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a-lil-perspective · 4 years ago

Note

Are you taking requests? I saw the post you made about Hunter with the Zygerrian whip, and I was wondering if you could write something about Hunter saving the reader who was kidnapped and sold to the Zygerrian slave traders?

Your writing is amazing by the way! ❤️

Angel, thank you so much for your patience on this one. Okay. I am incredibly excited. This is a Hunter x Reader fic but tis a small slice of the overall story; it is so much more than that *looks at the word count, laughs nervously* a lot more than that. Y’all know I don’t do anything by halves. I can feel your collective eye rolls at that, but bear with me. There’s a lot of moving parts here. Also a really neat connection to a canon character that I am so stoked about. You’re going to want to buckle up for this one because it’s a ride. I will admit I’m actually extremely proud of this fic; I love the way it turned out. It was approached very scrupulously with a lot of new perspectives and executions and I hope it shows. It feels good to share a big phat fic again. Also this is the first time I’ve never had a title for a fic what is happening. Feedback for this baby is very much appreciated; I’m really curious to know what you guys think.

[Warnings: Depictions of Slavery/Oppression, Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Swearing and Suggestiveness]

Finally using my tag list again: @shadow-hyder @starflyer-104 @thegoodbatch @halzore @fxndxmxnxce @karpasia @kriffingunlucky @mangoberry43 @mackstrut @godhateskyleigh @pearlyarmor @razzlefrazzum @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @batch-baddie @kaitou2417 @jedi-mando @jonamore @j-ma26-rb @im-just-earbuds-and-a-notebook @skippyhopperwisdom (Tag List is always open/updatable:))

———

“I can’t wait to get off this rock.”

Hunter was speaking for all of them in that moment as they trudged through the marshy outskirts of yet another backwater world. Recon had been sorely uneventful, the topography marked largely by forestry with rural but thriving colonies to only sparsely populate. After several rotations the hum drum grew arduous, and even Hunter in all his inclinations for peace was ready to pull out. It was, perhaps, too quiet; that familiar itch of action came back to agitate before long. The Republic had withdrawn from their frivolous propaganda efforts days ago, meanwhile the Bad Batch straggled because they fell enrapt with the flora and fauna.

‘They’ meaning ‘Tech’.

Hunter interrupted the newest spiel in asking, “Have you heard from Specs yet?”

“Maybe she’s gone to live up to her name,” Crosshair snickered.

Specs indeed lived up to her name.

‘Specs’, a rather eccentric derivative of the word ‘inspects’, there wasn’t a nickname more fitting for a woman who constantly assessed her everything. She had captivated the Bad Batch with a scrupulousness that rivaled even Tech’s; she didn’t back down around them—in fact, their moxie only seemed to drive her own. She was an addition that perpetually set their team ablaze. Adamant to follow her own path, do her own thing—oftentimes in a literal sense, such as when she’d deviate from the group (much in the same mannerisms as Tech and most of the time as his accomplice) like she had earlier that day. But the information she’d reliably acquisition each time proved invaluable, and so nobody objected to it.

“No, but I’m sure she is on her way back as we speak,” Tech reasoned.

“She missed the rendezvous time,” Hunter crossed his arms. “Not like her. If she got held up she would’ve communicated.”

“There’s an unusual static here,” Tech mused, eyes cast to his devices. “It’s intermittent, but it’s affecting even my sufficient company of frequencies.”

“It’s spotty; like jammed?”

Tech hesitated as if Hunter brought up what he was trying to avoid.

Tech focused on rebooting his systems. “It’s beginning to appear that way.” A moment passed, and he attempted to patch through. “Specs, come in.”

Silence.

“I’m not picking her up on my sensors,” Tech relayed.

“You don’t think she just... disappeared, do you?”

“There’s more to it, Wrecker,” Hunter stroked his chin. “There has to be.”

“Technically speaking there is no presence of her whatsoever,” Tech unhelpfully clarified. “I’ve managed to run a full planetary scan. Her signature comes up empty.”

“She’s gotta be here—Mardy is still here,” Wrecker protested.

“What about the ship we saw land some hours back?” Hunter addressed, having come to ignore Wrecker’s peculiar nickname for their own. “Did we ever get a reading on the vessel?”

The thought must’ve reminded Tech, as he straightened energetically and pulled up a holo-documented image from earlier. It paid to capture footage of one’s surroundings, and it was times like these Hunter could truly appreciate his youngest brother’s thoroughness. Tech zoomed in, eyes narrowing behind his thick lenses. “There is a symbol here on the starboard, but I need a moment to match it in the databanks—”

“Zygerrian.”

Everyone shot up to Crosshair, who rolled his eyes at the theatrics.

“Don’t ask me how I know.”

Hunter thought the cryptic plaster was weird, but not unprecedented, of his sniper brother.

“So what does that mean? What are they?” Wrecker queried.

Crosshair’s jaw tightened. “Slavers.”

***

“Look at the traffic of this place...”

“That’s a slave empire for you, Wrecker,” Hunter joined in gawking out the viewport at the ship congestion and mass of planet filling it. Cursory research pointed them with ease to the planet Kadavo as being the centralization of slavery in that part of the Galaxy. Seemed like a good place to start as any. With the disappearance of Specs and the presence of slavers almost in sync, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

“Shall I start wreaking havoc on their communications system?”

“No, Tech, not yet,” Hunter said. “We have to get clearance to land, first.” He hailed a frequency, and sighed. “Time for a cover story.”

“Selling or buying?”

“Selling,” Hunter answered. “We have a small cargo from off-world.”

“We do?” Tech hissed.

Hunter cast his little brother a smirk, earning flared nostrils in return. “Transmitting clearance codes,” he signaled to Tech who, impressively, multitasked a glare and the code transference in that moment.

“Proceed to platform E11,” the regional voice instructed. “You will be met with appraisers and guided through the transaction.”

Hunter offered a grunt and disconnected from the channel. Immediate company was to be expected. He turned and stopped short at the sight of Tech: arms crossed, boot tapping erratically as he crested a tantrum.

“You’re not thinking of putting me up for auction,” he chased his surmise.

Crosshair chuckled, drawn to making a deliberate appraisal of Tech. “I think we should sell him.”

“They wouldn’t be able to afford me!”

Wrecker bellowed with laughter, giving Crosshair a congratulatory slap on the back for effectively riling up the little genius.

“We’re not selling anyone,” Hunter severed, though he’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t came to him. “It’s just to get us through the front door. Now focus, we’re going in.”

“Yes, get on with it Tech, Hunter’s worried about his lady.”

Hunter shot daggers at Crosshair.

Bastard, don’t act like you’re not.

He knew she’d be fine. Specs could more than handle herself. She was the most tenacious person he’d ever met outside his brothers.

But he couldn’t shake the icy trepidations building in the pit of his gut, and the way it morphed into a smoldering rage at the thought of those slavers... of them touching her in any way...

Hunter shook his head to jostle the horrendous thoughts.

The ratio of buyers-to-vendors was split fairly even judging by the amount of traffic entering and leaving the atmosphere simultaneously. It was a steady train all the way through. Tech followed the other vessels in tandem as he began a descent to the designated platform.

“I’m re-establishing her signature in order for you to pinpoint upon landing,” Tech informed with his nose buried. “She is here,” he confirmed after a moment. “You’ll have a limited time window, but I’ll be able to direct you along the way.”

Tech would be his technical readouts while Crosshair would be his eyes in higher places.

Hunter dared to let a glimmer of hope flourish.

“Wrecker, you stay back with Tech—”

“And you’ll let me know if any heads need to be bashed, right?”

Hunter chuckled at the youthful fervor. “I’m almost tempted to cause a ruckus just for you, buddy.”

“Aww Sarge, I knew ya loved me.”

“But he loves his—”

“There’s E11,” Tech banked left towards the empty platform.

“—more.”

Crosshair was walking on thin fekking ice.

Suddenly the backup plan of selling a brother was far more enticing with Crosshair at the focal point.

The Marauder’s hydraulics hissed in fanfare upon the completed landing sequence. Hunter took a deep breath for not the first time during the trip.

“Alright, everyone good on the plan?”

“Affirmative,” Tech gave a succinct nod before resuming his systematic jamming, tapping furiously atop his vambrace. Crosshair simply slipped his rangefinder down and brandished his rifle.

“And now, the disguise,” Wrecker cracked his knuckles with a wicked grin, marching past Hunter to the bay doors. The ramp lowered and Hunter smiled to himself. There was minuscule commotion, a distinct thud, and Hunter counted seconds before Wrecker came hauling an unconscious Zygerrian up the steps with not a sweat on his brow. He tossed the armored body at Hunter’s feet. “Time to play dress up, Sarge.”

***

“You look ridiculous.”

Fighting to contain his hair and his dignity inside a helmet that gave him fekking feline ears, Hunter was about to tell Crosshair where he could shove his input before Tech began, “Sources say these are some of the busiest transaction times of the year for their cartel. The odds of them exhausting their attention or resources to you is highly unlikely. With your tracking abilities you will be able to slip in undetected with minimal resistance if any. They aren’t keeping watch for meager single-prisoner breakouts—if any. The actual occurrences of them have been, well, never.” Tech brought up the holomap he’d procured of the planet and pressed a few sequences on his forearm before adding, “but I’m tracking all Zygerrian personnel within your proximity as you move along, just in case.”

“Thanks, Tech,” Hunter nodded appreciatively, taking a moment to bask in his brotherly feelings before gently filing them away to focus on the objective at hand. He gave himself a once-over. Crosshair’s insult held more truth than he cared to admit—he looked as ridiculous as he felt. It was gaudy and fit in all the wrong places. The scent was barbaric, and Hunter tried not to think about how much bodily fluid the owner of the ensemble had a hand in spilling. It felt condemning somehow, stepping into the shoes if only under pretense. A distinct discomfort crept up him, and he forced down his protesting sensory complex and melded into the foreign weight. Comfort was a luxury.

“I’ll be back soon.” He stepped to the Marauder’s opening, patting the hull. “Lock her up and wait for my call. Don’t open the door for strangers.”

Tech gave a conspiratorial smile. “On your orders, Sarge.”

Hunter hopped down and quickly covered distance away into the nearest crowd. Once successfully blended in the sea, he activated his hidden comm. “Okay Cross, you know what to do.”

He could almost hear the sniper’s lofty smile.

“Disappear.”

***

Hunter trekked along, and for all his preparation, the atmosphere still proved to be too much.

The sound of whips cracking the unfortunate, the little electromagnetic jolts that coursed through his veins each time, the orders and the amplified shrieking, the compactness of the streets, the intermingling scent of blood and sweat and dirty greed...

He only picked up the pace from there, summoning utmost subtlety in every step. He took note of the other guards’ gait, and worked fervently to mirror it, brandishing his weapon for extra compelling rights.

The closer he progressed towards the holding facilities empty handed, the suspicious the glances became, leaving him to make haste. The longer he spent wandering aimlessly out in the open the more susceptible to questioning he was, and that wouldn’t do. Hunter preferred to avoid any takedowns, however silent they may be—stashing away bodies each time would only slow him down, and leaving a trail of them wasn’t an option.

So he did the only feasible thing.

Played the part of a slaver.

He snatched up the nearest slave by their binders, dragging them to their wobbly—and small—feet and inserting them along his path. His heart was pounding. This was not part of the plan. He didn’t even know what the plan was.

“Hunter, what’re you—”

Hunter cut off the call.

The whip seemed to grow heavier in his hand as he tugged the frail person along. He had no idea what came next for either of them, and what was usually an alienated fear sedimented something deep in his core right then. In the wake of his erratic actions he studied the half-starved victim.

Dank farrik. A child.

A human female who couldn’t have been older than seven or eight with dark brown, almost inky black hair that curtained around her waist and looked to have not seen a toothed comb in innumerable rotations. Wide but succumbing eyes and a very evident scream lodged in her throat signified a practiced relinquish. Overall docile. His blood boiled at the amount of conditioning her mannerisms denoted to. Against his better judgement, Hunter allowed himself to wonder just how long she’d been enslaved.

It only augmented his fury.

She cowered under his stare, but kept a dejected walk with what was probably faraway thoughts of home, of her warm bed, of whether or not mom and dad were still looking for her. Wondering what abhorrent thing would put their hands on her next—

Hunter was buzzing with adrenaline as he slowed just a fraction to avoid any attention.

“Listen kid,” he spoke lowly, squeezing her gangly upper arm. “I can get you out of here—but you have to do exactly as I say, got it?”

The unamused, wonderfully charactered expression she tossed back at him made his heart leap. Kid still had some spirit.

Okay, so that was stupid; of course she would do exactly as was ordered. Subservience—probably all she’d ever known.

Hunter’s eyes bore into hers and he realized a startling kindredness there; the one thing he and this girl had in common.

Being child slaves.

“There isn’t much time,” a sweat began to form in his hairline. Curse this fekking gear. “I have some friends—one of them I’m here to rescue—and I have a ship, with the best pilot. We’re gonna get you out of here. Okay?”

The girl tensed in his grip.

“It’ll be okay, I promise,” Hunter activated his comm. “But I can’t send you back alone, too suspicious. So I’m gonna have you wait somewhere safe. In the most capable hands.”

“Crosshair here.”

“Cross,” Hunter took a deep breath. “I’m sending you some company.”

***

His thoughts were racing.

He knew Crosshair would be royally pissed—or, was—and he’d have to apologize later. The longer they spent on this Maker-forsaken planet, the less of a time window he had for the rescue before they transferred Specs to who knows where and he’d never see her again. He’d already devoted enough precious time to other—but just as equally pressing—matters.

But Crosshair and babysitting—terrible idea?

It was too early to tell.

He approached the centripetal point of the slave housing Tech had directed him through. A17, read the heading of the correct one. The thought of there being so many that they required numbers—it nearly made Hunter keel over with disgust. According to Tech’s current assessments, this part of the complex wasn’t near as crawling as the others, but Hunter figured that was subject to change.

He made note of the guards stationed just off to his right as he entered an aisle after meandering through several. In good timing, an electrostaff suddenly crossed in front of him, hindering his path ahead.

“Clearance?” The nearest Zygerrian hissed.

“I’m here for a slave transfer,” Hunter supplied in his best impression that was still Bantha-shit at best.

The Zygerrian’s nose twitched, and he stepped closer to Hunter, snarling, “You’re not authorized.”

“I’m here,” Hunter drilled his eyes into the slaver, “for a slave transfer.” He didn’t want to use force to get through but he would without so much as batting an eye. His blood was boiling for a fight by that point, anyway.

A low growl came from the Zygerrian. His eyes narrowed to slits. His pupils dilated. Hunter did not waiver. He felt an influence push upward from the depths of his mind, and he summoned all of his will to reinforce.

The Zygerrian muttered something inaudible and stepped aside.

Hunter tried not to let his surprise show through what little of his face peeked out. He swallowed, and straightened, gliding right past the guard without a hitch. His jaw screwed impossibly tight. He wasn’t letting his defense down for a moment, even as he wound the corner away. He appreciated trumping in standoffs, but they usually baffled him as to how he ever actually managed to do so.

“You’re close, Hunter. Four more holds down and on the right. Access code is 6-3-5-7.”

Hunter approached the caged door and punched in the sequence.

The buzz of denial and a red display startled him.

“Retina scan required.”

Dank farrik.

It wouldn’t work on him—why would it?

He turned back in the direction of the guard.

He made it in several blurred strides, and with deft hands performed a quick sever of the spinal cord. The guard crumpled silently into Hunter’s arms, and he quickly dragged him back to the door with barely suppressed heaves. The bastards were heavier than they looked. His stomach was churning; it was a risky move even despite Tech’s real-time signatures. He was nearly jumping out of his skin at the possibility of discovery.

He hauled the subdued guard up to eye level with the scanner, yanking off his helmet and peeling open his lid. A wave of infrared light passed over the humanoid face. The green light of approval to follow left Hunter sighing heavily as he let the guard slip to the floor to rot in eternal slumber. Good riddance. He snatched up a cylinder key from his belt for good measure.

The door swooshed open, and Hunter stepped inside to the sight of a curled up victim. Clothes tattered, looking worse for wear, but watching the rise and fall of her chest... alive.

He swallowed the tempest of emotions expanding in the back of his throat.

“Ma’am, you’re being transferred. There are some goons missing you.”

You looked up bleary-eyed at the disguised slaver in the doorway. Despite your bone-settling fatigue, precious relief managed to tug at your lips.

“How did you make it past with that shit accent?” You grimaced at the way your voice had been reduced to a croak.

“I happen to be very convincing.”

“Could have fooled me,” you smirked wearily and Hunter returned it as he dragged a body inside your cell before stepping close and kneeling in front of you. He tried to keep his features in check, not let his distress over the shock collar show.

He couldn’t help it.

“How’d you earn this,” he quieted, fingers ghosting the restraint. You smiled wryly.

“Let’s just say I don’t take orders very well.”

“Guess we’ve been rubbing off on you, huh,” he brushed the mussed hair from your face apologetically.

“Maybe, too much.” You peeled yourself from the floor, barely suppressing a groan. Hunter helped you the rest of the way to your feet. Your legs were untrustworthy, and Hunter stood firm as you braced your shackled hands along his front. He held you gingerly.

“I’ve got you.”

“You always do.”

Except for when you let her get taken.

“Stop that.“

“Stop what?”

You gave that cute little tilt of your head in spite of the collar. “Blaming yourself.”

You weren’t called ‘Specs’ for no reason.

More and more, Hunter felt he understood this better than anybody.

Because you understood him.

His eyes glued to the sickly purple blooming along your right cheekbone, spotlighted in your new position. You watched his face scrunch in anger underneath the headgear.

“Hey...” you moved your hands to his forearm. “It’s okay.”

Hunter’s face sobered as his eyes resumed their dance over you. He inserted the key into your handcuffs. “I’m having Tech run a full scan on you when we get back.”

“He’ll be thrilled.” The binders fell to the ground with a clang. You rubbed at your wrists. “Thank you.”

“We have to remove this,” his hands hovered over the equipment around your neck, unsure of its design. In wisdom he wasn’t feeling, he pulled out a scanner and contacted Tech.

“Talk to me vod; how do I get this off.”

There was a pregnant pause as Tech overlooked the information sent. His voice came back unmistakably on edge. “This particular collar is designed to explode if removed improperly. Do not pull or pry on it in any way. Does her neck still have mobility?”

“Barely,” Hunter stressed.

“That will have to do until I can work on the intricacies—it will take some time, and there are guards nearing your position.”

“We can’t hang out here forever,” Hunter grumbled knowingly. His eyes softened as he looked to you. “You okay to walk?

You nodded as best you could with the collar. It would serve as a good guise until you made it outside, anyway. “By walk you mean run.”

He chuckled to himself. “That predictable, huh?”

Even in the dismal lighting, your eyes sparkled with brilliance. “Just to me.”

Hunter took your hand, giving a gentle tug. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to call you my ‘knight in shining armor’?” You teased softly.

“Well if you did,” he stopped with you at the threshold. “I prefer ‘Commando’ armor. Shiny’s not my thing.”

“That’s good.” You fought back the swelling urge to remove his helmet and ruffle his hair. “I like you better a little rough around the edges.”

Hunter opened his mouth to speak but swiveled his head around, seemingly reminding himself of where you both were. When his gaze met yours again he smirked.

“Different time and place.”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

“Yes, there are children present.”

Hunter leaned away from you, wishing to know Crosshair’s exact location in that moment to direct a crude gesture to.

But of course, the kid.

Hunter peered out from the doorway, and guided you briskly past the seemingly endless rows of cells. He willed his eyes forward on the journey back that time. The temptation of opening each one, and the way he never did, would forever haunt him.

With the reminder of guards nearing your position, he brought out his prop that was that wretched slaving tool, supplying his free hand with it and wondering to what depths of hell the soulless bastards who drove these went to.

To your credit, you chuckled at the sight. “Been on the business end of those. Ten-out-of-ten do not recommend.”

Wrong thing to say.

Hunter must not have realized his attempt at a balled fist was crushing your hand.

“Hunter, let go.”

Hunter knew what that meant.

He let go of your hand and his hate.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, bringing his hand up instead to encircle your upper arm. As foretold, a guard duo passed seconds later and Hunter gave a perfunctory nod that was reciprocated in total part.

“Told you I’m convincing,” he murmured loftily once out of earshot.

“Uh-huh. The glaring face tat has ‘em hooked for sure. Same with the red on your forehead.”

Hunter huffed indignantly. “Hey, the bandana stays on. That’s my lucky charm.”

You couldn’t help wanting to test that claim—both parts.

Despite clearing the guards, Hunter gave a final glance down both lengths of the corridor before ushering you down a new one. You eyed his mannerisms curiously, the way he’d stop every few feet, engage in a murmur and then secure the way. You suddenly tilted your head up towards the shafts running along each side of the ceiling and grinned.

“Crosshair’s in the vents, isn’t he?”

“With company, no less,” Hunter spared a moment of focus to smirk at you, watching the way your eyes widened.

He summarized the unexpected come about of the newest member.

“So we’re adopting,” you teased, inwardly touched by Hunter’s compassion and earning yourself a chuckle.

“Not us; Crosshair.”

You nearly pealed with laughter until Hunter suddenly cupped his hand to your mouth and yanked you behind the nearest wall, holstering the whip and pulling you flush to his chest at the sound of several footsteps approaching. You listened for the attachment of guards to pass, silencing the hammer of your heart up against Hunter’s stiff armor.

“Coast is clear,” he whispered after a moment, thumbing at your lip and stepping out from behind the spot. He hated all this sneaking around just as much as the others, but he was far more equipped with the tolerance to do so out of all of them. “Almost there.”

You nudged him, and he stopped. When cast a quizzical glance, you jerked your head to the gun on his belt. “You know I don’t go empty handed.”

Hunter smiled wryly, handing you the gun. “And what am I supposed to use?”

“Hey, I left you the whip.”

“Outstanding.”

“Like you’ve never wanted to use one before.”

An inscrutable smirk raised Hunter’s features. “Under different circumstances.” He braced himself. Traveling back to the Marauder was going to attract far more company than coming in had, and he tried to prepare for the impending heat. He breathed. “You ready?”

“Was about to ask you the same thing—duck.” Hunter’s eyes blew wide as he obeyed and you squeezed the trigger. You were surprised by the kickback; those babies had some power. The slaver at the receiving end of your blast flew into the nearest wall with a satisfying crack.

“Nice,” Hunter drawled. “You always did like attention.”

You rolled your eyes. “Can’t imagine who I got that from.”

An attachment immediately burst from the far end of the corridor and you booked it with Hunter out, letting him lead the way as he based your travels off of the less occupied routes Tech had mapped for him. Customers and traders alike scrambled in the streets like womp rats to avoid the uproar. The merchants were the first to recover at the sight of escaping credits, joining the hunt like a hungry pack of wolves, to your dismay.

Hunter found himself missing their marksman’s company right about then; the fact that their pursuers weren’t being picked off like cherries left him to speculate the sniper was long gone—as he should be.

A bolt nearly glanced your shoulder as you fired your own volley back and took another sharp turn that brought the Havoc Marauder into blessed view.

“Tech, hope you kept those engines warm ‘cause we’re coming in hot!” Hunter shouted, the blaze of his whip arcing out with a loud thwack towards the enclosing slavers, seizing any with a slow reaction time.

“I see stealth worked out splendidly for you.”

“What—you still bitter about the whole ‘selling you’?” Hunter panted. “I wasn’t actually gonna—!”

“Don’t worry Sarge!” Wrecker interjected. “We gotchu.”

The Marauder ascended to a hover, and as you closed the distance the ramp lowered and there peeked Wrecker out with a massive gun. Where in the kriffin’ hell did he get that—

“You think the sniper’s shooting was good, kid, get a load of this!” Wrecker grinned at the girl tucked safely next to him as he unleashed a barrage down at the pursuers, his absurd jollies growing with each body that fell. The girl was mesmerized, he was certain.

Blaster fire thundered in your ears. The Marauder began a desperate climb, and Hunter barked at you to jump as he clashed whips with the nearest guard who’d advanced far too close for comfort. You propelled yourself upward with a quick flail and connected smoothly with Wrecker’s hands, with him promptly reeling you up and inside.

Hunter fended off a pulsing strike to his waist, shaking the proximity of it from his spine as he also leapt up and Wrecker hauled him inside with practiced ease. Tech shut the hatch and rocketed the ship upward in his usual crazed fancy.

The skylanes grew addled at the presence of a ship barreling through like a bat out of hell, but Hunter figured that was their problem as Tech’s fingers danced across the console, pulled a lever, and the comforting blue lines of hyperspace enveloped them in an impeccably timed jump.

Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

You worked to control your breathing, the tightness of the collar fully beginning to settle in. You swallowed a choked sound and eyed Hunter’s disheveled getup: his helmet lopsided—which he exasperatedly shoved off—and chinks in the expensive armor that would’ve adorned him nicely were not for the negative connotations behind it.

You let out a breathy laugh. “You make a terrible slaver, Sergeant.”

He managed a grin at the compliment as he held his bandana with one hand and swiped at his forehead with the other. “Never been my style.”

Tech was the first to react, shooting up and retrieving both a medkit and various gadgets before approaching you with a reassuring smile. He settled around behind you. “It will take me a bit to work on this, but I’ll have it off of you soon.”

‘A bit’ for Tech amounted to several minutes max—which was unsurprising overall, given the nature of his technological prowess. He alternated between the back of the collar and the front, rotating out various tools and his tech in sequential step. Wrecker spectated the entire time, questions and suggestions and offers of lent strength bubbling on his tongue as he simply settled for pacing back and forth along the ship’s length.

The restraint fell heavily from your neck, and your breaths instantly came lighter. Tech’s shoulders visibly relaxed at the work even if he seemed slightly dissatisfied with the execution.

Oh Tech. Always craving improvement.

With the tension settled and you back to your relatively normal appearance, Wrecker gave a celebratory pump of his fists and gathered you up in a crushing hug. “You’re okay! I’m SO glad you’re okay!”

“I can confirm that he is indeed glad, seeing as I was the one subject to his stressing the entire time.”

Your own jovial laughter morphed into a wheeze at Tech’s grievance and then a small cry of pain when pressure bore into your tender ribs. Wrecker’s grip immediately slackened. “Sorry, Specs,” he mourned, caressing your back and placing you back down with more thought that time.

Tech pulled out a thermal body scanner. “I’m going to run some scans on you to assess your condition. Standby.”

A grateful smile rearranged your lips as you held still for Tech and rotated your gaze around to each member. “I appreciate the rescue.”

“You would’ve done the same for us,” Hunter merely spoke on behalf.

You diverted your attention to the young girl rescued alongside, standing meekly among what had to have been intimidating company. You smiled gently. “So this is the little stowaway.”

“She’s free now.” Hunter eyed her thoughtfully, a comforting sense of duty flickering in his chest. “She doesn’t have to live under submission or fear.” He took care to leave out the hard truth of psychological recovery, and quieted. “I just wish we could say the same about all the others.”

If they only knew the amount of children he saw...

You caught the girl’s eye and she quickly averted her gaze. With Tech off to run his diagnostics, you crouched to be eye level with her, fighting back a wince when your ribs flared angrily at the new position.

“What’s your name?” You asked quietly.

She glanced up at Crosshair, with whose presence she had interestingly taken refuge in. She swallowed, and whispered, “Omera.”

162 notes · View notes

keravnos-kori · 4 years ago

Text

Kiss me about it then

ps thank you for teaching me how to format on this hellsite and reading it over for me 🥺💕💕💕

return to sender - prologue

tech x ofc (eventual)

word count: 3.4k

warnings: in-universe cursing, overuse of the oxford commas and dashes, long sentences, baby's first fic, maybe nsft later literally who knows at this point this may even develop into a threesome bc I have nothing left to lose

a/n: hello lovies, please excuse whatever the hell this is. it's super self-indulgent and based around my oc halla who I've been using to interact with a certain account as many of you are aware of. this is the first fic I've ever produced so it's taken a lot to get comfortable with posting here. thank you so much to all my epic, beautiful mutuals who have supported me throughout my bitching and moaning, you have no idea how much I appreciate each and every one of you. this story probably wouldn't even be a thing without you pushing me to get out of my comfort zone. so here, I guess. please let me know if you find any spelling/grammar mistakes! let me know if you like it or absolutely hate it!

~~~~~~

C-click.

Shut up…

C-click.

Shut up.

C-click.

Shut. Up!

Halla tightened her grip on the stylus she was already currently suffocating, attempting to steel her nerves and find some semblance of calm in the face of pure torture. Never in her entire academic career had she been previously exposed to another classmate so oblivious to their own annoying habits as the one currently sitting to her left in the densely crowded lecture hall. The Pantoran had a certain knack for clicking his well-polished heels against the durasteel floor in a way that made Halla want to commit a slight act of aggression against the young man. Maybe she’d yank his loafers off and chuck them across the room in opposite directions – the rest of the room would surely cheer her on in adulation. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d felt this way. Halla thought that by the end of the term she would have gotten used to these constant distractions, or better yet, her desk neighbor would have simply cut it the kark out. It was not meant to be.

Eyes closed. Deep Breaths. C’mon, you know the drill by now…there you go…

Graduation can’t come soon enough.

The breath that escaped Halla’s lips might have sounded exasperated if not for being utterly drowned out by the alto chime that sounded off within the lecture hall, alerting those in attendance that the allotted class time had (finally) ended. Bolting out of her seat, she began to wonder if she had ever moved so quickly in her entire life, heading straight for the exit with her schoolbag in tow after haphazardly throwing her holopad and stylus down into its depths.

Freedom, freedom, Maker freed-

“Miss Ismaren, might I have a word?”

Kark.

Halla froze in her tracks, feeling the excitement drain out of her like an overly used astromech’s powerpack as she turned to face her instructor. Reshi Taleel, both a tenured professor of the University of Coruscant and member of the Academic Administrator’s Council, stood much taller than Halla did, as most Togrutas were prone to, and held a certain look upon her symmetrically marked face, as if she knew a secret about to be shared, lips quirking up slightly. Craning her neck slightly to reach Taleel’s eye level, Halla silently admired the administrator’s lekku draped elegantly over her traditional garb before returning an acknowledgment.

“Madam Instructor! How can I, er, help you?” Halla had always appreciated Taleel to a certain degree, both for her poise and prowess as a teacher, but it was a challenge to conceal how much she wanted to finally return home - and never look at a xenolinguistics text again.

“Thank you for staying behind for a moment, this won’t take long.” Taleel made a motion for Halla to step further into the auditorium once again, and with one wistful glance back at the exit she took the required steps to maintain a respectful distance. That smirk was still on the older woman’s face, amber eyes twinkling under the fluorescents. “I was simply wondering…Have you given any thought towards your options? The available paths you might take for your future academic ventures?”

Slightly baffled, Halla opted to purse her lips and adjust the strap of her school bag while mulling the questions over. “Is…is this about my proposal I submitted last term? If it was rejected, I-I suppose I understand, but I can’t just drop all my research like that, I mean – what if-” Cut off, she was met with a perfectly manicured, ochre-colored hand appearing as if to simulate one of those ridiculous Jedi mind-tricks they mimed on the holoshows. “Your proposal was not rejected at all, Miss Ismaren. In fact, it has been considered at length by the Council. They - we - thought it quite brave of you to try and catch our attention with something as, how should I describe, ‘novel’ as the welfare of the Republic’s Grand Army.”

To say that Halla was taken aback was a major understatement. Out of all her peers attending the same program for the last three years, her research endeavors always tended to be the most overlooked, to state it delicately. Halla herself preferred the term “shunned”. Since the war itself was not found to be generally held in high esteem by the denizens of Coruscant, the individual clones found themselves at the receiving end of the anti-conflict protests as well. This never sat right with Halla’s spirit, it was despicable that those being protected rallied against their guardians with such venom.

Since beginning her post-secondary education at one of the galaxy’s highest-rated academies, Halla’s full attention had been devoted to changing others’ minds about how the soldiers should be treated, despite her divergent opinion about whether or not the fighting was necessary in the first place. Healthcare, shelter, and political immunity were all potential benefits Halla spent her waking (and some sleeping) hours aiming to procure for clone troopers across the galaxy; whether they were active, retained on Kamino, or even in the process of decommissioning. The largest obstacle in her quest was, of course, the only viable channel to secure a solution; politics and lobbying. Without the appropriate research to bring forth to the bureaucrats and their committees, she might as well be asking the Supreme Chancellor himself to service her a pedicure while feeding her starcherries off the stem – daunting and hopeless in equal measure. Shaking that somewhat disturbing mental image from her mind, Halla forced herself from her reverie, afraid she would miss a single word of the revelation Taleel was providing.

“No one else in the department had ever brought forth such a proposition – before you, at least. The Council is intrigued by your intentions of pursuing this as your post-graduate fellowship study, but requests that you finish your dissertation with additional primary sources that ensure your claims – factual, first-hand evidence, if you will. They fear that it isn’t enough to simply include previous research on the Kaminoans from before the war, nor do they think those sources were ever very credible in the first place. Since you are so dead set on improving the welfare of these clones, their mistreatment must first be proven.” Taleel paused for a moment, nodding as if mentally agreeing with the board whose decision she helped form in the first place. “If you successfully complete this educational milestone, the Council believes there may be a position open on the Senate’s Ethics Committee to advocate such a bold conviction and from there…well, the possibilities are endless, it would seem.”

Halla’s eyes had become wider and wider throughout the instructor’s spiel until she felt as if they would fall completely from their sockets. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again before trying to coerce her vocal cords into cooperation. Dank farrick, woman! I didn’t know we were a kriffing Mon Calamari choking on air for the first time! Say something!

“I, uh…what?”

Brilliant. Just Brilliant. You should seek out the headmaster and ask him to take the degree back before the Council has even certified you. Maker’s blood!

“I just mean – I’m flattered, but why…they – you all think I can really do this, after all this time? There are so many other fellowships to consider, I just can’t imagine such a controversial project would impress you all so much.” Halla grimaced inwardly, the thought striking her that selling herself short in this particular moment probably wasn’t the best move, all things considered.

Taleel smiled widely at Halla’s obvious discomfort, canines sharp and flashing for a moment before regaining her composure. “Yes, Miss Ismaren. We do think you’re capable of reaching this goal - with some critical thinking and creative measures involved, of course. The only requirements, as you are very well aware of at this point, are that the dissertation must be completed punctually, independently, and follow the academic integrity tenets set forth by the University. You have access to the research labs and archives in the department as an alumna, so do remember to make the best of them, my dear.” With that, Taleel lowered her head in a slight bow before twisting on her heel and walking towards her office, the slide of her feet graceful against the unforgiving metal flooring. She never was one for goodbyes, and the last day of class was no exception. “We expect great things from you, do try not to disappoint us!”

As the back door wooshed open and shut behind Taleel, Halla was left alone in the suppressive silence of the lecture hall. Frozen to her spot, she slowly blinked and dug her nail into her palm to determine if this was all some whimsical hallucination, to see if she would wake up in bed and be able to say for certain that this was all a dream. But it wasn’t, at least according to the crescent moon-shaped mark now left behind from her index finger. Gathering her scattered mind and her courage, Halla finally found the capacity to move towards her original destination: into the Major Atrium, out of the commons, towards the taxi terminal, and down to her student living accommodations in the Runhi District, Mid-Level. The speeder ride was a peaceful one, as peaceful as it could be with the constant traffic noises surrounding the vehicle. None of that registered in her mind, however. A numbness crept up Halla’s body as she continued to replay Taleel’s news over and over, reverberating through her eardrums like an uncalibrated protocol droid.

Approved. Her proposal had been approved.

The front door was stuck. Again.

Standing outside her apartment, Halla stared at the security console as if that were the secret signal which would convince it to slide open for her. For the third time this month, her clearance code was rejected and left her locked outside in the oxymoronically muggy breezeway.

This is what you get for not filing a maintenance request when you first moved in.

Following her usual routine breathing routine to calm herself, Halla waited for the display to clear from the flashing error message and reset itself so she could try again. Typing in the five-digit entry code, the machine seemed to hesitate before begrudgingly accepting the input. Halla could hear the outdated processor whirring as the access sequence was initiated, releasing the locks from the door’s hydraulics. Smiling a little too proudly, Halla stepped forward only to almost be immediately caught in the door as it closed just a couple seconds too early, nearly trapping her foot as a spiteful reward. An undignified yelp was released from her chest as she scrambled to keep her limbs intact. Once safely inside, she swiftly threw her bag down on the nearby breakfast table and rounded about, landing a kick to the offending threshold – an action that only served to harm herself more than it did her intended target. “Kark!”

Toeing her boot off, Halla collapsed onto her loveseat, feeling around the wall for the lighting panel. Once the overheads were switched on to an acceptable brightness level, she glanced down at her now un-socked foot. The damage wasn’t too bad, just a little resulting soreness – it was her pride that was damaged far worse from almost being bested by a metal slab with a binary brain. At least the rest of the living space wasn’t so malicious towards her.

It was sparse to be sure; at least when it came to the furnishings the complex provided for her: the barely-comfortable black leather two-seater she now occupied, the kitchenette and ‘fresher appliances, a bedframe, and side table were all that were originally provided. The highlight of it all when she first signed the lease was the inclusion of laundry droid services; besides that, there wasn’t much to speak of.

That was until Halla added her own personal touch to every surface available - thanks to the datarie-a-dozen second-hand stalls set up around every corner of the district. Now, dozens of scarves and tapestries hung on each wall between the common area and bedroom, no particular color motif to be spoken of: teals and golds and lilac among them. Resilient indoor plants hung suspended from the ceiling and rested on shelves that were hand-bolted to the durasteel plating. Glowing string lights and holopics and mismatched rugs were arranged tastefully, as opposed to the alcove workbench/vanity, which sported an array of scattered cosmetic supplies, holotexts, and a tiny Dac’arian tank housing an even tinier guppy swishing around inside. Paint supplies were kept on a rickety three-tiered cart beside an antique jewelry box which itself rested on an actual wooden dresser, not something all that common to find in the marketplace - purchased as an absolute steal in Halla’s opinion. Needless to say, the fashionable minimalism that pervaded the higher classes was noticeably absent here, instead replaced by electronic fragrance diffusers and premade pastries in the pantry. It was home.

As Halla propped her foot up onto the low caf table, reality began to settle a little more intimately around her shoulders. Her project was approved. The council is now asking her to provide proof of mistreatment towards the clones. Proof…what more did they need than to be reminded of the fact those men were bred specifically to die in the haze of battle? They weren’t recruited patriots, they were basically drafted before they were even fertilized cells! It was unreal to think that most did not consider the clones to be real people deserving of the most basic of civil rights. Rights that were flagrantly flaunted about by privileged, ignorant sycophants on a daily basis. Since the Coruscant Guard was never seen without their helmets, most natborns they encountered thought them to be no better than the battle droids they were fighting – faceless, emotionless sentients that only knew how to hold a blaster. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t fair.

But finding proof? It’s not like Halla could just walk up to some random patrolling trooper and ask for an interview over lunch! That’s not how any of this worked, it wouldn’t be that easy…right?

Halla stood and begin to pace slowly despite the dull throb in her toes. She needs to talk to someone. Someone who is out there, experiencing everything and – but who would agree to that load of banthashit? It was laughable. They were too busy fighting for their lives to help source her ridiculous academic research. And why would they want to help? If Halla were a clone and a civvie walked up and tried to talk her out of nowhere, her first thought would be to turn tail and ignore them.

Just…we’ll have to be a little more creative than usual with all this, that’s all…think…

The Corrie Guard wasn’t her only option, she knew that. There were others. Others scattered throughout the galaxy, hundreds of thousands of them. One of out the multitudes would have to be sympathetic to her cause.

Halla came to an abrupt halt, retrieved her holopad from her schoolbag, and returned to the settee. Logging in to the University Archives with her credentials, she began to search through some recent news stories exploring the Core Worlds escapades. Swiping through each article and recording, Halla made sure to keep an eye out for anything that would stand out. It wasn’t until almost an hour later when she made her first worthwhile discovery: a search and rescue occurring on Skako Minor, followed closely by a victory on Anaxes performed by the same squad of troopers: Clone Force 99.

Brow furrowed as she read, Halla made her way to her cluttered workspace, clearing off the miscellaneous makeup applicators to pull up the information on the larger monitor. Four original members, all of which included some sort of attached profile to their respective monikers. A fifth member was also mentioned from a recent edit, but no pictures nor a description were provided. Enhanced clones, the profiles detailed, each with his own unique abilities and attributes. 100% Success Rate.

Interesting.

Sorting through them all, Halla began to memorize their names and CT numbers the more she began to switch between tabs. Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair, and the new, imageless member Echo. It wasn’t their accomplishments that caught her eye, though they were all certainly impressive, it was their faces. All unique, all different. It was weird. And yet, they were all somewhat similar, the way regular natborn brothers were. Their iris colorings, warm skin tones, and bone structures made the Fett gene still somewhat recognizable despite the mutations. Halla had never seen anything like it – like them before.

Leaning back in her chair for a moment, she began to consider all the options: Hunter seemed a good enough choice if a little cautious based on his profile. Halla wasn’t sure if he’d be willing to trust her right off the way she needed him to, even if he already seemed to speak for the rest of the group. Wrecker seemed to be, well…a lot. Not in a bad way, but something told her that maybe someone else would be able to provide a bit more insight on the rest of the crew and how they function. There was almost next to no information on Echo other than he was a semi-retired ARC Trooper, and Crosshair’s profile caused a shudder to travel down her spine while reading about his aptitudes, both of which unsettled her in two very different ways. That only left Tech.

Halla stared at the bespectacled individual’s portrait for a solid five minutes before she gave in. This had to work. She could make this work. Tech’s introduction mentioned abilities which relied heavily on increased neural activity and finely tuned deduction skills – maybe he would be aware of the injustices that committed against his kind. Halla just had to convince him that she wasn’t going to be using his field accounts as some sort of entertainment or commodity, that something worthwhile would actually come of communicating with her. Befriend him, be honest with him. Maybe this could work.

Maybe. It was worth a shot.

With a little more digging, Halla was able to locate Tech’s GAR assigned frequency from the database and pulled up the holo-transmission platform on her console. Without a second thought, she dove in, afraid that if she stopped typing, she would lose all her built-up courage. The message read:

Commando Tech, CF99:

This may be an unwarranted message, so I apologize in advance if it burdens you in any way. My name is Halla Ismaren, soon-to-be graduate of the University of Coruscant, college of Interplanetary Law & Relations. I wouldn’t blame you if you believed this was some sort of solicitation, but I assure you it isn’t - at least not in the way you may be expecting. I’m writing to you to ask for your assistance with my post-graduate fellowship dissertation – the long way of explaining that I am writing a monograph to further my education. My research for the past three years has been completely focused on the welfare of all Clone Troopers and their participation in the war. You seem like the best candidate who could offer me crucial insights and thoughts from an insider’s perspective. If this is untrue, or you do not want to engage in my study, I completely understand. I only wish to advocate for you in any capacity I’m able – I know not many outsiders would say the same. I sincerely hope you accept: though you owe me absolutely nothing, you would be performing a great service for the rest of your brothers. I hope you are staying safe out there and I’d like to thank you for even reading this in the first place. Please remember that at least one person cares about your wellbeing, even if you are thousands of parsecs away.

All the best,

Halla

The “Transmit” button was selected after proofreading dozens of times. It was professional. It was to the point. It was as good as it was going to get at that point, and Halla’s head began to ache after staring at the screen for so long. The only thing left to do now was wait. After an indicator flashed that the message was successfully sent and delivered, she stood up and made her way to the kitchenette, rifling through the conservator to find something to eat. Pushing the seal shut again with her hip and placing several ingredients on the counter, two conflicting notions waged a war of their own within Halla’s frazzled thoughts.

I’m doomed.

Have faith.

~~~~~~~

tagging some people who may be interested: @thegoodbatch @microdeers @zinzinina @boontaeveboba @hansonveggieclub @morelikekitfistme

#thegoodbatch #besties

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by13x · 2 years ago

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At Smorgasburg Prospect Park-

A nice day around the park and food!

• baoteahouse -Starry Starry night-

• lanewyorkina - Mango Chamoyadas

• twohawaiianshirts - spam musubi and Mac salad

• redhooklobster - The Connecticut

• kinokonola - Panko fried oyster mushroom

• oconomi_nyc -Vegetable-O

• yakitoritatsunyc - pork belly and Kobe beef

• abruzzonyc - chicken and lamb

• petiscobrazuca - cheese and chicken coxinha

• maosbao - pork, chicken and beef

• theboiisco - Mochi filled cookies

• thegoodbatch - coffee icecream sandwich

#new york #nyc #smorgasburg #smorgasburg nyc #food #Brooklyn #prospect park

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ironmandeficiency · 5 years ago

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hdjahdjglsh i don’t know how to articulate the feelings i’m getting abt being added to this list but they’re all really good feelings and gkdhsks

here are a couple other darlings that deserve a follow!!!! i love all of these darlings so much like seriously, appreciate them @hxldmxdxwn @xmidnightwritingsx @doobiwankenooku & @longitud-de-onda who i just discovered today thru their javier peña fics and cant wait to get to know them more

Spread some love

If you are a star wars fic writer, reblog this with your favorite star wars fic writers!

@kaminobiwan @suddenly-clones @morganas-pendragons @xmidnightwritingsx @clonewarslover55 @cptnrex501

I wanna add more but I wanna let others contribute!!

#i’m feeling the love in this here chili’s tonight #jj gets tagged in things #jj appreciates ppl #holy shit #my heart is super happy #mutuals #hxldmxdxwn #doobiwankenooku #thegoodbatch #obiorbenkenobi #longitud de onda

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shadowthestoryteller · 4 years ago

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Taglist

@soundwavetherav, @mackstrut @haloangel391 @iwannaclonetrooper @kamino-mermaid @the11tailedlovesclones @manda1orians @h0tgluegun @shaddow-darkcloud @mangoberry43, @a-lil-perspective, @the-silentium, @thegoodbatch, @peacefulwizardfox, @passionofthesith, @apathetic-catastrophie @honeyray @leonidas-banana-phone @pearlyarmor @queenchaos-5 @bomboclaaty @ahsokasleftbicep @thetrashbatch99

#its funnier because crosshair is photoshopped onto a literal jackass #which he is #I still love my razor scooter tho #crosshair #hunter #clone trooper crosshair #clone trooper hunter #meme #bad batch #the bad batch #clone force 99 #*snort*#hunters face im

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halzore · 4 years ago

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But its all the things we've lost.

Grief is hard. Today was hard. So have a haphazard vague concept ficlet about grief.

Rex x Reader.

Word count: 466

contains: sad, angst, crying, mentions of grief

Tags: @a-lil-perspective @peacefulwizardfox @simping-for-fives @this-smh-turned-into-a-cw-site @kaitou2417 @chewychewyque @alderaani @marvel-starwars-nerd @thegoodbatch @the-studious-porg

Static.

The clenching of your jaw, the obscuring of your vision. Unconscious, your breath draws in faster.

The wobbling of your chin as you fix your gaze into the hypnotism of hyperspace.

A hand on your shoulder, the seeping wetness on the collar of your shirt.

A familiar voice, quiet but strong like always.

How he was strong you never knew, everything he knew crumbling in an instant. But you heard him late at night when he thought no one was listening.

“You’re gonna be okay.” An empty promise that had echoed meaninglessly since the day it all turned upside down.

Or had it been slowly turning but we couldn’t see it?

The hand rubbed your shoulder. Comfort, the only offer now.

Your hands, pressing through your hair, clutching for respite against the onslaught of grief.

The shaking was all encompassing, the terror that consumed you. You tried to calm yourself, and in that small moment of quiet, eyes once again affixed to hyperspace, he took your hand.

“We have to build now, we have to be strong, for them.” Rex rolled his hand in your grasp, his own eyes glassy as they stared into yours.

All the pain held in your heart, resurfacing. Shivering in grief, unable to scream, unable to make a sound. Your walls caving in all over again.

“But it’s all the things I’ve lost, we’ve lost.” Your nails dug into the rough skin of the clone in front of you. “All those moments when we would smile together, when I’d show Hardcase a new song and I’d hear him humming it as we entered the drop zone.”

The Paralysis of violent agony.

“But he’s gone,”

“There all gone.”

A search for hope in the soft eyes of the man before you, your last brother.

“I won’t ever be able to go back.”

You hugged your arms around yourself

“It was all for nothing, they lost their lives, I lost the only family I ever knew.” Your breathing slowed. “Just for this horrible place to replace it.” Rex cocked his head at you, a hand coming to rest on your tear-stained cheek, a small weak smile.

You were lost, listless. “Each day I wake up, I wake up to grieve them again.” He pulled you into his arms, a warm familiar place.

“I just wanna see their smiles again, I just want to laugh with them.”

“I know,” His words were soft in your ear, hand stroking your hair.

“But they’re gone forever, and they took me with them.”

“They will always be in your heart.” You closed your eyes, giving into the calmness of your protector. You let go, slowly lulled into a sleep.

“We will always be in your heart.” Familiar smiles greeted you, cheeky eyes, caring hearts, and soft smiles of those not lost, merely moved on.

#rex x reader #captain rex x reader #angst #clone wars x reader #clone x reader #clone trooper hardcase #clone wars imagine #rex x you

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morganas-pendragons · 5 years ago

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my privilege, my honor | rex

this was a concept i could not pass up when i got into this conversation with someone on twitter. dad!rex is life. this’ll be split up into parts within a whole (finding out you’re pregnant, pregnancy, birth, life after, etc) and is au in which the war is won by the republic and the clones are freed because i SAID SO.

this is long rip me - i worked all afternoon on this please give me something

also, rex&munitions!reader live on naboo in the back country where padmé wanted to raise the twins and does because AU!!!!

tag: @obiorbenkenobi // @icanbringyouincold // @thegoodbatch // @amazinggraceling // @cxptain-rex // @spaghetti-666 // @kaikai1324 // @jellyfishpoptart // @colorfulloverbatturkey

In the back corner of the lake country on Naboo, there lives a soldier. Well... he doesn’t call himself that anymore. Not since they won the war. The story that you are familiar with is different in other universes. Less people die. Grief is openly felt and not hidden, mourning happens for the fallen, The Republic works together to unite against a common enemy.

In this story, Anakin Skywalker does not fall. Ahsoka Tano is soon treated with dignity and respect and eventually returns to The Jedi Order. Obi-Wan Kenobi is given the help he needs to be the best Jedi he can be. This story is much happier because they won the war here. Anakin discovers the threat of the Sith far before it’s too late, and Sheev Palpatine remains nothing but a corpse with a soul that has gone to the stars.

In this story, darkness does not prevail. Light does.

Padmé Amidala-Skywalker is a genius. A renowned politician of The Senate and former Queen of Naboo, she works closely with the clones and specific Jedi who advocate for them to ensure they are no longer treated as Republic property and are treated as the people who have earned their right to freedom.

When Cody comes to the barracks to announce to his vod that the bill was passed through the senate, the clones are too riled up to sleep and thus throw the biggest celebration of a lifetime.

In a back corner of Seventy Nines far away from the prying eyes of his brothers and against a wall adjacent to the rear door, Rex kisses the living daylights out of you. You are no longer committed to the GAR and he’s free - he didn’t think he’d ever get to the point where he’d be considered a man and not a weapon - but the way your fingers thread tightly through his hair and your knee slots between his legs to pin him against that wall is the most freeing thing Rex has done in his life.

Because he can do this now. He’s allowed to show his love in front of everybody.

“Rex,” Your voice is thick with the drink you’d been consuming before you’d dragged him over here as you pull away just enough to meet his eyes in the darkness. “Take me.”

Had this been a year ago or more, Rex would’ve been so stunned by your demand that he would’ve paid for a cab like the good gentleman he was (with Skywalkers credit chit of course) and taken you back to the barracks to hide away in your quarters where he could take you in a bed.. but that’s not Rex now. No. Rex now is desperate and wanting.

“Bathroom?”

“Bathroom.”

The spare bathroom at the back of the bar is exactly what you need, and before you know it, the Clone Commander has your legs wrapped around his waist and your body poised on the sink. It’s a good thing you’d jimmied the lock on the door to buy yourself enough time to be ravished.

By the time Fives and Echo find you both, you’re walking out of the bathroom looking more guilty then you should but you can’t stop smiling because of how flustered you’d managed to make Rex in..

“I think that’s the fastest quickie we’ve ever done.” You nudge his hip with your own and sling your arm around his waist to pull him against you.

“What’s the record now?”

Oh, of course he’s been keeping track. Kriffing di’kut.

“Six and a half minutes.”

You’re really hoping that Rex isn’t the type to brag about this to his brothers, but if he is, you’d rather him do it when you’re not around. He has to clean up his meager amount of belongings from the GAR barracks before meeting Cody to discuss transport to the planets that gave given permission for the clones to be granted citizenship.

One of them is Naboo. Skywalker and Amidala have already made their way there after the birth of their twins and Anakin leaving The Order, but you have a couple of people you want to say goodbye to before this is really over. Before you all go your separate ways to live your own lives.

But oh.. no matter where, you’ll love them all. They’re the only family you’ve had and will always have. It’s not goodbye forever. It’s just the end with another beginning on its way.

“I’ll see you later, cyar’ika.” He kisses your temple and allows Cody and Jesse to take him away for one last night together with his brothers. You watch him go with a fond smile. He deserves this.

The minute you get back to your quarters, the first thing you do is call Padmé Amidala.

***

Well, if you’re gonna find out about this, you’d rather it be this way then by your own panic.

You and Rex are welcomed by Padmé and Anakin on Naboo in the Naberrie family home until they’re able to procure their own house, and Anakin seemed to be.. ah.. attuned to something in The Force that was swirling around you. Rex and Padmé are in the nursery tending to the twins - he loves them and you love how much he loves them - but Anakin has kept you behind to talk about what is clearly bothering him more then it’s bothering you.

“Wait-Are you serious?” You ask skeptically. “I know you had your opinions about me, Skywalker, but I treat your former commander with reverence and if this is some cruel joke-”

Anakin held up a hand. “I could tell with Padmé pretty quickly. It’s not hard to tell with The Force, and you’re practically glowing even without being Force Sensitive.” Both your eyes slid to the balcony where you could very clearly see Rex sitting in one of the chairs while Padmé fed Luke, who was now a couple of months old, and blew raspberries on Leia’s stomach to elicit a screech from the baby girl.

Your heart clenches. That’s... that’s so stupidly cute. And he’s.. he’s smiling.

“You should tell him.” Anakin whispers. “I know Rex was skeptical about having a family at the start of the war when he met that deserter.. but honestly, I think he’s reconsidered it since he met you.” The man who had very very quickly become like your brother rested his head against your own as you exhaled a very slow breath. “Tell him.”

You do tell him later on that night long after Padmé and Anakin go to bed. He goes wide eyed at the remark - because how on EARTH are YOU going to create and carry a human inside your body?! - and you’re almost expecting him to cry, which he does, but there’s happy tears and disbelieving laughter and before you know it, he’s spinning you around the living room and burying his face in your shoulder as you celebrate yet another victory for you both.

When Rex goes to sleep that night with Luke in his arm and Leia against your chest (you’re really interim parents so the Skywalkers can sleep) he dreams about Cody and his brothers joy for his future niece or nephew.

The first thing you see upon waking up that morning is the life-size holo of Cody, Wolffe and Jesse who are cheering in strings of Mando’a that you can’t make out well, but you know what they’re so joyful about. They’re gonna have a niece. A nephew.

In front of them, your former soldier smiles so widely that it sharpens the tears that pool in his eyes.

***

In the back corner of the lake country on Naboo, former soldiers get to work building a house. A house not made by hands - that’s not all - but by and with love and hope.

Laughter echoed in the fields of wildflowers as you watch Cody and Rex hurl insults at one another when something doesn’t quite go the way they want it to. After your pregnancy announcement and the wedding - which was just as exciting as the pregnancy - Rex had ultimately come to one decision: He loved General Skywalker but not enough to live with him, his wife, and his two twins.

Rex wants his own home which means he’s gonna build it with his own hands and the help of his insufferable brothers.

Walking through the fields of wildflowers that are just outside the area Rex has chosen to hold the foundations of your new home, you hum quietly to yourself as you take flowers and begin to braid them into your hair.

In the distance, Wolffe yells something crude in Mando’a that makes Jesse laugh hard enough to the point where if Kix hadn’t been there to catch him by his blacks, he would’ve fallen off the roof.

“Cyar’ika, c’mere!”

Rex appears just inside what’s supposed to be your front door. He’s really acclimated to the climate of Naboo - even going as far as to let his hair grow out more then it had been during the war - and he’s wearing a shirt with no sleeves which shows the tattoo he’d gotten when the Clone Wars had ended.

He’s beautiful. Seriously.

“Is someone injured?” You cast a skeptical look at Cody, Boil and Wooley who are looking at a rough sketch Rex had done on his datapad for what he planned for this house to look like. “Maybe Jesse’s dignity? Fives will to live?”

“I heard that!”

“No.. no.” Rex shakes his head and wraps his arms around your middle, hands coming to comfortably rest on the swell of your stomach. You’re only a couple of months along and are just barely beginning to show, but that doesn’t mean he won’t touch that bump every single change he gets. “I just want you to look at it with me.” Both pairs of eyes flicker to the house in front of you. “It’s ours. Our home.”

Yours.

That sounds like a dream.

***

Rex is, without a doubt, the best person you could’ve chosen to be the father of your child. He purchases a speeder after a little haggling with a trader in Theed and accompanies you to all your appointments, uses the credits Anakin had given him that he’d accumulated from his time in The Order to buy the food you most crave, and wakes up to be your personal pillow when you’re heavily pregnant and cannot for the life of you find a comfortable sleeping position.

By the time your delivery comes, he’s practically a walking disaster that somehow manages to inform Padmé, Anakin and Ahsoka (who had been there that week to visit her brother and her nephew/niece) about the delivery and to meet you at the medical station in Theed.

You don’t know this, but his brothers come too. The waiting room is filled with anxious uncles.

After a nearly effortless delivery on your part, you were staring up at your husband as he was handed your daughter by the medical droid.

It’s like the sun admiring all the stars in the galaxy. Rex looks at your daughter like he cannot believe you just birthed something so beautiful, and for a moment... you allow yourself to weep at just how awed the man is by the sight of his own child.

“Rex-” You croak, gasping for breaths between your tears as you motion to your husband. “That’s your kih ad.”

Amber irises flicker over to meet yours as your daughter lets out a wail so loud that Rex cannnot seem to comprehend that a creature that tiny just made such a sound.

“What do you want to name her?” He asks as he hands his little girl back over to you reluctantly, clearly wishing to keep hold of her for a little while longer before handing her off to the medical droid for cleaning. “She’s not just my daughter, you know.”

“Alaia.” You say it so quickly and without hesitation that Rex is taken a back by how sure you are. “It means joy.”

Considering how much joy that little girl ends up bringing to your lives, there’s no surprise that’s the name you choose. And oh.. speaking of joy.. it’s only mere days later when Rex finally lets his brothers - who had barely left the waiting room other then to go back to your cottage and refresh themselves - see their niece, it’s like a stampede of over eager children coming into your hospital room.

Cody brings you flowers. He’s respectful like that. Jesse is just too thrilled at the prospect of having a niece that he too brings you flowers, but they’re native to Naboo. If you’re right.. they come from outside your home.

The sight is enough to make you lean out of bed just enough to kiss his cheek. He swoons at the gesture and nearly passes out. Di’kut.

The remaining members of The Wolf Pack who had been given citizenship on a world in the Inner Rim with the help of Plo-Koon follow suit the day that you’re discharged from the hospital because they’ve been tending to your house in the absence of their brother, and Wolffe is the one you see first.

He doesn’t tend to come around alot but the sight of him and how he gasps at the sight of the child in your arms is enough to make you beam for the millionth time. All the clones are surprised by the sight of a baby. That doesn’t address the fact that said baby is the child of a clone.

It’s like a dream come true for them.

“Skywalker’s wife said you’d like this, and so did Tano.” He holds up a bright pink onesie that reads proud niece of a million uncles and the sight of it is enough to make you laugh so hard you wheeze because that is so something Anakin and Ahsoka would find hilarious.

Alaia wears it to bed for her first night in your home.

***

alaia - five months old

Maker.. there’s alot of stars out tonight.

At the cry of your daughters voice, Rex peels himself away from the warmth of your body and rubs the sleep from his eyes before moving across the master bedroom to retrieve his little girl from her crib.

The same crib that had taken him, Fives, Cody and Echo to build. Cody and Echo ended up having to do it because Rex had Fives in a headlock by the time they were halfway through assembling the kriffing thing.

“Alaia, ner ad,” He whispers lowly, scooping the baby from her crib and moving to the balcony before quietly shutting the door behind him. It’s not often that he’s unable to sleep anymore. There are rare occasions, like tonight, which memories of the war keep him awake. The nightmares stopped a long time ago. He’s at peace now. Mostly. “Sh.. sweet pea. We don’t want to wake your mother.”

Just as he’s done since you made him aware that she was teething, Rex nudges her lips open and allows Alaia to suck on his fingertip. She goes quiet immediately at the relief it brings.

“You know, I don’t know if you dream.. but I do. I dream about the war. If you dream... I hope you dream about me and your mom. I want to be a good father. It’s better then not having a dad at all like I didn’t.”

He goes silent at that. The closest thing he’d ever had to a father was Kenobi, and even he had been more like a brother to the clones by the end of the war. Anakin was just... he had his own struggles, he’d trusted Rex with information he couldn’t even trust Obi-Wan with and the thought of being so wholly trusted by someone again terrifies him.

That will be his daughter. His undoing will be how much she trusts him, and it’ll be how much he loves her and you.

On the balcony of a cottage home in the lake country on Naboo, a former soldier sleeps, and his infant daughter dreams. Together they are bathed in starlight.

***

Alaia - five years old

When Alaia is old enough to take into the fields outside of your house, you sit on the porch and watch Rex trek into the wildflowers with his little girl on his shoulders.

You watch from the porch with a cup of tea as your little girl toddles through the flowers that have just recently sprouted from the ground, and she yanks with all the might her little arms have to begin pulling them out.

Rex has been rather - ah- adamant that he’s going to keep his hair longer then it’s been in years. It’s not too long to curl over his ears, but it’s definitely not the normal haircut you’d grown so used to seeing on him.

Conveniently, for Alaia, it’s just long enough to stick flowers in.

“Oh, oh no. This I have to take part in.” You set down your cup of tea and move from the porch to meet your husband and daughter in the field. “Rex, cyar’ika, you know what this means.”

“Flower crowns, Mommy!” Alaia yells. “Flower crowns for daddy!”

The man is beaming as you sit down crosslegged and begin weaving the flowers together until you’re confident in your crown, and you turn towards Rex to place it gently against his forehead.

“A crown fit for a King.”

He smirks at you in that way that reminds you way too much of Anakin’s smugness and you quietly curse under your breath at the effect your former General had on his former Commander.

“Now we need a crown fit for a Queen and a princess.” Alaia screeches as Rex’s arms wind around her waist and his fingers dig into her stomach which elicits such a high pitched laughter you can’t help but smile at, and while you work on weaving two more crowns, Rex lays his daughter across his hands vertically and begins waving her little body around.

“Look Mommy!” Alaia cries out, face pinched in concentration as she sticks her arms out in front of her. “I’m flying!”

Fly high, little one.

***

In the lake country of Naboo lives a former soldier, a former officer and their daughter. Their daughter grows up surrounded by her uncles - Jesse, Fives, Echo and Cody are her favorites - and she learns Mando’a so quickly that by the time she’s eight, Alaia is as fluent as her uncles.

She grows up hearing stories about the uncles she lost. Her uncle Boil cries when he talks about Umbara and Waxer, and she reaches up and wipes tears from his face as he buries his face in waves of blonde hair. The uncles who survived Umbara don’t like to talk about it, but if they do, they leave out the stuff about war and talk about their fallen brothers.

Mama doesn’t want her to know anything but peace, and neither does Daddy. She trusts Daddy’s decision. Maybe it’s for the best.

“It is my privilege and my honor to be your father.” Rex’s fingers are nimbly braiding her hair back into the usual braid she’s kept it in since she was a child. The day is comfortable and her uncles are here with the twins while you’re in the capital city with Padmé.

“You’re talking like it’s the last time you’ll ever say that.”

“Well, if your mother finds out what I’m letting you do, yeah it’ll be the last time I ever speak.”

Anakin wants his kids to learn how to defend themselves. They probably can with a lightsaber just as well as he did at that age, but they’ve never done hand to hand before today’s training lesson. There’s no threat of war looming on the horizon but given that they’re both force sensitive, he wants them to have a good partner and for some reason that means Alaia gets to volunteer. All three kids are close enough in age to learn together.

“I’m gonna win.”

“It’s not a-” Rex pinches the bridge of his nose as Wolffe comes up behind his vod’ika and clasps her shoulders gently in his hands. If anyone is good at sparring, it’s him. “Oh, kriff it. Go on.”

Wolffe waits until you’re out on the porch and wrapping your hands to say it, “You’re too much like your buir bal ba’vodu.” He had feared initially that she’d be afraid of him because of his cybernetic, but after he’d told her how he lost it to Asajj, she hadn’t looked at him with fear one time since.

“Ni kar'taylir.”

Anakin stands on one side while Rex and Cody stands on the other, their spectators on the sidelines watching with wide eyes for something to go wrong.

“Alright. Luke,” Anakin nods to his son who tosses his saber behind him at the same time Leia does before they both turn towards Alaia. “Leia.. remember the rules. No Force Use.”

“What fun is that?!’’ Luke whines. “She’s not even Force Sensitive!”

Alaia, Luke and Leia are between the ages of fourteen to sixteen the first time they do this. Alaia has been raised to not fear Jedi, much less the children of The Hero With No Fear, so she simply approaches this as an obstacle to be conquered.

The daughter of the former soldier and officer of the Republic cracks her knuckles and eyes her opponents head on. The way she looks so much like Rex makes Anakin laugh. It’s downright terrifying.

Her ba’vodu cheer her on as Leia downright launches herself at Alaia, to which the girl simply pivots sharply on her heel and throws her hands up to defend herself from Luke’s attack. She isn’t aware of this, but Luke uses The Force to calculate each movement she makes. Leia doesn’t. He was the more attuned of the twins.

“Get him, vod’ika!”

“Show them who’s boss!”

Rex is utterly stupefied by the way Alaia moves. Of course, Luke and Leia do catch her off guard a couple of times, but part of him has always wondered if the ‘’soldier’’ part of him would be passed off his kids. That part of him that was a fighter from birth. It seemed he was right.

You’re gonna kill him when you get back.

His daughter throws her elbow right into Luke’s nose - Leia had yielded when she’d been subject to a pretty brutal chokehold - and flips him over her shoulder without so much as an issue, and the older Skywalker twin slams his hand against the ground before she can so much as try to incapacitate him further.

“Do you yield?”

“I-I yield, you-you insufferable gundark!”

The two teenagers are too busy arguing with each other while the clones laugh hysterically in the background and Kix tends to Leia to ensure she’s alright to notice the return of both you and Padmé.

“What’s going on here?” You question, arching an eyebrow at the pair of husbands in front of you who both turn around and are so guilty that they’re both blushing deep scarlet. “Rex?”

“Cyar’ika, I can explain-”

You extend your arm to where Alaia is being held back by Fives and Jesse and Luke is cursing fluently in Huttese while Kix tends to his nose. “I was waiting for the day you’d crack and see what she could do!” You exclaim. “Kriff, Rex.. She nearly broke my nose when she was a toddler because I told her she had to eat her vegetables! Or do you remember the time we took her to see Obi-Wan and Ahsoka on Coruscant and she yelled ‘’leave my dad alone you di’kuts’’ to a bunch of Jedi?!”

“Yeah-Yeah, I do.” He’d laughed at that when it happened and he’d laugh at it now.

Rex slings an arm over your shoulders as Echo and Cody exit the house beckoning you all for lunch before murmuring, “It’s good to be home.”

Your eyes flicker to the Skywalkers and to the clones who are all chattering along in a way that just feels so alive. So unlike any dream you’d ever had before the war ended, and it makes you realize that yeah... it is good to be home.

#Captain Rex x Reader #Rex x Reader #Star Wars oneshots #Star Wars imagines

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