following the man without being obvious, slipping in and out of view when he turned, likely feeling Obi-Wan tracking him.

But Obi-Wan had not been a shadow or a bloody hand for the council and the Senate’s worst missions for no reason and therefore Jango did not see his tail, despite his suspicion to having one.

By the time Jango made his way out of the camp and started ditched the shiny armor in the forest on the north of the camp, Obi-Wan was already in the trees above the man when he entered the forest. He had realized the former Mand’alor prospect destination and decided to beat him to the punch, quietly following him while masking his being, moving around the tents and jumping up into the branches a full minute before the man arrived.

He also saw how Jango had survived.

The armor fully removed bared his throat and now Obi-Wan could see his throat was covered in machinery, black and silver but not too bulky, clearly knitting his throat and likely working as a voice box, so he could talk.

Expensive tech, either Jango had shelled out after some expensive jobs or from the Kamino job or someone owed the man the debt of a lifetime. Not just anyone could get their hand on the kind of tech that had likely saved Jango’s life after Geonosis.

‘But how did Boba get his father to a facility in tim-carbonite,’ The realization hit Obi-Wan hard but not out of nowhere. It wouldn’t be the first time a critically injured person had been put in a stasis, even carboon freezing, to keep them alive for a medic to arrive and a bounty hunter like Jango for sure had a carbonite chamber in his ship. ‘So he likely saved his father by using Slave 1’s carbonite chamber…’

Obi-Wan stared at the man, watching as he left the armor pieces behind and continued going with the crate, likely to return to Boba.

Above him, Obi-Wan contemplated, rubbing his chin before slowly moving forward, using the Force to keep silent while moving from tree to tree as he fell back on his black ops skills, silencing his comm and pressing Cotton gently on the muzzle to remind her to be quiet.

Obi-Wan had no information right now beyond Jango being alive and likely deciding that stealing from the GAR to supply himself and Boba was easier than getting supplies from the local… but he would get it.

Obi-Wan Kenobi always got his information, one way or another.

Severed stomach: Don’t let Din die! D8

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They almost shoot each other, standing there in the shadows of Din’s ship.

That is something neither Boba or Paz will tell Din though, but they almost end up shooting each other as both are paranoid bastards and they’re both concerned.

To be fair, they are both answering different emergency signals, both are unaware of each other and both think the other might be the enemy that caused Din’s current situation.

Thankfully, outside of a warning shot from Fennec at Paz feet, nothing too bad happened… except wasted time.

Time they might not have, especially not with how long it took for them all to get to the planet, the lack of response from inside the ship highly worrying.

“I got the codes to get it open,” Boba grumbled as he made his way past the big shabuir in blue, already typing into his vambrace, his eyes focused on the ship he loaned Din, knowing Fennec had his back. “Din never changed them when he took possession of the ship.” He stated, knowing from the monitor program installed that Din hadn’t.

Paz, his cannon reluctantly shelved for now, nodded slowly. “Sounds like the verd’ika. As long as it wasn’t his personal room, he never bothered to changing codes to anything.” He sighed a bit, shaking his head.

You’d think Din knew better, ensuring his own privacy to rooms only he should have access to.

The ramp thankfully lowered, Boba correct that the codes were the same.

Instantly, all three tensed as the ramp finally extended into the muddy ground.

It was covered in rusty colored blood, dried blood.

Din’s blood.

Hissing slightly, his vocoder crackling, Boba marched up the ramp as quickly as his feet could take him, Paz right behind him with Fennec remaining outside to keep guard just in case. She wasn’t a medical expert, she wouldn’t be much help anyhow.

Following the blood, both males made their way inside, moving through the ships towards the cockpit.

Sending a mental prayer, Boba slapped his hands over the door controller, listening to the hiss as it opened to admit the two.

Instantly, Boba’s eyes fell on Din, the other collapsed into the pilot chair and he felt his breath catch.

Behind him, Paz let out a curse, moving past a frozen Boba.

Din looked dead.

His shiny beskar was covered in dried, rusty blood, Din’s blood, shrapnel was sticking out of his side, his arms and his legs. Din was slumped in the chair, his body lose with what Boba hoped was unconsciousness and he couldn’t see the others chest rise and fall.

Boba couldn’t look away from him even as he knows he should move and check on the other, find the medical kit, do SOMETHING.

But he can’t, his attention is on Din and Din alone.

His eyes roam over the way Din is slumped in the chair like a discarded ragdoll, abandoned by a child done playing rough. Can’t look away from the sight of the shrapnel embedded into the others left side, the warped metal as wide as Din’s hand and as long as his arm and Boba can’t tell how much of the blackened metal is inside of the other, how much damage has been done to the other.

Finally however, he manages to force himself forward as Paz yanked his own glove off and pressed his fingers under the helmet to get his pulse, Boba made himself breath as he reached up into the overhead compartment to the left, knowing there should be a medical kit there.

There was, it was fully stocked even from the looks of, the seal unopened.

“He’s alive but barely breathing, his pulse is too slow,” Paz growled out, Boba coming over with the case. “I don’t… I don’t know if we can move him.” He tacked on, deep voice sounding uncertain.

But alive meant there was still a chance.

Opening the case with a small growl, Boba dug through the case. “We can’t remove the shrapnel, he will bleed out in moments,” He agreed, listening to the shifting of armor. “But we can move him if we do this.” He pulled out a bacta injector.

Both stared at it.

The risk of injecting bacta into Din when he had shrapnel inside of him was high, many people suffered permanent organ damage from bacta injections before with shrapnel smaller than what was inside Din.

But they had no other choice and Boba reached out, pushing Din’s head to the side to pull down the high neck of his shirt. ‘If this causes anything permanent, forgive me Din. But I’d rather have you alive.’ He thought grimly as he set it, ordering Paz to find them a stretcher.

Moving Din was taxing, both Boba and Paz hesitating with precious moments while staring at the largest piece of shrapnel and both flinched when they heard an exhalation from Din as he was moved.

It hurt obviously, but Din was too far gone to wake up even with the stimuli.

Thankfully, the hoverstretcher made things easier on them, moving Din to Slave 1 and into the medbay, where Fennec stood watch over their injured bounty hunter as Boba attached him to monitoring equipment with Paz hovering at his shoulder.  “…We’re going have to be quick, return to Tatooine as fast as we can. He’s going to become infected by the shrapnel soon enough and it will turn his flesh necrotic.” Boba murmured as he removed Din’s bloody gloves.

His stomach twisted a bit with how stiff with blood they were, how much of Din’s blood must truly be soaked into it.

“I’ll go fetch my stuff, I don’t know the other ship, so Din’s things…” Paz trailed off.

“I’ll do it, I know where everything is. Din didn’t personalize the ship much but I know where his quarters on it are,” Boba grunted before turning to Fennec. “Remove his armor in the meantime, chest, greaves, vambraces but leave the helmet as usually.” He stated sternly, half noting the tenseness of the other mandalorian easing.

Ugh, the Watch and their helmets, made medical care difficult.

Fennec, normally being one for a sarcastic quip, simply nodded, her face drawn tight as she stepped in to work the chest piece off first.

He turned to Paz. “Ten minutes, and I take off. Tayli’bac?” He stated sternly, receiving a quick nod. ‘Just hold on for us Din, just a little longer…’

Shabuir = Asshole

Verd’ika = Little soldier

Tayli’bac? = Got it? Okay? Understand? (Often very aggressive.)

Yay, a new story! SeveredStomach had me on the edge of my seat!! So GOOD! So, what I want to know is this: How much of a close call will it be? I mean, I know you: Din lives, obviously. But! *stares eagerly in anticipation* Will it be obvious when he’s found that he’s alive? Or will there be an angsty moment from his rescuer(s) like, ‘oh no I was too late he is dead’, before Din proves to still be hanging on? (Either way, I will of course still be super stoked to see this continue! Can’t wait!)

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Tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair, Boba ignored Fennec’s sharp look from the side as he continued making noise. He had an excess of energy and needed some way to work it out and since they didn’t have a person Boba could bash into the floor, well, this would have to do.

Outside of the viewscreen, hyperspace flitted by in a shower of bright light and blue and nothing Boba could do would would make things go faster.

Din’s emergency signal had gone of, sent of by the man himself instead of the time limit Boba had installed. Had the cockpit been unused for a week, it would have sent of a message to Boba’s gauntlet but no, Din himself had sent of this one.

It meant that Din, reckless, stupid Din, had looked at himself and realized that he was in severe problems and needed aid and no amount of hailing on the comms had Din responding.

Boba wasn’t sure what that meant.

He could make some guesses of course but wasn’t sure which one would be the right one and human imagination could be so much worse than the truth. So he tried not to imagine what kind of situation Din had landed himself in even as he had stocked the medbay of Slave 1 to the brim with supplies.

The King of Tatooine trusted few, his position was still precarious and leaving wasn’t in his best interest but… Din…

Din, who had such difficulty in asking for aid for himself, Din, who Boba could trust with his own life and business, Din, who could not be trusted with his own life.

Din had asked for help for once and Boba would answer it and where he went, Fennec followed these days.

Plus, regardless how much she might feign disinterest, he knew she was fond of their silver covered mandalorian.

Which was why they were both flying through space to Atanan-V to find their lost bounty hunter.

Hopefully, they weren’t too late.

()()()

Landing the piece of scrap he had ‘borrowed’ from a scrapyard onto the muddy ground, Paz eyed the other ship with trepidation even as he knew there weren’t any living signs around, Paz having scanned the surroundings before he dared to land.

It wasn’t the Razor Crest and he wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Honestly, Paz wasn’t sure what to make of the emergency signal either, still faintly beeping on his gauntlet. Din Djarin was a stubborn son of a bitch and there had only been two instances before the covert was exposed on Nevarro that the di’kut had used it in all his bounty hunter years.

Both times Din had been on the verge of death and had they been any later, Din would not be here today.

If he was alive.

Paz wasn’t sure what he was going to find inside the other ship, if it even was Din.

But it couldn’t be anyone else, only Din, their beroya, had this particular emergency signal.

It couldn’t be sourced from a terminal, the inbuilt code meant it auto destroyed itself after a week, it had to input every week for it to be usable.

A security, to keep the covert safe, to ensure their beroya couldn’t be used for them if caught.

It could only be input by a person that knew it.

Din.

Just Din.

Their beroya, their breadwinner.

Disengaging the ramp of the barely flying scrap metal he had dared to fly, Paz hefted his canon onto his back and made his way out, knowing he needed to investigate, to make sure but not being stupid about it as he scanned the surrounding area with his helmet.

Good thing he did too, picking up the signals that the ship was currently active with defenses.

Paz paused uncertainly, staring at the ship. He wasn’t a slicer, had never had the patience or mind to learn that particular skill and seeing as how he should be visible from the cockpit, it meant that whoever was in there hadn’t disengaged it.

Or couldn’t.

Paz mind flashed to the last time Din had used the emergency signal, to the blood covered cuirass of the beroya as he was transported to the ship that had come to his rescue. ‘I don’t have that much bacta.’ Paz swallowed thickly, shifting on his feet, the mud squelching under his boots, dusky rain falling down around him.

When the signal had arrived, Paz hadn’t thought.

Just acted, as he often did if he was honest.

It could be counted as both a flaw and a pro honestly, a pro when in battle, acting quickly often saved his life. But other times, it landed him in situations like this, standing without proper gear and no backup.

The potential of a survivor from the covert had been too alluring, the idea of finding Din again slamming Paz with a need he thought he’d overcome by aiding Din with the foundling.

Standing outside the ship though, Paz wished he had thought to bring someone with him, to fill his ship with better supplies.

Because either Din was not in that ship or he was too injured to move and disengage the protections set in place.

Neither prospect was good.

Grumbling, Paz only got another minute of peace to stare at the ship before the sound of another ship in atmosphere had him tensing, his head snapping up and around to find a spot of growing darkness on the grey sky.

Another ship was approaching.

Enemies?

Or did whoever, be it Din or someone else, send for more aid than the beroya signal. Honestly, Paz hoped it was the latter.

Din would have been alone for a long time and the idea of him having backup was slightly soothing… but Paz wouldn’t know until whoever was arriving landed and since he couldn’t do anything else…

Paz settled to wait, his canon pulled of his shoulder and into his hands just in case as he moved closer to the ship without touching it.

If they were friendlies, they wouldn’t dare shoot on the ship at the very least. ‘Let us hope its allies, eh verd’ika?’ Paz mused as the ship came fully into view, an old Firespray from the looks of it.

Di’kut = Idiot

Beroya = Bounty hunter

Verd’ika = Little soldier

For sweet princess, does Din speak to the clones or Leia? Does she figure out he’s not in the same situation she was once in?

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He doesn’t like it.

No scratch that, he hates this, but he leads Organa and the two clones into the kings suite behind the throne.

Fennec, that damn loiterer, simply smirks knowingly at him while the courtiers whisper to each others. Most however has caught on that Boba can and will do almost anything for Din. That includes letting enemies into his own private, safe space to keep an eye on Din and his comfort.

He won’t have Din out in the throne room again, sleeping on his lap in his feverish state but sleeping on the couch would be alright, tucked up under the soft but warm night blankets they had.

Which is why he leads them into the living room where he normally only entertains those he trusts like Fennec, Din and these last few days, Cobb Vanth.

There is also the occasional visitors from his past that he makes a point of catching up with, checking if they are trying to use him for his new connection or if they are really there as his former friends.

Din is of course waiting when they enter, sitting on one of the bantha leather couch with the blanket around his shoulders, Boba’s robe peeking out from under the fuzzy, black blanket.

He perks up when Boba enters and Boba makes a beeline for the other, making his way between the couch and the caff table containing his water canteen, sitting down and carefully encouraging Din to lay his head on his lap. “You were suppose to already be asleep.” He scolded gently, pressing his hand to Din’s forehead.

Still hot but not as bad as yesterday.

Russal had come by with some fever dampening medication and Boba had encouraged quite a bit of cold water into the other man, both things seemed to have worked a little.

Din hummed, pressing into the hand before rolling around so he could press his face to Boba’s stomach. “Was waiting on you buir’ika.” He murmured sleepily, closing his eyes with a content little sigh.

Lips twitching into a small, involuntary smile, Boba glanced at the other three, finding Organa watching them with narrowed eyes while the two other clones shifted uncertainly behind her. “Are you going to sit or not.” Boba stated blandly to the three, staring at them with narrowed eyes as he tucked the blanket more around Din, tucking his hand into the wild curls of his lover hair.

His lips twitched again at the pleased hum that gained him and he looked back down to his lover, ignoring as he heard the shift of the three moving, finally taking a seat on the other bantha leather couch across from the caff table.

None of them said anything, Boba focusing on Din, carefully scratching at the other’s scalp and the other three observing and looking about at Boba’s and Din’s private space.

Not that Boba cared, anything incriminating had been put away into the bedroom and the beaded curtain made it hard to distinguish anything in there from here. He didn’t offer them any refreshment, they weren’t welcomed guests and princess herself had upset upset his princess.

So no, unless they asked for it or apologized, Boba was not about to be a gracious host. “Ori’jate, nuhoy jii ner runi.” He murmured softly, Din letting out a sleepy little noise against his stomach.

A feminine inclined voice cleared their throat and Boba grunted before looking up, giving Organa an unamused look as he continued slowly petting Din, resting his other hand on the others arm.

The two leaders gave each other a long look, both equally judging as the two clones just shifted on the couch, looking slightly nervous, as if they expected a firefight to happen.

“He’s not a slave.” Organa’s sure voice had Boba raising a brow.

Brown eyes shot past Boba, looking to the left and down and Boba followed it behind his shoulder, pausing when he saw what she had noticed.

Din’s silver beskar chestplate, barely peeking out from underneath a sheet but enough to be seen and the shape telling what it was. The silver cuirass couldn’t be mistaken for Boba’s, not when it was clearly seen on the stand with his helmet on top.

Boba slowly returned his eyes to her, staring at Organa, his jaw tense as he wished he had a blaster on him. “You have a second lieutenant,” Organa continued, staring mercilessly at Boba. “A mandalorian, silver dressed beskar,” Her eyes shot down to Din, his breath’s slow and steady. “…He speaks mando’a.”

Boba wanted to kill her.

Clearly some of his intent was showing as both her clones were reaching for their weapons.

However, Organa held up her hand, still staring at Boba. “…He’s here because he wants to be.” She stated, not asked.

Still, Boba nodded. “The intricacies of our relationship is not for anyone else to judge, but yes. I don’t fuck slaves and I don’t pay for sex, regardless what my former profession would have lead you to think.” He sneered at her, rubbing at Din’s hair still to keep his love asleep.

The last thing he wanted was for him to be awake for this.

Organa narrowed her eyes at him again.

He didn’t blame her for not having a positive view of him but frankly, she could shove those thoughts right up her arse. “My father,” The two clones jumped, eyes focused on Boba at the mention of Jango but Boba glared at the fancy little Senator that thought her worldview was everything and everything fit in neat little boxes. “Was a slave, I saw his scars, I will never forget them. What my employers chose to do, I can not change, I was trying to survive and I was not created with a silver spoon in my mouth princess. But I am in charge of Tatooine now. My legacy will be different.” He glared darkly at her.

Organa looked like someone had put her neat little view of the galaxy in a box and shaken it up.

Snorting, Boba settled back, focusing on Din as he worked out a tangle of curls. “…My Princess needs someone there, someone he can trust to help him put himself together. And that’s all I will say about our relationship. Anything else will get you sent the fuck out on your ass in the sand Organa. Not even Skywalker or your nifty craft up there can cower that information out of me…” He shot a glance at her, an ugly smirk crossing his face. “But you know, as they say, like father like daughter.” He sneered.

Several things happened at once.

Organa gave a hiss like an angry cat, knowing exactly what Boba was hinting at, reaching for the blaster on her hip as she stood from the couch. The two clones desperately reached for her at the same time as they reached for their own weapons and Boba jerked too, reaching for his own.

Din beat him to the punch, jolting into action, grabbing Boba’s blaster from his hip and throwing himself onto his feet with the blanket wrapped around his waist still, knocking his calves into the caff table even as he placed the mouth of the blaster under Organa’s chin, eyes feverish but there in the moment, recognizing a threat.

Outside of Din, everyone froze, Din standing still as a statue with the blaster held to the New Republic Senator’s throat. “…Put your blaster down.” Din raspy voice murmured, eyes cold as she stared down at her.

Organa bared her teeth a bit, visibly frustrated only to jump when Boba spoke, reaching up to place his hand on Din’s lower back, rubbing his lower back. “Udesii ner kar’taylir darasuum. Udesii.”

Din didn’t move, though his hand quivered slightly.

“Please love, come back here little one,” Boba crooned quietly, breathing out quietly through his nose as Organa dropped back and Din mirrored the action, settling back down against Boba with a tired little noise. “There we go. You’re suppose to rest.” He semi scolded, carefully tucking the blanket around the other again and encouraging him back to Boba’s lap.

The other three were watching of course, Organa still bristling but the two former troopers, who Boba was certain now was Rex and Wolffe if his memory served right, were relaxing more.

It confused Boba, until he remembered… most clones knew some mandalorian.

The two knew what Boba had called Din.

Sending the two troopers a slightly angry look, the scars thankfully hiding most of his flush, Boba continued working Din to a drowsy contentment again, working out the adrenaline fueled battle instincts the hunter had honed through so many years.

Thankfully, Organa at least didn’t seem to know and while the other two could have told her, Boba instead launched into whatever kark Organa wanted so he could get them off his planet.

One day of peace, that’s all he wanted, one karking day.

Ori’jate, nuhoy jii ner runi = Very good, sleep now my soul

Udesii ner kar’taylir darasuum = Calm down my love.

In awol Jedi how does the escape from coruscant go? Do the escape cleanly or do the get caught?

Posted on av swmoddy

Landing almost silently behind the swish of his cloak and the click of his heels, Obi-Wan glanced around warily to check if anyone had seen him jump from the roof.

Thankfully, except for a stray tooka, who was staring at him with large yellow eyes, no one seemed to have noticed the Jedi and Obi-Wan let out the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding as he straightened and fixed his hood.

Then he set of, blending into the crowds of the slums of Coruscant, many people having hoods up as they didn’t want to be recognized or seen, all of them occupied with their own task they didn’t want to be recognized doing, be it for pleasure or business.

If there was one place someone could get lost, it was in a place where everyone wanted to be lost and Obi-Wan blended in with the crowd easily and despite his urge to intervene when he noticed a dealer selling deathsticks, he kept walking.

Everyone had split up, leaving out through the bedroom windows in ten minutes intervals to ensure no one caught onto several shadows leaping away. If ‘only’ one Jedi disappeared, it look like they were just angling for a bit of fun and Mace had reported over comm that he had a pair of shadows as he made his way towards the Jedi temple.

Plo had equally reported his own tails but neither Stass or Depa had reported anyone following them and Obi-Wan had not noticed anyone following him either. And honestly, he had been hyper focused on that.

Oppo should be leaving any moment now according to the chrono and Obi-Wan hoped that he wouldn’t have someone following him.

It would make everything simpler as they were suppose to rendezvous in half an hour as long as the last Jedi out wasn’t being followed.

They knew that they wouldn’t be able to take the ship they had arrived in, unfortunately but thankfully, Fox and the Coruscant troopers had arranged with another ship from the Jedi temple hours earlier.

It had been set up at a landing pad in Coco Town, Dex keeping an eye on it for the Jedi and ensuring that no one caught on just who the ship was intended for.

Honestly, Obi-Wan was so ready to get out of dodge.

He wanted to go home, research the flora and fauna, have tea with Anakin, play with the twins and enjoy time with the 212th, not cater to the whims of politicians.

His comm crackled and Obi-Wan quickly slipped into a shielded dead end, lifting it to listen as Oppo reported in.

All clear.

They could go home and Obi-Wan’s pulse throbbed with excitement.

They were going home again.

Their ruse had worked, Kamino was emptied out of troopers clones, fetus to adults, and now they could start rebuilding a planet just for them, safe away from the demands of the Senate as they ripped themselves free from their rules.

The Senate and their laws and ‘justice’ had almost destroyed the Jedi, there were even less now than before and Obi-Wan could only sense relief in himself at how free the Jedi order suddenly were along with the troopers. ‘Home…’ He slipped back into the crowds.

In Dangerous Galaxy, why does Ponds have a black eye? Or I’m assuming he had a black eye. Is it because his men had to keep him occupied to avoid doing anything too rash?I can’t help but think of Mace, not only is this power trip physical but I wonder if they’ve said something verbally to him too? Aahh. My poor Mace 😭 Is there any outward effects now that the Lightning squad knows and maybe past it off for something else?After the Vode burn down the Senate, there is a ton of healing and therapy to do…

Posted on av swmoddy

Settling his hip against the table, Cody let out a deep sigh as he waited on the General to answer his damn comm.

The meeting hadn’t really lead to much, just vague plans, names that they were going to get rid of, Fox suggesting they burn down the Chancellor office, Ponds complaining about the shiny that gave him the black eye during sparring, set up by his men to keep Ponds from killing everyone and so on and forth with the others.

Oh and Ponds crying into the table while Fox awkwardly patted the others back.

Honestly, he felt with the other.

Beside Obi-Wan, Mace Windu was the most popular pick.

Made sense with how stationary he was on Coruscant but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt Ponds less.

Cody had made an effort not to say anything about how Aayla Secura most likely would have topped the list too if it wasn’t for her habit of staying away from the core.

Maybe for the very reason the troopers were going to burn the Senate down. But yes, he wasn’t about to say that out loud, Bly was already a angry ball.

If he said that, Bly was going to go feral for sure.

Shaking himself, Cody frowned when only audio feed filtered in. “Skywalker here.” Came the absent answer, a quiet humming from someone else in the feed filtering in.

Cocking his head, Cody glanced at Rex, the other shrugging.

As far as they knew, the other should be in the Jedi temple…

All three of their Jedi should.

“Commander Cody here, sir, I was wondering if we could talk. Privately.” He tacked on quietly, listening as the humming cut of, his frown growing as he exchanged a thoroughly confused look with Rex.

The voice had sounded female but it certainly was not Commander Ahsoka, so who…

“Oh, um, I don’t kn-what?” Someone else spoke up, clearly female but the actual words weren’t caught, just like the humming had been faint. But someone else was speaking to Anakin. “Are you sure? I mean, you’re most likely right bu-oh, I guess. Okay, um, Commander, I’m in Senator Amidala’s office right now, so if you’re still interested, she’d like to talk with you too.” The Jedi stated a tad bemusedly.

Cody’s veins froze over with ice.

A Senator.

Senator Amidala.

A Senator their Jedi seemed fond of but that could be a fucked up relationship still, a ‘kind’ Senator that took advantage of the Jedi while seeming good.

His eyes shot up, finding the entire room staring at him or his comm, Wolffe looking like he was about to tear through the door any second and Ponds red rimmed eyes wide as he stared at Cody in horror.

“Commander?” Anakin’s puzzled voice echoed over the comm, over the roar of Cody’s blood and he cleared his throat, feeling like it was too dry.

“We’ll be there in ten minutes, I’m bringing Rex with me.” He said, trying to get over the buzzing in his ears.

So far, Amidala had been far down on the list, they had bigger fish to fry, those that requested Jedi every week, those that left visible marks or clearly was hooped up on some power fantasy or hurt the ones the troopers loved but…

This meeting would show where Amidala laid on the scale and if they needed to get rid of her.

She was a force for good, for peace in the Senate, just like Organa.

But Cody wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger if he found what he worried the most about ever since Anakin had come to him with panic in his eyes in a fancy ballroom.

Clipping his comm to his belt, Cody looked to Rex before both jammed their buckets on.

It was make or break down for Senator Amidala and Cody feared what he would find.

“If she’s touching him…” Rex voice trembles, cracking as it comes out through his vocoder but the force of it gains him everyone’s attention. “If she’s using him, I’m killing her. You can’t stop me. He can’t stop me. I’m killing her if she’s one of those demagolka.” He rasped out.

Cody simply rested his hand on Rex pauldron for a moment before moving, feeling everyone’s eyes on them as they made their way out.

He wouldn’t be stopping Rex if that turned out to be the case, no. If anything, he’d be holding the General back because he doubted Rex would be able to hold himself back if that was what they were about to walk in on.

Needfortouch: Din does go rescue baby Yoda, right? Does Paz leave with him in this?

Posted on av swmoddy

He has a kid.

Sitting in the pilot seat, staring at the green, cooing thing, Din isn’t sure what to make of himself.

Hadn’t he so long ago sworn that he’d never be swayed by his own instincts, that he wouldn’t be that kind of omega?

The ones media liked to portray, the omega with wide hips and a child on it with an alpha coming home from work to scent them?

Not that there was anything wrong with that way of life.

It just…

It wasn’t Din.

Din was not that kind of omega.

Din walked a lonesome road, flew among the stars, kept to himself and tried to hide his designation to avoid complications. Hell, the few times he had flown his old gang, he had always dismantled his nest and hid it.

He didn’t want to bother with them figuring it out.

But here he was, a child on his lap and a covet he had left behind to fend of the Imperial remains of a Moff, his instincts having screamed too loudly when he saw the hover pram in the trash.

The moment he had seen it, his mind had switched off and his instincts had kicked in.

Just hours earlier he had been in Paz Vizla’s lap, giving into said instincts.

Maybe they had been closer to the surface from, maybe it had been his own guilt, maybe Din was trying to give himself excuses, maybe it was a combination of all three.

But the end result was the same.

A child in his lap on the Razor Crest, his covet left behind and a bounty on his head more than likely, along with the kid.

And he didn’t even know what species it was or what his name was.

Dropping his head back, Din’s helmet made a thumping noise as he exhaled loudly, the kid staring back up at him while chewing on his hand. “…I’m not quite sure what to do now.” Din admitted quietly.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Din had given into his instincts and his covet was paying the price, while Din fled.

Like a coward.

He twitched and the kid gave a low, worried coo at him, Din closing his eyes before letting out a shaking breath. His scent must be sour again, Din wasn’t sure what to do about that.

There was nothing in his life to tell him how to deal with this.

Maybe if Din had reached out a little more to the rest of his pack, maybe if he had spoken to the Armorer, after all, as an omega and alor, she would know more, know better, maybe some way for Din to deal, so many maybe’s and nothing to do about them as he carefully lifted the kid and put him back in the pram.

Instead he forced himself to inhale and exhale steadily, forcing calm into his veins as he repeated the action four more times.

Least he felt calmer as he turned back to the kid, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t suppose you have any answers kid?” He questioned tiredly, only to get a soft coo and the kid chewing on his hand again.

Din blinked, turning back to the controls to put the Razor Crest into autopilot.

Then he stood and picked up the child. “I imagine they didn’t feed you properly in that lab,” He mused out loud, wondering when was the last time he had spoken this much to someone. “If you’re willing to choke down some rations, I got some food at least.” He moved out into the galley, heading to the small, very small, kitchen it had.

It would be at least something for the kid to eat… if he ate rations.

Honestly, Din wasn’t sure what this kid even ate and for a panicked little moment, he wondered if the kid was so young that he drank milk. Then his mind kicked in and reminded him that the little one had eaten a live frog for Manda’s sake.

It was very unlikely that the kids proximity would push Din’s body into producing milk.

He let out a shaken breath of relief, the kid squeaking up at him, as if questioning what was wrong now.

“Alright kid, lets see how you do with bland rations.” Din bounced him absently a bit, his brain pausing on the move before he just forced himself to get the ration bars out. ‘Just… roll with it Din, just roll with it.’

y got any plans for pazdin?

Posted on av swmoddy

The potential for a fight always gets Mandalorian’s geared up.

Everyone of them tense, hard wired for the fight, witnessing or taking sides even with the Armorer defusing the situation as Din pulls his blade away, his moves smooth.

The taller alpha gave one last snarl before doing the same.

But then Paz Vizla froze, visor focused on Djarin as he remained sitting at the Armorer’s table.

The knife had nicked the skin of the smaller man in the almost fight.

A thin roll of blood was on Vizla’s knife, rolling lightly over the metal in the dim light, more likely hidden beneath their beroya helmet and kute.

But that wasn’t what had frozen Vizla, a knife wound was to be expected with where he put the blade, no, it is the scent reaching slowly but steadily through the compound had reached him first.

Inside his armor and his kute, Djarin had been as good as scentless, most likely coupled with scent blockers their hunter had collected when out of the Covert. A good thing when one was a bounty hunter, those who realized approved of the decision, though no one in the covert had, though others outside it had.

Greef Karga was very careful with which bounties he gave one of his best and if he was honest, favorite bounty hunters.

Those who didn’t made assumption about Djarin.

Beta.

But with the release of blood came the release of scent, barely caught through the filters of their helmets but there.

Omega.

Not just any kind of omega either.

No, a highly fertile one as strong as the scent was even through helmet filters, tinged with distress, uncertainty present in their scent and sharp, sour, hurt.

This was the last thing that had been expected, Mandalorian’s weren’t stupid about designations but having their sole beroya turn out to be an omega…

It rattled bones when they were so few already.

Anything could happen out there. And omegas thrived on contact, it was why most of the omegas of the tribe made more than one bond, to continue on the human contact they needed.

Hell, even the Armorer, solitary by nature of her personality and her role as a leader, had two bonded mates even if she had no children, not even foundlings.

Others had bonded family packs, siblings or parents and not just mates, giving them the contact they needed.

Djarin had been the sole beroya of the clan since his father died, always going, always leaving and not bonding to anyone in that manner.

Had been alone on the Razor Crest since, with no one to hold, no one to touch, no one to look after them when their heat hit.

He simply settled into the pack every time he returned, part of it but not bonded to anyone closely.

“A surprise this is,” The Armorer finally said, resting her hands on the table, quite clearly staring though what she was thinking, no one knew. But there was a question in that voice. “You… presented late.” It wasn’t a question now.

The beroya still nodded in answer, his own hands settled on the table too, away from his weapons. “Buir let me choose, said I should tell whenever I was ready. Then he died.” Djarin’s dark T-visors stares straight at the Armorer. “The Covert needed me.”

That answered everything and yet nothing.

A late presenting, after he got into his armor.

Potential genetic, stress from his life or just a random quirk of Djarin’s, waiting until he was far past swearing the resol’nare, waiting until he was stuck in his armor and away from the Covert with only his buir around.

A buir that took in him, gave him his name, who respected his son enough to let him decide.

A buir, who had been killed on their hunt.

A young but capable beroya, their only one, well aware that he was their only beroya after the Purge and the death of his father, their means to many credits and information, though others went up for shorter trips than Djarin himself.

A new one would take longer to train, maybe longer than they really could afford, their foundlings needing what Djarin could provide via credits, which bought them food, medicine, comforts and all the things a foundling would need.

And so Djarin said nothing and simply made due with what he had.

Who knew how many wires that had crossed in the omegas brain, starved for touch, starved for bonds and starved for contact.

And too late to do anything about right now as Din simply left the beskar to the Armorer and went to find his space, deftly avoiding anyone as he covered the bloodied cut on his neck with a gloved hand.