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badbatch-badfics · 9 months ago

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Padawan (TBB x Male Reader) Part 1

Part 2

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

Relationship: All platonic

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

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

Species: Unspecified, should be pretty neutral

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

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

Word count: 4,777

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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welcometo79s · 3 months ago

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[repost because I got shadow-banned and I'm back now]

@clonemmunism got me thinking with their post about the war ending and the clones just making very bad fashion choices so here's my thought on what everyone would wear and my rating:

Hunter [4/10]:

Hunter doesn't really care about being fashionable. We got a glimpse of what he would wear in The Bad Batch and I don't think it's very good. He owns a couple of cute scarves but usually he just dresses like a less fashionable Cut Lawquane. And Cut is already pushing it. It's nothing too bad, he just looks like some farmer on Dantooine. No, the bad thing about Hunter is that he literally does not differentiate between clothes he wears going out and clothes he wears practicing knife throwing and juggling with. So most of his stuff has little cuts and tears in it. He also sticks to the type of clothes that Cut gave him, which is the only thing saving him from being a fashion nightmare. He did however try to pick absolutely atrocious clothes for Omega until Echo stepped in. Like he'd attempt to get her a pink shirt with a porg vomiting a rainbow on it and military khakis.

Echo [10/10]:

His outfits are top-notch, he just doesn't dress properly for the seasons. But hey, that's not what we're ranking here. Echo is a crop top guy. Crop tops in summer. Crop tops in winter. And he looks good in them. He wears regular black pants and a variety of casual jackets on top of the crop tops. Sometimes leather jackets, sometimes bomber jackets, sometimes parkas, sometimes open shirts loosely hanging over the tops. Gets matching accessories and high quality boots for his outfits too. Ends up getting himself a belly button piercing. Fashion icon.

Tech [6/10]:

He only has one outfit and it's beige suit pants and a white shirt that's stuffed into the pants. He owns multiple duplicates of the pants and the shirt. Leather shoes. The only thing he switches out about the outfit is that he wears a variety of funky bow ties.

Wrecker [4/10]:

I'm sure there's people on here who found Wrecker's beekeeper outfit from the Saleucami episode cute but it's not very fashionable, nor are the rest of his clothes. Fisherman hats. Crocs. The "my 50 year old dad on the balcony" shoes (those cork sandals). Ponchos and pants that don't fit together color-wise. Sooo many tie dye shirts. Those jeans fabric shorts with lots of cuts in them. The very short ones. Very rarely an elegant evening gown he looks really good in. That gets him an extra point.

Crosshair [5/10]:

He's the Hot Topic Brigade. He has a style and he sticks to it. Some people like it and some don't. Almost always wears a leather jacket. Buys all his clothes at the Star Wars equivalent of Hot Topic.

Fives [7/10]:

Usually wears black jeans and some black t-shirt with printed words on it. Sneakers. Jeans jackets, sometimes with fur. His outfits are good but he wears some of the most atrocious shirts known to mankind. On a good day you get "Viva la Clonevolution", "I'm a Republic War Crime" or "Enemy of the State". On worse days he might wear something that says "Sparkle on you crazy doggo!", "I eat cement", "I can't fucking do be do be do it anymore" (all real shirts by the way) or "Call me the Uwunator". The otherwise completely normal, nice looking outfit adds to the insanity. Sometimes Echo pretends he doesn't know him. It's the fact that Fives does this on purpose that really gets Echo.

Rex [1/10]:

Listen. The Bad Batch and Fives have the privilege of having Echo to be the damage control for their fashion choices. Now we're getting into the bad territory. Rex has so many of these white tank tops that you can see his nipples through. Sometimes there's hot sauce stains on them. He also has a fuzzy jacket that Fives got him as a joke. Rex does not know it was supposed to be a joke. At this point Fives is too intimidated to correct him. He wears light shorts that some rich kid would wear to the golf course under the tank tops. And cowboy boots. Also huge elegant statement necklaces on top of this. And that one stupid fisher hat that says "rexcellent" on it.

Hardcase [2/10]:

Listen the only reason Hardcase has more points than Rex is that Hardcase doesn't want to look fashionable, Hardcase wants to look fun and that he does. He joins Fives in the cringe t-shirt extravaganza. Would wear the ugly pink porg shirt that Hunter wanted to get for Omega. See-through jackets. Glittery heart sunglasses. Glittery silver disco pants that get wider at the bottom. Rainbow bracelets that work like rattles. He annoys everyone around him by shaking his hands to his "improv gospel". Red leather boots that go up to his thighs. Sometimes he wears them under the disco pants, sometimes over them. Fives loves his outfits. He's the only one. Sometimes Hardcase tries out a variety of colorful wigs.

Tup [9/10]:

He looks so cute. So many people hit on him. Lets his hair grow a little longer and starts wearing half-buns. Also a crop top guy, just a little shy about it at first. Wears earrings and looks really nice with them. Has delicate wrist tattoos, maybe some branches with flowers wrapping around his arms. Otherwise simple, normal pants and sneakers.

Jesse [3/10]:

Tup and Fives are carrying the 501st in terms of fashion. The rest are all fashion don'ts. Jesse is no exception. He also wears crop tops but his don't have sleeves or straps. It's just a strapless bandeau top hanging over his pecs. On top of that? Baggy oversized jacket with a comical amount of pockets that he always stuffs full of things. He's been stopped multiple times by the Coruscant Guard and searched as a suspect for being a spice dealer. He just has his pockets stuffed full of candy though. Baggy pants with equally as many pockets fading from blue into purple into red. The jacket is a dark green. Sparkly golden dance slippers.

Dogma [1/10]:

Big sun hats. Very tight leather pants that end just below his crotch area and then restart at the knee. The pants have two parts basically. The two parts are not connected. See-through sneakers. Frilly white shirts that some 18th century vampire would wear. Tie with little loth cats on it. All of this in combination btw.

Fox [10/10]:

I can do this in one sentence, look up "dark academia outfit men" on Pinterest and you get Fox's style.

Mayday [0/10]:

His isn't even an outfit, it's just a bunch of fabrics he bought just like that in the market and somehow wrapped himself in them. There's no shirt, pants, jacket or anything like that, they're just pieces of fabric wrapped around his body like towels. One of them he wears as a scarf. On a good day he looks like some type of monk. On a bad day he just looks like a mess.

Howzer [3/10]:

You know that outfit Sportacus wears in LazyTown? That's his style. He wears things looking similar to that.

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