#tbb nala se

[ladykagewaki]

The Baby Batch: Lazy Sunday

@the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @ladykatakuri @marierg @thecoffeelorian @salubriousbean @bring-backup-99 @99tech99 @clonethirstingisreal @sunshinesdaydream @jane8675 @eclec-tech @noblelightfighter @nika6q

[star-farer]

from green to gold, bliss to woe

Summary: Hope is the thing with feathers; despair whets her jagged arrows sharp. AU: A Protostar in Plastoid Taglist: @kybercrystals94 @fionas-frenzy @padawancat97 @margindoodles2407 @dreamsight73 @groguandthebadbatch @sskim-milkk

The instant the last of Nala Se’s porcelain figure sways out of view, the round corner of the hallway disappearing her entirely, Omega sneaks up to the door of the medical room and presses the button for it. Slipping into the darkness quickly, she taps another button and watches the door pause midway to slide back the way it came.

It’s only when it shuts firm in her face that her shoulders droop with a sigh of relief.

Nala Se is not going to like this.

She turns to blink at the aquatic colors of blue and green lining the dark room; walls, floors, ceilings, even the rounded corners littered in accents of dulled light. The screens and their consoles blare an algal green, medical equipment with claws and teeth marked in tints of blue. Two surgical lights gleam quietly where they hang overhead, their white heads turned away as if in reverence for the void.

This eerie fluorescence that she can only compare with the strange lights of deep-sea creatures dimly lifts the ashen shadow she has stepped into. She feels little more than one such bioluminescent beings, singular in the chill blackness.

But her eyes, swift as they fly about, are for the figure upon the hover-stretcher alone. Her breath hitches at the sight of half a familiar face, illumined by the glowing lights he is laid along. His face is turned away from her, dark curls spilling like an inky halo.

If she rolled his head towards her side, she knows there’d be half a skull tattooed across his brown skin.

Ever so carefully, trepidation playing a lively beat upon her poor heart, she makes her way towards him. She knows he remains deep under sedation, but it feels more like she might accidently waken him.

An amalgam of voices, all beloved, whispers kindly a warning to tread quietly, to refrain from disturbing him. There’s mention of a struggle to fall asleep, alongside a complaint of stubbornness against sleep, and if she were able to make either head or tail of these thoughts, she would have sorted them out long ago.

Presently, she can’t, so she settles on following the singular directive to not waken the Sergeant of Clone Force 99.

When she finds herself close enough and that he hasn’t stirred yet, she reaches up to tap a button on the hover-stretcher. The repulsorlifts comply, and the stretcher descends until she presses the button once more when it drifts down to her waist.

It pauses, floating there, and she peers down with bated breath to see, at long last, the face of the clone who’d first held her.

It’s him! sings her heart, hammering against her chest, hot tears prickling her eyes, It’s really him!

A cry of joy nearly escapes her at the sight of his untamed curls and hooked nose and browned skin. Yes, she is gazing at a clone, a son of Kamino — but his hair is far more unkempt, and his nose inclines too sharply, and his coarse skin is a distinct shade of tan.

He is still, even still, ever still too deviant to be a perfect replica.

He is still, even still, ever still the buir she has loved.

Laughter fills her at the sight of what appears to be the prickly beginnings of a beard along his jawline, and she reaches a hand out to touch it, wondering if it’s still as bristly as she remembers it. She remembers pulling her hair through it, sometimes, remembers his hearty chuckles as he questioned if he’d been demoted from Sergeant to comb, remembers—

The skin along the knuckles of her other hand brushes warm against his fist where it lies slack upon his chest.

The last time she had held his hand, it was in farewell.

Her fingers curl inwards, and she draws back hesitantly.

She isn’t meant to be here. Nala Se gave her explicit orders to remain in her chamber. She knows she’ll be reprimanded for this. She knows this disobedience could go unforgiven and earn her a day in the isolation tank.

The isolation tank.

She flees those cold thoughts, flees the darkness that threatens to swallow her whole, flees the vacuity that threatens to stretch and squeeze her every fiber into a strange matter, no longer Omega, but something altogether empty.

The isolation tank is a punishment she cannot bear, no matter how many times she puffs her chest and lifts her chin and holds her breath and makes a show of bravery. When they draw her out, she is reduced to ugliness, a being of sinew and skin, of flesh and blood, of sweat and tears and snot.

She doesn’t want her day to end in such madness, such horror. She doesn’t want to cry and yell and tear her throat to pieces as she begs white walls for a mercy unfound. She doesn’t want to be cold and blank and empty and stretched and cold and cold and cold—

It’s only when she feels a warm solidness within her grip that she realizes her eyes are fast shut, eyelids a quivering half-void. When she dares to peek past her lashes, dares to pry open her terrified eyes, she finds her hand around Hunter’s, small around great, squeezing his calloused fingers, although the gesture isn’t returned by him — can’t be returned by him in his present state.

The Kaminoan pendant on her forehead shifts with her drooping sigh, a weighty reminder of where she belongs: In a chill lab, with her distant creators, amongst piercing tools and mechanisms.

But here, standing beside her unconscious buir, her marrow aches with the yearning to belong to them, her vode, her aliit. To those who showed her laughter and song, who taught her speech and joy, who held her warm and true against hearts that bled love.

Digging sharp teeth into her wobbling lower lip, she lifts her eyes back up to Hunter’s face once more, gazing at him long and slow. She refuses to pause, refuses to think, as she lifts her free hand and, slowly, gently, brushes a stray coil of his mane away from his cheekbone with trembling fingers.

The memory of his bemused smile as he once showed her the same kindness makes her throat tighten.

She goes the extra step, bringing to mind how he once did too, and she traces the springing dark hair to tuck behind his ear, smoothing it out one last time with the flat of her fingers. A smile pulls her face taut, proud of having returned the gift once bestowed unto her.

It’s deserved, such kindness. After all the joy she has known in those little seconds spent in the care of her buire, it’s long since been warranted that she find some way to show her gratitude, to tell them how dearly she has felt of them, to let them know that she—

Fingers tighten around her gripping hand, squeezing gentle and weak yet firm, as if aware of the litheness of the younger hand it holds, even as it seeks some reassurance. Hunter’s mouth twitches, eyes darting beneath their lids, and with a start, as if burnt, she yanks her fingers back from his face when he huffs a silent groan.

She feels her eyes stretch to impossible circles. Did she imagined it, or did his lips shape her name?

“H-Hunter,” she whispers back, watching dumbfoundedly as he struggles against the sedative’s effects.

His head lolls her way, tendrils of hair jolting over his dark tattoo. Expression writhing, mouth arching downward, she sees the whites of his eyes in the slim slits he tries to widen. His hand, the one that doesn’t sit entangled with hers upon his chest, lifts weakly, falling back to his side beyond her reach.

“’Mega.”

And whatever uncertainty lies between her heart and his shatters like falling stars.

“Buir,” she breathes, delight fueling her courage as she reaches once more to softly flick his hair away from his face, “Buir, it’s me. It’s Omega, Hunter, it’s me. It’s Omega.”

His features twist once more, and she thinks she can see a smile somewhere amongst the lines.

“’Mega—”

“Omega.”

She shrieks when icy fingers brush against the skin of her neck, jumping when they send a frisson along her spine. Clamping down on her shoulder, the three long digits force her with unexpected strength to face her maker.

Nala Se’s gaze is as vacant as her worst nightmares.

“You are not meant to be here.”

Fear makes her shiver at the tipping pitch of the Kaminoan’s voice. What answer she might have hoped to formulate shrivels under the frigid stare she is fixed with, dying with her courage, dying with her delight.

Mistress Se’s eyes narrow.

“I have told you I cannot keep excusing your errant behavior. You have willfully chosen to defy my orders.”

Omega is glad, so glad, that Hunter remains coherent enough to yet grip her hand.

But the low growl she hears from the back of his throat sends her mind spiraling in terror.

Not because of him, never that.

But for him.

Her breath catches fierce in her chest when Mistress Se lifts her gaze past Omega’s head. “CT-9901. You are no longer under the effects of sedation?”

Words are spewed out, possibly swears in the tongue of the Prime, slurred and whispered and tired, yet sharper than any scalpel she has held. She’s heard some of these before as cries torn from the mouths of other clones in times of excruciating pain. AZI once explained it to be an outlet for their agony.

Is the pain in her heart the pain in his, she wonders?

And is her pain, so deep and lonesome and grave, worth such vile words?

The Mistress reaches over and presses a button, and the repulsorlifts raise the hover-stretcher back up.

“No,” breathes Omega, her hand fumbling out of Hunter’s even as he reaches back for her with clumsy fingers, his hand heavy where it falls over the edge.

“Om’ika—”

“Mistress Nala Se,” chirps AZI as he whirls into the room, “I was summoned?”

“Sedate CT-9901,” says the Mistress plainly, directing Omega towards the door.

And Omega doesn’t fight, doesn’t drag her heels and shriek, doesn’t wail and sob and claw and bite, even if her heart so desperately wishes to. Even if the organ pounds against her sternum and makes the blood roar in her ears with rage. Even if her head reels with the lack of oxygen from her shaking breaths and the knowledge of what awaits her.

She knows better than to attempt such things.

The last time she had done so, the tank had taken away her speech and left her a blabbering mess.

But she is desperate, desperate in the way only she could ever be, and now, now, it is her desperation that aids her courage, no matter how little.

She peers, lonely and grieving clone-girl that she is, over her shoulder, her blurring gaze fixed on the defective clone upon the stretcher. Her vision further dims when she sees his hand still reaching out for her, his head still turned her way, his mouth still moving with her name. Grief, she thinks, pulls his features taut, even if exhaustion keeps his eyes hooded and anger keeps his teeth bared; but what would she know beyond the sheen of her own sorrowed hope muffling her eyes?

A cold thumb presses into her nape, and she whisks her head back around to face the open doorway, bright hallways gleaming at her like teeth in a mocking grin. She chokes on a sob, terror closing around her throat like a noose.

“You were told not to disobey my command,” says Mistress Nala Se, her voice still as soft and unfeeling as Omega remembers it in her darkest dreams.

“I will ensure this does not happen again.”

[mrbondz]

Wrecker in season 3 episode 15 of The Bad Batch.

[mantellmix]

Wrecker blowing up Tambor's lab where Echo was kept hostage

🤝

Nala Se blowing up the Kaminoan databanks and Rampart

All to stop them from harming any more people or be used for their own devices

[verycorrect-tbbquotes]

Oh, Emerie. You are no Omega.

Nala Se to young Emerie

[tlmtwelve]

Prompts: Mace Windu, Nala Se, baking a cake

(Wrist watches aren't typically worn by the Jedi, but Windu likes to wear one so he can further demonstrate his impatience)

[rendomski]

In the next episode…

Scorch: Sir, the girl escaped. Again.

Nala Se: I have nothing to do with it this time.

Emerie: Please, I have nothing to do with it!

CX-2: Why are you looking at me like this? Of course, I have nothing to do with it.

Wrecker, forgetting about the stealth completely: Well, we certainly have nothing to do with it!!!

[casual-violinist-fangirl]

Re-watching Season Six… nothing you say can convince me that Nala Se isn’t evil and horrible. Having seen the way she talks to AZI, it is 100% possible that she spoke to Omega that way and I am ready to FIGHT this bitch.

Also, I am loving AZI’s origin story. 😂

[bobsyauncle]

Why’d they make Nala-Se a baddie 😭

[kybercrystals94]

I feel like no one has talked about Omega and Nala Se’s death. Girl is probably all messed up over it bc nala se raised her before the batch. I just feel like I haven’t seen many ppl talk about that subject and wanted to send this to see if it generates discussion

Yes 😭 I would love to see this discussed more!

Nala Se is such a complicated character—she purposely allowed the Batch to get and keep custody of Omega so that the brothers could protect her…so she obviously truly cared and loved Omega in her own way.

Omega knows she has a healthier and happier life with her brothers, but that doesn’t negate her relationship with Nala Se, the individual who was her only parental figure for most of her life.

Nala Se then sacrificed herself to end the program forever that put Omega in danger with the Empire.

It’s a huge area to explore, and I look forward to seeing more about it!

[fwitoley]

Thank you.

Thank you for the amazing journey you have put all of us on. We laughed, cried, screamed, kicked our feet and giggled. We've watched these characters grow into the beautiful people they are now, and while we fear for their fates, we will stick with them all the way.

Thank you, Hunter, for being such a caring brother. You are my personal favorite. You watched out for your brothers, took care of your sister. You were so strong and understanding, you are such a symbol, and you will continue to be loved years after your story ends.

Thank you, Tech, for providing all the rambles and info dumps that we could possibly need. Your explanations and your bravery will never be forgotten. We hope to see you one last time before the end of this show, but if we don't, you will be loved all the same.

Thank you, Wrecker, for always bringing life to this series. Your laugh is contagious, and it's always a delight to see you smile. You were the Batch's biggest protector, the glue that held them all together, the one carrying the squad. May your strength, both inside and out, be recognized as this series comes to a close.

Thank you, Crosshair, for giving us such an edge-of-our-seat story. Your struggles, your triumphs, your development; words cannot begin to express just how masterful and complex your character is. Your story has touched so many hearts, and we hope you get the happy ending you deserve.

Thank you, Echo, for being such a comfort character to us. A familiar face in these trying times. We've followed you through The Clone War all the way to this moment, and we are extremely proud of you. Your dedication to your brothers is unmatched. While we didn't get to see a lot of you in this final season, we hope that this isn't the end of your story, and that we will continue to see your adventures unfold in the future.

Thank you, Omega. Oh, sweet Omega. Watching your journey has been quite the adventure. It brings tears to our eyes when we think about how far you've come. You are the light and joy of the Batch, and your kindness has changed all of their, and our, lives. We wish you peace and happiness, and hope you finally get to live the childhood you never had.

Thank you, every single character that has appeared in this series; the new faces, the returning fan-favorites, and even the ones we love to hate. You have made this series rich with adventure, wonder, and emotion.

Thank you to the production crew: Dee Bradley Baker, Michelle Ang, and the rest of the cast and crew for making this all happen. We wouldn't be here if it weren't for your innovative writing and masterful portrayals of these characters. You have moved us in ways we'd never be able to fully express, and we applaud you for everything you've done.

And thank you, writers, artists, fans, and more for expanding this amazing series into an immersive universe where we can all come together and express our love for this show. The fanart, fanfictions, short films, headcanons, cosplay, and every other kind of media that has been shared through this series has all been wonderful to see.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

But don't get sad yet. The series finale may be tomorrow, but this? This fandom?

We've only just begun.

[ladykagewaki]

The Baby Batch: The Swing Test

For @cad-faoi-maeglin

@zaya-mo @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @ladykatakuri @marierg @thecoffeelorian @salubriousbean @bring-backup-99 @99tech99 @ilovethebabybatch @sunshinesdaydream @jane8675

[bbgoffic]

Me, watching the last episode of TBB watching Rampart eyeing Nala Se: He wants to fuck that alien.

My Husband: I think he's gonna kill her...

Me: Well yeah, that's cause he doesn't understand his feelings.

Hubs: he wants to lick that neck...

Me: and it makes him ANGRY.

[mrbondz]

Me looking for more Bad Batch episodes*

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

This one exchange reveals SO much about Emerie's worldview and her perception of herself:

[despondently] "There is nothing I can do. I don't have that kind of power."

If there was ever any doubt that Emerie is an abuse victim, this one line confirms it. She has worked herself up to the position of Chief Scientist, yet she still feels powerless. (And I can't blame her, given that she's still under Hemlock's thumb and even the commanders won't listen to her telling them not to attack a child... But it's really a vicious cycle, where Emerie doesn't recognize her own authority so no one else does either.)

Interesting that Nala Se, the one who raised Emerie as a "specimen" and then "discarded" her, ends up being the one to challenge her perspective: "Don't you?"

[verycorrect-tbbquotes]

Hemlock: That’s it. Clone, you were about to get it! [about to punch Omega]

Omega: Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

Hemlock: What?

Omega: I’m baby.

Hemlock: What the fuck is that?! [going to punch Omega]

Nala Se: Hey stop, wait. You can’t do that.

Hemlock: What?!

Nala Se: She’s baby! You can’t- you can’t just do that.

Omega: [pulls a raspberry at Hemlock]

Hemlock: You fucking-?!

Nala Se: Yeah, well, she’s baby, so-