Literally Me And My Dnd Party

sometimes family is you, the cute kid you met on the flight, and his mysterious dad

The last thing Boba expected, was to meet an utterly adorable child on the flight home, and then get mistaken for the child's buir and the riduur of the child's actual buir.

Rating: G

Pairings: Boba Fett & Grogu; Din Djarin/Boba Fett; brief Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Warnings: reference to past near-fatal jellyfish stings

Prompts: @bobadinweek 2021 day 4 | family & this

“Give us a call when you land, ok?”

Boba rolled his eyes exasperatedly at the third reminder. “Yes, O’buir.”

Obi-Wan smiled fondly at his child’s antics through the screen. “Sure you don’t want us to pick you up?”

“Yes, O’buir,” Boba sighed theatrically. “I’m 25. I can make my way home from the airport.”

But he couldn’t help the instinctive face he made when Jango appeared in the frame only to drape his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist and hook his chin over the other’s shoulder to kiss his cheek.

“Buir!” he said exasperatedly. “Stop doing that every time I call home, for Force’s sake. You can be sappy when I’m not there!”

Jango merely smirked at him while Obi-Wan hid a laugh behind his palm.

Oh Boba just knew his buir was doing it on purpose to get a rise outta him! He scowled at the pair, not that it did anything to stop them. No, they had been that way for 15 standard years already, and would be that way till they joined the ka’ra.

(And he wouldn’t have them any other way. He only hoped that he would one day find a riduur who would look at him the way his buire looked at each other.)

The hall speaker came alive with a chime, interrupting any further conversation.

“That must be your boarding call,” commented Obi-Wan. “Have a safe flight, dear. Love you.”

“Safe flight, Bob’ika. We’ll see you when you get home,” added Jango.

“Mm, yeah. Love you, buire.” Boba waved back at them before ending the call.

Sighing, he slid the datapad into his jacket and shouldered his carry-on before pulling on his buy’ce again. At the boarding announcement of the rows including his, he joined the others making their way onto the aircraft.

“Welcome aboard, sir,” greeted the Togrutan flight attendant, glancing over Boba’s documents. “We wish you a pleasant flight.”

Boba tipped his head briefly in acknowledgement. Ahead of him, the mass of people slowly inched their way to their seats. Lowering the audio input of his buy’ce to reduce the audible hum of the craft, he joined them, squeezing his way past people until he arrived at his row.

More preoccupied with getting his carry-on into the overhead cabin space, he did not fully register the presence of his row-mates until a cheerful chirp caught his attention.

“Oh,” he breathed out, sliding into his seat which was thankfully an aisle one. “And who might you be, ad’ika?”

Big brown eyes stared back at him curiously from an impossibly tiny body, floppy green ears twitching ever so slightly. The kid was swaddled in thick robe-like clothing and had a child’s seat belt fastened neatly over its body where it sat in the center seat. Tipping its head, the child cooed at Boba.

“His name is Grogu.”

Boba looked up at the person sitting by the window and his breath caught at the sight of the unpainted pure beskar buy’ce.

The mando was clad in an unassuming, loose-fitting outfit of a shirt, jacket and jeans. But Boba had grown up around ori'ramikade, his buir being one himself, and had seen them in all sorts of attire.

He knew an experienced combatant when he saw one.

(Not to mention beskar was still incredibly rare. Not even the ramikade owned pure pieces of beskar’gam. So for the mando to be wearing the pure unpainted metal and as their buy’ce no less, they had to be talented enough to still keep it even with all the aruetiise who would gladly slaughter them for it.)

“I see,” he murmured. Straightening up slightly, he offered his forearm. “Boba Fett. Clan Fett, House Mereel. He/him.”

The mando clasped Boba’s arm, a silent strength in their grip. “Mando. He/him,” he replied, offering no more information.

Boba merely nodded as they let go. It wasn’t the first time he’d met a traditionalist.

(And it elevated his opinion of the man’s skill even higher. Though it did also raise the question of why he had given out his ad’s name. Perhaps the child was not used to being addressed otherwise.)

“Well met, Mando.”

The child squeaked, waving his clawed hands at Boba. He laughed softly at the adorable cry for attention.

“Well met, Grogu,” he said seriously, gently grasping one tiny hand.

As the pre-flight announcements began, the mando distracted the child with a shiny silver ball. The kid was happy enough to play with the item, rolling it back and forth between his hands.

Meanwhile Boba pulled out his own datapad and busied himself with a few interesting research papers he’d not had time to read while juggling his semester’s course load. The 9-hour flight would give him more than enough time to make a sizable dent in his reading list.

He connected his buy’ce to the in-flight entertainment system easily enough, and was soon absorbed in his reading, strains of warbat trance playing over his internal comms.

Engrossed as he was, he barely registered the passing of time until a soft insistent patting of his thigh caught his attention. He looked down from his datapad to find the kid tapping the outside of his leg, wide eyes fixed on his buy’ce.

“What is it, ad’ika?” he asked quietly, switching off his music.

Grogu cooed at him and raised his arms up. Boba glanced over at the mando, but the man seemed unaware of his ad’s antics. The silver buy’ce gave no hint of what could be happening beneath, though Boba figured there was a good chance the man was fast asleep.

Truthfully it was highly unlikely that the mando would be willing to let his guard down enough to fall asleep on public transport, especially around so many strangers and with an ad to protect. But it was even more unlikely that he would let his ad interact so unreservedly with an unknown, even a fellow mando’ad, if he was aware of such interaction taking place.

At Boba’s prolonged inaction, the child grew more and more fussy, his whines getting louder as he smacked his hand forcefully against Boba’s leg.

Making his choice, Boba stowed away his datapad and unbuckled the kid’s seat belt, carefully lifting the child and settling him on his lap.

“Shhh, ad’ika,” he whispered, gently stroking one ear. “Your buir is sleeping.”

Grogu easily settled down, having gotten what he wanted. Boba wrapped a protective arm around the tiny body, cradling the kid close as he had his fill exploring Boba’s clothing, fiddling with the many zippers, pockets and buttons.

Perhaps it was the “buir instinct” that was often joked about by the mando’ade, but Boba found himself unconsciously smiling as Grogu played with the folds of his clothes, unbothered by the number of times he had to carefully disentangle the kid’s claws when they caught on the fabric.

“Patoo!” Grogu exclaimed softly. He lifted his hands up, straining towards Boba’s face.

Boba bent forward to let Grogu skitter his hands over the buy’ce’s cool surface, heedless of the strain in his neck at the awkward position. After a few gentle pats Grogu frowned, ears dipping down, then tapped the side of the buy’ce insistently.

“Do you want it off?” Boba asked curiously.

Grogu’s ears perked up. “Patoo!”

He tapped the buy’ce once more.

Sneaking a look over at the mando to make sure he hadn’t woken, Boba lowered the tray-table and helped Grogu onto it, making sure he supported the table with his legs. The child was incredibly light, but he’d rather not risk breaking the tray and/or endangering the kid either way.

Grogu watched him eagerly from his perch, and Boba huffed a laugh before pulling off his buy’ce and placing it on the kid’s empty seat.

“Patoo?” the kid whined, ears drooping as he reached for Boba.

“It’s ok, ad’ika,” Boba murmured, bending slightly to let Grogu run his hands over the scars on his face. “It’s ok, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

The child looked at him sadly, tipping his head in silent question.

“It was an accident,” Boba replied, running a finger across the kid’s ear. “My buire and I were freediving in the ocean near our house one evening a year ago. We didn’t see them, but I ended up swimming into a couple of jellyfish.”

“My buire were terrified,” he added quietly. “I nearly died that day.”

Grogu shuffled closer to hug Boba. Running his hand down the kid’s back, for a brief moment, Boba could’ve sworn he felt an almost familiar surge of warmth engulf him.

“Hello sir, is there any food or drink option you would like to have?”

Tensing, Boba pulled away and turned to the flight attendant, an arm wrapped protectively around Grogu. He relaxed slightly when the Twi’lek female smiled down at the child and greeted him softly.

“Do you have any broth for the kid?” he asked when Grogu turned pleading eyes on him.

The attendant briefly consulted her datapad. “Yes, we do have bone broth suitable for your child. Would you like it in a toddler-friendly cup?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The attendant handed over the cup. “Anything for you or your partner, sir?”

Boba choked, quickly disguising it with a cough as the Twi’lek looked at him in concern. “Ah, no. We’re good, thank you.”

As the attendant moved away, Boba could still feel the heat that had rushed to his ears and the back of his neck at the mistaken assumption. Grogu squeaked at him, patting at his chest.

“She thinks your buir is my riduur and you’re my ad,” he told the kid incredulously.

Grogu simply tipped his head and cooed.

“Ok, fair enough, I can see why she might think you’re my ad. But your buir's riduur? I could be a vod.”

The kid merely squirmed forward, attention fixed on the cup Boba held rather than what he was saying. Sighing, Boba helped the child off the tray-table and onto his thighs before handing the cup over. Grogu chirped happily and snuggled into Boba’s stomach, clutching his prize triumphantly.

Boba watched him absently, mind drifting back to the attendant’s words.

He’d never thought about having an ad of his own before, not seriously at least. But as Grogu sipped at the broth, perfectly content to sit on a stranger’s lap, he could slowly paint a picture of a future for himself - one with a tiny green child and an intriguing man with a pure beskar buy’ce.

He shook his head to get rid of the fanciful idea. “Di’kut,” he cursed under his breath. “I really need to get out more.”

A thump of the cup against his chest had him firmly back in reality.

He took the offending item. “Done, Gro’ika?”

Grogu nodded seriously at him. Then to his amusement, a large yawn escaped the tiny body, almost causing the kid to topple over if not for Boba.

“Looks like it’s nap time for someone.”

Grogu yawned once more in agreement. Burrowing himself back in Boba’s arms, he blinked tiredly a few times, and was soon out like a light. Boba tucked the folds of his jacket around the kid and leaned back against the headrest.

It really wasn’t so bad - taking care of an adiik.

The dim light and low drone of the aircraft quickly had Boba feeling the exhaustion of the day. And within minutes, he too unintentionally slipped into sleep.

“Hey,” a low voice called as someone shook his arm. “We’re landing soon.”

Boba’s eyes snapped open, body tense, only to meet the dark T-visor of the mando. A surge of discomfort coursed through him as his bare face was reflected back at him.

Then he remembered the child.

“I-” he spluttered, looking down at the kid who was still fast asleep in his arms. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” the mando cut him off, the smooth metal of his buy’ce giving no hint of true emotion. “Let him sleep. He’s had trouble doing so the last few days.”

Boba couldn’t help the flush that crept up his neck. Here he was bare-faced (the ugly scars criss-crossing his visage exposed) and cuddling a traditionalist’s child without their express permission, and somehow he was still alive and unharmed.

It was a kriffing miracle. His buir would’ve killed others for less.

Really, the only saving grace of the situation was that his aliit was not there to make fun of his massive misstep, for which he sent a quick thanks to the ka’ra.

Then he hastily grabbed his buy’ce off the seat between them and shoved it on. And just in time too, because the flight attendants were making their landing rounds.

“Good morning sirs,” greeted the same flight attendant from before. “Could you please have your child seated with their seatbelt fastened? We will be landing soon.”

Boba’s face was on fire under his buy’ce. He was already in deep enough osik with the mando, and now the attendant’s misunderstanding was putting him in an even worse spot!

He opened his mouth to hastily correct the attendant when the mando spoke.

“We understand. Thank you.”

Boba’s jaw dropped. As the attendant went down the other rows, he numbly placed Grogu back in his seat and watched as the mando carefully fastened his kid’s seat belt.

Mando was definitely one of the strangest traditionalists he’d ever met.

“Sorry,” he finally spoke. “About the attendant, she-”

“I know. I was awake,” replied Mando. “Since Grogu started trying to get your attention.”

“Oh he was no trou- Wait. You were awake the whole time?”

Mando huffed a laugh, a warm sound that not even the vocoder could completely disguise.

“He’s fond of you. It’s… unusual,” the mando said slowly. “He generally doesn’t like others very much.”

“I see,” Boba replied faintly.

They remained in silence as the aircraft landed and everyone around them began to disembark. Boba stood as the mando unbuckled his and Grogu’s seat belts.

“Do you have a carry-on?” he asked, pulling out his own bag to sling over his shoulder.

“Elek,” said the mando. “Same compartment.”

Boba nodded and pulled out the only other bag as Mando picked up his child. When the other reached out to take the bag, Boba shook his head. “It’s fine, I can take it.”

“You have an ad,” he added when it seemed like the mando would argue.

That seemed enough to convince the mando, and the two began the long process of going through customs and collecting their luggage.

By the time they finally exited the arrival hall, Grogu was wide-awake and happily cooing at all the new sights and sounds, eagerly pointing things out to both the mando and Boba. They came to a halt right outside the taxi stand.

The mando handed the silver ball to Grogu, and the child quietened, content to play with the item.

“Vor entye, Boba Fett,” he finally said.

Boba immediately shook his head. “There is no debt between us. Children are the future.”

“This is the Way,” replied the mando quietly.

They stood in silence for a moment longer.

“Do you have a place to go?” Boba asked. “Because, you could come over for a while if you want. My buire love kids, and-”

Grogu startled as a taxi sped by, dropping the metal ball with an upset squeak, which then bounced onto the road.

“Grogu,” the mando began, when the child lifted his tiny hand and the ball zipped back into it.

Boba inhaled sharply. “A Force-user.”

Beside him, the mando went still, a predatorial calm that sent klaxon sirens ringing through Boba’s head.

“Udseii, Mando,” he said evenly, making sure to keep his posture calm and unthreatening. “I will not harm you or your ad.”

At his side, the edge of a blade threatened to slice into him. “You’re not the first nor the last to say that.”

“Haat, ijaa, haa'it!” Boba swore readily. “My buir and some of my vod are jetiise, Mando. I promise you, neither my aliit nor I will harm you or your ad.”

At that, the mando finally relaxed. For the first time, Boba could see the exhaustion that threatened to swallow the other whole, and he found himself instinctively reaching forward to steady the man.

“Your buir, could you- could you take me to them?” the mando asked. “I was told to find a Jedi. I- I can’t- The child, he’s not safe. There are people hunting him.”

Grogu whined, sensing his buir’s distress. Boba’s heart, already firmly in the kid’s grasp, ached as the mando tried to sooth the child.

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, I can take you to him. You both will be safe with us.”

Your art reminded of how the Unholy Alliance update made me go from very on the vence about Narinder to biggest Narinder defender will die in the trenches for my wife /hj

Like personally, them finally giving us the reasoning behind the Bishops attack on Narinder beyond vague prophecy changed a lot of the context behind the situation

And while, yes, the intentions behind his actions of resurrecting followers and his opinion on his new find extreme popularity were left quite vague (and why I don't if someone still interprets Narinder as the one mainly/equally at fault). It still doesn't change how it was a betrayal out of the Bishops fear of a possible betrayal. He wasn't conquering and overtaking them, he wasn't actively starving them, they just feared that possibility that he would.

It gets even more fucked up when you remember that all the Bishops ran their faiths by gifting and blessings their followers with the opposite of their domains (food, heath, etc) so Narinder actions where probably completely normal thing to do as a god of death in his mind, like.

In my fucked up fantasies (aka my interpretations of the canon), Narinder was only truly in the wrong when they asked the Lamb to sacrifice themselves. But getting into even more personal headcanons territory, for him it was likely just the natural/necessary think to do. He's a god of death that gave this little mortal life so they could do his bitting (that included them doing their own sacrifices, depending on your own gameplay), them sacrificing themselves was likely a given for him. Probably didn't consider that the Lamb would mind it, like, sacrificing yourself for your god just another tuesday in the life of a follower of death aint I right

So in conclusion, narilamb before post-game was a classic case of doomed yaoi/hurt people hurt people. Narinder asked the sacrifice-survivor to be sacrificed once again and the Lamb betrayed the one who was betrayed in return (pun half-intended)

(Really sorry for the ramble, it's almost midnight in my country and your art plagued me with thoughts. Hope you at least liked reading my deranged screams, I mean, my interpretations of the story. If you didn't, again, Im truly sorry. But Im still interested in your own thoughts regardless, so yeah... feel free to share??? I don't know how to phrase that in a good way, again, its almost midnigh)

no truer words have been said

I am having thoughts about Corrie Massiffs.

About them being trained as emotional support animals as well as their actual jobs.

About them being long lived (maybe 30-50 year life span) and choosing their corries as their people to protect.

Sensing when their corries need support and helping them though panic attacks and anxiety issues, helping them sleep and guarding them through the night. Helping with their fears and drawing them out of dark spiralling thoughts and having the best hugs.

Thinking about the Corries also being the massiffs emotional support people who do just as much for them, who love them oh so dearly. Who play games with them and always try to get them treats and protect them with everything they have.

Thinking about the way the Massiffs would calm their corries down, little nudges and heads on laps or sitting on them entirely.

Thinking about how neither the corrie nor the massiff like to be apart.

Thinking about about them whining over the bodies of their corries and refusing to move, nudging them desperate for them to wake up. Having to be pulled away and never being the same after.

Thinking about them sitting by the door to the icebox room and refusing to move until their corrie comes back, then following right next to them as they're helped to a space to lie down and curling up with them so their person can take their body heat and feel warm and safe and letting their corries hug tight.

Thinking about the massiffs sitting outside the med bay and just whining and scratching on the door. About Grizzer refusing to move and sounding distressed after Hound was carried in and about Hound finally waking with Grizzer on his lap.

About everything getting all too much all of a sudden for Pup and Bumble pulling him away to get him somewhere quieter and then putting her head in his lap and licking his face and being a warm solid presence for Pup to focus on and calm down and feel safe.

About massiffs knowing their corries are overworking themselves and trying to make them sleep. Of Grizzer knowing it upsets Hound and that Fox is almost his person too so he steals Fox's datapad and leads him to his bed then sits on him. Fox scratches him behinds the ear with a very soft chuckle and admits he could probably do with a few hours.

Grizzer trying to get the smell of Palpatine off of Fox. All the massiffs trying to get the smells of Senators off their corries and take the horrible smell of distress away.

Thinking about no-Order 66 where the massiffs stay with their corries and help them with their recovery post-war and this spreading through the GAR. They get even more training on how to be support animals and they love getting to help and love their people who love them so dearly back.

Thinking about Order-66, and the massiffs not understanding whats happened to their corries. Why they're not them anymore.

About any blackout mission and their corries aren't behaving like their people and they don't smell of anything, not fear not joy not sadness not anything they can usually sense, they can't read any emotion off their corries and they don't know what to do. Trying to get them to react, trying to bring them out of it or simply waiting for them to come back and being worried until they do.

You know, just thinking thoughts...

150 word challenge! Eddie has to watch Hermes and Tom while the dads are out! We need more Eddie interactions lol

150 words exactly!! I'm proud of this one! It's a lot harder than I thought to finish a whole idea/scene in so few words. But it was a good sort of challenging!

"Grandpa Eddie! Grandpa Eddie!"

"Yes, Hermes?" the man questioned, snagging the child off the ground to stop the constant running. Hermes giggled as Eddie pulled them further and further into the air.

"Tom wants a snack! He's hungry," Hermes claimed.

"Oh, Tom wants a snack? Not you?"

"Me too! Me too, Grandpa Eddie!"

"Well, we should go ask your brother what he wants for his snack, shouldn't we?"

Hermes barely hesitated before agreeing. "Yeah, Tom can choose the snack!"

The child in Eddie's arms began wriggling around to escape the hold. The grandfather released Hermes, only to watch them speed off in the direction of their brother.

"Hey Tom-tom, what snack do you want?"

"Snack? Can have juice? And carrots?"

"Of course you can have juice and carrots, Tom," Eddie agreed easily, ruffling the small child's hair gently, eliciting a grin from the boy. "Do you want the same, Hermes?"

"Yes, please!"

TV Show AU - Umbara

Rex: Why, General? Why kill your own men?

Krell: ...

Rex: ...

Krell: *holding back a laugh* I forgot my line, I'm so sorry!

Rex: *blurts out a laugh*

-

Rex: *cocks blaster and sneers* I said on. Your. Knees--

*LOUD CLATTERING SOUNDS*

Dogma, nervously swiping at the floor trying to pick up Fives' blaster: Sorry! Sorry! I dropped the blaster prop while I was taking it from Fives' holster!

Hardcase, off-camera: ayy, for once I'm not the one to break a blaster prop!

Dogma, angrily: shut up, you're supposed to be dead!

-

Rex, about dogma: he's wound tight, but he's loyal.

Fives, off-shot: *loudly* he means kid's got a stick up his butt bigger than Hardcase's Z-6 cannon, General!

Rex, deadpan, without breaking eye contact with anakin: thank you for illustrating it, Fives, but no one kriffing asked

Anakin, sputtering with laughter: he reminds me of you, Rex...

Fives: Yeah, same stick up his--

Director: CUT!

-

Dogma: ...would the prisoners ask to be blindfolded?

Jesse, shaking his bound hands: first the handcuffs and now this?! Pay for dinner first, you perv!

*uproarious laughter from Fives + the firing squad*

-

Fives: --especially when the orders we're given are wrong!!

Dogma: ...FIRE!

*blaster fire sounds, camera pans out to show that all shots missed Fives & Jesse*

Dogma: what happened?

Rex: They did the right thing, Dogma. Because if this is how soldiers are rewarded for heroic actions, then one day, every man in this battalion may face a similar fa--

Dogma: *grabs own blaster and pretends to shoot at Fives and Jesse* I swear to kriff these men have the worst aim! There, they're dead now!

Fives and Jesse: *fall down laughing hysterically*

a collection of motivational insights regarding content creation and creative hobbies

and of course the classic

The thing is, with our skeletons the way they are, humans can bend. We make a point of becoming more flexible, bending this way and that and sometimes it for sure can look like we’ve got no structure. A lot of alien races are fascinated with how we move and bend because sometimes its so fluid. 

Especially in fights. 

They see us thrown against walls, flying through the air, our limbs bending in, what to us is unnatural ways, but the aliens don’t know we aren’t supposed to do that. To them, we seem like ragdolls, our bodies flopping and waving all over the place. They’re not gentle with us, throwing us over their shoulders in the rush to retreat and get back to the base, and even when not in a fight, they tend to throw us around with wild abandon (its usually no big deal, most humans think its hilarious and fun and no one really minds.)

And then they find out about our bones. 

Its a quiet, tense moment. A team had been dispatched to ‘ease the switch in political leaders’ on one of the more difficult inner planets and the current monarch was not having it. In a final attempt to keep control, the monarch had thought using one of the humans on the team as a  hostage was a good idea. They’re holding the human in a way that would look painful, arm twisting too far and the monarch is shouting, demanding that they be left in control. The others on the team are just grinning because if the monarch is threatening to break the human, they’re in for a big surprise. Humans don’t have a structure. They flop around as they please, held steady as simply a mass of meat!

The monarch, it seems, doesn’t like to be laughed at. The pull, and twist and-

SSS-NAP

And the human is screaming, their face contorted in pain. The monarch jerks the arm around. An audible -pop- fills the room, and the team hear it just over the screams of their friend. Then comes the other arm -SNAP- and the leg -CRACK-

The human is bent, but…its in a way that the others have seen often and isn’t that…isn’t that fine? Aren’t they supposed to do that? What was that horrible snap? As it turns out, one can’t hear very well the snapping of bones in the pandemonium of battle. 

Everyone’s a bit quiet, struck by the shouts of pain and sobs coming from their human before finally, mercifully, they pass out. Then all hell breaks loose. The rest of the team dispatch the monarch with unusual ease and entirely too quickly. Then, as gently and slowly as they can, they pick up the human. The angles of their limbs look sickening to them now, and they bring them back to the base where, for once, they actually stay in the medical bay to watch them be patched up and their bones reset. 

From then on, they are much more careful with their human companion and feel the proper amount of horror and concern upon seeing them thrown about in a fight. Still, it takes some time to convince them that yoga is an alright thing to do and that no, Susan is a contortionist, her body CAN do that. 

if you bully people on anon, your blorbo hates you. they told me themselves. ❤️

Secret Clones AU

Short version: Secret Clones AU is the clones going into hiding in plain sight across the galaxy to force a fair wage and also to keep the babies safe from Kaminoans

The clones figure out the plan to take advantage of them, brain chips, etc. several years before the war hits. IDK how, maybe Jango decided to take a closer look with Mij and went Oh Shit. Doesn't matter. Point is, they caught on and decided that they needed to uhhhhh get Out.

There are millions of clones, yes, but there are tens of thousands of planets.

Once the chips are out and someone's jabbed them with anti-aging serum... they're not that different from standard humans.

And it's not exactly hard to tie up the Kaminoans long enough to get off planet.

So what happens is that a while, let's say a year and a half, before the war kicks off, you have a mass exodus from Kamino, and a wide dispersal of clones. They are generally staying together in groups of about half a dozen, claiming to be brothers, so that there's a 16-18-ish looking clone to take lead, with progressively younger cadets to look after. Each one has a commander they can 'report' to in case of emergency, and if something goes real bad, they can call in an Alpha (and Alphas can call in Jango in a worst case scenario).

It's still sort of a military structure, but... it's a phone tree.

And you have one of these groups of half a dozen clones in every major city. There are thousands of planets, and most of those planets have more than one city. Denon and Coruscant are nothing but city, so they can get counted as dozens of cities on their own. It's easy to disappear in places like that.

It's so easy for the clones, before anyone knows them, to just... disappear. Go into hiding in plain sight.

It's not like more than a handful of people know what to look for.

(It's not like they have a centralized record of who went where.)

(It's just the phone tree.)

They still get real excited-happy-eager when they run into a Jedi.

They want to work with Jedi. They're the good guys! And they're cool!

But your army did a mass desertion before the war started and finding/recruiting all of them is going to take a stupid amount of money. You cannot hire a bounty hunter for each and every clone.

And as @bytebun put it:

Somebody two years later: you look …familiar. Have we met? Clone: haha I get that a lot just one of those faces

AND THEY CAN GET AWAY WITH IT BECAUSE THE GALAXY IS HECKING MASSIVE

I think the Republic has to like… negotiate with Jango and the Alphas and set up paid contracts if they want these Ultra Skilled Warriors to fight for them.

The clones can fight. Some of them even want to fight. They are good at this and they recognize that many of the things that are occurring under Separatist invasion are Mega Bad.

But like. Pay them and treat them as citizens, first.

The Jedi are even more confused about this identical army that really loves them than they are in canon Where the heck did you guys come from Who trained you Why do you like us What the heck is going on

"Someone wanted us to be a trap for you but we took the trap out. Here we have a sample if you want. Anyway. We like you guys and want to fight with you because honestly civilian life is way understimulating. Let me punch a droid."

I think a few of the clones do 'scouting' where they voluntarily help a Jedi in the field to gather information on their validity as Friends. Cody keeps a number of spreadsheets that are just Various Jedi Encounters.

Rex does a scouting mission with Kenobi&Skywalker and just goes to Cody like "Listen. I know he's insane. But. I want that one."

Rex just "I call dibs" "Cody. Cody did you hear me. Dibs, I call dibs."

@catboydogma: stats for pong krell are all zeroes

Absolute shit tier Jedi They play rock paper scissors to decide who has to deal with him

A solid half of the clones don't get recruited because the lack of advanced aging (past a certain point) means they're physically still minors and My Dad (Alphas and CCs) Said No. They stay behind on their various planets to look after The Real Babies.

"Let me ask my dad" "Wait--" "He said no."

Just want these boys to have Civilian Lives they can return to or at least experience before war gets them all fucked up.

I think some of them try to Make Connections with influential people (whether politicians or like... Space Influencers) so they have people vouching for them once the war kicks off. And there can be at least some public pushback on functionally enslaving them.

"I can't believe you manipulated people into liking you! That's so mean!" "Well you see. I wanted to survive past the age of eleven. So."

For the touch ask prompts: Codywan and "shielding the other one with their body", please!

codywan, 780 words, post-war no order 66 AU

“Oh Force, Cody, save me.” 

Cody doesn’t hesitate. Between one breath and the next he sweeps Obi-Wan into his arms, holding him close against his chest, and turns so his back is facing the centre of the room. Obi-Wan curls up against his chest, tucking his head in close. They’re of a similar enough height that Cody can’t completely hide his partner, but they’re close enough that Obi-Wan can claim plausible deniability that he didn’t see anyone who was looking for him. 

“Who is it?” Cody mutters into his ear, feeling his hair tickle against his lips. He’s still not used to this – not to holding Obi-Wan so openly in public, nor the strange fit of the formal wear across his shoulders, or the tang of the exotic food in his mouth. But he’s putting on a straight face, because he’s the most highly ranked clone here – the highly formerly ranked. With the GAR dissolved at the end of the war, he has no military titles any more. That doesn’t stop Senators and governmental leaders and random people on the street from recognising him. The holo that had gone viral of him and Obi-Wan kissing at the announcement of the war’s end, and Cody had only cursed his distinctive facial scar ever since. For once, he’d be more than happy to blend in among the anonymity of his brothers. 

“The Senator from Rhydills,” Obi-Wan replies, barely loud enough that Cody can hear him. “He’s coming over – to the dance floor, quickly.” 

Cody swings Obi-Wan out among the couples that are twirling around each other, and his mouth twitches in a smile as he hears an annoyed sigh. Obi-Wan takes the lead easily, and Cody focuses on remembering the steps that he had insisted that Obi-Wan teach him the day before. He hadn’t expected to dance, but he likes to account for all possibilities, and it’s paying off now. 

“What did he want to talk about?” Cody asks, wondering if Obi-Wan is trying to put the conversation off for a minute or for forever. 

“His planet has recently undergone a civil war between the two main religions that make up the majority of the population,” Obi-Wan answers. 

“While our war was ongoing?” Cody asks, a little startled. 

“Of course,” Obi-Wan snorts. “It never rains, my dear – it pours. But anyhow, he’s intent on resettling as many troopers as possible on his planet. The male population was near destroyed in the fighting, and they’re likely to have a population crisis in the next twenty years if he doesn’t make up for it somehow.” 

“With clones?” Cody asks. “But won’t that just give him a new population crisis in fifty years, when everyone’s children are related to each other?” 

“A point that I have tried to convey to him three times in the last week,” Obi-Wan sighs. “I think he is very fixated on the current moment. A regiment has resettled on Rhydills, but I think he was hoping for one of the armies instead.” 

Cody takes a moment to digest that. In the months since the war ended, there have been many offers from different planets to settle Cody’s brothers. Their contribution to the galaxy notwithstanding, Cody knows that the speed at which they learn, their adaptability, endurance, and tenaciousness of the clones in all areas, not only war, has made them attractive immigrants. Few had been willing to stay on Coruscant once the breadth of the galaxy was made available to them, though they are in the process of setting up a robust online presence to stay connected even as they scatter physically. One tenth of all of his brothers, on one planet? There’s no possibility of that happening. 

“So instead of telling him no for a fourth time, you’d prefer to dance with me?” Cody asks. He would love to kiss him, but even if their relationship is public now, he still shies away from any displays that draw attention to it. 

“If I were to list the activities I would prefer to avoid and instead dance with you, we would be here next week, my dear,” Obi-Wan says, eyes crinkling as he smiles. 

Cody holds his silence as they turn around the floor, though he can feel the heat in his cheeks as they move. “I would be here until next month,” he finally says, and Obi-Wan laughs. 

“Well, I shall not attempt to argue with that. If we’re both so invested in our time here, perhaps we should make good use of it?” 

“Yes,” Cody agrees, and pays no attention to Senators or politics or the rest of the galaxy – not when he has everything he needs right here, in his arms.