violence

For Dangerous galaxy, does the plan go without a hitch? Or does Palpatine catch on?

Posted on av swmoddy

The worms had revolted.

Sidious had known that something was going on with the clones, he had noticed they were killing of Senators with ruthless ease, people that had harmed the Jedi but if he was honest, he hadn’t really minded it.

Some of them had been his allies yes, but they weren’t as useful as they sought to think and it had been funny to Sidious in a way. When it was exposed, if spun the right way, Palpatine could leave it all at the feet of the Jedi.

After all, they were the ones that were suppose to control the clone army, no?

They were under the purview of the Jedi order, at the ‘request’ of the Senate.

So, amused, Palpatine had allowed it to happen, somewhat impressed with the cleverness of certain troopers in the way they disposed of their targets or the sadism in certain disposal.

Ruthless.

It would serve him well once it was time to dispose of the Jedi order.

But then the clones revolted, now they were sweeping over Coruscant, there was a blackout on information leaving the Coruscant, Senators were being taken care of left and right, some outright murdered while others were being escorted to safety.

Allies of the clones.

It had not escaped his notice that neither Bail Organa or Padme Amidala’s groups were not in the Rotunda today. A sizable group, clearly noticeable in the voting and discussions of the day for their absence.

It had been the first hint of the calamity about to hit them, even if prepared and sound excuses had been prepared.

The second one had been when all forms for communications stopped working, all over Coruscant. From terminals unable to connect to the holonet to the comm lines going dead with only the buzz left.

The third, before everything went to poodoo, had been the Jedi temple, only noticeable by Sidious from his office.

He had always paid careful attention to it, from the days of his first arrival as Hego’s apprentice.

The entire Jedi temple was closed.

Its defenses were pulled up, its windows shuttered, its doors closed and a shimmering barrier had been erected.

Some were clearly by the Jedi themselves, the internal defense of the doors and windows.

But the barrier were clearly the troopers doing.

Hell, even from a distance, Palpatine could see white and maroon colored troopers moving around the perimeter of the barrier, clearly guarding the temple. And among them no sight of Jedi.

‘Cowards stashed in their temple.’ Palpatine sneered to himself, even as he heard yet another cut of scream with the sound of a blaster, the troopers cleaning up office by office.

He could feel the worms making their way to his, the troopers that normally guarded him likely among the worms or out in the street to keep the civilians in check.

They’d be there soon to dispose of the Supreme Chancellor too, as Palpatine had allowed and even encouraged the Senators to take Jedi to bed, to harm them. Something told him the troopers were aware to a certain extent of his supposed ‘crimes’.

A twisted smirk curled his lips as he sat down behind his desk.

No matter, the Sith always survived and Sidious still had an ace in the sleeve. Let the troopers come, Lord Sidious would have the last word, would be the one to survive and the Jedi temple and the troopers would burn.

Finally, the office door slammed open and a mix of white with orange and blue stepped in.

Ah, the 212th and the 501st.

The former was expected, the latter, unfortunate.

They were suppose to go with Skywalker to destroy the temple after all but oh well, there was nothing for it. Sidious simply watched them step in, blasters aimed at him, as if such a mere thing would hold a Sith lord helpless.

The last to step in was Marshal Commander Cody and Palpatine eyes narrowed.

The commander was wearing his normal armor, however… his helmet was under his arm and he was wearing a cape, black on the outside but orange on the inside to match his armor, silver fastenings on the top and by the way it was layered, it was clear it had a hood.

So this was the leader of this little rebellion, if the salutes and his way of dressing wasn’t clear, it was clear when the clone came all the way to Palpatine’s desk, to stare him down.

‘…I think I’ll have them assault Kenobi, yes. Harm him then snap them back. Let them see what they’ve done to their precious Jedi.’ Sidious growled internally even as he stood slowly to meet the gaze of this worm evenly. “Marshal commander Cody, what is the meaning of this.”

The commander had the nerve to stare at Palpatine as if he was a bug. “This is a coup Chancellor, the vode are tired of war and tired of the Senators who abuse their power. We have spent three years in war and we are done. Surrender peacefully, and you might survive.” The commander stated grimly.

As if he was truly in charge, as if he was something more than just a clone. The sheer gall of this clone, this worm had Sidious blood boiling. ‘I’ll have him personally choke Kenobi to death. Up close and personal. Yes that’s a fitting punishment.’  Sidious lip curled with his own disgust. “Commander Cody, execute order 66.” Having had enough, Palpatine snapped it out. He’d lose the apprentice he was grooming for decades but, oh well, there were always other apprentices.

Sacrifices for the Grand Plan had to be made

Instantly the clone fell still, staring at Palpatine, the troopers by the door stiffening up as if they had never heard such an order. In the Force, all the emotions of the troopers went still, as if wiped clean, the Sith never considering that the troopers in his office were shielding their shock.

For a moment, the feeling of victory rose in the Sith, the eons of planning coming to a culmination, sooner than he had expected of course and without the apprentice had groomed but he would live to make another.

But then the clone commander levered his blaster right at Palpatine’s head, muzzle almost touching his forehead. “Execute this, shabuir.” He snarled and pulled the trigger, blast point blank at Sidious head.

There was a thump of a body hitting the floor and Commander Cody breathed out heavily, setting his helmet down on the Chancellor desk. “… Finish the operation, I’ll start the slicer program on the Chancellor’s terminal.” Cody murmured.

“Yes Vod’alor!” Came the chorus of answers, all but two leaving the office, to ensure Cody’s protection.

Raising his head, Cody peered at the Jedi temple. “…Almost done now, hold on a little more Obi-Wan.”

I finally caught up on Distant Pain and I noticed that Rex mentioned Ahsoka when the clones were talking about their generals doing dangerous stuff. Has Obi-Wan met her yet or is Anakin kinda hiding her from him?

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Pausing, Obi-Wan raised his brow at Dogma. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” He questioned slowly.

Shifting, the trooper in black and silver glanced at his fellow trooper then back to Obi-Wan. “Commander Tano is on route to meet us, she’s the padawan of General Skywalker. She’ll be here in less than two days.” Dogma repeated, looking uncertainly at Obi-Wan’s stone face.

Of course, Obi-Wan was quite aware that padawan’s were in the war efforts.

Hell, he had been part of the council when they voted on allowing the padawans onto the battlefield and how young they could be.

Ahsoka Tano was fifteen years old.

Despite not meeting with them, Obi-Wan was also aware of his lineage, who joined them.

She only recently turned fifteen.

From the way Dogma spoke, not only had he met the young padawan but this was not the first time she had been on a battlefield.

He took a deep breath, sitting back in the creaky chair in his tent, pausing all his data work as he set his pad down on the equally creaky table he had. “Are you telling me that Anakin Skywalker is allowing his young padawan onto the battlefield, the most active battlefields in the entire war?” He questioned blankly.

Dogma slowly nodded, even as Zuru shifted beside him, both equally uncertain clearly. “Since she became his padawan, yes sir. General Yoda sent her to him, General Jinn thought she was going to be his padawan.” Dogma explained, though he didn’t seem familiar with the situation.

Second-hand information from one of his vode then.

Obi-Wan stared at him before slowly getting up and moving to pick up his sparring droid case. “Right, I’m gonna… I need to work out some aggression now.” He stated crisply, lips pulled into a taut, white line.

Both troopers parted, allowing Obi-Wan past them and out of the tent, the Jedi marching past several vode as he made his way over to an empty area for sparring, his mind whirling with the information he had just gained.

Not only was a padawan under the age of seventeen, as was the majority for togrutas, being regularly deployed to the worst of the war zones in this war by her master, but also with the full knowledge and permission of the grandmaster of the Jedi order.

Obi-Wan’s great grandmaster.

Dropping the case, Obi-Wan kicked it so hard he felt like his toes were going to break, his anger getting the better of him.

Even as he lunged at the droid, he could feel Zuru and Dogma’s concern bouncing of his shields, could feel the attention of the camp slowly turn towards him as the noises started echoing, could feel Jinn suddenly being there.

And with him, Skywalker.

Obi-Wan’s carefully shuttled anger grew again and he let out a deep snarl at the injustices the latter reminded him of.

Their padawans shouldn’t be out in these fields, at all, but at the very least their youngest, the ones below their majority, should never be in the worst battlefields.

Obi-Wan’s grandmaster had allowed such a thing and Obi-Wan felt like tearing his hair out as he worked with his emotions.

The myth of Jedi not feeling anger, rage or even wrath was something he didn’t understood but if anyone had seen Obi-Wan at that moment, they would have that notion removed.

Because Obi-Wan was angry, angrier than he had ever been before in his life.

But he was also working through it.

‘Feel it, taste it but don’t let it control you,’ He reminded himself firmly, teeth gritted as he dodged the swing of a metal arm and lashed out with his leg. ‘I am stronger than my rage, I am better than my wrath. I am in control, not it.’

Oh my… scarfaced Din was really great! When did he get the scar? And from whom? Is there still some kind of trauma? Does showing his scar to them bring his trauma back?

Posted on av swmoddy

Grunting as he woke up, Boba stared at the dim ceiling for a long minute as he wondered what in the hell had woken him, the sound of one of his snoring bedmates annoying but familiar to Boba, it couldn’t be that.

It wasn’t his alarm, that’s for sure, so what in Sith hells ha-a soft whimper interrupted his tired thought and Boba was suddenly very awake as he turned his head quickly towards the noise.

Paz still on his back and was snoring deeply, the weird neck pillow he used to sleep comfortably in his helmet still tucked under his head as he slept in the middle, one arm awkwardly sprawled over his chest and the other still tucked under the waistband of his shorts.

For some odd reason, Paz liked to stick one of his hands down his boxers, arm across his body as he rested it on his hipbone.

A small smile twitched onto Boba’s lips at the sight he had come to find endearing, finding the others blanket down at the foot end, Paz most likely having become too hot during the rise of the sun.

Another whimper echoed and Boba’s breath caught as realization hit him.

Din.

Slowly, careful so he wouldn’t wake the other two hyper vigilant warriors sharing his bed and life, Boba slid out of their large. In the gray light peeking in through the corners of the curtain, he made his way around on bare feet, his heart sinking at the sight of his bared lover.

Din was curled up in a fetal position, clearly visible as he had also kicked his blanket off at some point. His legs were pulled up and his arms were pressed to his chest, his body shaking ever so slightly. His tanned skin was coated in sweat, his eyelids flickered heavily and his lips were twitching, as if speaking to ward someone off, though Boba could make no sense of any words.

Boba breathed out, kneeling down, uncertain what to do.

A nightmare was never easy for any warrior and he was shocked Paz was sleeping through the noise. Maybe he had turned down his helmet audio for the night but occasionally Din would twitch in the bed, his back pressed to Paz arm and Boba wasn’t sure what the hell to do.

Waking sleeping warriors were never easy but he couldn’t stand to see Din like this and in the gray of the light, his face scar almost looked swollen.

Maybe it was the scar, Boba knew from his own that they could flare with pain and maybe Din’s face scar was the same way.

“Fuck me…” He hissed quietly then reached out, touching Din’s upper arm. “Din, Princess, wak-” Din let out a cry and lashed out, his uncoordinated fist striking Boba in the cheek, sending him flailing back with a throbbing face.

Despite half expecting it, despite being almost resigned to it, Boba still let out a violent and loud curse as his ass hit the sandstone floor and his back the wall.

The cry and move woke Paz too, the big warrior letting out a mighty roar as he sat up and all three of them heard the ripping of fabric as he bounced out of bed with unexpected agility for a man his size.

Both Din and Boba, the latter holding his cheek, turned to the man and found Paz shorts sliding slowly down his legs, baring his frankly magnificent arse to the bedroom if you were to ask Boba, a very, very magnificent ass.

For a moment, only the panting of air was heard before Boba cracked up from the sheer hilarity of the situation, Din letting out a slightly nervous giggle and Paz muttering slightly as he looked around, clearly confused about what in the world had just happened as it was clear they were safe in their bedroom.

Snorting at the puppy dog tilt of the others head, Boba rubbed gingerly at his cheek. “Put on some new underwear cyare, we don’t need a full moon right now.” He teased softly.

Paz grumbled slightly, scratching at his pubic trail before nodding. “Mmmkay.”

Still giggling slightly, Boba shuffled up slowly and sat down on the bedside, grunting slightly as Din cautiously touched him. “Its alright, you had a nightmare. I don’t blame you.” He rumbled at the guilty look of the others wide, brown eyes.

“Still doesn’t make it alright to hit you.” Din rasped out, glancing over at Paz as the other found himself a new pair of shorts from his drawer.

Shaking his head softly, Boba just smiled at him. “You didn’t mean to little one.” Boba gently knocked his knuckles over Din’s chin, leaning in to press their foreheads together. This close, he could feel that there was heat in the scar and he let out a small hum, lifting his fingers to gently prod at it.

Din hissed quietly but didn’t move away, the bed bouncing a bit as Paz climbed back into their bed and settled down again, muttering tiredly before giving a loud, jaw cracking yawn. “What the kark just happened?” He grumbled out, scratching at the wry hairs on his chest.

“Nightmare, I hit Boba.” Din confessed, flinching a bit at the sudden silence on the other side.

Paz raised his head, t-visor locked on Boba. “…You okay?” He turned his head to Din. “Either of you?”

It warmed Boba to hear the concern and from the wobbly smile on Din’s lips, it did the same for him. “Throbs a bit, nothing some ice won’t solve,” He rumbled, still gently touching the edges of Din’s face scar. “I got some creams that would help this, want me to find them?” He queried softly.

He didn’t want to push Din for answers, didn’t want the other to feel forced to answer them.

For a moment, his face pulling taunt, Din hesitated before he deflated and gave a small nod against Boba’s forehead. “Please… it’s… I don’t know, it feels hot and somehow taunt. I don’t know what to do with it.” He confessed quietly, leaning back into the hand Paz settled on his back.

Pressing a soft kiss to the edge on his forehead, Boba slid off the bed. “Alright, I’ll fetch the ice and the cream I use for warm scars.” He stated promisingly, watching for a second as Paz gently coaxed Din into laying down against him.

It was a pretty sight and Boba might have stayed to watch as Paz ran his hand through Din’s hair if it wasn’t for the throbbing of his face reminding him that he had a task to do.

‘Cream and ice first, cuddles with my little ones afterward.’ He promised himself, grumbling faintly as he made his way to the mini fridge and freezer combo he had in the sitting room of the quarters.

It was really intended for drinks and a few snacks but right now the ice in the freezer was going to be for his face, Boba tucking it into the ice pack they had so it wouldn’t leak water everywhere. ‘Maybe I should just start keeping this thing in the freezer.’ He mused thoughtfully to himself as he made his way back.

The cream was quickly collected from the fresher, Boba getting a look at his face in the mirror.

No blood, thank kark, Din had hit him hard but hadn’t broken skin.

Not that Boba would have minded but he knew that Din would have felt even more guilty.

The bruise that was coming would be magnificent, that much Boba knew. Even half asleep and dazed from a nightmare, Din was deadly and a fierce storm and Boba had no idea he could be even more attracted to their princess.

But a little display of strength and violence had always gotten Boba’s blood roaring with attraction.

The sight when he returned to the bed had him softening, still attracted but a softer sort as he watched Paz coddle Din, stroking his hair with a slow tenderness that made Boba’s heart flutter, Din turned trustingly into his chest after his nightmare.

The flutter only grew when Din, a bit doopy eyed from the hair petting, sat up and let Boba rub cream into his scar with slow, gentle fingers.

Hands that had bought violence and pain, hands Boba once had thought would never be clean of the blood, bringing Din comfort as he looked at him with those large doe eyes full of trust and warmth.

And maybe a little guilt.

Paz hand found Boba’s thigh in the meantime, petting lightly as he watched them and Boba could swear he could feel the sappy smile on a face he had yet to see. ‘Ner mesh’la.’ Boba would do anything for his little ones, even setting the galaxy ablaze if they asked and it should terrify him.

But all it served to do was make him weak in the knees, because Din and Paz would never ask for it.

His little ones.

Here I am enabling you to hurt my soul. Can I have a kidnapping in sweet princess. Or an attempt. What would happen if someone tried to take din from boba?

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Grumbling faintly to himself as he set his helmet on the arm, Boba tilted his head to look up at Fennec as the zabrak hurried out of his sight, having reported from town about the build. “You know where Din went?” He questioned, voice pitched low so it wouldn’t carry.

Din preferred to keep his name out of the court as Princess, to avoid Bo-Katan’s attention when she finally arrived and the separation from bared face to armor was still a threshold the other hadn’t quite managed to get comfortable, not yet.

That time would come but not yet.

Fennec shrugged, comfortably settled on the arm of Boba’s throne. “Think he went down to look at some of the weaponry. You know how he gets.” She smirked a tad and Boba sighed to himself.

Seemed he’d have to find Din a job soon if he was getting antsy.

To be fair, it had been a month since Din’s last job, the other had been doing good with just sparring and training. Since his nightmare, Din had been slightly clingy, not that Boba had been much better.

It was nice to have Din in his arms, sleeping, safe and sound and clingy and kissy.

Boba liked affection, sue him!

There was a small throat being cleared and Boba looked away from his friend and enforcer, his brows jumping in surprise to find one of the younglings from the town standing in front of his dais, the boy looking nervous as he clung to a gray, duracrete box.

He looked like one of the market boys if Boba was right, wearing roughspun but proper clothes, a dark sun tanned skin and wide, hazel eyes as he peered up at Boba from under a mop of curls that almost reminded Boba of his lover. “I-I’m sorry for disturbing sir, but I was paid t-to deliver this to you.” The boy stammered out, his voice cracking from spot to spot in clear evidence of puberty.

“A delivery?” Boba repeated slowly, his eyes falling back to the box the boy was clinging to. “Paid? By who lad.”

The boy shuffled his booted feet on the sand, sucking on his bottom lip. “Um, I don’t really know. They were strangers, I’d never seen them before but they paid me a handful of of peggat to deliver this box to the King of Tatooine, giving it directly to you and you alone sir.” He swallowed thickly, shaking a bit from nerves.

Clearly, this had not been the boys idea and now he looked like he regretted accepting the deal.

If he was honest, the box could be anything, a bomb even but Boba didn’t think so.

Raising his brow, Boba glanced back up at Fennec, the sharpshooter looking as confused as him before he looked back to the nervous boy. “Well, lets see what these people wanted me to have then.” Boba held out his hand, gesturing for the lad to step closer.

The boy, teen really, stepped forward and gingerly handed over the box before quickly stepping back, stopping reluctantly when Boba held up a hand for him to wait. Depending on the contents of the box, Boba would have more questions for the boy about the ones who asked for him to deliver it to the King of Tatooine.

It was light, for some reason Boba had expected more heft to it, it looked quite large after all.

An uneasy feeling rose in Boba’s chest as he settled the box on his lap, staring down at the gray duracrete box.

He didn’t want to open it and clearly Fennec recognized that as she settled her hand on his shoulder. “Boba?” She whispered quietly.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” Boba rumbled. He’d gotten used to listening to his instincts, especially during his hunts when he was still a bounty hunter and his instincts were wailing at that moment.

Still he released the latches on the box, pulling it off in a smooth move.

His heart leapt to his throat, his hands clenched on the lid and he heard Fennec take a snapping breath of air as his head buzzed in a convoluted mix of dangerous emotions.

The most prominent was fear and raw fury.

Because in the box, was a soft, silky length of white cloth, stained with darkening blood as it is drying into the fabric.

Resting on top of the silky outfit, the outfit Din had been wearing earlier and Boba had marveled at how it made Din’s tanned skin glow, lays Din’s beskar collar with a severed tanned finger resting in the middle of silver and white.

Several court members dropped under the tables as Boba crushed the duracrete lid with his hands, the boy squeaked loudly and trembled as Boba rose with the box held in his hand, duracrete falling off his lap from the broken lid. “Tell me everything about the ones who sent you here.” Boba hissed, his voice quiet but all the more frightening for it.

An angry, raving monarch was one thing, something to be soothed. An icy cold and calculative furious one could massacre a planet.

More than one person almost pissed themselves in fear as they stared with wide eyes as the King plucked a familiar beskar collar out of the box, several people squeaking in horror as realization set in about what had pissed Boba Fett of.

“Tell me who took my Princess?!”

()()()

Squinting slightly at the cell door with the dim light provided from the window over his head, Din wondered how long it would take until his left eye was too swollen to see anything.

If experience told him anything, maybe another hour.

If he remained awake long enough that was.

As it was, stripped of all his clothes, sheer as they were, his arms restrained over his head, with a gag tied cruelly around his head as he sat on the floor of the warm cell he was being kept in, he wasn’t sure he would remain awake much longer.

The damn cell was like a sweat box and his body throbbed with pain every time he shifted, sweat gathering on his skin and dripping into open sores on his body. His legs ached from being kept up towards his chest but Din didn’t quite dare lower them since the devaronian kept watching him with lidded, interested eyes.

He didn’t want to give the mutt more to look at, regardless how his legs ached or how much pressing his legs together generated more heat.

Knowing Tatooine though, he knew, come nightfall, everything would grow almost icy cold, leaving Din to freeze, so he better enjoy the warmth while he could, even if it left him feeling dehydrated, his lips chaffing around the cloth in his mouth.

Well, enjoy it as long as he was left alone, Din didn’t like the way some of his abductors were looking at him, some of them obviously leering at him with lust as they looked him over, while others were angry over the comrades they had lost when Din was ambushed.

Din didn’t go down easy, still battle hardened as he was and apparently this group, idiots as they were, didn’t expect him to have a vibroblade tucked on him in the sheer folds of his outfit.

Hopefully, that meant that Boba could find evidence of the shuffle and start gathering clues.

His left hand throbbed with pain, reminding Din that these assholes had removed one of his fingers, as a ‘message’ to the King.

It was meant as a point, that they were quite willing to harm Din and he had seen it in action before. A threat display.

Never in a million years had he thought he’d be exposed to it himself though and he could only hope that infection wouldn’t set in, though he could tell a few of the other sores on his body was showing signs of infection.

He wasn’t sure what they were wanted from his buir’ika but Din hoped to hell that Boba wouldn’t give them it as he shifted in an attempt to get more comfortable, grimacing as the hunter felt sand itching up his ass crack.

Din wanted to go home.

He wanted to crawl into the large tub in the King’s suite, sit in Boba’s lap, have his hair washed and then snuggle up into their bed, wrapped up in his lover’s arms.

Din wanted to be safe with his buir’ika.

As he heard a commotion from the front of whatever place they were keeping him, Din sent of a prayer to manda and the ka’ra that Boba would find him and find him soon.

He’d rather keep the rest of his body parts.

Ok I was trolling through Distant Pain as I do and I need Obi Wan being fretted over by the medics, especially with how the vode have adopted him pleassseeee

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Wiggling slightly, the Jedi let out a soft noise. “…I feel like I’m swaddled. What in the world did you do to me Kix?” Obi-Wan questioned with some drowsy bemusement.

The medic popped into view, raising one brow as he peered down at Obi-Wan. “Because technically, I guess you are swaddled. You have a cocktail in your system thanks to Ventress and I’d rather you not try moving with it, especially after hanging upside down.” He stated a tad dryly.

“You almost fell flat on your face when you tried walking sir, I agree with Kix.” Dogma stated from the end of the bed and Obi-Wan flopped his head to look at the two troopers sitting at the end of his bed, both Zuru and Dogma radiating approval.

Clearly they were very happy that Obi-Wan wasn’t going anywhere.

He pouted at them slightly, wiggled again then gave up, huffing softly as he settled.

Not that he was really about to complain, it was mostly for show.

He was seriously comfortable, warm and wrapped up with some of his favorite people around him.

“I’m not shocked, the drugs Ventress has given him is low grade outside of the Force inhibitor,” Kix continued, patting Obi-Wan on the head before gently rubbing when Obi-Wan tilted into the petting. “Without the Force to flush it, its having some ugly side effects and I wouldn’t be shocked if he comes up with a cold or something, his immune system is compromised currently. And we’re not even talking about hanging upside down for hours.” Kix sighed deeply.

Zuru let out a grumble before patting Obi-Wan’s leg, all of them aware how touch starved Obi-Wan was and doing their bits to help him. “Okay, well, how about you tell me about this disemboweling thing you mentioned General, cause I sure as kark don’t know about that.” He huffed.

Opening his mouth, Obi-Wan blinked and tilted his head when he heard a crash, feeling Kix hand in his hair had gone still. He found Rex on the floor, having crashed into Helix when the medic and captain entered. “I’m sorry, the what now?” The blond seethed, staring at them as he pushed himself up, ignoring Helix hand.

Most likely due to not noticing but still, Helix pouted a bit at being ignored before his eyes too snapped to Obi-Wan.

Wiggling a bit inside his blanket, Obi-Wan huffed. “Bah, early carrier, encountered a smuggler with a sickle as a weapon,” He giggled slightly to himself as he remembered the mission. It was suppose to be an easy one and had turned into a shit show that involved spice, child slaves and his guts spilling out of him. “She split me from hip to hip in almost a vertical line and it all spilled out of me.” He giggled some more because clearly the smuggler hadn’t anticipated it anymore than Obi-Wan.

She had ended up vomiting from the sight of Obi-Wan’s organs being on the outside and he had slammed her to the wall, knocking her out as his guts laid bare for the world.

One of the older kidnapped kids, almost a teen, had been the one to help him get it back into place and wrap Obi-Wan’s robe around his midsection until they could get help.

From the sights of it, the troopers didn’t find it funny at all, Dogma looked like he was about to vomit as he made those distressed clicking noises he made and Zuru looked like he wanted to scream as Cotton crawled into the pilots lap.

“…You aren’t leaving the sight of of the vode,” Rex stated, his the finger he was leveling at Obi-Wan shaking a bit and Obi-Wan becoming a bit cross eyed from looking at it. “Someone is always going to be by you, ner vod, because trouble is attracted to you.” He wheezed.

Obi-Wan pouted, would complain if it wasn’t for Kix fingers scratching at his scalp, the hooped up Jedi missing the tremble in the medic hand and Helix getting an Iv ready with wide eyes.

How the hell did their idiot Jedi brother survive before them!

(Sorry, I’ll have to come back to HoarderSeer: I remember loving it when I read it, but can’t recall what happened right now, haha) DrinkTooMany is awesome so far! I love how protective both Boba and Paz are; they revolve around Din, and it shows. More than that, I love how he lets them! And Din’s rage at the poisoner was just delightful – I really DO hope he gets the chance to put that miserable idiot on his ass! That would be awesome!

Posted on av swmoddy

The first thing every member of the court noticed when they arrived was that the silver mando was sitting on the arm of Fett’s throne, elbows resting on his thighs and leg thrown between the sprawl of Fett’s thighs. The omega’s hands hang limply between his knees and his body is seemingly relaxed even as his visor tracks every being entering the room in a short moment before dismissing them just as quickly.

Fett carefully kneads at the leg between his while big blue is standing beside the omega, one hand resting at the small of his back in a lightly rubbing motion and whatever the omega had been doing before to suppress his scent, it is no longer in effect.

The scent of unhappy omega is ripe in the air.

Not the bitter or overly sweet scent of an upset or sick one but sharper somehow, focused in a way that leaves several alphas sitting up and taking notice as their nose and even teeth somehow ache in reaction to the scent.

But the mando’s alphas somehow seem at ease with it.

Even seem to enjoy it by the sight of Paz leaning in to gently nuzzle his helmet to the others, a low murmur coming from the vocoder.

Djarin snorts, doesn’t look away from the doorway, as if he’s waiting for something but he does respond in a similar low tone. Whatever he says, has Fett chuckling faintly as he runs his hand up to squeeze the others knee for a moment then back to knead the calf once more.

The scent changes a bit, a measure of pleased omega.

And then it sharpens again as there is a shout down the hall, the sound of a shuffle with all three now focused on the doorway as Shand bodily throws the alpha noble into the throne room.

The man looks a far sight of from the man that arrived arrogant and thinking he was better than anyone in the throne room. For one his clothes and hair is now a mess, messy from being slept in and having no opportunity to groom himself and he’s also bleeding from his nose, dripping onto the front of his silk vest.

He rolls on the throne floor, coming to a stop in front of the dais as Shand prowls after with a proud smirk on her lips as she takes up her spot on the other side of the throne, secure in the knowledge that her personally trained guards will hold the noble right where he is should he try to flee.

Smartly, the man does not and doesn’t even try to rise but that could be the pressure of two alphas and an omega so sharply focused on him.

For a moment, no one speaks, the music is dead silent in the halls of Fett palace.

“He give you any problem?” Fett finally drawled, all three visors focused on the quivering noble on the floor but clearly speaking to Shand.

“Tried to rush at me when I opened the cell,” Shand snarked, smirking a bit as she cracked the knuckles of her hand with the other. “So I punched him.”

A low snigger from the big blue alpha, a vicious sound even through the vocoder. “Said it before, gonna say it again, your my kind of beta Shand.” He growled happily.

She gave a mocking bow in return before reaching down and pulling up a bottle of spotchka from behind the throne, likely stashed by Shand herself.

There was a shuffle, the New Republican noble was getting to his feet, holding his hands up in a surrendering motion. “M-My lords, I am sure I have gravely insulted you all bu-” Whatever else he was going to say, to try and justify himself to get out of the punishment he was sure to gain, no one would learn.

Because in that moment, Djarin burst into motion from where he had practically been vibrating on the arm of the throne. He lunged forward, his booted feet hitting the dais with a smooth jump bringing him to the floor, his left fist cocked back in swift, smooth movements that even trained warriors might have difficultly avoiding.

An unfit core alpha from a noble family that thought exercise beneath him?

No chance, the mandalorian hit true and hard.

The wet thump echoed in the room along with the loud crack, a telling noise of something breaking at the hit as the alpha hit the ground. Djarin had held nothing back and downed the alpha with that power punch, growling happily as the alpha cried out and cradled his nose, rolling on the floor in pain.

Both alphas behind him were watching closely, the court able to scent the arousal they had for the violent display of what was clearly a feral omega.

The noble wheezed looking up at Djarin as he held his hands over his face as he got up on his knees. “Ma ‘ose! Ma ‘ose! Yo ‘itch!” He cried out with tears in his eyes.

And idiocy showing once more as both Fett and Paz growled deeply at the insult to the omega, the low level arousal they had been letting out disappearing in the face of their rage.

Djarin just snorted before putting his foot to the man’s shoulder and pushing, sending him onto his back.

The alpha wheezed but before he could move, Djarin stepped after him and raised his foot, placing it purposefully on the alpha’s groin.

A loud, frightened if garbled whine escaped the man’s throat, most likely an involuntary reaction to the threat to his privates and just as involuntary, several alphas covered their own groins or shifted in discomfort.

The silence was almost stifling as Djarin stood there, a trembling alpha beneath his foot. “If you had drugged me on purpose,” He stated slowly, vocoder doing nothing to hide the dark tone of his voice. “I would have castrated you here and now in front of everyone.” Djarin growled deeply.

The alpha whimpered loudly, the hand not covering his face spasming on the floor, as if undecided if he should attempt to shove the others foot off of him.

“Luckily for you, you didn’t target me on purpose,” Djarin continued, his voice easing up. Maybe a mercy extending everyone thought confusedly until the next words came. “But you tried to drug my mate and I am not one to be trifled with when it comes to family.” With that, Djarin ground the heel of his foot down against the alpha’s dick and balls, simply kicking the man’s hands away when the noble tried to grab his ankle, screaming and crying.

No mercy from the violent omega, that was for sure as he continued slowly torturing the man in front of an entire court and his alphas.

Both simply watched, quiet and attentive and Shand was simply sampling her booze, eyes lidded as she relaxed though occasionally she winced at the pitch the New Republican managed to get.

Finally, when the man was out of air and panting instead of screaming, Djarin lifted his foot and stepped back, snorting deeply as he made his way back to the dais, stepping into the waiting arms of the big blue mandalorian.

The man greeted his mate with a low, proud croon, the only noise outside of the panting of the alpha on the floor. The two rubbed the forehead of their helmets together before Paz was handing the omega to Fett, the man instantly tucking the armored man into himself and there was no way that could be comfortable.

Two armored men in a stone throne, but they seemed to make it work as they watched big blue stepped down from the dais and made his way to the noble, lifting him by the front of his expensive clothes until they were visor to eye level, the noble eyes wild as he shakily clutched onto the cuirass of the armor.

For a second, the alpha just stood there, easily holding the other up off his feet, showing the strength his stature indicated. Then Paz chuckled darkly, sending a shiver of dread down everyone but three people’s backs. “I’m going to flay you alive and leave you for the scavengers of the desert,” He lightly shook the man, chuckling even more when he whimpered in fright. “Boba has already said I can do what I want. And I suffer no threat to my mates without repercussion.” That said, he started walking, dragging the weakly struggling man with him.

Djarin made a motion to follow the alpha dragging their prey out only for Fett to croon at him, pulling him back into his lap. “Let Paz have his fun sweetheart. You already had yours and I do so hate being alone.” Fett playfully, heard by the entire court despite the lowness of his voice

Both Shand and Djarin snorted, the noise crackly through the vocoder of the mandalorian before he huffed and nodded, settled into his mate.

A few of the more sadistically inclined people of the court followed after, eager to see spilled blood as when Paz stated he was going to flay the man, it had not sounded like an exaggeration.

Fett simply waved his hand and got the court started properly for the day, not even pausing when they heard screaming from outside.

But if he smelled satisfied with his arm possessively wrapped around the waist of his beskar dressed enforcer and mate…

Well, a warning had thoroughly been sent.

Don’t mess with Fett’s mates and don’t mess with Fett.

Because a hefty toll would be paid when either of the alphas or the omega extracted the payment from fools.

Love love LOVE SweetPrincess! Any chance we could see Boba and Din interacting while Din has his armor on?

Posted on av swmoddy

When the King of Tatooine was in a bad mood, you better behave.

Now, why Fett was in a bad mood was hard to say.

It certainly wasn’t Shand’s fault, she was the only one to escape Fett’s vicious lashing or glares and was the only one that could calm him down with a low tch or a quiet word.

And his temper seemed to grow by the day, tolerating less and less. By the time Fett punched one of his weapon runners for loosing a shipment…

Well, people were walking on eggshells by the time they realized what had put Fett in a bad mood.

Princess was nowhere in sight, hadn’t been in at least four to five days and when someone had dared to approach Shand about it, she had raised a brow at them and then shrugged. “Visiting his son.”

So, no sexual relief and with how fond Fett was of Princess, most likely other emotions that people didn’t want to think about were tangled into that too and it seemed like Princess would not be back in days yet.

And then came the growled question the King had shot Shand about a week in. “Djarin, have you heard anything from him?” He tilted his helmet in Shand’s direction, t-visor somehow doing nothing to shield the glare the man had.

Shrugging, Shand had crossed her arms over her chest. “Said he was following a bounty after leaving Yavin 4, haven’t heard from him since. You know how restless he can be after visiting.” The sharpshooter stated quietly, a thoughtful look in her dark eyes.

Fett cursed and then waved for the bartender to send over his usual drink.

So, first his bed slave had left to see his son and now also his favorite hunter was gone.

That had never before coincided and it left the King of Tatooine in a foul mood, a mood none of them could do anything about.

Best thing they could do was pray to the karking Force or maker that either of them arrived and did so soon.

Hopefully Princess but at this point either of them would do before Fett killed someone as the man started lurking more and more in his armor, fiddling with vibroblades and blasters as if he’s itching to hurt someone.

Thankfully though, after about two and a half week, one of them do arrive, just as Fett looks to be on the snapping point,  having stepped down off his throne and dais to shake down an idiot from the core who thought it smart to antagonize him, holding the man up by the front of his shirt as he snarls.

Djarin limps into the dim hall, his armor in need of buffing and his spear strapped to his back, a bit worse for wear clearly but alive if injured as his limp indicates and shiny as always despite the scruffing of his armor, nothing a little polish won’t remove.

Fett zeros in on him the moment he steps in too, thick suspense seemingly choking the air as he drops the core member.

Quietly, the silver mando makes his way over to the dais as the core member crawls away as quickly as possible, wanting to be out of Fett’s ire.

He needn’t worry, the man’s attention is firmly on his hunter and when he’s close enough, Fett’s hand lashes out and captures a helmet covered chin to bring him down, growling up at him, his vocoder cracking at the sound. “You’re late. And injured,” He hissed, vicious rage practically dripping of every syllable. “Explain.” The tone of voice would have lesser men shaking in their boots.

Even the mando drops at the tone, to his knees, Fett still holding his chin even as he clearly hisses again at the move, pausing when the man hooks his hands into Fett’s belt with the visor tilted up at him. “Ni ceta. I didn’t mean to.” Djarin mumbles, his voice lacking bite and sounding iffy even through the vocoder.

If one was to take a guess, it sounds as if he might be concussed and it makes people wonder what kind of bounty he was hunting that has injured him.

They’ve seen the mando fight, he’s a violent force of beskar, blaster and spear that can dispatch of any threat coming his way with ease.

And yet here he is, kneeling at the feet of another man.

The respect he must have for Fett or the debt he owes him must be vast, kneeling on the sand of the throne room.

Fett growls loudly before hooking a hand under the man’s armpit, heaving him up with a moan of pain from the bounty hunter. “Shand, take charge. I’ll deal with this!” He snapped out, pulling the mando with him. “I swear Djarin, if you cauterized even one fucking little thing, I will pull you over my lap an-” Whatever else the king was going to do was cut off by the door closing behind him.

Shand easily settles on the arm of the throne, looking vaguely amused, though for those that knew her, they’d see the worried twitch of her lip.

The court very slowly goes back to normal after that, several able to breath more easily because now that one of them is back, surely Fett’s mood will improve and no one will die for pissing him off?

Right?

Well, they are sort of right but at the same time, finding the silver mando kneeling where Princess is normally sat is still a heart stopping moment.

Instead of standing behind the throne as he normally does, the day after his arrival, Djarin is kneeling in his armor on Princess pillow, his helmeted head set against Fett’s thigh. Fett has placed a gloved hand on the back of his bounty hunter’s neck, holding him in place seemingly.

Fett moves occasionally, speaking with whoever petitions him, dealing with idiots, sending of teams, dismissing some and outright laughing at one request from the core world.

Djarin moves only when Fett moves, in so much that he follows the moves of his king’s body and the grip on his neck.

Beside the throne is the beskar spear Djarin uses, leaning against the arm. So far and yet so close at the same time and yet Djarin clearly does not intend to use it as he submits to his King and this humiliation.

Behind hands and fans to keep one cool for those that own one, whispered speculations are exchanged.

Did the King put his hunter to his bed, peel him out of his armor and make him submit?

Its clear he’s being punished at the very least, kneeling where Fett’s favorite whore is usually suited.

Its a power move, though a few wonder how Princess will take it when he returns.

Not many can claim to have a fully armored mandalorian on their knees though and it makes for quite the threat display to any outsider that shows up at Fett’s strange court.

Some speculate why the bounty hunter is being punished.

Is it because he was late?

Because he was injured?

Maybe Fett just doesn’t like being kept out of the loop?

There had been no mention of the bounty Djarin had been hunting, maybe he had lost the target and that was why he was now suited on his knees in his armor.

They can speculate but none of them are right of course.

If they could see below the armor, they’d see the bruises and burns on Din’s body, could see the cauterized on the left calf and the lines of bruises along Din’s back.

None of it had been properly cared for until Din had returned to Tatooine, to Boba.

And if there is one thing Boba won’t suffer, it is something being cruel to his Princess, not even Din himself.

So. Does Din ever need to fight as Princess? I imagine it would be a shock to everyone else in Boba’s court

Posted on av swmoddy

Din’s body speaks about battle, about violence and hurt.

Of survival where he shouldn’t have, cauterized wounds that should have killed him.

It speaks about skills that must have been honed and yet here he still stands, standing slightly behind Boba on a leash as the man has left the throne for once, ‘Princess’ wearing scanty clothes that some would not think a warrior should wear.

Its comforting though and Din likes to be pretty for Boba, just as he would have fetched Boba a drink if that was all he really wanted.

Din however knows that Boba just wanted to stretch his legs in all actuality.

He’s listened to the man complain about how little comfort the stone throne brought him, the stiff legs and sore back and yet still the man rejected the idea of pillows in the throne.

Grumbled about wearing his armor and how little the pillows would do for the rigidness of his armor.

Something Din knew was shit and he was going to get pillows into that throne, he knew what kind of pillows worked well when wearing armor, giving padding and support..

The beskar chain in Boba’s hand hangs in a loose loop as Din eyed people, jingling lightly when Boba’s hand moves but the noise and the chatter of people is not enough to distract Din from an unsettled feeling as he stood at Boba’s back.

Shand was out, dealing with an underground deal with her own captain and underlings.

And ever since Din had nuzzled his face into Boba’s neck, he had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, a feeling that grew even as he remained cuddled into Boba. Maybe a bit more clingy than usual, Boba had given him a look through the helmet visor but not questioned him.

It wasn’t something Din could put his finger on though.

But he has learned not to disregard that feeling, the feeling of wrong.

It practically aches through his body, his old scars aching.

Someone has forgotten those scars, the history that lays plain on Din’s skin with the sheer silks and gossamer thin fabrics.

Because the focus suddenly narrows as someone, a pudgy gamorran, raises a blaster at Boba’s back.

At his buir’ika back.

An assassination attempt, right in front of Din and his focus narrows as it would in a hunt.

To Boba, to himself, to the people around him, to the gamorran and the others clearly in cahoots and to the potential weapons around him.

Din counts three, three perps.

Three idiots thinking they could kill the King of Tatooine.

Without his helmet, his snarl cuts through the air as he grabs a polished serving tray off the serving bar, raising it enough to deflect the blast and then he chucks it with all his might. Like a discus, it sings through the air, the edges sharp enough that it buries itself in the chest of the gamorrean.

He squeals like a pig for slaughter, chest spurting blood.

The sound is piercing and the wet, warm blood splashing him is uncomfortable, especially without his helmet but Din is angry and therefore does not care too much. Someone is trying to kill Boba.

His Boba.

Yanking his chain out of Boba’s thankfully gloved hands, Din wraps it around his own to a manageable length and lashes out to the human moving forward with a sword, ignoring the screaming of the court trying to flee.

Instead he moves forward and snaps the delicate beskar chain forward, wrapping it around the neck of the man and pulling him forward. He hits the floor, and his own sword, with a cry of pain.

But still alive.

Din can’t have that as he steps forward, out of his sandals, and places his bare foot on the humans neck, pressing down with his heel and twisting.

A sickening crack fills the air as the act of breaking the man’s neck also pushes him down on the blade, blood splashing up Din’s leg but Din’s focus already shifted on the last would be assassin.

A woman, two slim daggers in her hands, her wide eyed focus on Din as he snarls again in challenge, standing in front of Boba, the chain swinging almost lazily as he tries to decide if he is to kill her or not.

She is a threat, but she may have answers if she was hired. But she was going to harm Boba, Din does not suffer threats to what he loves ide-

A warm hand, gloved hand drops to his shoulder, thumb rubbing lightly at the juncture of neck and shoulder. “Easy Princess,” Boba’s voice is a steady drawl, the vocoder crackling slightly. “I want this one alive. I want answers.” He murmured, both pride and anger in his voice.

Decision taken form Din, even as he snarls angrily, taking a step forward towards the assassin only to pause when she falls on her knees, throwing her blades away, begging for mercy from Boba.

Din snorts in disgust but waits for Boba to call him off, his body trembling in leftover adrenaline, anger and so much fear, even as he gingerly presses the end of the somewhat bloody chain into Boba’s hand.

It feels better, when Boba has the end of his chain, the comforting weight of the beskar now so familiar to Din.

He rests his head on the shorter man’s shoulder, body trembling easing slowly as Boba’s other hand finds the base of his spine and starts stroking. But he doesn’t take his eyes of the brown haired woman kneeling on the ground as she continues pleading with Boba asking short but pointed questions.

Questions that will determined her future.

Several courtiers are slowly coming back out of their hiding, the bartender behind the bar watching warily.

After Din’s head got smashed in, people seemed to forget that Princess must have been a warrior, for all the lace and silk he wears, bared to everyone’s gaze.

They won’t forget any time soon now, as a human and a gamorrean starts twitching in death spasms and a third begs for her life, watching ‘Princess’ with more fear than Boba.

Din’s body is a patchwork of battle and survival.

He still fights, he’s fit.

And he is a vicious protector when what is his has become threatened.

People will think twice before they aim for Fett’s back once more.

You can’t just do that to me! I need to know what happens in SweetPrincess!

Posted on av swmoddy

For the last week, no one had seen hide nor hair of Princess.

Several people speculated what was going on of course, behind closed doors, though not too loudly. Not with the silver armored Mandalorian back, standing behind Boba’s throne with his hand on the back.

Whatever hunt the other had been on must have been long but he was back now and as menacing and silent as ever, only ever talking to Fett or Shand.

Setting fear into everyone as they expected the man to kill someone any day after what happened to Princess.

But yes, there were speculations despite him.

Some thought that Fett had gotten rid of Princess.

Damaged wares and all. Though it seemed odd but hey, wouldn’t be the first time a ruler of Tatooine had gotten rid of their favorite for a reason.

Some thought Fett was simply keeping him to the bedroom for now, not wanting him out as another target once more and simply fucking him in there.

The last and least believed theory was that Fett was letting Princess rest, that the head injury was severe enough that Fett wanted the other healed.

Everyone however agreed that Fett had been in a foul mood ever since though.

A lack of relief some thought, which gave credence to the other no longer having Princess.

After all, the other was a throne whore, what ruler cared about the comfort of their slave bed warmer?

But then Princess was back and several courtiers almost had a heart attack when they saw him again.

Because the other was sitting on Fett’s throne.

No, not simply sitting, lounging on the throne, wiry legs settled over one stone arm with his arms settled on the other, head pillowed on his arms as he gazed at everyone with lidded eyes. The others collar was back on, the thin, shiny beskar leash hooked to the throne the man was sitting on as if he owned it.

And Fett was standing by the throne, watching the stairs.

His helmet was in Princess possession, resting on the throne by the man’s stomach. Occasionally one of Princess hands would stray from the arm and pet the helmet almost affectionately, as if it was Fett’s scarred head.

Occasionally, Princess would also flicker his eyes to look around the room, giving everyone a lazy, almost smug smile.

As if he knew something they did not.

Having a slave lord over them wasn’t a pleasant sensation. The ones who had scoffed at the idea of Fett letting Princess heal was suddenly doubting their own thoughts.

Because if anyone but Princess, even Shand, had sat in the throne as if it was theirs, Fett would have gutted them.

Quietly, people were settling around, Fett never looking away from the stairs.

Loath as they were to get his attention, everyone remained quiet, the musicians settling on their stages but only nervously fiddling with their instruments.

Fett ignored them all, his lip curling into an impatient but silent snarl as bartenders served the people lining quietly up around the room.

Several tensed as slowly, a growing, growling noise came from the man, his impatience skyrocketing steadily and when his hand dropped towards his blaster, several contemplated hiding behind tables.

“Buir’ika.” A low, rasped voice murmured, Princess sitting up with the helmet hugged to his stomach.

Instantly, Fett turned on his heel, his anger evaporating as he instead stepped closer to the throne, to his Princess.  He murmured something in Mando’a that Princess returned in the same tone though a clear difference in dialect.

The little they could see of Fett’s face transformed, from his blank look to fondness, the man leaning down to cup the others chin. Softly, he kissed Princess, thumbing lightly at his chin as the darker man sighed happily into the others lip, hand coming up to cup the back of Fett’s head.

Anyone else would have hand their hand removed.

But Princess merely got a low hum of pleasure from Fett, running his fingertips over the man’s scalp scars before literally scratching gently behind one ear.

As if Fett was a fucking feline.

To the shock of many, Fett actually rumbled in pleasure though he pulled away quickly when there was a commotion at the top of the stairs.

It was enough to distract everyone from the impossible scene they had seen.

There was shouting at the stairs, a fleshy THUMP and then a body came rolling down the stairs, Shand prowling down after with a wicked smirk on her face.

And a black eye.

Fett narrowed his eyes at that before looking at the body laying at the bottom of the stairs, the man struggling to get to his feet, wrapped in expensive layers of fabric.

His face was currently rather mauled but recognizable to those around still.

Feruko Snalla, humanoid, born on Naboo supposedly, once an Imperial captain of some sort and later on a lieutenant of a gang.

His boss had sent him, a New Republic gang, the Vipers nest, the one that had scraped and bowed and promised Fett a foothold on Coruscant via the gang. As long as there was an alliance, the King of Tatooine and the gang could benefit each other.

Fett’s face turned to stone and yet his eyes were fire as the now frightened man was struggling to get to his feet. “This one?” He questioned, a snarl curling his lip as Shand snorted and nodded.

“Idiot kept a scrap of the babydoll.” Shand snarked, smirking at the back of Snalla as she kept a blaster trained on him, her rifle on her back.

Opening his mouth, most likely to defend himself, his mouth snapped shut when Princess let out a soft hum behind Fett, the scarred man turning instantly to his throne warmer. “Princess.” He stated quietly.

Tilting his head, Princess stared at Snalla before nodding. “I remember him. He kept following me around, tried talking with me,” Princess words were clearly enough for Fett but he kept talking. “I believe I scratched him, his neck should have nail marks.” Princess noted absently, rubbing at his head.

“Now, wait a minute,” Snalla started only to cry out when Shand dragged the folds of scarves at his neck down, exposing the pale neck.

Sure enough, scratches lined the pale neck.

Combined with the babydoll fabric and what little Princess seemed to recollect, it was more than enough as Fett stepped off the dais with his silent snarl, Princess watching with quiet interest from the throne as he hugged the helmet.

Snalla dropped to his knees, bringing his hands up as he pleaded for mercy, telling him that the Vipers wouldn’t work with Fett if he was injured, the spineless man sniveling for mercy.

Fett simply loomed over the other man for a minute before turning his head, looking to Princess, a question in his eyes, his lips still curled with a snarl.

For a second, it looked like Princess didn’t know what to do.

Then he lifted one fist and drew his thumb across his neck, smiling sweetly at his King.

Fett turned back around and drew his knife from his belt, the same knife the court had seen the man peel fruit for Princess with.

With one smooth, easy slash, he drew it across Snalla’s throat, deep enough for the man to die and yet…

Shallow.

Snalla choked, his hands coming up as he gasped for air, eyes bulging as he tried to keep his throat shut. Blood poured between his fingers and under his palms, the man shaking before falling face forward onto the sand.

He rasped, spasmed, the man dying in front of the terrified court.

Fett simply spat on the dying man and wiped his blade on the others many layers of dark fabric before returning to the throne, Shand getting a bottle from the bartender with a happy grunt.

Not many paid attention to her though, their terrified focus on Princess and Fett.

Gloved hands cupped Princess cheek, gently rubbing before Fett leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, the two murmuring quietly to each other before Princess stood, the soft jingle of beskar chain sounding.

Fett settled down on the throne with Princess sitting down the moment the man was comfortable, helmet still in Princess hands. “Someone get rid of that trash, feed it to the scavengers.” Fett gestured to the death twitching body, a heavyset devaronian coming forward quickly to hoist the still bleeding human onto his shoulder.

Princess just watched everyone with lidded eyes, smiling smugly from his position against Fett, seeming so much more than just a throne whore in that moment.