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areyoufuckingcrazy · 20 days ago

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“Brothers in the Making” pt.2

Command Squad x Reader

The morning air in the training yard smelled of damp plastoid and ozone — same as always. Rain tapped on the roof of the covered walkway, steady but soft, like the storm hadn’t made up its mind about the day yet.

You stood at the head of the formation, arms behind your back, cloak heavy with humidity.

Twenty-three had become twenty-two.

Not because you'd lost one, but because one of them had stepped forward.

And he'd earned a name.

They stood in perfect formation, shoulder to shoulder. No movement, no talking — but the tension was there, humming like static in the air.

You stood in front of them, helmet tucked under one arm, boots soaked to the ankle.

“Yesterday, one of you showed me something I’ve been waiting to see,” you said calmly. “Not just talent. Not just tactics. But who he is.”

Your eyes landed on the cadet to your right. The one who no longer stood in the line.

CC-1010.

He stood tall, hands clasped behind his back, helmet under his arm. Quiet. Unshaken.

“He faced fear without shame. Not because he wanted a name — but because he needed to be more for his brothers. And that,” you said, voice steady, “is how a name is earned.”

You nodded to him.

“From now on, he is Fox.”

Silence.

But not empty silence. No — this silence was sharp.

Across the line, you saw heads twitch, eyes shift. You felt the ripple move through them.

CC-2224 tilted his head just slightly — like he was re-evaluating something.

CT-7567 didn’t move at all, but his jaw tightened beneath the helmet. You could almost feel him processing it.

CC-5869 crossed his arms, the first to break stance.

“Didn’t know crying in your bunk earned names now,” he muttered.

Fox raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know tripping over your squadmate during breach drills made you an expert.”

A quiet snort came from CC-1138, who immediately tried to play it off.

You stepped in before it escalated.

“Cut it,” you said. “Jealousy won’t earn you a name. Neither will pissing contests. If anything, Fox getting named means I’m watching even closer now.”

CT-1477 mumbled something to CC-5052. Probably a bet.

CC-2224 and CC-5869 shared a look — not resentment, not yet. Just… hunger. Quiet determination.

CC-1138 nodded once to himself.

You let them have the moment — that weight of realization that the bar had been raised.

You turned on your heel, voice sharp again.

“Sim room. City block scenario. Squad-on-squad. You want a name?”

You gestured to the exit with your helmet.

“Earn it.”

They moved faster than usual.

The sim was rougher than usual.

Squads pushed harder, moved sharper, communicated with fewer mistakes. CT-7567 ran point on his squad and executed a textbook breach — one you hadn’t even taught yet. CC-2224 called a flawless redirect mid-scenario when the objective shifted. CC-5052 and CC-5869 still bickered, but their cover-fire patterns were getting tighter.

They were trying.

You could see it.

But only one of them had a name.

And they all knew it.

———

That night, the rain had returned in full — harder now, pelting the side of the instructor wing like blasterfire on durasteel.

You leaned against a support pillar outside the rec hall, caf in hand, gear still half-on. The ache in your shoulders hadn’t left since morning.

Footsteps approached — a limp in one.

Kal Skirata.

“You look like osik,” he said by way of greeting.

“Same to you,” you replied, sipping your caf.

He grinned and leaned beside you, stretching out the stiffness in his back. “One of my cadets set off a training charge in the wrong direction today. Took out the wrong team.”

You smirked. “Friendly fire?”

“Not so friendly when I was the one watching from behind.”

Another set of steps approached — slower, more deliberate.

Walon Vau. Cloaked in quiet as always.

“I warned RC-1262 about overcommitting,” he said. “He overcommitted.”

You glanced at him. “He live?”

“He learned.”

Kal chuckled. “Same thing.”

The three of you stood in silence for a moment, listening to the rain.

“I named one,” you said finally.

They both turned toward you.

“CC-1010,” you added. “He’s Fox now.”

Kal nodded slowly. “Good lad. Level-headed. Thinks with more than just his training.”

“Steady,” Vau agreed. “He’ll survive.”

You watched the rain streak down the glass window across from you, arms folded. “The others are watching him differently now.”

“Of course they are,” Kal muttered. “They know now. It’s real.”

“They’re chasing it,” you said. “All of them. Not for ego — not yet. But… they want to be seen.”

“That’s what names do,” Kal said. “Turn numbers into souls.”

Vau’s gaze was unreadable as always, but his voice was low. “And once they believe they’re real, they start fearing what happens when that gets taken away.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded. Slowly. Thoughtfully.

“I keep thinking…” you said. “We’re making them better than us. Smarter. Sharper. Kinder, even.”

“And sending them to die,” Kal finished for you.

None of you flinched.

You just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, three Mandalorians staring down a storm, holding onto something quiet and sacred — a little hope that maybe, just maybe, these boys would be remembered as more than numbers.

———

The hand-to-hand training deck smelled like sweat, scuffed plastoid, and the faint charge of electroshock stun mats. You stood at the center of the ring, barefoot, sleeves rolled up, ready.

The cadets ringed the mat in a tight circle, helmets off, eyes sharp.

It was their first advanced combat session — and they were nervous.

You weren’t.

You cracked your knuckles and addressed them plainly.

“You won’t always have a blaster. Or your brothers. Sometimes, it’s just you and an enemy with a blade, or fists, or nothing at all. So today we find out what you can do with your body and your rage.”

Your gaze swept across them.

“Who’ll be my first opponent.”

CC-3636 stepped forward without hesitation.

“I’ll go.”

You raised a brow. He’d always been intense. Focused. A little too rigid in structure. Like he was trying to will himself into leadership before his body was even finished growing.

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Into the ring.”

He moved like a soldier. Precision in every step. But there was something else today — a glint of desperation.

He wanted something.

No — needed it.

You squared off, feet planted, hands loose at your sides.

“You sure about this?” you asked lowly.

“Yes, Instructor.”

You gave him the first move.

He came in strong — good footwork, disciplined strikes. You let him test you, blocked and redirected, watched his form fall apart when you slipped past his guard and tapped his ribs.

He reset fast — eyes narrowing.

Second round, he came harder. Less measured. Frustrated now.

He lunged — you sidestepped — swept his leg — he hit the mat.

He snarled.

You backed off. “Keep your stance balanced. You’re leading too much with your shoulder.”

“I know!” he snapped, climbing to his feet.

That desperation — it was leaking out now.

He charged.

You moved to disarm — caught his arm, twisted — and then—

Pain.

You flinched, just for a second.

He’d bitten your hand.

Not playfully. Not out of reflex.

Desperately.

Hard enough to draw blood.

The room went dead silent.

You stared down at him, jaw tight, hand bleeding. He stared back, chest heaving, eyes wild like a cornered animal.

The look in his eyes wasn’t arrogance.

It was fear.

Please let this be enough.

You didn’t hit him. Didn’t yell.

You stepped back. Flexed your fingers. Blood dripped to the mat.

“You’re reckless,” you said quietly. “You lost your temper. You disrespected your opponent.”

He opened his mouth to speak—an apology, maybe—but you cut him off.

“But you didn’t quit.”

His expression shifted. Confused. Hopeful. Scared to be either.

You stepped forward again, standing close enough for your voice to drop.

“You’d rather be hated than forgotten. You’d rather bleed than fail. And even when you’re outmatched, you refuse to let go of the fight.”

You met his eyes.

“That’s why your name is Wolffe.”

Around the ring, cadets exhaled — some in disbelief, some in understanding.

CC-2224 blinked, quiet. CC-5052 shifted his stance, just slightly. CT-7567 looked away.

Fox, standing behind them all, gave a small, proud nod.

Wolffe looked like he couldn’t breathe. “I—Instructor, I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” you said simply.

You held out your other hand.

He took it.

You helped him to his feet.

“You’re not done yet. But you’ve started something that’ll never be taken from you.”

He nodded, slow. Steady.

The wolf had been born in blood and instinct. And he’d wear that name like a scar.

Later, after the medics patched your hand and the cadets had been dismissed, you stood in the corridor, staring out at the storm-churned ocean through the long viewing panels.

You didn’t hear Fox approach, but you felt him beside you.

“He deserved it,” he said quietly.

You nodded.

“He did.”

Fox folded his arms.

“Do you think we’ll all have to bleed to earn ours?”

You glanced at him.

“No,” you said. “But I think the ones who don’t will wish they had.”

He thought about that for a long time.

And didn’t disagree.

———

The days began to blur together.

Training turned into instinct. Wounds turned into scars. The boys — your boys — grew sharper. Stronger. Quieter when it counted. Louder when it didn’t.

And one by one, they earned their names.

Not all at once. Never in a rush.

Each name was a moment.

Each name was *earned.*

***

**CC-1139** was next.

It happened during a silent extraction drill. He lost his comm halfway through and didn’t say a word — just adapted, took point, and pulled his whole squad through three klicks of hostile terrain using only hand signals and trust. He didn’t ask to be recognized. But the second they hit the exfil marker, he dropped to one knee — not from fatigue, but to check his brother’s sprained ankle.

You named him Bacara right there in the mud.

CC-2224 followed.

The sim had collapsed. A storm cut power to the whole compound mid-exercise. No lights. No alarms. Nothing but chaos. But 2224 kept moving. He rallied the others without hesitation, without fear. He *led* — not by yelling, but by being the kind of soldier others would follow into darkness.

You named him Cody at sunrise.

He didn’t say anything — but you saw the way he stood straighter after.

CT-7567 earned his during a full-force melee sim. Another cadet went down hard — knocked out cold. 7567 could’ve finished the drill. Could’ve taken the win. Instead, he stopped, picked up his brother, and carried him through the finish.

Later that night, he knocked on your door.

“I didn’t do it to earn a name.”

You smiled and said, “That’s why you did.”

*Rex.*

He nodded once and left, proud but quiet — same as always.

CC-8826 didn’t want a name. Said he didn’t need one.

But when a flash-flood hit during an outdoor recon sim, he was the first one to drag three younger cadets out of a current strong enough to tear armor. He lost his helmet in the process. Nearly drowned.

You found him on the bank, coughing water, already checking the others’ vitals before his own.

“You’ve got more heart than half the GAR already,” you said, dropping to your knees beside him. “Your name is Neyo.”

He didn't argue. Just nodded once.

CC-4477 never liked attention. But he moved like fire when things got real. Explosive sim — half the field in disarray — and 4477 kept it together like a warhound. Fast, deadly, and focused.

You named him Thorn.

He smirked. Said, “About time.”

CC-6454 was a stubborn one. Constantly pushing limits. But when a real med evac team came in for a demo, one of the medics dropped from heatstroke. 6454 took over triage without being told. Knew the protocols better than the demo officer.

“Didn’t think you had the patience,” you said.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But I watched. Like you said.”

You smiled.

“Ponds.”

CC-5804 earned his during a live-fire run. One of his brothers panicked — froze up mid-field. 5804 didn’t yell, didn’t shame him. Just moved in front, took two rounds to the armor, and got him out safe.

You named him Keeli. He wore it like armor after that.

CC-5869 was a mouthy one. Constantly bickering. Constantly poking.

But during a sim gone sideways, when a blast shorted your training console and dropped half the safety measures, he jumped into the fire zone to pull a brother out. Burned his arm. Didn’t stop until the sim shut down.

When you sat by his cot that night, he looked up and asked, “Still think I’m just talk?”

“No,” you said. “Your name is Stone.”

CC-1004 shone brightest when things were barely holding together. During a malfunctioning terrain sim, when the floor caved and chaos reigned, he kept calm, coordinated, and improvised a bridge to extract half the squad.

“Doom,” you said afterward. “Because you walked through it and didn’t blink.”

CC-5767 liked to move alone. Observant, quiet, leaned into recon drills more than most. But when his squad got pinned by a faulty sim turret, he flanked it by himself, took it down, and dragged three brothers out of the smoke.

“Monk,” you said after. “Because you wait, and then strike.”

He gave a small, thoughtful nod. Said nothing.

CC-1003 was relentless in recon exercises. Fast. Tactical. And weirdly curious — always scanning, always asking questions others didn’t think to. He figured out how to reroute a failed evac sim by hacking the system — without permission.

You made him do five laps. Then you named him Gree.

He said, “Worth it.”

CC-1119 didn’t stand out for a long time — until a night drill went off-script and real fire suppression was needed. He coordinated the younger cadets, risked getting himself locked out of the hangar doors, and stayed behind to make sure no one was missed.

“Appo,” you said quietly that night.

He looked like it meant everything.

CC-5052 earned his name last.

He’d spent weeks in the shadow of the others. Quieter than most. Never the fastest, or strongest, or boldest. But he was always there.

Always steady.

Always watching.

And when one of the younger cadets broke during endurance trials, it was 5052 who stayed up all night walking him through drills until dawn. Not for praise. Not to be seen.

Just because he refused to let a brother fall behind.

“Bly,” you said, the next morning during roll.

He blinked. Looked up. “Why?”

You smiled. “Because loyalty isn’t loud.”

And then, one day… they were all named.

All twenty-three.

No more numbers.

No more designations.

Just men.

You stood before them one morning, same rain overhead, same wind off the ocean.

Only now — the line standing before you wasn’t a batch of identical cadets.

They were Rex. Cody. Fox. Wolffe. Bly. Thorn. Ponds. Neyo. Stone. Bacara. Keeli.

And so many others.

Your boys.

Your soldiers.

Your brothers.

Your family.

---

The message came in just after dawn.

You were still groggy, still pulling on your boots when the alert pinged on your private comm. Priority channel. Encrypted. Not Kaminoan. Not Republic military.

Senate clearance.

You keyed it open.

A flickering blue hologram shimmered to life above your desk — a familiar face. Older than the last time you’d seen her, sharp-edged with worry. One of the few Senators you still had any respect for.

High-ranking. Untouchable. A name that carried weight in every corner of the galaxy.

“She’s gone,” the senator said, voice tight and low. “They took her. Bounty hunters — well-organized, professional. They broke into our Koryan estate and vanished without a trace. Local security's useless. The Senate can’t intervene… not officially.”

You frowned, blood already running cold. “How long ago?”

“Thirty-six hours. Please. I know you’re not in that life anymore — but I need you. You were the best I ever knew.”

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t need to.

You were already grabbing your gear.

You were halfway through prepping your field pack — weapons checked, armor strapped, boots laced — when you heard the door hiss open behind you.

“You’re going somewhere,” Jango said.

You didn’t look up. “Got a message. A senator’s daughter was taken. Bounty hunters — Separatist-connected. I’m going after them.”

“Alone?”

You slung your rifle over your shoulder. “Works better that way.”

“No,” he said plainly.

You looked over at him. “What?”

“You’re not going alone.”

“I’m not dragging anyone else into this.”

“You are,” he said. “You’re taking some of your cadets.”

You blinked at him like he’d grown another head. “This isn’t a training sim, Jango. It’s a live recovery op — probably hostile.”

“Exactly. It’s time they get a taste of the real thing.”

“They’re cadets.”

“They’re soldiers,” he shot back. “Ones you’ve trained. This isn’t about checking boxes for the Kaminoans. This is about seeing if they’re ready. If you’ve made them ready.”

You stepped forward, voice low and hard. “This is a kidnapping. A bounty op. There will be blasterfire. Blood. Civilians in play. If I take them out there and they break—”

“They won’t,” he said, eyes steady. “You wouldn’t have gotten them this far if they would.”

You stared at him. But you knew it.

Just like always, his word was final.

You blew out a breath. “Fine.”

“Five. No more.”

You muttered under your breath, “Babysitting soldiers while hunting kidnappers. This is going to be a nightmare.”

But you were already thinking.

Already choosing.

Who could handle this? Who should see this?

You knew exactly who.

Not because they were perfect.

But because they were ready.

You didn’t say their names. Not yet.

But in your gut, you already knew who was coming with you.

And you knew this was going to change everything.

The training yard buzzed with movement — cadets running drills, instructors shouting commands, rain streaking off armor and plastoid like it always did on Kamino.

You stood at the edge of the yard, arms folded, helmet clipped to your belt. You scanned the field — and with a sharp whistle, you cut through the chaos.

“Everyone, on me!”

The clones snapped to it immediately, forming up in front of you with military precision. Twenty-three pairs of eyes locked forward.

You could see it already — the way they stood straighter now. The way they moved more like commanders than trainees.

You let the silence settle, just for a second.

Then you said it.

“I need five volunteers.”

That got their attention.

Some shifted subtly, glancing at one another. A few eyebrows raised. Wolffe crossed his arms like he was already halfway into the mission, whatever it was.

You kept going.

“This isn’t a training sim. This isn’t target practice. This is a real mission. Outside Kamino.”

Now they were focused. No shifting. No glancing. Just twenty-three frozen faces, locked on your words.

“You won’t be going as clones,” you continued. “You’ll be civilians. Mercenaries, bounty hunters, whatever you need to pass for. But you cannot let anyone know what you are — not that you’re clones, and definitely not that you’re part of a Republic army.”

The rain kept falling.

“This mission is classified at the highest level,” you said. “Even the Kaminoans aren’t cleared for the details. If you’re caught, I can’t guarantee the Republic will come for you. That’s how deep this runs.”

You scanned the line, locking eyes with the ones you trusted most.

“You’ll be entering a system with active Separatist surveillance. We’re tracking a high-value target. There will be civilians. Possibly bounty hunters. Possibly worse. If you’re picked, you follow my lead — and you don’t make any moves unless I say so.”

More silence.

Then, a voice.

Fox stepped forward. “I volunteer.”

No hesitation.

You nodded.

Wolffe stepped up next, already wearing that cocky half-smirk. “Wouldn’t let him have all the fun.”

Cody followed. “We’re ready.”

Then Rex. “Count me in.”

Bacara didn’t even say anything. Just stepped forward, helmet under his arm.

You looked over the five of them — standing tall, serious, already different from the others still in line.

These weren’t just cadets anymore.

They were something else now.

You gave a sharp nod. “Good. Gear up. Plainclothes armor. Non-standard issue. We move in one hour.”

They turned without a word, heading for the barracks.

Behind you, the others stood silent, watching — half with envy, half with pride.

You knew this mission was going to change everything.

And you had a feeling…

So did they.

————

The ship landed just outside the village — a quiet, fog-drenched place carved into the cliffs. Wooden structures, half-covered in moss and time, leaned over narrow paths where old traders and quiet-eyed farmers moved without urgency.

You led the boys in — disguised, geared in light armor that wouldn’t raise suspicion. Helmets off. Faces exposed. They stayed close but casual, spread just enough to keep eyes on every angle.

Fox and Cody scanned the streets in near-sync. Rex fell into step beside you, glancing now and then toward the distant mountains rising beyond the village, half-shrouded in cloud.

You asked questions.

You kept it light, polite — an old friend in search of a missing child.

No one said much at first. But eventually, a hunched old woman at the fish stall whispered something about seeing off-worlders — rough-looking ones — headed toward the mountain pass.

“Talk to the bridgekeeper,” she added. “They say no one’s crossed in days. Not since the dragon came back.”

You frowned. “Dragon?”

She only nodded.

The kind of nod that said don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.

It took an hour to reach the bridge.

The river roared below it — wide and dark, cutting through the canyon like a scar. The bridge itself was old stone, slick with moss, barely holding itself together in the storm-drenched wind.

But that wasn’t what made you stop.

An old man — half-cloaked, leaning on a gnarled staff — stood at the entrance to the bridge.

“You don’t want to cross,” he rasped, his voice as weathered as the cliffside. “Not now. The Separatists disturbed the river. The dragon’s awake.”

You raised a brow. “The what now?”

“The river dragon,” he said. “A storm-born serpent. It guards the crossing. Won’t let anything through since the droids came.”

You waved a dismissive hand. “Right. Thanks, old man.”

He pointed behind you. “Then explain that.”

You turned.

The river exploded.

A massive shape surged up from the depths — sleek and serpentine, covered in gleaming, wet-black scales. It arched high above the bridge, water cascading off its body in sheets. Its eyes crackled with violet light.

Then, with a sound like the sky breaking, it let loose a blast of lightning, straight into the air.

Every one of the boys dropped instinctively, weapons half-drawn.

Wolffe: “That’s a kriffing dragon.”

Rex: “It shoots lightning.”

Bacara: “We’re gonna die.”

You stayed perfectly still — even as your heart thundered in your ribs.

The boys turned to you, wide-eyed.

Fox spoke first. “...So, uh. What’s the plan, boss?”

You swallowed. Your palms were sweating.

You forced a slow breath through your nose and set your jaw.

“The plan,” you said, “is that you all stay back…”

You unclipped your cloak.

“...and I go talk to the damn dragon.”

Cody blinked. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m always serious,” you muttered, stalking toward the bridge. “Stupid kids. Stupid bridge. Stupid lightning dragon.”

“Pretty sure this violates field protocol,” Rex called out nervously.

You didn’t look back. “I am field protocol.”

But your stomach turned the closer you got.

The dragon watched you.

Unmoving. Silent.

Like a storm waiting to happen.

You were halfway across the stone path when a familiar voice echoed from the far end of the bridge.

“Well. That’s certainly not a face I expected to see out here.”

You froze.

That voice.

You turned toward it.

There — standing with his arms crossed, robes soaked with rain, a lightsaber on his hip and that signature, wry half-smile on his face — stood Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He looked older than the last time you saw him.

A little more tired. A little more burdened.

But still — him.

“Kenobi,” you breathed, relief and disbelief mingling in your chest.

He nodded once. “It’s been a long time.”

You walked toward him, dragon temporarily forgotten. “Didn’t expect to run into a Jedi on the edge of nowhere.”

“I could say the same for you.”

You slowed. Your voice softened. “...I heard about Qui-Gon. I’m sorry, Obi-Wan.”

For a moment, the smirk faded.

His eyes dropped, and he nodded, quiet. “Thank you.”

Silence stretched between you for a breath.

Then the dragon growled again — lightning crackling up its spine like a warning.

You sighed. “So. Uh. Any chance your Jedi calm-animal nonsense works on that thing?”

Obi-Wan raised a brow. “Careful. You’ll hurt its feelings.”

You looked at him.

He looked at the dragon.

And the two of you, almost at the same time, muttered:

“This is going to suck.”

The dragon hadn’t moved again.

Neither had you.

The two of you stood on opposite sides of the bridge now — the water below roaring, lightning curling lazily through the air above like warning smoke.

Obi-Wan let out a long, exhausted breath.

“I’m too old for this.”

You smirked. “You’re like thirty-five.”

“And that’s still too old for giant lightning-breathing reptiles.”

You chuckled under your breath. “Still the same sarcastic Jedi I remember.”

He glanced at you. “Still the same reckless Mandalorian who nearly blew up half a speeder depot on Kalevala.”

“That was a bad day,” you admitted. “Didn’t help that you were the one who knocked over the detonator.”

He gave a faint grin. “I deny everything.”

The dragon shifted slightly — scales glowing faintly with electricity. You both tensed, but it didn’t move to strike.

“So,” you said casually, “you here on Jedi business?”

“Actually,” Obi-Wan said, “I’m here for the same reason you are. A certain senator sent word. Missing daughter. Possible Separatist involvement.”

You blinked. “Let me guess. She called you right after calling me.”

“Probably,” he said. “Though I don’t usually work missing person cases. Not alone.”

Your brow lifted. “Not alone?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I brought my Padawan.”

You stared at him. “You? A Padawan?”

“He’s fifteen,” Obi-Wan said. “Still a handful. Always running off. I left him in the village to gather intel, and—”

A roar of thunder cut him off.

And then, chaos.

A blur of motion streaked across the cliffside — gold and brown and fury — and in the next instant, a boy launched himself off the edge of a building, flipping clean over the river and landing hard on the bridge in a spray of sparks.

Lightsaber ignited.

Blue.

The dragon screeched, rearing back, lightning flashing across its body.

Obi-Wan’s head fell back slightly. “Force, not again.”

“That’s him?” you asked, already unholstering your sidearm.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan sighed. “That’s Anakin.”

You didn’t wait.

You sprinted.

So did he.

The two of you launched onto the bridge just as Anakin’s blade crashed against the dragon’s lightning-charged hide, sending sparks and static flying. The creature lashed out, tail whipping through stone — you ducked low and rolled, blaster up, firing carefully placed shots near the joints in its armor-thick scales.

Obi-Wan surged forward, saber slicing through a strike meant for Anakin.

“Padawan!” he barked. “You were supposed to observe!”

“It was charging up!” Anakin yelled. “You were talking!”

“I was stalling!”

“Same thing!”

You slid beneath the dragon’s legs, grabbing a fallen cable from the wreckage and looping it quickly around one of the creature’s hind limbs. “Less yelling, more wrangling!”

From the cliffs, the five cadets watched in awe.

Cody was the first to speak. “Is that… is that what Jedi do all the time?”

“Apparently,” Rex muttered, eyes wide. “That kid’s fifteen.”

Wolffe let out a low whistle. “He fights like he was born with that saber in his hand.”

Fox didn’t say anything — but you could see the way his fists were clenched tight with excitement.

Bacara crossed his arms. “I need to fight alongside someone like that someday.”

Rex nodded slowly. “We will.”

They all looked at him.

And none of them disagreed.

Back on the bridge, the dragon reared up for one final strike — but Obi-Wan raised his hand, and with a focused pulse of the Force, blasted the creature back just enough for Anakin to leap high and carve a clean, non-lethal slash across its side.

The beast shrieked, arcing lightning into the sky — and then with a final, furious hiss, it dived back into the river and vanished beneath the surface.

Silence fell.

All three of you stood there, breathing hard, half-covered in dust and water and ash.

Then Obi-Wan turned to you.

“Are you ever not in the middle of something insane?”

You wiped blood off your lip. “Nope.”

He glanced at the five cadets watching from the cliff. “And those?”

You hesitated.

Then, with a straight face “Foundlings. Mine.”

He gave you a long look. “You expect me to believe that?”

“You don’t think I’m a mother figure?”

His expression didn’t change. “...Right. Foundlings it is.”

You both turned to look at Anakin — already poking the smoldering scorch marks on the bridge with the tip of his saber.

“Your Padawan’s intense,” you said.

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly. “You have no idea.”

————

The air grew thinner as they climbed, the path winding upward through rocky slopes and moss-covered ledges. The thunderclouds had drifted off toward the horizon, but the scent of rain still clung to the earth, rich and cold.

The dragon hadn’t returned.

But the tension never quite left.

Obi-Wan walked ahead, silent, robes shifting in the mountain wind. Anakin wasn’t far behind, bounding between rocks like he had more energy than sense.

You brought up the rear, your five cadets close behind — feet steady, eyes sharp, but quiet in a way they never usually were.

When the path widened out near an outcropping, you tapped Rex on the shoulder. “Hold up.”

They stopped, forming a loose semicircle around you as the Jedi moved out of earshot.

You glanced after them once, then turned back to your boys.

“This is important,” you said, low and firm. “I know you're excited. I know this is your first time in the field. But listen to me.”

They straightened without thinking.

“I am your buir now,” you said. “For this mission — and from here on.”

There was a pause.

Then Cody’s voice broke it, soft but certain: “We already think of you that way.”

You smiled — tight and small, but real.

“Good,” you said. “Then this will make sense.”

Your voice hardened just a little, instinctively Mandalorian now — the part of you that Jango saw when he chose you for this job.

“I am your buir. You are my foundlings. We are clan. Until the Jedi know what we are — until the Republic knows — we stay as that. Nothing more.”

They all nodded slowly.

Even Wolffe didn’t crack a joke this time.

“You don’t speak about Kamino. You don’t mention the GAR. You don’t talk about your designations. We are nothing but mercs with a shared name and a found-family story.”

Fox narrowed his eyes. “What if they ask?”

You looked him straight on. “You lie.”

The wind blew over the ledge.

You touched your fist to your chest — Mando’ade.

They mirrored it without hesitation.

Your voice lowered.

“Good.”

Further ahead, Anakin was skipping rocks into the canyon and trying to start a conversation.

“So…” he said, drawing out the word as he slowed his pace until he matched theirs. “You guys are like a squad or something?”

No answer.

He smiled anyway. “That was pretty impressive, the way you kept formation on the ridge. The short one with the scar — you’ve definitely had training. Who’s your trainer?”

Still nothing.

Bacara, walking closest to him, finally turned just a little and said, bluntly:

“Our buir said not to speak to you.”

Anakin blinked. “...Wait, what?”

“You’re Jedi. Not part of the clan,” Bacara replied.

An awkward silence followed.

Cody looked straight ahead. Rex frowned slightly. Wolffe cleared his throat. Fox just rolled his eyes.

Anakin’s face fell a little, and for a moment he looked… kind of like the teenager he actually was.

He hung back, falling behind the group, eyes flicking between them and Obi-Wan up ahead.

You, still watching from behind, caught the whole thing.

And sighed quietly to yourself.

You’d explain to them later.

That the galaxy wasn’t always so black and white.

That sometimes Jedi could be family, too.

But for now?

They were foundlings.

And foundlings followed the clan.

No matter what.

————

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#clone trooper x reader #clone wars #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars the clone wars #clone x reader #clone trooper wolffe #commander thorn #commander neyo #commander bly #commander fox #commander cody #commander fox x reader #commander cody x reader #commander wolffe x reader #commander bacara #captain rex tcw #captain rex #star wars anakin

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wings-and-beskargam · 4 months ago

Text

Since this response got out of hand, I'm giving it its' own post.

It's dangerous to ask a maker (artist?) about their processes @lonewolflupe @ulchabhangorm. But since you're curious, please accept my very first:

All of the pictured things were 3D printed by me on my FDM printer (Bambu Labs A1), including the teeny helmets. The non-helmet bits are pieces of Tech's armour. I'm currently building a Tech kit for 501st Legion approval. I "like" Crosshair and Scorch the most, but I am "most like" Tech. /sigh

I do! (Mostly) All of the armour parts of Archers' kit were 3D printed and finished by me on my FDM printer, with the exception of my pauldrons which were resin printed by someone else, but finished by me. I initially began making the kit for a Halloween costume, challenged by a coworker to a work-Halloween costume contest, but ended up meeting a couple vode from the Mando Mercs club (MMCC). I was invited (gently coerced?) to complete the kit to their standards and join the club. I'm in that process now, but still have a few things to finish before I gain Official Member status. 🙂

I made a lil' Boba candy bucket!!

3. I mostly print with PLA+. I can print with PETG, ABS, and other materials but my printer is running inside a spare room and I'm not set up with an enclosure or awesome ventilation yet to print with materials which off gas more toxic VOCs. Although PETG would be stronger for a buy'ce that is going to be worn PLA+ works just fine for most folks who are not in very hot conditions. (PLA will sag and melt in high heat) . The first time I wore my full kit, I was at work, and did a full day of fieldwork in it. The whole kit survived apart from one of the thrusters on my jetpack which I accidentally busted off while putting it back in the kit box (adhesive failure, I should have used hardware but I was in a rush to finish it before Halloween) . All fixed now! PLA would be just fine for printing teeny and/or decorative helmets. Just don't toss full size ones onto the floor off of a shelf (ask me how I know).

4. You can get STLs for clone helmets in all the places you'd expect (cults, thingiverse, etc) and from vendors on Etsy. Be careful, though, some of those files are stolen, and some are REALLY terrible and inaccurate. I usually avoid 'free' files, as for things as complex as helmets often end up being more costly in other ways, or are just not the quality I want. Galactic Armory has a nice selection of clone helmets (I have..... all of them. /embarrassment). Marko of Mystery Makers has really great Bad Batch (and other SW) helmets. He always tries to go a step beyond other modelers with his designs, both with functionality and accuracy. The Crosshair and RC helmet in my original post are both printed from Mystery Makers files. The RC helmet is the closest to the game design available, and the Cross helmet has a super cool functional rangefinder (like the different lenses are there and flip up and down, not just the whole rangefinder stalk moving). The Tech helmet is printed from Galactic Armory files, as are the rest (with the exception of Archers helmet which is AlterEgo, if I recall). The teeny helmets are printed from the full size files, just scaled down to 25%. I wouldn't' try to print these on an SLA/LCD resin printer, because the supports would be a nightmare I think, but it works just fine on an FDM printer. The most difficult part is printing the teeny greeblies for them which are super teeny at 25%. I almost always end up breaking the lil' rangefinder stalks, and am pretty sure I've lost the tusks for Rex's helmet more than once.

Cross WIP (Mystery Makers) with teeny (30%) Cross (Galactic Armory) 💙 Guess how many times I broke that teeny rangefinder stalk? Yeah. Four. 😖

Likewise, guess how many times I broke and lost the SUPER TEENY antennae on Tiny Tech's helmet? 😫

5. The visors in the full size helmets are generally welding/grinding replacement shields (Hobart brand, usually - available on Amazon). They are dark enough to obscure the wearers face and can be fairly easily cut to shape and installed. Tech's visor and goggle lenses are cut yellow acrylic, and in my original post still have the protective backing on them as they aren't 'officially' installed yet - which I why you can't see through them.

The visors for the full-size RC boys are more complicated. I believe the exact details of how I’ve been taught to do it are considered proprietary 🥺😏. To achieve the “Flirtation Mask” effect, two visors, a diffuser, and a strip of LEDs are installed in a very secret, not so secret, way. I’m working on a Scorch bucket, full size, and will have help to do this for the first time. Stay tuned. 😆 For the teeny helmets I use automotive window tint for the visors. It's easier to cut and bend into tiny shapes to fit inside the helmets. I got some blue stuff for the commando helmets, which should look cool once I install the lights. 😎

Teeny Gregor bucket WIP, with blue window tint FLIRTATION MASK 💙

6. The lil helmet stand under teeny Keeli (which I'm making for @eobe) is printed from a file from Galactic Armory. It's been through the ringer, because I use it to hold all the little helmets while I'm spray painting them and letting them cure. It did look nice when it was newer, and has the republic cog on the base. There is also a wall-mounted version which I have printed to hang Archer's helmet. I'll probably make more for the other helmets eventually.

7. VPLs (Visible Print Lines) are the enemy! As an MMCC member, it has been drilled into me that VPLs are evil and must be vanquished with extreme violence. I try to finish everything (with the exception of the flexi things people keep asking me to make) to an excellent standard with no VPLs - including the teeny helmets.

Raw Phase 1 (Animated) clone helmet and RC (Scorch) helmet). My printer does an excellent job, but still there are VPLs to be dealt with!

8. This question - how to get rid of VPLs could warrant it's own post. There are SO MANY techniques - some good, some NOT - but which ones you use depends largely on your print characteristics and what you intend to do with it. A lot of people lately have been recommending bathing the entire piece in a Bondo spot putty and acetone slurry several times until the lines are filled. I DO NOT recommend doing this for a piece that you intend to wear. I experimented with this and found out that after a small amount of wear the bondo likes to expel your paint in large chips, leaving ugly bondo-red spots behind. It would probably work ok for decorative pieces though. Other people have used UV curing resin to coat pieces to fill VPLs. It works, but UGH that stuff is toxic to touch and breathe, and it needs to be properly washed and cured, and cured some more. It's also much more difficult to sand than automotive body work products (which in all fairness are also toxic to breathe and touch - WEAR YOUR PPE).

My general process for armour pieces is to remove supports and then roughly sand (120 grit) only the really rough spots (like things that were overhangs or had a lot of supports). Sanding happens with a combination of sanding papers, sanding sticks, and needle files - depending on the piece. I then adhere pieces together (if they were printed in pieces like some of the larger full-size helmets) with plastic bonder. Seams are filled with Bondo plastic metal or EverCoat depending on the piece and I often plastic weld and staple the inside for strength. The seams are then sanded smooth. After I'm happy with the smoothness of the seams the entire piece will get 2-3 coats of automotive high-build filler primer (from a rattle can, though I have used the 1:4 mix stuff and brushed it on - I'd only recommend this with a large piece as that stuff REALLY fills things in quick - including the things you don't want it to) and a wet sand to 320 grit. At this point most of the print lines are filled, but stubborn areas, such as the top of the dome may still necessitate more coats. I generally end up applying 5 coats of filler primer, wet sanding between them. Following the final coat of filler primer, I'll wet sand again to about 400 grit (much more if we're going for the Beskar finish which needs a SUPER SMOOTH finish to work) and then put on a coat of regular primer. Black for helmets that will be dark (Most of the CF99 boys), and white for the other clone helmets. At this point they should be completely VPL free and ready for greebly installation and the "real" paint job. This process takes me at least a few days on full-size helmets as the paints have to cure between sanding and reapplication, and painting has to happen outside in good conditions. It's not inexpensive, but it is the most efficient and long-lasting way to do it, in my experience.

Cross helmet WIP. You can see the seam just under the visor cut out. This one printed in three pieces and needed ALL the seam filling and sanding. The pinkish and grey stuff are body fill products to fill in rough spots and seam lines. If you look at the last photo - of the same helmet - you can see they did a decent job of hiding that there was a seam. 😊

9. I use a lot of automotive products and paint. Since all my full size helmets are mean to be worn they need to be finished to a fairly high standard and be relatively tough. Archer's helmet body was finished entirely with Rustoleum brand filler primer and four layers of metallic paints (all rattle cans). The blue on the front was a Montana brand acrylic rattle can, and the copper parts (ear caps, rangefinder stalk) were enamel paint (Alclad copper) airbrushed on. The weathering - chips and scratches - were achieved by layering on a liquid latex medium between coats, so that when it was peeled off it revealed small bits of the coats beneath. It gives the damage a more realistic look than painting silver 'scratches' on after the fact. This liquid latex medium can be used to give the paint applied to clone helmets the chipped look to their painted designs as seen in the animation. It's a little more challenging to do in small scale though. After all the top coat paints are applied, I'll seal them in with a clear layer of satin or gloss sealant (rattle can). After that, I'll go over the entire piece with an acrylic black wash to make it look "dirty" and worn. 😅. After all that process, padding, visors, and electronics (HUD lights, fans, voice amps) are installed if needed. The whole thing is pretty time-consuming. I now understand why quality finished helmets cost as much as they do. My teeny helmets are all finished as I described above in the VPL section, but I use acrylics hand-painted on with a brush to apply the designs. In the animation versions of these helmets, particularly in TBB, the helmets all look like they've been (roughly) hand painted, so this technique works ok, I think. I apply the chipping and weathering at edges with dry brushing acrylics. I could apply a liquid latex mask and airbrush them, but eh. I'm using these little guys as fairy light "lanterns". They're super cute with the light showing a bit through the visors, particularly Tech. :)

The Teeny Batch boys that I've got finished. Echo is coming, he just needs his top coat and weathering. :D

Lil' Keeli almost finished, with his unfinished rangefinder. Have not broken the stalk yet! /cheer 🎉

10. Acrylics brand? Hmm... I've used the Montana Gold rattle can acrylics which some of the MMCC mandos seem to like. I'm not sure if the ones I got were duds, but I wasn't super impressed. The cans did a lot of spitting and messed up my paint a few times. My brush on acrylics are Liquitex or Golden. Both can be thinned and airbrushed, and are more costly than cheap crafting brands but are more highly pigmented and last longer (plus the finish is nicer).

11. Base colour is whatever primer I finish with - white or black, depending on what color the final piece will be. For Mando helmets, the base colour is a metallic silver, so that when I peel off the liquid latex layers, the pint chips down to “bare metal/beskar”. Since clone helmets are plastioid, the base colour for them remains white or black.

12. I finish with a rattle can sealant. Satin finish usually, but that depends on the look you want. Always try to stick with the same brand of primer, paint, and sealant. Different brands have different chemistry - accelerants and so on, and can, and often do react with one another. The frustration of having to sand down a piece that was almost finished cannot be described.

To avoid paint heartache, always also paint in good conditions. Temperature, humidity, wind, etc can all ruin you day and paint job. Please also always wear your PPE!

13. Are they? I hope they are. They sure are a labour of love, and much work - but it makes me happy to make them and to look at them. 😅

I'm very fond of Archer's buy'ce, and the whole kit really. It was the first one I 'finished' (every mando's kit is an ongoing WIP - forever), and the process of making it kept me focused on something positive during a rough time in my life. Wearing it is super fun! Ibic Manda!

WOW that got lengthy, so sorry! I had ALL the questions when I started, and a lot of the info you need is hard to find or in bits and pieces all over the internet. If you have any other questions, feel free to ask! I can only share my experience, but I have spent a huge amount of 2024 working on these for what that's worth. 🫣

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb crosshair #chaos squad #mandalorian oc #star wars oc #tbb #3d printing #tcw keeli #tcw gregor #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #clone force 99 #Archers Chaotic InfoDump Series

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