badbatch-badfics

[badbatch-badfics]

Tech x Male Mandalorian Reader; Kar'taylir Darasuum Gar

Characters: Mainly Tech, little snippets of the rest of the Batch.

Relationship: All platonic buddies, except for Tech near the end.

POV: 2nd (you/yours)

Pronouns: He/him

Species: Unmentioned, but you have a normal "human" head (so no horns, lukku, etc.)

Content: Angst to fluff, get really hurt (literally) and then comfort. You're an idiot who can't confess unless their life depends on it.

Warnings: Description of injury and cleaning wounds(ish). Some throwing up blood ig. Cringe lol

Notes: Fem aligned and/or women can interact, but please be respectful. This is a MLM x reader fic. Don't be weird. Thanks. "Kar'taylir darasuum gar" means "love you" in Mando'a- I couldn't find the equivalent for "I." Also- I’m in the progress of making a version for each Batch member 👍

Word count: 5,364

You sat in the co-pilot’s chair, arms crossed and leaning back.  Tech sat in the pilot’s chair, tinkering with some self-made miniature droid.  Everyone else was asleep, Echo in his hammock, Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair each in their respective bunks.  The ship was decently quiet, except for Wrecker’s occasional snoring, which, honest to Kad Ha'rangir, sounded like a Venator class star-destroyer powering up.  Contrasting the man’s tremendous snores, the hyper-drive produced a nice and constant low hum, with beeps sounding out every once in a while.  Tech’s screws and wrenches would clang out, and the sound of sparks would startle you into a more awake state each time it occurred.

Although there was no way he could know, seeing as your helmet was facing directly out the view-port, you were staring from the corner of your eyes.  Hard.  The way he effortlessly moved his fingers across the droid, connecting and severing wires from point A to point B, or how the golden sparks would illuminate his face and reflect off his goggles, casting a beautiful glow that you simply couldn’t get enough of.  Truthfully, you couldn’t have been more grateful for your helmet and culture, knowing full well he would have caught on to your… tendencies, and quick, if you didn’t wear it- bearing all your embarrassing expressions out to the world.

You knew it was bad to be feeling like this.  They were in the middle of war, which was no time for romantic relationships.  And, truthfully, you didn’t even know if Tech, or anyone else, liked you.  For all you knew, they simply had high tolerance for annoyingly secretive men they were assigned to work with.  You had always avoided questions about the culture you grew up with, obviously always avoided taking off your helmet, and hardly took off any of your armor- even when it came time to sleep.  Which must have been unsettling for them, or anyone, really, you were sure.  Someone who was highly skilled in fighting, but never took anything off, always electing to remain in the armor that was most certainly not a comfort to sleep in.  And, clearly, the fact that, out of nowhere, the Republic had hired and assigned you to them.  They had every reason not to trust you- or to, at the least, not like you.

And you had no clue what to do to lessen that mistrust.  Telling them about your culture was out of the question- you couldn’t deal with the…issues revolving when, if at all, anyone would be close enough to take off your helmet.  they might think they were close enough, but you didn’t.  Or, even worse, you might think you were close enough, but they didn’t.  And, Kriff, if they caught on to you hypothetically taking off your helmet more around Tech than the others, they would easily piece together your feelings.

But, hey, maybe you were wrong.  Maybe they found you at least somewhat amusing, somewhat useful, somewhat not a nuisance.  And maybe, just maybe, Tech would even feel the same way.  Doubtful, but since when was love logical?  A beep came through, pulling you out of the deep pits of overthinking and alerting Tech.  He lifted up his head, temporarily setting down the project.  Tracing his fingers over the wheel and control-panel.  “We have almost arrived.  Would you go and wake up everyone?”

You stood up, stretching your arms as far as they could go, audibly groaning.  “Sure thing, boss.”  You first walked to Echo, shaking him gently.  He was an easy sleeper, after everything.  Hunter could sleep well once he was in it, but otherwise, his enhanced senses made it difficult.  Crosshair was easy enough, not incredibly difficult, but you wouldn’t wake him up by simply walking around either.  Wrecker, on the other hand, slept like a rock.  You found out within the first week of your stay that his brothers would simply punch Wrecker in the shoulder, hard, to wake him up.  Hunter had explicitly granted you permission to do the same.

That being said, you wound up your arm before slugging Wrecker square in the shoulder, earning a startled grunt from him.  Once he registered what was happening, he lopsidedly smiled and mumbled a good morning of sorts.  After the four men were awake, you headed back to the cockpit, electing a chair further in the back so they could all sit closer- a common practice.  Hunter gave the mission debrief- same old, same old.  Just beat up a bunch of droids, and nothing special about this mission.  Echo and Hunter had a smaller, but more advanced battalion of droids to defeat within the building, so they needed to go radio-silent.  Crosshair and Wrecker would take a larger battalion, as would you and Tech.  After everyone was 100% certain in their role, everyone split up.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Kriff, this was not going well.  Blaster fire everywhere, explosions left and right, and the only Batch member you could see was Tech, double-blasting his way through any droid he saw.  You used a batch of whistling birds, each miniature missile hitting its mark.  Not that the few dozen marks did much damage against the entire droid battalion circling you two.  You reached for the pouch on your hip, which carried the multitude of bombs and droid poppers necessary for war.  Much to your dismay, there was only one bomb left.  And for better or worse, it was a giant bomb.  It would be incredibly difficult to evade- for both you and the droids.  It was designed with the intent of being far above the enemy- not 10 feet away from them.  But this was your only chance- if you could pair the main explosion and send out half a dozen droid poppers while the rest of them were distracted- it would be a victory.  And perhaps if you could run fast enough, dive, and get as many droids behind you to take the majority of the impact- perhaps you’d make it out relatively unscathed.

And, not that in a million light years would you ever admit it, the most important part- Tech would be safe if you pulled off this stunt.  You’d be able to get rid of at least one third of the droids with the large bomb alone, and sending out droid poppers in every direction during that opening would eliminate, at minimum, three quarters of the remaining droids.  All in all, Tech would have only a handful of clankers left, he would be safe, and the mission objective would be claimed as a victory.  Might as well.

“Run south!” you shouted over the blaster fire, instructing Tech.  For a split second he thought to question you, but decided against it.  He knows what he’s doing, and there’s no time to object, he concluded.  Tech sent a nod your way before running, still blasting his way through what was close.  As soon as he was out of range, you pulled the bomb from the waist pouch.  Maker, did you hope this will work.  You stared at the bomb, hoping you would be shown mercy, as if the bomb was a sentient being capable of choosing who to blast and who to not.  With a remorseful sigh, already having spent too long wondering and not doing, you reared your arm back and threw the ball as far as physically capable.

As soon as the sphere of mass destruction left your hand, you bolted- sending out droid poppers in different directions every few seconds, hoping to any god or higher being that they would take the majority of the impact, and not you.

Unfortunately, any and all higher beings seemed to be tastefully against you today.  You felt the heat and force before you heard it.  A stinging sensation sprung throughout your entire body, sending you crashing forward, groaning.  Apparently, you were not far away enough, and there were not enough droids to take the majority of the impact.  Kriff.  There was an excruciating ringing in your ears, or head-?  You weren’t sure, but it was loud and annoying as hell.  The last droid popper rolled from your palm, effectively killing off the half-dozen clankers headed over.

Although it was primarily obscured by the horrendous ringing in your ears, you could pick up faint sounds of blaster fire and metallic bodies hitting the ground.  You shakily got on your hands and knees, one arm clenched tightly over the stomach region, and lifted your head, groaning.  Although it was incredibly difficult to make out in this delirious state, you saw Tech running towards you.  He’s safe, was all you could think.  The mission was a success and he was safe, what else could someone ask for?  With that, there was no longer any reason to stay awake.

You promptly collapsed onto the cold ground, rolling over, hand still clutched.  You were coughing up blood, which just fell back down to your helmet and mouth, casing your cheeks and lips.  “Y/N!” Tech yelled, attempting to keep you awake and responsive- not his most successful attempts. You felt him lift your body upwards, examining the damage.  A shattered off droid piece had pierced through your abdomen, front to back.  Blood coated your armor, turning it from (color) to a dark ugly mess of browns and reds.  His eyes trailed over you, ever worried.  He and his brothers had never faced such an extreme injury, except for Wrecker’s large scar on his head.

“I need to take off your helmet.  I can hear you coughing up blood,” Tech informed.  You attempted to push him off, delirious of the extremity of the situation.  You were not ready to cross that bridge yet.  Tech felt bad, he did.  Even though he couldn’t possibly understand why a culture would not allow someone to simply remove a helmet, he would respect it, and he would respect you.  But in a situation like this, it truly didn’t matter.  If your helmet didn’t come off, you'd drown in your own blood before dying of the shrapnel was even a possibility.

“That was not a request, it was me informing you of what I’m going to do.”  You wanted to give him a smart-ass response, truly, but you couldn’t speak coherently, let alone think of one.  Accepting defeat in this minor battle, your head lolled back into his palm, coughing once again.  He placed his hand under your chin, just on the edge of the helmet, and carefully lifted.  The helmet hissed as he pulled it off, and your eyes squinted harshly at the bright light, now surrounding you from all sides, not just the visor.  This was not how you wanted him to see your face.

Tech grimaced.  Clear from the blood and sweat caking your mouth and cheeks, you had already coughed up a large amount of blood, and he highly doubted it’d be stopping anytime soon.  “Okay…I’m going to move you to that rock over there- you need to be more vertical than horizontal if I am to treat your injuries.”  A mumble was the only response he got.  Tech put his hand on your back, roping underneath your arm.  Using his other arm to support your lower back, he lifted, and despite all his effort in being gentle, it didn’t do much.  Even though the rock in question was only, at most, twenty feet away, it seemed like an impossible task.

With each step, despite Tech supporting the majority of your weight, it felt like another piece of droid shrapnel shooting though you.  Everything became more fuzzy by the second, dizziness overcoming you.  “We are almost there,” he said, observant of your worsening state.  After what felt like an eternity, you had arrived at the large rock.  He turned you around and gently placed you on the rock, blood coating his armor.

Reaching to his waist pockets, Tech pulled out a pair of tweezers, a large roll of bandages, and bacta-spray.  “I will cut space around your chest plate and clothing.  Do not move.”  You groaned, looking up at the sun.  Perhaps you shouldn’t have done the “throw a bomb and hope you outrun it to save someone else’s skin” plan.  Now you’d need a new chest plate and under-armor clothing.  Fantastic.  Tech pulled out a new set of tools, all to cut the chest plate.  Luckily, the hole was jagged and cracked, so finding a good place to further the diameter would not be incredibly difficult.

Tech carefully pulled out bits of the chest plate, making the hole larger by the second.  Unfortunately, him cutting that close, despite his best efforts, still applied far more pressure than you would like on your wound.  It was not a pleasant experience, to say the least.

“I am finished cutting around the front of your chest plate,” he said, breaking the tense silence.

“Okay…” you breathed out, voice shaky and dry.  He looked at you with pity before quickly tearing through the cloth, all too close to the droid bit.  He noticed your extreme uncomfort, face scrunched up, trying not to cry.  He felt pity towards you, but there was no time for any of that.  If he wasn’t quick and adequate, you could very well die.  Tech’s point was emphasized by another fit of blood coming up, some blood dripping on his armor as your head came forward.

He grimaced, using his thumb in a feeble attempt to wipe off the new blood.  “Can you lean forward while I cut open your back?” he asked, unsure whether or not it would be required to fully turn you around.  “Mhm…I think I can manage,” you mumbled, barely above a whisper and hardly intelligible.  You rocked forward, arms outstretched to hold up your weight.  Tech carefully moved behind you before repeating the process.

Eventually, Tech deemed the cloth and armor to be far away enough from the droid.  He would pull out the droid, then fully take off your armor and clothing, apply bacta-spray, and wrap you up.  Once you were on the ship, he could dig out any excess sharpanel.  Then everything would be fine.  He concluded that the best way to get it out was to not let you know.  He deduced that you were, more than likely, not thinking rationally- and even if you were injured, you were still heavily trained, and he didn’t want to risk you trying to push him off if there was a warning for what was to come.  To be fair, doing it suddenly would surprise you, which wouldn’t be much better, but your reaction time was certainly delayed, so it was still the best option.

“Lean back.”  You obliged, hitting the back of the rock and letting your head fall backwards.  While you were still looking upwards, he gripped the droid piece with both hands.  Pulling hard was most certainly not the best option, but he had already spent too much time clearing the space, and there was no equipment for performing the removal in a safe manner.  You would have to deal with it.

Tech pulled on the droid, and he pulled hard.  Your eyes went wide, and you lurched forward, hands grasping at the wound.  Short, ragged breaths filled the sound of the field, paired with the metallic clattering of the droid being tossed aside.  Tech cupped your face in his hands, looking into your eyes.  If you weren’t in so much agony, you would’ve been a flustered, blubbering mess.  “Hold still and do exactly as I tell you.  I need to dig out the smaller shrapnel, but the bleeding must stop soon.  There can be no distractions.”

At this point, you could hardly respond, choking on any words you attempted to form.  Now that the droid was removed, Tech could slip your chest plate off.  “Put your arms up and do not take them down until both your chest plate and clothing have been removed.”  Vision blurry and shaky, you lifted your arms despite them feeling like a hundred pounds each.  Quickly, Tech pulled up on your chest plate, immediately discarding it among the other debris in the field.  Following immediately after, he lifted up your shirt, slightly more conscious of the injury since the cloth was brushing directly against it.

As soon as he finished discarding your shirt, your hands fell limp once again, and you collapsed onto the rock.  Tech quickly doused the affected area with bacta-spray, not particularly caring if it got it more space than needed.  He needed to be quick, and there would be more time later to fix everything.  He positioned himself behind you, legs wrapped around to give you support as he cleaned the back, making sure to wipe off any large chunks of dirt or pieces of rock.  After your back and front were successfully doused in bacta, he re-positioned himself and you.

He moved about two feet away from the rock, legs straddling your waist.  He had turned you around, eyes meeting each other once more.  Your arms were gripping his shoulders, shaking with every breath.  Tech carefully reached around and grabbed the bandages, unfurling them.  He started at your waistline, moving upwards with each layer of binding.  He would carefully glance over your shoulder and angle himself to see your back to ensure it was all going smoothly- or, at least, as smooth as something like this could go.  The bandages had finally reached above your wound, before reaching over your shoulder for extra support and coming back down for a double layer.  Despite the wrappings having been on for less than ten minutes, the blood was already tainting the once white fabric.

“I am finished,” Tech spoke, finishing off the last layer and grabbing your waist to pull you closer.  He carefully grabbed his comm to relay his position and the situation to the rest of the Batch.  He knew it would have been useless to comm beforehand, as Hunter and Echo were radio-silent while Wrecker and Crosshair were dealing with a smaller squadron of droids.  But now that you were safe- or as safe as possible considering everything- and the rest of the Batch had their objectives completed, he could call them.

“Hunter, I need a pickup at the valley in between the two ridges where the droid squadron was.  Immediately- (Y/N) has been injured.  I have applied bacta and bandages, but it is not adequate.  We must get to proper medical care as quickly as possible.”

“Got it, Tech.  We’re on our way, just hang on,” Hunter replied, voice glitchy and faded out through the comm.  Tech pulled you closer, your head resting on his shoulder.  He placed his hands on your infraspinatus, rubbing small circles in them repeatedly.  The telltale humming of the Marauder approached, blocking out the sun and casting a shadow over the field.  The ship turned to its side before touching down about ten feet away, ramp opening.  Wrecker ran out, panic clearly written on his face.  He slowed down as he approached you, face falling more by the second.

“Wrecker, be careful around his abdomen, that is where the implication occurred.  Do not run or jostle (Y/N) too much, he can not sustain any more injuries than what he already has.”  Wrecker nodded in understanding before gently picking you up, hands under your thighs.  He placed your head in the crook of his neck, out of respect for you never taking off the helmet and hiding your face.  Your arms were draped over his back, bouncing with each step he took, despite the effort to be more gentle.

With a tired groan, you lifted your head up, eyes peering over Wreckers shoulder to be met with Tech’s.  He had stood up and taken off his helmet, the light gray armor tainted and stained with your blood.  You felt the incline of the ramp as Wrecker entered the Marauder, and the sounds of scattered feet and clattering could be heard.  Shortly after Wrecker had entered the ship, Tech followed suit, your helmet and chest plate in hand.  “Tech, what’s the deal with (Y/N)?  What do we need to do?”

“(Y/N) threw a bomb which effectively killed off the majority of the droid army, but was hit with debris in his escape.  He was regurgitating blood and had a large piece of a droid lodged in his abdomen.  I…have cleaned the wound, albeit quickly and not as efficiently as I would have hoped.  Clearly, I have bandaged him and removed the primary source of implication, but did not have time to adequately search through for smaller pieces of shrapnel.  We should not remove his bandages until we are on Kamino.  Someone should be watching him for the duration of the trip until we arrive, and we should attempt to minimize his sleeping until he has proper medical care.”

As Tech explained the situation, Wrecker re-positioned you into a more “bridal style” carrying, before gently setting you down on his bed and slipping his arms out from underneath you, all while avoiding your face.  Your head was propped up on Lula, and Wrecker draped a blanket over your body, the edge draping off the bunk.  He stood still for a second, glancing around nervously.  Tech came up behind him, placing a hand on Wrecker’s shoulder.  “Go in the cock-pit and help with the course.  I will stay here to ensure everything is alright.  There is no need to worry.  If I do require aid, I will request it.”  Wrecker glanced past his shoulder at his brother, sending a short smile of thanks before hurrying off to the cock-pit.  Tech carefully sat down on the edge of Wrecker’s bed, just beside your feet.  The bed made a small creaking noise and dipped ever so slightly.  Tech sighed, back slouching.  He glanced once more at your form, eyebrows furrowed.  You two would be having quite the serious conversation later.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hunter walked up to the bunk, staring before finally saying something.  “Tech- we’re coming into Kamino.  Take the wheel and comm in (Y/N)’s situation.  I’ll get him prepped and Wrecker will carry him till the medical team shows up.”  Tech nodded in agreement and stood up, walking to the cock-pit.  Hunter glanced down at you, avoiding your face.  He had a few of his spare bandannas in hand, ready to wrap up the majority of your face out of respect.  It wouldn’t be perfect by any means, but any face covering would be better than nothing for you, he reasoned.  Trying his best not to look, Hunter lifted up your head and placed four bandannas on it- two on your forehead, and just one each for your nose bridge and chin.  As soon as your face was covered, he re-angled himself to tie the knot behind your head.

After your face was covered as well as anyone would do while still minimizing the risk of further complications, he carefully pulled the blanket away and lifted you up, cautious of the injury.  He stayed with you until Wrecker and Tech came, the ship having landed.  “There should be medical personnel on their way.  I requested that a droid be the one to attend to (Y/N)’s injuries, but whether or not they listened is… uncertain,” Tech said, glancing over at you, worry evident by the slight crease in his eyes and furrow of his eyebrows.  Hunter was slightly surprised at his brother’s concern for your culture.  There was no reason to explicitly request for a droid, but he did so nonetheless.  Usually, Tech would not have cared for such things- so long as the objective was completed and no-one was severely harmed, what did it matter if some cultural lines were crossed?

Hunter’s thoughts were interrupted by Wrecker picking you up bridal style once again, head draped back and arms dangling.  His loud stomps echoed through the metal corridor, and it was all Tech could focus on.  Which had never happened before- just focusing on one thing and one thing alone.  But here he was, watching Wrecker exit the Marauder, you in hand- unclear if you would survive, and the only thing he was aware of was the echoing of Wrecker’s footsteps, you disappearing along with them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tech waited anxiously outside the med-bay door, leg bouncing up and down.  The halls were quiet and deserted, only a lone wandering Kaminaon or clone every dozen or so minutes.  Tech didn’t know if he preferred the silence or the possibility of crowded and loud halls, people shoving past each other non-stop.  He was fairly sure they were both equally terrible options.  Hunter had stayed with him a while, but he needed to get back to the rest of the squad- Tech didn’t blame him.  He held your helmet in his hands, looking over every detail- every mark, burn, dent, scratch, paint chip, design and patterns and colors- everything.  Although, logically, he knew it was very likely that either you or one of his brothers, or himself, would die in this line of work, knowing about it didn’t quite reach the same levels as nearly experiencing it.

The doors slid open, AZ emerging.  Tech immediately sat straight up, more alert than ever.  Before he could even begin asking questions, AZ began speaking.  “(Y/N) (L/N) will fully recover within about 8 rotations.  He is no longer bleeding and all sharnale has been removed and the wound has been treated.  He is to remain on bed-rest until I give the say so.”  Tech didn’t even bother to respond, all he could do was practically jump into the room and land beside your bed.  You looked up at him, trying your best to smile- he was not amused.  In fact, Tech was at a loss for words.  Tech was never at a loss for words.

Actually, scratch all of that.  Tech had an abundance of words for you.  That much was obvious by the way his face went from “soft and glad you were okay” to his signature “are you kriffing kidding me?” look with an extra splash of anger.  Your smile immediately fell.

“What were you thinking- I mean, you decided to throw a bomb which you had no chance of outrunning and for what?  That was the most illogical and poorly thought out plan I have ever seen, and I have seen some very stupid things.”  It was clear he had more to say, but he figured he’d save it for another time.  Tech glared at you for a second longer before pulling up a chair beside the bed.

He let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.  ��You…are intelligent enough to have realized the risks.  Just explain why you took such… idiotic ones.”

Silence.  “I…I figured that if… you could get out of range, that would be enough.  I would throw the bomb and get far away enough to survive, taking out any more droids in the escape.  Then, you’d be… fine.  I mean, the odds weren’t exactly in our favor, Tech- we were losing that battle- hard.  We’d probably both be dead if I hadn’t done what I did.”  Tech glanced down, thinking over your words.  As much as he hated to admit it- you were right.  There may have been another way he would’ve come up with to save your hides, but at the moment- your actions did save them.

“I… am sorry I saw your face.  Although I do not understand why a culture would prohibit someone from showing their face- I respect you, and so I do apologize.  If it is any consolation, I requested droids only for the medical staff, and Hunter had wrapped up your face as much as he could.  Nobody really saw your face- just small fragments of it- except for me, obviously.”

You were silent, bandaged and calloused hands wringing around each other.  “It’s… it’s alright.  In my Clan, you are allowed to take off your helmet with… certain people.  Those you consider… close.  You can take off the helmet around those types of people.”  You glanced up, eyes just barely meeting.  He gulped nervously.  No-one outside of his brothers had ever considered him close- and if his hypothesis was right- this type of “close” you were describing was most certainly new- not the type of bond one shares with his brothers.

“Are you… implying that you have a romantic interest in me, (Y/N)?” Tech asked cautiously, as though each word represented him taking another step closer to the edge of a thousand-foot drop.

“Is that alright?” you asked tentatively, turning to properly face him, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“Well… it is not standard military protocol to… intermingle.”  Your gaze fell downwards, grimacing.  So much for a confession.

Then he continued.  “But we have never been ones to follow protocol.”  Your mouth went slightly agape, and you looked back up at him.  Your eyes met each other, and he smiled.  He didn’t smile often.  Tech reached out hesitantly and grabbed your hand, rubbing circles in it.  You placed your free hand on his, like a weird romantic sandwich, and let your head fall back, closing your eyes in satisfaction.

“Y’know- if I knew all it would take to confess and know you reciprocated was to have a near-death experience, I would've done it way before.”

Tech jumped back slightly- “‘All it would take?’” he asked, mocking you.  His eyes were wide in disbelief at your disregard for such an event.  His face was absolutely golden, and you started laughing- evidently, far too much since within a few seconds you were clutching your side in pain.  Tech now wore a mixture of his “I told you so” and “that was not amusing” faces, judging you heavily.

"Regardless, AZ informed me that you would need an 8-day bed rest.  And as you do not contain your own proper sleeping area, you may share with me.  This way I can closely monitor you at the same time.  It will be greatly beneficial.”

You cocked your eyebrow, looking directly at him.  “If you wanted to cuddle, you could’ve just said so.”

“If you are to keep up this behavior in my sleeping quarters, I will not hesitate to kick you out- both figuratively and literally.  Perhaps I’ll just make your “visiting time” as terrible as possible.  I am not above such actions.”  You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes in a playful manner.

“Here- I made certain that I had kept your helmet.  The chest plate was practically unsalvageable, but it is currently on the Marauder.  Although you are… comfortable without it around me, it seems, I assumed you would want it for the walk back.  Am I correct?”

“You're always correct, and you know that.  Thank you, Tech.”  You carefully slid the detailed helmet on your head, somewhat sad.  Although it was clear that you would need to wear it in the halls and in front of his brothers, you still felt sad you two couldn’t enjoy more time, faces and secrets and emotions and everything exposed for the better.  You let the brief moment of sadness wash over- it was better to be grateful.  I mean, Tech reciprocated!  You couldn’t have asked for anything better.

“Let me assist you in getting up- you are most certainly not fit to walk by yourself,” he said.  You obliged, his arms coming up underneath your armpits and hauling you off the bed.  You quickly found your grounding, and swung an arm around Tech’s shoulders.  You two trudged down the long and barren halls of Kamino until reaching your designated barracks, pausing slightly at the door.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt such joy.  You looked at Tech, dark visor meeting his yellow-orange tinted goggles.  “Kar'taylir darasuum gar.”  Tech knew what it meant.  He didn’t need his fancy language visor to tell him what you said.  You loved him and he loved you.  And that’s all that really mattered.  He smiled at you once more before the door opened, Wrecker immediately shouting in joy that you were safe and sound.  Everything would be alright from here on out, war be damned.

[badbatch-badfics]

i’m gonna make a tech x male mando reader (and probally the same thing for all of the batch), but how would yall want the mandolorian culture to effect the reader?

no helmet removal at all will probally have more angst, where as ‘free to go’ closes a certain window, but the mixture allows for angst AND bond building and admitting feelings

[badbatch-badfics]

Thief (TBB x Male Reader) Part 1

Characters: TBB + Phee, but it's mainly you stealing from them for 90% of it

Relationship: Enemies

POV: 2nd (you/yours)

Pronouns: He/him. The horn pattern (as in thick or thin lines defining your sex) and the hair color are not mentioned, so it's trans-inclusive as far as Imps go lmfao. 

Species: Helluva Boss type Imp- imagined the Imps with digitigrade legs and claws for your legs, and I haven't watched Helluva in a whileeeee.  Like, at least a year or more.  Nothing about Hell is mentioned, so you're just another species, so to speak.  Also, you obviously have red skin.  But I occasionally put in a [shade] so it’s not totally limited and you can still be you (more or less). 

Content: You’re stealing shit??

Warnings: You stealing shit, Wrecker throws you, Hunter threatens you. Cringe lol

Word count: 2,588

You glanced around the pub, checking on the targets for what felt like the millionth time.  When will they get moving?  Your employer had sent you on a rather vague mission, ordering you to scrounge “anything that seemed of value,” and to “keep an eye out for a band of four adult men and one little girl.”  Unspecified by your employer, there was another member- an adult woman, a pirate, so it would seem.  Apparently, if you could lose the little misfit band and find their ship, it would hold wonders of great value- credit wise.  A war modified Omicron class attack shuttle, with more war supplies inside- enough for four men and a child- would be a complete jackpot.  And, Maker, were you thankful.  Even if you didn’t get the direct riches, the reputation and rank would more than suffice.

Obviously, any jackpot is rather risky, and you were not looking forward to it.  That much was evident by the swaying and twitching of your tail.  But, hey, if you could do it well, there would be an abundance of awards.  But before anyone could make a grab for anything, you needed to make sure they were far away from the ship- which would be far easier if your employers had provided some help.  But, to be fair, since when was anyone's employer ever fair?

Finally, the group got up and left- the young girl happily skipping along, talking about heading to the market to buy an assortment of small trinkets.  Perfect.  You waited a few minutes until they were certainly gone before heading up to the bar, credits in hand.  “So…” you began, “That group- the one with the big guy, droid guy, skull tattoo, googles, the pirate, and a little girl- you know who I mean?”  The Twi’lek bartender nodded his head, lekku slightly bobbing.

“Fantastic, now, for some extra credits, would you be so kind as to point me in their ship’s direction, and perhaps access to the lot…?”  That was certainly the most inconvenient part about the job- the ships’ 'parking’ spaces had fields around them, and you needed the key to get in.  Keys that only the ship’s owner and the bartender had access to.  The Twi’lek raised an eyebrow- unfortunately for you, he seemed to have decent morals.  At least, decent enough to question a rather suspicious looking stranger asking for access to someone else’s ship.  You sighed, and began to explain- “I’m not going to do anything harmful, it’s just a simple grab and retreat- you can watch me through the security cams, or even come with me!  I’m a thief, not a killer, or any other bad things.  Just a thief.  Which is pretty ironic sounding, I know.”  You flashed a smile, trying to appear more honest and trustworthy.  Not that you were lying, anyway.

The Twi’lek scrunched his eyes in contemplation, slowly rubbing one of the dirty glasses.  You were leaning forward, eyes wide, tail swishing in excitement.  Finally, he sighed, before turning to grab the keys to the Marauder.  You quickly slid the credits over, flashing an incredibly toothy grin.  “Remember I am watching you.  If anything happens other than some petty thievery- you won’t be making it out of here in one piece,” he warned, accusingly glaring while pointing the not-at-all threatening cleaning rag at you.

“Trust me, I won’t hurt anyone!  Except for their pockets, I suppose- ha!”  The Twi’lek sighed before explaining the directions to get there, and how to work with the keys.  He shortly returned to his work, as you happily bounded out before remembering to be discreet.  You ducked and swerved, squeezed into tight spaces, hopped over a few fences, and other tasks that were annoying, sure, but not difficult in any way.  Finally, the docking lot came into view, the Marauder in the center, taking up all the glory.  Before stepping into the port, you looked around, pulling down scanner goggles, easily locating all the cameras.  You had said that the bartender could watch you, so scrambling the cameras for the long-run was a no-go.  But, perhaps, you could manage to short them out for only a minute or two, or scramble all of them except the camera over your target.  Keep the promise, and all.

You fished around in your pockets and pouches, seeing what trinkets could be of help.  There must be some sort of protection against scrambling devices, if you could just… “HA!  Yes, this will do,” you whisper-shouted triumphantly, holding up a little stick on device you had crafted yourself, many rotations ago, just in case of a situation like this.  You smiled triumphantly, perhaps feeling too much pride given the circumstances.  You waited for the cameras to drift away before jumping up onto the fence, using your tail to help balance, before jumping up the wall.  Thankfully, whoever designed the lot wanted it to be pretty, considering the intricate carvings swirling here and there.  Unfortunately for the designer, though, anyone with enough claws and skill could use the indents to scale their way up or across the compound- and you had plenty of both.

Carefully, you made your way across until there was a large horizontal pole with a label for the row.  Angling yourself, you quickly leaped and grabbed the pole, swinging before bringing up your legs and balancing on it, one hand wrapped around, the other holding the small device.  Squinting your eyes and focusing, your arm drew back, everything carefully placed.  Then, with a quick motion, you threw the device, which immediately stuck to the camera observing the Marauder.  Grinning, you fished out the scrambling devices, and its remote.  One by one, you tossed the scramblers across the compound, surrounding the perimeter.  As soon as your [shade] red finger touched the button, electricity sparks flew and the cameras slumped down, utterly defeated.  It was almost too easy, which never happened.  There was always some bizarre twist- employers never gave the full story.  You’ll worry about that later.

You wrapped your tail around the pole repeatedly, before lunging down, hands extended to catch your fall.  Quickly bounding back up, you looked around once more before sprinting to the ship.  Looking over your shoulder every five seconds, you inserted the key and twisted it, bringing the field down with a triumphant smile.  You quickly scraped off the plate covering the wires to open the ramp, claws leaving dents.  Well, that’s inconvenient- now they’ll know someone was here- if they’re smart, anyway.  A problem for tomorrow.  Or the next hour, or whenever they show up- especially if the bartender would rat out the plan.  Maybe you shouldn't have compromised with him, promising to let him keep some view on you, ready to give information to the owners of the ship.  Yeah, you would definitely need to get off of this planet soon, especially since your appearance was… unique, to say the least- but it did help that your striped horns were covered, but the long red tail certainly didn't help.

You began hot-wiring the ramp cords, pulling and plugging and making electric connections from one to another, until a satisfying hiss escaped and the ramp began unfolding.  The lights in the ship activated, making the ramp look like some blessed trip to paradise, war equipment and Maker knows what else, all ripe for the taking.  You bounded up the ramp, tail swishing back and forth rapidly in excitement.  Your hand twisted up to grab the large sack from your back, opening it up and getting ready to completely loot the place.

Running back and forth through the ship, you collected bombs, blasters, bits of armor, rations, and what appeared to be someone’s… arms and legs- or, at least, spares.  There was one pair of legs, with a spare foot, and two different arm types- one resembling an actual arm, and the other one seemed to possess a number of tools.  They all looked like they were a work in progress, someone making upgrades to it all, perhaps making  different aspects specific to certain goals or terrain.  You hesitated, arm hovering out.  I mean, it would be pretty cruel to take someone's legs and arms…but the employer would be thrilled…  Sighing, you took the arm with the tools, and left all the other artificial limbs.

You continued forward, picking up a spare set of goggles and a data-pad left on one of the top bunks.  On the other side, one of the bunks held several vibro-knives, which you quickly grabbed.  Those were valuable, and there were no guilty feelings involved- win win.  For you, anyway.  Certainly not the group you were stealing from.  The bag feeling was heavy in your hands, so you figured it was time to bail.  There was enough stuff in here to last you forever- or rather, your employer.  Shame you couldn't just drop out, that the employer would hunt you down and then some.

You tightly sealed the bag, and slung it over your back before walking out to the ramp.  Before stepping out completely, you looked, listened, and smelled for any sign of life, or even some sort of droid under their command.  Nothing was noteworthy, so you put one clawed foot in front of the other as you descended the ramp, quickly un-doing the hot-wiring from before.  It certainly wasn’t a clean job, but you should be able to get out of there before anyone comes back.  Hopefully.

You quickly retraced your steps, until you were far away from the docking lot, and far away from any possibility of the group tracking you.  Again, hopefully.  You carefully made your way to your designated escape escort, being sure to check if anyone suspicious, especially the group you’d just looted, was close behind.  Finally, the view of the transport ship was in sight, the escort waiting, rather impatiently, a scowl on her face as her foot bounced about a ‘hundred miles an hour.  “Sorry I’m late,” you huffed out, lugging the bag into the ship.  “They took forever and then some to leave, and the bartender had better morals than the average- had to plead my innocence- well, my ‘I won’t harm anyone, just their pockets,’ type innocence.”  All she did was grunt back, clearly disinterested.  “Okay, whatever…” you mumbled, sheepishly looking for a place to sit.  Clearly she didn’t care why someone was late, only that they were.  Which was rather annoying, it’s not like them taking forever was your fault.

You quickly settled down into the seat, pulling a latch over yourself as a form of comfort.  Giant hunks of metal soaring through the empty and cold vacuum that was space, in which you would immediately die if suscepted to with no gear, was not your ideal method of transportation.  The ship shook as the engine powered on, the vibration only increasing as it lost contact with the solid ground.  Your hands flew to the sides on the restraint bar, gripping them as hard as possible.

Soon enough, after the ship had left the atmosphere, things calmed down- no more shaking or weird creaking.  Just silence.  It was unclear if noise, or the lack of, was creepier.  Oh well.  You slowly unlatched the bar, figuring that if the ship were to explode in the middle of space, it wouldn't matter if you were strapped in or otherwise.  Carefully standing up, using the wall as support, you began a miniature exploration expedition.  A very miniature one, considering it was just the room you were in and one to the left, the only ones which you had been granted access to.  You were tired, and perhaps the other room had a bed.  Or at least some blankets you could toss together and call a nest.

You opened the door, entering the access code, and much to your complete disappointment- it was empty.  Utterly, completely, so-very, empty.  A deep sigh escaped your lips, shoulders slumping in sync.  So much for that 10-step trip.  You sharply turned around, tail swishing in a mixture of annoyance and boredom.

Unfortunately, before you could make it two steps away, a rough hand grabbed the nape of your neck, hauling you upwards and turning you back to face the assaulter.  A sharp cry escaped, and you pulled your legs and tail into each other, trying to become a small ball hanging involuntarily by the giant mass of a man.  A man, you realized with horror, who was part of the group you had just looted.  That was bad.  You sheepishly raised one hand to wave, smiling in the most last-ditch effort to save your red hide.  Before you could get any pleas out, he roughly tossed you, twisted his own body for extra momentum.  You landed, hard, against the metal wall, black blood trailing down your nose.  A rough cough came out, followed by a copious amount of saliva.  Your hand reached up to wipe it off, the other one underneath you to provide some balance as you were down on knees, tail curling in front- a feeble attempt to look menacing.

Looking around, you took in the four adult men- but the adult woman and little girl were nowhere to be seen.  Made sense, considering the attire between the group.  The four men were dressed in armor, like soldiers, whereas the other two had general attire with a few handy trinkets or weapons.  I guess these four do the more ‘beat-up-people’ focused work…

“Nice surprise, right?” said the one with a half-and-half black and white helmet, a red stripe going down the middle.  “Didn’t expect us to know about your little plan, did ya?”  Half-and-half approached, unsheathing a vibro-knife.  That wasn’t good.  You scrambled up, backing into the wall, a desperate and toothy smile plastered on your face, despite the watering in your eyes.  The one with the goggles backed off, presumably to grab the loot.  That was extra not good.  “Was it the Twi’lek bartender?  Did he rat me out?” you asked, voice cracking, still holding that desperate smile.  Before you died, you at least wanted to know what went wrong that led to this, your ultimate demise in a, truthfully, not all that long career of crime.

Half-and-half bent down, and lifted your head up by the horns, holding the blade to your neck.  Your heart rate spiked, chest rising and falling far faster than any chest ever should.  “Technically, we got to him first.  Told him to let you loot us.  Told this ship’s pilot to do what we say.  And after we land, you’ll be taking us directly to your employer.  Got it?” he loathed, voice all the more terrifying under the helmet.  Your yellow eyes, scrunched and watering, reflected perfectly back in his visor, making the entire situation all the more real and terrifying.  You shakily nodded, agreeing in full.  “Good,” he spoke firmly, pulling the blade away from your neck and twirling it back into its sheath.  He dropped your horns, and you slumped backwards, a shaky breath exuding.

He stood up, signaling something to the other men, and they all began to turn around and walk out.  You cautiously opened your eyes, only to be met with everyone leaving- you quickly scrambled, and attempted to tell them to wait, but it was to no avail- Goggles was already losing the door.  An echo sounded through the room, leaving you alone, your eyes comically glowing administ the pitch black, ragged breathing filling the room.  This was so, very, not good.

[badbatch-badfics]

Padawan (TBB x Male Reader) Part 2

Part 1

Characters: The Bad Batch - Cross hair + Cid.

Relationship: All platonic

POV: Only 2nd (you/yours)

Pronouns: he/him

Species: Unspecified

Content: Smidge of angst and worry, but mainly found family growing into fluff

Warnings: General TBB stuff, a little bit about Order 66. Cringe lol.

Word Count: 2,796

Notes: If anyone has any requests/ideas for this 'series,' please let me know! I'd love to learn more about what ya'll like and incorporate it. (and i'll obviously credit you in the notes for whichever part it goes in)

The Bad Batch was sound asleep, exempt from their designated pilot.  Tech was comfortably cruising through hyper-space, multitasking on a new upgrade for Echo’s arm-scomp and watching the scanners.  A light beep alerted him, signaling that they were approaching Ord Mantell.  He lightly pushed his goggles upwards, before pressing a series of buttons.  The Marauder shook as it dropped from hyperspace, the tremors waking Hunter up from his nap in the co-pilot's seat.  He would usually sleep in his bunk until Tech needed a break, but his bunk was… preoccupied, so to speak.

“We close to Ord Mantell, Tech?” Hunter asked groggily, cracking his neck.  “Approximately 11 minutes and 36 seconds until we enter the atmosphere, and then another 23 minutes until we reach the landing pad.  I would begin waking everyone else up.”  With a sign, Hunter stood up, arms reaching far above his head, ever-so-slightly leaning backwards.  He turned around and started heading towards the bunks, wondering how he should go about waking you up.  He didn’t know how much you would remember, and he certainly didn’t want to find out the hard way.

Of course, there was always the option of letting your body wake up on its own time, and just having someone stick with the ship until then, but there was the risk of general clatter and ruckus occurring and startling you awake anyway, which would be a harsh wake-up call, to say the least.  After a second more of contemplation, he finally settled on leaving you be, and simply shushing Wrecker the moment his eyes opened.  He walked up to his brother, shaking his arm.  Wrecker awoke with a large grunt, like an ancient monster waking from a coma in an echoing mountain, before Hunter aggressively shushed him.  He sharply pointed across the walking strip to your body, an absolute tangled mess of limbs and droll.

Wrecker got the hint, making an ‘oohhh’ sound before slowly sitting up, careful to minimize the amount of creaking.  Hunter walked on, heading towards Echo and Omega, shaking them both awake- Omega more gently.  She yawned and stretched, smiling and greeting Hunter, before quickly grabbing her day-clothes before heading off to the fresher to change.  Hunter went back to the cockpit, where his brothers were already making quiet discussions of what to do with you, the ‘teenager-that-had-essentially-magic-powers-and-was-being-hunted.’  Primarily how they would handle Cid.  She tolerated them because they did jobs for her, and they didn’t really matter to the Empire- except for Omega, it was appearing.  But a Padawan?  That would be a lot of credits, and it would put someone on the Empire’s good side- at least for a little bit.  Cid wasn’t above ratting them out for that kind of profit.  Or, at least, she wasn’t above ratting out the Padawan while keeping them away from the Empire’s eyes for the sake of missions.  “Perhaps we can convince Cid that his use in missions, among other things, would outweigh the reward from the Empire.  Even without using the Force in a physical push-and-pull manner, it can still be used for mind tricks, sensing danger, and much more, depending on his skill set.  We could increase our efficiency and time duration of missions greatly, which would hold a great profit for Cid,” Tech explained, preparing for the Marauder to enter Ord Mantell’s atmosphere.

“That's true, but there’s no way to know what Cid will say- if she agrees, great, but if she doesn’t…” Hunter responded, eyes glancing back at your sleeping form as he trailed off.  If they told her about you, and she decided to tell the Empire, then no one would be safe.

“There’s no way for Cid to be kept in the dark long enough to find a better solution, and we can’t exactly just hide a whole person in the Marauder,” Echo added on, waving his scomp-link around the cockpit for emphasis.

“Of course, this is all assuming that (Y/N) will want to remain with us.  He may know someone, or someplace, that is safe.  Additionally, he may even know Cid.  Echo said that she would occasionally report to the Jedi,” Tech countered, briefly glancing back towards his brothers, away from the planet and control panel.  Echo nodded in confirmation.  “Do we…” Hunter trailed off, sighing, and pinched the bridge of his nose, “do we have any place to go if Cid decides to tell the Empire?  Echo, do you know anyone else who would help?”

“Rex, obviously- but he’s more involved with defeating the Empire than we are, so it’d be an extra risk to the kid.  Maybe Cut and Suu, if we can get a hold of them.  But I don’t think either of us want to put that kind of risk on them- not with Jek and Shaeeah.”  Wrecker made a comment of agreement, briefly looking up from his game of Chopsticks with Omega.  A heavy silence fell over the group, uncertainty thick in the air.

“Entering the atmosphere,” Tech reported, breaking the awkward silence.  The Marauder shook as gravity’s presence took its toll.  It settled back down to a smooth ride within a minute, the greens and browns- mainly browns- of Ord Mantell’s natural landscape coming closer.  “I think Cid will understand, plus, like Tech said, (Y/N) can help us out!” Omega added, not looking up from her hands.

Hunter looked down, contemplating.  Would the reward of Cid accepting the kid outweigh the risk of her turning him in to the Empire?  Tech did have a point, your presence would make things go smoother- but if Cid didn’t care about that point?  What then?  Would they be able to escape the Empire, find a new place to settle down- there was bound to be some planet that was safe- but would they find it before the Empire found them?

They could keep you holed up in the ship for a while, but sooner or later, Cid would find out.  And once she found out, that could damage their… relationship, so to speak.  Assuming she wouldn’t tell the Empire immediately, anyway.  So that wouldn’t work either.  There was no good solution, and everyone knew it.  Finally, Hunter spoke up- “Wrecker, Omega, you two stay with (Y/N) and help him with anything- food, water, applying new bandages.  You get the idea.  Echo, you're with me- we’ll get anything we’d need for a long-term stay on the ship; med kits, food, supplies, whatever.  Tech, make sure the ship has enough fuel, and make any necessary fixes.  Don’t let anyone else know.  After you're done, I’ll tell Cid about… the kid.  We’ll see where it goes from there.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Marauder drifted down, landing neatly in the center of the dock.  Tech quickly pulled out his data-pad, scanning for any previously unnoticed internal damage.  Luckily, the report came back negative- as he had guessed, there was no new damage.  Satisfied, he checked the Marauder’s current fuel level, so he’d know when to stop filling.  Tech, Echo, and Hunter exited the Marauder, swiftly closing and securely locking the ramp behind them.

The innards of the Marauder were quiet, Omega and Wrecker not really knowing what to do.  They both sat on the bunk opposite you, staring, just in case you’d wake up and need something.  Wrecker had rations and a water canteen to his left, while Omega had fresh bandages and bacta-spray to her right.  “Uhhh…” Wrecker broke the silence, glancing down at Omega, “do we just… wait for him to wake up?  It feels weird, just staring.”

“I don’t know… on Kamino, we would usually wait, but this is nothing like injured clones on Kamino.”  She sighed, wringing her hands together.  “I just…feel so bad.  I mean, our home was destroyed, but at least we have each other.  (Y/N) doesn’t have anyone, and he’s been alone on that ship since the Empire took over.  I can’t imagine what it must have been like…” 

“Well, at least we found him before the Empire did, and any situation we’re in will probably be better than Bracca.  Plus, he’s probably dead to the Empire, so they won’t be after him!”  Wrecker responded, finding the silver lining.  He and Omega looked at eachother, smiling.  It felt good to help people.

On cue, the blankets opposite the pair began shuffling, a long groan sounding out through the metal walls of the Marauder.  You turned over, eyes droopy and your Padawan braid/beads hanging by the corner of your mouth, covered in drool.  Slowly, you put your weight onto a hand and pushed yourself up, leaning against the back wall of the bunk.  Your head lolled back, another sigh escaping.  Everything hurts.  “Good morning!  Er, afternoon!  You slept forever, little Jedi!” Wrecker enthusiastically shouted, causing you to immediately sit up straight, hand shooting down to your waist for the familiar feeling of your lightsaber, only to be met with nothing.  Kriff.

Wrecker immediately sensed your panic, and put his hands up in an attempt of looking unhostile.  “Don’t worry, you're safe!  We’ve had our heads cut into, so we won’t be doing any of that Order 66 stuff!”  All you could do was stare, a comically surprised expression etched across your face.  He had an interesting way of wording things.

Wrecker stood up and handed you the canteen and ration bad.  “Here, rations and water!  They’re not the best, and we can pick up some better food soon, but I bet you're starved!”  And you were.  True, the mantell mix Omega had gifted you was delicious, but after so long of never having a proper meal, you certainly wouldn’t refuse any more food or water.

“Thank you…”  You glanced down after taking the food, quietly chewing on the ration bar, occasionally taking sips from the canteen.  You were never good socially at the Temple, and you certainly weren't any better at the moment.  Omega asked you some more questions; if there was any pain, did you bleed through any bandages, and such.  You responded in short answers, so quiet she was struggling to pick up what was said.  Eventually, she deemed you healthy- or, at least, as healthy as you could be, given the circumstances.  She stayed with you, telling stories about Kamino and the few trips she’s had away from it.  Mainly, though, she talked about her brothers.

After Maker knows how long, the Marauder’s ramp opened, Tech, Echo, and Hunter coming in, one by one.  Tech was lugging fuel, and the other two held general equipment, food, med-kits, and more.  While Tech didn’t pay as much mind to your waking, Echo and Hunter sure did- Echo more so.

After setting down the cargo, he practically spritened to the bunk you were on, crouching down on one knee and using his scomp-link to lift up your jaw, and do other inspections.  “You need a shower- desperately.  And new clothes, these are completely ruined!  Our old room is nothing compared to this!  Even Fives smelled better!  And you need some proper nourishment- I know how I felt after being in that stasis chamber for so long.  And mantell mix is not nourishment, no matter what Wrecker and Omega tell you, got that?”  He finished his spiel, pointing his scomp-link at you.  “Iba’ oskik’la…”

* (“what a mess” in mando’a)

“Yeah, I think he’s got it, Echo,” Hunter chimed in, smiling.  “C’mon, kid.  I need you to meet someone.  She used to work with the Jedi, so I don’t think she’d do anything.  But, just in case, we have everything ready to go.  And if all goes well, ”  You swallowed, a large lump forming in your throat.  You really hoped she wouldn’t do anything bad- you were already enough of a burden.  You and Hunter walked down the ramp, Omega gleefully waving goodbye.

He could hear your heartbeat, your anxiety- but he didn’t know much on how to help, given the circumstances.  Kriff, you didn't know about the chips until they found you, and he couldn’t imagine what that must have felt like.  When Wrecker had been affected and tried to kill everyone, at least they all knew it wasn’t his fault, that he hadn’t betrayed them, and that he would never try to do that when he was in control.  But you had no clue about any of that.  You thought all the clones who were your friends, or even just ones you were polite with for the sake of being a good person, had all wanted to kill you, and all the other Jedi.  You had thought that for months.  Cursing yourself, wondering why, and if there was anything you could have done differently to prevent it.  And now, irony at its best, you had been rescued by clones, coming to remove their chips.

“We’re on Ord Mantell, by the way… don’t know if anyone told you.  Ever been?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.  You shook your head, eyes darting from sign to sign, stall to stall.  “Most planets I’ve been on, except for Coruscant, were just… military occupations, occasionally the natural landscape of Separatists planets.  Never got to travel outside of that,” you said, still taking in all the colorful decor and people of the city.  “I mean, you know what that’s like, obviously- being a clone and all, you went to the same type of planets I did.  I think, at least.”

Hunter nodded his head in confirmation, not really sure where to go from there.  What you said was pretty accurate, but he felt like he shouldn’t talk about the war much.  And in any case, they were approaching Cid’s.

You and Hunter trotted down the steps, the automatic door sliding open.  Cid’s bar was empty, spare for an Ithorian and Weequay who were bickering over who knows what, and obviously, Cid herself.  You placed yourself behind Hunter, something you would do with your Master during the war to avoid any interaction with… anyone.  Slicing droids was easy, making conversation with soldiers was not.

You slowly glanced around the parlor, taking in anything that could be a trap, or could help you escape if this ‘Cid’ decided she didn’t want a padawan on her doorstop.  Hunter called out for Cid, and the distant sound of claws tapping against the cold, hard floor echoed out.  Emerging from the back rooms was a rather short female trandoshan, a cane gripped in her three claws.

Her eyes went back and forth between your semi-hidden figure and Hunter.  “Where’s the rest of ya?  And who’s that kid in the terrible robes?  They stink.”  There was an obvious scowl on her face, her left brown rose in an annoyed and questioning manner.

Hunter took a deep breath, and then- “He’s… a Padawan.”  Cid’s brows rose, and then lowered into a vicious scowl.  “Before you say anything- hear me out.  He was trapped at Bracca, and the scavengers didn’t know- Tech checked the Empire’s wanted, and he’s dead to them.  The Empire won’t come here, and it’s not like anyone on the street will know- he’s just a padawan.  Not a full-on Jedi, not a general.  But, he can still help.  Even without using the Force to push and pull, he can still sense danger and… stuff.”  Hunter wasn’t really sure how the Force worked.  But he knew it was useful.  Before Cid could rebuttal, he continued.  “And imagine how helpful a padawan would be in making sure your deals go right!  Being able to sense a bad deal, or if someone unwelcome is coming.  And some of them can do mind tricks.  He’ll be very useful to you- just let him stay with us.”

Cid looking down, in thought, a scowl etched on her face.  Finally, she sighed.  “Fine!  But if the Empire comes knocking, I’m not keeping his hide a secret.  Too much heat.”  She walked away, already planning what to do with you.

Hunter looked back, smiling.  You tried your best to smile, but you knew full well it looked incredibly awkward and forced.  Not that you weren’t happy, by any means.  You just weren’t prepared, and he knew that.  Hunter placed a hand on your shoulder, attempting to provide comfort.  And it worked.  For the first time in months, despite the constant dread of what was to come, everything seemed to be going right.  You could stay with them, and they could stay with Cid.

“Let’s go get you some proper fitting, and smelling clothes, yeah?  Echo wasn’t wrong when he said it was worse than our old barracks.”  Your smile shifted to a natural one, not forced or awkward.  You certainly didn’t think you’d ever see a clone again; and it certainly wouldn’t be a happy experience, but it seemed like this batch was going to be the best thing to happen in a while.

[badbatch-badfics]

In Progress Works

One-Shots

Tech x platonic male reader exploring through the woods

Flights

(By 'flights,' I mean things that aren't exactly a series- so they'd include time jumps, small mini-trops, a few spin-off AU's, ect. But since they're more than just a 'one-shot,' and less than series, they're a flight! Get it? Like, cause three-five shots on a little board in called a flight with alcohol? I love puns.)

The Bad Batch x male Mandalorian reader (Tech is already out.) All will be romantic and involve reader getting injured, except for Omega- both adult and child. She'll obviously be platonic.

Tech x platonic male reader (set on pabu)

New Series

TBB x Gender neutral night-fury shape-shifter reader (platonic)

Part Twos, Threes, Etc.

TBB x Male Padawan reader part 3 (platonic)

TBB + Phee x platonic male thief Imp (Helluva Boss type) reader part 2

[badbatch-badfics]

Padawan (TBB x Male Reader) Part 1

Part 2

Characters: The Bad Batch - Crosshair. Not much of Wrecker, mainly just meeting them.

Relationship: All platonic

POV: Mixture between 2nd (you/yours) and 3rd (he/him)

Pronouns: He/him, but referred to as they/them when identity is unknown to the Batch

Species: Unspecified, should be pretty neutral

Content: Angst?? Panic?? Introductions?? Beginning of found family??

Warnings: Panic attacks, minor injury description, thinking about your death (non-suicide), anything that would be in TBB normally. Possibly some lore inaccuracies. Cringe

Word count: 4,777

Notes: If you’re willing, please let me know if you think 2nd person or 3rd person POV is better, or if the combo is readable.

You balanced yourself on the beam, steadily walking across with eyes darting back and forth for anything that seemed of use.  Or, at least, a new pathway, or bridge, or anything that could lead you somewhere new, where there was the possibility of supplies.  Or food, or some type of communication device, or, quite literally, anything.  You weren’t picky, given the circumstances- couldn’t afford to be.  But in truth, there was little to no chance of finding anything new.  You’d scavenged through the ship countless times, and for the past…however long, there’d been nothing new.  You hadn’t missed anything from the previous ventures, no small creature had drug in anything from outside or from a part with limited access, nothing fell to reveal a hidden treasure of some sort.  Absolutely nothing.  But yet, each day you once again went out with a glimmer of hope- or denial- that there would be something.  Or maybe it was just a feeble attempt to focus your mind away from the events.  Not that it worked.

As the beam came across a body of water, you peered down to the pool, loathing at what was reflecting back- raggy, dirty, and bloody.  Kriffing Hell, I could be mistaken for a Tusken Raider with this shit-job of a covering.  Your normal Padawan robes, as well as ones from your Master, had been torn into several chunks, and wrapped around different limbs, as well as pieces of fabric from any corpses you’d stumble upon.  Layered on top of those was a poncho-cloak, barely holding on by a thread.  An oxygen mask hung limply around your neck, and was covered with a fine coating of dirt and grime, with splattered blood on top.  Bandages, cloth, and even animal pelts wound loosely around your head, leaving only small holes and strips for the mouth, nose, and eyes.  Your waist was adorned with a make-shift gear belt, holding a multitude of different bones- sharpened and shaped to become tools and methods of protection.  Your Lightsaber bumped lightly with each step, an eternal reminder to what happened- and as many bad thoughts as it brought, it would be an absolutely idiotic move to ditch the weapon.  Not wanting to look any longer, you pulled back your head and took a deep breath, continuing on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rex led the squad of modified clones through the dirty, deserted and desolate hallways, shining a light so nobody fell to their demise.  The group talked about the war, inhibitor chips, and the like until they came across a large canyon, so to speak.  Rex, Omega, Tech, Hunter, and Echo all shimmied their way across, leaving Wrecker to go last.  “You can do it!  Just keep your eyes on the table,” Omega yelled encouragingly.  With a few grunts and a shake of his head, Wrecker began climbing the cable upside down.  Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, it couldn’t hold his weight, plummeting him down to the murky water.

The collective panic from all six clones shot out an incredibly large Force ‘wave’ to the padawan, of which felt as though he was being hit by a speeder bike head-on and then ricocheted into a Bantha.  The shock of realizing that someone- scratch that, multiple someones- were here, on the ship with him, at this exact moment was more than enough to cause (Y/N) to stumble backwards from where he was standing and trip over some debris, falling flat on his ass.  Once (Y/N) could gather that he and the strangers had a decent amount of space in between them, his breathing calmed- but not enough to be normal.

(Y/N) carefully got up, watching his foot placement, before turning to where he had been sleeping and recouping for the past few months.  His legs felt both stiff and shaky, his vision was blurry, and his breathing was ragged.  Once (Y/N) was finally in the small space that contained his very few belongings, he fell to the floor, backed into the wall, and curled up into a tiny, and rather pathetic, ball.  People were here.  (Y/N) didn’t know if they were good, or bad- or if they weren't much of either.  Didn’t know their motives, didn’t know anything.  When (Y/N) had prayed to the Force to find new things, this is not what he meant.  At all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Soon enough, and with several general or head-based injuries, all four men had their inhibitor chips removed.  Omega and Hunter were walking around, exploring this and that and whatnot.  Mainly because Omega would have done so anyway, but she most definitely needs supervision on the death-trap that is so humbly called a ship.  Unfortunately for you, the pair was getting awfully close to his “hide-out.”  Even worse, it seemed Hunter was aware of that as well.

“Omega…I think there’s someone here with us.  Stay close,” he whispered, pulling out his blaster.  Your breathing grew faster and more shaggy, and your vision clouded.  What could I do?  They’re in front of the only exit, and I haven't fought a person, or even touched my lightsaber in Force knows how long!  Considering the only way out, other than direct confrontation, seemed to be a 100+ foot drop- the choice was more or less clear.  You shakily stood up, grabbed the lightsaber which had been doing nothing else than collecting dust (and bad memories), and began to sprint as fast as possible, shoulder aimed at the door.  Dank Farrik, please- don’t let me die like this.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hunter jumped back, quickly grabbing Omega’s arm and pulling her out of the way with him.  And lucky he did, otherwise she may have been crushed by the metal plate that went flying as the cloaked figure stumbled and bolted.  Immediately, Hunter reached up to his comm and reported, “There’s somebody else on the ship!  His motive is unclear- just blasted through a door and ran- looks like he’s going for an escape.”

On the other end, Wrecker almost jumped out of his skin in excitement- “Finally!  Some action!”  Tech couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Wrecker’s interest in beating someone to hell and back.  After some more information was passed through, Wrecker and Tech had an approximate idea of where they needed to head in order to intercept the stowaway.  Since Hunter had said that the mystery person appeared to be running away, stealth was not an objective for the pair- running through loudly was acceptable.

(Y/N) was solely focused on getting out- not where the others could be.  Which was a terrible mistake- if you’re running away from somebody, it’d generally be wise to know where they are.  Tech could guess as much, and used it to his advantage.  Although he hadn’t gotten a full map of the ship, based on Hunter’s location report, the mystery person’s motive, and the ship being heavily damaged, he could make a reasonable estimate as to where the person would be.

To no one’s surprise, Tech was absolutely correct.  After instructing Wrecker where to go, they had each blocked the end of a hallway.  Wrecker had cut in front and faced the mystery person head on, grinning as cracking his neck, while Tech had stealthily followed from a ways behind.  By the time Tech caught up, the mystery person had already slammed to a stop and immediately turned around to exit the other end, but to no avail.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You ran as fast as you could, and you really did try paying attention to your surroundings, but it was all utterly useless.  The intruders had pinned you.  One giant guy to the front, and one smart guy to the back.  Brains and brawn.  Your heart beat far too fast, feeling the thump thump in your head, being far too hot, and your vision was rapidly becoming smaller and more tunneled.

It didn’t help when the big guy spoke, and you realized they were clones.  Odd clones, granted, but clones, who, as far as you knew, executed Order 66, executed your Master, friends, your entire sense of familiarity and comfort.

You weren’t prepared for this- you hadn’t trained in months, or even used your lightsaber.  There was no means of escape, considering the second either of them saw you reach for a weapon, it would be over.  Running would do you no good, and if they had followed Order 66, talking wouldn’t do any good either.  It seemed you’d join the other jedi in whatever afterlife awaited.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The figure fell flat on their ass and scrambled half-way backwards and half-way to the nearest wall after hearing Wrecker’s voice- they were shaking, sweat drenching their clothes all the way through, and, all in all, resembling a caged animal who knew it was done for.  A loud echo ran out as the figure roughly contacted the metal wall, and pulled their legs up, semi-resembling the fetal position, as their hands were still on the ground.

Wrecker and Tech slowly approached the figure, blasters balanced on their arms.  Both took notice of the shaky and rapid breathing, the occasional twitching, and how the figure seemed to be ever-so-slightly rocking.  This person was a very good actor, or nothing more than someone scared, who was in the very wrong place at the wrong time.  They both assumed the latter.

As Tech walked forward, he used his scanner to find the general age and species of the subject, brows furrowing as results came forward.  The figure was somewhere in between 15 and 18, was (chosen species), and, as more data was collected, Tech discovered that the figure was a Jedi.  Or, at the very least, someone with a high midichlorian count.  He stopped walking, lowered his blaster- not a lot, but just enough, and gestured to Wrecker to copy.  Wrecker made a grunt in confusion, not understanding.  Tech sighed and replied, “I do not believe they intend to harm us.  If my data is correct, they are a teenager, and most likely a padawan.  And it would seem they do not wish to engage through a fight, anyway.  Put your weapons down.”

(Y/N)’s head darted back and forth between the two, confused- was he safe?  They were clones- were they not going to execute Order 66, or at the very least, kill him as a simple intruder?  Just then, a third clone appeared- one with half the helmet white, the other black, with a few more details and some large red stripes.  He had a vibro-knife in one hand, extended outward with a curve, and his other hand, holding a blaster, rested on top of it.  “Hunter, I do not think they are a threat- at least, at this moment.  There has been no attempt to harm us as of yet, and they appear to be force sensitive, which would most certainly warrant an attempt to flee from a group of clones,” Tech informed.  (Y/N) slowly reached his hand towards the lightsaber on his makeshift belt, but didn’t quite grab it- not yet.  Hunter slowly put his weapons away and set down his helmet, a small hiss ringing out when he took it off.

He crouched just enough to seem smaller and slightly less intimidating, without looking like he was getting ready to spring up.  He extended his hands, walking slowly towards (Y/N).  “We’re not here to hurt you- we're not like the other clones– we’ve had our inhibitor chips removed.  You’re safe,” he spoke slowly and clearly.  Tech jumped in, “The inhibitor chips are what programmed the regs– the other clones– to execute Order 66.  So we don’t want to hurt you.”  Wrecker grunted something in agreement.

“Now, we have a functioning ship with us, and we can get you out of here- somewhere safe, or at least, more safe than here, okay?  We have food, water, medical care, and we have a place to stay where the Empire won’t bother us.  Let us help you.”  By the time Hunter had finished his little speech, he was only a few feet away from (Y/N), crouching down, now eye-level with him.  (Y/N)’s hand slowly came away from his saber.  This felt safe- he could sense it, more or less.  There wasn’t actually any danger, and the clone, who (Y/N) assumed was Hnuter, felt safe and honest– reminding him of the warmth and comfort the Jedi Temple, his fellow Padawans, his Master, all brought him.

(Y/N) tried to say something, but his voice caught and cracked horribly- a mixture of the panic, and having not talked to anyone in months.  He felt his eyes water behind the terribly dirty rags, which stung more than it should have.  “Let's start by getting those rags off you, okay?  Tech, bring over some bacta-spray and clean bandages,” Hunter instructed.  Tech did as he was told, fishing out some spray and bandages from one of his several pouches that lined his waist.  

Tech passed the supplies to Hunter, who indicated for him and Wrecker to go report to the rest what was happening.  He directed his attention back to (Y/N), calmly asking, “I’m gonna take off your face wrappings, alright?”  (Y/N) mumbling what Hunter assumed was an ‘okay,’ and felt his body go heavy and almost limp.  Hunter reached up, tenderly brushing against the Padawan’s face, swiftly untying the bounds of cloth.  He quickly used his other hand to bring the rest of it down, now draped around (Y/N)’s neck.  His face was dirty, caked in dirt, grime, and what appeared to be blood.  The mixture of paste, so to speak, was cracked and chipping, looking like a desert’s mud-crack.

Whether or not he meant to, Hunter grimaced at the sorry state of the Padawan.  He took his gloved hands to try and brush and scrape off the majority of the paste off, which was primarily successful.  After the layer of muck was removed, Hunter found one long gash, following the curvature of (Y/N)’s jawline, from just below the eye to just above his mouth.  It was inflamed and oozing, and was most certainly going to need stitches.  He held up the bacta-spray, and lightly spritzed it onto the wound.  A sharp hiss sounded out from (Y/N), who was now squinting his eyes.  Hunter mumbled some sort of apology before taking out the bandage and delicately, yet firmly at the same time, placed it on the gash.

“Are there any more major injuries we should worry about?  We can take care of the smaller ones on the ship, but still.  Better safe than sorry.”  (Y/N) shook his head no.  Hunter slowly stood up, and extended a hand, but (Y/N) just seemed to stare at it.  Slowly, though, the Padawan extended his own hand out, flinching and hesitating once his arm was half-way extended.  After a few seconds, though, he fully reached out and tightly grabbed the man’s hand.  Using the wall behind him, (Y/N) pushed himself up, legs shaky.  As soon as he was steady, (Y/N) ripped his hand away, bringing it close and pinning it tightly against his own chest.

Hunter commed Tech, instructing him to get everyone on-board the Marauder, and to try and use any spare pieces of clothing or blanket to form some type of clean cover that would fit the Padawan.  After what seemed to last forever, Hunter broke the silence- “So, what's' your name, kid?”

“(Y/N)...” he mumbled, quiet enough that only Hunter’s enhanced ears could make it out clearly.  The pair continued their walk through the broken up ship, eventually coming up to the ramp that led out to the Marauder.  (Y/N) brought his arm to his eyes, squinting at the sun- being far too bright, seeing as he hadn’t gone out of the ship in Maker knows how long.  Hunter took notice and briefly stopped, turning his head back to the teenager.

“You alright?  I’m sure I have something if you want to block out the sun for the walk,” he gently offered.  (Y/N) silently shook his head no, while slowly taking his arm down, bringing it back down to his chest, head and eyes solidly trained on the ground.  Hunter stared for a few seconds more, just to be sure, before continuing on towards the Marauder.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Your head was woozy, your heart beating out of your chest, and you were simultaneously shaking, yet felt numb.  All in all, it felt terrible.  And perhaps even worse, you knew there was no real reason to feel this way.  You were finally safe.  And there was no possible way that the clones would turn and execute you.  They would have done so already, without a doubt!  Why would anyone go against direct orders, and pure convenience, just to make someone suffer more?  That would be beyond inadequate. And it just made you feel terrible for not trusting them, or at the very least, for being suspicious of them.  And now your head hurt more than before.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, but was no more than a five minute walk, the pair came up on the Havoc Marauder, in all its battle worn glory.  Echo was leaning on the frame to the entry ramp, draping a clean, albeit worn and torn, wool poncho over his scomp.  From the time Echo had spent with them, he gathered that the Jedi seemed to really like their ponchos.

As you and Hunter finally came up to the ramp, you froze.  Your heart got significantly louder, palms sweater, which, by the way, was never pleasant under the dirty rags, and your eyes began darting around.  There was only one way out, it seemed.  If the group did have ill intent, you’d be done for as soon as you set a single toe in the ship.  That was not a comforting thought.  Hunter could hear your heartbeat and smell your sweat (or rather, the reaction it has with your skin) from a mile away.

Alerted by this change in demeanor, he turned back to look at you- who was completely frozen stiff, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape and pulled downwards.  He may have been prepared for any mission the Republic gave him, but there certainly wasn’t any briefing on traumatized teenagers- let alone force sensitive teens.  Kriff, he barely knew how to socialize with the Regs, and it was a miracle he could bond as much as he did with Omega.

Echo, even with his lack of enhanced senses, could easily see Hunter’s predicament.  “How about you get the rest of the squad together, keep it calm for the kid.  I’ll go take care of this.”  Hunter silently nodded in thanks, brushing past his brother to head inside and start giving orders.  That he was good at, no matter the topic.

Echo slowly, but not too slowly, as that would seem like a predator circling its prey, walked down the ramp and stood just in arm’s reach of the Padawan.  You seemed to stare at each other for an eternity before he slowly handed you the poncho.  “Here… seems you Jedi like ponchos, and we had one lying about.  Hope it works.  Got some more fabrics up on the ship, if you need any.  And better med-kits, stuff to find infections or fevers.  In case.”  He spoke both in a calm and precise manner, and continued on, “Name’s Echo, by the way.  Yours?  If you don’t mind, anyway.”

You didn’t respond for a few more seconds, taking it all in.  Finally, you mustered up a small response, “(Y/N)... and thank you.”  Echo smiled lightly, extending the poncho out a  bit further.  Quickly, you threw off the old poncho, which wouldn't have lasted another week, and put on the fresh new one.  “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, at least around the arms and face, yeah?  We’ll be on another planet soon, and then you can get some proper fitting clothes.”

Echo turned and walked back up the ramp, making sure he could hear your footsteps following him.  A few steps after you had gotten in, and the ramp seemed to slam shut.  Realstickly, it was probably shutting for a while, but you hadn’t noticed it until it registered that there was no way out now.  And everything seemed so tight.  Sure, you had just been in a wrecked ship for Maker knows how long, but it was a big one.  Now, you were stuck on a much smaller ship, with however many clones.  Before the claustrophobia and feeling of complete despair could kick in, a small blond girl tugged at your burnt, calloused, and wrapped up hands, attempting to pull you somewhere.  Of course, given your larger mass, as well as training, you didn’t budge, not one bit.  You stared down at the young girl, eyes wide, yet blank.  To say it disturbed her would be an understatement.

“Omega!  I’m Omega, and this is Lula- Wrecker’s tooka doll!” she exclaimed, bringing your attention to a large stuffed…rabbit?  Or… loth cat?  It was hard to say.  It had a black body, with red sock paws, similar to the red tips on its ears.  The tooka doll sported some pattern of white, clearly resembling a face, with two red dots for eyes.  Distracted by the stuffed creature, she could successfully pull you, where she then disposed of you in someone's bunk.  She all but slammed Lula into your chest before running off, what, or who she was looking for, a complete mystery.

She came back with a collection of blankets, pillows, and snacks, and most certainly more than she could carry. Immediately, Omega got to work, bundling you like a baby in a blizzard.  You were too stunned to do anything, really.  What could you do, anyway?  After about two or so minutes of her layering, she paused, and frowned.  “How are you going to eat if your hands and arms are covered! Agh!”

She quickly began undoing her work, until your arms could be brought out, and then resumed the stacking of blankets.  All you could do was blink repeatedly, ever confused.  After another five or so minutes, she smiled triumphantly at her work.  “Perfect!  Here, have some mantell mix!” she said as she shoved a fist full of some clunky substance into your palm.  Looking down at it, mouth watering, you slowly reached down and plucked one of the misshapen balls, and popped it into your mouth.  And by the Maker, was it delicious.  Your eyes widened, and without a second thought, your hand flew to your mouth, sending the entire pile of mantell mix down your throat.  After eating random rodents, insects, and food that was quite possibly expired from the ship, this mantell mix was a blessing to your senses.

As you continued chewing and swallowing the treat, you leaned back against the hard wall of the ship, a quiet, content sigh escaping.  While it certainly wasn’t the most comfortable, it was ten thousand times better than anywhere you had slept on the Venator.  Lula was still resting across your chest, and Omega smiled proudly at your comfort before running off again.  Although it was muffled, you could hear her talking to one of the clones, before grabbing something and running back towards you.

“I was training with Nala Se and the medical equipment at the Kaminoan facilities, so I can fix you up!  Now, where does it hurt the most?”  She was a bit too excited about her ‘patient’ needing help, you thought.  It was cute, though.  The younglings and other Padawan at the Jedi Temple were like that, too– always eager to be the first to help, even in situations where most would never be joyous.  You supposed there wouldn’t be any harm in humoring the girl, even if she was, by all means, a possible threat, with everyone else on the ship.  I mean, if they did plan to harm or kill you, there’d be no chance of survival, so you might as well play along with the little girl.  Either your last moments wouldn’t be too bad, or you’d start bonding with your saviors.  Either version was a win, in one way or another.

Cocking one eyebrow, you raised a question– “How are you supposed to take care of me if I can’t move under all these layers?  That seems rather counter-productive, no?”  Her face molded into one of thought and consideration, nodding her head in agreement.  Before you could register her next move, she essentially lunged, quickly stripping you of the layers for the second time within the hour.  Now, the blankets all strewn around you resembled a porg’s nest, without the sticks and twigs, anyway.  Omega yanked your arm forward, a tad too eager, considering you should always be gentle with your patients.  Your eyes squinted, brows furrowed in a smidge of pain- Omega immediately noticed, and gave you a sheepish smile before apologizing and bringing it towards her more gently.

She carefully wrapped the bandages off of your arm, eyes widening at the…state of it.  Burn spots, blisters, scratches, bruises, and more littered the entirety of it, looking like it came out of a horror holo-film.  You stared at it rather intensely.  You had no clue it was this bad.  I mean, it hurt, obviously- you were in a crashed ship and had no proper care for however long.  Of course it was going to hurt.  But seeing it, that was still a shock.

“Umm… I should probably get Tech.  I’m not this good, I don’t think…” Omega whispered, frowning.  She scurried off, but you just kept staring.  How could you have let it get this bad?  Was all the training useless?  Or was it you?

Tech, the one with goggles and a plethora of gear, came over, holding what Omega had given him, and more.  His armor was still on, but the helmet had been discarded.  He bent down on one knee, and scanned over your body, checking for any and all injuries.  And, oh boy, did he have his work cut out for him.  Tech carefully took your arm in his gloved hands, and stared for a little bit before spraying a lot of bacta on.  You lurched forward, bringing your other hand to your side, in a feeble attempt to focus the pain elsewhere.  Your brows scrunched, and cheeks pulled down, biting your tongue in every attempt to not bother him any more.

“Let me know when it stops stinging.  Most of the bacteria should be gone, then.  We’ll still clean it out routinely, as they’ve been untreated for so long,” he spoke precisely.  After what felt like eternity, he was finally finished applying the spray.  “Hold your arm out.  Make it as level and steady as you can,” Tech instructed.  Fingertips barely brushing your skin, he brought the clean cloth around, wrap after wrap, from your palm to your elbow.  He took some smaller bandages and wrapped them around each of your fingers, leaving your entire arm covered.

You lifted up your other arm, and you both repeated the process.  Bacta, wrap, done.  He gestured at your legs, silently asking to both take off your shoes and life up your pants, to at least the knee.  There was a much larger and deeper gash on your left shin, courtesy of a falling metal plate as you finally managed to get some sleep.  “That…will need stitches.  Wait here.”  Not like you were going anywhere.

After what felt like hours upon hours, everything that was physically wrong with you had been fixed- or, at the very least, temporarily fixed.  Obviously, there weren't the best medical supplies on a smaller ship that had long left the army, and thus left behind the blessing that was gift-wrapped med-kits.  Finally, he gave you some type of liquid- not a lot, just a shot.  He could see the quizzical look on your face, and quickly explained– “It’ll help you go to sleep, for quite a while, and it’ll help reduce the pain.  By the time you wake up, we should be at Orl Mantell, where we’ve been staying.  Or, at least, close to it.”

In a fraction of a heartbeat, you downed the small glass and handed it back to Tech.  He ran one more scan on you, just to be sure, before getting up and heading to the cock-pit with his brothers and little older sister.  Your heart slowed, and your eyelids grew heavy.  That serum worked fast.  Half involuntarily, you fell face first onto the bed and drifted into the best sleep you’d had in countless rotations.

[badbatch-badfics]

Group + Masculine Master-list

Padawan

Exactly what it sounds like, you’re a Padawan, chaos ensues. Part 1 of however many

Padawan Part 2

Slowly getting closer to most of TBB, meeting Cid

Thief

You’re a thief stealing shit from them. Also, you’re an imp from Helluva Boss (species wise, not lore wise)

[badbatch-badfics]

Group + Gender Neutral Master-list

Nothing yet

[badbatch-badfics]

Overall Master-list

Platonic + Gender neutral

Romantic + Gender Neutral

Platonic + Masculine

Romantic + Masculine

Group + Gender neutral

Group + Masculine

In Progress

Side note: You can request for old versions of any of them. I have a separate thing for adult Omega underneath the master-lists since there's a larger difference between older Omega and older Hunter. Pretty much the same rule as requesting AUs, just tell me that it's what you want. I won't write romantic for adult Omega, because 99% of what we've seen of her has been of a child. If we ever get more media with her as an adult, I'll probably be fine with it- but for now, I won't, since her entire character that we've grown familiar with is a child, thus what I'll write of her- even when writing her as an adult- will still be written with the subconscious thought of her character as a child. So, until/if we get a full show or episode or whatever as adult Omega, she'll remain strictly platonic no matter what age.

However, I'll be willing to do small head-canons regarding how the Batch would react to the reader being her date, since that focus on the Batch and not Omega. But even that's kinda iffy, so we'll see how it goes. I highly look forward to writing Omega bringing home a friend to Pabu and having chaos ensue, though!

[badbatch-badfics]

Romantic + Masculine Master-list

Hunter

Nothing yet

Tech

Nothing yet

Wrecker

Nothing yet

Echo

Nothing yet

Crosshair

Nothing yet

Phee

Nothing yet

[badbatch-badfics]

Platonic + Masculine Master-list

Hunter

Nothing yet

Tech

Nothing yet

Wrecker

Nothing yet

Echo

Nothing yet

Crosshair

Nothing yet

Omega

Nothing yet

Adult Omega

Nothing yet

Phee

Nothing yet

[badbatch-badfics]

Romantic + Gender Neutral Master-list

Hunter

Nothing yet

Tech

Nothing yet

Wrecker

Nothing yet

Echo

Nothing yet

Crosshair

Nothing yet

Phee

Nothing yet

[badbatch-badfics]

Platonic + Gender Neutral Master-list

Hunter

Nothing yet

Tech

Nothing yet

Wrecker

Nothing yet

Echo

Nothing yet

Crosshair

Nothing yet

Omega

Nothing yet

Adult Omega

Nothing yet

Phee

Nothing yet

[badbatch-badfics]

What I'll Do

How I’ll Write:

Usually, I’ll do the more common paragraph style, like an actual story.  BUT, if you want, I’ll do it in any style you want, such as bullet-pointed head-canons, or a bullet-pointed story!

I will always have an absolute minimum of 1,500 words.

I’ll usually use a 2nd person POV (you/your/yours/etc) for the stories, but once again, if you want something different, just say so!

What I’ll Write:

Platonic or romantic!  I’m probably gonna go heavier on the platonic.

Any genre, except for smut and ‘dark stuff,’ like yandere or non-con.

AUs!  Generally, I love AUs.

Also, crossovers!  As long as you get me a general plot point for the crossover, we’re good!

‘Creature’ reader- ranging from a possessed animatronic to an alien from Star Wars, with werewolves in between, choose whatever one you want!  You can request creatures from fandoms I’m not even in, as long as you tell me what it is!

Reader with powers and such, pretty much just what I said above.

Incredibly specific prompts and requests

Trans readers! Pretty much any gender that's not fem.

What I Won’t Write:

As I’ve said several times before, I won’t write any female readers.

Non-con, dark content, etc.

Smut, or anything naked, really.

Any (real) major situations in which I have not experienced.  For example: I have never been physically abused, so I’m not in a place where I could write about a reader being abused- at least, not without messing up in some major way.  However, things like being kidnapped by space pirates or evil wizards don’t happen in real life, so I wouldn’t feel bad if I wrote about that.  Once I get more comfortable and better at writing, I'll probably allow for requests like that.

[badbatch-badfics]

DNI List

Racist, sexist, ableist, homophobes, fatphobes, transphobes, etc. Any bigotry. I just wanna write stupid fan-fics, not deal with...that.

Those people who will do anything, such as drawing underage characters sexually, proships, makes fiction about a character raping the reader or vice versa (which I have seen before, scary), etc. etc. but say that just because it's fiction mean's its okay. It's still weird, in my opinion, and, again, I don't want it on my blog. Things like yandere or whatever is fine, cause that's not all that bad- I just don't want the "extremes" of dark fiction or whatever it's called.

Women/fem aligned can interact, even though it's strictly male and gender neutral, but please be respectful since it’s work not created for you! thank you! (however, I might ask differently for mlm fics, for obvious reasons.)

Obviously there's nothing I can do to stop anyone from interacting anyway, but yeah.

[badbatch-badfics]

Intro

My name's Toby!  I’m 16 years old, and I will write the cringiest-ass thing you’ve ever read! 

Essentially, there’s a criminal lack of male and gender neutral readers in…about everything!  There is also an extreme lack of platonic fics.  So, all in all, there’s practically no male or gender neutral reader fics that are platonic.

So, my “goal” is simply to make a lot of those! I have several blogs dedicated to individual fandoms, which will be linked below among other things!

DNI List

What I’ll Do

Master-list