#cuy’val dar | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mylifeisactuallyamess · 11 months

Text

Kamino

Clone Cadets being looked after by a Cuy’val Dar.

A/N: Finally got my first @clonexreaderbingo prompt done! Thanks to @a-single-tulip for inspiring 🥰 gonna drop this and go to bed, so hit me up if you see anything I missed.

Square: Kamino

Warnings: mention of blood, war, children, weapons, my own version of cadet training and fighting.

Word Count: 3666 😬

Cuy’val Dar: Those who no longer exist

Osik: Shit

Udesii: Calm down

Kandosii: Nice one

‘ika: Little

Buir: Father

The rain lashed against your window, raging in the howling wind like it was trying to reach you. Each patter was faintly heard whipping into the thick transparisteel only to dash out of existence. The whole of this facility was state of the art, designed to weather the harshest of storms, protected to the hilt from catastrophic waves and jarring winds that would sweep you off the platforms and out to sea.

Your alarm started to buzz, an irritated grating noise that you had learnt to block out.

Everyday here was the same. The routine was rigid, structured down to the very minute, so the clones that were under your care got the most from their lessons.

With a sigh, you hauled yourself from your bed, glaring at the bright white that assaulted your eyes every time you blinked. Thankfully what the Kaminoans were paying you for doing this daily osik was enough to keep you going. And the boys weren’t that bad. Really.

Your armour was stacked up in the ‘fresher. You had barely needed it the last couple of years, having your arms full of babies and small children rather than weapons and other people’s appendages before you cut them off. Clutching the sink you steeled yourself to keep going, every morning was the same drag but as the day wore on it got easier. Until you fell asleep and you had to start all over again.

Slipping on a new set of fatigues you slapped your cheeks in an effort to startle yourself awake, trying to get that sharpness back that had been dulled from being in this white washed, aiwha-bait, infested hell hole.

First things first—breakfast.

The kids were awake by the time you got to their room and it looked like Fox had woken up on the wrong side of his bunk today. None of them even noticed you’d entered, standing in a circle as they chanted fight, fight to the two kids in the middle, really going for it.

You cocked an eyebrow when Fox slugged a decent left hook into the side of Cody’s face but the kid didn’t go down. He was dazed and Fox took advantage of that, yelling as he launched himself at his brother and flattening him.

Honestly. All before they’d even eaten.

“Udesii!” You pushed your way through the boys, hauling the angry red faced nearly four year old off the other and putting him in a rugby hold on your hip.

The others backed up, their caramel brown eyes wide as you glared at them all and suddenly they remembered what to do. Lining up, shoulders back, standing rigidly to attention. Cody groaned from his position on the floor specks of blood dripping from his nose or lips, you didn’t know, you didn’t care. Not this early in the day.

“Get up.” You grabbed his collar and got a look at his face as he sniffed and smeared the blood across his cheek.

“I’m ok, Sarge,” but as he spoke you could see blood between his teeth and you sighed.

“Go and see Mij,” you told him, shoving him towards the door. You still had hold of Fox who had gone remarkably still in your hold, he hung heavily and you knew he was hankering to get down. Being held like this was probably humiliating. So you jostled him into a better position and walked up and down the line of the others.

They were all identical to someone who didn’t know them. Their eyes were the same shade, their hair had the same cut, they could swap clothes and all still look exactly the same. You could tell them apart though. Noticing the slightly different shade of Rex’s eyes compared to Cody’s. Or the browner colour of Keeli’s hair next to the deep black of Wilco’s. And their personalities were all sparks from the same flame, some just burned hotter than others or channelled it differently.

“Rex’ika.” One of the boys stepped forward, sneaking a glance at Fox who was turning even more red as he hung his head as low as it would go. “What happened?”

Instantly they all started gabbing at once and you held up a hand, silencing them instantly. “I asked, Rex. Speak.” He drew himself up taller, pushing his shoulders back and you saw the frown marking his face.

“I’m not entirely sure, Sarge. I woke up to the sound of a scuffle as they had woken up first. Their shouting woke the others and that’s…” his shoulders sagged slightly but then he steeled himself and carried on. “That’s when we all got up to watch them.” Fox was getting heavy now, so you dumped him on his feet and he stood sullenly with his head down.

“None of you saw what started it?” You asked and they all shook their heads. “Fox’ika.” Crouching to his level you prodded his shoulder and he lifted a hand to rub his arm. “Why?”

“Because he grabbed my collar so he could get into the ‘fresher before me!”

“And that was reason enough to make him bleed, was it?”

“I’m sorry,” he pouted. “I didn’t mean to but he just made me so angry.” You sighed, shaking your head as you got up.

“Anyone would think I’ve got a bunch of Nulls on my hands,” you breathed. “Come on. Breakfast. Chop chop or you’ll miss out.” You watched them file out, Rex in the lead with Howzer on his heels, followed by Thorne, Wolffe, Keeli, Grey, Fox, Wilco and Bly.

This group of ten troublemakers were your boys for another a year before they joined the wider ranks. You oversaw their training, taught them to look after themselves as well as each other. It felt like you were failing at that at the moment.

You followed them to the mess hall where they each grabbed a tray and chose what they wanted this morning, sitting in neat rows at their usual bench and you joined them, feeling Cody’s absence.

“You’ve lost one,” a deep voice said behind you and you turned in your seat.

“Thanks for that observation, Jango. You know, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Fighting again?” He sat down at your bench with his son. Boba was older than your boys, (if you went by their visual age) only by a couple of years, but you could already see Jango’s influence over him. He glared at your cadets who stared at the older boy with wide eyes as they chewed silently.

“One’s in the medbay,” you said, chucking a haughty look at Fox who didn’t cow under yours and Jango’s combined scrutiny.

“I see the aiwha-bait hasn’t ruined them completely,” he murmured.

“They could be worse, I suppose.” You tossed the bland food back onto the tray, making a point to raid Skirata’s room for some uj cake for the boys later. “Eat up. We’ve got deecee training in 5 minutes.” There was a collective scuffle as they quickened their chewing, these boys were always hungry and you wondered if they had enough to eat at all times. But if you faltered in their training, they failed in their tests and then it reflected badly on you and they got punished. And nothing broke your heart more than seeing your boys with tears in their eyes because they didn’t achieve their best and they were made to relive that.

Exactly on the hour, they were lined up, dumping their rubbish and slipping their tray into a stack before heading off to the training area. This one was set in the middle of Tipoca, each area blocked off so multiple groups could train at one time. You and the rest of the Cuy’val Dar, working together to make an army. An army of children.

The boys spread out, Cody slipping in at the last minute and taking his place next to Rex. Each deecee was in pieces on the ground before them. The challenge was to make the blaster, correctly, and take out the targets before anyone else. Take the blaster apart and move onto the next weapon. Rinse and repeat.

“Go!” You barked, not needing to prepare them before your order, they knew the drill. You paced up and down, pursing your lips as you watched their little fingers deftly put together a weapon that could fell a bantha with one shot.

You heard the whir as the first deecee charged up successfully and Wolffe was off. His aim was perfect, it had been since he looked two years old. Next to go was Fox. The challenge now was for them to work effectively together, aware of each other in the field while staying on their main objectives.

Keeli was next, sliding in on his knees as he clocked a shot on the first target. Bly and Howzer went together, automatically splitting and taking opposite sides. You looked across at Rex, his gaze was on the cadet next to him as he waited for Cody to catch him up so they could go together.

Eventually they were all in the maze of targets and you watched their scores on the screen, leaning easily against the wall. Wolffe and Fox returned, taking apart their Carbines and turning to the rifles.

Not a word was spoken and you honestly wondered if they communicated telepathically. Sometimes it scared you how in sync they were but when they had the same brain patterns, getting the same training, some similar behaviour was inevitable.

Wolffe clocked the best numbers today, Fox not far behind and the rest were all fairly evenly matched. You tried not to think how they would soon be doing this with live rounds. And they wouldn’t be yours anymore.

You pressed some buttons as they waited patiently for the room to change, the droid targets disappearing, being replaced with a weapons wrack.

“Pair up.” Your commands were needless but sometimes you just needed to hear someone say something. Even if it was yourself. “Today we’re using blades.” The boys put on their contact sensors and each took a knife from the rack. Fox and Thorne, Wolffe and Howzer, Rex and Cody, Bly and Wilco, Keeli and Grey all stood there looking at you. “Ready positions.” You activated their sensors with a touch of a button and you saw them all tense. “Begin.”

You watched the hits increase on the screen, seeing Howzer was coming out on top today and you felt a sense of pride. Thorne was beating Fox, which probably wouldn’t go down well. Usually those two were thick as thieves.

“Switch!” There was a groan, Keeli tipped his head back, making it obvious he didn’t want to switch from Grey. Fox pushed him causing the cadet to stumble which started another fight. Before you could move Rex and Howzer stepped in, kids being adults.

“Udesii!” You stressed for a second time today. Spreading your arms as you stepped between them. “What crawled in your fatigues and died today?” But Fox just glared at you. You thought he was going to spill whatever was troubling him, but then he lowered his gaze.

“Nothing,” he muttered, shrugging off Howzer.

“Fine. Continue.”

There were no more incidents. They went to lunch and ate in silence, shooting looks at one another as Fox concentrated on his food.

You hated the way the ration cubes coated your mouth in a chalky paste but you made a point of eating what they did in the mess hall. If only the Kaminoans would vary it every now and again. Maybe you could bring it up with Jango. He was the golden boy after all.

After lunch it was study time. They sat at desks and just absorbed. It really blew your mind the amount of information they went through everyday. Lists of species, equipment they’ll be using including their kit, so when they finally grew into it they’d know exactly what they were doing. Ships and their specs, droids and their functions—it just carried on and on flashing before their eyes. They talked now, shouting facts to one another, answering questions and relaxing a little.

You let them. As long as they stayed on topic you enjoyed watching their interactions. Occasionally you sat with them, answering what questions you could but already painfully aware their knowledge surpassed yours dramatically. You were just a supervisor until they went up to the next level.

Dinner was more relaxed, they talked, laughed and acted like children for a moment. It made you ache inside, knowing their lives were going to be so short, bred for a single purpose that could make their lives even shorter.

It was getting darker, not that you could tell on this infernal, cloud covered hellhole. You were walking the boys back to their quarters when you came across Rav and her clutch of lads with their noses pressed against the thick transparisteel. They sounded excited, gasping and giggling as they pointed outside and you let your boys blend in with hers.

“What’s going on?” You asked quietly.

“Kal. He’s got his hands full,” she chuckled. You leaned to look outside, not seeing anything at first until you realised you were looking at a foot on the outside. Your eyes travelled up to see two young clones climbing the dome of the mess hall, in the driving rain.

“Kandosii!” You exclaimed with a grin, as Mereel caught your eye and gave you a quick wave. “Keep your hands on the line, boy.”

“I don’t know how Kal hasn’t died of a heart attack,” she muttered. “Come on, boys. Bedtime.” Her lads separated from yours and carried on walking in the opposite direction.

You led the way for your lot, listening to them talking about the Nulls like they were some sort of other species. But if the Nulls were causing mischief…it meant Kal’s room was empty.

“Inside…if I come back and you’re fighting or doing anything you shouldn’t, I will make you watch me eat Kal’buir’s uj cake. Got it?”

“Yes, sarge!” Came an excited, blended response and you nodded. Closing the door, you hurried off, keying in the code for Kal’s room and hoping he didn’t catch you red handed. Rather you’d let him assume it was his boys than you, not that he’d be mad. You just liked him wondering where all his food was going.

“Kandosii,” you whispered, dragging the sticky heavy cake out and slicing it up neatly. You were able to get five large chunks and halve them, pushing the cake back together so it didn’t look like any was missing. You’d done this way too many times. Wrapping up the slices you quickly exited his room and went back to your boys.

You found them sitting on their bunks, or sitting on the crate looking outside. Rex was happily swinging his legs over the edge of his bunk, a little smile alighting his face when he saw you return. They clamoured around you, excited whispers filled the room until they were all chomping happily. That would keep them quiet for a moment. But you had one slice left.

Fox was in his bunk, back turned to the room as he pretended to be asleep already. You even checked on him, putting a hand on his back and feeling him tense up.

“All right boys! Wash, teeth and then bed.” They took turns and you watched proudly until they were all settled in their beds. “Lights out,” you warned them, plunging the room into darkness save for the lightning that slashed through the room.

Back in your quarters you left the cake on the side. You debated eating it but something said, you were going to need it.

Sure enough, just as you started to doze there came a small noise at your door. Activating the panel it opened to reveal Fox standing with his hands behind his back. He scuffed the floor with his bare toes and refused to look at you.

“Come on then,” you sighed. He seated himself on the little sofa you had, his eyes watching every move you made as you put the cake on a plate and handed it to him. He didn’t take it and you gently sat beside him. “Fox’ika…you can talk to me.” His hands fisted in his lap and you gasped when he suddenly dived into your arms. His grip was tight and that’s when you noticed he was shaking slightly, so you put the plate down and hugged him back. Rubbing little circles along his shoulders as he quietly cried into your top. You murmured to him in Mando’a, letting him know he was ok while all the time hating this entire programme and what it was doing.

These boys had only existed for less than 2 years and already had seen and done more than the average human adult in their entire lifetime. The strain was immense, you knew because you could feel it, you saw it everyday. Just because they didn’t know any better didn’t mean it wasn’t a struggle. They were human, real blooded humans after all and they needed some nurture amidst everything else.

“What happened with Cod’ika?” You finally asked when his emotions had slowed down.

“I was coming to see you,” he admitted straight away. “He was awake and saw me get up, I thought he was going to tease me…” he trailed off and you took a breath.

“So you punched him instead?” Fox sat up and rubbed his sleeve over his face, giving a shrug that told you everything you wanted to know. “Eat your cake.” He dived on the plate with relish, getting crumbs all over the seat but you didn’t care. Your attention was drawn back to the door and Fox looked at you with wide, scared eyes. “It’s ok,” you reassured him, slipping your blaster free of the holster that hung on the back of your chair. It was habit, to react this way, you didn’t trust the Kaminoans as far as you could throat them. You checked the safety and then punched the door open only to come face to face with a group of shining wide eyes.

“Is Fox’ika in here?” Wolffe asked, a slight scowl marking his brow. “His bunk is empty.” Howzer eyed your blaster with the gaze of someone who knew what he was looking at.

“A modified DE-10 pistol,” he rattled off.

“Yeah. Of course you knew that.” The safety clicked back on and they all exhaled as one. “Get in here before the aiwha-bait see you.” You checked the corridor and shut your door. The nine of them clambered onto the sofa, squeezing around Fox as he broke off tiny pieces of his cake and shared them with everyone. “Now, why am I getting the special treatment tonight?”

“We were worried,” Cody spoke up. “We thought Fox’ika got in trouble.”

“No one is in trouble,” you told them. Their companionship touched you and it made tears threaten to spring to your eyes. They fought like siblings, because they were siblings.

Their heads followed your motions as you crouched next to the sofa. “This, right here, I want you to remember it.”

“Why?” Asked Grey with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Because one day you’re going to be scattered. There’s going to be moments where you think nothing is worth continuing for. When you hit those dark moments I want you to think back to this, right here. The warmth in your chest,” as you spoke you prodded at Wilco’s chest and he suppressed a giggle. “The feeling of always having a brother at your side even when you fall out.” Now you prodded Cody and he had the decency to look slightly sheepish. “Because no matter what happens you will all have each other, through thick and thin, through the battles and the sickening distance. Nothing can break this bond you have.” They all looked at each other, Bly leaned into Thorne and rested his head on his shoulder, Rex put his arm around Fox and the rest huddled in for the embrace.

“I’m sorry, Cod’ika,” Fox spoke up unprompted.

“It’s ok,” Cody replied. “Made one of my teeth wobbly, see!” They crowded round to get a look at his tooth that barely moved but he looked so proud. You bet Mij had told him the punch made it wobbly to make him feel like it was worth it.

“Come on, you lot. I need to sneak you back to your room.”

“Can we stay here?” Keeli asked quietly but the rest didn’t say anything, just turning one by one to look at you with pleading eyes. How could you resist?

“Ok. Ok, make yourselves comfy.” You went over to your bed, surprised when they came over and clambered over the sheets to settle in bedside you. “Oh, you actually meant, here. With me.”

“It’s cold in our room,” Thorne said. “Reminds me of the tank.” The others all murmured in agreement and you closed your eyes, laying back against the pillow and having your arms spread so at least four of the boys could lay on them.

The others pressed in around you and soon enough they drifted off, becoming heavy deadweights that cut the blood supply off to all your extremities. Still, you’d rather face down the entire population of Death Watch than move any of these sleeping troublemakers from your side.

Lightning flashed like a jagged spike, thunder curling outside as it wrapped around Tipoca. You had already made a vow to make these boys the best of the best, but now it burned hotter than ever. They deserved to be Commanders, Captains, leading the charge with their Jedi Generals. These boys deserved the finest gear and the best chance of staying alive. And you were going to equip them with everything they needed to survive. Even when they weren’t your charges anymore, they’d always be your boys.

#CFB2023 #clonexreaderbingo #Cuy’val Dar #legends centric

8 notes · View notes

onlymandos · 1 month

Text

Walon Vau WIP, using an iPad Pro 3rd gen. 11” and procreate

#kal skirata #repcomm #republic commando #walon vau #star wars fanart #tcw #sw tcw #cuy’val dar #Mandalorian #delta squad #kamino #Triple zero #true colors #Order 66 #procreate #star wars art

1 note · View note

tinky-dinky · 5 months

Text

The Cuy’val Dar

Following on from my Jango post, I want to talk about the Cuy’val Dar.

The same warning as that post applies. This is largely my speculations based on canon, but not actually canon.

A note about Legends canon: Unless it is directly contradicted by the current canon, I choose to include Legends canon as canon.

So, the Cuy’val Dar (Mando’a meaning those who are lost) are the trainers Jango recruited to train the clones on Kamino. There were one hundred of these trainers, and seventy five of those one hundred were Mandalorians. The other twenty five were probably bounty hunters and general mercenaries.

Of the seventy five Mandos, we only know the names of 12 of them. Two, Isabet Reau and Dred Priest, were Death Watch sympathizers if not full on members. The other 10 have no stated allegiance but it’s my speculation that at least some of them were True Mandalorians under Jaster and Jango.

There are two whom I am almost certain were True Mandalorians. Kal Skirata is said to have known Jango for years, so he was obviously at least affiliated with the True Mandalorians. He was found by his adopted father, Munin Skirata, when Munin was on a mission with a group of mercenaries. My guess is those mercenaries were Jaster’s people, and possibly even included Jaster himself.

Rav Bralor was a close friend and comrade in arms of Kal Skirata’s long before Kamino, so obviously if he is a True Mandalorian, it stands to reason that she must have been one too.

There are two others who are potentially True Mandalorians. Llats Ward isn’t stated to have any particular affiliation but his chest plate has a whacking great mythosaur skull on it, which is the sigil of the True Mandalorians. Of course, it’s also just a generally important symbol in Mando culture, so Llats could have it on his armour for entirely different reasons.

Miij Gilmar, the trainer of the clone medics, wasn’t born a Mando but became one after he married a Mandalorian woman. She was murdered, unfortunately and he vowed revenge. It’s noted that he had a deep hatred for the death watch allied Dred Priest and Isabet Reau. My speculation is that his wife was killed by Death Watch and he may have joined (or already have been part of) the True Mandos to avenge her.

There is one more trainer I want to discuss in detail. His name is Cort Davin, and he was a Journeyman Protector on Concord Dawn. Obviously this is the same profession as Jaster and Fett Sr, so this suggests he may have been a colleague of theirs. It does seem that he stayed in the Journeyman Protectors until he was recruited into the Cuy’val Dar, so I don’t think he was a proper member of the True Mandos, but he could have been their ally.

We know virtually nothing of the remaining five named Mandos of the Cuy’val Dar, B’arin Apma, Swart Swifto, Wad’e Tayhaai, Vhonte Tervho and Walon Vau. I have no idea if any of these people were True Mandalorians. It’s possible.

A side tangent about Wad’e Tay’haai: one of the few things I could find about him is that his preferred weapons were a traditional Mando spear and a bes’bav. A bes’bav is a Mandalorian flute that doubles as a stabbing weapon. Of course the Mandos have a musical instrument that is also a weapon. Of course they do. It makes me wonder how many other musical weapons exist in Mando culture. And how many other things Mandos have made into weapons. Many, many things probably.

Anyways, this brings me onto the point of this post: why would any True Mandalorians would agree to train the clones despite it going against their well established code of protection over children? And how did Jango feel about these people that were once his?

It’s my personal speculation that any True Mandalorians that joined the Cuy’val Dar on Kamino did so for a number of reasons. The New Mandalorian pacifists were in charge on Mandalore, so anyone wishing to keep their culture couldn’t stay there. I can’t imagine that Mandalorians are welcomed in many places in the galaxy, so it’s possible some of them joined because it guaranteed a place to live and a source of income and food.

Some might have joined out of loyalty to Jango. Perhaps they thought he wouldn’t allow the clones to be treated badly and by the time it became apparent that he would, they couldn’t back out. Perhaps they wanted to help him and therefore help the clones.

I doubt any of them were actually told what they were being recruited for. It was a secret, after all, and I don’t think telling a bunch of Mandalorians ‘there’s a facility where they’re cloning children to be trained as child soldiers for a war in which they’re likely to die’ would go well.

Honestly, I just find the Cuy’val Dar quite interesting. Who are these people? Why did they agree to come to Kamino? What did they feel about the clones?

#the cuy’val dar #mandalorians #jango fett #walon vau #kal skirata #llats ward #vhonte tervho #swart swifto #isabet reau #dred priest #miij gilamar #cort davin #rav bralor #b’arin apma #jaster mereel #true mandalorians #the clones #kamino

40 notes · View notes

ujalayi · 2 years

Note

Also I just saw you take art requests? If so are you still open to any ideas? I have far too many ideas and only an ability to write to sate any ideas I have.

I adore your Tech, but was wondering what your take on cadet Tech would be? As I can only imagine how cute he would be with his goggles and curious owl eyes as a cadet.

Honestly too many ideas and I already am nervous enough suggesting anything to you in a form of art request, but thank you nonetheless! Hope you have a good day/night and o appreciate your time.

Yes!! Thank you so much!! ;u; I’m totally up for any ideas and requests and I love receiving them! I’m so glad people like my little doodles enough to request stuff from me, and selfishly I really appreciate the motivation to practice haha! I might take a little while to answer sometimes because of my work schedule which is a little intense at the moment, and of course the muses can be fickle even when conditions are perfect :} But barring anything major changing, my inbox is open 🤗

Cadet!Tech !! I completely, wholeheartedly agree 🫡Here are some colored sketches of the little commando, and sort of how I picture him in my mind’s eye… 🥹

I love the thermal detonator Tech - great work kid!

In the middle sketch he’s giving the answer to that classic riddle-

Q: A bounty hunter rides into town on Benduday, stays two nights, and leaves on Benduday - how is this possible?

A: The Blurrg’s name was Benduday ☺️

#this is activating my camp counselor brain #If I was Cuy’val Dar I would simply steal the cadets and leave Kamino but idk I guess Im just built different #Nala Se I won’t hesitate bitch #tech tbb #the bad batch tech #the bad batch fanart #clone trooper tech #ujalayi art #uj’answers #the bad batch #cadet tech #cadet!tech

384 notes · View notes

momojedi · 1 month

Text

— KILLER MACHINE

bad batch x gn! imp! reader

chapter one. the division

“Clones?”

My face falls at the sight in front of me. There, on the opposite side of the mirrored glass, my future division is properly lined up in full, black gear; armour I’ve never seen on a clone before. Doctor Hemlock chuckles before moving away from the window and pacing down the hallway. “Not just any clones,” he hums, clasping his hands behind his back as I follow him under the watchful eye of the clone commando accompanying us. “A reconditioned kind. Specialised for the kill.”

“Sir,” I pipe up, trying to keep up with his fast strides, “Clones are a loyal specimen and possibly even the best soldiers we could’ve asked for during the war, yes, but I’m not sure they’re fit to be assassins—“ He cuts me off.

“Oh, they are.” His voice is laced with confidence, leaving little room for doubt and I hesitate before shaking my head and letting my stubbornness slip.

“With all due respect, being an assassin requires far more than just killing. It’s about precision and stealth, both things clone soldiers aren’t exactly known for,” I fight back, motioning toward the soldiers with a wave, “I’ve looked over the Cuy’val Dar’s records from Kamino before, there’s a reason I never worked with them during the wars; most of the troopers performed weakly in those areas, mediocre at best!”

With a sigh, Hemlock stops and turns to face me. “This division underwent extensive reconditioning and rigorous training to ensure full success in the field. Every operative within this elite unit possesses unparalleled expertise, from precision marksmanship to covert infiltration,” he then towers over me, cold eyes penetrating my soul in a judgemental manner, “You have been selected to lead these specimens to success and the Empire expects no less of you. Have I made myself clear?” A chill runs down my spine at his tone and suddenly my mouth goes dry.

I have never been a people person, always working alone and always triumphing alone. Even during the days of the Republic, the Jedi knew better than to pair me up with their people after requesting my help for a mission. Putting me in a position of leadership and responsibility for an entire division is … scary to say the least. But when the Empire wants something from you, it’s better to comply than to step back and so, I swallow the fearful lump in my throat and nod slowly.

“Yes sir.”

Hemlock smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile as he breathes out. “Wonderful.”

Suddenly, the piercing ring of a commlink catches our attention and he raises the small cylinder. “Sir,” a female voice pipes up at the other end of the line, “the Kaminoan scientist is requesting your assistance.” Without responding, Hemlock the commlink back in his pocket and then faces me again. “It appears I am needed elsewhere. RC-1262 will meet you here tomorrow at 0600 sharp for briefing.” He fiddles with the black glove draping one of his hands, ready to turn his back on me but not before giving me one last warning glance. “Remember,” he starts with a dangerous glint in his eyes, “failure is not an option. The Empire demands excellence, and I expect nothing less." His words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of expectation and consequence. As he strides away, followed by his clone commando, I'm left with a sinking feeling in my chest.

51 notes · View notes

arctrooperechy · 2 months

Text

KINDRED - A BAD BATCH STORY

Series Synopsis: The Bad Batch accepts an extraction mission to rescue a member of the Galactic Senate’s daughter.

Series Rating: Mature (though that will likely change as the story progresses)

Prologue

19 BBY - OPEN SPACE

It was so...quiet. Uncharacteristically quiet for a ship full of four men and one child. Everyone was keeping to their own tasks on the ship as Hunter stood in the cockpit behind Tech in his pilot's seat.

Usually, a quiet moment such as this would be one Hunter would have savored. His enhanced senses meant feeling everything a bit more than everyone else.

And that was putting it mildly.

The sergeant learned how to quiet his mind years ago; it had been critical for his sanity and well-being. So no, of course it wasn’t the Kaminoans who taught him. And it wasn’t a member of the cuy’val dar, either.

Hunter had gotten the idea from his squad’s only friend: a gentle clone named 99. Hunter had struggled, hiding in corners when no one was watching and banging his little hands against his temples begging for silence. He thought no one noticed; but 99 did, approaching him quietly.

When trying to explain the problem, all he’d been able to say was, “it’s too loud, it’s too loud.”

99 had consoled him, stating that when things were too loud for him—when there was simply too much noise to think—he should choose a single thing and focus on it.

One thing. Focusing every heightened sense and every bit of his attention on one thing and allowing the sensation to wash over him wholly until it didn’t feel like he was really focusing on anything at all.

It took time to master the skill, through patience and seemingly endless practice. Wrecker had called it “Hunter’s quiet time” once, when they were still small. Tech had rolled his eyes and started to give the definition of “meditation” and Wrecker had covered his eyes with a groan.

Crosshair, the stoic sniper that he was, had joined Hunter for the practice numerous times over the years. It seemed to Hunter that they sought silence for very different reasons. But the pursuit to find that silence was altruistic on both their parts.Tech and Wrecker tried but it was simply in their nature to…well, not be quiet.

But tonight’s quiet was a different story. In the few hours since the squad had left Crosshair alone on Kamino, Hunter's mind had been a prison of memories and guilt. What if the Empire never sends a scout team back to Kamino? What if Crosshair was never found? What if he…

The scenario had to be in the back of everyone else’s head as well. He knew that as the squad's sergeant, it was his duty to speak up and offer guidance, hope, for his teammates.

But he had nothing. He stood in silence, hoping for someone to speak up and distract him from the gnawing insecurity clouding everything.

He stood in silence wondering if they’d made the right choice.

Finally, Wrecker spoke up behind him, ever in keeping with his optimistic and empathetic nature. "'Mega, how about we play some sabaac when we get back to Cid's?"

Omega snapped out of her trance and grinned as she replied, "oh, you're soooo on. Loser buys the Mantell mix for our last mission!"

Wrecker chuckled as he whispered to the girl, "you know Hunter covers that anyway." Omega giggled jovially as she and Wrecker continued their banter. Up front, Echo and Tech began discussing necessary maintenance for the hyperdrive once they were on land again.

Thankful for the chatter, Hunter began selfishly longing for the moment they touched down on Ord Mantell. Maybe the squad would have a chance to relax (for once) and take their minds off of the last several rotations’ events.

As wrong as the notion felt, Hunter thought that perhaps the more distance the squad put between themselves and Crosshair...the better.

CARIDA

Merritt Belaena couldn’t wipe the frown off her face. She wouldn’t wipe the frown off her face. One act of defiance, one thing she could control, was this frown. She would wear it until the day she died. If only to prove a point.

The previous evening had been typical. A beautiful gala in a beautiful gown. A lot of conversation she couldn’t remember. A bit too much to drink. An unwelcome wave of emotions hitting her once she retired to her bedchambers. A fit of tossing and turning before sleep set her free.

This morning had been anything but typical.

She had been jolted awake by one of the handmaidens, imploring her to follow. After a moment of back and forth, Merritt relented and was led to the study.

Senator Belaena’s study, that is.

The Senator being her mother; the study being a room no one was typically permitted access while she worked.

The handmaiden ushered Merritt inside and was away with a final thud of the door closing. She looked around the room and saw no servants, no troopers, and no onlookers; only her parents gathered near a corner talking hushedly to each other.

“Mother? Father?”

The pair turned to face their daughter with wild looks in their eyes. Merritt felt her stomach lurch as she realized whatever this was, it was not a good thing.

“Darling,” her father began as he walked over towards her. “We have some news that might seem a bit strange.”

Her mother sighed and walked to meet Merritt before her father had even reached her.

“You must go.”

“Go?” She was dumbfounded.

“Yes. You must leave Carida,” her mother responded sharply. Merritt noted a hint of emotion in her mother’s voice, something she’d only heard a few times in her lifetime.

“I don’t…what?” A small wave of panic began creeping over her, but she pushed it away with every bit of force she could muster.

“You must leave. And it must be tonight.”

Merritt could not for any reason begin to grasp what was happening here. Of all the things she expected to happen…this was not one of them. “Do I have no say in this?”

“You do not,” her father replied. “This is urgent and non-negotiable.”

“We’ve arranged passage for you off-world. You’ll need to be ready in the next few hours. We don’t have much time.”

“Stop.” Merritt took a deep breath before continuing. It was always so nerve-racking to speak to her parents, but it seemed even more daunting now. “What is going on?”

“Something’s happened with the Galactic Se—“ her father began until he realized he was being met with a harsh glare from the Senator.

“It doesn’t matter what’s going on. All you need to know is you’re leaving and your father will pass instructions to you later in the day.”

“Mother, I’m sure I can handle—“

“You. Are. LEAVING. There will be no discussion. That is final.” Her mother’s face had turned wholly red, the veins showing in her forehead and neck.

Merritt had learned a long time ago not to argue with the Senator. The outburst seemed callous at first, but she soon realized that hidden within the vitriol in her mother’s words, there was fear.

That fear did not soften Merritt’s feelings towards her mother at all. It was so characteristic of her to make demands with no discussion. Once, after a particularly difficult situation arose involving the family’s reputation, Merritt asked if she could be of any help. Her mother had not replied; but she’d overheard her later ranting that Merritt was “not capable” of bearing such heavy burdens.

Perhaps she was right.

And yet, here Merritt stood with what felt like the heaviest burden of all—the unknown. Her only ally, it appeared, was the frown on her face. She was on her own, she and that frown, now just as she had always been.

ORD MANTELL

Before the Batch could even settle in at Cid's, the Trandoshan was beckoning for Hunter to join her in the back.

The dimly-lit room was anything but welcoming on a good day. But now, when Hunter was desperate for a moment of downtime? It was even worse.

"Heard you almost died," Cid said nonchalantly. Hunter wasn't sure she was feigning the lack of sympathy.

"Been through worse. Nice of you to worry, though," he responded curtly as she took her usual seat.

"Well, I'm not quite ready to lose part of my top source of revenue yet," she shrugged, sifting through the items on her desk. "Besides, I've got a job for you."

Hunter sighed loudly as he started, "I think the squad needs to lay low for a bit."

Cid continued as if she didn't hear him. "Carida, planet that's been getting quite a bit of Imperial attention lately.” She activated a diagram from her holopad at the desk, showing the planet’s location in the Inner Rim. “The planet’s the site of a clone training facility that's been converted into an Imperial officer and trooper academy."

Hunter nodded quietly; he was familiar with Carida and the soldiers they produced. Why it was relevant to him, he hadn’t the slightest idea.

"Someone needs to be transported off-world, ASAP. Willing to pay a fortune," she grinned.

"Cid...the team's been through a lot lately. I'm not sure we're ready to engage in conflict with the Empire again just yet."

"Bandana, this is a quick extraction, easy score for you boys," she scoffed. "Details are on here," she explained as she tossed him a holodisc.

"No," Hunter said as he tossed the disc back towards her desk. "Not happening."

Before Cid could respond, a tiny voice piped up from the office's entrance. "What's not happening?"

Omega stepped in and sat on the arm of Hunter's chair.

“Tiny! Finally, someone with some sense. Dark and broody here’s rejecting a simple rescue mission I had for you all,” Cid said with a devious smirk. Hunter glared at her, knowing she’d used the right words.

“Rescue mission? Someone’s in trouble?” Omega’s eyes lit up; she looked to Hunter excitedly.

Before he could say anything, Cid made matters even worse by adding it was someone on an Imperial-occupied planet.

“Hunter, we have to go!” Omega exclaimed, beginning to tug on his arm.

“Omega,” he started slowly, “I just don’t know that the squad is ready for another mission just yet. There’s been…a lot that’s happened these last few days,” he finished.

She looked at him with a fierceness in her eyes, and he knew that was it. The kid was very persuasive and usually right…usually. “Hunter, we help people. Isn’t that what we do?” she asked firmly.

After a long pause and without looking away from Omega, Hunter spoke to Cid. “Just an extraction? This person is going to be ready for us…in and out, without any intense maneuvering?”

“Yup. And then we both reap a ton of credits. What could go wrong?” Cid smiled back with greed in her eyes.

Hunter sighed with a look back at Omega. He resolved to himself that this would be their last mission for a while, no matter what Cid bribed, or Omega pleaded. It wasn’t just that they needed rest; he was concerned his squad had been making far too much noise lately and needed to lay low for a while.

Perhaps one simple low-risk mission to provide them enough credits to relax for a long while wasn’t such a terrible plan.

“Alright, kid. Go round up the boys. Let’s make this quick.”

A/N: thank you for reading! After months of reworking, I am finally ready to begin sharing this TBB story. This is my first fic, so any tips or comments would be so helpful ❣️ I don’t know how to do a tag-list but if that’s something you’re interested in, please let me know!

-CC

#the bad batch #tbb #hunter x female oc #bad batch #sw fanfic #kindred fic #tbb fanfiction #OC Merritt

27 notes · View notes

trixree · 10 months

Text

Chapter 10 - Why Not's & How To's

“There is a part of the deal for the clone army that was most likely buried once the war broke out, maybe even earlier. Us older batches—alphas, command class, some of the first gen standards—only knew about it because the Cuy’val Dar talked and the kid got around. Prime got a hefty payout, obviously, but he got something else from the Kaminoans, too. He wanted to make a child for himself out of an unaltered clone,” Cody pauses as Obi-Wan’s eyes grow serious, losing the playful spark their flirtation had kindled. “Jango Fett… adopted a clone of himself?” Obi-Wan clarifies. “Not adopted. Ordered," Cody corrects.

Rating: E, Word Count: 61k+, Chapter Count 10/17 Support me on Ko-Fi or with a reblog!

#trixree writes #legally blonde jedi au #fic update #my fic

64 notes · View notes

vodika-vibes · 7 months

Text

Convenient

Summary: Now that the war is over, you should leave Kamino. But, well, Kamino is just so damn convenient for you. And Alpha-17 has some questions.

Pairing: Alpha-17 x Reader

Word Count: 1823

Warnings: Suggestive

A/N: I'm in a Fox mood, but I can't think of an idea for Fox, so I wrote for Alpha-17 instead.

Divider by saradika

You hate Kamino.

You had the hospital white walls, and the way it always smells like antiseptic and soap. And you really hate how the Kaminoans look at you like you’re somehow lesser than them.

As if you’ve ever been lesser than anyone a day in your life!

Still, you are very well paid for your services, and Kamino does not have extradition treaties with Republic planets, which is the whole reason that you agreed to take the job in the first place.

You are a thief. Well…a con-artist, really. And you are very, very good at what you do. The Kaminoans don’t know that…though you’re fairly sure that Master Ti at least suspects that you’re not what you claim you are.

Which is categorically untrue. You started your career as a Hacker, after all. Which makes you more than qualified to teach. Well, sort of. Technically your qualifications are all fake, but you’re the only person who knows that.

But now the war is over, and technically you can leave Kamino, and the judgemental Kaminoans, and the even more judgemental Jedi…but you don’t want to.

Partly because Kamino still doesn’t offer extradition to Republic planets, but mostly because you’ve become attached to your kids, and you don’t want to leave them.

But right now you aren’t working.

Right now you’re sitting in a communal kitchen, curled up on the one comfortable couch, with your gaze focused on a datapad.

The young Queen of Naboo is throwing a gala in two months and there’s going to be a stunning dagger on display and you want it. Conning someone from half a galaxy away isn’t that hard, really. Not so long as you prepare.

You don’t even look up when you hear someone enter the room.

“You do know that you have a room, right?”

“Oh, is that what that room is? I hadn’t realized.” You reply lightly as you type a few more things, and then turn off your datapad as your plan goes into motion.

“What are you doing anyway?” You look up at Alpha-17, who watches you from the corner of his eye as he makes some more caf.

“A lady never reveals her secrets, Alpha.” You reply lightly, as you adjust on the couch and watch him with a secretive little smile.

Alpha-17 is one of the oldest clones. He also has the honor of being the most dangerous man on Kamino, and the most stubborn man you’ve ever met in your life. And you’ve met a lot of stubborn men over the years.

He watches you, all the time, and he’s not subtle about it at all. Likely because he believes you’re a threat to his brothers.

You respect that about him. Grudgingly, at first, and genuinely as time passed.

And, over the years, that respect has grown into a genuine attraction.

He turns to look at you, “A lady, huh? Didn’t know there were any ladies on Kamino.”

“Then you must not be looking all that hard,” You reply as you smoothly untuck your legs and stretch them out in front of you, “After all, Shaak Ti and myself can hardly be compared to the…hm…thugs that made up the cuy’val dar, no?”

You smother a grin when you notice his gaze drag down your legs, and then back up to your face, “Well,” he says roughly, “General Ti isn’t a thug.”

“Oh Alpha,” You practically purr out his name, and you feel a surge of triumph as his gaze snaps to your lips, “I’m hurt.”

“You’ll get over it,” He counters, “You don’t look that upset. In fact, you look downright thrilled.”

“Well, I do enjoy talking to you, Alpha. No one else gives me the time of day. Except, of course, for my babies.” A fond smile crosses your face as you think of the dozen or so boys who lovingly call you mom.

“Maybe they’d be more willing to talk to you if you didn’t call them thugs,” Alpha offers sarcastically, as he walks over to you and stands close. Close enough to be uncomfortable if you were any other person.

“They are thugs.” You reply blithely.

“And that’s why no one here likes you,” He says.

“Hm…including you?” You ask as you smoothly push to your feet, allowing yourself right into Alpha’s personal space.

And Alpha, who’s never backed down from anyone in his life, merely raises a single brow. “Why do you care if I like you or not?” He asks.

“Well, we are co-parenting, dear.”

He takes a sharp inhale, and you don’t even bother to hide your amused smile, “We’re not co-parenting.” He says after a moment.

“Agree to disagree then.” You say lightly, and then you gently tap his arm, “Excuse me.”

He moves to the side, allowing you to pass, but before you can make it to the sink, and grabs your wrist and spins you around fast enough that you’re off balance, “What are you working on, mesh’la?”

“Just a game, Captain,” You say to him, completely unafraid even though it would be so easy for him to hurt you, “No need for you to fret.”

His grip around your wrist tightens slightly, “General Ti doesn’t trust you. She says that you’re planning something.”

“I’ve been on Kamino, training those boys, since before she even knew Kamino existed.” You counter, “And I have never done anything to harm those boys.”

He raises an eyebrow, “You don’t deny you’re planning something.”

“I have lots of plans, darling.” You reply, your voice a whisper, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Tell me your plans.”

“Hm…” You flash a sly smile, “I have a twelve step plan based solely around getting you into my bed.”

His grip around your wrist loosens slightly, “You’re lying.” Alpha says with narrowed eyes.

“Am I?” You lean closer to him, until you’re pressed against the hard plastoid of his armor, “You’re not a dumb man, Alpha. And you’re not unobservant.”

His lips press into a thin line for a moment, “Fine. You’re not lying. But you’re not completely telling the truth either.”

You hum quietly, “Well, full disclosure, when I applied for the job it was…convenient.”

“Convenient?”

“Mm.” You hum your agreement, “Convenient.”

“In what way?” Alpha demands.

You hum thoughtfully, and then you grin, “That’s a secret, I’m afraid. But, you can go and tell General Ti that my only plans involve seducing you.”

“You think she sent me to interrogate you?” Alpha asks.

“Oh Alpha, of course she did.” You say with a laugh, “Now…since you don’t want me in here, I suppose I’ll just have to return to my room.” You lightly tap his hand, and he releases your wrist. You favor him with a warm smile as you back out of the room.

The walk back to your room takes ten minutes. And you manage to get the door open, and then shut, and your datapad plugged in, before there’s a knock on the door.

You open the door and don’t even bother to hide your amusement at seeing Alpha-17 on the other side. “Is there something else General Ti needs from me?” You ask lightly.

Something dangerous slides across Alpha’s face and he steps into your room. He reaches out and shuts the door with a hit of the door panel. “So far as I’m aware, she doesn’t know I’m here.”

“She’s aware of where you are, Alpha. She’s a Jedi.”

He scoffs, and his deft fingers start stripping his armor off, his gaze locked on yours, “I find myself very interested in this seduction plan of yours,” He said, his voice a low rumble, “But I’m also not half patient enough to wait for you to put your plan into play.”

You quirk a single brow, “Is that right?” You ask as you watch him strip his armor off and set it next to the door.

“It is right.” Once his armor was neatly stacked next to the door, he advances on you, “So you’re going to tell me about why Kamino is convenient, and then I am going to claim you as mine.”

“What if I don’t want to be claimed?” You ask.

His hands settle on your hips, and then slide down to your thighs, and you squeak when he lifts you effortlessly, “I think you’ll find that I can be very convincing, cyar’ika.” He says once he encourages you to hook your legs around his waist.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” You agree with a laugh.

He walks you across the room, to the bed, and he settles you in the middle of the bed, and then he settles himself over you, using his hips to pin you in place. “So,” he says lightly, as he lightly grips your wrists and pins them next to your head, “Why Kamino?” Alpha asks as he presses his face into your neck and presses a hot kiss against your pulse.

You jolt at the kiss, and then again when you feel him nipping the same spot, “Uh…maybe I like the rain.”

He hums against your skin, and his lips trail down to the juncture of your neck and shoulder, where he kisses, and then bites down just hard enough to leave an obvious mark, “Try again, cyare.”

You whine as he moves his lips again, and bites down a third time, “Kamino doesn’t extradite anywhere.” You say through a quiet moan.

You feel him grin against your skin, “That’s an interesting thing for you to worry about.” He growls as he moves his lips to your throat.

You let out a breathless laugh, “I’m a con-artist, Alpha. A con-artist and an art thief. And I really don't want to go to jail.”

He pauses, and pulls back to look at you, “I’ve seen how you train the cadets, mesh’la. Are you telling me you’re a thief and a tech wiz?”

“I started out as a slicer and decided to evolve into something more challenging.” You admit with a sheepish grin.

“So your credentials?”

“All fake.”

Alpha stares at you, and then he laughs, and crashes his lips against yours, “Good to know.” He mumbles against your lips, “But I can’t seem to bring myself to care.”

You laugh quietly, “If I knew that all I needed to do to get you in my bed is tell you that I wanted you there-” You tease lightly.

His eyes glimmer with mischief as he sits up a little. And then he slowly drags your hands over your head, and pins them in place with one hand, and he uses his newly free hand to start peeling your clothes off. “I’m going to strip your clothes off, and then I’m going to unmake you three or four times before I claim you as my own.” He promises, and then he kisses you.

You grin into the kiss. Alpha always keeps his promises, after all.

#star wars #tcw #Alpha-17 x Reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction

53 notes · View notes

josephsaturn · 2 months

Text

Gonna post some SW AU ideas

(Fair warning: most of these are tcw/clones-adjacent because that’s where the brainrot is lmao

Also I am ONLY fully done watch the first 2 prequel movies and season 1 of tcw. I know what’s gonna happen after, but not every detail of it.)

Starting with:

Shmi the Nanny

Ok so.

A few months after Anakin is taken to become a Jedi, Jango goes to Watto’s for help on his ship, so Watto sends Shmi to go work on it while Jango watches. Idk, he’s probably got nothing better to do. While she’s working on fixing the problem, he decides to pass time by telling her about the kid he just got: how he’s the sweetest thing ever, how he looks like an angel, maybe he even stops Shmi’s work to show pictures or something. But, the important thing is this: he knows that Kamino’s no place to raise a child, and he trusts both the nanny-bot and the Kaminoans about as far as he can throw them.

Getting an idea, he then looks at Shmi and asks if she has any experience with kids.

She, obviously, answers yes.

Jango walks back in to Watto’s store, stays in there for a few minutes, and when he comes out, he tells her that she’s coming with him to be his kid’s nanny.

I wanna make it clear that Jango DID NOT free Shmi: she’s still got her chip, Jango’s just got her detonator. He’s simply her new owner, and, as Shmi’s gonna learn, a REAL piece of work.

So they go to Kamino, and meet up with whichever Kaminoan is there to greet Jango. He introduces Shmi as Boba’s live-in nanny for when Jango goes on bounties and such, and they take her to the Tipoca apartments to get settled in. While walking there, Shmi notices the tubes carrying the other clones on the weird merry-go-round thing in canon, and gets told that those are the Jedi’s clone army.

The Jedi.

The very same Jedi she allowed Ani to go live with.

Why did the Jedi need an army?

But they make it to the apartments, Shmi gets one right next to the Fetts, and Jango introduces her to little baby boba, only a few months old. She also gets introduced to the Cuy’val Dar, since she’ll be in close quarters with them.

For the first few days, Shmi just walks around, taking in all of the sights Kamino has to offer (like all the WATER, holy kriff), but gets rebuked by whoever’s nearby when she tries to go into the cloning facility.

Finally, Jango harshly wakes her up in the middle of the night and takes her to his apartment, telling her that if anything happens to boba, it’ll be on her. With that, he leaves, and shmi falls asleep on the couch, only to be woken up by boba’s crying.

She ends up taking care of him for a month and a half, Jango nowhere in sight for all of it, only for him to return in the middle of the day and coldly kick Shmi out of the apartment.

The pattern repeats: Jango leaves for at least a month, comes back for just a week or two, then it’s back out again.

Some highlights of this idea:

Shmi bonding with certain members of the Cuy’val dar, with one of them even giving her her own blaster

Shmi officially meets the rest of the clones when Boba turns four, having lost him after turning her back on him for only a minute. Alpha-17 finds him and gets him back to her

Boba gets to listen to some of her stories/eat food from tattooine

Boba in general growing up with a positive influence instead of being a super-duper isolated brat.

Shmi straight up killing Dred priest when news of his fighting ring reaches her

Shmi thinking about how the only people she likes on this miserable planet are just the kids (and yes the men bred to die are kids to her. Sue her she literally watched them grow up) cuz the adults are different shades of asshole

And other stuff

Lemme know what you think!

#I’m not sure what happens during AOTC honestly #aside from the galaxy’s second most awkward reunion #shmi skywalker #shmi the nanny au #star wars au #star wars #boba fett #jango fett #sw au #the clones

14 notes · View notes

ryehouses · 1 year

Note

ive said this before and I’ll say it again: Boba POV for his and Din’s first scene in the kitchens

this was by FAR one of the most requested boba povs -- seriously, i have like twelve of these in my inbox -- so i figured that it would be as good a POV to start on as any!

set during chapter 3, "sha'kajir." the content warnings relevant to that chapter, including some extremely preliminary kink negotiation, some mild non-sexual choking and some painplay, apply.

if you're like "wait, all of the dialogue is the same!" it is, but the ~inflection is different from a different pov.

enjoy!

in which boba fett makes an educated guess.

If Din Djarin wound himself up any tighter, he was going to snap in half and scatter beskar all over the floor of Ushib’s tidy kitchen, and somehow, Boba didn’t think that Fennec would be very happy with him if he let that happen.

He wouldn’t be very happy with himself either, honestly. Boba liked Djarin. His side still hurt where Djarin’d gone for a gap in Boba’s cuirass – twice – and he was trying his hardest not to limp where Djarin could see. The mean little lyleck had kicked Boba so hard that Boba was going to need to hobble around with a brace in the morning, though he’d be karked if he let Djarin notice.

The whole point of getting him in the sparring ring was to get him to relax, Boba thought, watching Djarin across the quiet, dim kitchen. He’d found Djarin in one of the old pit fighting rooms, where Jabba and his court had bet on gladiators, and had brought Djarin here after their spar to put Djarin more at ease. To get him more comfortable.

Djarin was not comfortable.

He’d been willing enough to spar, when Boba had finally managed to track him down. For a man in bright silver armor – not even a sensible green, a red that would disappear in low light, a blue that would blend into the sky – Djarin’d been karking hard to find. But once Boba’d managed to dig him up, Djarin had agreed to spar, and during the spar he had relaxed. Boba had been able to see Djarin. To learn about who he was underneath the armor.

Any ease that Djarin’d found in the sparring ring was long gone now. He was staring at Boba, one hand curled around a cup of tihaar that he hadn’t yet touched, like he thought that Boba was going to rush him and stick a knife in his belly. His shoulders were pulled tight. His free hand was twitching for a weapon.

I don’t particularly want to get stuck with the darksaber, either, Boba thought. I’ve already been whacked with that spear. Djarin had only used the blunt end to jab Boba – he was polite enough, for a Mandalorian – but still. Sparring was one thing. Sparring was fun. A good way to blow off some steam. Boba’d hoped that the spar had convinced Djarin that while Boba might whack him around a little in the sparring ring, Djarin wasn’t in any danger here at the palace. Boba wasn’t Bo-Katan Kryze. He had no interest in stabbing any of his allies in the back, no matter what they’d accidentally walked in on.

I don’t have enough allies to go around betraying them, or to go around shooting them because I forgot to look my own karking door.

Boba eyed Djarin for another minute, feeling an echo of Djarin’s stress in his own shoulders, behind his teeth, and then turned away, swallowing the tihaar in his own cup. The familiar smell, sharp alcohol and sweet fruit, warmed his mouth. He watched Djarin out of the corner of his eye. Djarin didn’t move, stiff and wary. It was like Boba’d invited a half-starved anooba into his home instead of one of the best fighters Boba’d ever seen.

Boba sighed. “I thought maybe food and drink would put you at ease,” he admitted, apologetic. Boba had vague, old memories of his father passing around a bottle of tihaar with the Cuy’Val Dar, old grudges set aside while the bottle changed hands. He’d thought that sharing food and drink was a way to set a Mandalorian at ease, but the days of the Cuy’Val Dar were long over, and Boba’d never been very good about remembering what few Mandalorian custos he’d learned at his father’s knee anyway. “But we can do this up in my rooms, if that’ll help.”

Boba hadn’t wanted to corner Djarin. He knew well enough how a cornered fighter would react, and Djarin hit pretty hard. But maybe Boba’s room, with its open walls and its starlight, would be better. Boba liked the kitchens, personally. Liked the smell of fresh japoor bread and chuba stew. It reminded him of the simpler days out in the desert, sharing a tent with Ushib.

Boba hadn’t had much to worry about, then. Not getting killed by the Spotted Anooba’s chief, who’d hated outsiders. Not dying of the wounds inflicted by the sarlacc. Life had been easy. Simple.

Then I had to go off and start a syndicate, Boba thought dryly. Though none of this was in the job description.

Boba wasn’t sure what had set Djarin off. What made him so tense and wary here. He had walked in on Boba and Theran, but –

The suggestion – the idea of going up to Boba’s rooms – made Djarin tenser. “Do what,” he said, tone flat.

Kark. Boba poured himself another small measure of tihaar. Looking at Djarin head-on only seemed to put him more on guard. “Talk about what you walked in on,” Boba said. He’d been willing enough to dance around the issue, to use vague terms or euphemisms; most beings preferred it. Boba’d prefer to keep Theran’s privacy, if he could, but he also needed Djarin to be sharp, if he was going to stick around with the outfit, and Djarin couldn’t be sharp if he was fretting over what he’d seen.

Djarin was fretting over it. He was so stiff that Boba was half-worried that Djarin would fall over.

Is it me he’s afraid of? Boba wondered, and the thought tasted sour in his mouth. Respect was one thing. Boba didn’t particularly mind being feared by his enemies either.

But Djarin – Djarin wasn’t an enemy. Not now, at least. Once he got tired of hanging around on Tatooine and karked off back to the other Mandalorians, he might end up on the other side of a battlefield some day, but here and now, he wasn’t Boba’s enemy.

“I’m not Jabba, you know,” said Boba, aiming for a light, unbothered tone. Djarin had said that he’d done a few jobs for Jabba. He probably knew how Jabba’d handled things in his court.

This isn’t Jabba’s court. It’s not going to be Jabba’s court again.

Boba had promised the universe quite a few things, when he’d been sitting in the sarlacc’s belly. He had decided, if he lived, that he was going to be better than Jabba. Better than Boba himself had been.

“I’m not gonna have you dropped down into the rancor pit just because you walked in on me enjoying some of my – ” Boba hesitated for a split second, unsure how to describe what he’d been doing with Theran to someone like Djarin.

For a Mandalorian, Djarin was – different. Boba hadn’t figured out just what it was about him that was different, but Djarin was nothing like the few Mandalorians Boba’d run into over the years. Boba didn’t know anything about him. He didn’t know if Djarin understood what he’d seen, between Boba and Theran.

“ – odder pastimes,” Boba finished, wincing internally as he did it. He wasn’t very good at coming up with words on the spot. Odder pastimes wasn’t the best description of what Boba and Theran did together, but –

“Is that what it was?” Djarin asked, sounding tentative. “I didn’t – ” he paused too, and Boba wondered if he was blushing under his helmet.

Boba paused. Pinned that thought down.

Now where, he thought, did that come from?

“How you punish your people isn’t any of my business,” Djarin continued hastily, pulling Boba back to the matter at hand. “I just heard – through the door, I heard what sounded like someone in pain.”

Boba had to blink for a moment, surprised.

Well, that’ll teach us to play on the main floor, he thought. Theran hated Boba’s rooms. He was as brave as a bladeback, Theran, and had been for as long as Boba’d known him, but Theran was terrified of heights and their old arrangement – renting a room in a cantina somewhere in Mos Eisley – was more dangerous now that Boba was trying to set up an outfit of his own.

And I wasn’t punishing Theran, either. Theran didn’t go for punishment. He preferred regular, quick sessions, a few licks of the flogger to take him out of his own head for a little while. That was all. For anything heavier Boba would have insisted on his own rooms, or on a different suite. The room Theran’d chosen hadn’t had anywhere for Boba to stash any of his medical supplies, any snacks, anything that Theran might need as he came back up once he’d finished letting Boba bring him down.

“Theran and I have an arrangement,” Boba said, watching Djarin to see if Djarin would understand the difference between the two. Punishment and arrangement.

It was harder to guess what Djarin was thinking with all of his beskar on. That helmet was blank. Unchanging. The set of Djarin’s shoulders told Boba that he was uncomfortable, but little else.

“He knew me before, when all of this – ” Boba gestured at the kitchens, which weren’t really much to look at, but meant the palace above them too – “was Jabba’s. We.. have compatible interests.”

Djarin’s confusion was almost palpable. “Compatible… interests?” he asked, still tentative.

Boba tried not to wince. C’mon, Mando, you know what I’m talking about.

Boba’s preferences weren’t necessarily common, but he was hardly the only man in the galaxy who enjoyed wielding a whip. Theran was hardly the only man who liked to be whipped.

“Ni gaa’tayl,” he muttered to himself, hoping it was quiet enough to escape Djarin’s notice. Boba didn’t know enough mando’a to hold a full, complete conversation with a real Mandalorian and didn’t feel much like dealing with Mandalorian ossik tonight anyway, but sometimes the handful of phrases Boba still remembered from his days on Kamino were the only phrases that felt like they fit how he was feeling.

Right now, I need all the help I can get, Boba thought. He studied Djarin, trying to figure out what to do.

Best to just – go for it, Boba thought. Boba had never been very good at being subtle. “Yeah, compatible interests. He likes – to give someone else control over his body,” Boba said, trying to explain his and Theran’s arrangement in vague enough terms that Boba wouldn’t completely run over Theran’s privacy, though Theran himself didn’t much care.

He could tell that Djarin still didn’t understand, though. The Mandalorian had cocked his head a little, listening, like a curious anooba cub. Boba squashed the flicker of amusement and kept going.

“He likes pain,” Boba said. “He likes… someone to look after him, to decide what he feels and when he feels it.”

There, thought Boba. That’s about the gist of it, without digging into the specifics. Djarin should understand. Boba’d seen Djarin fight. Had watched him come up with plans, with strategies. Djarin wasn’t stupid. He could figure it out.

Djarin, if anything, pulled his shoulders up even higher. “And you…” he said, trailing off before he managed to voice an actual question.

Something about the way that Djarin was sitting – the way that he was looking at Boba, the way that Boba knew that Djarin wasn’t looking him in the eye, even though Djarin was wearing a helmet – scratched lightly at the edge of Boba’s awareness. Felt almost – familiar.

Boba cocked his head and looked harder at Djarin, trying to see the man underneath the armor. “Like to take control, yeah,” Boba said. In for a peggat, he thought. There was no harm in describing his own preferences. Anybody who’d spent more than five minutes in a room with Boba knew that he liked to be in control. Boba’d accepted that part of himself a long time ago.

“Like to cause pain, too.”

Boba saw the moment that Djarin understood. His shoulders twitched, just a little, like Djarin had brushed a live wire.

Interesting. The feeling of familiarity scratching at the back of Boba’s head itched harder.

“...Oh,” said Djarin. He set his cup of tihaar, still untouched, down on the counter beside him. He didn’t immediately sneer anything derogatory and he didn’t try to bolt, either. Boba watched him carefully for a second, then relaxed.

Djarin understood.

He was still tense, though.

He said that he thought that he heard someone in pain, Boba thought. He came to help.

Before Boba and Fennec had set off after Djarin – after Djarin had left Tatooine with Boba’s armor, not knowing what it was that he was taking away – Boba’d done a bit of research. He hadn’t been able to find the man’s name, not until Djarin’d shared it, but rumors of a Mandalorian in silver armor fighting the Empire, driving off pirates and rescuing towns from Greater karking Krayt Dragons echoed all over the galaxy. Djarin had helped a lot of people. Had killed a lot of people, honestly, but Boba’d done his own share of killing and wasn’t bothered by it, and all of Djarin’s killing had been pretty straightforward and clean, too. He wasn’t a torturer. He wasn’t cruel.

He heard Theran cry out, and he came to help.

“‘S not as bad as you’re worried about, Djarin,” Boba said gently, trying to set the other man more at ease. Theran didn’t notice, and he doesn’t mind an audience anyway. It’s just – it’s a matter of discretion, yeah?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Din said hastily, and Boba could hear him blushing. “I’m not – I don’t share other people’s secrets.”

Boba almost smiled. “No, you wouldn’t,” he said, trying not to laugh at Djarin. Boba’d already known that Djarin could be trusted, at least a little. Djarin was the Resol’nare walking. “You’ve got your honor.”

Djarin relaxed a little.

Something in Boba’s gut twinged. Settled. Like Boba had just rounded a corner in Mos Eisley and come face to face with someone in the crowd, like he’ reached for his blaster, but instead of finding an enemy, had found someone that he could trust.

Recognition.

The way that Djarin was sitting – the way that he was looking at Boba – Boba recognized it. Had seen it before.

“But that’s not all I wanted to talk to you about,” Boba added on instinct, though he felt a little bad when Djarin immediately froze. Boba paused for a fraction of a second, debating whether he should follow what his instincts were telling him or just let Djarin go, send him off to work through what he’d just learned on his own, but –

But something about the way that Djarin was looking at Boba – something about the way that Djarin had fought in the sparring ring, about the way he carried himself – made Boba say, “Sometimes, pain is good.”

Later, Boba wouldn’t be able to say what it was about Djarin that told him that Djarin was like Theran. Sometimes there were clues. A certain pattern of speech, a certain look, an intake of breath when Boba stood close. Sometimes beings who wanted what Theran wanted just came up to Boba and karking asked. Sometimes it was just a feeling.

With Djarin, it was just a feeling.

“For some it’s a focus,” Boba continued. “Or a reminder, or a reason.”

“Is that why you were.. Was it to help Theran?” Djarin asked. He was still holding himself very still. Boba wondered what Djarin would be doing if he’d let himself move. If he’d pick up his cup of tihaar again, or if he’d try to leave. If he’d put a hand over his thigh, over the plate of armor Boba’d hit with his gaderffii, and try to feel the bruise that Boba was sure was growing there.

A spark of interest licked the back of Boba’s ribs. Trying not to show it – it’d never paid for Boba to play his hand too early, even if he’d had a perfect sabacc – Boba just said, “That’s between me and Theran.”

What Theran got out of a flogging session was Theran’s concern. Boba’s too, of course – Boba tried to make sure that everyone he played with got what they needed – but it was private, even if Djarin would get something similar out of a flogging session himself.

Would he? Boba wondered. He is Mandalorian. He ought to be used to using pain, or at least to fighting through it.

Djarin was a frighteningly competent fighter. Boba knew that the Empire – even the Remnants – had tended to value their own pride over any kind of self-awareness, but if Boba’d been Gideon, he would’ve thought twice before trying to interfere with Djarin’s clan. Djarin had a shriek-hawk’s temper.

Most of the best fighters had a more intimate relationship with pain than the average being. It came with being hit in the head – and the chest, the gut, kicked in the knee, grappled – so karking often. Djarin was one of the better fighters Boba’d seen.

Djarin, fidgeting more obviously now, picked his cup of tihaar again and brought it up almost protectively, though he still didn’t make any move to take his helmet off.

The flicker of amusement in Boba’s chest was brighter now, and it wasn’t as easy to quash.

He tilted his head, considering.

I can just let it go here, he thought. He’d explained himself to Djarin. Djarin’d promised that he wouldn’t go spilling the details of Boba’s arrangement with Theran all over the palace. Their business with each other, at least for the night, was done.

But that instinct – that recognition, searing and bone-deep – wouldn’t let go of Boba, so he said, “Your buy’ce.” He drummed his fingers over his own helmet almost absently. “Can you take it off?”

He wanted to see Djarin’s face. His eyes.

Boba knew that there were some groups of Mandalorians who preferred to show their faces only to their families or their close allies. Djarin and Boba weren’t close. They’d known each other for just a little more than a week, and for part of that week Djarin had been unconscious in a bacta tank after defeating a Remnant Moff and upsetting Bo-Katan Kryze’s plan in one swoop.

But Boba still wanted to see his eyes.

Djarin clearly hadn’t been expecting the question. He startled, which caught Boba by surprise – he hadn’t seen Djarin startle before. Then Djarin sat up straight, chin up, that fierce lylek look plain even through his armor, and put his tihaar cup back down.

Boba watched Djarin flex his fingers a few times.

Interesting, he thought. He wasn’t surprised, though. Just about any being or beast had two reflexes, when surprised; fight or flight. With Mandalorians – with Boba too, either through persistent genetics, training or plain experience – the response was almost always fight.

Djarin managed to master his urge to punch Boba, though. Boba saw him take a deep breath. Djarin sat up straighter. Boba watched him, intrigued.

“Why?” Djarin asked.

That was an easy enough question to answer.

“Because I want to ask you something,” Boba said. “And I’d prefer to see your face while I do it. If that’s alright?”

Djarin started at Boba for a handful of seconds. He’d gone stiff again, wound tight with tension, and all that energy would eventually have to go somewhere – Djarin titled his helmet a little and Boba could tell that Djarin was looking for a way out.

Boba realized that he was between Djarin and the door and tried not to wince.

Don’t corner him, he reminded himself. That’s going just gonna get you punched again, Fett, or worse. Djarin had already kicked Boba in his bad knee once tonight.

But Boba knew how to manage this sort of reaction too. Moving very carefully, slow and deliberate, Boba shifted over to the side, leaving a clear path between Djarin and the door out into the hall, ready to let Djarin go if Djarin wanted to.

Djarin didn’t move.

Boba let him think about it. He could be patient. He hadn’t become the best bounty hunter in Jabba’s outfit by rushing headlong into things. Boba knew how to wait his prey out.

Thinking of Djarin as prey, something to be caught – tamed – made Boba’s heart beat a little faster in his chest. Djarin’d put up a fight. He would. Boba knew that he would. It’d be fun. He squashed that feeling too.

This was about Djarin.

Finally, after several tense, frozen seconds, Djarin obeyed and reached up, curling his fingers around the edges of helmet. Most buc’ye – buckets – were the same, even if the shape and the features were different. Djarin released the seals with a hiss of compressed air and tugged his helmet off in one sharp move, like Djarin thought he’d stop halfway if he tried to pull it off slowly.

Djarin blinked in the light, and Boba hid the frown that wanted to pull at his mouth.

The last time Boba’d seen Din Djarin’s face, the man had been fresh out of a bacta tank. He’d looked terrible. The bacta had kept Djarin’s brain from leaking out of his ears – Boba’d seen the hole in the wall where some kind of new superdroid had done its best to kill Djarin – but even bacta could only do so much, and the last time Boba’d seen his face, Djarin had looked half-dead. Pale, bruised and exhausted, the old, half-visible scars on his face stark in the artificial light of the med bay.

Despite the fact that it had been a few weeks since then, Djarin still looked awful. The bruises had all faded, but he had shadows under his eyes. His hair, a curly, soft-looking brown, stuck up untidily. His face was thinner, more worn, and the scar between his eyes still stood out, even in the low light.

What happened? Boba wondered, alarmed. Djarin’d only been on Tatooine for a few days – he couldn’t have been that badly-injured out on his hunt. Boba knew that Fennec had made sure that Djarin had eaten, the night he’d landed on Tatooine. Djarin hadn’t been with them long enough to get this tired. This worn.

Kryze, Boba thought, darkly. He should’ve known that she’d be too busy with her own karking plans to make sure that her guests – her allies – were well taken care of.

Djarin held Boba’s eyes for a second. His eyes were dark too, like Boba’s. Kryze and her people all had blue or green eyes. Kalevalan Mandalorians were fair-skinned and fair-haired. Boba’d gone to Keldabe once, when he’d been younger and stupider, convinced that he could scratch out a living for himself among his father’s father’s people, and had been shocked to see how few Mandalorians actually looked like Jango Fett.

Then Djarin’s eyes darted away again, anxiety plain in Djarin’s face.

Boba softened. Djarin’d had a long few days, and he was clearly out of his depth.

“Jate,” he said, hoping that the common language would set Djarin more at ease. Djarin started at the word again, his eyes skipping back to Boba’s own for a second, but he did relax some. He rubbed a globed thumb absently over an invisible mark on his bright silver helmet, his eyes finally settling on the side of Boba’s face.

Not a big fan of eye contact? Boba wondered. If Djarin kept his helmet on in front of everybody but his clan, Boba supposed that that made sense, though he didn't like the way Djarin kept looking sideways at Boba, nervous and tense.

“You don’t show your face often, huh?” he asked.

Djarin just shrugged, raising one stiff shoulder and dropping it down. He looked at Boba’s cheek for another second, then met Boba’s eyes again. Djarin’s jaw was tight. He clutched his helmet like he wanted to pull it back down over his ears.

He didn’t, though. He looked Boba in the eye and said, with a bit of a challenge in his voice, “Well?”

Boba blinked at thim.

Right, he thought. We were having a conversation.

Boba let himself hesitate for another second, then pushed on. He’d learned over the years to trust his instincts, and this instinct, this feeling of familiarity –

I think, Boba said to himself, that Djarin is – like me. Like Theran. He couldn’t say what it was, exactly, but Djarin has hesitated at the door, when he’d walked in on Boba flogging Theran. He’d stared for a second longer than he should have.

“What’s your relationship with pain?” Boba asked, deciding to take pity on Djarin and cut straight to the point.

It was Djarin’s turn to blink at Boba. “Uh, what?”

He didn’t bolt, which was a good sign. “What’s your relationship with pain?” Boba repeated, keeping his tone friendly and even. “Good, bad, want it, don’t want it? Does it distract you, or does it help you focus?”

“Nobody wants,” Djarin began, tone hot and defensive, but he caught himself before Boba could correct him. He would’ve done it gently, but still. Djarin was wrong. Plenty of people wanted pain. Wanted to take it or to give it.

Djarin chewed his lip, eyes darting up to meet Boba’s again. He was flushed faintly, the tips of his ears red, and that familiar feeling in Boba’s chest hardened into certainty.

Cyar’yc, he couldn’t help but think, amusement uncurling in his belly. Sweet.

“Have you ever thought about it?” Boba asked, gently. Gentleness didn’t come very easy to Boba, but he had learned it, over the years. It took more effort to be gentle than to be cruel, but gentleness had its place, even on Tatooine, and Boba found himself wanting to be gentle with Djarin, at least for now. He didn’t know Djarin well enough to know how to push him, yet. To know how far Djarin was willing to be pushed before he fought back.

“About letting someone hurt you?” he continued.

Boba saw Djarin swallow, and satisfaction flared bright behind his ribs.

“Letting someone – no,” Djarin said. One of his hands twitched towards the bruise that Boba knew was darkening across the top of his thigh, but Djarin didn’t touch it.

“Why?” Boba asked, curious. There must’ve been Mandalorians who enjoyed dominance or submission. Pain and pleasure. Boba’d never been one of them, but Mandalorians were beings just like any other.

Djarin didn’t answer Boba right away. He shook his head a little, fingers tight around his helmet.

“Why not?” Boba said, pushing just a bit. Djarin could take it.

Boba’s persistence got a reaction. Djarin bared his teeth a little and snapped, sharp as a blade, “I shouldn’t need it. The only things a warrior needs are his armor and his courage.”

Boba almost rolled his eyes. Mando ossik, he thought. Djarin wore his armor proudly, though – and took his rules seriously – so Boba didn’t disparage his people to his face.

“Those are important,” Boba agreed. “But a warrior can’t march on just courage, you know.”

Djarin bared his teeth again, studying Boba’s chin intently. “Why are you asking?” he challenged.

Boba rather thought that it was obvious. “You’re Mandalorian,” he said. “A warrior. Warriors have… an interesting relationship with pain. The good ones, anyway,” he said, throwing Djarin the compliment. Anybody who could defeat an Imperial Moff was a good warrior. Boba’d seen Djarin fight on Tython. Kark, he’d seen Djarin fight here. Boba’d be carrying bruises underneath his cuirass for a good few days.

Djarin didn’t soften.

“Not just anyone can push themselves through training,” Boba pointed out. “Some warriors… they get through it because they have to, but others get through it because they like it. Pain helps them focus. Helps them center themselves.”

Djarin’s shoulders went up again, tense and miserable.

In for a peggat, Boba reminded himself. “I think it might help you,” he said, still gentle. He looked at Djarin’s leg. He could almost see the bruise that would be blooming there, underneath his silver beskar. Boba hit hard; he could crush a stormtrooper’s helmet with his gaderffii, if he put enough power behind the swing. He could crack skulls, break rocks. Boba couldn’t break beskar, but underneath the armor was just a man, and men bruised.

Djarin’s flush was spreading. His dark eyes were wide.

“And,” said Boba, laying down the last of his cards, “I think that you want it, though it’s hard to tell when you’ve got your armor on.”

Djarin twitched again, his whole body shivering with the urge to slam his helmet back on. Boba wondered what had made Djarin so defensive. He still wasn’t looking Boba in the eye.

“Just because I want something doesn’t mean that I need it,” Djarin said. It hurt him to speak, Boba could see that it hurt him, but he made himself speak anyway.

Brave, thought Boba. And honest.

“No,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t have it, either.”

That won Boba a derisive snort. “I’ve lived this long without it,” Din said. “I’m not – I’m an effective warrior. I provide for the tribe, I haven’t lost a bounty in years, I brought in renown for the Guild – ”

That one sentence had more words in it than Boba thought he’d ever heard Djarin say at one time. Boba wanted to frown again, but managed to avoid it. Djarin was still watching him with wide, wary eyes.

“Yeah,” Boba said, holding up a hand. Djarin was a battle-trained warrior – he knew how to watch for hand signals, how to obey them, and his mouth clicked shut mid-sentence.

“I’ve seen you fight, Djarin,” Boba said, trying to reassure the other man. “I know you’re capable.” His knee throbbed helpfully. Djarin had kicked Boba without a second thought. Without hesitation. “I’m gonna have a few bruises of my own when the suns rise.”

Djarin looked at Boba like he wanted to keep arguing, but managed to hold off.

Jate, Boba wanted to say. “All I meant is that if you want more,” Boba said, deciding to help Djarin out, “if you want to see what pain could do for you, well.” Boba gestured at himself. “You’re in a good place to try it out, is all.”

“With you?” Djarin said.

“If you wanted,” Boba replied, evenly. He was hardly the only man in Mos Eisley who knew how to swing a flogger, though. Djarin didn’t strike Boba as the type of man to trust that kind of vulnerability – his bare back, his submission – to a stranger, but then he really didn’t know Djarin very well, and had only gotten this far with him on instinct. If Djarin wanted to visit some cantina in Mos Eisley and find a stranger to flog him, that was his business, not Boba’s.

“A few of the palace guards, some beings in Mos Eisley,” Boba continued, determined to give Djarin options. “Fennec, even, though she usually doesn’t play with men. She likes you enough she’d be willing to help out.”

It had been Fennec’s idea to contact Djarin, actually. She liked Djarin. Respected him.

Despite that, Djarin made a face, an open, honest expression, and Boba laughed. Djarin flushed again. The curl of amusement in Boba’s belly broadened.

“Fennec’s out, then?” he asked.

Djarin didn’t say anything for a while. Boba let him have his silence. Djarin was obviously thinking, and that was really all that Boba could ask from him. If Djarin really hadn’t thought of this before – had never considered intentional pain as a tool, as a relief – then Boba’d give him the time he needed to think about it.

“What would it… how would I know?” Djarin asked, tentative again. The flush creeping down his neck was distracting. “If I wanted it? If it would… help me?”

Boba could only shrug, spreading his hands. “I can’t answer that for you,” he said, repaying Djarin’s honesty with his own. “You’d just take it slow, and stop it if there was something happening that you didn’t like.”

Djarin blinked at Boba again. “Stop it?”

“Yeah,” said Boba. “In an arrangement – ” which wasn’t the right word, exactly, but was as close as Boba could get without needing to walk Djarin through a thirty-minute lecture – “either party, you or me, if you wanted to try it with me, or you and whoever else you picked, can stop at any time.”

“Oh,” said Djarin. Doubt still flickered across his face, but there was something else in his eyes too. Curiosity, and something deeper than curiosity.

Hunger, Boba thought, excitement beginning to build in his chest.

Technically, he didn’t need to show Djarin anything tonight. Boba’s sessions with Theran were usually pretty short, but Theran was so used to Boba by now – and Boba so used to Theran – that Theran slid to his knees as soon as he walked into the room and gave up control of his body to Boba without a second thought. Boba was satisfied. It had been a good session, despite Djarin walking into it near the end. Boba was comfortable in his own skin. Settled. Between the flogging and the fight, Boba would sleep better tonight than he usually did.

But the hunger in Djarin’s eyes had a similar hunger rising in Boba, an answer to the question Djarin hadn’t yet asked.

Djarin licked his lips, then said, “How would I stop it?”

The faint hunger deepened. “There’s a word, usually,” Boba said. He rattled off a few that he’d used before. “Gev, rahm, luubid, something like that.” A mix of mando’a and tuskra. Djarin ought to know both.

“Gev,” Din repeated. “It’s that easy?”

Boba nodded. “It’s that easy,” he said.

The keen hunger in Djarin’s face shifted. He looked –

Ravenous, Boba thought. Djarin looked starved. Like he hadn’t eaten for a week, lost in the desert, and had stumbled across a full feast.

Pushing Djarin now could backfire. If he hadn’t considered pain a tool before, rushing him headlong into a scene probably was likely a bad idea. Boba didn’t know what Djarin liked. What his limits were. He didn’t know if Djarin just wanted pain or if he wanted more. If he’d like to be held down. If he’d want to get on his knees.

But the look in his eyes, sharp with longing –

Boba decided to risk it. “Here,” he said, taking a cautious, slow step closer. He left his helmet and his cup of tihaar behind. Djarin didn’t bolt. That was good. “Let me show you. Remember your word? Gev to get me to stop, alright?”

Djarin tensed again as Boba got closer to him, but made no move to fight. “Alright,” he agreed, wary as a wraid. He shifted like he was going to stand, but Boba shook his head. He didn’t need Djarin to stand, not for this.

Djarin hesitated as Boba got even closer, but still didn’t pull away.

If he does, I’ll stop, Boba thought. Djarin didn’t really know what a safeword was, not yet. Not like Theran did. If he pulled back, if he tried to leave, Boba’d let him.

Djarin just tilted his chin up. He met Boba’s eyes this time.

Boba grinned. Mando pride, he thought. “Confident,” he said, close enough now for Djarin to touch. Boba got between Djarin and the counter where Djarin had set his cup of tihaar. That way, Djarin could bolt right or left if he had to, and get to the door without Boba blocking his path. Djarin didn't seem like he was going to bolt now, but Boba remembered how tense Djarin'd been when he'd realized that Boba had been between him and the door. “I like that.”

Djarin shivered a little. He was warm. Boba was close enough now to feel the heat of his body. Moving slowly and carefully, Boba took a hand and did what he’d wanted to do since he’d brought his gaderffii down on Djarin in the sparring ring. He set his hand on top of Djarin’s thigh plate. Curled his fingers around the smooth edges of that beskar.

The metal was cold. Djarin wasn’t. He went still when Boba touched him. His eyes went wide. Boba smiled at him, amused again, and pushed.

He did it lightly enough. Boba couldn’t see what Djarin’s leg looked like, not like this, and he didn’t want to cause true pain. He just wanted Djarin to see what Boba’d been talking about. To understand.

As soon as Boba pressed down, Djarin growled and jerked, twisting like he meant to lurch off the stool towards Boba. It was another, easy instinct for Boba to take his free hand and catch Djarin by the throat.

He did that gently too, or at least did it as gently as he could. There wasn’t really a soft way to grab a man by the throat, and the look in Djarin’s eyes, wild and challenging, told Boba that Djarin didn’t want Boba to be soft.

Still, choking Djarin out wasn’t something that Djarin’d agreed to and it wasn’t the kind of thing that Boba wanted to do without talking to Djarin first – without knowing for sure that Djarin would understand just what it was that he was agreeing to – so Boba was careful to keep his grip loose.

He set his thumb at the corner of Djarin’s jaw. Even through his gloves, Boba could feel Djarin’s pulse hammering wildly. Djarin was still for another fraction of a second, and then his own instincts kicked in and he reached up to try to pry Boba’s hand away from his throat. His helmet fell from his hands, clattering against the floor.

“None of that, now,” said Boba firmly, keeping his grip steady. If Djarin struggled, he’d hurt himself. Djarin stared at Boba, eyes wild, but obeyed. His immediate obedience made Boba want to smile.

“Relax,” Boba added, as Djarin’s heart beat hard against Boba’s thumb. “You can still breathe, yeah?”

Djarin took a few shallow breaths, his throat working against Boba’s palm. Boba didn’t loosen his grip, but he gave Djarin a few more seconds to realize that he was alright.

“I need to hear you say it,” Boba said. “Can you breathe?”

Djarin finally blinked, swallowing. “Yes,” he said. His voice had changed. Without his vocorder, Djarin sounded – uncertain. There was a hesitance to him that his helmet usually hid. He finally looked Boba in the eyes, too, and Boba could see Djarin’s shock. His confusion.

“Jate,” said Boba warmly, immediately rewarding Din’s obedience. Djarin’s eyes widened at the praise. Boba couldn’t help but soften, instinctively adjusting his approach. He didn’t know what Djarin wanted just yet, but praise was usually well-received. “Very good,” Boba said. He didn’t have enough mando’a to tell Djarin to let go of his hand.

Both of Djarin’s hands were wrapped around Boba’s. Djarin had a good grip. A warrior’s grip. He could break Boba’s hold, if he wanted to.

“I want you to let go of my hand, alright?” Boba said, speaking slowly so that Djarin could hear him over the adrenaline, the confusion, that must be crashing through him now.

Djarin blinked. His grip didn’t loosen.

“Grip the edge of the counter, if you have to,” Boba said. Theran didn’t need anything to hold onto during a session, but it was alright if Djarin did. “But I need you to let go. I can make you, if you need me to.”

Boba’d have to let go of Djarin’s leg to break his grip, but that wouldn’t be the worst thing. Djarin had given Boba a hell of a fight in the sparring ring, but here, now, Djarin was off-balance. Unsteady.

Djarin swallowed again, looking a bit like Boba’d punched him between the eyes, and finally obeyed. His fingers loosened, one by one, and Djarin let go of Din’s hand.

He did grab the counter, one hand on either side of Boba, clutching the wood so hard that Boba heard his gloves creak, but he let go of Boba’s hand.

“Good,” Boba praised again, watching as Djarin swayed towards him like he’d been caught in a gravity well. Like he couldn’t stay away.

Boba liked this part. His own heartbeat picked up, not as fast as Djarin’s, but fast enough.

“Very good,” Boba repeated. “Don’t let go.”

Djarin didn’t say anything. He’d heard Boba, Boba knew that he had. He applied just a bit of pressure to Djarin’s throat. Djarin’s breath caught again, a sweet little sound and a dark sort of satisfaction preened in Boba’s chest.

Maybe I didn’t burn as much off with Theran as I thought.

“I need to tell you that you understand,” Boba said.

Djarin stirred again, heart hammering, but managed to say, voice thick, “Yes. Yes, I understand.”

Boba made a pleased noise. “This is going to hurt,” he warned. He made sure that his grip on Djarin’s throat was loose, so that Djarin could breathe without trouble, and then returned his attention to the plate of armor across the top of Djarin’s thigh.

Slowly and deliberately, Boba began to push.

Djarin lasted three or four seconds before he made a sound, a low, thin noise of pain. It was as sweet as music. Djarin’s eyes met Boba’s again and his pupils were almost entirely blown, his eyes black in the dim light of the kitchen. Djarin’s mouth parted.

He wanted to collapse against Boba’s body, but he wasn’t letting himself. Djarin stayed straight as his spear, shoulders back, chin still tilted defiantly. That was alright. Boba had some time.

He kept pushing. Pressure bruises weren’t really Boba’s specialty, but he understood the theory, and it’d be a good demonstration for Djarin, one that would show him what Boba meant about pain without scaring him or putting Djarin on his knees.

I do want to put him on his knees, Boba thought, the desire flashing through him. He’d look good on his knees.

This wasn’t about what Boba wanted, though. Djarin caught another thin sound of pain, gritting his teeth, and tried to pull away from Boba again, though he didn’t let go of the counter, so Boba was fairly confident that Djarin wasn’t really trying to get away. He watched Djarin’s mouth closely, ready to let go at the first sign of gev, but Djarin didn’t say it.

“Easy,” Boba soothed, resisting the urge to lean in and nose at Djarin’s temple. Djarin kept fighting. Boba sighed. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

Djarin flashed his teeth again, snarling at Boba, and another wave of amusement rose and fell behind Boba’s ribs.

He did like Djarin. Djarin was a fighter.

“Easy, Djar’ika,” Boba said, the name falling off of his tongue before Boba could snatch it back. It wasn’t a conventional nickname, as far as Mandalorian nicknames went, but Boba liked the sound of it better than Din’ika, and he hadn’t yet called Djarin by his first name anyway.

Djarin evidently felt otherwise, because he jerked again at the nickname and made a sound like an angry anooba.

Boba couldn’t help but laugh. “Easy,” he said again, trying to help Djarin understand. He didn’t ease up on Djarin’s leg and he didn’t let go of Djarin’s throat, either. “Don’t fight me so hard. Lean into it. Let it happen.”

Djarin showed no sign of listening, so Boba tried something else. For Theran, it was mostly about the pain. Theran didn’t care much for restraints, for being held down, for being made to take a flogging.

But Djarin was Mandalorian, and Mandalorians were peculiar. Proud. Mando ossik, Boba thought. Maybe Djarin would only let himself enjoy this once he realized that he couldn’t get out of it.

“It’s not like you have any other choice, yeah?” Boba asked, following the instinct. He’d made pretty good guesses so far, anyway, and decided that he might as well keep following his luck. “Unless you have something you want to say?” Boba loosened his grip, reminding Din that he could speak, if he wanted to. If Djarin didn’t like this – if he was really struggling, and not just putting up a token fight because he thought that he had to – he could stop it with a word.

Uncertainty flickered across those dark eyes of Djarin’s. He panted against Boba’s hand. He was tense again, wound taut, and his breath came short with fear.

But he didn’t say gev. He didn’t say gev. He looked Boba in the eye, his teeth half-bared in pain, and didn’t ask Boba to stop.

Boba smiled at him. Stroked a thumb against the corner of Djarin’s jaw.

Djar’ika, he thought. “I think,” Boba said. “That I can help.”

#i'm not going to post all of the asks for this pov like i usually do #because for once the formatting on tumblr does not make me want to die #but here ya go!#boba: what's up with that guy's vibe #also boba: oh. i see.#ast asks #ast 'verse pov tag

113 notes · View notes