#hydrospanner

[walkawaytall]

Look, I'm sure there exist other tools in canon that I just haven't committed to memory, but why go looking for new and strange things when someone can just need a hydrospanner every time?

[sw5w]

Ody Mandrell Fussing With His Pit Droids

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:02:34

[tranakin-skywalker]

not me pausing my writing to research tool brands in the star wars universe

[lightasthesun]

Comprehensive Lexicon Guide for First-Time SW Fic Readers:

Flimsi/Flimsiplast = Paper

Flimsiwork/Datawork = Paperwork

Stylus = Pen

Datapad = Tablet

Comlink/Comm = Communication Device/Phone

Binders = Handcuffs

Chronometer = Clock

Spectacles = Eyeglasses

Chrono = Watch

Conservator = Refrigerator

Caf = Coffee

Nerfburger = Hamburger

Blue milk = Milk (literally blue)

Hubba chips = French Fries

Sweet roll = Doughnut

Flatcakes = Pancakes

Tabac = Tobacco

HoloNet = World Wide Web

Holovision/HoloTV = Television

Holodrama/Holovids = Movie/Videos

Holocamera/Holocam = Camera

Holomap = three-dimensional map

Holojournal = Newspaper

Holocube = Picture frame

Holotable = Projector

Holoscanner = X-ray machine

Holojournalist = Reporter

Flatholo/Holograph = Photograph

Sonic Damper = Active Noise Cancellation

Refresher/Fresher= Bathroom

Sonic Bath = Bath

Sanisteam/Sonic shower = Waterless Shower

Hydrospanner = Wrench

Hydro Flask = Water Bottle

Power Cell/Energy Cell = Batteries

Authorization Chip = Decryption key

Datatape = Disk

Datastick = Flash drive

(Personal) Com Code = Phone number

Datachip = SD Card

Synthflesh = Synthetic skin

Glowrod = Flashlight

Sparkstick = Match

Slugthrower = Gun

Slug = Bullet

Vibroblade = a blade that can vibrate at high frequencies, increasing its cutting power and penetrating ability (tactical knife)

Rangefinder = Rifle scope

Turbolaser = Cannon

Ion pike/Vibropike = Spear

Electro Staff = Stun baton

Blaster = Pistol/Rifle

Stun Blaster = similar to a Taser

Landspeeder/Airspeeder/Speeder = Car

Turbolift = Elevator

Slideramp = Escalator

Starfighter = Fighter jet

Rotorcraft = Helicopter

Hoverpack/Jetpack= Jet pack

Speeder Bike = Motorcycle

Skylane = Traffic lane

Railspeeder/Hovertrain = Train

Power Chair/Hoverchair= Wheelchair

Windscreen = Windshield

Podracing = Car racing

Dejarik = Chess

Sabacc = Poker and Blackjack combined

Galactic Rebels = Combat simulator

B'shingh = Dungeons and dragons

Jizz = Jazz music

Wailer = Singer (ie. Jizz Wailer)

Cantina = Bar or Pup

Para Sailing = Paragliding

Aurebesh = Alphabet

Credits = Money

Sleeping Pallet = Bedroll

Naming Day = Birthday

Youngling = Child

Galactic Basic Standard/ Basic = English

Medkit/Medpac = First aid kit

Hypo = Syringe

Medic/Healer = Doctor

Medcenter = Hospital

Bactapatch = Bandaid

Nanoweave = Fabric

Transparisteel = Glass

Plastifoam = Packing material

Durasteel = Steel

Plasteel = Plastic

Duracrete = Concrete

Slicer = Hacker (slicing = hacking)

Identikit = Passport

Minder = Therapist

Synthleather = Vinyl

Viewport = Window

Cooling Unit = Air-conditioning

Honeydarter = Bee

Slythmonger = Drugdealer

Spice = Drugs

Stimpill = Caffeine pill

Power Socket = Plug

Cutters = Scissors

Cycle = Day

Standard Cycle = 24h

Standard Week = 5 days

Standard Month = 35 standard days

Standard Year = approx. ten months

Tenday = literally ten days

Cigarras/Smokes = Cigarettes

Click = Kilometer or 'a moment'

Parsec = a unit of distance

Tweezers/Clanker/tin head/tinnie = Droid

Separatist = Seppie

Promise Ring = Wedding Ring

Body Glove = Jumpsuit

Slicksuit = Wet suit

Civvies = Civilian clothing

Carbonite = a metal alloy used to freeze a person in a state of hibernation

Hyperdrive = device that allows a starship to travel faster than lightspeed

Moisture vaporator = device that can extract water from the air, commonly used on tatooine

Glareshades = Sunglasses

Gasser = Gas Oven

Repulsorlift = technology that can create an anti-gravity field and is used for levitating heavy objects

Heating unit = Heater

Utility Droid = Roomba

Sunbonnet = a Clone trooper helmet

Bad Batcher = a defective Clone Trooper

Banthabrain = birdbrain/ a stupid person

Bantha fodder = waste of space/nonsense

Blast! = word of exclamation

Blasted! = s.o in anger or annoyance

Blaster-brained = dimwitted

Blaster fodder = cannon fodder

Blast off = Piss off

Brainless = Stupid

Bug/Bugger = used to refer to Geonosians

Forceforsaken = godforsaken

Full of Poodoo = full of shit

Poodoo = Shit

Kriff = Fuck

Jedi scum = derogatory term for jedi

Kark = derogatory expletive

Larty = LAAT/i gunship

Laserbrain = insult

Meat droid = derogatory term for Clone Troopers

Redrobes = Palpatines guard

Rookie/Shinie = newly recruited Trooper

Scum = insult to refer to bounty hunters/rebels

Sharpie = Sharp-witted

Sithspawn/Sithspit/Hellspawn! = expletive

Sleemo = Slimeball

Son of a bantha = insult

Wizard! = Cool

Spaced = dead

Hutt-spawn = Bastard

Karabast = exclamation of dismay

Stang = Crap

Buckethead/Bucketbrain = derogatory term for Stormtroopers

Bucket = Helmet

Nat-born = Natural Born

Roger Roger = affirmative/copy that

Droid poppers = EMP grenade

Sitrep = short for situation report

Backwater Planet = any planet that isn't part of the core system

Holocron = device that can project a three-dimensional image of a person/object and is used for communication or entertainment.

Kessel Run = a risky Operation. Commonly used as a metaphor in impossible situations.

Thermal Detonator= device that can create a powerful explosion like a grenade or bomb

Ray Shield/Energy Shield = creates a (protective) barrier

Rebreather = device that allows a person to breathe underwater or in toxic environments

Phrases:

Wild goose chase = wild bantha chase

That's bantha shit = that's bullshit

As slippery as a greased Dug = untrustworthy

Credit for your thoughts = penny for your thoughts

Cut the poodoo = cut the crap

to get your gills in a twist = get upset about something

Holy mother of meteors = holy mother of god

Oh my skies/ Oh my stars = exclamation of surprise

Stars' end! = exclamation of disbelief

What in the blue blazes = exclamation

When Geonosis freezes over/When it snows on tatooine = extremely unlikely

Who pissed in your power supply = who pissed you off

Blast it = damn it

By the maker = exclamation of surprise

Great karking Dragon = expression of disbelief

Lothcat got your tongue = equivalent of 'cat got your tongue?'

Sod it = expression of frustration

[writeriguess]

Heya! May i have a Mandalorian x fem!reader? She's like his mechanic or something but she's also very attached to Grogu and is very caring towards them both. Maybe they're out somewhere and are attacked and reader gets hurt protecting Grogu and Din realizes how much he cares for her?

author's note: Thank you so much for requesting <3

A Home Among the Stars

The hiss of pressurized air filled the workshop as you carefully adjusted the hydrospanner in your hand. Your fingers danced over the controls, tightening bolts along the Razor Crest’s engine panel. Despite the old ship’s wear and tear, it had a charm that only a mechanic could appreciate—or someone who spent hours trying to keep it in the sky.

And that someone was you.

“Din,” you called out, wiping your grease-covered hands on your pants. You didn’t care about appearances when it came to your work. “When’s the last time you actually replaced the heat shielding? This thing’s held together with spit and hope.”

Din Djarin, the Mandalorian clad in his beskar armor, leaned against the entryway, arms crossed. His helmet tilted slightly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could almost feel his sheepishness.

“It works,” he said simply, voice smooth and modulated.

You rolled your eyes, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Yeah, well, it won’t for long if you keep running it into blaster fire and letting Jawas ‘fix’ it with spare parts.”

A soft coo interrupted your lecture, and you glanced to the side to find Grogu perched on a crate, watching you intently. His big eyes sparkled with curiosity as his tiny hands fiddled with a stray bolt you’d left lying around.

“And you,” you said, smiling warmly as you crouched in front of him. “That’s not a toy, little guy.”

Grogu tilted his head, holding the bolt up as if in protest.

“Don’t encourage him,” Din muttered, stepping closer.

Ignoring the bounty hunter, you gently took the bolt from Grogu’s hands, replacing it with a small, smooth rock you kept in your pocket. It was something you’d found on one of your countless scavenging trips—a perfect fit for tiny hands.

“There,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over Grogu’s cheek. “Much better.”

The child made a happy sound, clutching the rock tightly. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, your chest warming with a tenderness you hadn’t felt in years.

“You spoil him,” Din said, though his tone lacked any real bite.

You straightened, shooting him a look. “And you don’t?”

Din shrugged. “He’s—”

“Special,” you finished for him. “I know. And he deserves to be treated that way.”

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the hum of the ship and Grogu’s contented babbling filling the air.

“You’re good with him,” Din said eventually, his voice quieter than usual.

Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected compliment. “He’s easy to love,” you replied, glancing at Grogu. “Both of you are.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you immediately busied yourself with your tools, pretending you hadn’t just bared your soul in the middle of an engine repair.

Din didn’t respond right away, and the weight of his gaze felt almost tangible. You wondered what thoughts were running through his mind behind that expressionless helmet.

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You looked up, surprised. His stance had relaxed slightly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you felt the sincerity in his words.

“Anytime,” you said, giving him a small smile.

The planet was quiet, almost too quiet, as you followed Din through the narrow, winding paths of the market. It was the kind of place that seemed like it had more shadows than people, where eyes lingered too long and conversations hushed when strangers passed. Din walked ahead, his hand resting lightly on the blaster at his hip, while Grogu cooed softly from his floating pod beside you.

“Stick close,” Din said, his voice low but firm. He didn’t turn to look at you, but you could tell from the slight tilt of his helmet that he was checking on you regardless.

“I always do,” you replied, scanning the area. The market stalls were packed with all sorts of strange goods: glowing crystals, exotic fruits, scraps of tech you couldn’t identify. Despite the eerie atmosphere, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of curiosity.

Grogu made a delighted sound as you passed a stall selling shiny trinkets, his little hands reaching out toward the wares.

“No,” Din said immediately, his tone that of a long-suffering parent.

“Oh, come on,” you said, smiling as you reached into your pocket. “It’s just a little shiny thing. Let him have it.”

Din sighed, but he didn’t stop you as you handed over a few credits to the vendor and picked up a small metal orb. You placed it in Grogu’s hands, and his wide eyes sparkled with joy as he turned it over, inspecting it like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

“You’re going to spoil him rotten,” Din muttered.

“That’s the goal,” you shot back, grinning.

The Mandalorian shook his head, but you could see the faintest tilt of his helmet that suggested amusement.

The moment of levity didn’t last long. A sharp noise—a blaster bolt cutting through the air—shattered the peace of the market. Din moved before you even processed what was happening, his blaster drawn and his body positioned protectively in front of you and Grogu.

“Get to cover,” he barked, his voice tense.

You didn’t argue. Scooping Grogu’s pod closer to you, you ducked behind a stack of crates, your heart pounding in your chest.

The attackers came into view a moment later—three figures clad in mismatched armor, their weapons raised. You didn’t recognize them, but their intent was clear.

“Hand over the kid,” one of them growled, his voice distorted by a crude helmet.

“Not happening,” Din replied coldly.

Blaster fire erupted, the sound deafening in the confined space. Din moved with precision, returning fire and taking down one of the attackers in seconds. But the others were quick, flanking him and forcing him to retreat closer to your position.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the small blaster Din had insisted you carry. You weren’t a fighter, not like him, but you weren’t about to sit idly by while he and Grogu were in danger.

Grogu whimpered, clutching the shiny orb you’d given him, and your resolve hardened. You shifted to shield his pod with your body, your eyes scanning for an opening.

One of the attackers broke away, heading straight for you.

“Din!” you shouted, but he was too occupied with the other assailant to intervene.

You didn’t think. You didn’t have time to. As the attacker raised his weapon, you lunged forward, firing your blaster. The shot went wide, but it was enough to throw him off. He snarled, swinging his rifle like a club. The impact caught you in the side, and pain exploded through your ribs as you hit the ground hard.

“Stay away from him!” you gasped, struggling to your feet.

The attacker ignored you, his focus locked on Grogu. Adrenaline surged through you, overriding the pain, and you threw yourself between them just as he raised his rifle again. The butt of the weapon struck your shoulder, sending you sprawling.

“Hey!” Din’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and furious.

Before the attacker could land another blow, Din was there. His blaster fired point-blank, dropping the man instantly.

The last assailant, realizing he was outmatched, fled, leaving the market eerily quiet once more.

Din turned to you, his helmet tilting as he took in your crumpled form.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice tight.

“I’m fine,” you lied, wincing as you tried to sit up.

“You’re not fine.” He was already kneeling beside you, his gloved hands hovering uncertainly before settling on your arm. “Why didn’t you stay behind cover?”

You glanced at Grogu, who was peering out of his pod with a worried expression. “I couldn’t let them hurt him,” you said simply.

Din was silent for a moment, his grip on your arm tightening slightly. Then, without a word, he scooped you up, carrying you as if you weighed nothing.

“Din—”

“Quiet,” he interrupted, his voice softer now but still firm. “We’re leaving.”

Grogu’s pod floated along beside him as he carried you back toward the Razor Crest, his stride purposeful.

Back on the ship, Din set you down carefully on the small cot in the corner of the hull. He moved with an efficiency that spoke of experience, pulling out a medkit and sitting beside you.

“Let me see,” he said, gesturing to your side.

“I told you, I’m fine—”

“Let me see,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You sighed, relenting as you pulled up your shirt to reveal the bruises blooming across your ribs. Din’s hands stilled for a moment before he reached out, his touch surprisingly gentle as he examined the injury.

“You’re reckless,” he said quietly, though there was no anger in his voice—only something softer, something you couldn’t quite name.

“You’re one to talk,” you muttered, earning a faint huff of amusement from him.

His gloved fingers lingered on your skin for a moment longer than necessary before he pulled away, reaching for a bacta patch. As he applied it, you noticed how careful he was, as if he was afraid of hurting you.

“Why would you do that?” he asked suddenly, his voice low.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Do what?”

“Put yourself in danger like that.”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Because I care about him. About both of you.”

Din stilled, his helmet tilted down toward you. You couldn’t see his face, but you felt the intensity of his gaze all the same.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

“I did,” you said softly. “I’d do it again if I had to.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, Din reached up and rested his gloved hand on top of yours.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice filled with a depth of emotion you hadn’t heard before.

Later, you sat on the cot in the hull, your back pressed against the cool metal wall, a blanket wrapped loosely around your shoulders. The dull ache in your ribs had subsided slightly thanks to the bacta patch Din applied earlier, but the events of the day lingered like a storm cloud in your mind.

Grogu sat beside you on the cot, cooing softly as he fiddled with the shiny orb you'd given him earlier. Every now and then, he glanced up at you, his wide, soulful eyes filled with concern. You stroked the soft fuzz on his head absentmindedly, letting his quiet presence soothe you.

The sound of heavy footsteps broke your reverie. Din emerged from the cockpit, his armor catching the dim light as he made his way toward you. He stopped a few paces away, his helmet tilted slightly downward, as if he were unsure how to approach.

“You should be resting,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

“I’m fine,” you replied, though you knew the strain in your voice betrayed you.

“You’re not,” he said, taking another step closer. He gestured to the bruises on your side. “That’s going to take time to heal. You should stay off your feet for a while.”

“And what about you?” you countered, raising an eyebrow. “When’s the last time you rested?”

He didn’t answer, his helmet tilting slightly as if to avoid your gaze.

“Exactly,” you said, shaking your head. “Don’t lecture me about rest when you’re just as bad at it.”

Din sighed, the sound soft but unmistakable. He stepped closer, lowering himself onto the bench across from you. For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the hum of the ship filling the space between you.

“Why did you do it?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet. His voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—something raw.

“Do what?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

“Put yourself in danger for him. For us.”

You glanced down at Grogu, who was now chewing on the edge of the blanket draped over your lap. “Because I care,” you said simply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Din didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His helmet was angled toward the floor, but you could feel the weight of his gaze even if you couldn’t see his eyes.

“I’ve seen people do reckless things for credits, for revenge, for power,” he said slowly. “But you… You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t even think about yourself.”

“I thought about Grogu,” you said, your tone firmer now. “And about you. I couldn’t just sit back and let something happen to either of you.”

His shoulders stiffened slightly, and you wondered if you’d said too much. But then he spoke again, his voice softer this time.

“You could’ve been killed.”

“I know.”

“And you’d do it again.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded anyway. “I would.”

Din leaned back against the wall, his gloved hands resting on his thighs. He stayed silent for a long moment, the tension in the air thick enough to cut.

“You shouldn’t have to,” he said finally, his voice barely audible.

You frowned, tilting your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“It’s my job to protect him,” he said, his tone almost bitter. “And you. I should’ve been faster, better. You shouldn’t have had to step in.”

The guilt in his voice was palpable, and it twisted something in your chest. You leaned forward, reaching out to rest a hand on his arm.

“Din, you can’t be everywhere at once,” you said gently. “You did everything you could. You always do.”

He didn’t pull away from your touch, but his posture remained rigid. “It’s not enough,” he murmured.

“It is,” you insisted. “And even if it wasn’t, we’re a team, aren’t we? You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

He finally turned his helmet toward you, the reflective surface catching the faint light of the hull. “A team,” he repeated, as if testing the word.

“Yes,” you said firmly. “And a team watches out for each other. That’s what I was doing. Watching out for you and Grogu.”

Grogu chose that moment to coo softly, reaching out with his tiny hands to touch Din’s armored knee. The gesture seemed to break through some of the tension, and Din let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“You spoil him,” he said, though his tone lacked any real admonishment.

“Someone has to,” you replied with a grin.

Din fell quiet again, but this time the silence felt different—less heavy, more contemplative. He reached out, gently brushing his gloved fingers over Grogu’s ear, eliciting a delighted squeal from the child.

“He cares about you,” Din said, his voice warm. “More than I’ve seen him care about anyone else.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, and you swallowed hard before answering. “I care about him, too. And you.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavier than you intended. Din’s helmet tilted slightly, as if he were studying you, and your heart raced under his scrutiny.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice quiet but certain.

You blinked, unsure how to respond. Before you could say anything, Din rose to his feet, his movements fluid and deliberate. He reached out, resting a hand on your shoulder—a brief, almost hesitant gesture, but one that sent warmth spreading through you.

“Get some rest,” he said, his voice soft. “I’ll take first watch.”

“Din—”

“Please,” he added, cutting you off.

The word caught you off guard. You nodded slowly, leaning back against the cot as Grogu snuggled closer to your side. Din lingered for a moment longer before turning and walking back toward the cockpit, his steps heavy but purposeful.

As the door hissed shut behind him, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Grogu made a soft, contented sound, and you stroked his head absently, your thoughts spinning.

Din’s words echoed in your mind, mingling with the unspoken emotions you’d seen in his actions. There was something there—something deeper than duty, something neither of you were ready to name.

For now, you let it be.

Feel free to request <3

[netflixbingger]

Beneath Rebel Skies - Chapter 6

Characters:Cassian x Reader Summary: You and Cassian Andor were childhood friends on Ferrix—until your parents suddenly tore you away without warning. Years later, you reunite during a mission for the Rebellion. Old memories clash with new tension as you’re forced to work together, navigating the lines between friendship, loyalty, and something more. Word Count: 2,755words Warnings: Violence, Loss, Mild Language, Sexual Implications, Cassian being an Ass-ian Previous Chapter

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Cassian didn’t glance up. His hands moved steadily through the mess of wires in his lap, jaw tight. “No, I’m not.”

“You are,” you said, stepping in. Your arms folded across your chest as you leaned over the bench—just close enough that your shoulder brushed his. “That connector’s upside down.”

“It’s not.”

“It is,” you said, more patient than annoyed. “See?” You reached past him, your fingers brushing his as you guided the wire. “The green one routes into the lower port. If it goes up top, the whole board shorts.”

Cassian’s hand stilled beneath yours.

He didn’t pull away.

For a beat, the space between you was too quiet. Then his eyes flicked up to yours—then lower. Just briefly. But enough to make your breath catch.

Behind you, K-2SO loomed. “She’s correct, Cassian. Again. Statistically, it’s becoming a pattern.”

Cassian exhaled through his nose—sharp and annoyed—but yanked the cable loose with slightly too much force. “Fine.”

You smirked. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t ask for help,” he muttered.

“You never do.” You grabbed a rag off the bench and tossed it to him. He caught it without looking.

Then—finally—he gave you a glance. Slow. Unimpressed. But his gaze lingered this time. Dropped for a moment, then returned to your face. Not obvious. But not subtle either.

You stayed close. Crouched beside him, shoulder brushing his. His knee bumped yours once—barely there—but didn’t shift.

He didn’t move away.

And neither did you.

“Well this looks cozy,” Kiira’s voice cut in, casual as anything as she strolled in from the corridor, ration bar in hand and datapad under one arm. “Should I leave you two alone... with the wiring?”

You startled just slightly and glanced up. Cassian didn’t even flinch.

“Kiira!” you grinned, already crossing the room. “Maker, I missed you.”

She wrapped you in a tight hug, rocking you side to side with a mock sigh. “Of course you did. Place falls apart without me.” Then she leaned in, her voice low and playful at your ear. “Gotta admit, though - if I’d walked in and found you in Cassian’s lap, I wouldn’t have even blinked.”

You choked on a laugh and shoved her back with a glare that lacked heat. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right,” she grinned.

Cassian didn’t look up, but his hands moved slower now, like he was definitely trying not to listen…. Which meant he absolutely was.

Kiira plopped onto a nearby crate and unwrapped her ration bar, smirking. “Don’t mind me. Just here for the show. Or whatever weird dynamic this is.”

You bit down a smile and crouched beside Cassian again, brushing against his arm as you reached for the wire spool. “Ignore her,” you muttered.

“I am,” he replied evenly.

Kiira gave an exaggerated gasp, “Rude.” before pulling out her datapad.

You smiled faintly as you reached past Cassian for the hydrospanner, your fingers brushing his again. His hand stilled for half a second - just long enough to notice - but he didn’t pull away. Just kept working like nothing happened.

“You hear from Cade?” Kiira asked lightly, eyes still on the datapad.

Your smile faded. “Uh, yeah. He stopped by yesterday.”

“Oh?” Her tone stayed casual, but you knew her well enough to hear the bait beneath it.

You kept your focus on the wiring. “He apologized - for being an ass.”

Kiira gave a small hum. “And what did you say?”

“I told him we could talk. That’s all.”

She didn’t say anything at first, just gave a short nod and bit off another piece of her ration bar. Then: “Good.”

Cassian didn’t react. Not really. But the rhythm of his hands shifted…subtle, but tight.

Behind you, K-2SO added helpfully, “Statistical models indicate that rekindled human romantic entanglements have a 62% failure rate, often due to unresolved emotional baggage.”

You let out a groan. “Not now, Kay.”

“I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking.”

Kiira snorted. “Okay, he’s my new best friend.”

Cassian flicked a glance her way—dry, unimpressed—and returned to the wiring, jaw ticking slightly tighter than before.

You didn’t say anything. But when your fingers brushed his again, lingering a beat too long as you reached for the wire spool, neither of you moved. Neither of you flinched. The contact stayed—small, unspoken, but charged.

Then the datapad on the bench buzzed.

Cassian grabbed it. One glance at the screen, and the shift was immediate. His posture straightened, shoulders stiffening just slightly. He keyed in a code, eyes flicking fast over the encryption.

“What is it?” you asked, already knowing it wasn’t good.

“Briefing,” he said. “Intelligence wing. Level three clearance.”

Kiira let out a low whistle. “Shit. That’s high.”

Cassian snapped the datapad shut. “It’s nothing.”

You frowned. “You don’t look like it’s nothing.”

“It’s preliminary,” he said, rising to his feet. “That’s all.”

You stood too. “And they want you on it?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just met your eyes - something flickering behind his, unreadable.

“Just recon,” he said at last.

Then he was gone. The door hissed shut behind him, and the silence he left wasn’t peaceful. It felt like a warning.

“It's probably Operation Shadowline,” Kiira murmured, eyes still on her datapad.

You turned. “Is that what it’s called?”

She nodded. “It’s big. Intelligence, Tactical, and SpecOps are all in on it. Cade said it’s been months in the making.”

You leaned back against the workbench, arms crossing tight. “Is it happening soon?”

“No,” Kiira said, finally looking up. “They’re still mapping routes, gathering intel, running risk assessments. But the fact it’s already got this many eyes on it? Means it’s real. And it’s close.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the datapad Cassian had left behind—still glowing faintly. The blue light looked colder now.

Kiira stepped closer. “And it’s also not your assignment.”

You gave a short, hollow laugh. “Not yet.”

She raised a brow. “You’re not hoping it becomes yours, are you?”

“No,” you said quickly - too quickly. Then softer: “But if it’s really that important, we’ll all be pulled in eventually.”

She didn’t disagree.

The silence stretched...long enough to feel heavy.

Then K-2SO helpfully added, “Based on your unfortunate tendency to accept high-risk missions, I estimate a 78% likelihood you’ll be involved within the month.”

You closed your eyes. “Kay…”

“I’m simply projecting based on recent patterns.”

Kiira laughed. “Makers, I need one of these.”

You let out a breath and leaned into her shoulder, just for a second.

Then your eyes drifted to the door Cassian had disappeared through.

Just recon, he’d said.

But you knew that look in his eyes. And the way he said it?

It didn’t feel like just anything.

It felt like the beginning of something no one was ready for.

And if K-2 was right… you wouldn’t be on the sidelines for long.

Cassian was different after his meeting.

Quieter. Quicker to nod and move on. Slower to meet your eyes. When you teased him, he still smirked—but it felt half-hearted, like his mind was somewhere else.

You told yourself it was just the mission. It wasn’t personal. He was always like this before an op.

Still, you noticed when he stopped coming by the maintenance bay. When he left a room before you walked in. When he met your jokes with a glance instead of a quip reply.

He was drifting.

Then one morning, you asked where he was - and Kiira blinked, confused.

“He’s gone,” she said. “Left early yesterday. Didn’t he tell you?”

You froze. “Gone where?”

“Recon. Imperial outpost somewhere off-grid. Supposed to be two weeks, give or take.” She paused, watching you. “You really didn’t know?”

You shook your head. “No. He, he probably meant to. Just forgot.”

Kiira didn’t push. She just handed you the datapad she’d been reviewing and moved on.

But the silence stuck.

The first few days weren’t so bad. You stayed busy. Avoided the hangar. Didn’t let yourself wonder what planet he was on. If he was cold. If he’d gotten any sleep.

But by the end of the first week, you were snapping at Kiira, dodging Cade’s half-hearted attempts to reconnect, and rereading old mission logs just to feel like you were still moving.

You missed him. Not in the casual, teammate kind of way you’d once convinced yourself it was.

Kiira had been right. Somewhere between bickering over wires and ducking blaster fire, he’d started to matter. Too much.

You hated it. You hated how your eyes kept flicking to the hangar door. How everything felt quieter without him. How you kept wondering if he missed you at all.

And then—almost three weeks later—you stepped into the maintenance room and saw his jacket.

Slung over a chair.

No message. No warning. No “I’m back.”

Just there.

Like nothing had happened.

Like you hadn’t spent weeks wondering if he was even alive.

Your stomach turned.

You stared at it for a breath. Then another.

Then turned on your heel and walked out.

You were not doing this.

Not tonight.

You told yourself you wouldn’t go looking for him. You’d see how long he could go without looking for you.

...It had been days.

Cassian had returned to base like a ghost - no word, no message, no knock on your door. The man who you spent your childhood with, who sat with you in the rain, who once looked at you like maybe he saw something more, had become a stranger. Again. 

Quiet. Distant. Professional.

And you? You tried to play along.

But you stayed in mission briefings a little longer than usual, hoping to cross paths. Walked slower past hangar bays. Waited for a nod, a glance - something. But there was nothing.

By the time you got back from your own recon assignment - mud drying on your boots, damp curls sticking to your neck - you were more tired than angry. Bone-deep and worn down.

But then you walked into the mess hall.

And there he was.

Alone, near the far wall, hunched over a tray of half-finished food. His shoulders were slumped. His sleeves were pushed up to his forearms, and there was a faint smudge of engine grease on his wrist, like he'd gone straight from a briefing to maintenance and hadn’t bothered to clean up.

He didn’t look up right away.

But your heart still jumped.

And then the anger came flooding back.

You didn’t even think before crossing the room.

“Hey!”

Your voice sliced through the low buzz of conversation, sharper than intended. A few heads turned. You didn’t care.

Cassian looked up, eyes shadowed, like he already knew what was coming. “You’re back,” he said simply.

“That’s all you have to say?”

He blinked. Slowly. “I didn’t realize—”

“You vanish without a word,” you snapped, louder now, “And fuck, you didn’t even tell me you were back. Went days without even say hello?”

He set his fork down. Quiet, deliberate. His expression didn’t shift much, but something behind his eyes changed. “I didn’t think I needed to.”

“You did,” you said. “You do. You don’t just walk away from people like that.”

“I didn’t have time—”

“Bullshit.”

His jaw tensed. The air between you tightened.

“I didn’t find you because I knew what it would turn into,” he said, voice harder now.

You blinked. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I didn’t want to make it harder.”

“For who, Cassian?” Your voice cracked - not from weakness, but from holding back everything you didn’t want to say. “Because it wasn’t easier for me.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You think this is easy? Being around you like this? Not knowing what the hell this even is?”

You stared.

“It was supposed to be friendship,” you said quietly. “Remember?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked down at his tray like it might offer an escape.

“You said it was nothing. Just recon. And then you left without a word. For three weeks might I add” you let out a sigh

The silence that followed felt louder than your shouting.

“I thought if I left things clean, it’d be better for both of us,” he said finally, barely above a whisper.

You shook your head. “This wasn’t clean. It was cruel.”

There it was.

His shoulders straightened slightly, but he didn’t meet your eyes. “Maybe I didn't bother to say hello or goodbye,” he said, “because I knew you’d misread it and turn it into something it’s not.”

That one landed like a knife.

You didn’t yell. Didn’t cry. You just stared at him—long enough for the blood to pound in your ears.

Then you shook your head in disbelief and walked away.

The days blurred after that night.

Cassian didn’t vanish - he wasn’t gone, not physically - but he may as well have been. He was in briefings. In the mess. In hallways and hangars. But he never lingered. Never met your eyes for more than a second. Never spoke unless duty called for it.

It was colder than silence.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You told yourself you didn’t care. You lied. A lot.

You sat on the edge of your bedthat night, elbows braced on your knees, eyes locked on the blank stretch of wall in front of you. The dorm light flickered slightly overhead. Kiira sat across from you, legs folded, pretending to review recon footage on her datapad—but she wasn’t watching the screen.

“You gonna tell me what he said?” she asked eventually, her voice quieter than usual.

You didn’t look up. Just shrugged. “I don’t even know.”

Kiira didn’t push. Just waited.

Your hands tightened in your lap. You could still hear his voice—low, tired, trying too hard to sound indifferent.

“He said he avoided me because he knew I’d make it into something it’s not. Turn us into something it's not”

Kiira’s expression darkened. “Shit.”

You nodded, barely. “I am such a fucking fool.”

She didn’t speak for a moment. Then she leaned forward, bumped her knee lightly against yours. “You didn’t make it up.”

You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand before the tears could fall. “Feels like I did.”

“What scares him,” she said quietly, “is that it was real.”

You didn’t answer. Just muttered something about needing sleep and rolled onto your side, even though you knew sleep wasn’t coming.

You didn’t stop going on missions.

If anything, you asked for more. Signed up for every recon, every supply run, every outpost patrol that didn’t require a full team.

Nothing high-risk. Nothing you couldn’t handle. Just enough to stay in motion. Enough to stay out of the hangar. Out of shared spaces. Out of your own head.

And then one mission went sideways.

Intel had been incomplete. The supply depot more guarded than briefed. You slipped through, got what you needed, but not before catching an elbow to the face in the scramble. Your lip split on impact with the floor. Cheekbone took the brunt. Your nose—well, it bled. A lot.

You’d had worse. But you sure looked like hell.

You were halfway to the medbay, boots dragging, one hand still pressed to your face, when you turned a corner - and there he was.

Cassian.

He stopped short.

For the first time in days, he looked at you, really looked at you, and something in his expression cracked.

His eyes swept over the bruises, the blood dried to your chin, the stiffness in your stance. And for a second, all that distance fell away.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low. Controlled.

You scoffed, kept walking. “Now you care?”

His jaw clenched. “I always cared.”

You turned just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “You’ve got a hell of a way of showing it.”

He didn’t move. Just stood there, like the floor had rooted him in place. “I didn’t think you’d want me there. Not after what I said.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, brushing past him, “you made clear what you want.”

He didn’t try to follow.

But as you continue forward, you said it anyway - quiet, sharp, unflinching:

“Next time, save your concern. I wouldn’t want to misread it.”

You didn’t look back.

Didn’t slow down. Didn’t let yourself wonder if he’d turned to watch you walk away.

NEXT CHAPTER

Sooooooo? How y'all doinnnggg?

[arctrooper69]

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Beta-read by @dragonrider9905

Chapter 1:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Jealousy. Brief mention of blood. Canon violence.

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

You couldn't even look at her.

That thought alone made you sick to your stomach. The fact that you couldn't bear to look at a woman simply because she was interested in the same man that you were, made you want to cry.

Am I really that shallow? You thought bitterly as you slammed the hydrospanner into the damaged component of the landing gear you’d been trying to dislodge.

I can’t believe I was so stupid! You jammed the point of the tool violently into a crack, trying to pry it out. Of course he’d go for her. She was prettier than you - funnier too.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath.

Hunter is his own man. He likes someone else. Not a big deal.

Except for some reason, judging by the heavy ache in your chest, it was a big deal, no matter how much you tried to fool yourself into thinking that everything was fine.

The landing gear piece was still stuck fast. You set down the hydrospanner and picked up the plasma cutter.

This better kriffing work or I’ll have Tech up my ass for a month about it. Not to mention having to tell Hunter that I broke the ship. Again.

You ran your fingers over the healing scar on your cheek and looked at the carbon scoring around the piece that stuck fast, fused in place by laser fire.

A smile made its way across your face as you remembered how it all happened. You were providing cover fire so they'd have time to escape - more exposed than you'd like to be, but it wasn't anything you couldn't handle - until a stray shot hit the ship at just the right angle.

Hunter had tackled you to the ground, shielding you from the blast with his own body.

Despite the chaos around you, being in his arms felt safe.

“Don’t ever do that again!” It was meant to be an order but it felt different than any of the others he’d given over the past year. The way he’d taken your face into his hands, carefully examining the small, insignificant wound on your cheek. His face was unreadable but as you’d looked closer, his eyes were a whirlwind of relief that you hadn’t been hurt worse. There was something else there too - something that fed the hope hidden away in your core that your feelings toward him were reciprocated. He’d kept his hand on your arm as you stood up. They were strong, steady hands that kept you warm and stayed on your arm seconds longer than the moment demanded.

But then you’d found him in a closet with Phee’s sister only hours later at Cid’s parlour.

I’m so stupid. How could I have read him so wrong? What made me think I’d ever have a chance with a man like Hunter? You shook your head, angry at yourself for letting your guard down. For the first time since the beginning of the Clone Wars, you’d felt alive in a way that didn’t involve throwing yourself into violently dangerous situations. You felt at home with this band of misfit clones. You had finally allowed yourself to feel and acknowledge the emotions that came with it. Now you remembered why you hadn’t done that before. It was stupid and you would make sure that it wouldn’t happen again.

Finishing with the plasma cutter, you brought a wrench down hard with a loud clang. The piece barely moved an inch and you threw the tool down with a frustrated groan.

“You okay over there?” Phee poked her head around the corner, eyebrow raised.

“I’m good!” You grinned, hoping the faux smile would keep her from asking anymore questions. “Just trying to get this stubborn kriffing piece out so Tech can replace it when he gets back.”

Phee chuckled as you glared at the offending part. She walked over to the side of the ship, looking up and down at the stripped landing gear.

“Damn… what’d you guys get into this time?”

It was your turn to chuckle, grateful for the distraction from your spiraling negativity.

“That is a very complicated story,” Tech answered for you as he rounded the corner, “However, I do not currently have the time to tell it. We have another mission from Cid and should be leaving as soon as we’ve made our repairs.”

Good, you thought. Another mission might be just what you needed to get out of your head and back into the groove of things. Back to normal.

Tech stopped next to Phee in front of the landing gear, surveying the mess of tools and ship components. He frowned. “Although, it seems as though that may take a bit longer than I originally thought.”

He grabbed the hydrospanner from the ground by your feet and began prying at the piece you’d been working on. “I will fix this. You pick up the tools and get that carbon scoring off of those panels.”

Phee grinned as she began helping you scrape. “I love it when you get all bossy like that, Brown-Eyes.”

Tech’s cheeks darkened, the only indicator that he’d heard her at all.

You smirked. Tech and Phee were so different from each other. Her carefree sense of adventure and aptitude for playing fast and loose with the rules seemed opposite to Tech’s academic personality and rigid structure. But despite their differences, they seemed to bond over an innate sense of curiosity and wonder. They belonged together.

Like Hunter and I should be, you thought bitterly.

The silence that fell on the group as you worked was deafening. Every so often you caught Phee pausing to watch as Tech worked his magic with the repairs.

Tech remained oblivious, but found himself sending subtle glances towards her as she worked. Every glance felt like daggers through your chest. A reminder of what could have been yours.

“How’s it looking, Tech?” Hunter walked around the corner, setting a crate of explosives down for Wrecker to load onto the ship.

The knife you’d been using to scrape the panel suddenly felt heavy and clumsy in your hand. It slipped through your fingers as you frantically tried to catch it but failed as it hit the ground with a dull thud.

You gasped as a thin line of blood blossomed across your pointer finger and the palm of your hand.

“Kriff!” you grumbled under your breath. Hunter stepped forward quickly only to be intercepted by Phee who grabbed your injured hand, inspecting it.

“Eh, you’re fine,” she pulled a bacta patch from her pocket, quickly wrapping the injury as though she’d done it more than her fair share of times. “Be more careful with that next time,” she chided. You looked up expecting to see Hunter but he was gone.

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

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[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hi! I hope this ok but I was wondering if you could do a spicy fic with Tech, maybe he gets flustered whenever she’s near and his brothers try to help by getting you do stuff and help him.

Hope you have a great weekend!

“Terminally Yours”

Tech x Reader

Tech was a genius—analytical, composed, articulate.

Until you walked into a room.

You’d joined the Bad Batch on a temporary mission as a communications specialist. The job should have been straightforward. Decode enemy transmissions, secure Republic relays, leave. What you hadn’t planned for was the quiet, bespectacled clone who dropped his hydrospanner every time you got too close.

You leaned over the console, fingers flying across the keypad as you rerouted the relay node Tech had said was “performing with suboptimal efficiency.” You were deep into the override sequence when a clatter behind you made you jump.

Clank.

Tech’s hydrospanner had hit the floor. Again.

You turned, brows raised. “You okay there, Tech?”

He cleared his throat, pushing his goggles up the bridge of his nose as he bent down awkwardly to retrieve the tool. “Yes. Quite. Merely dropped it due to… a temporary lapse in grip strength.”

Hunter’s voice echoed from the cockpit. “More like a temporary lapse in brain function. That’s the fourth time today.”

You smirked and returned to the console. Tech didn’t reply.

⸻

You sat beside Omega, poking at your rations. Tech was on the far end of the table, clearly trying not to look your way while also tracking your every move like a nervous datapad with legs.

“You know,” Omega said loudly, “Tech said he wants help cleaning the data arrays in the cockpit. He said you’re the only one who knows how to handle them.”

Your brow arched. “He did?”

At the other end of the table, Tech choked on his food.

Echo smirked. “Pretty sure that’s not what he said, Omega.”

“It is,” she insisted with wide, innocent eyes. “I asked him who he’d want help from, and he said her name first.”

Wrecker grinned. “And then he blushed!”

“I did not,” Tech muttered, voice strangled.

You bit back a grin. “Well, I am good with arrays…”

Hunter looked at Tech, then at you, then back at his food like it was the most fascinating thing in the galaxy.

⸻

You found Tech alone at the terminal, his fingers flying over the keys. You stepped up beside him, arms brushing.

He froze mid-keystroke.

“I figured I’d help with the arrays,” you said, voice low, letting your hand rest against the console a little closer than necessary. “Since you said I was the best candidate.”

His ears turned red. “That was… an extrapolated hypothetical. I did not anticipate you would take Omega’s report so… literally.”

You leaned in, letting your shoulder press against his. “Is that going to be a problem?”

He inhaled sharply. “I—no. Not at all.”

You brushed your fingers along the edge of the screen, pretending to study the data. “Because I don’t mind helping you, Tech. I actually like working close to you. You’re… brilliant. Kind of cute when you’re flustered, too.”

He blinked behind his goggles. “I—um—I do not often receive comments of that nature—cute, I mean. That is to say—thank you.”

His fingers twitched nervously. You reached over to rest your hand over his.

“You’re welcome. And if you ever want to drop your hydrospanner again to get my attention, Tech, just say something next time.”

“…I’ll keep that in mind.”

⸻

Wrecker, Omega, and Echo crouched behind a supply crate, straining to hear.

“Did she touch his hand?” Omega whispered excitedly.

“Pretty sure she did more than that,” Echo muttered.

Wrecker pumped a fist in the air. “I told you! Get her close enough and boom—Tech-meltdown!”

They high-fived, right before the door to the cockpit opened and you walked out.

You stopped.

They froze.

“…Were you all spying?”

“Uh,” Omega said.

Echo cleared his throat. “More like… observing.”

“Scientific purposes,” Wrecker added. “Real important stuff.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away—but you didn’t miss the grin Echo gave Tech as he slipped inside the cockpit next.

“You owe me ten credits.”

Tech pushed his goggles up. “Worth every credit.”

[maestro030403]

How the batch would react to Omega asking "do you want to see a magic trick? Pick a card, any card"...

Wrecker

"Of course I want to see a magic trick!"

*After the trick, with wide eyes*

"Woah, that IS my card!"

Hunter

*Exhausted as usual*

"Sure, kid."

*After the trick, knowing full well how she did it*

"Neat, why don't you go show Echo?"

Echo

*busy with repairs*

"Not right now, Omega. Could you hand me the hydrospanner?"

*sees Omega's glum expression*

"show me tomorrow, okay? It's almost your bedtime anyway, isn't it? Omega? Now where'd she go?"

Tech

*supposed to be helping with repairs but is on his datapad in his bunk*

"Magic is just science we don't understand"

Crosshair

*rolling his eyes but also playing along*

"Okay I picked a card, what now?"

*after the trick*

"Not bad...but do you want to learn a real magic trick?"

*pulls out a knife*

Hunter (again)

"Omega, bed time!"

...

"Wait, what are you doing with that knife?"

...

"CROSSHAIR!"

[velvetinks]

Fault Lines - Heat

~

The hangar was freezing. Not in temperature—no, the First Order kept its environments regulated within strict tolerances—but in atmosphere. The chill didn’t come from the air but from the silence, from the rigid way troopers marched and engineers spoke in clipped tones. No one lingered. No one slouched.

You liked it that way.

You moved like you belonged, toolbelt clipped tight around your hips, sleeves rolled to your elbows, a hydrospanner clutched in your gloved hand. You were covered in grease, grime, and flecks of scorched carbon—proof that you’d been elbows-deep in starship guts all morning.

This was your kingdom. A mess of wires, panels, circuits, and systems. Machines made sense. Orders were followed. Laws of physics didn’t lie.

People, on the other hand—especially the one whose ship you’d been assigned to—didn’t make any damn sense at all.

Kylo Ren’s personal shuttle sat in the center of Hangar Bay A—sleek, black, ominous. You’d been working on it for a week now, cycling through diagnostic after diagnostic, trying to track down a glitch in the hyperdrive cooling matrix. It was nothing that would kill him—not immediately. But long-term? It could cause catastrophic failure. The ship was fast. Fast enough to outpace every model in the First Order’s fleet, but it ran too hot.

Much like its owner.

You hadn’t met him yet. Not face to face. You’d only seen him at a distance once—a tall, black silhouette, helmet glinting under overhead lights, stalking past stormtroopers like a dark god among mortals. Everyone had gone stiff at his approach, including you.

Still, you weren’t intimidated. Not exactly. Cautious, maybe. Focused. You couldn’t afford fear when you were the only one trusted to keep this ship from tearing itself apart.

You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand and slid under the belly of the shuttle, flashlight clamped between your teeth. Panels were still open from your earlier reroute. You muttered to yourself as you worked, fingers moving fast and practiced.

“Should’ve rerouted the coolant lines through the secondary manifold days ago,” you hissed. “But no—‘protocol’ says the Supreme Leader needs to approve every modification like he personally birthed the damn ship—”

A quiet sound broke through your grumbling. Not boots, not troopers. Something quieter. Heavier. You paused.

The air shifted. Not in temperature. In pressure.

You knew before you even rolled out that he was behind you.

You wiped your hands quickly, stood, and turned.

Kylo Ren was taller than you remembered. Without context, he might’ve looked sculpted—dark robes over broad shoulders, mask glossy and unreadable. But with context? With the stories whispered across the decks and the way he held his silence like a blade? He was a storm contained in a man.

And he was looking right at you.

“Who authorized this access?” he asked.

His voice was low. Filtered. Unreadable.

You didn’t flinch.

“Lieutenant Oro,” you replied, evenly. “I was assigned to run diagnostics on your shuttle. You’ve been experiencing thermal instability in the hyperdrive.”

A long pause.

“You bypassed three safety protocols,” he said.

“I had to,” you said, resisting the urge to cross your arms. “The override commands weren’t responding through standard channels. If I hadn’t rerouted the coolant, the core could’ve overheated during your next jump.”

“And what makes you qualified to override safety procedures?”

“Fifteen years in propulsion systems,” you said. “And the fact that no one else wanted to touch your ship without written approval. I chose not to wait until it exploded.”

Silence.

You felt it stretch between you like taut cable. He wasn’t reacting. Not visibly. No head tilt. No shift of weight. Just… stillness.

It was unnerving.

Finally, he said, “You’re the one they call the Fixer.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The engineer who takes impossible repairs and makes them work,” he said. “Even when it breaks protocol. Even when it’s reckless.”

You didn’t answer. There was no way to know if that was praise or warning.

Kylo turned away.

“I want you to stay assigned to this shuttle,” he said. “No one else. Just you.”

Your throat went tight. “Yes, sir.”

He paused halfway up the ramp, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Don’t touch anything without telling me first.”

And then he disappeared into the ship.

You exhaled.

Only then did your heart start beating again.

You didn’t expect to see him again for at least a few days. Most commanding officers left the dirty work to their subordinates. You assumed Kylo Ren would do the same.

You were wrong.

The next day, he returned.

And the next.

He didn’t speak often. He watched. Close. Still. Like he was waiting for something. Every time you adjusted a panel, every time you accessed a console, you could feel his presence—just out of sight but impossible to ignore.

At first, it rattled you.

Then it started to piss you off.

Because he never offered assistance. Never asked questions. Just watched.

He was testing you.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You’d worked under pressure before. But pressure didn’t usually have a lightsaber.

It wasn’t until day five that something changed.

You were on your back again, deep in the guts of the main thruster when something sparked.

“Shit—” You jerked back, hitting your head against the interior casing. Sparks rained down from above.

“Don’t move,” said a voice.

He was right there.

He knelt beside the ship, reaching for the power relay. You hadn’t even heard him approach.

He cut power to the circuit in one smooth motion. The sparks died. The glow from the console flickered and dimmed.

You blinked up at him, stunned.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

He didn’t respond. Just stared at you from behind the mask.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to get your hands dirty,” you added, pushing yourself up to a seated position. Your tone was light. Testing.

“I don’t like wasting time,” he said. “If you die under this ship, I have to wait for another one of you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Touching.”

Silence.

Then

“You’re not afraid of me.”

It wasn’t a question.

You looked at him. Really looked. His helmet was still on, but something about the way he said it felt… vulnerable. Not soft. Just raw.

You swallowed. “Should I be?”

Another long pause.

“No.”

He stood and walked away.

You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until he was gone.

You tried not to think about the way your skin felt warmer when he was close. You tried not to notice how he always lingered just long enough to unsettle you—but never long enough to explain why.

And when he finally spoke again—on the seventh day—you weren’t prepared for what he said.

“Why did you take this post?”

You looked up from your console. “What?”

“This assignment. You had others.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes. “Are you reading my file?”

“I don’t need to,” he said.

You stood up. “Why does it matter?”

He took a step forward.

“Because every other engineer avoided this post. But you volunteered.”

You shrugged. “I like a challenge.”

He stepped closer. “That’s not all.”

“No,” you agreed, your voice lower now. “It’s not.”

He stared at you. Helmet inches from your face.

And then—

“Report to the bridge in one hour. I want you to see what your work is keeping in the sky.”

Then he was gone again.

You reported to the bridge. And everything changed.

You saw what he saw.

Star charts. Battle plans. Orders in motion. Entire systems bent to his will. The kind of power few ever glimpsed, let alone touched.

And you realized

He didn’t just want an engineer.

He wanted someone who understood.

Someone who saw the way he held the galaxy in his hands… and didn’t flinch.

When he turned to look at you across the bridge, eyes hidden but presence unmistakable

You didn’t look away.

[padawan-snack-packer]

Hey snackpacker!!! I read all of your clones headcanons and they are sooooo adorable!!! Can I ask for Mando clans ones please?🥺

Hey Anon!!! Oh gosh, sure sure there you go!!!!

⚠️ TW: Not a Lore Purist, Just Vibes™ I love Mandalorians with my whole chaotic heart but I’m not a walking Chronicles of Mand’alor PDF. These headcanons are powered by ✨emotion, vibes, and space chaos✨ more than textbook canon. If something’s not lore-accurate, please don’t come at me with a vibroblade (kinky though-)—I’m just here to emotionally adopt found family and throw glitter bombs with Clan Wren. 💖

This is the Way (but also, This is the Fanon).

NOW LET'S GO-

🛠️ Clan Ordo — (Tough Love, Duct Tape Edition)

Their love language is "I fixed this for you but insulted it the whole time." Example: “Your jetpack’s garbage. I upgraded it. Don’t die.”

No one says “I love you” out loud. Instead, they hand you soup and complain about your aim.

Armor polish is sacred. If someone else polishes your armor? You’re basically married now.

Family dinners are loud, full of arguments, and end with at least one person crying—but it’s always because of pride, not pain.

They absolutely have a thousand tiny clan traditions no one remembers the origin of, like giving newborns a mini hydrospanner “for luck.”

Secretly very sentimental. They keep the worst drawings their kids ever made... inside their chestplates. Under the beskar.

🖤 Clan Fett — (The Myth, The Mess, The Legacy)

Every child raised under this clan grows up under a ridiculous amount of dramatic pressure to live up to the legacy of Jango.

There are so many family debates over whether Jango would’ve wanted to be remembered as “That Cool Bounty Hunter Dad” or “The Guy Who Accidentally Created a Galaxy’s Worth of Emotional Clones.”

They have a tradition of forging "Memory Blades" — knives with etched names of those lost. Every Fett carries one. Some carry dozens.

At feasts, they always leave an extra seat at the table. For Jango. Even now.

Their humor is DRY. Like, “We took a bounty on a Sith Lord for fun” levels of deadpan chaos.

Boba won’t admit it, but he calls old clone commanders “uncle” under his breath sometimes.

👑 Clan Kryze — (Tea, Trauma, and Terribly Controlled Emotions)

Everything is Very Formal Until It’s Suddenly a Knife Fight. “Cousin Alric insulted the tea set? Pistols at DAWN.”

The tea ceremony is a full military-grade operation. You wear armor. You pour with honor. You do not spill.

Every Kryze is passive-aggressively dramatic. They’ll say, “You always do this, mother,” right before throwing a thermal detonator at someone.

Their lullabies are weirdly sad and haunting and about the fall of ancient Mandalore and the inevitability of loss. (“Sleep, little warrior, the stars burn cold / Our home was fire, our story old…”)

Once a year, they gather in complete silence and light sky-lanterns for every family member lost to war. The sky is full.

🦴 Clan Vizsla — Drama, Duels, and Delusions of Grandeur

Has a 200-slide holo-presentation titled "Why We Should Still Rule Mandalore." No one asked for it. They show it anyway.

Will duel you over literally anything. The last one was about soup temperature.

They're the type to say “we’re not dramatic” while igniting a Darksaber and monologuing.

Family game nights are just strategic combat simulations with a scoreboard and someone always cries.

Wear so much black armor they look like they’re attending a funeral at all times. (They might be. They’re dramatic like that.)

Lowkey keep backup capes. In case their first one doesn't billow enough.

🎨 Clan Wren — (Art Is War, and So Is Family Game Night)

If you can’t graffiti while doing backflips, are you even a Wren?

Sabine may say, “I don’t do art anymore,” but Tristan absolutely still has a sketchbook full of emo poetry and helmet redesigns. (One of them says “PEW PEW EMO BOY” in Aurebesh. Sabine keeps it.)

They have a tradition where each child gets their first paint set before they get a blaster.

Weddings involve throwing glitter bombs into the air and yelling “THIS IS THE SHADE.”

They once staged an “artistic protest” by painting the clan elder’s speeder hot pink. The elder loved it.

The phrase “Wren family therapy” is code for a paintball match where the winner gets to yell at everyone else. They do it weekly.

🧬 Bonus: Little Traditions That Hurt (Just a Little)

Some clans pass down lullabies, others pass down the frequency to old comm channels. They keep them on, just in case someone out there is still listening.

Every Mandalorian learns how to dance—not because of ceremonies, but because when the wars are over, they want to remember joy.

If a Mandalorian dies without family, another clan will claim them posthumously. They will engrave their name into the wall and say it out loud during honor rites. “You were one of us. You are one of us still.”

[mcrdvcks]

Stardust

chapter summary: Din surprises you with a trip.

word count: 974

pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader

prompt: stars

notes: this is my first time writing for din so i'm sorry if it's not accurate :) anyways, since i'm going to college for astrophysics, this seemed like an appropriate prompt for me to do (also because i'm a space nerd)

this is another prompt from @dindjarindiaries for dincember!

star wars masterlist

The Razor Crest hummed softly as it drifted in hyperspace. You sat at the small makeshift workstation, tinkering with a malfunctioning thermal detonator. The compact device refused to cooperate, its stubborn wiring fraying your patience. Grogu babbled from his floating pram, watching your every move with wide, curious eyes.

"Don't touch that," you warned, flicking a glance his way. His tiny claw hovered over the edge of the table, aiming for your hydrospanner. "I mean it, kid."

Grogu cooed in protest but retracted his hand. He pouted, but his expressive ears perked up when a shadow crossed the threshold of the cockpit. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Din. His presence was as familiar as the hum of the Crest.

“Is that thing gonna blow up in your face?” Din’s modulated voice carried a teasing lilt.

“Only if I’m lucky,” you replied dryly, not looking up from the detonator.

Din leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His beskar armor reflected the dim light, making him look even more imposing. “You’ve been at that for an hour.”

“I’ve had worse company than a stubborn explosive,” you quipped. “What’s up?”

He hesitated. That was never a good sign. Din could stare down blaster fire and an entire squad of stormtroopers without breaking a sweat, but this? This pause made you suspicious.

“Get your coat,” he finally said.

You blinked, turning to face him. “Why? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” His tone was even, unreadable, but there was a hint of something—anticipation, maybe? “We’re dropping out of hyperspace soon. Grab Grogu. You’ll want to see this.”

You raised an eyebrow but decided not to argue. If Din was being cryptic, it usually meant he was planning something. And while his surprises often included unexpected blaster fights or hostile negotiations, this didn’t have the same edge of danger.

“Fine.” You pushed back from the table, scooping up Grogu, who squealed in delight. “But if this ends with me patching up your injuries again, I’m taking your meiloorun.”

Din chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Not this time.”

---

The planet he brought you to was small, almost unremarkable at first glance. Its atmosphere shimmered faintly as the Razor Crest descended, the golden hues of its surface shifting like liquid. Din handled the landing with practiced ease, and soon, the three of you stepped out into a soft, sprawling expanse.

“Okay,” you said, surveying the area. “What’s the deal? Where’s the bounty?”

“No bounty.” Din’s helmet tilted skyward. “Just… look.”

You followed his gaze, and your breath hitched. The sky above was a tapestry of stars, brighter and closer than you’d ever seen. Nebulas swirled in vivid colors—violets, blues, and golds—while constellations stretched in intricate patterns. It was as if the galaxy had folded in on itself, presenting its wonders in one breathtaking view.

“Din,” you whispered, unable to tear your eyes away. “What… how did you find this place?”

He shifted beside you, his voice quieter now. “Picked up some star charts during a job. Thought you’d like it.”

“‘Like it’?” You laughed softly, overwhelmed. “Din, this is… incredible.”

Grogu reached up, his tiny hand grasping at the stars as if he could pluck them from the sky. You held him close, feeling a wave of emotion you didn’t expect.

Din stood beside you, quiet but solid, the kind of steady presence you’d come to rely on. His helmet tilted ever so slightly as he watched the scene unfold, and you couldn’t resist teasing him.

“So,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence, “is this your way of trying to impress me?”

He turned his helmet toward you. “Is it working?”

You snorted. “I don’t know. You’re pretty hard to impress yourself, Mr. Star Charts.”

Din made a soft, amused sound. “Thought you might appreciate the view. Astrophysicist and all.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, did you crack open a textbook to prep for this? Next thing I know, you’ll be spouting quantum theory.”

“I’d rather stick to tracking fobs and blasters,” he shot back, but there was warmth in his voice.

Grogu squirmed in your arms, letting out a series of excited babbles. You adjusted your hold on him, and he immediately grabbed a piece of your jacket, pulling it toward his mouth.

“Okay, little guy, relax,” you said, gently pulling it away. “This is a ‘look but don’t eat’ situation.”

Din chuckled again, a low rumble that made your chest feel lighter. You turned toward him, watching the way the stars reflected off the curve of his helmet. Even without seeing his face, you could tell he was watching you—really watching you.

“Thanks for this,” you said quietly, letting the sincerity bleed into your words. “I needed it.”

He shifted a little, the faintest hint of hesitation in his stance. “I just… wanted to see you smile.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. For a guy who spent most of his time grunting or giving one-word answers, Din could hit you with the kind of sentiment that knocked the wind out of you.

“Well,” you said, swallowing past the lump in your throat, “mission accomplished, Mando.”

You took a step closer, lifting up on your toes to press a kiss to the cheek of his helmet. The cool metal was a stark contrast to the warmth of the moment, and you lingered for just a second longer than you probably should have.

When you pulled back, Din didn’t say anything right away. But his posture shifted, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

“Come on,” he said, voice softer now. “Let’s stay out here for a while.”

“Only if you promise to stop being so cryptic next time,” you teased, but you followed him anyway, Grogu snuggled securely in your arms.

For now, the galaxy could wait.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

DJ MY LOVE!

May I request, from the cuddle prompts, of you feel so inspired:

- Feeling the rumble of their chest when they talk while cuddling

Or

- Needing their cuddles even though they have something else to do

With Tech! Haven't asked for him in a while and I think we could all use some Tech fluff right about now.

(If you get a bunch of asks for the same Clone or just feel a pull towards another clone, feel free to change it. 😘)

A/N: REBEL MY LOVE! Thank you for this! I’ve never written Tech before, and I was a bit intimidated, so I hope I’ve done justice to our boy. Also, you get two prompts for the price of one 🩵

Pairing: Tech x Reader (GN; reader is shorter than Tech but not otherwise described, aside from having a rough morning and a tendency to keep things bottled up)

Rating: T (but as always, minors DNI)

Wordcount: 789

Warnings and tags: fluff, cuddles, Star Wars swearing, adult language

Summary: You swear to the Maker, if ONE MORE THING goes wrong today, you’re going to lose your mind. Tech has an exceptional idea for how to help.

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

“Dank farrik,” you muttered under your breath.

The kriffing durang fruit you’d planned on turning into muffins had gone off. It smelled like death itself, and you gagged as you tossed it into the trash compactor. With a sigh, you glanced at your chronometer and winced.

Late. Kark. 

You snatched up your cup of caf as your brain raced to think of an alternative breakfast that you could pull together in a hurry before your scheduled holocomm. Not that Omega or the Batch really needed you to cook breakfast for them, but Benduday morning muffins had become something of a tradition, and you really, really didn’t want to see the matching disappointment in Omega and Wrecker’s eyes when you told them they would need to fend for themselves that day.

Maybe Shep has some extra—

“MOTHERKRIFFER!” you exclaimed, cutting off your own train of thought as the lid on your mug popped loose and you doused yourself in hot caf.

A quiet rustle sounded from the front of the Marauder as Tech slid out from beneath the control console and sat up to watch you, setting aside his hydrospanner. With supreme effort, you managed to keep your eye from twitching as you braced yourself for a well-deserved lecture on your language.

“Is everything all right?” he asked instead.

“Peachy,” you grumbled, grabbing a towel to wipe off your shirt in disgust.

He rose quietly and approached. “I do not believe you.”

“What gave it away?” you snapped, flinging the towel into the sink with a frankly unnecessary level of force.

“You are upset. Given the relatively minor nature of the incident, I deduce that something else is bothering you. Do you wish to discuss it?”

“Not really.”

“Astonishing,” he said dryly. 

“The kriff is that supposed to mean?” you demanded.

“Merely that I have observed that you often prefer not to discuss your struggles, though I hope none of us have ever made you feel as though you should not speak freely when something is troubling you.”

You blinked, too surprised to be offended at his earlier sarcasm. “You have?”

“Indeed.”

Well… shit.

“It’s nothing,” you lied. Tech made no response, but he didn’t bother to hide his skepticism. “Fine. It’s a bunch of tiny somethings that have all piled up on top of each other, and nothing is going the way I had planned, and I’m hungry, damn it, and now I have to think of something to cook for breakfast, except I have no kriffing caf left to make my brain work, and I have no other fruit to make muffins, so Wrecker and Omega are going to give me the tooka eyes, and I have a stupid holocomm that I’m expecting at literally any minute, and I don’t even want to talk to them, but I feel like I have to, and I swear to the Maker, if ONE more thing goes wrong, I’m going to lose my ever-loving mind!”

You grabbed the towel and began to scrub the sink furiously, desperate to focus on something other than the conversation that you very much didn’t want to have. After a few seconds, though, you felt a weight on your shoulder. You turned to see Tech’s hand resting there, and for a moment you were so shocked that you stopped scrubbing. He was not usually one to initiate physical contact, and you had always tried to respect his boundaries.

“Tech?” you asked uncertainly.

“I have observed that you often seem to find comfort in Wrecker and Omega's hugs when you are upset. As Wrecker and Omega are not currently present, I would like to offer my own.”

“Are you sure?” you inquired, dumbfounded. “Aren't you busy with the repairs from Omega’s last flight lesson?”

“It can wait,” he replied. “Unless you would prefer not—”

His sentence cut off abruptly as you crashed into him, burying your face against his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. His arms closed around your shoulders, and he held your head in one hand. You slumped against him, turning your head so you could breathe.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“You are welcome,” he replied, the rumble of his voice vibrating against your ear as you rested your cheek against his chest. “I do not wish you to feel as though you must face all your struggles alone. Even the tiny ones.”

Just then, your comlink chimed with the dreaded holocomm.

“Do you wish to answer that?” he asked.

“Not really,” you admitted, “but I probably should.”

“May I propose an alternative course of action?”

“Propose away,” you replied.

“Remain with me, like this, and forget the holocomm,” he replied.

“You know what?” you asked. “That's an exceptional proposition. I accept.”

---

Want to request a ficlet? Check out this list of prompts!

More Bad Batch fics: Hunter fluff; Hunter spice; Crosshair hurt comfort; Crosshair fluff

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@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49

@anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

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@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @yve-barr

@dangraccoon

[snitchcrimsonwrites]

Drawn Together-Chapter 11

Paring: Tech x Jedi! Reader

What happens on Bracca? You and Tech continue to explore the dynamics of your relationship, and things are going great... till Crosshair shows up.

Chapter 10

Chapter 12

The corridor was quieter on the walk back to camp. Tech’s hand brushed against yours now and then, each pass deliberate and unhurried. You turned the corner to the central bay where your makeshift camp was set up, the scent of warming rations filled the air, and you could hear Echo and Hunter talking nearby.

As you drew closer, you noticed Echo sitting perched on a crate, hunched over a dented tin of caf and lazily poking at a protein square that had seen better days. Hunter was beside him, mug in hand, alert even in stillness, eyes quietly scanning the room between measured sips.

As soon as they noticed you both, their conversation gradually slowed down. It wasn’t a dramatic shift, but it was evident. Echo’s gaze flicked between the two of you, one brow arching with interest. Hunter tilted his head just slightly, a subtle shift that meant he was noting everything: posture, proximity, the way your shoulder brushed against Tech’s for a fraction too long.

Hunter glanced over you two, as sharp-eyed as ever. “You two were gone longer than a salvage run takes. Everything alright out there?”

“Operationally, yes,” Tech replied without hesitation. He stepped forward and set the salvaged power relay on the deck between them. “We recovered several functional components, including this. And five hydrospanners.”

“Six,” you corrected with a small smirk, brushing the dust from your hands.

Hunter’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Uh-huh.”

Echo took a slow sip from his caf, watching over the rim with obvious amusement. “Must’ve been a thorough search. Either that, or salvage work’s gotten a lot more… involved.”

Tech didn’t flinch. “The search itself was efficient. Any deviation occurred after the primary objective had been met.”

Hunter, credit to him, appeared unfazed. “Whatever’s happening between you two, keep it separate from the mission. We already have enough variables without adding personal complications.”

You and Tech answered in sync.

“Understood, Sergeant,” you said, giving a crisp mock-salute that made Echo chuckle.

“Affirmative,” Tech added, voice firm. “Personal developments will not interfere with tactical performance.”

Hunter’s nod was brief but approving. “Good.” A pause. Then, dryly: “Still not sure I’ll ever get used to giving orders to a Jedi general.”

You blinked and then offered a half-smile. “I’m not your commanding officer, Hunter. I’m just part of the squad now. And grateful for it.”

Echo nudged the heating plate. “Food’s still warm. Barely. But still technically edible.”

“Acceptable parameters,” Tech murmured, setting the salvaged parts aside and settling beside you on the crate. His shoulder bumped yours again as he sat, and this time, neither of you shifted away.

Echo squinted. “You know… I’ve seen him duck behind a Gonk droid to avoid small talk.”

Hunter’s mouth twitched. “Guess he’s evolving.”

“I am sitting right here,” Tech said flatly, though the corner of his mouth quirked, almost going unnoticed.

“We know,” Echo and Hunter replied in unison.

Hunter rose to pour himself more caf, shaking his head with a resigned smile. Echo leaned back against the wall, lips tugging upward as he muttered, more fond than exasperated, “Maker help us.”

—-------------------

The team convened around a cluster of unconscious scrappers, who were unceremoniously slumped against a crate after their earlier capture by Echo, Wrecker, and Omega, as the Batch considered their next steps.“Rex warned us about scrapper patrols,” Echo said. “Bracca’s full of them, especially near the core ships. We’ve pushed our luck. We should leave.”

“In our current situation, we need credits,” Hunter countered, his voice determined. “And this cruiser gives us a shot at a decent haul.”

“In this junk pile?” Wrecker scoffed. “How? Maybe Echo’s right.”

“Scavenging’s our best chance at clearing our debt,” Hunter said. “And this wreck is loaded.”

He turned to Tech, who was already scrolling through a cluster of readings on his datapad. “Tech, what’s the potential haul looking like?”

Tech adjusted his goggles, nodding once. “My scans confirm the armory and artillery bay remain largely intact. They were likely bypassed due to the flooded understructure… and the dianoga we encountered yesterday.”

Hunter’s tone sharpened. “So if we reach the stockpile…”

“We’ll have enough credits to pay off Cid and still come out ahead,” Tech confirmed.

“We’re soldiers, not smugglers,” Echo snapped, not keen on the idea. “This doesn’t sit right with me. General? What do you think?”

You take a moment to reflect. “Echo, I’m not a general anymore, and I really don’t feel like I should be the one making that decision.” You glance at Hunter before adding, “Hunter’s instincts have been doing a great job keeping us alive, and right now, that feels like more than enough for me.”

Echo frowns, “But you still believe in something. Doesn’t this cross a line?”

You connect with his gaze, a small hint of uncertainty reflecting in your eyes. “If I’m being honest, I’m still figuring out where the lines even are.”

“There is no Republic anymore for us to rely on anymore. We’re presented with an opportunity here. We have to take it.”

Tech clears his throat to continue. “Additionally, if I can reach the central systems on the bridge, there’s a chance the ship's central systems have the potential to be worth far more than any weapon.”

Hunter gave a short nod. “Then that’s your target. Get to the bridge, pull what you can. We’ll secure the lower decks.” He turned to you, where you stood nearby, eyes already on the perimeter. “Think you can take over watch?”

“Gladly,” you replied. “Though if someone wouldn’t mind lending me a comm, I’d prefer not to shout dramatically if we get visitors.”

Wrecker tossed his unit without hesitation. “Here. I’ll stick with Omega,” giving his little buddy a soft nudge on the shoulder.

You caught it midair, clipping it to your belt. “Thanks, big guy.” Wrecker blinked as he observed you approach the towering wreckage. “You really gonna climb that?” Already predicting your next course of action.

You smirked. “Only way to get the best view.” As you began your ascent, Tech glanced up from his datapad. His eyes observed you, intensely tracking your every movement as you demonstrated your agility with a sequence of timed and precise climbs, jumps, and tightrope walks as you navigated the vertical structure.“She’s remarkably agile,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, more audibly, “Just… exercise caution. That superstructure hasn’t been stable for some time.”

You toss him a thumbs-up, acknowledging that you heard his warning, but you are already halfway up. Navigating between warped girders and fractured plating, you reach the ship’s summit, crouching behind the rusted barrel of an old AA turret, the graveyard of Bracca stretching out for miles before you. You tapped the comm. “In position. I’ve got a visual on the approach and the south ridge. No movement yet.”

Hunter’s voice came back, low and calm. “Copy that. Stay sharp.” You adjusted your hood against the wind and settled in, fingertips grazing your holstered blaster, and the staff Tech had crafted for you rested by your side, secured to your belt, ready in case of any manifested action.

Below, the team split into formation to search the weapons depot. Hunter, Echo, Wrecker, and Omega made their way through a dim corridor until they reached a sealed blast door. Wrecker shoved it with a grunt, and the metal groaned open. Inside, racks of weapons and stacked crates stretched wall to wall. “Bigger than I expected,” Hunter murmured, running a hand along a row of blaster rifles.

“Most of these are perfect!” Wrecker said, hoisting a rotary cannon over his shoulder with a grin.

Hunter popped open a munitions locker and began searching. “Let’s make this worth it.”

After a few minutes, Omega’s comm crackled. Tech’s voice filtered in, clipped and precise. “Omega, I require your assistance on the bridge.” She looked up from examining a curious-looking device, “Be right there.” Jogging through the halls, she reached the bridge. The doors were already cracked open, and she spotted Tech beneath one of the consoles, tools in hand.

“How’s it looking?”

“We’re in luck. Whoever scuttled this ship didn’t wipe the hardware’s data imprint,” He explains, not bothering to move from beneath the console. “I’m transferring the files now, but I still need to copy the master drive,” He explains, extending a data stick towards her. Omega kneels next to him, accepting it from his hand. “The port will be on that console across the room,” he pointed without looking up.

As she initiated the data transfer, Omega looked out the viewport. The horizon was littered with various ruined Star Cruisers, cargo freighters, and fighter ships. “What was it like?” she asked. “The war?”

Still working, Tech replied without hesitation. “It was a primary mission objective, comprised of battles executed across numerous systems.”

“But… what was it like?” she pressed.

There’s a pause as he hesitates, then replies, confused. “I just told you.”

“Okay…” she draws out the word, then grins slightly. “Can I ask something else instead? It’s kind of personal.”

He doesn’t look up. “You may,” permitting her to continue.

“What about you and Y/N?” she asked, “Do you… like her?”

A sharp clunk followed as Tech’s head met the underside of the console. He muttered something under his breath and emerged, goggles askew.

He glances sideways at her. “I fail to see how that line of questioning aligns with our current objective or relates to wartime experience.”

Omega stifled a laugh. “I said it was personal. I didn’t think it was a secret or anything.”

“It’s not,” Tech replies matter-of-factly, smoothing the crease in one of his gloves. “I simply didn’t anticipate you being the one to initiate the topic.”

She gave a casual shrug, mischief in her smile. “Just curious.”

Tech studied her momentarily, then answered with quiet sincerity, “Y/N and I have seemingly formed a meaningful connection. To my current understanding… those feelings are mutual.”

A smile began to form on her lips, but before Omega could respond, a shrill beep echoed from the console. Omega pointed to the flashing red light, which was now blinking on the console. “What’s that?”

Tech stepped over, eyes scanning over the console. “Proximity alert. Could be faulty due to structural damage…”

“Uh, we’ve got company,” your voice interrupted over comms. “Three ships are just about to touch down northeast of the cruiser. Imperial transports, patrol-class.”

Omega and Tech rushed to the cruiser’s viewport. In the distance, three sleek ship silhouettes descended onto the scrapyard. Hunter’s voice came in sharply. “You sure it’s not more scrappers?”

Tech answered grimly, confirming. “No… It’s the Empire.”

Hunter’s voice breaks through the comms. “ Assemble at the bridge. We’ll assess and strategize our next action. Y/N, get low and out of view. Immediately."

“Already on it,” you reply as you make your way down the cruiser’s decaying exterior. On your descent, you spot a rusty maintenance hatch, slip inside, and after a few minutes emerge on the bridge next to Tech and Omega, who are watching the ships through the dusted-over viewport. You tap your comm and provide an update, “With Tech and Omega.”

Within minutes, the entire squad had gathered at the edge of the bridge window, where the trio of Imperial shuttles arrived in perfect formation below. Faint hydraulic hisses filled the air as the ship's ramps descended, and troopers clad in black armor exited in tight formation.

“How many troopers?" Echo asked as Hunter surveyed the incoming threat through a set of binoculars. “Three attack shuttles’ worth. However, that’s not the only issue.” As something else piques his interest during his scan. “It’s him," Hunter gradually lowers his binoculars, affirming his observation. In front of the lines of the troopers stands Crosshair.

Tech is already engaged, working to reduce the threat as his fingers move swiftly across his datapad. “He won’t be able to detect us. I’m blocking their scanners.” Hunter’s voice tightened, “That won’t stop Crosshair.”

“We already got what we came for,” Wrecker growls, arms crossed. “Let’s get to the Marauder before we’re boxed in.” But Hunter’s eyes don’t leave the viewport. “Too late. They’re already inside. We need a covert way out.”

“They’ll start forward and sweep aft,” Echo says, almost as though he's quoting from the regulation manual. “We use alternating corridors. Slip their formation.”

Hunter turns sharply. “ Let’s move,” getting the squad in gear. “Talk to me, Tech, options?”

“I’m trying to tap into the regs’ comms so we can monitor their movements.”

A metallic clang echoed nearby. Too close. You and Hunter spoke in unison. “Someone’s coming.” Hunter raised a hand, and the squad dropped into a crawlspace just as troopers stomped past. The sound of their boots reverberated down the hallway as they swept the ship.

A soft chime from Tech’s datapad broke the tension. “I’m in. They’re heading toward the hangar.”

"Are we still going to the hangar?" Omega asks. “Not anymore," Hunter replies. “We’ll take the artillery deck instead. Let’s keep one step ahead of their sweep."

The team moved swiftly, navigating the hallways and carefully sidestepping any open spaces. You fall into step beside Tech and whisper thoughtfully, keeping your voice just above a murmur, “If Crosshair’s on the ground, we’ll have to be more than fast. He knows how your moves.”

Tech continues to concentrate on his scanner. “Fortunately, I’ve also spent time contemplating his thought process." They turned a corner, crossing onto the artillery deck, and stopped short. Troopers obstructed the way ahead. "You were saying?”

From the shadows, Crosshair appeared, accompanied by a team of elite soldiers. His voice sliced through the air, his tone calm yet laced with venom. “Tapping our comms? Really? Predictable.”

As the troopers closed in, you, Echo, and Tech slipped between the shadows of two massive artillery control systems, while just beyond the cover, Hunter, Omega, and Wrecker found themselves somewhat caught in the open, hemmed in by Crosshair’s squads.

Wrecker glanced out slightly to mock his former squadmate, “Nice to see you too, Crosshair.”

Crosshair didn’t take the bait. His rifle was already half-raised. “This ends now. Surrender. Or don’t.” His voice was as empty as it was final. “Makes no difference to me.”

Tech spared a quick glance over his shoulder, assessing the systems they stood between. “Echo,” he said coolly, “scomp in and reroute reserve power to the artillery cannons.”

Echo’s head whipped toward him, disbelief plain on his face. “If we fire those, this entire deck could come down on us.”

“That is the idea,” Tech replied without hesitation, his tone disturbingly calm given the circumstances. His gaze flicked briefly toward you. “I’ll need you to mitigate any impact of catastrophic debris on us. ‘Discreetly,’ if possible.”

You nodded once, bracing yourself as your stance instinctively shifted. One hand brushed the haft of your staff while the other lingered at your side, palm flexing subtly, waiting for Tech’s signal.

From his location, Crosshair tilted his head slightly. His gaze landed on you for the first time; his lip curled just enough to register contempt. “Well,” he muttered, “picked up another stray, have you?” He looked past you to Hunter. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Crosshair, wake up,” Hunter urges, attempting to buy Tech some time while also trying to convince Crosshair, “you’ve got an inhibitor chip that's controlling you.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Omega reinforces.

Echo’s whisper came tight and fast as he finished diverting the power systems. “Systems online in three… two… one.” Tech’s hand slammed down on the activation pad, completing the process. “...Done.”

A moment later, a thunderous hum resonated across the deck as the artillery cannon came to life. Its barrel glowed with intense energy. Then, with a massive roar, it discharged, causing the entire deck to shudder. Panels buckled. Bulkheads twisted. Support struts splintered like twigs. Echo was correct; the entire deck they stood on was collapsing bit by bit.

Hunter moved first, seizing the moment. “GO!” he barked, rolling into the chaos and unleashing a volley of blaster bolts that dropped two troopers before they could return fire.

You clutched your staff firmly as a panel tore loose from the ceiling, rapidly descending onto the squad below. You turned swiftly, your staff slicing through the air just as the falling object suddenly veered off course, changing its path. It slammed downwards into a cluster of troopers with a jarring force. To any observers, it seemed like debris redirected by the aftershock.

Without pausing, you leapt into the chaos. Your staff spun in your hands, dampening any stray blaster fire. As you did, a trooper lunged. You pivoted low, sweeping his legs out from under him in one fluid motion. As he dropped, you drove the butt of your staff into his chest, forcing the air from his lungs in a gasping wheeze.

Another soldier aimed his rifle at you. "Wrecker! To the left!" you yelled while turning to confront the next attack.

“On it!” Wrecker barreled forward like a battering ram, plowing through two confused troopers with a resounding crash. He aimed his blaster and shot at close range at the third soldier, who toppled over the edge of the deck.

Hunter pointed to a potential exit, a narrow access shaft still connected to the upper deck, partially obscured by smoke and debris. “That’s our way out! Move!” Behind them, the artillery deck buckles with a final groan, collapsing inward into a tangled storm of debris and metal.

“That should slow them down,” Tech announces, sounding a bit too pleased with himself.

Echo hauled a stunned elite trooper out of their path, muttering, “Hope it slows you down next time.”

The Bad Batch sprints through a cramped auxiliary corridor as sparks rain from overhead conduits. The groan of falling metal echoes around them, punctuated by the distant shouts of Imperial troopers.

“Follow me,” Tech calls, eyes flicking between his datapad and the path ahead. “We’ll have to escape down by the engines!” They round a corner and skid to a halt.

“We’re cut off!” Echo shouts, raising his blaster. Blocking their path is an elite trooper with a compact flamethrower unit mounted on his arm. The trooper ignites it, sending a surge of fire barreling toward them. The heat pulses forward, and you instinctively react, grabbing Tech by the back of his armor, yanking him behind you as you pivot, placing yourself between the flames and your squad.

“Wait!” Tech exclaims, extending a hand toward you, coming to realize what you’ve done. The inferno rushes towards the Batch and stops.

Using steady, sweeping gestures, your hands move gracefully through the air. The flames arch and falter before splitting, flowing harmlessly on either side. Heat shimmers in the hallway, yet the fire never touches you.

“Now!” you shout, your voice strained with the effort you’ve put forth.

Wrecker doesn’t hesitate. He swings the massive proton torpedo off his shoulder and hurls it like a spear. “Hey, torch boy!” he bellows. The torpedo slams into the trooper, pinning him. The flamethrower sputters, its wielder trapped beneath both weapons.

“Nice arm,” you mutter, brushing a layer of soot from your shoulder as you reconvene with the Batch.

“Thanks!” Wrecker grins. “But you get all the style points!”

Tech is already on the move again, “This way. Quickly.” You follow him, ducking into a sloped access shaft that feeds into a vast cylindrical chamber, the hollowed interior of a dormant ion engine

“I didn’t think you meant through the engine,” Echo mutters, eyeing the scorched metal around them. “I could not have been clearer,” Tech replies without looking up.

Echo snorts. “Sure.”

Omega peers around the chamber, her voice hushed with awe. “I’ve never been inside an ion engine before…” “That’d be weirder if you had, kid,” Wrecker grunts, helping her duck under a low-hanging coil of melted wiring.

Tech gestures upward as they climb onto a grated maintenance platform. “These chambers are marvels of Republic-era design. This blast primer coating alone can withstand—” Wrecker slaps a heavy hand against Tech’s back, cutting him off. “Nobody cares, Tech.”

Tech falters briefly but manages to recover, his frown barely noticeable. You step closer, your hand lightly touching his shoulder, a gesture indicating that at least someone cared. He responds with a slight nod before going back to his scanner.

They push forward, weaving through the skeletal remains of the ship’s propulsion systems. Soon, they reach the chamber’s outer rim and climb to a narrow ledge that overlooks a sheer drop of hundreds of feet.

Tech turns the corner to scout ahead but suddenly halts, startled by a red blaster bolt whizzing past his head and striking the metal paneling behind him. This causes him to jerk back with a startled gasp, nearly losing his footing; however, you’re already there, one hand catching his arm, the other steadying his chest. He exhales, rattled. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice low.

A voice cuts through the smoke and silence. “Try again, Hunter,” Crosshair drawls from above. The distortion from his helmet’s vocoder only sharpens the bite of his words. “I told you before... you’re surrounded.”

Hunter scans the area, jaw tightening at Crosshair’s words. “Fall back, we need another exit.” A deep sound rumbles beneath them; the air shifts. The massive engine walls vibrate with an ominous thrum. A sickening realization hits. The engine is coming back online.

“What is that?” Wrecker mutters, glancing around. “That’s not—”

“Sounds like the engine’s coming online, but that’s not possible, right?”Echo snaps, turning to Tech.

Tech flinches, already pulling up his datapad. “Technically, it is. When I accessed the central system, I restored the ship’s main power core, which means the engines can be activated.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence. “You mean this thing is about to fire?” Echo demands.

“Yes,” Tech replies, eyes scanning rapidly. “In less than two minutes.”

“Brilliant,” you mutter. “Anyone got a bright idea? I’d really prefer not to be burned alive today.”

Hunter glances at the heavy satchels they carried from the weapons depot. “What if we use the charges? Can we blow up the engine?”

Tech shakes his head. “The explosion wouldn’t be significant enough to rupture the housing.” “But,” he adds, “if we place them strategically around the inner cone, here, here, and here,” he points to the structural schematics, “we might be able to destabilize the core and break the cone free from the main cylinder.”

“Might?” Echo says, eyebrows raised. Tech hesitates, then glances at you. “A little… nudge from our Jedi wouldn’t hurt either.”

The floor vibrates again, even more powerfully this time. Omega’s voice is small. “If we break it loose… won’t we fall? All the way down?”

Hunter’s eyes meet hers, steady and calm despite the storm surrounding them. “It’s either that, or get vaporized. We don’t have another option.”

You step forward, placing a hand gently on Omega’s shoulder. “You won’t fall,” you say. “We’ve got you.” Omega nods, still nervous, but trusting.

Hunter snaps into action. “Grab a charge, now!” He barks over the rising roar of the engine. Wrecker swings the satchels off his back, tossing one to each of them. “Y/N,” Hunter continues, eyes scanning the upper cone struts, “You’re the fastest up there. Think you can reach the high points?”

You nod, already moving. “I’ll make it.” You break away from the group, leaping onto a vertical support beam and then propelling yourself upward, grasping an overhead strut and swinging yourself even higher. Meanwhile, the rest of the squad disperses around the base of the cone, securing charges at the locations indicated by Tech.

"Hurry up!" warns Tech. “We don't have much time!” At that moment, the inner cone starts to emit a perilous blue glow.

“Last charge’s set!” Wrecker shouts. “Priming, now!”

The charges erupt in rapid succession, thunderous blasts echoing through the chamber. The cone begins tearing away from its anchors.

From the ledge above, extend your hands and pull down in one swift motion, encouraging the structure to break away completely. The cone begins to tilt and then drops. The whole team rushes, ascending the moving metal toward a maintenance ledge. However, the floor suddenly becomes vertical beneath them.

Omega reaches for a rail but misses, crashing into Hunter. He catches her with one arm, while his other hand grips the ledge tightly. The engine’s inner workings crumble downward, smashing into the chamber’s lower hull, causing the Batch to roll uncontrollably along the interior of the engine cylinder.

“Y/N” Tech calls out amid the chaos, spotting you struggling to brace yourself mid-slide, skidding hard, unarmored, and vulnerable. He reaches out for your hand and, with a sharp pull, he yanks you close, twisting his body around yours as you tumble. His arms cage protectively around you, shielding you from debris as you crash downward in a controlled roll.

At last, the cone comes to a halt as the engine's glow flickers before finally extinguishing.

You gaze up at Tech, his full weight resting on you, arms tightly secured around your shoulders. He exhales sharply, still processing the fall. “Are you alright?”

“I think so,” you breathe.

“You’re not wearing armor. That’s... not ideal.” You let out a light chuckle as your head rests against the ground. “I’ll definitely make sure to dress for the occasion next time."

Still holding you, he glances down and realizes the position you both were in. Then, he awkwardly shifts to pull himself off with precise care. “Apologies,” he says quickly, clearing his throat. “Tactical necessity.”

“Tactical necessity acknowledged," you murmur, glancing up at him with a subtle, appreciative smile.

A groan echoes from a few meters away. “I think I bruised my everything,” Wrecker mutters from beneath a piece of warped plating. You exhale in relief and rise unsteadily to your feet, assisted by Tech’s steady hand. “Ugh,” Wrecker grunts, rolling onto his back before standing. “Remind me never to fall through an ion engine again.”

“You and me both,” Echo mutters, pulling himself out of the debris with a wince. The four regrouped quickly, but Hunter and Omega were nowhere in sight. Echo raises his comm. “Hunter, do you read? We landed portside. Do you copy?”

A burst of static, then Hunter’s voice crackles through.“We’re fine. Landed near the engine base. But we’ve got company. Attack shuttle’s lighting up the wreckage. Fall back to the Marauder,” Hunter orders. “Now.”

“Copy that,” Echo responds. “We’re moving.”

The squad scrambles up the ruptured side of the engine, and the Marauder comes into view, prompting you all to break into a sprint. As you approach, you see Hunter collapsed at the edge of the landing ramp, smoke rising from a seared blaster mark across his chest plate. His breathing is ragged, and there’s no sign of Omega.

“Hunter!” Echo drops to his knees, shaking him. Tech rushes forward. “We need to get him aboard now. Y/N, assess him the moment we’re inside.”

Wrecker covers the entrance while laying down suppressing fire as Crosshair’s squad breaks through the wreckage before them. “Go! Go!” Wrecker shouts.

You and Echo drag Hunter aboard as Tech sprints to the cockpit. “Strap in!” he shouts. “This is going to get rough!”

You kneel beside Hunter and pull open his chest plate to check the wound. It scorched clean through the outer armor, leaving a glancing impact and deep bruising, but not fatal. Still, he’s out cold. The Marauder lurches violently as it lifts off, Bracca shrinking off into the distance. Hunter coughs, groaning as consciousness returns.

“Easy,” you say, stabilizing his head. “You took a hit, but you’ll live.”

His eyes snap open. He tries to sit up. “Omega—”

“She wasn’t with you. Where is she?”

“A bounty hunter took her.” Wrecker stiffens. “What?”

Tech’s jaw tightens. “Do you know who it was?”

Hunter shakes his head slowly. “We need to find her.”

[elwenyere]

WIP Wednesday

The Cassian/Melshi/Bix WIP "Then the War" has reached 9.6k, and we are making progress, slowly but surely. Here's a little snip for your WIP Wednesday.

.....

“These crates go straight to the Yavin mess,” Bix confirmed, gesturing to her right, “and the blue ones are for running past the blockades. We skim a bit of grain from each council, so it’s harder to spot: the repair crews hide it in old gray-water tanks from the irrigation towers.”

“Clever,” Melshi remarked.

“And what has Vel sent for me, hmm?”

Melshi reached down to give her a hand, and she pulled herself up into the cargo hold before turning to the line of 614-AvA speeder bikes at the back of the transport.

“Smuggling crew nicked these from an Imperial base on Lothal,” Melshi said. “Captain Sartha said you’d know how to reprogram the targeting systems.”

Bix nodded toward the nearest bike’s control pod. 

“Help me get the casing off?”

Melshi took the hydrospanner she passed him and worked at loosening the bolts while she scraped at the scoring that had partially fused the carbon plating on one side. When she finished she slid the flat blade of her chisel beneath the edge of the panel.

“Watch your fingers,” she said, and then they pried the cover loose so she could examine the interior. “The wiring’s in decent shape. If the other bikes are in the same state, it will probably take a week or so.” She looked up at him. “You’re pretty handy with a spanner.”

“Plenty of practice on Narkina. And you know what they say: never let a good prison sentence go to waste.”

Bix tilted her head, a small smile forming at the edge of her lips.

“That was a joke,” she observed.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“No, no, that was almost funny. You should keep practicing.”

Melshi chuckled, feeling a smile of his own form as hers widened. 

“I’ll have to work on my material.”

[saphronethaleph]

Faster Falcon Finding

“Okay, what’s wrong now?” Finn asked, coming down from the dorsal turret. “We did jump to lightspeed, right?”

“We jumped to lightspeed, then the motivator on this piece of garbage failed!” Rey replied, already levering up one of the floorboards with her staff. “That was the only thing that wasn’t giving alerts!”

She glanced up at Poe, who’d arrived from the cockpit. “Not that our pilot was helping much.”

“Hey, cut me some slack!” Poe replied, defensively. “I’m an ace fighter pilot not freighter pilot! And I didn’t want to take this ship anyway!”

“It’s not like we had much choice,” Finn pointed out. “That quadjumper got blown to pieces! We were being strafed! We’ve got to get to the Resistance, right?”

“Yeah, but – you guys seriously don’t know whose ship this is?” Poe asked. “I asked before but I think the question got lost!”

“Like we are?” Rey asked, then put a hydrospanner between her teeth while she adjusted something with a vibro wrench. “Hold on… who does this? This thing’s got a bypass on it to feed pseudovelocity compensation from the secondary generator – the one that blew up halfway through the fight!”

She sighed. “And it’s not on any of the manuals, either.”

“I’m not really surprised,” Poe said, then something began beeping.

“What’s that?” Finn asked. “That doesn’t sound like a good beep. That sounds like a very bad beep!”

“Proximity alarm, I think,” Poe replied, turning to run back to the cockpit. “That or the reactor’s about to fail, but since the reactors are in standby right now… it’d have to be-”

He yelped.

“Guys!”

“What?” Rey replied, head poking up from the underfloor compartment.

“You’re going to want to see this!”

By the time Rey reached the cockpit, several seconds after Finn, their ship was already most of the way inside the cargo bay of a much bigger bulk freighter.

“That’s not good,” Fin summarized. “Do you think – the First Order? Have they found us?”

“Maybe,” Poe muttered. “If they have, why aren’t they using a Star Destroyer?”

“Do they have enough to go around?” Rey asked.

“Who cares, we need to get out of this mess!” Finn said. “Tractor beam, right? Can we shoot it out?”

“Not likely,” Poe replied. “Okay – we need to hide under the floor plates. Rey, how soon can you get that hyperdrive motivator fixed?”

“If I knew that I’d already have it fixed!” Rey shot back. “Um – I’ll see how quickly I can do it?”

“Make it quick,” Finn suggested.

BB-8 whistled something.

“Yeah, take BB, he can help,” Poe agreed. “Finn, you and me should hide in the other compartment.”

It was cramped in the other compartment, but not that cramped, and Finn felt around to make sure he knew the space.

“It’s like these were built to hide stuff in,” he said.

“Of course they were, do you know whose ship this is?” Poe replied, in a whisper.

“I clearly don’t,” Finn countered.

Something went clang, then two sets of feet walked up the ramp.

Stopped.

“If you’re in the underfloor compartments, you can come out now, nice and slow,” a voice told them. “My friend and I have you covered, so don’t get any funny ideas.”

Finn glanced at Poe. “Got any funny ideas?” he whispered.

“I’ve got a blaster, but that’s it,” Poe told him, quietly.

Then a hand lifted the compartment, and Finn put his hands up as a sixtyish human man covered him with a blaster.

Poe stared.

“...General Solo!?” he said, astonished. “How did you-”

“I thought General Solo was a girl!” Finn objected.

“There’s two, they got married,” Poe said. “This is Han Solo, not Leia Organa Solo. I, uh… so I can explain-”

“General Solo?” Rey asked, then banged her head on the roof of the compartment. “Ow!”

She shoved the roof of the engineering space open, and stared at the wookiee pointing a bowcaster at her. “And you – you must be Chewbacca!”

Chewbacca made a pleased noise.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m recognizable too,” Han muttered. “So you stole my ship?”

“We didn’t have much choice,” Rey said. “We were being shot by the First Order!”

“Imagine how I felt!” Han replied. “I got called in to do a favour for my wife by helping answer the distress call of that kid over there, Poe Dameron, right?”

Poe nodded, a bit jerkily.

“I knew he was on this dustball Jakku, not much else,” Han went on. “So Chewie and I parked our ship – this ship – to ask the locals about anything that had been happening, and then the First Order starts shooting at us and I turned around and our ship was taking off without us!”

“...oops,” Rey said, quietly. “Sorry?”

“We didn’t recognize it,” Finn volunteered.

“I did, but I got outvoted and it was a bit hectic,” Poe finished.

“I also want to have a word with your engineer,” Rey said. “Who has a failing inertial compensator?”

Chewbacca suggested something.

“If that compensator had failed I certainly wouldn’t have been able to do that!” Rey objected. “...I don’t think I could anyway, is that possible?”

“How did you catch up to us, then?” Poe asked.

“That’s the ship we’re on,” Han explained. “I paid some smugglers way too much to charter their freighter-”

“Hey, Solo!” a trandoshan called, from the cargo ramp. “You done yet? We need to get moving!”

“Give me a minute!” Han shouted back. “Eesh, with how much I paid you’d think they’d be less rude.”

There was a clunk, and the whole freighter shook slightly.

“What was that?” Rey asked.

The trandoshan outside shouted something harsh in another language, and Han frowned.

“That sounds important, we’d better go and see,” he said.

By the time they were outside, the situation had not improved.

Two more freighters had shown up and docked with the one Han had chartered, and both had disgorged heavily armed groups, and the trandoshan smuggler group had armed up to find out what was going on.

“Hey, Rakas!” the first pirate group said. “Where are our rathtars?”

“Rathtars?” Rey repeated. “What are those?”

“They’re not hauling rathtars on this thing, are they?” Finn asked, extremely worried.

“I didn’t ask,” Han admitted.

“Rathtars are balls of teeth, tentacles and attitude,” Finn summarized. “You don’t want to deal with them!”

“We’ve got them, we’ve got them,” the trandoshan leader said. “Just let us get our passengers out of the cargo hold and we’ll begin the process of transferring them safely. You don’t want to cut corners with rathtars.”

“You were supposed to be delivering them already!” the pirate snapped, then the other group turned up and bristled. Blasters got pointed in just about every direction, and Poe frowned.

“This doesn’t look good,” he muttered. “What are those guys doing here, then, if the other group are here for the rathtars?”

“That’s Solo’s ship!” the aqualish in charge of the third group said. “I was here for the bounty on you, Rakas, but Solo’s bounty is much higher!”

“How much higher?” the trandoshan asked, sounding interested.

“Uh oh,” Rey said.

BB-8 whistled, and all the pirates turned to look.

“...isn’t that the BB unit the First Order is after?” one of the pirates asked. “The one where they’re offering enough to buy all of us a ship?”

“Run,” Han advised.

Rey and Poe made it into the Falcon, but a barrage of laserfire cut the others off from the ship, and Han glanced at Finn as they hid behind some barrels.

“Please tell me you’ve got a com frequency for them!” he said.

“Here,” Finn replied, handing his comlink straight to Han.

“Okay, listen!” Han said. “Underneath the back right seat in the cockpit there’s a control to deploy a miniature blaster turret. Use that to give us some cover!”

The Falcon deployed its miniature turret a moment later, opening fire, and Han glanced around as Chewbacca used his bowcaster to nail one of the trandoshans to a wall.

“We need to shut off the tractor beam before we go anywhere,” he said. “Story of my life… okay, kid, how good are you with freighter control systems?”

“...I don’t like this question,” Finn admitted.

“You’ll like the plan even less,” Han told him, glancing over his shoulder at one of the other corridors leading off the hangar bay. “We need to cause chaos. They’re keeping the rathtars somewhere, so…”

“You make terrible business decisions!” Finn accused.

“I know, I know!” Han replied. “Do you have any better ideas?”

“When a plan is this bad, no plan is better than this plan!” Finn complained.