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fandomforg · 6 months

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i love star wars time travel fix-it as much as the next guy, but we need to be thinking bigger! none of this ‘clone wars obiwan goes back to his childhood’ nonsense, let’s see how far we can rocket some unsuspecting force sensitive back in time

now, i’m not familiar with anything outside of movies/tv shows, so someone else could probably rocket them further, but i wanna send like rey, freshly skywalker’d, back to like pre jaster mereel’s death. yes i want her to be like 10 and feral and adopted by jaster. because he’s my favorite and i said so.

so she’s just standing there with her yellow lightsaber that is now far too big for her child hands, suddenly she has a shiny new buir and an eight year old brother that seems vaguely familiar??? like his name rings a bell?? but what could this little kid possibly do that would have such an effect on galactic history that she would know of him like 90ish years in the future???

so basically rey’s wracking her brain for that one pre-imperial history class she took that one time for anything useful she can do to help save the future. all she’s able to come up with is pretty much ‘palpatine bad’. rey would totally just go off on her own to kill him (and make sure he stays dead, the crafty bitch), but jaster seems strangely reluctant to let his ten year old daughter take a ship by herself to assassinate an extremely small-time politician from a peaceful world without any sort of explanation.

but regardless, rey kinda just ends up butterfly-effecting stuff as she grows up a little bit. like preventing jaster’s death and galidraan. in turn, leading to jango not building his revenge army and a generally more stable mandalore system, maybe?? all the while, she’s is getting some sick mando training and super cool armor, like any self-respecting jedi-adopted-by-mandalorians would.

actually, at galidraan, rey’s able to meet up with some jedi for the first time! hooray! dooku’s not quite sure what to do with this strange, unknown, armored, force sensitive teen with a weird, jerry-rigged lightsaber.

rey takes this opportunity to lay out every bad thing palpatine has done/will do in the most incoherent way possible. when asked how she knows this, rey panics and answers that the force told her so. unbeknownst to her, this is actually a completely valid answer to give these jedi masters, and the incoherence of her explanation made it seem even more plausible to be a string of confusing force visions, rather than being completely made up. the masters, particularly dooku, promise to look into the possibility of a sith and ask rey if she’d like to come to the temple with them.

she, of course, goes ‘yes, absolutely! i’ll go tell buir and jango that we’ll all take a trip to coruscant together!’ and the masters just grimace and go ‘yeah for sure that’s definitely what we meant’

they go to the temple, and amongst talks about the sith, and jaster just having a delightful time in the jedi archives (rey has a delightful time too, just think of how master skywalker would react to all these jedi texts!), rey gets to meet a preteen obiwan! fresh off of child soldier-ing on melida/daan! he’s a little traumatized at the moment, but rey is just so excited to finally recognize a historical figure other than her shitty grandpa. she then obviously latches onto little obiwan and like. vibes with him. obiwan is a little baffled by this cool older mandalorian teen that seemingly wants to be his best friend, but he’ll take all the friends he can get after the stressful few months he’s had. rey scares off anyone (padawan, knight, or master) who might give obiwan any shit for melida/daan related stuff. or just anyone that gives him any shit at all.

eventually, palpatine is arrested for tax fraud. he actually is pretty new at the whole ‘sith machinations’ thing at this point, so he didn’t hide his simple tax fraud very well and after his arrest, the jedi are able to get him for the more sith-y crimes. so then the jedi go on the hunt for the sith master.

while they do all that, rey is able to go back to mandalorian space with jaster and jango, making sure to have weekly holo-calls with obiwan and his friends. rey may really miss all her friends and the whole support system she left behind in the future, but she’s got a pretty good support system here as well. hopefully because of her, those friends she left behind in the future will be able to live full, free, and peaceful lives.

#i kinda half wanna make finn go back in time with her #just for the excellent sibling shenanigans #i don’t actually think it would change much other than just ‘finn’s there too!’#which is honestly very fun #so you can imagine he’s there too #star wars #fanfic #rey star wars #rey skywalker #time travel #time travel fix it #jaster mereel #jango fett #count dooku #obi wan kenobi #finn star wars #forg post

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dottiechan · 3 years

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ICEBREAKER Pt. 7

Read on AO3 (link in bio)

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader x Hunter

Wordcount: 2325

Summary: Bracca is nothing more than a blur. But in the midst of this chaos, there are flashbulb memories, vivid snapshots of moments that will be etched into your mind for the rest of your life.

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, injuries

You're sitting in the corner, mute. Everyone is tired, exhausted beyond belief in the belly of a rusting Republic warship, decommissioned just like you should be. You're all waste, fighting for scraps of individuality in a world that only values witless cooperation. Tech once called the Empire "the very death of critical thinking," and you wonder if he meant it literally. If he meant himself too, and his army of identical brothers, those ticking time bombs with switches sewn inside their heads. If he meant Wrecker grabbing him by the throat before trying to kill you. If he meant Crosshair's blind obedience to an Empire that could never love him back as you do.

Your hand glides over your tender arm, and you wince. You will be bruised, the imprint of Wrecker's hand will bloom purple on your skin, like a strange flower. Your back will be painted blue and black and purple too from where it kissed the ground after he threw you across the med bay. You don't know how many times you will be traumatised before you can find some semblance of peace in this godforsaken Galaxy.

And when you look at Omega - sweet Omega, struggling not to fall asleep, holding Wrecker's hand, hoping the man who tried to kill her a mere hour ago would wake - you somehow manage to feel even worse.

...

It takes time, for them all to undergo surgery. You look at their shaved heads, their confused faces as they look around. They won their own freedom, fought for it too. You want to imagine him here too, in the middle of this quiet victory over the unconscious, silver hair shaved on one side, shaking fingers placing a toothpick between soft lips, uncertain eyes searching for yours amongst his brothers. You want Wrecker to put an arm around those sinewy shoulders only to evoke a scowl on that beloved face.

Wrecker gazes back at you sadly when he notices you staring.

"On your feet, soldier," Hunter extends a hand to you with a small smile on his face. But you know him well enough now, and you see through his façade. You know just how shaken he is, shaken down to his very core. You take his hand and let him help you up. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me."

"You know that's not something I can do."

"I'm fine, I promise. Completely functional. I'm not the one who's just had surgery," you tut gently, taking his bandana from him when he tries to put it back over the bandage on his head. You're as careful as you can be, ignoring the stabbing ache in your arm as you fix Hunter up, gently brushing his short pieces of hair in the front back over the red fabric once you're finished tying a knot. "There. Good as new."

He catches your hands before you could withdraw them, and upon realising that most are distracted by Rex's and Echo's conversation, he holds them to his heart for a little while. His forehead comes to rest against yours gently, but at first you're not sure if he meant to do that, or if he just bowed under the great weight on his shoulders. But his eyes are searching your face now, and his breath ebbs and flows in harmony with yours. You've seen many soldiers do this before, brothers sharing a peaceful moment together before facing death on the battlefield. The Mandalorians call this a Keldabe kiss. But in his mind, Hunter just simply calls it arriving home.

"We'll be okay," you swallow thickly when he pulls back, placing a hand on the side of his face.

"We'll be okay," Hunter echoes, pressing his cheek into your palm, but if there's anything he's learned today, it's that he can never truly be sure of that.

...

"This is it, boys."

Rex almost looks reluctant, as if being around the Bad Batch has rekindled fond memories he's not eager to part with. This used to be his life, being surrounded by his brothers, saving the day. And while he feels satisfied, this victory leaves a bitter taste in his mouth when he realises that in the grand scheme of things, he's barely changed anything. One family saved, but countless others lost. Like his own brothers, for instance; his own stupid, stubborn, loyal brothers, buried on a bare rock of a moon. Their loss left a hole in his chest bigger than the crater their crashed ship indented on the planet surface, and saving your squad is like a bandaid over a blaster shot to the heart.

He allows his gaze to linger on Echo for a while, the last man he's known well to survive, the last nail in the coffin of his grief. He looks so different now, and yet for a moment he expects Fives to materialise behind him. Dominos attached at the hip, his very own double trouble, the dual curse that followed him everywhere. He used to grumble about how they behaved all the time. But he loved them, he loved his little brothers with all his heart. And look where that love got them.

Fives is not here, of course. Rex never dared ask where they buried him. He's heard rumours of unmarked clone mass graves, but he was never brave enough to accept that truth. That's why he and Ahsoka buried their own dead with dignity, marking an extra grave along the rest, empty but reserved still.

His gaze finds you then, eventually. The only one who isn't a clone here in this rusting medbay, the sore thumb sticking out, the lost one with sad eyes who's seen too much for a civvie. He saw the way Hunter held onto you just now, how you shared a quiet moment in the corner when you thought no one was watching. He promised himself he would do this for Fives, that he would tell you if he ever saw you again that he talked about you even months after that one night at 79's. That he called you the one that got away, that he jokingly said he was saving himself for after the war when he could ask you to marry him. Fives was always full of shit, and no doubt half of what he said were just jokes, but he knows he cared about you still. It's apparent that you're a remarkable person, easy to grow attached to, but twice as difficult to forget.

He wants to do this for Fives. He wants to tell you, he wants you to know that the man who ultimately saved the ones you love loved you in turn. But you already seem like you've been through enough and he hasn't the heart to put you through this as well.

You catch him looking at you, and you muster a small, tired smile. "Take care, Captain."

"Ma'am."

I'm sorry, Fives, he keeps repeating over and over in his head as he turns to leave.

...

The deck is about to collapse. It is the only way you even have a slight chance of survival, you know that. And yet you feel stuck in this very moment, unable to move, deer in the headlights, shaking from head to toe.

The squad is whole again.

You'd like to believe you wouldn't know what would happen if you approached him, if you tried to pry his helmet off and look into his eyes. You'd like to believe he'd let you, you'd like to believe he would listen to your pleas, that he would stop this madness. Order his troops to stand down. Come home with you.

You'd like to believe. But all you can think about is Wrecker, out of his mind and yet still so terrifyingly present somehow, grabbing Tech by the throat and throwing him against the wall before coming for you.

And you know Crosshair would gun you down without hesitation.

"Crosshair... Please don't do this. We can help you." The plea escapes your lips before you could stop it, however. Crosshair tilts his head towards you, and even though you can't see his gaze, just knowing that his eyes are on you is like being struck by lightning. How long was it since you last saw him? How long was it since he last gazed at you, and you at him? He seems almost as frozen for a moment as you, and you allow yourself to believe he's still in there, raging against the control of the Empire. You don't know what it was that you two shared back on Hoth, but you know it meant something. It had to. And judging by his consideration, and the hesitant way he shuffles a step closer to you, you know he must remember too.

But he moved too quickly for Hunter's liking, and he's by your side, trying to shield you as much as he shields Omega. Whatever moment you and Crosshair just shared is over. You can tell, by the tightening of his shoulders, by his stance turning defensive once more. You got through to the real Crosshair for a second. But the menace - like some demon possessing his body - is back in control once again.

"Crosshair, wake up! You're being controlled by an inhibitor chip." Hunter's reasoning falls on deaf ears now. It is over. You should accept it, but you can't. But at least you're not the only one who can't admit defeat.

"He's telling the truth. The Kaminoans put chips in all the clones. Remember what I told you in the brig?"

After Omega's spoken up, a stretch of silent tension follows. You're all nervous, weapons aimed, caught in a death trap with no way out but down. And yet you're holding on, you're still holding on to that last shred of hope that your words will finally get through to him. That you can finally put down the cross you've been bearing and rest.

"Aim for the kid."

You don't know how many times you can be traumatised before you finally give in. But you make room for one more, and the day is far from being over yet.

...

You're going to be sick, but you know you can't be. You've treated a thousand gruesome injuries before, but somehow a partial blaster burn to the chest will be your final straw, you can already tell. You gingerly lay the bacta patch across the scorched patch skin and flesh as your fingers tremble like a new recruit's. The internal damage was thankfully minimalised by his armour, but this is still going to take some time to heal from.

You don't know how long it will take for you all to heal from leaving Crosshair behind once more. From losing Omega.

When your breathing starts bordering on frantic, Tech nudges you aside and takes over, but you can't leave. You sit on the edge of the cot, and clutch Hunter's hand in your clammy ones. You can't lose anyone else, you can't, you heart wouldn't take it.

When he finally comes around again, the look in his eyes are so hurt you finally give in to the urge to cry.

"I guess I can't hold the mission on Bracca against you anymore," Hunter rasps through his pain, trying to ignore how choked up and panicked the thought of losing Omega makes him.

"No, you really can't," you agree quietly, wiping at your eyes as you try not to let your anxiety get the better of you. Not when you're supposed to be Hunter's comfort, when you're supposed to reassure him.

"This is the only thing I ever want to wake up to," he whispers, a weak hand reaching up, longing touch ghosting along your features. He's dying a little inside every time he fails, swallowing the shards of every heart he breaks as atonement. They're jarring his insides, leaving him breathless every time he moves. And yet he keeps pushing on, even now, even when he feels worse than he's ever felt - all because of you. You're his only remedy in this fucked up world, the only person who still makes him believe there can be a happy ending for you all. He loves his brothers, but they're just as guilty and cynical as he is. He understands why he can't pin all his hopes on a child, but for some reason, he can't make the same exception for you. His voice is quiet, but it's obvious his head is clear when he speaks next.

"Cyare."

A little to the side, Tech finishes checking the medical scans for the last time. Hunter's condition has been stabilised, and for now, all he can do is look into the bounty hunter who took Omega. He casts one last look at you and Hunter, hand in hand, eyes glued to each other's face, and he sighs.

"How's Hunter?"

"He'll live," Tech answers, placing a hand on Echo's shoulder. "We've been through a lot over a rather short period of time. I think they've earned a moment of peace alone though, wouldn't you agree?"

Echo's face rarely reflects the emotions inside him, but now an endless kind of sadness perches itself on his features as he nods and follows Tech to the cockpit.

"They deserve a lot more than that. Hell, we all do."

...

Crosshair would agree with that sentiment now as he's patched up at the medbay of an Imperial flagship, alone aside from the medical droids. His head is killing him, his thoughts are sluggish, but the pain in his chest is not only from his injuries. He keeps remembering you, over and over again, your beautiful face, the way you said his name as if he mattered, as if he still belonged to you. And you left him behind anyways again.

If he heard Tech's and Echo's conversation now, he'd agree. He deserves better too.

#dottiechan writes #hunter x reader x crosshair #hunter x reader #crosshair x reader #tbb x you #tbb x reader #the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch x you #the bad batch x reader #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair

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bitchin-beskar · 3 years

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all he could do was watch

Rating: M

Warnings: Mentions of death, panic attacks, childhood trauma. Angst. I’m so sorry.

Pairing: Pre-Din Djarin x Reader (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 2k

A/N: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 EPISODE 14: THE TRAGEDY. IF Y’ALL HAVEN’T SEEN IT DON’T READ THIS FIC. That being said, I will be writing part 2 after tonight’s season finale, so be prepared. I cried writing this. I’m sorry. (No I’m not.)

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment!! I love hearing what y’all think!!!

“Well, I guess this is it.”

You looked around at the strange stone formations, only partially paying attention as Mando rambled to Grogu.

“Does this look Jedi to you?”

You look at the way the stones are arranged, the carvings in the rock familiar to you even after all this time. Yet, you keep your mouth shut. Mando isn’t asking you, and even if he was, you’d lie to him. Just like you’ve lied to him every other time he’s asked about the Jedi.

“I guess,” he grunts, setting Grogu down, “You sit right here. Okay. Here we go.”

Grogu babbles at the two of you, and Mando cocks his head. “This is the seeing stone. Are you seeing anything?”

A snort bursts free from your mouth before you can stop it, and you see Mando’s head swivel around to you, and you can feel the look of exasperation he’s giving you.

Grogu babbles some more, and Mando turns back to him. “Or are they supposed to see you? Maybe there’s some kind of... control, or something.”

Grogu sees a little insect, and coos, reaching for it. Mando sighs, low and heavy. “Oh, come on, kid. Ahsoka told me all I had to do was get you here and you’d do the rest.”

The sound of thrusters suddenly reach your ears, and you jerk your head up in surprise and not a small amount of fear. You’re not that close to the ship, and you’re out in the open right now, and there’s not a lot of cover.

“Time’s up, kid. We gotta get out of here.” You and Mando turn towards Grogu, and your eyes widen upon seeing him surrounded by a Force shield. “We don’t have time for this. We got to get–”

“Mando, no!”

Your warning comes too late, and Mando is thrown back from Grogu, the shield blasting him back. You run to his side, helping him up from the dirt.

“What the hell–” he grunts, movements jerky from being thrown sideways so violently.

“It’s a Force shield,” you mutter, without thinking. “Nothing’s getting through that.”

Luckily, Mando doesn’t hear you, too focused on Grogu. He looks back and forth between the baby and where the ship had landed, clearly debating.

“Stay here!” He barks at you. “I’ll see if I can buy him some time.” His helmet turns to Grogu. “Can you please hurry up?”

You’re left standing amongst the stone pillars, watching as Mando begins to make his way down the side of the mountain. Anxiously, you turn to Grogu. “Come on, kiddo. We can’t stay here right now.” You wish you could train the kid, but it’s been years since you used the Force, the warning your mentor and friend had given you at the beginning of the Purges still at the forefront of your mind.

“Run, ad’ika. Run as far and as fast as you can. Order 66 commands us to kill all the Jedi. Don’t use the Force, and don’t get caught. Now go!”

A few tears rolled down your cheeks as you remember the frantic hug, the desperate way Rex had gripped your shoulders as he shoved a small pack into your arms, eyes bright with terror as the sounds of his brethren slaughtering yours filled your ears. It had been the last time you’d seen the clone Captain.

You’d listened to him, and you hadn’t used the Force, not for anything. Your lightsaber had been left in the Temple when you’d fled, so you’d trained with a staff instead, although Rex had made sure you knew your way around a blaster too. And for years, you’d lived, completely cut off from the Force, and it had been fine. You’d been fine.

Until you met Mando and Grogu.

You’d recognized Grogu immediately. He’d been at the Temple, same as you. You rarely trained with him, since he was so much younger than you, but you’d known who he was. He didn't’ seem to recognize you, and you figured that was a good thing. The fewer people who knew of your past, the better.

Mando had been cautious to take you on as a passenger, but he’d grown more comfortable around you in the ensuing months. You’d tried keeping your distance, knowing that the secret you were keeping could ruin everything, but somehow, Mando had wormed his way under your skin.

A sudden noise startled you, and you looked up, eyes widening when you saw the slight shadow of what looked to be a Star Destroyer in the atmosphere. Frantically glancing around, you realized Mando was nowhere in sight.

You looked over to see Grogu still enclosed in the Force shield, and you made a split second decision.

“Sorry buddy, I’ve gotta warn Mando. Stay here.”

Worriedly glancing at his still form once more, you began to follow the trail Mando had taken down the mountain, hurrying as fast as you could over the rocky terrain.

It took you a couple minutes, but you finally heard voices. They were arguing, but no blasters were being shot, so you hoped they weren’t enemies, or at least, they wouldn’t shoot you on sight.

The ground leveled out, and you broke into a run. Rounding the corner, you saw the back of Mando, and two people in front of him, although you couldn’t see who they were.

“MANDO!” You yelled, trying to get his attention. “MANDO!”

He whirled around, and you stumbled to a stop in front of him, gasping. “Mando, there’s a Star Destroyer here, we have to–” your frantic plea suddenly cut off as you noticed the man standing behind Mando, your throat closing up and you felt the blood drain out of your face.

“Hey, hey, what is it?” Mando was shaking you, trying to get you to talk to him, but your eyes were glued to the man in the black cloak, unable to look away from the familiar face. “Cyar’ika, what’s wrong?”

You sucked in a shaky breath, desperately trying to stop the tears in your eyes falling down your cheeks. “I–I, I don’t–”

It was too much, the memories were too much, and suddenly you were back at the Temple, blaster-fire and smoke surrounding you as Rex begged you to leave so that you wouldn’t be killed. You were a scared little kid again, surrounded by death and destruction, and you couldn’t breathe–”

“Look at me!”

There were hands on your cheeks, and you blinked, the sounds of blasters and death cries fading into nothing as you stared into the dark visor of the Mandalorian. His gloved hands were cupping your cheeks keeping your face trained at him as he tried to get you to speak.

“Where’s the kid?”

That snapped you out of your downwards spiral, and suddenly a whole new panic took over your mind.

“He’s still at the seeing stone, but there’s a Star Destroyer, he won’t be safe as soon as the shield comes down, we have to go–”

Mando begins to move, tugging you along as he runs back up the side of the mountain, jumping over rocks and bushes as he fights to get back to Grogu as quick as possible. You stumble along, telling yourself to ignore the man that shares Rex’s face, just focus on getting to the kid and then you can have your breakdown, later in the privacy of the Crest.

When the two of you get back to the stone, you see Grogu still surrounded by the Force shield. Before you can stop him, Mando tries a second time to get to Grogu, but he gets thrown back again, this time knocking him out.

“Shit,” you groan, rolling him onto his back as you shake his shoulders. “Dammit Mando, now is not the time for this, wake up!”

He sits up with a groan, grabbing your arms as he regains consciousness. You’re kneeling in front of him, one hand on his arm, the other cupping the side of his neck. He shifts, and you slowly help him stand.

“Okay,” he murmurs, looking at Grogu before turning his head to stare at you. “I’m gonna protect you. Both of you. Just stay here.” He unsheathes his vibroblade, handing it to you. He doesn’t have many weapons on him, and you try to shove it back at him, but he forces your grasp around the hilt, fingers curling over yours as he presses it towards you. “I’ll be back soon.”

You stare into the visor, nodding slowly. He still doesn’t move, and for a moment you wonder what he’s doing when he slowly tilts his head forward, the cool beskar of his helmet resting against your forehead. He holds you there, one hand on your waist, the other wrapped around your fist as you clutch his vibroblade, his helmet pressing against yours in a gesture that feels way too intimate, but you don’t want it to stop.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

Though you don’t understand his words, they still send a shiver down your spine, the weight of them pressing heavy against your chest.

“What does that mean?”

He sighs, finally pulling his head away from yours and standing back. “If we survive this, I’ll tell you.”

With that, he turns, and you watch with a sinking heart as he begins the careful climb back down the mountain. You’ve got a bad feeling about all this, and you only hope that you both will come out the other side unscathed.

A tiny whimper comes from behind you, and you whirl around, seeing the Force shield fade, and little Grogu slump over in exhaustion. Rushing over, you pick him up, cradling him in your arms.

“Brilliant timing, little one,” you mutter sarcastically, looking around nervously. “Just fantastic.”

The sound of blasters being fired and the cries of stormtroopers dying rang in your ears as you tried to get Grogu to wake up. But, apparently whatever he’d done on the seeing stone had completely sapped his energy.

As the sounds of the firefight die down, you see something rapidly approaching. As it gets closer, you realize what they are. Dark Troopers. Fuck. Your vibroblade isn’t going to do shit against them.

There’s nowhere for you to run, nowhere for you to hide, they’re approaching too fast. They land in a circle around you, and you clutch Grogu tighter to your chest. They advance, and Grogu wakes up, immediately whimpering as he sees the Troopers marching steadily closer. You’re hyperventilating, head whipping back and forth, trying to find an escape. As one of them reaches for Grogu, you throw your hand out, as though to push them away.

It’s sudden, the rush, the energy, and it takes you a moment, watching the Trooper fly backwards, for you to realize that you’ve just used the Force. Something brushes across your back and you whirl around, pushing out with the Force again, shoving the second Trooper away from you.

Unfortunately, you’re not fast enough, and the other two are too quick, one of them yanking Grogu out of your arms, the other one wrapping it’s ‘arms’ around you, restricting you, and then you’re in the air.

You struggle, but the grip is solid, and you can’t escape. You see Mando and the woman from earlier reach the stones as you’re rising away, and you can’t help the desperate cry that leaves your lips.

“MANDO!”

***

He reaches the seeing stone just in time to see two Dark Troopers taking off, one of them holding the Child, the other one restraining your struggling form. Without his jetpack, he’s stuck as a spectator to your abduction. He can see the tears on your cheeks, and he knows the exact moment you see him, because your mouth opens and a heartwrenching scream escapes your lips, calling desperately to him.

He falls to his knees as your voice pierces his ears, screaming his name, screaming for him. And all he can do is watch.

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clonemando · 3 years

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Meeting the Tribe

Din convinces Boba to join him in meeting back up with his Tribe. Boba really doesn't want to but he can't resist his little brother's puppy eyes. AO3 Link

Boba sighed as he and Din entered a rather populated city together. The stares didn't bother him much, no one would be stupid enough to try to take on a pair of Mandalorians together without a full team and even then, he and Din could handle it. Plus if they recognized him and his armor, which by the terror he could feel as they walked slowly towards the market they did, then that was even more incentive to leave them alone. No, he wasn't so much bothered by the place than by the reason they were there.

Din needed to see his people. See who remained of what was once his tribe. Boba understood that. But what he didn't like was that Din insisted he come too.

"Din, I respect your beliefs but I'm not one of them. They won't want me there. I shouldn't know where the covert is located." He had tried to argue but Din had turned big brown puppy dog eyes on him and damn they were even worse when he could actually see them without the helmet in the way.

"You are one of us through me and they will not challenge that. If they do, I'll deal with it. I need to speak with the armorer. There was a lot of Beskar on the cruiser and it should be returned and used for foundlings. Not to mention you could use some repairs. And as part of my clan, you need the signet somewhere on your armor- if that's okay? I know it was your father's. Maybe we can get a new piece made instead…" Din had dissolved into muttering and Boba knew he wouldn't be winning the battle.

So now here they were slowly making their way around twisting and winding roads. Din finally dragged him under an arch and down some stairs and then they were there. Children were running around, all covered with a buy'ce on their heads but none seeming to even notice as they played. Parents watched nearby, eyeing the newcomers warily with the fierce protective streak all Mandalorians shared for children, especially their own. Boba felt like he was intruding and really wanted to leave but Din strode through like he belonged and getting separated seemed like an even worse idea so he kept up.

Even in the dark, in this place Din had never been, it was like he had a map in his mind and they were shortly standing in front of a forge. Din kneeled and Boba hesitated unsurely before following his example while a woman in a gold plated buy'ce made her way around to look at them. Boba knew this must have been the leader of Din's tribe, the armorer he spoke so highly of.

"You have returned. Was your task successful?" She asked Din, completely ignoring Boba's presence and he wanted to feel upset about it but mostly he was grateful.

"It was. The child has been delivered to a Jedi who can train him. He is safe now." He said and Boba wondered if the Armorer could hear the pain in Din's voice as he spoke the way he could.

"Jate. Good. Now tell me why you have brought this dar'manda amongst us?" She said and Boba winced because she said it so calmly. She wasn't even judging him, it was a statement of fact to her. That he existed with no soul. Maybe she was right.

"He is not dar'manda. He was… echoy'la… lost, searching. A foundling of our own kind found by others. Now he has been returned to us. He has been reborn and should be offered cin vhetin." Din said voice sharp as a knife and Boba could admit he didn't recognize all words. His Mando'a was rusty. But he knew Din was defending him.

"I told you I don't belong here, Din. It's fine. Let them call me what they wish. I'm not a child who needs to be coddled." He hissed at him, not sure how to handle being defended. It felt wrong.

The Armor's gaze shifted. "You brought Beskar." She said ignoring their staring contest to look at the container Din had brought with them.

"Yes. The imperials that we fought to get the child to his people had a large amount. It belongs back with our people." Din said setting the container in front of himself and opening it.

The Armorer examined a bar before looking over Din. "Your beskar'gam is still in repair. What do you wish me to make for you? Or shall it all be used for the foundlings?" She asked and Din met her gaze and held it even through their helmets.

"He is part of my clan and requires a signet. His armor is in disrepair and to let my Aliit suffer injury when I have means to protect him would be to break the creed." He said and Boba wanted to growl that he wasn't part of the damn creed or stomp out and leave Din there despite, or maybe because of, how generous he was being.

The Armorer looked between them again and sighed. "You have always had the most stubborn of hearts Djarin. Very well. What will you have me do for your vod?" She asked and Din looked at Boba who was trying to find a way out of this mess that wouldn't offend Din or shit all over how hard he was fighting for him.

"This armor was my father's I don't-" He started his voice coming out less firm that he wanted it to and more pleading. The Armorer seemed to accept that and she backed away, taking the Beskar and starting to work. Boba didn't know what she was doing but he flinched at the loud sound of the hammer feeling confined and on edge. He didn't belong here. He should have told Din no and stayed on the ship.

"Din, go out now. Paz was hoping to speak to you. When you return I will be finished." She ordered and he saw Din hesitate before nodding and leaving. The Armorer finally directed her gaze to Boba and he resisted the urge to squirm like a child. She wasn't Jango about to give him a scolding for sneaking out to play with the other clones. But she definitely had a similar energy to her.

"Boba Fett. Son of Jango Fett. Son of Jaster Mareel who was once Mand'alor. Din Djarin has claimed you as part of his clan and house. Do you know what that means?" She asked and Boba sighed shoulder's slumping despite himself. So he was getting a scolding. Mandalorians had to drag your whole family line into it too.

"We're just brothers. It's not like we're getting married." He grumbled.

"Family is family, no matter position. Love is love no matter the type. Your houses shall be one and the same. Your past will be his past and his your own. That is our way. Cin vhetin… He wishes for you to be given a clear start. Free of what you were before you were Mandalorian. He is offering a soulless being like you a piece of his own so you might join the Manda when you die. That is what it means. If you tarnish and ruin him, I will find you, and nothing you have ever done will compare to the wrath I will let fall upon you. Do you understand?" She said voice still level and calm, but that only made it worse.

"Yes. You are his mother." He said meaning to ask but it came out like a statement. The Armorer looked towards the door.

"They are all my children but the Mandalorian who found Din and raised him here died when Din was still young. To lose his birth family, and then the one who found him, he needed someone who would not fail him again. I claimed him. And now that means I must accept you. Do not let that make you think I like you, however." She said and returned to her work and Boba's head bowed as silence filled the space now, besides the hammering and sounds of her tools.

Boba wanted to be angry. He wanted to hate her for judging him on a life she knew nothing about. He wanted to tell her to stuff it and that this was all a mistake. But mostly he was tired. He found himself wondering instead how his father would like Din. Jango would probably remind Boba that trusting led to betrayal but he wouldn't dislike Din. He might even eventually come around when he saw how good Din was. His lips twitched slightly at the thought of his father arguing with this woman for the right to take Din as his son the way he had heard him argue with the Kaminoans. It would have certainly been a fierce fight.

"Stand." She interrupted his musing and Boba stood looking at what she held out for him trying to identify what the strip of metal would be used for but she didn't wait for him to ask.

"A neck guard." She murmured and fitted it between his helmet and armor and he felt his mouth go dry.

"Oh" Was all he could say and she met his eyes through their helmets.

"Stay still while I place your signet," She asked instead, and Boba was glad she didn't expect him to say anything. When Din returned followed by a hulk of a Mandalorian in blue painted armor, she had finished adding the mudhorn signet to the pauldron that didn't have his mythosaur.

"Boba, Paz will be coming with us when we return to Tatooine. He has some business there." Din said and Boba turned to pierce his gaze right to where he knew Din's eyes were.

"Are you suddenly the one who decides who can come onto my ship to my planet?" He asked in a low growl. Din didn't even flinch though at least Boba knew he wasn't losing his touch because the big guy that must have been Paz tensed. Din could just read him too well.

"I forgot. Oh great and powerful Boba Fett, who rules over Tatooine with a fist of Beskar, I beg of you to humbly allow my pathetic brother Paz to accompany us back to your home." Din said dryly and Boba grinned at the offended. "Hey!" From Paz.

"Hmmm… I suppose, when you ask so nicely, we can arrange to have him loaded in with the rest of the supplies." He said and he could feel the heat of Paz's glare which made him grin. This was more comfortable.

"I always wanted to stuff Paz in a box. Let's go then." Din said leading the way out with Boba and Paz following him. Maybe Boba didn't belong with the tribe, but he definitely knew he belonged with Din. So he'd accept this too.

#The Mandalorian #Boba Fett #Din Djarin #Fanfic #the mandalorian spoilers #The armorer #Paz Vizsla #The Armorer is Din's mom #Din is her favorite #Boba and Din brotherly relationship

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dokoni-mo · 4 years

Text

Patches || Boba Fett x Reader

(A/N: hi yes I made this because I want boba to step on me. That is all.)

WARNINGS: cursing, mentions of injury, some angst, otherwise none

Key: (F/N) = first name

Word Count: ~2200

~~~

Today was the third time that week that he came back to the Slave I beaten and bruised.

When you had initially accepted this agreement, this wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned. Yes, while you were a certified nurse, and agreed to be as such for him, you weren’t ready for any of this.

You weren’t ready at all for the sheer amount of times that you would have to patch him up after he had completed his work each week. It started off mundane and normal, with him coming to you to fix him up just about once every week or so. However, over time, you could tell that he was getting more and more cocky by the day and with each of his successful bounties. He had started to accept more and more dangerous jobs, as evidenced by his injuries and the longer and longer stretches of time he would be gone. He would never tell you about them (except for the odd detail you had to know to make the plan go through smoothly), but you could tell that he was pushing his limits. Although he never said any of this explicably out loud to you, the blemishes on his skin told you all you needed to know. The amount of the marks had subtly increased over time, but you were trained enough to notice the small increments of increase.

Nothing could slip past you, you felt like.

You also weren’t ready for the headache that was your relationship with him.

Quickly, you realized that Boba wasn’t the type to start up conversation, or just about anything for that matter, if it wasn’t necessary. You also realized that Boba wasn’t the type to express himself all that much. Yes, it was noticeable in his speech patterns and demeanor…

But it was even more noticeable in that you simply couldn’t read his expressions.

Boba never took his helmet off around you.

At first, this had puzzled you greatly. You had tried to ask him about it after about two weeks of knowing him, but this was only met by one of his seemingly trademark none of your business-es.

You swore, if he had some sort of cheesy bounty-hunter catchphrase, it would be that.

After getting absolutely nowhere with asking him (not much of a shocker, granted), you decided to do some digging on your own. You had eventually found out that he was Mandalorian.

You hadn’t heard that name since the republic was still around.

Those were the days…

You never pressed the subject after that. You knew what happened to the Mandalorians.

You were sure that it was a touchy subject, and it wasn’t like Boba enjoyed talking to you in the first place.

He never really said much to you, and you figured it was because he either didn’t like you, and/or just tolerated your existence. He did this because you were useful to him. Who else would patch him up after a fight?

No one.

So he had better at least tolerate you being on his ship.

Often, you wondered if there were others before you. You wondered if he had made other nurses or doctors tag along with him on his escapades. If he had, they were long since gone.

You didn’t blame them, however. You figured that it must have been frustrating for them too, having to deal with the type of person Boba was.

But, that was another thing you weren’t ready for. Tolerating and accepting notorious bounty hunter Boba Fett.

Yes, he was cold to you. Yes, he was a bit cocky as of late. Yes, it frustrated you to no end that he would barely tell you anything about his jobs, not to even mention about himself. But, deep down inside of you, in a place you weren’t quite sure even existed…

You tolerated it.

You enjoyed it even.

Before Boba had picked you up off of your nowhere home planet, life was very dim and dull. That’s the majority of the reason why you wanted to be a nurse in the first place. You would hear stories of nurses and doctors having to scatter themselves across time and space to save a patient’s life that had unannouncedly plopped itself upon their laps, and you were intrigued. You saw that life as a way to get some entertainment out of life, and a way to get some good karma so that hopefully your maker would have some mercy upon you once you died. But, even that life eventually grew old for you. You became numb to it even.

So, when you met a certain green bucket-head at a cantina you frequented at the end of your shifts and he offered you a job, you simply couldn’t refuse.

You would never admit it, but you were thankful for Boba. Even if he made you want to rip all your hair out and light it on fire.

But, you would often forget about your thanks when you were frustrated.

Like now.

“Tell me if it hurts.” you told him as you wrapped a bandage around his bloodied forearm, holding the muscular limb in your soft grasp.

Of course, he said nothing in response. Didn’t find it necessary, you figured.

Currently, you were knelt next to a half-naked Boba Fett with an array of various medical supplies scattered about the floor around you, your hair pushed back to keep out of your sight. Boba was sitting upon a crate with his toned back against the wall of the Slave I, making him elevated above you. You had helped him remove the upper portions of his armor upon his stumbling into your room, and they were now rested upon the trunk next to the bounty hunter. Of course, he hadn’t removed his helmet upon his entrance, making him look now rather silly in just his helmet, boots, pants, belt, and leg armor. Tending to your girlish fantasies, you would have admired Boba’s muscular, firm chest for a moment, if he weren’t so scratched up, bloodied, and scarred.

Maker, he was an idiot.

You weren’t quite sure of where his gaze was as the T of his helmet looked down at you. Normally, this wouldn’t have pestered you in the slightest. However, today was… off. You felt off. Was it the stale air? Was it what you ate? You didn’t know.

All you knew is that you noticed this feeling as soon as you saw just how beat up Boba was. It made your chest ache and your stomach churn. But wny?

Whatever the reason was, it was making you more on-edge and short-fused than usual.

Once you had gotten the bandage about halfway on him, Boba jerked his arm towards him, ripping it out of your gentle grasp with a hiss. Your brow furrowed slightly and your lips pursed.

How dare he.

You were just trying to help. Why did he always have to be so rude?

“It hurts.” he said to you, his accented voice distorted by his helmet.

Sighing, you pulled his arm back to you, resuming your actions as you responded.

“I see that.” you said flatly, a tone lacing your voice. You had no idea what was coming over you, but unconsciously decided to remove your filter.

Let it come, you thought, see if I care.

“Clearly you don’t.” he said, giving you attitude right back. Maker, why was he so difficult?

“Well, how can I? You never tell me things until the last minute.” you huffed out, taping the bandage down with some medical tape, “If you even decide to tell me anything.”

“I tell you what you need to know.”

You let out a quick, sarcastic laugh at this, refusing to look up at him as you readied a swab with alcohol to clean up his cuts. Every semblance of your filter was now gone.

“Sure you do, Boba. You tell me everything I need to know. My apologies.”

“Name one time I left you in the dark, (F/N).” he responded to you, his voice becoming quicker and more accented as his frustration grew.

This only fueled your own.

“One time?!” you snapped, shooting your gaze up to the T of his helmet, “How about every time?! You never tell me where you’re going next, you never tell me who you’re working for, and you never tell me just how dangerous these jobs are! Boba, I know you’re getting in over your head. You-”

“I’m not-”

“DON’T cut me off.”’ you spat back, “Boba, I know you’ve been going beyond your limits. I can tell in your injuries. I can tell in your mood. Yes, you’re moody all the time, but it’s only getting worse. I didn’t sign up for this, Boba, I didn’t…”

You were cut off by a lump in your throat starting to form, tears welling themselves up in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, so you bit your lip and took a deep breath in through your nose before you continued, your voice shaky and strained.

“I-I didn’t sign up… To watch you die.”

A silence hung in the air as you sniffled. Wiping your eyes, you hung your head, refusing to keep your gaze on the bounty hunter any longer. You waited a moment for him to respond, but got nothing. Figured, anyway.

He probably didn’t care.

He probably didn’t give one single shit about what you were saying.

...

So be it.

At least you got it off your chest.

Sighing and reaching to your medical equipment, your rustled through the items as you spoke again.

“Whatever. It’s not important anymore. Forget I said anything…”

As you continued to rustle through your equipment to find an excuse not to look at the bounty hunter, your ears had perked up. Feeling a shift from him, you soon heard the familiar sound of metal hitting the surface of a trunk. Your eyes following the sound, you initially thought you were dreaming.

Upon the trunk next to the crate Boba was seated upon, an addition had been made to his pile of discarded armor.

There, amongst all the rest of the protective metal, sat his helmet.

Your lips parted slightly, you shifted your gaze up to Boba.

Your eyes had not deceived you.

There, looking down at you, was Boba Fett, whose face was now in clear view to you. He had a few small scars upon his tanned face, but none took away from his good looks. His hair was short, but brilliantly dark, and matched his complexion phenomenally. His eyes were dark and hardened from years of killing, and his lips looked soft, a stark contrast from the firmness of his jaw and cheekbones. A blush rising to your cheeks, a realization hit you.

Boba was a clone.

You didn’t expect that at all.

But yet…

He was one of the most handsome men, let alone clones, you had ever laid eyes upon.

After a long moment of you staring up at him, he finally spoke, his voice somewhat foreign to you without the distortion from his helmet.

“You’re staring.”

Your eyes widening a bit as a jolt of nerves ran through you, you shot your gaze back down to the equipment, the butterflies in your stomach making a hurricane inside of you.

“I-I was just surprised.” you said in response.

Another long pause from him. You could feel his eyes on you.

After a moment, you felt a pointer finger and thumb upon your chin, pulling your gaze up to the bounty hunter sitting in front of you. Your blush darkening, you gazed upon his freshly bare face as he studied your features, almost as if he were committing it to memory. A moment of this later, before you could even process what was happening, Boba Fett leaned down closer to you, catching your parted lips in a kiss.

His lips were just as surprisingly soft as they looked, and tasted vaguely of smoke, but not unpleasantly so. Your breath being taken away, you fluttered your eyes closed as you reciprocated, your soft lips melding oh so perfectly with his.

He was too damn good.

You wanted-

Before you could finish your thoughts, Boba pulled away from you. The absence of his warmth made your eyes flutter open, and you were greeted with the sight of his eyes boring into your own, as if he were looking into your very soul.

Maker above have mercy. He was wayyy to damn good at this.

His face lingering next to yours a moment longer, he decided that enough was enough and leaned back, the muscles in his chest and abdomen rippling as his back made contact with the walls of the Slave I again.

While you were staring up at him absolutely dumbfounded, he spoke.

“No more overly dangerous jobs. I promise.”

Swallowing, all you could do was nod in response.

You could still feel the phantoms of his lips upon your own as you continued to fix him up. Hell, you could feel his eyes on you the whole time.

You would never admit it, but you fucking loved it.

You hoped that Boba would be like this from now on.

Little did you know, however, he planned to be.

Even more so than you could ever imagine.

~~~

TAGS: @captainrexstan , @spaghetti-666 , @breakfastpizzagalaxy

#star wars #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #mandalorains #fanfiction #fanfic #star wars bounty hunter

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hellowkatey · 3 years

Text

post-finale thoughts on the bad batch below the cut

[I'm specifically focusing on story and characters. this doesn't even begin to address the issues with their animation design, coloring, and the whole lot of racial, stereotypical, and ableist themes that show up, they are important to be aware of and speak out against. resources that I have found helpful are linked.]

@revenge-of-the-shit has a great compendium with lots of resources for both TBB and SW as a whole | change.org petition

okay.

As a SW fan, I am no stranger to putting up with meh writing because of my love for the characters. I love found family and I love the protective space dad trope with all my being, so TBB caught me by the hyperfixation... but not until the last few episodes of the season.

I loved Echo and Tech from the beginning. As someone who is neurodivergent, I relate to Tech a lot. And I've had a soft spot for Echo since TCW. Wrecker and Omega are more neutral for me. I like them but don't connect to them as much. My like for Hunter decreased as the season progressed, and I disliked Crosshair until episode 15. After part 1 of the finale, I went back and rewatched TCW backdoor pilot and actually began to understand Crosshair.

Coming into the 2nd part of the finale, I sort of expected them to discover Crosshair still had his chip despite claiming to already have it removed, remove it, and they fly off in the Marauder into the sunset, brothers again.

Obviously that is not what happened. But I'm not mad about that. I'm actually glad this didn't happen, though it hurt to see that wide shot of Crosshair standing alone on the platform as his brothers flew away.

I do think Crosshair still has his chip. I think the Empire tricked him into thinking they removed it. It's a mind game. Because Crosshair thinks he had the chip removed, he stops fighting the impulses to support the Empire over his team. He genuinely believes he has chosen this.

And, because Crosshair by nature is severe and unyielding (as Tech says), his natural personality is not far off from the aggression and standoffish shift that chipped clones display. But compared to how Crosshair was in TCW and the first episode, he's definitely not all there imo. The fact he remained loyal to the Empire after they destroyed Kamino with him on it (and the scenes of him still having headaches-- I mean, hello, how did the boys miss that??) is why I believe he is still chipped.

But I am glad Crosshair did not go with them even though it messes up the premise of a fic I wrote between ep. 15 and 16 (rip). The finale was important for bringing the boys back together so they can see they all still care about one another, but there's a difference in ideology. And there's a breach of trust on both sides.

Crosshair needs to see for himself that the Empire has been manipulating him and he needs to come to that conclusion on his own. The Bad Batch, mainly Hunter, needs to realize that they did abandon their brother because as soon as they figured out about the inhibitor chips their primary mission should have been getting Crosshair out of there.

In terms of the conflict between Crosshair & himself and Crosshair & The Bad Batch, I think the show did a good job. It's an extremely complex issue, and they depicted the characters as true humans that make mistakes and have to atone for them. I hope season 2 focuses on what they need to work on individually to be ready to come back together as a team.

That is why I think I watched the show but didn't really connect to it until we actually got back to the main conflict from the first episode.

But this was a 16-episode season. They filled half a season with cameos and odd-jobs which were hardly used it to advance the characters' arcs. (At least when the Mandalorian S2 did this, the cameos contributed to the journey in some way.)

Tech, Echo, and Wrecker basically got no development when there were lots of opportunities to explore this-- I mean, we have Echo who was a POW, the last of his squad, pretty well acquainted with the Jedi, and the only "reg" among them. Before he was taken by the Techno Union, he was a huge advocate of following orders and doing things by the books. I feel like he would have had a hard time with learning about the chips and Fives' death amongst other things. Tech and Crosshair were depicted working together a lot in TCW, and he is one of the few that (sort of) defends Crosshair in the finale, but that dynamic isn't explored much either. And Wrecker's chip actually activated and he hurts his brothers. Yet, there's not really any sort of fallout there either. I also feel like they alluded to Omega having some sort of special ability at the beginning and then we just never touched on it again.

I point out these things not just as a fan, but as someone who studied writing and storytelling in college. You can have your round and flat, dynamic and static characters, but they still should have a complete arc. And they all can't be flat. Especially as being part of the main cast. I think they focused mainly on external struggles and forgot about the internal ones, which would have been much more profound. If The Bad Batch was an anthology of their missions during TCW I would be a little more forgiving of the mission-to-mission episode format, but this immediately following Order 66. One of the most emotional moments in the SW franchise.

Don't get me wrong, I loved moments of the show. It's inspired me enough to read (and write) fic for it. And I've read some really kick ass writing that has fulfilled a lot of the desires I had for the show in terms of addressing internal conflict and character development. I'm well acquainted with the fandom by this point to know emotional depth is not often a priority in SW. But I did not expect the show to lack basic character development for main characters. I've browsed The Bad Batch AO3 tag a few times now, and a very large portion has to do with creating character development and backstory that doesn't exist in canon yet. I think that says a lot on its own.

This is long so I'll stop but my overall opinion of the show is bittersweet. If someone asked me what I thought of it in one sentence, I would say "it has potential". But since S2 is confirmed, it sounds like they should have time to see fan responses, take the valid criticisms to heart, and I think TBB has the potential to join the club of a beloved SW show with a rough first season.

#the bad batch spoilers #below the cut #feel free to slide into my inbox/DMs to chat about the show #also remember these are my ~opinions~#and though this is a #long post #I did not address all of my thoughts on the show

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canarhys · 4 years

Text

based off dral and calor, spotted by @pixelchaos00 in this post. well, more on calor but dral is mentioned a few times so yeah. i hope they deserted the war. i don’t want them to be apart. so here:

when calor dropped the bucket in his haste, he knew he was a dead man.

he had made sure all his supplies were strapped to his shoulder when he gently tapped on the side panel for the doors of the quarters he shared with his sleeping brothers, shuffling out the doorway once he assessed the hall. it’s empty. there were no security cameras in this section of the quarters the clones were sleeping in, and the guards patrolling the grounds were shifting to another rotation. he would have only a few minutes to make his escape, all that he would need in this circumstance. he would meet dral at the docks outside, sneak into a transport, and hurry off to… anywhere, really. they both had done extensive research on it, relayed one another intel over the routines of the mandalorians and the clone troopers in the night before their leave. tomorrow, the cruiser would depart, and calor would be gone before they made their way back to coruscant.

but he had been too excited, too stupid to allow his emotions to cloud his goal. though the steps of his boots were light due to temporary mods, and he made sure to place cushioning within the pack to make sure no sound could be perceived through the linen, he had decided to make the dumb mistake of not wearing his helmet when he had crept down the corridor. he had it clipped to his belt, right by the sack he wore, and when it provided too much clacking for coverage he instead placed it beneath his arm. not so much an accident as a refusal to wear the thing that he could barely call himself anymore.

he’ll wear it later, when the winds on their transport would make it hard for him to blink through the currents, but right now? he didn’t feel comfortable to don the bucket of a brotherhood he is leaving behind. though he had made the final say when dral had suggested it, it did not assuage the guilt that claws at his chest.

he makes a turn around the corridor, sticking to the walls to avoid being spotted, despite the lack of organic forms amongst him. here, in the capital of mandalore, it was quiet. a rare occurrence in war, and perhaps an even rarer occurrence in a place like this. he knew mandalore to be a planet defined by bloodshed, where warriors never rest and peace was a forgotten term. yet in the grasp of midnight, the palace is strangely silent. no droids ( though he is certain that mandos were known for their anti-droid stance ), no generals, and no clones. it’s lonelier than he’s used to. but he’s got to get used to this silence when he does the impossible.

the mistake comes when he’s halfway through the corridor. he hears the clacking of footsteps down the hall behind him, and though it’s far, it’s enough to startle him into picking up his pace. he turns up the pace of his walk, attempting to keep his staccato boots from making a sound, but the increased speed causes the bag around his shoulder to slip from his neck. quickly, he reaches back to holster it back up, but the action causes him to lose grip of his bucket. it falls to the ground before he could catch it.

clack. clack. clack.

shit.

hearing the footsteps cease before picking up their pace to his destination, calor forgets his stealth. he grabs his helmet and books it to the end of the hall which leeched into a crossroads, leading to the rightward hall towards the direction of the docks. once he does so, he makes a series of confusing turns, a maneuver in an attempt to shake off his pursuer, one that he’s sure he was trained for just for this type of moment. he makes turn after turn but keeps his mind locked on the direction of the docks, making sure he never loses track of where he goes.

eventually, in a turn, he falls back into light steps. the pursuer, still following the sound of the staccato boots he had created before, breaks off into the direction of the medical bay, opposite of calor’s own goal. he peeks over the wall, watching the unknown form disappear down it, and sighs in relief when he finds the coast clear. hesitantly, he creeps back out the space. that’s when the hand latches onto his shoulder.

“trooper.”

calor, instinctively, jumps. he spins around to face the speaker, and finds probably the worst person for him to ever bump into besides lady bo-katan or general tano. commander rex, formerly captain, his bucket with signature blue jaig eyes left clipped to his belt. his blond hair appears distilled amongst the darkness of the hall. his worn face holds no expression, not of yet, only resembling the default sternness he holds whenever he addresses one of his men. yeah, calor was fucked.

“sir!” he tries not to squeak, but his voice is high-pitched enough to make him cringe. “w— what are you doing here, sir?”

commander rex raises an eyebrow. “i’m on patrol. i just came back from a meeting with general tano and lady bo-katan.” he narrows his eyes. “what are you doing here, trooper? you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“i know, sir,” calor says. he shifts in place to adjust to the formal soldier stance, probably the last time he’ll ever do that voluntarily. he’s rehearsed his dialogue many times, coming up with excuse after excuse if ever caught, but the routines become muddled in his mind when he looks his commander in the eyes. “i… i just wanted to take a look at the gunships, before we depart. spike asked me too.”

commander rex stares at him for so long that he can’t help but feel his skin itch with his gaze. “maintenance check-up on the craft isn’t scheduled til tomorrow morning. and spike is currently on patrol. not by the ship.”

“oh.” great going, idiot. “i mean— he asked me to in the middle of the day, guess he changed plans without me. y’know what? i think i’m just out of it, kind of drowsy right now, i’ll just—”

“why do you have a bag?” commander rex interjects.

calor sees his life pass before his eyes. “uh… equipment. for maintenance.”

he attempts to keep the sling bag out of view, but it is too late when the commander catches a glimpse of the linen. something on his expression changes. not anger. it’s something… softer. one that calor has never seen overcome his commander in a long time. “may i see it?”

he’s understandably caught off guard, then filled with dread, but he knows he can’t disobey the order despite it being hidden behind a simple question. there’s no room to run, and nothing can get past commander rex — not even general skywalker could escape his wrath. already figuring this was the end of the line, and he would be terminated by the time they come back to coruscant, he slings off the pack and silently hands it to the commander. he grips to his helmet tight, a sense of comfort as his heart raced with fear.

commander rex opens the bag, scanning the contents with a squint. reaches into it ( a gesture that has calor already squeamish ) to dig through the items he had packed earlier that day. he stops shuffling when he drags his hands over what sounded to be the cushioning he had implemented into the bag — some shredded up blacks in his wardrobe, perfect for sound-proofing. “good,” commander rex says. “can’t have it being noisy. and containers for fruits. that’s good.”

at first, calor is confused, because he’s pretty sure the commander is complimenting him on noise-canceling packing, but his thoughts are quieted when commander rex pulls out his comlink. he’s frowning.

“this yours?” calor nods. “you know, holocomms issued to troopers all have trackers built into them. could track your location from parsecs away. here.”

the man reaches into his waist and pulls out a comlink of a different design. this one cylindrical, with a voice box at the end and a button on the other, with a keypad installed within the middle. he hands it to calor. then he looks down at the arm brace around calor’s left arm. “hand me your gauntlet. could also be tracked. and your bucket as well.”

calor, stunned barely registers the command before he’s stripping off his gauntlet and bucket to the commander. he can’t see what he’s doing, not clearly, but he appears to tweak with the interface. he promptly hands it back when he’s finished, but calor can’t find the strength or sense to put them back on as commander rex continues to scan his belongings.

“you already got your blaster, so that checks out. forged identification, clearance codes… you with anyone in particular?”

calor finds his voice, albeit as confused as it is. “w— what?”

commander rex scowls. “don’t tell me you’re pulling this off by yourself.”

“n— no!” calor exclaims. his face is flushing with embarrassment. “i, uh, i got… someone.”

“mandalorian?”

calor nods. “he’s uh… picking me up from the docks. taking us to the outskirts.”

commander rex hums. “it’s dral arpat, isn’t it? talked to him before, seen you with him for a few times. nice kid. i know he’ll keep you safe. now let’s see…”

“sir?”

the commander looks up at him. “yes, calor?”

at the use of not just his name but of the softened demeanor he holds in this instance, calor feels his entire body squirm with confusion and shock. he can barely process anything that’s happening in this instance. “why are you helping me?”

for a few moments, the commander doesn’t answer. his stoic facade falters a bit, revealing a type of sorrow in his eyes, a melancholy and nostalgia that grips at the edges of his person. calor doesn’t know what to make of it. “you’re not the first person i’ve met who’s left the army, and you won’t be the last. this war has left us all scarred. for the better part of our lives, we had to live on battlefields and go through our losses one-by-one. you deserve something better than this.

“but…” calor fights back a sob, one that has been clogging his throat since the moment he had made the decision to leave, the memories of his brothers fading like his allegiance to the republic. “but i’m a coward—”

“no,” rex interrupts. “you’re not. i’ll admit that, before, i had thought those who defected were traitors, that we must swear to the republic and our lives along with it. but i’ve come to learn that maybe this war is no longer what it used to be, that the things we fight for change with every battle. we lose so many men, every day. it gets tiring but… we were bred and born to fight. without this war, we wouldn’t even exist. i can’t imagine any life for myself out of it. but you’re breaking free from that quota. you’re making a choice, to have a life outside this war that defined you since birth. and if you ask me, that’s no mark of a traitor.”

“yeah but—”

“it’s already near the end of this war,” commander rex says. he’s smiling. “you deserve to make a new life for yourself. you won’t have to fight anymore.”

calor is quiet. he feels a wetness on his cheek, and he realizes he’s crying in front of his own commander, so he hastily wipes away his tears with his gauntlet-less blacks and beams at the commander. commander rex helps him place back his gauntlet and hands him back his satchel, now checked and ready for his run. “you’re all set. i hope arpat knows the cleanest route out of sundari, but he’s mandalorian so—”

he’s cut off when calor risks his all and develops him into a fierce hug, tight enough to crush someone that wasn’t of clone stature. he can’t help but laugh in nothing but grief mixed with relief. “thank you, sir.”

immediately, rex wraps his arms around him as hell, and despite the clear lack of knowledge of what to do when hugged by a subordinate, calor can feel the warmth from the gesture. “you’re welcome.”

calor’s ready. he slips back on his satchel and makes sure his helmet is safely tucked beneath his armpit to prevent any more catastrophe from happening. he’s making his way down towards the corridor to the safest and quickest way to the docks when he stops. he turns around to look at his commander, watching him go. he sees something flicker in his eyes. there’s something sad about them, intermingling with his joy yet the sorrow still present. “sir?”

rex snaps back to his stoic demeanor. “yes, trooper?”

“have you… have you ever wanted to desert?”

rex doesn’t answer for a beat. “goodbye, calor.”

he doesn’t answer, but the silence and the fragility of his tone is enough of what calor needs to know. he nods and gives him one final salute, before he disappears down the hall.

#star wars #sw #tcw #the clone wars #other's ocs #c: capt. rex #writing tag #m: sw #i just want them to be happy. please tell me they're happy.#rex made a good call tho bc hrghhhh....... shattered still wrecks me

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