#obijango

[the-writing-mill]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Day 6 of @kenfetti-week! Some arranged marriage treaty kidnapping for The Ties that Bind prompt!

[voiceofspacecalling]

It’s Another Time

Part I

He makes it off Geonosis by the skin of his teeth.

The Jedi—Windu, had nearly sliced his head off. Only a not so stray shot from a clanker had saved him.

It hit him on the side, not a fatal wound, but certainly one, sooner treated, the better.

It served both the purpose of knocking him down and giving Windu reason to pause his attack long enough for Kenobi to rush over to them.

Kriffing Kenobi then proceeded to give him the option of leaving the battlefield with his son, living to fight another day.

With a hole in the side, and the building outrage of Jedi master who seemed eager to decapitate him. It wasn’t much of a choice.

It was too clean, despite injuries, it was too kriffing simple. Even when Windu began to protest, he almost immediately relented, when Kenobi played the famous Jedi, “we’re peace keepers first” card. Before Escorting—dragging him off to where his son was hidden in the shadows. Too easy.

Blasted force wielders.

Jango, now leaning heavily on his son, who isn’t so much as supporting his weight, as dragging him back to the Slave I. Knows he should be dead right now.

He isn’t, and it’s due to the most reckless man he’s ever met. Who he now owes a debt to...

Fantastic.

[magdalyna]

so the other day I was trying to plot out how a ObiMaul idea would go, the middle of it at least except that the plot kept yanking to the wild blue yonder and started What If-ing about who precisely was on the other ship that tried to instigate shenanigans with the slave ship Jango was trapped on after Galidraan.

About a Jango that was covered in blood, not all of it the same color but he was free -- gloriously free and no one would ever put chains on him again.

After he spaced the mess on Slave 1 he went to the other ship to be sure he’d gotten everyone, and in the leader’s quarters he found the crate, human sized like an ancient coffin.

He opens it with a blaster drawn but once he sees -- human male, visibly young, nude, full restraints on ankles, knees, wrists, elbows, chest, an IV dripping something to obviously keep him unconscious, and a muzzle too that covers half his face. 

With the muzzle off, Jango reassess -- obviously a pleasure slave in the middle of transport. The ginger coloring and symmetrical, alluring features all but guarantees it. All the overkill in precautions points to a spirit that is likely unbroken, unbent, uncowed.

It is this more than anything else that clinches it for Jango.

Something else catches his attention then: the metal collar with sickly yellow pulsing nodes, wholly mechanical he is certain but too unsettlingly similar to poison in his hindbrain for much comfort.

A Force-suppressant collar.

A Force-suppressant collar on a drugged out pleasure slave who can’t be Core age legal, not that Jango has much room himself to lecture on the topic.

He does what he can about the IV, checks the scattered datapads in the room and does some quick mental math before he chances manipulating the set up in any way.

He’s working his way up the youth’s body, unlocking the cuffs ankle upwards, letting them drop in a pile outside the crate beside him. He’s gotten to the chest when he locks eyes with the young man, his eyes impossibly blue in the dim glow of the crate and room theyre in.

A beatific smiles blooms across the youth’s face. “I knew you’d come for me, cy’are,” he breathes out, a thready thing caught between them. Jango is close enough to count his eyelashes. He is uncomfortably aware of the fact he is still covered in blood. Those eyes glimmer and then they flutter closed once more.

He moves them both and anything else of value, including the restraints over to Slave 1 before he sets the second ship to self-destruct.

He doesn’t remove the Force-suppressant collar.

Jango has too many questions for the youth, not the least of which is how a Jetti knows perfect Mando of Jaster Meerel’s ancestors, the coarse martial tongue of Jango’s people and not the smoothed over polished thing the New Mandolorians insist is the language of Mandalore.

[the-writing-mill]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

And finally, day 7 of @kenfetti-week, where to add a little spice I ask "what if a/b/o was actually brain parasites?"

[the-writing-mill]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Guess which AU is back on @kenfetti-week day 5 (Caught Up with You) for some smut this year? 😏

[the-writing-mill]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

@kenfetti-week day 3! In which the haunting/possession/etc. for "You want it? Haunt it" prompt is two dudes haunting themselves, aka reincarnating and reuniting. Because why write Kenfetti when you can write Kenfetti and Mand'alor the Ultimate/Cassus Fett?

[the-writing-mill]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

@kenfetti-week is here! Here's my day 1 entry for the "Once Upon a Galaxy" prompt. It's a fun fairy tail with wizard Obi-Wan, Prince Jango, and a legendary dragon

And some dubious morality, more dubious humanity, and so dubcon it's basically noncon body modification

[the-writing-mill]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

@kenfetti-week is back on! And now we’re off to day two that’s kind asking the question “what would it take to escape the power structure of patriarchal power and all the toxic masculinity and corruption that brings” but is also really also about just writing a sad but hopeful mafia one shot with aesthetics I like.

For the “Saints not Sinners” prompt