#Venator-class Star Destroyer

[pedroam-bang]

Ansel Hsiao - Venator-class Star Destroyer (2022)

[ct-1704-0406]

Did you know that there are some really amazing views on a Venator? (That's Venator-class Star Destroyer for those who don't know. My company is stationed on one at the moment.)

After our training drills today, someone showed me this spot in the back of the ship where you can see the engines. If you're lucky enough to be there when they start up, you can can see this. (I can't show actual footage of the ship for security reasons, so I had to cut that part and doodle over it.)

I'm really lucky, I have someone to show me all of this, and I can't wait to see more.

[spockvarietyhour]

Star Destroyers, old and new, "The Path of Anger" (following up the end of Bad Batch)

[malcis]

Do you feel hope? Or despair? The more I worked on this the more ambiguous it felt to me

Support my endeavors to help me defeat the wicked Count Dooku and his droid armies

[noraantilles]

Imperial Love

Pairing: Thrawn x gn!reader

Summary: Y/N and Thrawn are having an eye-opening discussion, getting to know their suppressed feelings for each other.

Warnings: tension, fluff, enemies to lovers

Word count: 2195 word

POV: You and Thrawn are in his luxurious quarters on the Chimera where you are held as a prisoner. You hated the empire but had an odd esteem for Thrawn. He was always respectful and never underestimated your abilities. You have been on the Chimera for a longer amount of time now. Thrawn invited you into his quarters for conversation and dinner. Well, as far as you can call this an invitation. You could either spend your time in a prison cell or take the variety.

You are watching the stars through the window while Thrawn sits down on his sofa. A bottle of wine and two glasses sit on a small table next to him. His quarters were decorated with different pictures and art from throughout the galaxy. You knew that he adored art. But not because he found it so aesthetically pleasing, no. He reads it like normal people would read books. One of his special abilities you had never gotten a hang of.

After a long stare in the void of nothing you finally decided to break the silence. „Why am I here?”, you mumbled. Thrawn's observing gaze could not seem to get rid of you. Even though you did not bother, you could just not quite grasp why he was so interested in you. Unlike the rest of the empire, Thrawn seemed to be the only one that somehow respected you. It wasn’t the first time you got an invitation to join him, but most of the time you never really spoke. This time though, you could already feel that it was different.

„You are here because you took my invitation.”, he answered as he calmly took the bottle off the table and poured the red wine into the two glasses. „That is not what I meant.” You took a deep breath before you continued to speak. “Why am I on this star destroyer? What exactly does the empire want from me?“

Thrawn’s mimic stayed neutral as he leaned back. „You are here so that we can convince you to join the empire. We want you to fight for us. End the rebellion and therefore the war.“

You started to look at him, while he was sitting there, leaning back, his glass of wine in one hand, his other arm resting on the back of the sofa, while he decided to watch you eagerly. You laughed in disbelief while you shook your head. „Why do you think I would ever decide to work for the one thing I fought to destroy? I have lost so many important people, to this war. If I would switch sides now, everything that I did would have been for nothing. Their deaths would be completely meaningless. Do you really think I would betray them, betray myself like that?“

„So that‘s the most important thing to you. Your friends. The people that you love.“ he paused for a second. „I learn a new thing about you every day. Surprisingly, none of this applies to what they say about you.“ he took a sip of his wine.

You frowned slightly laughing. „Oh really? So what do they say about me?“ With a piercing look at him, you crossed your arms.

„It is said that ‘Nova Phantom’ destroyed a Venator-class star destroyer all by themself.“ His gaze wandered from your feet up to your eyes. It felt like he tried to read you. You smirked. „The way you said it, it doesn’t seem that you believe in it.“

„I don‘t know what to believe honestly.“ You laughed, as you interrupted him. „Wow, so the all-knowing famous notorious grand admiral Thrawn is clueless. That is also not quite what your reputation says.“

„So you know my reputation?“ You smirked. „Did you really doubt that? Know your enemies. Isn‘t that what you’re used to say?“ Thrawn nodded in agreement so you continued. „I know that you are the smartest man to have ever gotten a post in the empire. You are a tactical master when it comes to war maneuvers and a genius in constructing your enemies' next steps. I assume you are also a master manipulator and can read every person you have ever met like an open book. Never in my life, have I met someone so precise and right with his assumptions than you. You have a wide knowledge in a lot of different areas. Cultures, languages, art. Everything you need to know to reconstruct someone’s life and decisions. I am pretty sure you started analyzing everything when you were able to think. And that‘s probably why you became so good.“

He smiled lightly when you finished, which is a thing you rarely get to witness. But he stayed calm. Neither agreement nor disapproval. You smirked again. „Seems like I was right. Your reputation is pretty accurate then, don’t you think? So why don‘t you think mine’s also?“

You stepped slowly across the room to take your glass of wine before you stepped back to the window. With every step you took you started to realize that Thrawn’s eyes were literally glued to you by now. You took a sip of the wine the grand admiral had picked for you. An oddly familiar smell and scent floated through your senses. How in the stars was he able to guess your favorite wine? A slight surge of uncertainty started to build up as you stared into your glass for a short moment before you started to realize that he wasn’t allowed to know that he had hit the bull's eye. You took a glimpse through the side of your eye before you headed back to your spot at the window. You were sure that he had noticed your little break out of your coolness, but he kept it to himself.

„I never said that I didn’t think it could be true. I‘m just not quite sure yet, which option makes the most sense.“

Your gaze wandered back to him, interested in what he meant by that. He understood the curious look on your face and kept going. „There is option one. Your reputation is not true, you‘d be a normal prisoner here and the empire would not have the use for you as they do now. Or your reputation is true, you are the most powerful being I have ever met and did all they say about you, then I don‘t quite understand why you didn‘t just, … leave. Clearly, you would have all the abilities to walk out of here without a scratch. So, the question is, why are you still here? Either you don‘t have these abilities they say or there is something else that is keeping you here.“

„Really, and what would that be?”, you asked as calmly as you were able to. „Maybe a tactical advantage. Learning from your enemy firsthand so that he shows you how to destroy them. Or something completely different. Maybe you have a special interest in something specific. Something or someone.“ He took another sip from his wine and gazed at you with a deep stare directly into your eyes.

You try not to let on anything, although you exactly knew that he had hit the bull’s eye with his analysis. Again. You took a sip of your wine. „That is a very interesting theory. So what do you think is true then?“

„I had hoped you would tell me.“ He looked at you expectantly, his head slightly tilted to the side.

„And why would you think I would tell you that?“ Your heartbeat started to increase as Thrawn took another sip, looking at you without saying anything. You knew exactly what he was doing. Playing this little game of answering your own questions. It was your turn now.

„I see.”, you began. “And luckily, I already know the answer to this question. You like my companionship. I am the only one who can slightly compare to you on an intellectual basis and that is a welcome variety to you. Being surrounded by the same boring crew and an enemy that hides most of the time, because they know they don’t stand a chance to beat you. I am none of that to you. I am a mystery, a riddle that you are burning to solve.“ You took a pause to see his reaction, but he stayed cool so you continued. „The empire probably thinks that all of this is for tactical reasons. They think that what you are doing here might give them information about the enemy, about me, but that is not entirely true, isn‘t it? There is more to it. You don‘t just like the idea of solving a complex puzzle. You like the idea of how I make you feel. And you want to explore that in every possible way. How far you can go. It thrills you because you have never had the opportunity to experience anything like that.“

You slowly stepped in his direction, while you observed his reaction. „Does it scare you? Seeing someone using your own weapons against you?” You placed your still-filled glass back on the table. The power you felt at that moment was incredible. Being able to keep the upper hand with someone like him was the reason why you stayed on this ship. To be honest, under great effort, you‘d probably be able to leave the Chimera but your state of health wasn‘t the best at that time. So, waiting a little bit longer till you’d be able to leave a more comfortable way seemed to be the best option. You sat your knee between his thighs and placed you close in front of him. The slight nervousness that made his body tense has not escaped you. You rest your hand on the backrest of the couch while your fingers slowly traced a line over his chest. He clearly did not expect you to come that close that fast. But that didn’t last long. A smile formed on his lips. „Thank you.“ he stated as he glared deep into your eyes. „For what?“, you laughed lightly at his sudden mood change. „Now I know the answer.“

„Oh really? What is it then? Is my reputation true or false?”, you tilted your head slightly to the side. „That I cannot say yet. But what I know is that my previously made assumption is indeed correct. You do want me. Maybe even the way I want you. And the best thing is, I can prove it to you.“ But before you could even process what he meant by that. He grabbed you by the hip and pushed you into himself so that his mouth almost touched your ear. A light gasp left your body at that sudden movement. His hot breath tickled the skin on your neck and a shiver waved all over your body. You could literally feel that wide grin of his on your skin. Only now, you really understood how he proved it to you. At that sudden movement of dragging you into him, your hands found hold on his chest. Your fingers were buried in the fabric of his white uniform, that’s how much you really tensed.

But even now that you‘ve noticed you couldn’t let go of him. His scent, his hot breath on your skin, and his hands on your lower back had taken you completely. He had you under his spell and he was well aware of that. Your breathing accelerated as he moved his mouth along your jawline till he stopped right in front of your lips. You didn’t know where to focus anymore as your eyes wandered between his lips and his eyes.

You wanted this, even though you knew that this was absolutely wrong. Betraying your friends and everything you have fought for just in a glimpse of a moment, was the last thing you wanted. But the way you‘ve simply lost all control over your body made it hard to resist. You knew that he thought the same. He struggled so hard to catch a clear thought but the longer he waited the more desperate he got. Desperate for your touch. In a glimpse of a moment, he closed the gap between the two of you pulling you in for a hot breathy kiss. First, you tried to resist the urge, but as soon as his lips met yours all you could think of was how you wanted more. Your hands wandered up to his neck as you deepened the kiss. Thrawn kept you close to him as his hands slid under your shirt to feel your skin. He had thought about this moment way more often than he’d like. A shiver went through your body as a burning desire started to build up in you as he traced a line along your lower back. In the end, Thrawn was right about you, the same way you were right about him. You two were made for each other. Sooner or later the realization that it would never work had to hit. An imperial grand admiral and a rebel assassin. This had to be destined to fail.

Authors note: May the Fourth be with you guys!

[animatedjen]

"...our Senior Producer, Paul Hatfield, had the great idea of wanting to tie in some elements of the current events that Cal was experiencing in Survivor, mixed with the lingering trauma of Cal's memory of Order 66. This led to the through line of utilizing the Koboh matter along with Venator Class Star Destroyers and ship wreckage throughout all of the Force Tear levels. For the Force Tear Arena specifically, I wanted to craft something that fulfilled that narrative while pulling inspiration from Japanese Tea and Zen gardens. I also utilized the Shattered Moon and the iconic rock formations that Kevin Quinn created for the Void in the menu/skill tree UI." - Scott Russell

[wanderinginksplot-writes]

One-Shot: Boss + Competence

Sergeant Boss x gn!reader (no pronouns, no use of 'y/n')

Word Count: 4,700

Warnings: Frustration, feelings of otherness, disrespect

---

“Ten o’clock, Boss,” Scorch muttered, elbowing Boss lightly in the side. 

Boss glared, but he knew it was useless. Nothing could put a damper on Scorch’s personality, especially when he thought he was helping. Besides, the head’s up was a sign that there were more important things to focus on. 

And, sure enough, there you were. 

A long-term mission with standard troopers hadn’t been a good use of Delta Squad’s time, in Boss’s opinion. The main strength of a commando squad was that they were fast and subtle, able to move in and out of an area without drawing a lot of attention. Strapping them with an entire Venator-class Star Destroyer was taking away that advantage as much as anyone could. 

But you had turned out to be an unexpected benefit. From what Boss could gather, you did something with the computational systems aboard the Resolute, though he hadn’t narrowed down exactly what your specialty was. You seemed to bounce all over the ship, working on whatever needed attention at that particular moment. 

Maybe you would have continued to be just another member of the ship’s crew - nat-borns weren’t common on ships, but they were hardly as rare as he would have thought - but you had quickly drawn Boss’s attention with your sharp temper. 

The first time someone had interrupted a vital power connection so they could charge a datapad, you had removed the offending connection and taken the datapad for good measure. The foolish owner had attempt to dress you down for confiscating the datapad, but you had pushed him aside with ease. In the end, you had threatened to tell his commanding officer that he had left sensitive information in such an easily accessible place. 

Any other stupidity had been met with an equal amount of sarcasm and impatience. It was everything Boss wanted to do when he was tired of trying to set a good example for the rest of Delta Squad. There was only so much idiocy any one person could be expected to endure, and it was clear that you had hit your limit. 

So, yes, watching you was one of Boss’s great joys. He justified it to himself that he was being respectful. He could also make sure others were being respectful, as well. From your temper, Boss assumed that you could take care of yourself, but you were in an unfamiliar place. You were outside of the typical power structure, which could put you at a disadvantage if someone decided to push your boundaries. 

Boss only realized how far his thoughts had drifted when he felt the others staring at him. Sev shook his head despairingly. “I thought you’d be able to handle yourself better than this, Sarge.” 

“Are you kidding?” Scorch asked. “This is the first time I’ve seen him look that way at something other than his Deece.” 

“Shut up, Six-Two,” Fixer ordered. “Three-Eight, if you want to make a good impression, I hear conversation is a good start. You won’t get anything out of staring from across the room.” 

“For once, I agree with Fixer,” Scorch said. 

“I do, too,” Sev said. 

Boss started to seriously consider the merits of desertion. 

“We’ll leave you to weigh your options,” Fixer said, marching away. Sev and Scorch followed after a moment. Scorch offered a broad grin as he left, nodding so determinedly toward you that he attracted a suspicious look from your direction. 

Boss turned away before you could follow Scorch’s gaze to him. That was all he needed - to be taken out by Scorch’s irritating nature before he’d even had the chance to make a good first impression. 

By the time he glanced back over, you were putting the finishing touches on some wires you had been setting up near the front of the room where this meeting was to take place. He didn’t envy you - the Negotiator was moving in and out of hyperspace to throw off chances of being tracked. It was a strong method of ensuring security, but it made connections to outside sources complex and unreliable.

You hardly seemed concerned, face unworried and hands sure as you wove together connections, typed strings of code into the terminal, and laid out the holoprojectors.

Boss tucked his helmet under one arm, inching closer to you under the guise of making room for the others who were filtering into the meeting room. You were just as stunning up close. Boss was struggling to come up with a conversational opening when you gathered some spare bundles of wires, tucked them into a bag on your shoulder, and left. 

He was still trying to manage his disappointment when General Kenobi started the meeting. 

Somehow, Boss managed to pay attention to the rest of the meeting. He chalked it up to some quirk of Jango’s genes that allowed him to remember every word with only half of his attention fixed on the proceedings. Delta Squad was a temporary attachment to the 212th. What did they care about setting long-term goals for better intelligence? Intel was intel and all of it was terrible. That was just how it went. 

“Sergeant Boss,” General Kenobi called. Boss turned his way, allocating approximately 5% more of his attention to the meeting. “Commander Cody tells me that you recently experienced trouble on a mission due to subpar intelligence. Can you tell us more about what happened and how you handled it?”

Boss fought back a snort. “You’ll have to be more specific, General. Most of the GAR’s intel is subpar, especially for the commando squads. More often than not, accuracy takes lower precedence than timeliness.”

General Kenobi’s gaze sharpened. “What percentage of your information would you estimate is accurate and useful?” 

And so it went. Kenobi wasn’t satisfied knowing about Boss’s low opinion of GAR intel - he wanted to know details. It was a special kind of hell for Boss, who wasn’t used to explaining his thought process or how his squad worked to anyone other than General Windu. Even then, the Coruscant debriefing sessions were usually kept as short and vague as they could manage without sacrificing important information. 

The meeting devolved further and further until it was little more than CTs asking for stories about commando missions. General Kenobi cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I’m sure we all have important tasks to which we must return. If the sergeant has time, he can answer your questions. In the meantime, you are all dismissed.” 

Despite Boss’s best efforts, he was surrounded by standard troopers, stuck in the room until he had given enough vague answers and sharp reprimands that the crowd dissipated. He allowed himself a moment to silently curse Kenobi’s name before voices at the front of the room attracted his attention. 

“Excuse me, but that is not the proper way to disconnect a holoprojector.” 

There was a sigh, and Boss could recognize the sound of it without a moment of hesitation. You were back. 

“You aren’t listening to me,” the officer repeated. It was one of the nat-borns - a tall, lanky man drowning in his own self-importance. “I said, that is not the proper way to disconnect a holoprojector.” 

You dropped the cords in your hand, letting them hit the table with a weak slap. “Listen, lieutenant-” 

“Captain,” the man corrected, puffing out his chest so you would be sure to see the collection of medals there. Boss was willing to bet that none of them were earned for doing anything that could sully the captain’s perfect uniform.

“Captain, then-” You paused again, letting the silence dangle as you peered at him. “What’s my rank?” 

The captain frowned. “You… don’t have a rank.” 

“Exactly.” You started gathering the cords again, eyes dropping to your work. It was clear from your posture and the tone of your voice that you weren’t meekly looking away. No, the man had been dismissed, for all that you were still talking to him. “That’s because I’m a contractor.” 

“Yes, you are.” The captain frowned harder, like he was trying to see the trap in your statement. Boss started to grin, having already spotted it. “But-”

“If the GAR had to hire an outside contractor to handle their comms, it means that no one else knows how to do the work I do.” You finished rolling the cords into neat bundles and turned your attention to the holoprojector itself. “I’m the expert here. So you can take your opinion on how I do my job and-” 

You glanced around the room, eyes meeting Boss’s. He felt electrified by the eye contact, but you turned away just as quickly. 

“And keep it to yourself,” you finished.

“You’re a civilian serving on a military vessel,” the captain sputtered. “I am certain you signed an agreement to obey commands given by the officers-”

“My contract says I answer to General Kenobi,” you told him. “Any complaints about my performance go directly to him. He’s on the bridge if you want to report me because you don’t like the way I roll cords.” 

And then you turned to retrieve the case for the holoprojectors. It was an end to the conversation, as clearly as if you had left the room entirely. The captain stiffly walked away. Boss wondered for a moment if he really was going to the bridge, but then he put the man out of his head. You were in the same room, and he wasn’t going to waste another chance to speak with you. 

“Hey,” he started, walking over to the table where you were working.

…Only to freeze when you fixed him with an evil look. “I’m not in the mood for anyone else to tell me how I’m doing my job wrong, thanks. Since everyone is so concerned, let me explain how it works: I sign out all of the equipment I use, and it is regularly inspected by someone else. If there’s any damage from the way I set up or break down the equipment, it will be found and I’ll be held accountable. Leave me alone.” 

Boss was loathe to refuse such a direct request, especially since he could hear the weariness in it, but he was horrified at the idea of leaving you to think he was on the same level as the others who had doubted your ability to do your job. 

“Sorry, I just- wanted to tell you how much I respect the way you’ve been handling all of the osik they’re throwing your way.” An expression of bone-deep irritation had crossed your face when Boss started to speak, but it faded as you listened to the rest of his statement.

“Osik is banthashit, right?” 

Emboldened by the lack of vitriol, Boss nodded. “Basically. Any idiot with eyes can see that you know how to do your job. They’re just questioning you to make themselves feel better about not being able to do what you do.” 

“Among other things,” you agreed dryly. “I already know that’s what they’re doing.” 

An uncharacteristic self-doubt swept through Boss and he wondered if he had overstepped. That was eased when you took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing when you let it out. “But thanks. It’s nice to know that someone else sees it, too. Makes me feel less like I’m pushing a speeder uphill.”

“You’re good at your job,” Boss said firmly. “That’s not in doubt by anyone who matters.” 

“That’s-” Your comlink interrupted and you let out a frustrated groan when you looked at it. “Sorry, I have to get to another setup on the bridge.” 

Boss nodded again, but you didn’t see it. Your practiced motions had picked up in speed, working quickly to pack up the equipment from the meeting and load it onto a small cart. He helped with the last few containers, but the process would have gone just as fast without his help. Maybe faster.

You were almost to the door when you turned back. “Hey, what’s your name?” 

“Boss,” he told you reflexively. 

You grinned at that, and the sight of it made Boss’s heart stutter in his chest. “Great name. I’ll see you around, Boss.” 

All things considered, that had gone better than Boss had expected.

From that point, he really did seem to see you more often. You were fixing comms channels, checking on issues with the droids in the mess hall, or working on the data terminals in the main sections of the ship. Every time he saw you, you were too busy for another conversation - even as short as the last one had been - but you always took a moment to smile and greet him by name. 

If Boss had been half in love with you when he was watching you verbally eviscerate officers from a distance, he was fully gone now that you actually knew who he was. Any day was a little brighter when you were working nearby, and he found himself looking forward to meetings. There was always a chance that you would be responsible for the setup, especially if the required equipment was tricky or difficult. 

The downside was, he suspected, the same as it had always been: that you were given shockingly little respect by the people you helped. Boss had personally witnessed troopers and natties alike complaining about the technology and blaming you specifically. He made a point of dressing them down when he witnessed it, but it seemed to be widespread. 

“I can’t believe you found a nattie to moon over in the middle of hyperspace,” Fixer complained. At least, it was framed as a complaint, but Fixer’s tone was as close to camaraderie as Boss had ever heard it. 

“You wanna keep your voice down, Fixer?” he asked, purposefully cutting the other man off as they walked into a meeting room. “You know how regs like to talk. The wrong thing overheard by the wrong person leads to-” 

“An unhappy Three-Eight,” Fixer finished for him. “I’ll stow it, then. But you might see more of… your person of interest if Kenobi wasn’t obsessed with meetings.”

Boss snorted despite himself. None of the troopers were overly big fans of meetings - Jango’s genes made them men of action rather than words, and they didn’t get much from endless planning - but commandos seemed to have a particular loathing for them. 

Of course, it could be that the 212th had simply gotten used to them after working with Kenobi for as long as they had. 

Fortunately, this meeting was likely going to be shorter than previous ones had been. Kenobi and Cody were busy with a different meeting, so this would be attended by Delta Squad, a few officers from the 212th, and an ARC who had been attached to the battalion for their upcoming mission. 

“What do we need the long-range holos for?” one of the officers asked as Delta Squad walked into the room. 

Boss’s heart gave an exaggerated thud in his chest at the mention of equipment you might be responsible for, but it looked like this holoprojector had already been set up. 

“The ARC, Aftermath,” another answered, blissfully unaware of Boss’s sudden interest in long-range technology. “He’s finishing another assignment right now, but he’ll meet up with us as soon as we drop out of hyperspace. He requested an early briefing.”

A sergeant who Boss vaguely recognized - his name was Heft, if Boss remembered correctly - was trying to turn on the holoprojector. The first click of the button did nothing and Heft scowled. The second, third, and fourth times didn’t have any more effect, and Heft’s expression grew darker with every failed attempt. 

“This karkin’ thing is broken,” he concluded eventually. 

The holoprojector looked fine, but Boss couldn’t argue that it didn’t seem to be performing its intended function. 

“Maybe we should call the tech specialist,” one of the others suggested. 

Heft snarled. “Yeah, call back the ‘specialist’ who couldn’t set it up right the first time. Great idea.” 

Keeping a professional expression was a skill every trooper learned from a young age, but Boss suddenly found it more difficult than he had in a long time. The rest of Delta was throwing subtle glances his way, clearly trying to figure out if and how their sergeant would react.

The tricky part was that Boss couldn’t figure that out, either. Heft was a sergeant, too. Since there was no clear chain of command between the two of them, Boss had fewer options on how he could handle things. 

After a few moments of internal debate, Boss decided it would be the most helpful if he took charge of the situation. He found your GAR-issued comm channel on the directory easily enough, putting on his helmet so he could make the call in a little peace… especially since Heft was still spewing insults. 

You answered the call with your last name. No greeting, not even a first name. Boss blinked stupidly for a moment until he could shake himself. “Hey, it’s Boss. We’re in conference room 37 and the holoprojector isn’t working. Can you give us some ideas on how to fix it?” 

“37?” you checked. “For the ARC briefing?”

“That’s the one.” 

“I’ll be there in two minutes.” 

And the line went dead. Boss pulled off his helmet. “Specialist is on the way. ETA two minutes.” 

Heft grumbled while a lieutenant offered to comm Aftermath to let him know about the delay. Boss cleared his throat. “Who will be delivering the briefing to Aftermath? I’d like to wrap this up as quickly as possible.” 

“Who doesn’t?” Heft demanded, delivering a solid slap to the projector. “If this osik was set up correctly, we’d already be done.” 

“Do y’think he realizes what a shabuir he’s being?” Scorch asked, too quietly for anyone outside of Delta Squad to hear.

A single, perfunctory knock sounded through the room and then you were standing in the open doorway. Boss looked at you immediately, offering a subtle smile, but your attention had been captured by Heft. The other sergeant had stridden up to you, looming far too close. 

“This is ridiculous,” Heft ranted. “This was supposed to be set up and completed hours ago. Now we’ve had to delay a briefing for an important mission, all so you could get back here to see if you can do your job on the second try.” 

Boss bristled, but you were already studying the holoprojector - from across the room because Heft was blocking the way, but your eyes were roving over it determinedly. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. I tested it myself when I set it up. Has anyone messed with the settings since I left?” 

“No,” Heft said frostily. “That’s your job.” 

“Di’kut,” Sev muttered under his breath.

You eyed Heft, clearly unimpressed. “I can do my job a lot better if I can get a look at the projector. Do you mind letting me past?” 

Rather than wait for him to let you through, you stepped around Heft, the edge of your shoulder brushing against his armor as you passed. You took quick stock of the holoprojector, studying it from every angle even as Heft took a breath in preparation for more complaining. 

Heft’s face was red with anger and Boss’s fingers worked on his vambrace. Putting his helmet on would be too obvious, but his HUD could record even if it wasn’t currently sealed to the rest of his armor. With the helmet tucked beneath his arm and facing forward, Boss was sure he had a shot of you. 

“Maybe I do mind,” Heft bit out. “I want an apology for you wasting our time. We have an ARC trooper in the field who is taking time away from his mission to be debriefed. He has been waiting five minutes past when we were supposed to start and I’m not going to be the one held responsible for that delay! I’m going to Kenobi with this, I can tell you that much.”

Because Boss was watching you so closely, he noticed exactly when your eyes stopped roving over the projector. You straightened, standing calm and proud, a stoic monument against the weight of Heft’s irrational irritation. 

You pressed two buttons and the projector flickered on, a holographic image of an ARC trooper appearing in the next instant. 

In the quiet of Heft’s sudden speechlessness, you stepped forward and faced the projector. “Can you hear me?” 

“Loud and clear,” Aftermath reported immediately. 

You gave a satisfied nod and turned back toward the door - and, coincidentally, Heft. “It helps if you turn on the console.” 

Boss wouldn’t have blamed you if you had gloated for another ten minutes. Heft would have deserved every second of it. But you left the room, letting the door quietly close behind you.

He wanted to go after you, burned with the need to make sure you were okay, but he couldn’t leave the briefing. Not without a good reason. Especially since Heft was starting to brief Aftermath on the upcoming mission.

Fixer tapped his vambrace, then jammed his helmet onto his head. A moment later, he pulled it off, glancing at Boss. “Important call for you, Three-Eight. Needs an immediate response.”

“Understood,” Boss acknowledged with a nod. There were times when Fixer could be the most devious vod… Boss glanced over at Heft, who was watching them curiously. “I assume you have it from here, Sergeant?” 

“Of course, Sergeant,” Heft replied, using Boss’s rank just as pointedly as Boss had used Heft’s. 

Boss ducked out of the room, spotting your retreating figure immediately. Following you was simple - you clearly weren’t in a hurry, and his brisk strides caught up to your meandering pace with ease.

“Hey-” 

You turned to face him with an expression of frustration and disbelief that made him freeze. “It’s working now, I tested visuals and audio myself. What else could you need?” 

Boss raised his hands, hating that you had thought he would follow you to continue Heft’s beration. “No, I- Everything is working fine. It always was - Heft is just an idiot. Are you okay?” 

You let out a breath, and Boss could hear the hint of a tremble in it. He sent out a silent plea that you weren’t going to start crying. Your eyes were bright enough that he worried he was seeing tears, but he would give anything he owned to be wrong. 

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you confided, voice sharp. “It’s not enough for me to do my job - I have to constantly reassure everyone that I know what I’m doing. Basic tasks take me triple the time they should because I have to convince people I’m competent, which puts me behind schedule, then everyone else thinks I’m incompetent because I’m late! Everyone warned me that government contractor work was a bad idea, but this is ridiculous.”

To Boss’s utter relief, you didn’t sound sad. Upset, sure, but more angry than sad. The glint he had seen in your eyes was barely-suppressed rage. He could deal with that. 

“Then don’t let me make you late to your next job,” he told you. 

Your expression froze, taking on a shade of guilt. “Boss, I’m not- I’m just venting. None of this is directed at you-” 

“I know that,” Boss reassured you. “But we can walk while you vent. Lead on.” 

“I-” You started walking, Boss gamely keeping pace beside you. “I think I might be done, actually.” 

“You sure?” Boss didn’t mean to sound so skeptical, but you still looked tense. “It’s good for you to bleed off the frustration. Better than keeping it all inside.” 

“Yeah, I’m good.” You sighed, rubbing at your temple. “I’m just tired. Seems like everyone has a grudge against me. I’m good at my job and I know it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swim against the current.” 

Boss gave a sympathetic hum. After a moment in which you didn’t say anything else, he asked, “Do you want to quit?” 

“Yes.” You gave a little laugh, which had the interesting effect of restarting Boss’s heart immediately after it had stopped. “But that doesn’t mean I will.” 

“I understand wanting to quit.” 

You squinted at him. “Do you? I thought you were, like, engineered to be the perfect soldier. What else would you want to do, if not this?” 

“I-” Boss hesitated. “It’s more theoretical than that for me. If I quit, it’s desertion.” 

You scoffed, and Boss liked to think it was at the institution of the GAR rather than at his confession. Judging by the warmth in your expression, he was correct. 

“Are you going to leave?” 

The question came out softer than he had meant it to, leaving the conversation with a sudden feeling of intimacy. You shrugged. “I’ll decide after this mission. We’re in hyperspace - I can’t exactly step off the ship anytime I want. Besides, I’ll get hazard pay when we actually reach the war zone.” 

“Lucky.” Boss’s pouting mutter made you laugh again. Wayii! He had just heard it for the first time few minutes before, but he already knew he would do anything to listen to you laugh. 

“If it’s any consolation,” he added. “I recorded your conversation with Heft and I’m sending it to Commander Cody. None of the men should speak to anyone the way Heft spoke to you. I couldn’t interfere, or I wouldn’t have gotten a clear recording. I’m sorry for not giving Heft what he deserved. But since he’s a sergeant, too, it’ll be better for it to come from his commanding officer-” 

“Boss, Boss,” you interrupted, lifting your hands up when he kept trying to explain. “I understand, and thank you. I don’t expect you to defend me against your brothers, though. That’s not a fair position to put you in.” 

“You haven’t asked me to do anything,” Boss rejected. “I’m following up on this because it’s not right for you to be talked down to for doing your job.”

“Be careful, Boss,” you warned. The way your eyes sparkled, he knew it wasn’t a real warning, but he was still intrigued. “If you keep being so nice to me, I’m going to insist on buying you a decent meal when we’re back on Coruscant.” 

Boss’s face went hot so quickly he wondered if they had wandered too close to the engine rooms. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“And you don’t have to do this,” you told him, gesturing at his helmet. “You’re the only one on this ship who talks to me like I’m an actual person.” 

“Sounds lonely.” Boss had experienced his share of dehumanizing experiences, both in the GAR and when they were in civilian surroundings, but he always had his brothers around. Without the rest of Delta Squad at his back, he wasn’t sure how well he would handle that kind of treatment.

“It is,” you agreed. “So I want to thank you. And I… I enjoy spending time with you.” 

You looked so sweet, so sincere… Boss was losing himself in your eyes, but he wasn’t about to stop it from happening. “Name the time and place. I’m there.” 

Your smile was just as breath-taking as every other time he had seen it. You gestured to the door that led to another set of conference rooms. “I have to go do some work for another long-distance comm this afternoon. But we could meet up later? We can debate about foods and restaurants, narrow down our options.” 

“Sounds great,” Boss agreed, finally breaking into a smile of his own. He gestured toward your comlink. “I called you from my frequency earlier. You can always reach me there, just save it to your files.” 

That smile turned undeniably to a grin as you ducked into the room. Just before the door closed between you, you winked. “I already did.” 

Boss laughed to himself as he walked back toward conference room 37. With any luck, the briefing with Aftermath was already over. If not, at least he had something to look forward to.

---

Author's Note - I'm pretty sure this is my first fic featuring Boss x reader and I'm really happy with how it turned out!

Reminder, this is a gender-neutral reader. But I'm also a woman who works in IT, so all of Heft's complaints were taken almost word-for-word from the stuff people have said to me. (Just in case you wanted some background!)

Thank you for reading and thank you to the anon who gave me this prompt! You can find other works on my masterlist here.

[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.

[neyswxrld]

stormy weather

Echo, no pairing

summary: Echo has a low and is in a lot of pain after his physical therapy. Wrecker is there to help. Set after TCW S7 E1-4.

warnings: derpessed feelings, hopelessness, phantom pain

words: ~1400

a/n: hello everyone! here's another fic for @summer-of-bad-batch! this time i could even bring in three different prompts: "you're a bad liar.", battle scars and the bonus prompt light in the darkness. it's been a long time since i wrote something for echo, i hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Physical therapy was horrible.

He hated it with all his guts.

His legs hurt, they burned, and he felt like they were going to fall off. But the worst thing was: he couldn't make it feel better.

Hell, he didn't have those legs anymore and still they made his life so much more painful.

Pump, the physical therapist, tried to help him a lot and even though his tips and advice sometimes did wonders, he still hurt.

Then there was his stomach - he had problems adjusting to the amount of food he needed. When he was on Skako Minor, he was mostly fed with fluids. Now he needed to chew his food again, taste the grossness of it, and just swallow down the weird consistency.

Also - his muscles hurt. Pump always said he needed to build them up, so he can be fast and strong again. And he knew he had to. He really wanted to. But on some days, he just felt like he couldn't.

Today was a day like that.

Pump made him do some exercises with an odd looking thing. He never did those exercises before. Not even in ARC training. And even though he tried so hard, at some point he just couldn't do it anymore.

He felt like a failure. Like he wasn't good enough. How would he ever be able to keep up with everyone? Especially with the Batch? He could learn all their crazy plans, but how could he contribute anything, when he just wasn't strong, fast and persistent enough?

Pump had tried to cheer up him up, but Echo almost fled out of the training room.

He needed to get away. At the same time, he already felt the embarrassment creep up his neck. He felt like a shiny, on his first day on a Venator-class Star Destroyer, where everything was just overwhelming even though they already learned how it would be like on the inside. In theory, at least.

He was stumbling along the walls, trying to find his way to the Batch's barracks.

He just wanted to be alone and sulk in his hammock, until he felt better about his sorry self. He was so disappointed in himself and his lack of ability.

When he reached their barracks, he slipped inside. Relieved, he realized that he was alone. The others seemed to have training, or were up to something else.

He sighed once, before making his way over to his sleeping place, not bothering to turn the lights on.

From outside, he could hear thunder. The rain rattled against the large windows, and not for the first time he could laugh about the irony of Kamino. He felt like the weather was mirroring his conflicted and sad feelings. The storm outside was just as unpredictable and unhinged as the one inside him.

He curled up into a small ball, trying to disappear in himself.

When his hands... His hand touched his metal knees, and his scomp made a small 'clink' noise, he sighed a second time.

Never did he expect to turn out... like this, when he finally passed his final test, such a long time ago. With Fives, Hevy, Cutup and Droidbait.

He knew it was practically hopeless, but he still always imagined how all of them made it out of the war alive. Together. He liked to daydream about what would happen after all of it. After all the pain, and fear, and grief. He was sure Droidbaid would start a bakery one day. Cutup and Hevy would open a gym, just to train like maniacs themselves. And Fives probably would have traveled a lot. He always wanted to try and see new things. Just about his own future, Echo wasn't sure. But he soon realized, it wouldn't matter anyway.

After Rishi, after Hevy's, Droidbait's and Cutup's death, he realized that all their dreams and hopes were indeed meaningless.

He always thought he would during the war.

He was so sure he would, when that shuttle exploded on Lola Sayu.

He never knew what life would have brought for him, but he never would have guessed to turn out as a cyborg.

He almost didn't hear how the door opened behind him. Just when Wrecker's face appeared in his sight, he realized that he had company.

"Hey, Echo. Back again already?" the brawler asked and grinned down at him.

Echo looked back with big eyes. "Yeah," he nodded.

"So soon, too? Thought it would take another half an hour at least. How was it?" Wrecker started to talk to him, patting the side of his hammock.

Echo blinked a few times.

"Yeah... I-... Pump decided we should take a break. It was... great," he murmured and looked around, just not to meet Wrecker's eyes.

Wrecker stared at him for a few seconds, not moving an inch.

"Are you feeling okay?" he then decided to ask.

"I? Y-Yeah. I'm fine," he tried to assure his new brother, and forced a light smile on his face. It didn't reach his eyes. He knew that.

Wrecker knew, too: "You’re a bad liar."

He sighed again. "I know," he whispered.

Wrecker carefully stepped over and took a seat next to Echo, making the hammock swing back and forwards a few times.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked and put a hand on Echo's metallic calf. He couldn't feel the warmth of Wrecker's fingers, couldn't really feel the pressure. It was almost as if they weren't there at all.

Echo looked at Wrecker. At his younger, bigger brother, who seemed so happy and joyful all the time. He was so strong and gentle at the same time. And when Echo looked into Wrecker's face, at the scar and his milky eye, he just knew he could talk to him. When someone could understand what he was going through, even just in a slight way, it was Wrecker.

"It's just hard... Adjusting and stuff," he almost whispered.

He saw how Wrecker's thumb was moving up and down, swallowed, and took another breath.

"Physical therapy feels like torture. I can't- I just can't really do anything like I could before. I'm weak, and exhausted so fast. And I know it takes time, but it just takes... so long," he started to play around with his scomp, "and everything hurts."

Wrecker nodded, with an understanding look in his eyes.

"I know it's hard. And it's never going to be like before again. But we can try. We can try to make it easier. To make it better. And to make everything feel okay again," Wrecker said. "Healing isn't easy. It's hard and it's exhausting. And it's not just a straight line up. It's like a road full of holes and bumps and stones. But you have to try to jump over them, Echo."

Echo looked up at him with teary eyes. Wrecker's expression was so honest and genuine, that he didn't doubt a word he said.

"I know it's hard, but you have to keep going. I know you can. And if you need help, we're always here for you," Wrecker ended.

Echo nodded. He knew, but everything just seemed so hopeless sometimes.

"What helped you the most?" the former ARC-Trooper wanted to know.

A small smile appeared on his brother's lips.

"My brothers. The Batch," he said, and his smile grew even bigger.

"Every time I felt like I was at the bottom and couldn't do it anymore, they were there. And they pulled me up again. I couldn't have done it without them," he confessed, and Echo's heart warmed a bit by that.

He smiled at Wrecker, and he realized that everything just felt a little lighter.

The storm in him seemed to calm down a little. The clouds made space for a small ray of sunlight.

He still had aches everywhere, and he still was way too exhausted. But at least he felt a little spark of hope in him, like a light in the darkness. Warm and cozy, and ready to get even brighter.

Wrecker's words felt good, and he knew he could seek out the others whenever he needed them. Even Crosshair.

He knew everything would be going to be okay again. He knew he could do it. He knew he would be up and kicking again, even if it would take some time.

Sometimes he just needed a little heads up.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

@isthereanechoinhere96 @trixie2023 @freesia-writes

[vibrantbirdy]

Helllloooooo~ your writing is fab! May I please request some Cal Kestis x Reader fiction???? Could the scenario please be that the reader was once a jedi padawan along with Cal and they were best friends and maybe have a little child crush on each other and they got separated due to order 66? Then, you guessed it, they find each other after all these years and it's all fluffy and they realise their true feelings and everything adorable?? Please and thank you! Have a lovely day/night!

Hi Anon, thank you so much for your kind words and thank you for this request! I really love writing for Cal!

Character x Reader requests are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first. Masterlist of my fics can be found here.

Title: Familiarity Fandom: Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order and Survivor games Setting: Prior to the events of Survivor Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Action/adventure; Fluff; Angst; Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Canon typical combat violence; canon typical death/angst/survivor's guilt relating to Order 66; mild sexuality; one claustrophobic scene due to ruined temple adventuring; SPOILERS for Jedi: Fallen Order and minor ones for the set up to Survivor. Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: c.8k (this one got away from me!) Author's note: I couldn't write about Order 66 without a little angst but hopefully there's still plenty of fluff and romance and adventure to be found here! Summary: Believing each other lost to the brutal purge of the Emperor's Order 66, ten years after you were separated from your childhood best friend during the systematic eradication of the Jedi Order, you and Cal Kestis are finally reunited amid the strange Temple ruins of an ancient civilisation.

10 years ago

"Run!" Jedi Master Rena Daylum commands as the Clone Troopers who were once your trusted comrades turn their blasters towards you.

Master Daylum dispatches them quickly as you ignore her instruction and ignite your own lightsaber. The purple blade hums into life and you ready yourself for the next squad of Troopers.

But before your saber is even fully extended, a burst of energy hits you squarely in the chest and you fly backwards, skidding across the hard durasteel floor on your backside.

As you look up in surprise, you can't help the childish dart of hurt that stings your pride as you see Master Daylum, her palm extended towards you, and realise that she has pushed you away. She's never used the Force on you like that before.

"For once in your life, Padawan, do as you are told!"

Daylum extends her hand again and the control panels on the open blast door between you explode in a shower of sparks. Even as you run back towards her, the heavy metal doors hiss closed and lock shut in front of you.

With little other choice, you carry out the instruction you've been given and run. You are more frightened than you've ever been in your young life. As you sprint down the Venator-class Destroyer's corridors, you reach out for your Master in the Force. You sense only a dark void where her comforting, consistent presence had always been and in that moment, you know that she is gone forever.

The Albedo Brave, despite her rather sterile appearance with her harsh florescent lighting, her heavy, threatening blast doors and cold metal walls, had seemed homely to you only this morning.

Now the ship feels almost alien. The emergency lighting flashes intermittently, illuminating the corridors with an eerie crimson glow, and the mournful wail of the alarm seems to all but scream in your head.

You hide in a maintenance closet as another squad of Clones pass by. The once familiar voices of the Troopers now sparks a deep dread within you. Over the past month you've been aboard the Brave, you had started to recognise the individual Clones from their personal intonations and patterns of speech, even with their helmets on. Now, their tone is uniform, cold and robotic. And deadly. And this ship is teeming with them.

You think you are heading in the right direction towards the escape pods, but you are far from certain. Upon embarking, you'd been so thrilled about your first assignment to a Venator and the fact that your fellow Padawan and best friend, Cal Kestis, was already onboard. But this excitement meant that you hadn't really paid all that much attention to the safety drill with Master Daylum.

You always thought she'd be here to guide you if anything happened...

As you continue to stumble lost and alone through the gargantuan ship you once called home, you halt abruptly as you think you hear someone shout your name over the blaring alarm.

You look up towards the source of the sound and see Cal peering down at you through the grated walkway of the maintenance corridor above. There is a screech of metal as he removes the heavy durasteel access panel.

"Cal? The Clones ... they killed Master Daylum. She's ... dead," you manage to stammer, "What's happening?"

You feel your face crumple as fresh tears begin to fall. You wipe them away and Cal can only look at you with an expression of sympathy and grief on his kind, honest face.

You both jump as you hear blaster fire nearby. You need to move.

Cal lays himself flat on his stomach and reaches his arm down towards you.

"Come on!"

He stretches out a hand. It hangs agonisingly close, just out of your reach. Your fingertips barely brush against his.

"Jump!"

You try to centre yourself in the Force, but in your panic and confusion, you are completely closed off from it. All you can manage is a pitiful little hop.

"I can't Cal, I can't... I can't feel anything!"

The boy shuffles further off the ledge. He obviously has his feet hooked round the durasteel support struts as anchor points. Still, it looks impossible, but you bend your knees and spring up and off the metal floor.

Somehow, Cal grabs your hand.

Cal is the same age as you - thirteen - but due to a recent growth spurt you are a good few inches taller than him now. You've been teasing him mercilessly about it recently and he has been taking it with his characteristic good nature, biting back with quick witted retorts.

Neither of you are laughing about it now.

You are dangling just inches off the ground and, despite his best efforts, Cal simply doesn't have the strength to pull you up from this angle. He has no leverage. Eventually his grip slips and you fall away from him, hitting the ground with a painful thud.

You look up at Cal, his expression of alarm mirroring what you assume your own must looks like.

“Try again," he whispers urgently, his green eyes wide and desperate.

He extends his arm with all his might, splaying his palm as if the extra few millimetres will make any difference to your predicament.

You twist around from your position on the floor as a new sound carries down the Venator's passageways. Voices. There are voices now. Clones just beyond the nearest blast door. You took your lightsaber to the control panel, sealing it shut as best you could, but it won't take them long to get through.

You lift your gaze back to Cal - your friend, your best friend - and shake your head.

"I'll meet you there," you say, trying to sound brave and reassuring.

Cal hisses your name as you take off down the corridor away from him. You can't bear to turn around and see the lost, pleading expression on his face so you run around the corner out of his sight and you don't look back.

--------------------------------------------------------

Present day

This is not going well, Cal Kestis thinks wryly to himself as spins his lightsaber in his hand, the blue laser blocking blaster bolts and sending them ricocheting back towards the Stormtroopers firing them his way.

The fire from the Troopers is relentless and more and more units in white clad armour continue to pour in through the great ceremonial entrance of the Temple to the ancient Spori civilization.

It is clear to the Jedi now that he has severely underestimated the scale of the Empire's presence on Spori, and their interest in the ruined Temple.

As he raises his saber above his head to parry a strike from a Scout Trooper with a stun baton, he groans inwardly as he remembers the misplaced confidence with which he'd bid farewell to the rest of the crew of the Mantis as they dropped him off and set out on a supply run.

"In and out," he'd quipped. "Easy."

Idiot.

Cal's constant companion, the small bipedal droid, BD-1, is crouched low atop his usual resting place on the Jedi's shoulder. He peeks out every so often to analyse the increasingly desperate situation beeping and whirring unsolicited combat advice in binary.

"Yeah buddy, I know, I know, I know..." Cal mutters through gritted teeth as he is forced to swing his lightsaber in what has become a series of exclusively defensive manoeuvres.

The pace is unsustainable.

*********************************************

You are perched on the shoulder of a gargantuan stone statue, a grand monument to a respected Spori High Priestess. You gaze down at swathes of Stormtroopers as they pour into the ruined Temple.

You've just retrieved a data archive from the inner sanctum of the Temple. The Spori were an ancient civilization who, above all else valued knowledge and spent hundreds if not thousands of years collating information on other peoples, some now lost to the mists of time or ravages of war, including the Jedi.

When you'd heard about the Imperial invasion of Spori, you knew you needed to retrieve the archive in order to preserve any surviving ancient knowledge of the Jedi Order before the Empire could either destroy it or use it for some nefarious purpose...

When you first arrived, although you'd had to evade the occasional Imperial patrol on your trek from the Spori capital across the planet's rugged landscape, there was not the slightest hint of Imperial presence around the Temple itself. It was practically peaceful.

Now, it looked like the Empire had deployed an entire kriffing garrison to the ancient ruin.

From the safety of your high vantage point you watch the chaos unfold below. Or, more accurately, you stare in disbelief at the shockingly familiar figure wielding a blue lightsaber at the very eye of the storm.

"Cal," you breathe out his name.

He's older of course, but it's unquestionably Cal Kestis. You'd recognise that flaming red hair anywhere. He has a short beard to match now and, annoyingly, you come to the conclusion that he has undergone a considerable growth spurt in the last decade or so and he now looks to be much taller than you.

He has a little red and white droid with him. It clings to the Jedi's back, swaying perfectly in tune with its master's movements, never finding itself unbalanced. It's as if the BD unit is an extension of Cal's anatomy.

Cal moves with determination and confidence, striking and parrying with alarming accuracy and speed. It is the fighting form of a competent and experienced warrior, his physicality at once both elegant and deadly. It's a far cry from the stilted and unsure combat stance of the young boy who used to pull his punches in training.

Still, the Troopers just keep on coming and Cal is obviously tiring. He is now on the back foot and will soon be overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of Imperial soldiers.

You need to do something.

Scanning your surroundings, your eyes clock the huge, monolithic stone lintel slab hanging above the ceremonial entrance to the Temple. There's a weakness in the left side pillar. If you brought it down with the Force, you could seal off the Imp's only ingress point. Then you would only have to dispatch of the Stormtroopers already inside.

You'll have to find another way out of the ruin itself of course, but that's a problem for later. The situation is becoming dire and this is the thing you can think of to do.

Suddenly, a Rocket Trooper dives at great velocity and collides into Cal, slamming his boots into the trunk of the Jedi's body and sending the him sprawling across the floor where he curls into a ball,. His lightsaber rolls across the flagstones with a mournful clinking sound.

You stand up, using the Force to balance and centre yourself, to find strength. You puff out your cheeks and exhale sharply through your lips. Then, you jump.

*************************************************

Cal writhes on the ground clutching his abdomen at the agonising point of impact where the Trooper had barrelled feet into him feet first.

Didn't see that one coming.

He gasps in deep lungfuls of air as he desperately tries to regulate his breathing through the pain.

Another broken rib? No. Thank the Force. But he's severely winded and there'll be bruising for sure. He knows he needs to move but kriff it hurts.

BD-1, who was thrown from his shoulder on impact, is now dancing from foot to little metallic foot next to him, urging him to get up.

Suddenly, he hears the unmistakable song of another lightsaber and he looks up in awe to see a stranger standing in front of him, purple blade cutting through the air and deflecting the continuing onslaught of blaster bolts.

The figure is hooded, and even when they are forced to turn towards him as they wheel around to interrupt the advance of a Scout Trooper attempting to flank them, he can't see the face hidden behind the folds of material.

Something in the Force nags at him. There is a strange familiarity in the presence of this mysterious warrior who has come to his aid.

Spurred on by curiosity, Cal steels himself and tries to rise, extending out a hand to bring his lightsaber into his hand with the Force. Too late, he registers a flash of white in his peripheral vision as a Stormtrooper's boot collides with his temple and everything snaps into blackness.

***********************************************

You've been stood watch beside an unconscious Cal for almost ten minutes. The dust is still settling from the avalanche of rock you brought tumbling down to the ancient Temple floor. The plan worked. Tonnes of rubble now separate you and Cal from the Empire.

You look down at your childhood friend. Blacked out from a kick to the head or not, you can't believe he slept though that noise. You're just starting to get worried when he finally stirs and groans. His little droid, who has since introduced himself as BD-1, boops hopefully.

"Cal?"

His green eyes, still shockingly familiar despite the passage of time, flicker open. When they finally focus and lock on to yours, they widen in alarm.

Cal leaps clumsily to his feet and stumbles backwards away from you. Disoriented and in pain, he staggers, one hand clutching at his side with the movement, the other held out in from of him. His mouth is agape, and he stares at you as if he's seen a ghost.

Cal says your name as if it's a question. It's barely a whisper.

“Yes,”

“You're...here?" His voice is faltering, unsure. "You're not...?”

Dead? You think he's going to say.

"...not a dream?

“It's me Cal," you reply and your voice is hushed with emotion, "it's really me.”

Cal drops heavily to his knees and you dart forwards to catch him, fearing he's about to pass out again. Instead, when you are kneeling face to face, he grasps your hands in his.

“I can't believe it,” he says breathlessly.

You bring your forehead to rest against his for a moment until he pulls you in a hug so tight you can barely breathe. You return it anyway, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing as if to prove to him that you are not an illusion or some cruel trick of the Force.

He winces and it breaks the spell. You let him go and cast your eyes over him, examining for wounds.

"Force, sorry," you apologise, "Anything broken?"

Cal gingerly lifts up his dark grey shirt which is filthy with dust and grime but no visible blood. He reveals one side of his bruised torso and you can't help but notice how, under the welts, the muscles there are sculpted and strong. Even on this small part of his body, his skin is littered with scars. Like you, it seems, Cal is living the life of a warrior.

"Not this time..." he quips, letting the material fall back into place.

BD-1 jumps up onto Cal's shoulder and gives him a little butt with his flat, rectangular head. The droid ejects a small cannister from one of his compartments and Cal catches it, injecting green liquid into his chest. A healing stim.

"Thanks buddy."

Cautiously, Cal pushes himself to his feet where he stands with his hands on his hips, inspecting the huge pile of rubble covering what was once the grand and sacred entrance to the Spori Temple.

"That got anything to do with you?" he asks, gesturing casually at the mess.

You dust off your hands as you rise to stand beside him.

"Someone had to save your ass. Thought I might as well make an impression on the Empire at the same time."

He looks at you and for the first time since you've reunited with him, he smiles properly. Your heart soars. It's the same boyish grin you remember so well.

"Could be a problem."

"Maybe not..." you reply as you pull out the data pad you'd loaded up with an Old Republic era holo map of the Temple. The technological backflips you'd had to do to get that thing to run on your device...

BD-1 boops indignantly.

That's my job.

"Look at these tunnels," you continue, placating the little droid with a gentle pat to the head as you speak, "they connect to various ceremonial chambers, some functional rooms too, and then out the other side. I think they were once service passageways. It's the long way round, it'll take us a couple of days but..."

"Why are you here?" Cal asks suddenly, as if the thought has only just occurred to him.

He's looking at you questioningly. It's not suspicion. It's a sort of sharp curiosity, and you suddenly become aware of the obvious. That you and Cal are here for the same purpose.

Nevertheless, you trust him implicitly. You bend down and reach into your small knapsack which is currently resting by your feet. You rummage around until you find the tiny golden data sphere which holds the Spori culture archive.

"Why are you here?" You counter, although you suspect your theory must be correct.

Sure enough, Cal raises his eyebrows and nods towards the object in your palm.

"Figures," you say.

You are interrupted by the unmistakable din of a laser firing through rock. The Empire have obviously brought in heavy duty cutting equipment. They must want the Spori archive more than you thought.

"Work it out later?" Cal suggests.

You nod in agreement, before stuffing the data sphere back into your bag and grabbing Cal's hand, leading him briskly towards the nearest service tunnel marked on your map.

***************************************************

You and Cal follow the old passageways for miles. The two of you fall back into your old, easy way of conversation as if no time has passed at all. Your laughter echoes through the ruin, filling up forgotten rooms and dormant chambers where the ring of voices has not been heard in centuries.

Finally, the tunnel you are following leads out to a cavernous ceremonial chamber. It is an extravagantly long hall and all the way down there are huge pillars, inset with hundreds of alcoves where candles must once have been placed for illumination. You try to imagine a grand feast being held here, priests and dignitaries and attendants all floating across the chamber in their opulent ceremonial garb.

Cal nudges you, starting you out of your reverie. You look at him and he nods down the long room towards the furthest two pillars in the distance.

"Race ya."

"Oh, you are so on, Kestis," You accept and crouch into a starting position, welcoming a chance to properly stretch your legs. "On three...One..."

"Woah, woah, woah!" Cal suddenly exclaims, holding up his hands. "Not so fast. On three or after three?"

You turn to him and roll eyes as you register the mischievous smirk on his face. You've had this argument so many times.

"Remember that race with Kya and Mez?" He snorts with laughter, "You were so mad!"

"That's because you all cheated!" You argue and you can't believe that over a decade later, that particular defeat still riles you. "Everybody knows when you say on three, that means you go after three."

"No, that's what after three means!" Cal protests, your seriousness surrounding the situation only causing his mirth to increase.

You know he's right, but you were always so competitive back then. You always wanted, needed to win. Master Daylum had tried to temper and hone that determined spirit into something more refined but, even now, you aren't sure that you've even been able to tame that particular fault in your nature.

You remember once in sparring training, you'd thrown down your training saber in annoyance.

"Why are you doing that?!" You yelled at Cal, who was partnering you, storming across to him and shoving him hard in the chest.

You were convinced that he was holding back with his strikes and it was making you irate. You wanted a proper fight otherwise your victory would be hollow.

"Just because you are scared of everything doesn't mean I am!"

You'd stalked off, leaving him with an expression of shock and hurt on his face. Within five minutes, you'd regained your composure and your insides squirmed with the shame and guilt of unjustly embarrassing your friend.

Later that night, you'd snuck into Cal's quarters to apologise. He accepted with his usual good grace and, as you left, you'd placed a chaste peck on his cheek which made his face turn almost as red as his hair.

Cal was always quick to forgive you after that.

"Ok, ok, fine," you concede, bringing your mind back to the present.

You are unable to stop a smile spreading across your face as Cal struggles to stop his chuckling beside you. You'd always found his laughter infectious and nothing seemed to have changed there. Maybe, maybe you can see the funny side now.

"After three then," you say.

You both adopt a low stance in preparation to dart forwards and get the best start possible. You look at each other and grin and Cal starts to count.

"One...two...three..."

Before Cal can say go!, you set off at a blistering pace. You hear a scrabble of boots on loose stones and an indignant shout of hey! behind you as he scrambles into a run after you. From his perch on Cal's shoulder, BD-1 trills a similar reproval.

You laugh, exhilarated. The wind rushes in your face and through your hair as you pump your arms and legs as fast as you can. You feel like a child again. You feel free.

As you push your body harder, you reach into the Force and you sense the strength of Cal's presence, both familiar and new, in tune with yours. Something warm blooms inside you. It's as if a piece of you has been missing all these years.

It's meant to be like this, you think.

Cal is fast but you've always been quicker than him, your nimble frame allowing you to cover the ground like something feline. Even with his new advantage of height and longer legs, there's no way he'll catch you now as you speed towards the pillars and victory.

You raise your arms in triumph as you cross the makeshift finish line. You turn and Cal is right on your tail, BD-1 crouched low on his shoulder as if to be the cause of the least wind resistance possible.

Cal barely slows as he swoops behind you, grabbing you by the waist. You shriek with laughter and he picks you up and spins you around before setting your feet back down on the crumbling flagstones.

"Cheat!" He accuses, but his expression is joyful and his eyes sparkle with glee.

He puts his hands on his knees and folds over in an exaggerated gesture of catching his breath.

"Now you know what it feels like," you counter, and you slump down against the nearest pillar, enjoying the sensation of the cool stone against your back.

Cal joins you so that you are sitting shoulder to shoulder.

"Force, you're still so competitive," he says.

"And you're still such a sore loser."

You stick your tongue out at him and you both laugh.

You suddenly realise how tired you are. You and Cal have been walking and scrambling and clambering across miles of difficult, dangerous terrain for hours. The Temple is mostly in ruin now and so many parts of it have collapsed or caved in, placing obstacle after unexpected obstacle in your path.

"Rest?"

Cal takes a swig of water from his canteen pouch and grins.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

-------------------------------------------------------

10 years ago

"Padawan, your lightsaber!" Master Tapal admonishes as Cal's weapon skids across the floor and plummets into the oblivion of the turbo-lift shaft.

There is an uncharacteristic note of panic in his Master's voice. It causes a spike of fear to pierce through the young Padawan's very soul and makes him more afraid than even the betrayal of the once friendly Clones, the onslaught of blaster fire that seems to come at him from every direction, and the screeching, disorienting cacophony of the Venator's blaring alarms put together.

"Sorry Master!" Cal exclaims as he scrambles onwards and upwards, towards the escape pods feeling vulnerable and helpless without his weapon.

****************************************************

His Master lies dead on the floor before him. As the escape pod gives a terrifying shudder as it disengages from the Venator, Cal throws himself into one of the vessel's seats, fumbling to secure his safety belt.

He wonders what's become of you. The guilt and shame of his failure washes over him anew as he remembers your stricken face as you fell away from his grasp. He wasn't strong enough to help you. If you're dead, it'll be all his fault. Just like his Master.

The young Padawan clutches his Tapal's lightsaber tightly to his chest and squeezes his eyes shut. Finally, he allows himself to let out a wail of despair as he hurtles through space alone towards the planet of Bracca and the unknown.

-----------------------------------------------------

Present Day

Cal is still asleep. You're not sure how - he can't possibly be comfortable. He's lying flat on his back, arms folded across his chest, using a low stone slab as a makeshift pillow.

You have no idea whether the Empire have been successful in their efforts to break through into the Temple and you know you really should get going. But Cal looks so peaceful, you don't want to wake him. Not yet.

Fondly, you examine his face, reacquainting yourself with the constellations of freckles that sit on his nose and cheeks. You still can't get over how grown up he looks. How handsome he's become. The beard gives him a rather dashing appearance.

You wonder how he got that scar across his nose which disappears as it reaches his right cheek then reappears again on his neck. You don't doubt he's got many such marks from his scrapper's life on Bracca.

Deftly, you reach out with the Force. You smile. Elements of his presence feel so familiar to you - Earnest, honest, kind-hearted Cal.

But there is also determinedness, a level headedness, and a self-assuredness you've never felt from him before. You feel a rush of emotion as you realise it reminds you of the steady, secure feeling you used to sense from Master Tapal once you'd stopped being scared of the purple Lasat's outwardly stern demeanour and truly giagantic size.

Whenever you and Cal got into trouble - or, perhaps more accurately, whenever you got Cal into trouble - by sneaking out into the Gardens of the Jedi Temple after hours or some such similar escapade, Master Daylum would almost always lead the reprimand, while Master Tapal would merely observe, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

As an adult, you understand now that the Lasat considered your independent spirit and rebellious nature to be a good balancer for his sometimes overly cautious and uncertain Padawan.

You retrain your mind on Cal. There's something else, something he hides, deep within himself. You realise it's the same bitter collection of feelings that you have struggled with every day since the violent extermination of your Order.

Doubt. Grief. Fear.

You pull back, realising you are teetering on the edge between curiosity and trespass. As if the you have summoned these unpleasant notions to the surface of the sleeping young man's psyche, Cal starts to mumble in his sleep. He twists and jerks as if he's having a terrible nightmare.

You crouch beside him and shake him gently by the shoulder in a desperate attempt to wake him. It takes longer than you would like and as he catapults back into consciousness, he sits bolt upright, his broad shoulders heaving up and down as his breath comes in short, sharp pants.

His eyes flash wildly as he reorients himself and when they finally lock on to yours they blaze with the intensity of green kyber. It's as if he's relieved all over again to see that you are alive.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he blurts out, "I left you there. I left you on that ship."

"No, Cal" you say softly and you place a hand on his bearded cheek.

You've never blamed him. Not once.

Over the years, you've been unable to quash a secretly harboured shard of resentment towards the Jedi, despite your love for the Order you once called home, your family. As an adult, you started to find yourself doubting the morality and the wisdom of training young children to be weapons and sending them off to war.

Nowadays, for the most part, you are able to reconcile your loyalty to the Order with these criticisms, but the realisation that Cal still perceives what happened on the Venator as some kind of personal failing makes these feelings flare up within you all over again.

"No," you repeat and your tone is firmer now, "we were kids, Cal. We both did what we had to to survive in a situation we should never have had to face.”

Cal shakes his head and looks away.

“Do you ever dream of it? Of the Venator?” he asks, staring into the distance.

“All the time,” you answer truthfully and you smile sadly.

You are relieved to see that when Cal trains his gaze back onto your face, his expression, while still sombre, is less feverish.

"How did you escape?"

"I commandeered a shuttle," you explain, then smirk, "Crashed it, of course. Into a field on Pelka-4."

"That sounds like you," Cal quips, and you are glad when the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

"I was lucky. A family of farmers found me. They kept me safe, hidden while I healed. I stayed with them for a few years until I managed to find a Rebel cell to join. Been sticking it to the Empire ever since."

You suddenly realise that neither of you have spoken about your lives after the purge until now. You don't know anything about the last ten years of Cal's existence.

"What about you?" You ask.

"Ended up on Bracca," Cal says and he lifts the sleeve of his shirt to display a tattoo on the underside of his right forearm.

It's a worker identification tag and you feel a surge of sympathy for him. Force what a hard life for a kid.

"Scrapper," he continues, "Until, one day, I used the Force to save a friend from a fall. He died anyway when the Inquisitors came for me."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too..." Cal rubs the back of his neck as he continues, "I was working with a team including another Jedi for a while. It's complicated, but we went our separate ways and I've been part of Saw Guerra's operation since."

"You're working for Saw Gerrera?"

"I'm working with Saw Gerrera."

You both look at each other and burst into laughter, knowing that the formidable Rebel warlord himself certainly wouldn't see it that way.

"What does Gerrera want with a Spori data archive?"

"He doesn't," Cal says, "but intel picked up a lot of Imperial activity in the area and I knew that's what they were after. I wanted to take it out the game before they could get to it."

You take the Spori data sphere out of your knapsack again and hold it out towards Cal in your open hand.

"What do we do with it now?"

Cal reaches out and closes your palm around the device.

"If you have somewhere safe for it," he says, his emerald gaze earnest, his voice low and sincere, "You get it there."

************************************

Cal doesn't need to wonder if he's made the right decision in suggesting you take custody of the Spori archive. He's not ready to visit Cere on Jedha, and Saw Gerrera's numerous bases of operations are constantly at risk of Imperial attack. Smaller cells, like yours, are easier to hide, easier to move. More than that, he trusts you completely to keep the sphere safe.

Even as a child, you were the most capable, determined, head-strong person he's ever met. Nothing's changed. You still make him laugh until he cries and he can't believe quite how much he's missed being relentlessly teased by you.

Having you near him again is enchanting. He feels drawn to you, like the invisible chord that has tied you together all of your lives has suddenly been pulled taut and you are being pulled inexorably towards each other.

Despite the circumstances you find yourselves in, Cal is happier with you down here in the dark with you than he's been in years.

And it really is dark down here. And damp. And cold. Squeezing through the Spori service tunnels which seem to be in more and more disrepair the further you go, it is as if there are unnamed things skittering about in the blackness.

Cal tries to put this down to the loose pebbles and stones you both kick up as you make your way through the ruined passageways, but he's not convinced.

He doesn't much like small spaces, but as you make progress down the increasingly narrowing passage in front of him, BD-1 on your shoulder lighting the way, Cal can feel your panic rising in the Force.

He suddenly remembers that you are severely claustrophobic and he scolds himself for forgetting. How could he not remember the night he sat up for hours holding your trembling hand in the Jedi Temple's med bay after your experience on Ilum.

Master Yoda had taken you and Cal with your peers to the ice planet for the ceremonial Gathering, the traditional rite of passage where young Padawans explore the great ice caves to source the kyber crystals with which to construct their lightsabers.

The ritual was always somewhat dangerous, but you'd had a particularly fraught time, falling down an ice crevasse and almost getting stuck between the tightly packed sheets of ice. You were forced to crawl and squeeze your way out in the dark all alone.

You were hours later than everybody else. Cal remembers how he came the closest he'd ever been to disobedient, sneaking away from the pack of Padawans and Master Yoda himself who were waiting by the transport ship outside the caves for your return.

Determined to try and find you himself, Cal made it halfway to the entrance unseen - or so he liked to think - when you finally emerged from the caves, hunched over and limping, but your kyber crystal firmly in hand.

The Jedi Council had been impressed with your perseverance and bravery, but Cal had never quite forgiven them for allowing you to suffer like that.

"This is only getting narrower, Cal," you say, jolting him out of his memories. He can hear the uncertainty in your voice, "Maybe we should go back."

BD-1 lets out a little boop which is almost a scoffing sound.

"It's ok for you, buddy," Cal reminds him patiently, "You're very small."

He hears the droid trill a bashful apology in your ear.

"That's ok, BD-1," you say and the genuine warmth in your voice makes Cal smile. You always had a weakness for cute droids, even when they were cheeky.

"Kriff," you swear softly in front of him as you come to a halt so abrupt he almost crashes into you.

In the dim light, Cal can see that part of the tunnel has collapsed. He watches as BD-1 hops off your back, and scurries into the small opening on the ground. Glad of something to do, the droid proudly scans the terrain and projects the way ahead. It's not blocked and it's not far, but it'll be tight. You'll have to crawl.

Cal places a hand on your shoulder and has to resist the urge to recoil as your fear arcs through the Force and passes through his own body so acutely that it feels like a bolt of electricity.

"I'll go first," he says.

The narrow corridor is barely wide enough for two people. You press yourself as flat as you can against the damp stone wall so that Cal can squeeze past. He raises his arms and rests his palms against the rock either side of your head for balance as he steps cautiously in between and around your feet and legs.

It's intimate, almost awkwardly so. Cal hopes you don't notice the blush he can feel creeping up his neck as he is forced to press his body into yours as he climbs over you. He looks down into your eyes as he passes, raising his eyebrows and tilting his chin upwards in mock flirtation in an attempt to lighten the mood.

He is relieved when you giggle and jab him playfully in the ribs. He can't help but notice that your cheeks have turned a rather fetching shade of pink, no doubt mirroring his own, as BD's torch lamp passes over your face.

Something inside him glows as he realises you feel it too - the ember of something new between you smouldering into life as your shared past collides with the present.

But now, he needs to concentrate. Reluctantly, he brushes aside the giddy feeling you've awakened within him and he reaches into the Force. He inhales then exhales deeply, slowing his racing heart as he focuses on the task in hand. Then, following BD-1's lead, he crouches down and crawls head first into the gap in the stone work.

*************************************************

If your lungs didn't feel so constricted, so full of dust and musty, cloying air, you'd probably scream. When you'd squeezed yourself into the collapsed passageway after Cal, at first you'd been able to crawl on your hands and knees. That was almost tolerable but now... Now you are now flat on your stomach, making painstaking progress by clutching at the rough, stony ground in front of you with your fingers and pulling yourself along like some undead creature in a horror holo novel.

You try to ground yourself in the Force, but just like when you were a child, your panic has severed your connection to it, cut you off from it, leaving you adrift in the painful void of its absence.

Suddenly, you hear the scrabbling of Cal's body and boots against the ground ahead. Before you can register what's happening you are plummeted into darkness, BD-1's headlamp extinguishing without warning.

Oh Force, they've fallen down some crack in the ancient structure, plummeting into oblivion where the earth has swallowed them whole and now you're stuck here in the dark alone with no way forward and no chance of turning around...

The sharp, solid ice - no, this isn't Ilum - rock bites through your clothing, stony shards pressing into your body as your chest expands with your panicked breathing.

"Cal?" You gasp out, then, in a shout that's almost a scream, "Cal?!"

Abruptly, your eyes are assaulted with a white light so bright it dazzles you. You jump and hit your head painfully on the stone ceiling above you. A pair of hands, Cal's hands you realise, reach through the blinding light of BD's torch and you snatch at them wildly as if he might withdraw them and leave you there alone in the dark.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't. With ease, he pulls you gently through the last little length of the tunnel and up onto your feet where you emerge gasping and wheezing as if you've been held under water.

You throw your arms around Cal's neck in relief, launching yourself at him with such force that he staggers backwards. Once he's regained his footing, he places a hand at the small of your back, drawing you close to him and cradles your head to his chest with the other. His heart beats out a sonorous, steady rhythm and resonates through your own body, slowing your breathing and calming your rattled nerves.

Funny, you always used to be the one to comfort him when you were children.

"I've got you," he whispers gently into your ear, "I've got you."

A passing thought that maybe you should be embarrassed for allowing your fear to overwhelm you like this is discarded almost immediately as Cal places a soft kiss gently on the top of your head.

A feeling of warmth rushes through you. You suddenly realise how safe you feel with him as you press into the warmth of his strong, solid body. You breathe in his old familiar smell which has a new, heady quality to it like clean leather mixed with the oddly pleasant scent of his physical exertions.

"Sorry..." you mumble, finally, into his chest, hoping he can't feel where your panicked tears have rolled unbidden down your cheeks and soaked into the fabric of his shirt, "I was thinking about..."

"Ilum," Cal finishes for you, "I know."

"You remember?" you say, pulling back to look at him.

He smiles kindly.

"I remember."

You shiver. Is it the memory of that icy planet that still chills your bones? No, you decide, it really is cold in here. Although, you realise, the air feels and smells different somehow. Fresher. Sweeter.

Reluctantly, you extricate yourself from Cal's arms and take a look around the Spori chamber you've just put yourself through hell to get to.

Except...you're not in a chamber at all. You're not even inside.

You look upwards and see stars twinkling above you, a million points of light in the darkness. Around you, the roofless, crumbling remains of the Spori Temple stretch raggedly into the inky sky like skeletal fingers.

You think back to when you'd studied the climate of planet and the geographical position of the Temple before setting off on your mission. The ancient structure would certainly be exposed to harsh winds on this northern side, especially in the formidable Spori winter. This part of the Temple has simply not weathered the ravages of time.

In the twilight, you take in the shadowy treeline of a great forest which lays across a meadow of high, fragrant grass which sways gently in the breeze. The tops of far away mountains are illuminated by the ethereal blue light of Spori's twin moons. The natural beauty of the place is magical.

You fill your lungs with beautiful, clean air. You can breathe again. You let out a joyful whoop, throwing your head back and laughing, stretching your hands up into the night sky and spinning round and round in the glorious open landscape.

When you finally stop, you notice that Cal is watching you with an expression of pure delight.

"We did it!" You say breathlessly, coming to rest in front of him and he laughs.

BD-1 hops from foot to foot in front of you, wanting to join in your celebration. You crouch down and scoop the little droid into a tight embrace where he purrs like a Loth cat. After a minute, he hops out of your arms and across to his usual spot on Cal's shoulder.

Cal's face is covered in dirt which runs in dark streaks down his cheeks where rivulets of sweat have trickled their path. You imagine you look similar. Automatically, you reach up and rub at the patch of grime caked above his left eyebrow with your thumb.

Cal brings his hand up to rest against yours as he leans into your touch. His expression is soft and there is a longing in his face so intense that he almost looks lost. You burn with a sudden yearning for him as his gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips.

Something chirps, breaking the spell. Cal reaches into his back pocket to pull out a small data pad.

"The Mantis can pick us up here in the morning," he says, inserting coordinates into the device and transmitting them to his crew, "We can drop you back wherever you need to be if you want a ride?"

Your heart sinks and you can tell by Cal's regretful expression that your face has fallen with it. In your euphoria, you'd almost forgotten that your reunion was probably only temporary.

Cal looks crestfallen by your reaction and you know he must realise that, however unintended, the abrupt shift in tone would have seemed callous to you. You can tell that he is searching for the words to repair the damage - he still has this need to say the right thing.

But it's too late.

"Sure," you reply, and you hate the coldness in your tone.

****************************************

Cal is lying on his side in the grass, somewhat sheltered in the corner of the part of the ruin you'd chosen for your camp. It's little more than a cluster of decaying stones, but it's better than nothing and it keeps the wind at bay. You've built a fire for warmth and placed yourselves at either side of it.

As Cal studies your peaceful face through the leaping, crackling flames, he smiles to himself. You look so beautiful to him, as you always had. Even on your worst days when your temper or your hard-headedness won out, he'd always likened you to a force of nature - a tempest or a forest fire. Something elemental.

The thought of going through another separation from you is unbearable. He curses his thoughtlessness earlier. He was certain that he had just about plucked up the courage to kiss you. Sensing your own feelings through the Force, he was almost sure that you wouldn't have rejected him and he'd certainly been willing to take that chance.

Wallowing in self-pity for this missed opportunity made it impossible to even think about sleep. If only that blasted device hadn't interrupted the moment.

And besides all that inner turmoil, Cal's teeth are chattering so loud in his skull that he's certain they could wake the dead, never mind himself. While softer than the solid rock that had been serving as his bedding recently, the turf beneath him is damp and the chill is seeping through his clothing and into his skin. He is so uncomfortable.

"Cal?"

Just as his eyelids start to droop, he hears you speak his name in a soft, sleepy voice. When he looks across at you, you are sitting up, the firelight dancing across the bright, glassy orbs of your eyes, your hair wild.

Force you look ethereal.

"Are you cold?" You ask.

"Freezing," Cal admits.

"Me too," you pause before saying in a hushed tone that makes Cal's stomach flip, "Come here."

He hesitates for a moment before he does as as he's bid, standing and making his way over to you. Wordlessly, you reach up to him and he takes you hand in his as you guide him to lie at your back and return to your position on your side. He feels a heady thrill when you press yourself into him as he curls his body around your smaller frame.

Cal laces one arm underneath you while the other wraps around your waist, holding you flush against him. You clasp the hand the hand that rests against your stomach in your own. Cal wonders if you can feel his heart slamming against his chest.

"I've missed you," he hears himself blurt out suddenly and he curses inwardly, feeling stupid.

But the temporary embarrassment fades quickly and is replaced by certainty and desire as you bring his hand up to your mouth and trace a trail of kisses across his knuckles with your soft lips.

"I can't lose you again," he continues ardently, "I can't."

Cal brushes a strand of stray hair away from your ear, as if that might allow you to heed his words more clearly.

"You won't," you say firmly, and a new sense of hope blooms inside him for the first time in a long time.

You twist towards him and onto your back, propping yourself up on your elbows to look up into his open, sincere face. Unable to resist any longer, Cal places a hand at the nape of your neck and draws you up into a deep, passionate kiss. His heart sings as your hands fly up to twist in his hair as you move your lips urgently against his.

As you embrace, Cal feels your familiar presence in the Force blossom with something new, something which glows incandescent like a beacon guiding him towards you and only you. Suddenly, every nerve in his body is on fire and, as you move together, he feels as if you are two flames blazing through the very heart of the Galaxy itself.

Only in his dreams did he ever imagine that he would see you again after that awful day on the Venator so long ago. Now, as you lie down together beneath the stars amid the mysterious ruins of the Spori Temple, Cal Kestis promises himself that whatever the future holds, he'll never let you go again.

[pedroam-bang]

Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003-2005)

[freesia-writes]

The Hero We Never Knew We Needed: A Tribute to Bop

GIF thanks to @skybson

Word Count: 484

Minutes Spent Laughing While Writing: 19

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

The Clone Wars were a grim time, a galaxy torn apart by opposing ideologies and forceful rulers who sought to unite everyone under their own structure. Clones were created by the millions, raised at twice the speed of a normal life and thrown onto the battlefield as soon as they were able. Battalions would go forth, brother after brother falling under the relentless forces of the Separatists. Replacements were shipped in daily, as though one man could just as easily replace another, as though their entire lives were for one singular, dismal purpose. The heavy weight of conflict crushed the freedom and enthusiasm of the previously free systems, and what little joy there was to be found was fleeting, often followed by despair, death, and defeat. Wave after wave, soul after soul -- some would argue that those who survived had a harder time, somehow spared from the sweet release of death and instead forced to repeat their worst nightmare every day.

And then there was Bop.

A brave and fearless soldier on the battlefield, Bop would mow down droid after droid, dual-wielding his blasters and charging forth alongside his brothers with a fierce battle cry no matter how grisly the odds were. He was unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with. He fought hard.

And he played harder.

See, Bop knew how to live. His scarce time off was spent at 79s, where he could be found dancing the night away, a euphoric grin plastered across his face. His joy was infectious, and he didn’t care how many or few were on the dance floor -- he was there to start (and finish) the festivities. There were droids assigned to contribute to the jovial atmosphere, moving in their jerky rhythms to entice others to join, but they had nothing on Bop. He was CT-1999, because that was how he partied***.

He was such a battlefield hero that he was promoted to officer, assigned to a Venator-class Star Destroyer and placed over the ship's weapons systems. He traded in his plastoid armor for a slick uniform with gloves, a belt, and a gray cap, and proudly wore his rank insignia plaque on his chest. Insightful and quick on his feet, Bop was a legend. Droids feared him, fellow clones respected him, and creatures of all species yearned to be the one he would take home at night.

But Bop had only one mission. He did his job with precision and excellence, and when he was finally released to enjoy the temporary illusion of autonomy, he sought out his place of zen. His sanctuary. His place to both rejuvenate himself and restore hope and wonder to the galaxy through the delight of dance. The neon lights of 79s would illuminate every angle of his jive, painting the dance floor with his unbridled groovy enthusiasm.

Bop would die one day, whether by age or by artillery, as we all must fall. But today was not that day.

***(this line was a comment from @nika6q and was so good I had to add it)

@doublesunsets @rosechi @501st-rexster @meshlaxbunny @anxiouspineapple99 @softsunburstlove @starrylothcat @the-bad-batch-baroness @thecoffeelorian 😂😘

[spockvarietyhour]

New Kid On the Block "The Cavalry Has Arrived"

[stagbeetleboy]

Is it bad if I find the venator hot

The Venator-class Star Destroyer?!?!?

Hell yeah, I’d like to penetrate her shields if you know what I’m sayin.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Turn It Up When You're Gone (1/2)

Starting my fic migration off with a bang! This is by far my most popular work on AO3, because people be horny. Delta Squad/Republic Commando girlies, come get y'all juice!

Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI

Pairing: Sev x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.9k

Summary: You are a GAR analyst, and your job is to process clone trooper helmet feeds. Being surrounded by incredibly handsome, competent troopers makes it hard to keep a professional distance, but you've managed. Until now.

Warnings: SMUT; voice kink, praise kink, body worship

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You love your job. As a GAR tactical analyst assigned to the Venator-class Star Destroyer Guarlara, you spend your days immersed in clone trooper helmet feeds. It might seem boring or tedious to some, but with your keen eye for detail and extensive knowledge of tactics, it is as close to a perfect occupation as you can imagine.

Besides, the clones are pretty entertaining. You always love the snippets of banter that pop up in their comm feeds, from gallows humor, to good-natured mockery, to genuine awe or delight at a new planet. Seeing the galaxy from the perspectives of these men, who have seen too little of beauty and too much of the chaos and horror of war in their short lives, gives you a new appreciation for its wonders.

At first, you try to maintain some professional distance from the troopers, if only to preserve your sanity when so many of them are lost in each engagement, and you have the responsibility of watching as their helmet feeds fade to black. But it isn’t easy. The battlefield camaraderie you witness in their feeds continues onboard the Guarlara, and you can’t help being pulled into it. You make friends with a few clones, and every time they go on a mission, you hold your breath until they come back safely.

It doesn’t help your resolve to keep them at arm’s length that you are surrounded by incredibly handsome, competent soldiers in peak physical condition. Several of your fellow nat-born analysts have already had flings with clones, and by all accounts, the experience is worth the risk of official reprimands or even demotions. You haven’t done it yourself—yet—but you’ve been tempted.

And the temptation just got one thousand times stronger.

A new clone commando unit has been temporarily assigned to the Guarlara: Delta squad. Regular clone banter is entertaining, but the Deltas are on a whole different level. Boss is all business, and Fixer is quiet and by-the-book, but Scorch and Sev are hilarious. You often have to bite your lip to keep from bursting into unprofessional laughter at their antics, even as you are blown away by their tactical prowess.

You find yourself saving the Delta feeds for the end of your work cycle, just so you can finish your day on a high note. Sometimes, you wish you could get your hands on some Mantell Mix while you’re watching the feeds. They’re better than any holoflick you’ve ever seen. If only they could be released to the public; they would make a blockbuster action comedy.

But there’s another reason you are quickly becoming obsessed with the Delta feeds.

The first time you hear Sev’s voice, you gasp, and prickles run down your neck. He sounds different from the other clones: deep, gravelly, menacing. Incredibly sexy. You often find yourself replaying snippets of his comm feed, just so you can hear him speak. Whether he is making a dark joke, tallying his kills, or snarling at an enemy, his voice never fails to make you breathe a little faster.

You have never met the squad, never seen their faces, though you’ve seen them in their distinctive armor around the ship. The commandos mostly keep to themselves. You aren’t even sure which armor belongs to which commando, though you would bet every credit of your cycle’s pay that Sev is the one with the helmet painted to look like a bloody handprint. 

You know that the commandos were the same height as all the rest of the clones, but somehow, they seem larger. More solid. Far more intimidating. Maybe it is the armor, but you doubt it. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about what Sev looks like under all that bulky commando armor. Lying in your bunk during your sleep cycle, you picture him. Copper skin, curly black hair, eyes the color of amber. Hard, sculpted muscles. Broad shoulders, narrow hips that flex against yours, driving his thick cock deep inside you until you whimper his name. And of course, you imagine his voice: deep and dark, murmuring the filthiest words in your ear as he pounds into you with that incredible clone commando stamina.

When you meet up with your fellow analysts for lunch in the mess hall, you confess that a clone has finally caught your eye—or more correctly, your ear.

“He has the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard,” you say, keeping your volume low so as not to attract attention from the troopers eating at nearby tables or milling around in small groups.

“They all do,” laughs Drinna. “They’re clones!”

“This one is different,” you insist. “It’s so deep and growly. He sounds so… dangerous.”

Jeelee shivers next to you, and you don’t blame him. None of your friends can deny that the rush of adrenaline is at least a small part of their attraction to the clone troopers. There’s just something about a soldier who has been trained from birth to be a killing machine that activates your fight, flight, or fuck response.

“Stars, I never thought I’d get turned on listening to someone yelling, ‘Trando scum,’” you say with an uncertain laugh. “If it weren’t a massive security breach, I’d try to smuggle some of his feeds into my bunk for a little private viewing session.”

Drinna snorts with laughter, and the group hurries to finish the meal before you all have to get back to your stations to close out your work cycle.

---

Sev can’t believe his ears. He’s sitting in the mess staring at the empty table where you and your friends were just sitting. He’s off duty and wearing only his black body glove, which is why you don’t notice him sitting alone when your group takes the table next to his. But he notices you. How could he not? He’d spotted you the very first day he and the Deltas came aboard. 

He isn’t completely sheltered. He’s met nat-born GAR personnel before, including a few female officers. And he has made the rounds at 79’s during Delta squad’s all-too-rare shore leaves. But something about you grabs his attention. He first notices your laugh. You laugh a lot, and you do it with your whole body. Your eyes light up, your mouth opens in a delighted smile, your head tilts back, your shoulders shake, your tits bounce. One time, he saw you laugh so hard you had to lean against a wall for support when your knees gave out. It makes him want to be the one who makes you laugh.

His keen sniper’s eyes have also spotted you stealing glances at him and the rest of his squad when you pass in the hallways of the Venator. He’s seen you chatting amiably with other clones, and he wonders why you never try to talk to the Deltas. Maybe she’s intimidated, he thinks. He doesn’t blame you.

When he overhears you talking to your friends, he doesn’t think much about it. He just enjoys getting a little glimpse into your life. And then he hears it: “... turned on listening to someone yelling, ‘Trando scum.’ If it weren’t a massive security breach, I’d try to smuggle some of his feeds into my bunk for a little private viewing session.”

Sev nearly chokes on his nutrient paste, and for once, it’s not because of the flavor.

It’s me, he realizes. She’s talking about me.

All this time he’s been watching you, and now he knows you’ve been thinking about him. Getting off to his voice. Imagining him during your “private viewing sessions.” The thought of it has him semi-erect in the middle of the mess hall, with no armor to disguise his state. He spends a long time eating his nutrient paste.

---

The next time the Delta feeds update, you notice that Sev’s is a little longer than the other three. As usual, you save his feed for the last of your day. You take a quick look around to make sure nobody is watching, which is ridiculous, because this is literally your job. But you can’t help feeling a wicked little thrill as you queue up his feed, as though you are about to do something forbidden. You settle the headphones over your head and turn up the volume as you press play.

The holofeed isn’t what you expect. Instead of a battlefield or the inside of a gunship, you see a barracks filled with empty bunks. It looks spare and sterile. The bunks don’t even have pillows; just thin blankets and rough sheets. Your own quarters are austere, but at least you have the luxury of a door and a small refresher. You’ve never seen the inside of the clone barracks before, and you feel as though you are intruding on something private. You reach to scrub forward through the feed, but you halt when Sev’s voice crackles in your headphones.

“I heard a sexy little analyst say she likes my voice,” he says. “I have a present for her ‘private viewing sessions.’ If she comms me the code to her quarters, I’ll know she wants it.”

Oh, stars. He heard. He knows. And he knows who you are. If ever there were a time for the Guarlara to have a small hull breach and launch you into space, now would be the ideal moment! Your heart beats so hard you are sure everyone around you can hear it. You steal a glance out of the corner of your eye, but none of your fellow analysts have noticed anything out of the ordinary. 

You send him a quick message. “RC-1207, this is the tactical analysis center. Your helmet feed flashed an error code during your most recent upload. The code is one-one-three-eight-four-echo-bravo. Please run a diagnostic and purge your helmet’s memory bank to prevent corrupted feeds.”

The reply comes almost instantly. “Copy that, tactical. Thanks for the code. That’ll help me track down what I’m looking for.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath, and turn your attention back to the feed. It cuts to the hallway of the Venator as Delta squad heads out for a mission, and the comm feed is just more of their usual banter, followed by their day’s activities in the battlefield.

You scrub back to the beginning of the feed and listen to it one more time before you trim the recording and upload it to the GAR server. You often have to cut out sections of feeds, so the missing section won’t raise any eyebrows, but Sev could get in huge trouble if anyone higher up the command chain saw the original recording.

With shaky hands, you tidy up your workstation as you do at the end of every work cycle. You straighten your uniform, joke with your friends, and head out of the analysis center. You meet up with a few clones in the corridor, and you make your way as a group to the mess hall, where you complain about the bland rations and make plans for your next shore leave. When you’re confident that you haven’t aroused suspicion, you stretch and tell your friends that you’re going to turn in early. 

You barely restrain yourself from running through the halls to your quarters. You key in your door code with fumbling hands, and once inside, you spot it immediately: a datachip lying innocently on your pillow. You plug it into your personal player. There’s no holo, but Sev’s voice rumbles through your headphones.

“Get comfortable, beautiful. I want this to be good for you.”

You gasp. You pause the recording and strip out of your uniform in record time, flinging it across your cramped quarters to lie rumpled on the floor. Crawling into bed, you slide naked under your blanket and pull the headphones back over your ears.

“That’s my good girl. Are you naked? Kriff, I hope so. You look hot as hell in your uniform. You must be the prettiest karking thing in the galaxy out of it. All that soft, smooth skin. I want you to feel yourself for me, little one. Run your fingers through your hair. Is it as soft as it looks? Does it smell as good as I imagine?”

Oh, sweet gods, he’s been imagining you, too. You wonder if he has been picturing you when he touched himself. Arousal licks up your spine, tinged with a tiny bit of disappointment that you hadn’t made a move sooner. You push the thought aside, determined to enjoy this moment.

“Now I want you to touch your skin. Slide your hands up and down your body, your arms, your thighs. Cup your tits. Give your nipples a little squeeze. Do you like that?”

You nod, biting your lip and breathing hard. You imagine Sev’s hands, rough and strong and big, and your hand drifts down your belly.

“Don’t touch your cunt, sweetheart. Not yet. I don’t want you to rush this.”

Force, it’s like he’s there with you, watching you, instead of away on some Maker-forsaken planet blasting droids. You obey his pre-recorded commands, wanting to get the full experience.

“Brush your fingers over your neck. Do it gently, like you can feel me whispering in your ear instead of a recording. Touch your mouth, baby. Gods, I wish it was me. Would you lick my fingers? I wonder what you taste like. I bet you taste amazing. Sweet, soft lips, wet little tongue. Fierfek, you make me so hard I could nut right fucking now. How kriffed up is it that I’m jealous of your hands?”

Your breath stutters as you hear another sound in the recording: the rhythmic slide of skin against skin. Oh stars, he is getting off on this, too. Or he already got off. Whatever. You roll your hips instinctively, looking for stimulation.

“Damn it, Sev, let me touch myself,” you whisper.

But you don’t. Not yet. You wait for his permission. Instead, you writhe in the bed, sliding your hands all over your body, pinning your hips to the mattress, touching yourself everywhere except the place you so desperately need.

“If I were with you, I’d take my time. Explore your whole body inch by inch. I would kiss you, and taste you, and suck on your tits until you beg for more. I’d bite your sexy ass and then kiss it better. I’d eat that pretty little pussy until you scream for me. Oh, fuck—” He panted for a moment. “Sorry, honey, I needed a minute to cool down or I was gonna blow early. I don’t want you to think I’m not up to the mission. Because right now, you are my mission. And you know that the mission always comes first.”

You can’t help it: you giggle. It’s endearingly cheesy, but you suspect it’s also true. Once Sev has you to himself—because you have no doubt that he will, and soon—he is going to give you the ride of your life.

“Have you been a good girl for me? Did you touch your pussy before I said you could?”

You shake your head. “Please, please, Sev, I need it.”

“I think you have been a good girl, and now you deserve your reward. I want you to touch your cunt, angel. Just brush your fingertips over it, nice and easy. Are you wet? Kark, I hope so, otherwise I’m doing this wrong. Slip your fingers inside, just a little. Get them nice and slick. Now I want you to play with your clit. Do what you like best, baby. Go hard, or go soft. Rub it in circles, or give it a little tap, or press on it nice and slow. I can’t wait to find out what makes you scream. Do you like it when I suck on your clit? Or maybe you like it a little rougher. Do you want me to slap you, pretty thing? Slap that beautiful little pussy and then lick it better? Or would you rather I go slow and gentle, just barely touching you, taking hours to build you up before I ruin you?”

You moan as you work yourself frantically. You are close, so close, and his voice is doing unholy things to you. You can hear him fucking his fist again, and it turns you on even more to know he is into this just as much as you are.

Sev’s breath grows ragged. “It’s gonna be so good when I fuck you. I know your cunt feels amazing. So tight and wet and warm—fuck—gonna be incredible. I can’t wait, I can’t kriffing wait—gods baby, gonna make me come—FUCK!”

He grunts, and it is loud. You can hear the wet spatter of his orgasm, and the sound of it pushes you over the edge. You feel the entire universe contract into your body, so tight, so hot, and then Fuck! The tension snaps, and you cry out as your body jerks and spasms. You gasp for air, twitching away from your own fingers as your hypersensitive body shudders. Your body is drained, your head is empty, every drop of energy in your being is utterly spent. Your eyes close, and you slip into oblivion.

---

Chapter 2

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul

This compilation of lines from the Republic Commando game will never not be funny to me: https://youtu.be/WHXy-_mztg0

[animatedjen]

Cal slipped.

Rock shattered under his foot and skittered down towards the treeline below. His knee and face took most of the impact, crimped handholds biting against his fingers. On his back, BD readjusted his grip with a whir of concern. Twice he’d told Cal this idea was stupid, both times after Cal fell into loose shale while approaching the wall. After that the droid hunkered down and kept his opinions to himself, if only to prevent throwing Cal off balance.

“It’s okay buddy,” Cal grunted the assurance as he looked for new footing. He tasted dirt and maybe blood, his arms were completely spent, and yet somehow it was the best Cal had felt in weeks. He shifted his hips lower and let his weight settle over his left foot, then inched his right up the wall to another toehold. Not great, but it should be enough.

He'd first found the crag while exploring with Mosey. “This path would take us all the way round Raider territory ‘cept for that bluff in the way,” she explained, steering her nekko away from the large outcropping. Cal remembered looking it over, instinctually tracing a line up through the various shapes and grooves in the basalt rock face. A project for another time, after they found Tanalorr.

Now halfway up the cliff, Cal can’t think about hidden planets or fallen friends or a looming Empire. All he can do is inch sideways and slot his hand into a nearby crevice, adjusting until the meat of his palm is wedged firmly into the gap. The next hand follows, then he finds his feet. Instinctually Cal matched his breath to each movement, a soft inhale followed by a deep hiss of an exhale. It’s a form of meditation that he’s never truly found while on the ground.

At the temple he climbed everything. The other younglings in his creche turned it into a game, pointing out interesting walls or columns that could potentially offer a challenge. Wynne once dared Cal to climb to the top of the Archive without touching the floor, and he made it over the railing and onto the second story bookshelves before a bewildered librarian sounded the alarm. His punishment was to dust those same bookshelves, which was wildly boring aside from the ever-present audience: Cal made sure every passing Jedi knew why an eight year old padawan had been assigned cleaning duty. Master Catrine called him a tree-goat and it became Cal’s nickname for the rest of the year.

Learning more of the Force only improved his physicality. Master Tapal had taken one look at his tiny human padawan, bouncing around the halls of the Albedo Brave, and immediately added aerobatics to the training regiment. “You won’t be able to overpower your opponent,” he would say while Cal learned to dash across walls and flip higher into the air. “Use your size and speed to maneuver through your surroundings, adapting to the environment and using it to your advantage.”

Years later, Cal scaled the hull of a half-scrapped Star Destroyer faster than anyone on his shift. The rusting, jagged pieces of metal were nothing like Venator-class training halls or the trees in the Temple meditation gardens. These ships were covered in tragedy, rotted by war and the incessant Bracca rain. He learned to climb with rigging gear, climb with too many pounds of scrapper kit, climb with gnawing emptiness in his stomach and torch burns across his knuckles. The Force was no longer an aid, only a dull, haunted reminder of his past. But years of training were etched too deep into his muscles to be completely forgotten, and the Guild valued those skills enough to employ a destitute liability of a child.

Above, two relters cut across the late afternoon sky, their shadows racing each other along the rockface. Cal tucked his knee against a well-placed indent and ground his foot into the wall until each side felt secure. The kneebar in place, he released his hands with a sigh, shaking out tension and letting the breeze wick away sweat. Guilt gnawed at Cal’s consciousness– he should be at the saloon with the others, helping pack supplies for their next trip through the abyss. The Raiders would likely be wiped out by the Empire anyway, and that’s a problem that no new climbing line can fix.

The Force hummed softly. Cal continued to the end of the fissure, finding another rest point just off to the side. He pressed a hand against a flat portion of the wall, testing its integrity.

“Ready BD?” he called. One beep later, a metal spike launched over Cal’s shoulder to his waiting hand. It would’ve been easier to rewire the entire Mantis than convince BD to swap out his stim canisters for pitons, but Cal didn’t want to risk losing any of his hardware mid-climb. He lined up the spike and let the Force gather around it, then with a Push drove it into the wall. The impact echoed across the treeline below with a satisfying boom.

That was the last piton, BD trilled as Cal added a carabiner. Leaning back, he checked the dangling rope below, tracing it through the previously embedded spikes. Everything’s holding. He checked in with his body. Everything’s hurting. Great. A stim would’ve been nice right about now.

The rope was threaded up and through the final anchor as Cal scouted the last section of the ascent: two sloping holds and a column that juts up over the top of the cliff. He moved his hands to each sloper, mantling up and to the side until there was enough space for his heel to meet his hand. Both hands shifted to the left sloper, and his other foot met them there. Slowly, achingly, he rotated upwards.

BD launched from Cal’s back with a whoop, his thruster carrying him just high enough to disappear over the cliff’s edge. Immediately the whirr of his scanner filled the quiet evening air. Cal laughed despite his weariness, reaching up to grab an edge on the column. Another reach, another foothold, and he had made it. Scrubby grass poked out from gaps in the basalt while thick clouds silhouetted the distant rock formations in pink and gold. In the valley between them lay Rambler’s Reach, just barely outlined in the sunset. 

Everyone Cal loved was in that tiny speck of a settlement. Everyone else was gone. He sunk to the ground, keenly aware of each complaining muscle as he wiped the dust off his face. BD finished scanning and joined him at the ledge.

“What a view, huh BD,” Cal said quietly. Together they watched the rest of the sky fade to dusk.

–

One relter ride later, Cal was collecting leftover gear at the base of the cliff when nekkos trotted up from the ravine. Mosey emerged first, a lantern swinging from her pack. To Cal’s surprise, Merrin was following her.

“We thought that was you,” Merrin said, dropping from the nekko to greet BD. He immediately asked if she brought stims. “Toa and Zee set up a telescope on the roof of Pyloon’s. We wanted to see what was drilling into the mountains. Thankfully, just a Jedi.”

“Shoot, you really sent that.” Mosey was staring wide-eyed at the rock face, the rope carving a thin brown line to the top of the outcropping. “Incredible. I knew you were good in a fight Cal, but this is something else.”

“With the anchors in place, you should be able to add additional aid,” Cal said. “Make it as easy to climb as possible.” He imagined Turgle dangling from a rope ladder while somehow completely wrapped in another rope ladder. “With some help,” he added.

“This could be huge.” Mosey examined the approach, kicking shale and other loose rocks to form a potential new path. “What’s the backside look like?”

“Not sure, there wasn’t enough light by the time I got up there. But–” Cal glanced over to Merrin, weighing her expression. “We could probably get a rappel system set up, if we stayed on Koboh a little longer.”

Merrin tilted her head. “You said we should establish the Sanctuary as soon as possible,” she said. “Staying on Koboh would delay that.”

“That’s right." The gnawing guilt crept back to his mind, and immediately he wished he was back on the wall again, which only increased the guilt. 

“But,” Merrin cut into his thoughts. “Our goal is to help those who need it. That includes the people here.” She looked up at the cliff, now a shadow against the emerging stars. “I think a new pathway away from Raiders and Empire could be very helpful, and would give Greez time to finish packing the saloon. He’s collected too many trinkets these last few years.”

The dust was back in Cal’s eyes again. “Would that work for you, Mosey?”

Mosey grinned. “Sure does. It might even be fun.”