#Coerced!Tech

[cjorgens2022]

when I fell asleep at 3:00 in the afternoon and awoke at 8:00, I dreamt that Scorch is actually a deep-cover agent for Rex. And being a trained clone commando, he hides his intentions very very well. What I can recall is that Scorch has hidden guilt about taking Omega away but he had no choice but to do his duty and that he was secretly glad she and Crosshair had escaped Weyland and Mount Tantiss. What I can recall is that, as Omega escaped; Scorch would mutter to himself “stay safe sister. Run away and never look back. It’s a dangerous galaxy out there.”

this could be the start of an idea of mine of which Scorch plays his role as a seemingly subservient clone commando very well!

[psuedosugu]

OMG your Vox with a pop star darling was perf!! Can you please do one where Vox starts to fall in love with his assistant who’s an imp?? At first he’d be in major denial because of the class differences but he’s just subconsciously SUPER doting towards her. Pen out of ink? Guess he'll just have to buy a brand new pack for her! Forgot her lunch? Obviously he'll just give her his!! Sorry if it's long :((((

thank youuu !! this idea is so interesting and no, its definitely not too long, i personally like longer asks better tbh !!

cw: stalking, manipulation, and things of the sort

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || you had always stood out to vox as one of his assistants the whole time u had worked for him.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || at first he didn’t recognize his feelings as romantic.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || you were a really good assistant. you were organized and always knew what to do, plus you knew how to handle his outbursts

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || he appreciated you and thats all…right?

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || it was the little things that made him realize what his feelings really were.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || the way your nose scrunches up when you laugh, the way ur eyes glimmer when you’re given something to do, things like that.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || you were such a delicate thing.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || once he realized, he tried to deny it all he could.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || his brain was at war with his heart. you were an imp. he was an overlord! things could never work out with you two..or could they?

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || its not like there were any written rules on it, plus he could use this power imbalance to his benefit.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || vox favored you over all of his other workers and assistants, everyone could tell, even you.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || you were naive, thinking that it was a sign to keep going, to work harder to get more of his approval.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || at first it was just him being visibly nicer to you than he is with others but then things started to escalate

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || getting paid significantly more, longer breaks and more vacation days,

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || he even started buying you things, wether it be lunch, more office supplies, the latest tech (which he definitely didn’t use to spy on you), expensive jewelry, anything and everything you’d ever need.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || you tried to decline them, you didn’t need all this, but he refused to take them back. you were his favorite assistant, after all!

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || he also threw flirty quips at you from time to time which confused you to no end.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || he felt a pang of jealousy in his chest whenever he spied on you calling or texting other people (he could definitely look through your phone, texts, and calls)

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || he wanted you all to himself! you didn’t need anyone else.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || he’ll probably ask you to move into the building with him, “-so you can work more efficiently!” he says.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || if you said yes, you two would live “happily ever after”. he would coerce you into a situationship of some sorts. not an actual relationship, though, do you know what that would do for his image?

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || he would keep you close, though, close enough to the point where you wouldn’t want to leave.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || if you said no, though, or showed any sign of leaving, oh, that just wouldn’t do.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || what do you mean you wanna quit? he makes you uncomfortable? just calm down for a second, look into his eyes for a bit…and there! see, its fine, everything is fine.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || and you don’t have the strength to refuse.

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || you spend the next few days in a hazy blur. you want to stay. you want to stay? vox does feel slightly guilty, hypnotizing you into staying, but he has no choice. you’re his, and you need to be protected! what if something happens to you?

✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ || he stays doting over you, making sure you’re okay and stuff, he really is trying his best to make this comfortable for you, so pleasee don’t make this harder for him.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

i do requests!

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[fatehbaz]

When you tag things “#abolition”, what are you referring to? Abolishing what?

Prisons, generally. Though not just physical walls of formal prisons, but also captivity, carcerality, and carceral thinking. Including migrant detention; national border fences; indentured servitude; inability to move due to, and labor coerced through, debt; de facto imprisonment or isolation of the disabled or medically pathologized; privatization and enclosure of land; categories of “criminality"; etc.

In favor of other, better lives and futures.

Specifically, I am grateful to have learned from the work of these people:

Ruth Wilson Gilmore on “abolition geography”.

Katherine McKittrick on "imaginative geographies"; emotional engagement with place/landscape; legacy of imperialism/slavery in conceptions of physical space and in devaluation of other-than-human lifeforms; escaping enclosure; plantation “afterlives” and how plantation logics continue to thrive in contemporary structures/institutions like cities, prisons, etc.; a “range of rebellions” through collaborative acts, refusal of the dominant order, and subversion through joy and autonomy.

Macarena Gomez-Barris on landscapes as “sacrifice zones”; people condemned to live in resource extraction colonies deemed as acceptable losses; place-making and ecological consciousness; and how “the enclosure, the plantation, the ship, and the prison” are analogous spaces of captivity.

Liat Ben-Moshe on disability; informal institutionalization and incarceration of disabled people through physical limitation, social ostracization, denial of aid, and institutional disavowal; and "letting go of hegemonic knowledge of crime”.

Achille Mbembe on co-existence and care; respect for other-than-human lifeforms; "necropolitics" and bare life/death; African cosmologies; historical evolution of chattel slavery into contemporary institutions through control over food, space, and definitions of life/land; the “explicit kinship between plantation slavery, colonial predation, and contemporary resource extraction” and modern institutions.

Robin Maynard on "generative refusal"; solidarity; shared experiences among homeless, incarcerated, disabled, Indigenous, Black communities; to "build community with" those who you are told to disregard in order "to re-imagine" worlds; envisioning, imagining, and then manifesting those alternative futures which are "already" here and alive.

Leniqueca Welcome on Caribbean world-making; "the apocalyptic temporality" of environmental disasters and the colonial denial of possible "revolutionary futures"; limits of reformism; "infrastructures of liberation at the end of the world."; "abolition is a practice oriented toward the full realization of decolonization, postnationalism, decarceration, and environmental sustainability."

Stefano Harney and Fred Moten on “the undercommons”; fugitivity; dis-order in academia and institutions; and sharing of knowledge.

AM Kanngieser on "deep listening"; “refusal as pedagogy”; and “attunement and attentiveness” in the face of “incomprehensible” and immense “loss of people and ecologies to capitalist brutalities”.

Lisa Lowe on "the intimacies of four continents" and how British politicians and planters feared that official legal abolition of chattel slavery would endanger Caribbean plantation profits, so they devised ways to import South Asian and East Asian laborers.

Ariella Aisha Azoulay on “rehearsals with others���.

Phil Neel on p0lice departments purposely targeting the poor as a way to raise municipal funds; the "suburbanization of poverty" especially in the Great Lakes region; the rise of lucrative "logistics empires" (warehousing, online order delivery, tech industries) at the edges of major urban agglomerations in "progressive" cities like Seattle dependent on "archipelagos" of poverty; and the relationship between job loss, homelessness, gentrification, and these logistics cities.

Alison Mountz on migrant detention; "carceral archipelagoes"; and the “death of asylum”.

Pedro Neves Marques on “one planet with many worlds inside it”; “parallel futures” of Indigenous, Black, disenfranchised communities/cosmologies; and how imperial/nationalist institutions try to foreclose or prevent other possible futures by purposely obscuring or destroying histories, cosmologies, etc.

Peter Redfield on the early twentieth-century French penal colony in tropical Guiana/Guyana; the prison's invocation of racist civilization/savagery mythologies; and its effects on locals.

Iain Chambers on racism of borders; obscured and/or forgotten lives of migrants; and disrupting modernity.

Paulo Tavares on colonial architecture; nationalist myth-making; and erasure of histories of Indigenous dispossession.

Elizabeth Povinelli on "geontopower"; imperial control over "life and death"; how imperial/nationalist formalization of private landownership and commodities relies on rigid definitions of dynamic ecosystems.

Kodwo Eshun on African cosmologies and futures; “the colonial present”; and imperialist/nationalist use of “preemptive” and “predictive” power to control the official storytelling/narrative of history and to destroy alternatives.

Tim Edensor on urban "ghosts" and “industrial ruins”; searching for the “gaps” and “silences” in the official narratives of nations/institutions, to pay attention to the histories, voices, lives obscured in formal accounts.

Megan Ybarra on place-making; "site fights"; solidarity and defiance of migrant detention; and geography of abolition/incarceration.

Sophie Sapp Moore on resistance, marronage, and "forms of counterplantation life"; "plantation worlds" which continue to live in contemporary industrial resource extraction and dispossession.

Deborah Cowen on “infrastructures of empire and resistance”; imperial/nationalist control of place/space; spaces of criminality and "making a life at the edge" of the law; “fugitive infrastructures”.

Elizabeth DeLoughrey on indentured labor; the role of plants, food, and botany in enslaved and fugitive communities; the nineteenth-century British Empire's labor in the South Pacific and Caribbean; the twentieth-century United States mistreatment of the South Pacific; and the role of tropical islands as "laboratories" and isolated open-air prisons for Britain and the US.

Dixa Ramirez D’Oleo on “remaining open to the gifts of the nonhuman” ecosystems; hinterlands and peripheries of empires; attentiveness to hidden landscapes/histories; defying surveillance; and building a world of mutually-flourishing companions.

Leanne Betasamosake Simpson on reciprocity; Indigenous pedagogy; abolitionism in Canada; camaraderie; solidarity; and “life-affirming” environmental relationships.

Anand Yang on "forgotten histories of Indian convicts in colonial Southeast Asia" and how the British Empire deported South Asian political prisoners to the region to simultaneously separate activists from their communities while forcing them into labor.

Sylvia Wynter on the “plot”; resisting the plantation; "plantation archipelagos"; and the “revolutionary demand for happiness”.

Pelin Tan on “exiled foods”; food sovereignty; building affirmative care networks in the face of detention, forced migration, and exile; connections between military rule, surveillance, industrial monocrop agriculture, and resource extraction; the “entanglement of solidarity” and ethics of feeding each other.

Avery Gordon on haunting; spectrality; the “death sentence” of being deemed “social waste” and being considered someone “without future”; "refusing" to participate; "escaping hell" and “living apart” by striking, squatting, resisting; cultivating "the many-headed hydra of the revolutionary Black Atlantic"; alternative, utopian, subjugated worldviews; despite attempts to destroy these futures, manifesting these better worlds, imagining them as "already here, alive, present."

Jasbir Puar on disability; debilitation; how the control of fences, borders, movement, and time management constitute conditions of de facto imprisonment; institutional control of illness/health as a weapon to "debilitate" people; how debt and chronic illness doom us to a “slow death”.

Kanwal Hameed and Katie Natanel on "liberation pedagogy"; sharing of knowledge, education, subversion of colonial legacy in universities; "anticolonial feminisms"; and “spaces of solidarity, revolt, retreat, and release”.

[thesith]

— Holove

bad batch x gn!reader (platonic), implied crosshair x reader

this is a one shot (1k)

warnings: 18+ for insinuations, cursing

notes: thought this idea was funny! i tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible, let me know if there are any slip ups! this hasn’t been edited or proofread.

summary: you, echo, hunter, wrecker, and tech play smash or pass with your newly made holove (tinder) account.

“Give me your holopad,” Hunter asked you, “there’s a game I want to download.”

You gave him a look, “You have your own, Hunter. Download it on yours.” You pulled your device close to your chest to assure he doesn’t get it.

So of course he tackled you and won, typing in your password to access the holostore. You gave up and opted to watch whatever the hell he’s doing from over his shoulder. When you watched him type ‘Holove’ into the search bar, you attempted to snatch your holopad back.

“Hunter what the fuck? That’s a dating app, not a game.”

His reaction time was fast, pulling the holopad above both of your heads as it downloaded. “It’s called Holove roulette. It’s like Smash or Pass that we can all play!”

“Then why does it have to be on my holopad!” You huffed and crossed your arms, knowing that there was nothing you could do. “Why don’t you use your own? Or Wrecker’s?”

“Our faces are too well-known - you’re anonymous on missions! We’re also… you know… clones,” he attempted to explain, “also it would be fun to know who thinks our teammate is gorgeous, other than us.”

You didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult, but you didn’t care. The game sounded fun enough to play, even if it was just a game. “Fine, at least let me help make my own profile.”

The images you chose consisted of a couple selfies from your bunk, a portrait from Pabu, and an image with a cute animal you saw on one of the many planets you’d visited with the crew. You made sure none of your images had their armor nor faces in them and turned the holopad for Hunter to see.

His eyes widened, “Smash or Pass: Hunter.”

You laughed before getting to work on the remainder of your bio. “What the fuck does A/S/L mean?”

“Let me see.” Hunter asked, to which you handed him the holopad, “Aurebesh Sign Language? I don’t know…”

Tech walked into the room at the perfect time, “Aurebesh is an alphabet, not a language. If I’m correct, which I am seldom not, A/S/L means age, sex, location. Did you coerce them, Hunter?”

”You’re in on this?” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Next you’re gonna say Wrecker and Echo are too.”

“You betcha!” Wrecker hollered from the pilot’s seat, accompanied by “it sounds like fun” from Echo. You expected the latter to be on your side, but you were proven wrong.

“What do I even put for location? We’re everywhere…”

Tech glanced at the holopad, “I do not think it’s wise to say Ordd Mantell, even if most of our time is spent there. Perhaps a sector? Ordd Mantell lies on a cross-section of three sectors, Bright Jewel, Qiilura, and Dohu along three separate hyperspace trade routes, Celanon Spur, Burke’s Trailing, and Entralla.”

“Bright Jewel sounds pretty. What’s in that sector?” You asked, hoping you could say a planet from there.

“Ordd Mantell serves as the sector capital, but Aleen, Numidian Prime, Anobis, and Jarnollen, to name a few.”

“Hunter, write down Numidian Prime. That’s a planet I’ve actually heard of.”

Tech fixed the goggles on his face, “your potential suitors will conclude that you’re a bounty hunter if you say that.” He paused to inspect your seemingly content face, “To each their own, I suppose.”

“Now, any ideas for the bio?”

“In my research, I’ve concluded most dating application profiles include things the person enjoys. A very common one is ‘I enjoy long walks on the beach’.” Tech expertly replied, giving you all the right ideas.

“I like shooting things! And running from the Empire!” You gleefully replied, earning yourself looks of disappointment from Hunter and Tech.

“Well, that fits the profile of a Numidian Prime inhabitant.”

Hunter sighed, “maybe we don’t say that. What about flying? You like flying, right?”

That made you audibly laugh, “you two never let me fly the Marauder!”

His reply came quickly, “Hey, it’s a better idea than ‘I like shooting things’!”

Tech thought for a moment, “How about travelling? I recall that you immensely enjoy our times on different planets, even if we are being targeted with less than optimal intentions the majority of the time.”

“That’ll work!” You were getting increasingly more interested in creating your profile, as were your crewmates. Maybe this would be more fun than you thought.

“What gender?”

You leaned over his shoulder to check ‘all’ before leaning back, “also, increase the range to the furthest it will go. More options that way.”

Soon after that, your profile was finally completed. Omega was long asleep, so you joined Hunter, Echo, Tech, and Wrecker in the cockpit to finally play.

You set the holopad on the ground between the five of you so everybody could see the screen. “Okay, ready?”

The first few were straight passes from everybody - you were not into Gungans nor droids.

“Holy shit, is that Fennec Shand?”

The boys laughed as Tech inspected it closer - it absolutely was her.

“Pass.” “Smash.” “Pass.” “Pass.” “Smash.”

“Are we just gonna forget that she tried to take Omega from us? Also tried to kill us? Multiple times?”

Wrecker tried to explain his reasoning as to why he said smash, “She was hired to do that! I like a woman who can handle a weapon.”

“This game is based on looks - we would’ve all said smash if we didn’t know her. Stop shaking your head, Hunter.”

A few more rounds went by before a familiar face popped on the screen, earning gasps from everybody. Hunter grabbed the holopad with a white-knuckle grip, swiping through his brother’s posted images.

“Is that who I think it is?” You asked, the wide-eyed looks from those who surrounded you telling you everything you needed to know. “Holy shit, Crosshair is on Hololove?” You managed to snatch the pad from the Sergeant, looking at Cross’ profile. “Oh, so he can say that he likes to shoot things but I can’t?”

The brothers remained silent, not knowing what to do with this newfound information. You did, though.

You swiped right, “Smash.”

A ding came from your holopad - ‘It’s a match!’

fin.

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[itsabouttimex2]

Platonic yandere monkey family finding out y/n is dating redson

Monkiefam reacts to dating Red Son

(Alternate Scenario)

MK will no doubt be the calmest about this situation... depending on the season. In the start, he’ll be incredibly upset (even somewhat betrayed) about you dating his very dangerous rival. Let’s not forget that Red Son was once very willing to harm innocent people in his quest to take over the world/please his father.

Once Early!MK learns about your relationship with Red Son he’s genuinely worried for you, thinking you might have been coerced into the relationship in some way. This fear sets him on the war path, racing off to the Demon Bull King’s fortress. He’ll unhesitatingly smash through hordes of Bull Clones, ripping apart the metal of the drones like wet tissue paper. Each machine-shattering swing of the Ruyi Jingu Bang brings him a step closer to you, a step closer to the dining hall that serves as the center room of the armored fortress.

Where he finds you and Red Son sitting across from one another, happily sharing a meal together.

His heart is struck with anger and relief in unison, his diametric emotions spread between the both of you. He’s furious at Red Son, for daring to try and court his precious sibling, but also eased by the fact that you’re clearly unharmed and here by your own will and volition. By nature of being someone very precious to him, you garner far less anger from MK than his rival does, but he’s still upset. His voice takes on a gruff edge as he angrily scolds you, sounding much like Pigsy does when the chef flips his lid.

“You came here?! Without telling me?! To go on a date with my rival?!”

Any protests, excuse, or explanations from you are summarily dismissed as he grabs you by the wrist, swinging his golden staff against the ground. Bits of tech and clutter from around the house gather together, forming a small mech with the both of you in the cockpit. Red Son can only stare in shock as MK’s brand new mech stomps out of the fortress, each angry step shaking the ground.

The ride home is tempestuous, his emotions flaring as he pilots the gold and red mech, biting his tongue to keep himself from yelling at you. He’s angry, sure, but he still loves you. MK doesn’t want to drive you away or hurt your feelings, after all. He just wants to keep you safe.

Even if it means cutting you off from your ‘boyfriend’. He’s only doing it for your own good, of course.

Sun Wukong has seen people make a lot of bad decisions in his time. Even as knowledge and resources grow wider spread and more readily available, people stay foolish, small-minded, reckless. Sometimes by circumstance. Sometimes by choice. And one of the greatest motivators for foolish decisions, staying consistent through the centuries-

is love.

Love, whether fleeting and passionate or slow and drudging, changes people. It inspires them to perform grand gestures, to better themselves, to grow and learn. Love makes people into artists, writers, sculptors, all so that they can share with the world with the white-hot beat of their hearts.

And then, equal and opposite, it drives them to violence and bloodshed. Blood-red hands born of green-eyed envy driven to take up sharp knives and heavy cudgels. It breeds wicked plots and gruesome schemes, tricking people into throwing their lives away for a fleeting flame that’s destined to burn out.

Love is beautiful and dangerous in equal amounts, something to be both cherished and feared.

Sun Wukong has seen both outcomes. He’s personally dealt with tragedies born of love, many times over. Not every coupling ends with marriage and children, a ring and a promise.

His own sworn brother, Zhu Baije, was cast out of heaven for attempting to seduce Guanyin, being reborn as a pig demon. Then, he never returned to the maiden in Gao village that he fell for, instead spending his life as a cleanser of altar leftovers.

Kui Mulang was separated from his lover for his crimes, and forced to become a furnace keeper. Tang Sanzang refused to marry the queen of the Women’s Kingdom, and then rejected the scorpion demon that stole him away.

He doesn’t tell you all of that, of course. He nudges you with an elbow and gives you a cheeky grin, saying that: “It doesn’t always end well, bud. Trust me, I’ve seen more than a few things in my time that would have you running for a cloister.”

He doesn’t warn you off of love entirely, or threaten you to not start dating. In fact, he’s not entirely opposed to the idea of you having a significant other. He’s a pretty easy-going guy, even when he’s staring down his enemies or cracking skulls open.

In fact, depending on who you go after, he might be entirely supportive of you!

Red Son is not a decision he will abide by, unfortunately. There’s just too many flaws to count, in Wukong’s opinion. Short-tempered, egotistical, elitist, violent, power-hungry… nothing that qualifies him to be your partner, honestly.

So the Great Sage goes about trying to casually split the two of you up, whether it’s finding his way “by coincidence” into your dates, or crashing any meetings you and the demon have. What can he say? He gets around a lot more these days, doesn’t he? It’s not strange to meet up in popular places around Megapolis.

Even though he continues to show up wherever you and Red Son meet, no matter how “off the beaten path” or “hole in the wall” it may be. He’ll never justify himself or explain why he’s there. But he will grab a table and join the two of you.

He might not be outright sabotaging the relationship, but he sure makes it hard to maintain and grow. He won’t candidly ruin it, but he keeps pushing and pushing, slowly fraying your nerves. It’s a trap, where he’s trying to push you into snapping at him. And if you do fall for it?

It does get worse.

Try to lash out at him, or demand that he go away. Yell at him, or push him away. Try it, and he’ll throw you over his shoulder and hop onto his flying cloud, racing you back to Flower Fruit Mountain. From there, he’ll forbid you from being with Red Son again, grounding you for the outburst he intentionally provoked.

Watching you grow upset with his decree, Wukong will wipe away the tears gathering up in your eyes, and pull you into a hug to comfort you. He doesn’t want you upset. He just wants you to himself.

“It’s alright, bud. Don’t worry about that fire guy. He’s pretty awful, honestly. Let’s sit down and watch something fun to take your mind off him, alright?”

And; for now at least, he’s got you.

No. Absolutely not. Macaque refuses to allow it. He doesn’t want to see you with anybody, but least of all a “hot-headed demon with daddy issues,” as he puts it. Where Wukong will show restraint by never outright ruining your dates and outings together, Macaque crosses that line unhesitatingly. Once he learns that you’re openly and happily dating a dangerous demon, he sets out to find you and rectify this little issue.

He stalks out to the park that you and Red Son are walking through, quietly following along as his glare burns into the demon’s back. His fury reaches a boiling point when the two of you settle onto a bench, Red Son’s hand slowly reaching out to yours.

He furiously stomps through the park, coming up behind the both of you. The shadows writhe and roil with each step he takes, coming alive to lash at the ground around them with ice-cold tendrils.

He summons up his shadow staff and swings it down, smashing the middle of the bench you and your boyfriend are sitting on to announce his presence, cleaving the metal cleanly and easily. You and Red Son both scramble to your feet, shocked and more than a little scared.

You specifically.

If there’s anything that gives him reason to pause, anything that stops him in his tracks, it’s the look of outright fear in your eyes. He takes a moment to catch his breath, dispelling his staff and quieting the rioting shadows. He’s still angry, sure. But he doesn’t want you to be afraid of him. So, even though he’s seething with fury, he stops short of actually harming Red Son, instead settling for dragging you away by your ear as you argue and protest his rough hold on you.

Macaque pulls you over to a shadow portal, still gripping your quickly-reddening ear between his thumb and pointer finger, pushing you in before him. He whips around to shoot Red Som a death glare, then turns back and jumps in after you.

You both pop out inside your shared house, Macaque’s foot tapping impatiently as he folds his arms, staring at you disapprovingly. You rub at your sore ear, glaring right back.

“No dating. I already told you this. One, you’re too young. Two, anyone could be an opponent in disguise. Three, he’s dangerous. Seriously, bad call. I thought you were smarter than this, kid.”

He goes silent when he sees the tears beading up in the corners of your eyes, maybe from pain, maybe from his lecture. He did just technically call you stupid. Macaque sighs, and pats your head.

“Look, just… go lay down. See if you can’t get some shut-eye, alright? I’ll check up on you when it’s time to eat.”

He sends you off to your room, spinning you around and nudging you off, sighing as you go. His powerful ears make it impossible to ignore your quiet sniffles and the sound of tears hitting the hardwood floors.

He’s not the bad guy here, he reminds himself. The bad guy is whoever’s trying to corrupt you or steal you away from him. Them, not him.

Never him.

[sailorkamino]

fights and hugs (crosshair's pov)

wildflower masterlist

relationship: twi'lek!jedi!reader x crosshair [gn, can be platonic or romantic]

summary: everyone thinks you're perfect but crosshair knows the truth - you're annoying, manipulative, and stupidly optimistic. so why does he get so protective when a creep harasses you?

word count: 1.8k

warnings: cross thinks kindness = emotional manipulation, jealousy, sexualization/verbal harassment, slavery, creep gets punched, protective cross, clones not having rights/unfair justice system, separation anxiety, soft cross, he's like a feral cat that secretly wants to be a house cat

ryl translations: chi'kan- pervert, keela- darling

a/n: i think i wrote cross like wednesday addams lmao

Crosshair thinks you’re the most frustrating person he’s ever met. And he can’t even do anything about it. He might be a prickly bastard but he’s also a soldier and you’re his commanding officer. He can’t just pick a fight with you. Especially since you never take the fucking bait.

He gives you the bare minimum amount of respect required. He follows your orders on missions (they’re actually pretty smart but he’ll die before he admits that.) He calls you general or sir. He doesn’t outright insult you. But he certainly doesn’t worship you like his brothers.

They think you’re an angel. What makes you so special? You make Wrecker laugh obnoxiously loud. You encourage Tech’s messy collecting hobby. You play with Hunter's hair until he’s purring like a tooka. It’s pathetic. You’re probably using jedi mind tricks on them. The truth is you’re a manipulative little shit and if it didn’t make Crosshair so angry he might be impressed.

What he really hates is that satisfied look on your face when he does what you want. Like when he plays a stupid dancing game just to prove to you that he can do it better than Wrecker. Or smiling at him proudly when he doesn’t shoot a reg.

Then you have the audacity to compliment him? Disgusting. So why does he crave it? Why does he get annoyed when you praise his brothers instead of him.

One day you give him a piece of dark fabric. “You wear it to block out light when you sleep,” you explain with a bright smile. The cool material is like his blacks but softer. He can’t help but run his fingers along it. He mutters a thanks and quickly leaves.

That night he uses the sleep mask and to his horror likes it. Now he’s in debt to you. But he doesn’t have any credits. Fucking great. Why do you have to make his life so difficult?

Luckily he finds a gift for you within the next few days. After a mission he notices a rock that got caught in an explosion. It’s been cracked in half, exposing the crystalized insides. Jedi like crystals right? He grabs it and drops it in his pack.

Of course you make a big fuss when he awkwardly gives it to you. You almost hug him but don’t, thank the force. He doesn’t feel dissapointed at all. You show the rock to his brothers proudly. His face burns when they send him questioning looks. “Easily impressed,” he scoffs dismissively. Although secretly he’s proud of himself.

He’s having a sleepless night on some forgettable outer rim planet when you knock on his cabin door. He knows it’s you because his brothers would have barged in. “Hey Crosshair, wanna get some snacks? I’m paying,” you offer. You shake a satchel draped across your body, making the credits inside clank together.

He wonders if Hunter (who’s currently on watch) put you up to this, why else would you seek out his company? It's obvious you prefer his brothers anyways. Not that he cares. The thought of you being coerced into this makes his hackles rise, he doesn't need your pity, but then he imagines telling Wrecker’s that you got him nat born food tomorrow. That will be entertaining. He sharply agrees and puts on his boots.

He glances down at his GAR issued loungewear. He doesn’t know if they’re appropriate for a nat born store or wherever you’re taking him but you’re wearing sleep clothes too so good enough. You're swaddled in an oversized robe to be exact. How childish. Not at all endearing

As you exit the ship your eyes reflect in the dark just like his. That’s another annoyance. Enhanced eyesight used to be his thing. You began humming a tune under your breath. Crosshair almost says something but the sound isn’t too horrible so he lets you continue.

Within a few minutes you're at the store. He's instantly overwhelmed by the bright lights and endless options, who needs so many flavors of the same thing? He doesn’t know what any of this is but he doesn’t want to admit that so he begins recon. He grabs a crinkly bag that appears to be some kind of a cracker to inspect it.

That’s when Crosshair notices a stumbling man leering at you. He’s caught off guard by the sudden flash of protective anger he feels. Why is he so concerned? If you can handle yourself on a battlefield, you can handle one pathetic human. Your body language is the opposite of your usual demanor when talking to civilians. You’re usually very open and engaging, easily forming a connection with them. Not now.

Crosshair has seen you face hoards of battle droids with a smile. He’s seen you meditate while being shot at. He’s seen you make fun of General Grievous while fending off four sabers. But now you look shaken. Your colorful skin has paled, eyes wide in a mix of shock and horror. You suddenly look so young and so frightened.

He's beside you in a second. He tries to ignore the relief in your eyes, the way you subtly lean closer to him. It makes his chest feel odd.

“You their master?”

He sneers. Does he look like a jedi master? You go completely rigid beside him. That catches the clone off guard. You know how to keep a straight face. You’re not only a stupidly brave fighter, you’re a damn good negotiator. What could have possibly upset – then it hits him. This man was referring to a different kind of master.

You quickly recover, slipping into an emotionless jedi facade you rarely use. Crosshair’s jaw clenches so hard his toothpick snaps in half. He spits the broken pieces towards the man’s feet. “I belong to no one. The galaxy is much bigger than your prejudices,” you state evenly but there’s a fire in your eyes. “My friend and I are leaving now.”

Then the creep, who’s either stupud or plain suicidal, scoffs angrily. “You think you’re better than me? Tail head whore.”

The sniper sees fucking red. How dare this piece of shit demean his jedi? His self sacrificing, too nice, pain in the ass jedi. Only Crosshair is allowed to make your life difficult. The way the stranger judges you reminds him of every kaminoan that looked down on his brothers and his free hand is swinging.

The drunk is sent staggering to the ground, giving Crosshair a grim satisfaction. Before either man can recover your fingers wrap around the sniper's wrist to hold him in place as you bend down. “You want to go home and rethink your life choices," you instruct melodically, waving a hand in his face.

“I want to go home and rethink my life choices,” he repeats blankly.

You make quick work of charming the concerned worker, assuring that no police presence is necessary. Then you turn to Crosshair and in that fake calm voice he hates suggests he get a drink for his chips. For once in his life he follows instructions without complaint, watching you closely as you pay for your snacks. Your moves are less graceful and much more droid-like than usual.

Once you get outside you shakily sigh. He holds back an eyeroll. He’s lived with Hunter long enough to know when he’s going to get scolded. “You shouldn’t have done that, Crosshair. I was about to mind trick him.”

He stares at the ground with a tight jaw. He doesn’t know why he defended you when you didn't need it. He saw a creep harassing the only nat born who’s ever been kind to him and he just snapped. He’s still angry, honestly. Why aren’t you? “He deserved it.”

“Perhaps. But clones don’t have rights, you can’t just go around assaulting civilians. Even if it’s self defense you’re going to be painted as the aggressor.”

But Crosshair is only half listening. He's more focused on your unsteady hands. “You're shaking."

“Are you even listening to me? This is serious.”

He suddenly seizes your free wrist, mirroring your actions in the store. "So is this.”

You look like you want to argue for a moment then you slump in defeat. “I’m just… overwhelmed.”

Crosshair has experience with overwhelmed siblings. Hunter like space, Wrecker likes affection, Tech likes a listening ear. "What do you need?” He asks, surprisingly gentle.

This seems to be your boiling over point as you gesture wildly, swinging the bag in your hand. “I need sleep. I need to meditate. I need my master.” Your glowing eyes widen at your own outburst. The frustration morphs to sadness. “I guess I’m a little homesick. I thought spending time with you would be a good distraction but that chi’kan ruined it.”

This should be the point where he drops the subject. You already said what’s wrong and it’s not his responsibility to make you happy. But a voice that sounds suspiciously like Hunter points out that if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t leave him to suffer.

He thinks back to the cadet days, when it was just him and his brothers against the world. He remembers the overwhelming anger when a reg hurt one of them. He was never good at comforting, he was good at revenge. But he can’t fight your emotions. And he already punched the chi’kan (he’ll have to find out what that means later.)

There’s only one option left. Out of his brothers you remind him of Wrecker the most and Wrecker likes physical reassurance when he’s upset. He awkwardly opens his arms and bites the blaster bolt. “Do you want a hug?”

“... What?”

“I’m not saying it again.”

Then you’re flying against him. Crosshair almost falls into the grass as you smash your face into his neck, fists balling into his sleep shirt. You’re warm and solid and your touch isn’t completely revolting. He slowly relaxes as he winds a long arm around you.

Crosshair will never admit it but he can understand your separation anxiety. As the sniper it’s his job to watch his brother’s backs. The instinct to protect is so engraved in Crosshair he needs to be near his siblings or know where they are at all times. Maybe that’s why he defended you tonight. He’s starting to accept you as part of the squad.

“Blossom?” He mutters, thumb absently stroking your lower back.

“Yeah, Cross?”

“If you tell anyone about this I’ll shoot you.”

You snort against the crook of his neck. "Whatever you say, keela."

[arctrooper69]

Helpless

Hello friends! I'm gonna try to get through a good chuck of Febuwhump this year!

Prompt #1: Helpless @febuwhump

Warnings: Imperial!Tech. Mentions of needles and implied torture.

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It wasn't the fact that you couldn't move that frightened you the most. Neither was it the blinding lights of the laboratory, nor the frigid metal table that chilled your naked skin. It was the goggled clone who entered into the room behind Dr Hemlock.

"T-Tech?" The words were barely a whisper.

Dr Hemlock chuckled, "I'd like to introduce you to my new science officer. You will be under his care from here on out. I suggest you comply with his direction or things could become rather unpleasant and I don't think any of us want that."

Your heart pounded, chest tightening, threatening to choke you with every beat. You glared, the initial fear quickly succumbing to rage. "Kriff you! What did you do to him, you monster!?"

Hemlock seemed unaffected by the outburst, and simply pressed a small button.

A cry of pain wrenched itself from your lips, jaw snapping shut as a burst of electricity coursed through your body. It was over as soon as it had begun, leaving muscles to twitch as you gasped for breath.

He tutted, "Like I said, cooperate and things will go much easier for you."

He turned to the clone, "Report to me immediately if you find anything useful."

"Yes sir."

Hemlock nodded and briskly turned and walked out of the room.

"Oh Tech..." You sighed with shakey voice, unable to stop the tears running from the corners of your eyes. A mixture of horror and guilt settled deeply in your gut, threatening to poison every thought. "What did they do to you!?"

Tech was silent. He turned to a console across the room.

"Subject is alert and attempting to use emotional appeal to influence the decision making of the chief science officer." He spoke to himself, typing something into the console in front of him.

"Tech!" You shouted, tugging at the restraints,

"Answer me, dammit!"

He was silent for a moment. "Subject appears to be agitated and aggressive. Cooperation will need to be coerced if behavior continues."

"Please talk to me..." The anger seemed to melt, flooding you with a warm, heavy helplessness and heartbreak as he turned to you.

This was not your Tech. It couldn't be. That curious light behind his eyes now deadened into a steely emotionless logic.

"Please..." You pled quietly once again, "Don't you remember me?"

He pulled a metal tray beside him filled with various tools and instruments.

Gloved fingers palpated your inner arm drawing a silent gasp. For a brief fraction of a second your heart jumped at his touch - a body's hopeful instinct seeking that physical connection. Those hands had touched you before, but never so callously - never so cold.

"Relax, this will not harm you. I simply need to collect a few blood samples."

If you closed your eyes, maybe you could imagine that you were back on the Marauder. Maybe you could send yourself back to remember how Tech's fingers passionately caressed over your skin - anything to dull the cold precision of his current examining.

You jerked, pulling against the restraints that held you back. The needle didn't hurt as much as much as the look of indifference in his eyes.

"You used to love me, Tech. Don't you remember?"

He entered something into a datapad and looked up.

"This will go a lot easier if you cooperate."

You pulled against the able again, attempting in vain to rid yourself of this prison.

He regarded you cooly as he walked back to the tray beside the table. "I would advise against that."

"Please!" You pled, tears once again running down your temples, "Use that big extraordinary mind of yours to realize this is wrong!"

He was silent again. You tried to meet his eyes but he simply turned away, grabbing something off of the tray.

"Tech, please!" Your wrists were sore and raw, stinging and burning as the restraints bit at them once again, "I won't let you do this!"

He turned back to face you.

"I do not need your cooperation to gather these results. Fighting me will only make this more unpleasant for you. It is your choice."

He paused, allowing you to consider the options. Anger won over the sorrow.

"Kriff you."

He sighed, "Very well."

A barred restraint snapped across your shoulders and chest and another across your forehead. You felt them tighten - squeezing and pulling - until they allowed not even the smallest wiggle.

"Tech!" You gasped, "Please! You know me! Please don't do this!" Your voice cracked, "Please!"

"Relax, and I will be finished shortly."

"I love you, Tech. Whatever you do to me.... Just remember it isn't you."

A moment of hesitation. A fraction of a nanosecond. A tremor of a hand. One blink and it was gone. As you looked up at him, perhaps there was just a glimmer of sorrow - a single tear unshed and hidden far away. Hope that maybe with time, all could be saved.

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[badbatchsprincess]

Heated ~ pt.5

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5 ~ Pt.6 ~ Pt.7 ~ Pt.8 ~ Pt.9

Masterlist

Summary: This is an ABO Bad batch!Poly x Omega Reader smut with a plot. This takes place as an AU before order 66. Y/N previously served under the 501st before being transferred to Special Forces 99. This is her adventure with these rowdy Alphas in a quickly changing universe.

THIS IS AN ABO AU ABOUT THE BAD BATCH (NO CANON OMEGA!) Due to the unfortunate situation of her name being Omega… Omega the child from the canon series is not going to be apart of this fanfic/porn with a plot. I feel obligated to put this warning in because it makes my skin crawl thinking anyone could make that mistake. 

Warnings: Skinny dipping, Wolffe's massive D, some minor agression/violence, possessive behaviors, general Crosshair assholery, Hunter's an idiot

Bruh we finally gonna get through this slow burn I promise. Bear with me. Anyways...get intoit I guess

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

"Again… or Lula gets it." Crosshair aimed his pistol at the stuffed bunny sitting on top of one of the crates.

Both you and Wrecker screamed, demanding Lula’s immediate liberation, but he just fired a warning shot, barely missing her ear.

"Alright!" You screamed under duress. You turned back to Hunter, who was waiting for you to strike. "Kriffing dictator," you mumbled, making Hunter snort.

"Lock in, Pip," Hunter rasped. "One pin and you can go eat lunch."

You huffed, knowing this was going to be a challenge. The past week had been tough on all of you. You had been enlisted in joining the other medics in caring for the injured regs, which, after the first few days, you realized the campaign in liberating Kashyyyk from separatist and Trandoshan occupation was going to take much longer than anyone had anticipated. The problem seemed to be worse than the Jedi Council had thought.

The boys had become relentless in your training. The second you’d be off shift, they’d be lording your food overhead in exchange for a few hours of combat training. You complied, desperate for something to fill your belly. You noticed you were starting to get stronger, your body was getting a little more hardened, and you were starting to actually like it, though you’d never tell them that, or else they’d just keep you at it until you collapsed.

Your little training sessions even started to get the attention of the 104th boys. They’d gather in small groups, trying to watch you like a sporting event. You were confused at first, but Tech informed you they were staring because they’ve never seen an omega fight before. It was unnatural, to Crosshair's point.

But even the grumpy sniper came around; he realized being with them, a special forces group, put you in a uniquely vulnerable position compared to an average medic. (It definitely wasn’t because Hunter beat him over the head with the idea until he agreed.) That's when he started threatening Lula’s life to coerce you into playing their games.

"Get him, omega!" A couple of Wolf Pack boys barked from the trees. You were pretty sure they were the same clones you had treated that morning.

You glared at them and then dropped your fists, looking to Hunter with soft eyes, begging him to stop. He relaxed, recognizing you were uncomfortable, deciding to end your training early. The 104th boys groaned disappointed, making Hunter shrug. Even Crosshair sighed annoyingly, lowering his blaster.

When you were in close enough proximity to your unsuspecting Sergeant, you quickly snaked your boot out, just like he showed you, and flipped him to the ground. You saw a brief moment of surprise when he hit the moss-covered floor before his eyes focused in. Just when you were about to jump on top of him to make the pin, he rolled both of you and shoved you off.

You briefly heard the Wolf Pack cheering when you recovered and swung your leg out, taking him down to the ground again. This time you were ready and rolled into his side, grabbing his arm, wrenching it back. He curled in, wrapping his legs around your torso, trying to pry you off. Just when he nearly had you in a pin, you jabbed your two fingers into a nerve point in his thigh, making him yelp and release you. That gave you just enough time to slam your body on top of him and hold him for the pin.

"Damn," Wolffe crossed his arms, walking up to the two of you from the clearing, impressed with what he was seeing.

"Good job," Hunter stood up, helping you with him. "You’re getting better, Pip."

"Can I go eat now?" You asked pleadingly, hearing your stomach growl.

He just nodded and let you go. You smiled and ran off with Wrecker, starving for Echo’s cooking.

Wolffe stood there watching you disappear back into the Marauder with his good eye. "Why are you training her?"

Hunter crossed his arms. "She’s been in some tough situations. She doesn’t have the same protections she would have with the 501st when working with us."

Wolffe nodded. "I heard about the incident on Crait. General Plo is concerned with the implications."

Hunter nodded solemnly. It was still a bit of a sore topic if he was being honest. He prided himself on being a good Sergeant who cared deeply for his unit and tried his best to keep them safe even in the most dangerous scenarios.

"Have you heard anything else?" Wolffe asked.

Hunter just shook his head. "Nothing beyond what we experienced. Though I’m sure the council has it under control."

Wolffe just nodded and turned to look at the war camp in the distance. Campfires billowed in the distance while his men gathered, making their meals.

"So…" He noticed Hunter side-eye him. "She yours or what?"

Hunter narrowed his glare. "Commander?" He felt his heart rate increase and a possessive tightness in his chest.

"Did you mate her on Crait?" Wolffe pressed.

Hunter faced him square on.

"Y/N is her own person," Hunter corrected, trying to keep his calm despite his growing hatred for the scarred alpha in front of him. "Besides almost killing her, no, no one has laid a hand on her."

Wolffe just rolled his eyes. "You don’t have to pretend with me, Sergeant. No alpha can resist that."

Hunter bit his tongue, wanting nothing more than to punch that smug look off of Wolffe’s face. Hunter was all too aware of how you made the regs turn their heads when you graced them with your presence. He knew his men were guilty of it as well. Y/N was a perfect omega. Every alpha's scents seemed to spike in your presence; he was shocked you couldn’t smell it. They were all praying you’d give them a little attention or a gentle touch. It was driving him crazy.

"Relax," Wolffe looked at Hunter's flexing fists. "I won’t do anything to your little medic… unless she asks." His smile was devilish. Hunter watched the Commander return back to his men, who were getting rowdy in the field up ahead.

Hunter took a deep breath, trying to force his racing heartbeat to calm. Crosshair came prowling up behind him silently like a loth-cat. "What was that all about?"

Hunter grunted and looked at his brother. "He asked if she was my mate."

Crosshair put a new toothpick up to his lips. "He’s been after her since Coruscant." Crosshair���s tone was nonchalant. "He’ll lose interest eventually."

Hunter shook his head annoyed; he doubted that. He returned back to the Marauder with Crosshair for their lunch before Wrecker elected to eat their portions too.

Hunter was going to be keeping an eye on Wolffe from here on out… that was final.

It was about the fifth week into the battle of Kashyyyk when you noticed the change. The boys seemed to have altered their behavior around you drastically.

At first, it seemed harmless, just alphas being alphas. They’d walk at least five paces behind you everywhere, even when you’d be called into a shift in the triage tent. They’d wait outside, talking, until it was time for you to clock out and return back with them for more training.

Then it turned into something… different.

It first started with Crosshair when he had decided he wanted to teach you how to start shooting more long-range. He had arranged you how he liked on the ground around firepuncher. When he wasn’t happy with your grip, he knelt down next to you, keeping his hands on yours a little longer than usual. Then came your positioning. He suddenly decided he didn’t like that either, so he kneeled down, using his own knees to part your legs and push your left into a more bent position. You felt your face heat up as your ass pressed against his firm thighs. He acted like nothing was amiss, but you were struggling more than usual trying to hit the target in front of you.

Then there was Tech. He had asked for a bit of assistance when fiddling with some panels under the ship’s console. You laid down next to him, helping hold some wires while he soldered carefully, and instead of asking you to pass him the needle-nose pliers, he just reached over you, pressing you into the ground with his weight. You struggled to breathe calmly as his face nearly pressed into your neck while he reached for the tools. He had done this a few more times, making you absolutely squirm next to him.

Wrecker had been a little more needy the past few weeks, asking you to look at small cuts and bruises. You think it was just because you had always babied him a little more than the others, but now he was becoming insistent that you look at every single injury and giving you a pout if you denied him. You were suspecting he was causing these little injuries just to get your attention.

Lastly was Hunter. While he was a bit more discreet, he definitely didn’t miss an opportunity to brush up against you or place a hand on your back as he passed by. One particular night you had been bent over the bathroom sink rinsing toothpaste from your mouth when he suddenly needed to shimmy by you to grab his razor from the shower caddy. You had shot up, and he apologized with a tap to your hip before leaving with his things. You just stood there in shock, trying to figure out if you were just imagining things.

This morning, Tech accompanied you when you had to clock in for rotations at the medic’s tent. You gave him a little wave before disappearing through the canvas curtains. You walked up to the 104th medic in charge and handed him your charge card. He punched you into the system and let you go on your way.

"Hey Y/N!" Your new friend, Tanan, called out to you. He was an omega in the GAR civilian medic program too and he has been stationed with the 104th since the beginning of their campaign.

"Hi Tanan." You smiled, setting down your canteen and snack sack.

"Got a lot coming in today," he said, looking around at all of the regs lying in cots. He flipped back his blonde hair, trying to tie it behind his head to keep it out of his brown eyes.

"What happened?" You noticed all of their field bandages.

"Shrapnel," he replied, sanitizing his laser suture.

"Bomb?" You looked around at the charring on their armor, letting you know it was some kind of incendiary.

"Most likely," he said, handing you a pair of gloves. You grabbed a pair of sterile tweezers and walked up to the first trooper who was sitting on the edge of his cot.

"Hello, trooper," you smiled and softly approached him.

He looked at you with wide eyes. "Are you the medic?" he asked.

You nodded and knelt down next to him, setting your things next to him on the cot.

"Mhmm. I’m Y/N."

"I’m CT- 3678, but my vod call me Tack."

"Nice to meet you, Tack." You reached out, tilting his face to the side. There was a tattoo running along the side of his neck all the way under the collar of his blacks.

"What happened?" You asked, picking up the tweezers and starting to pluck little shards of metal out of his cheek.

"Clankers set off a big one," he said, looking up at you, "never seen something like that before."

"It was guerrilla Trandoshan made," a clone behind Tack chimed in.

You just scrunched your nose disapprovingly and concentrated on your work. The alpha in front of you relaxed the more you plucked from him. You were certain it was uncomfortable. A lot of shrapnel patients have been coming in the past few days, but today seemed to be the worst. The metal was strange, shimmering green, nothing like you’d ever seen before.

"I don’t recognize your clothes," Tack said, looking at your green pants, "Are you GAR?"

"Oh yeah," you smiled, "My uniform got messed up a few weeks ago after the first wave so I had to resort to the civvies." The white GAR uniform didn’t stand a chance out here on the front lines. Instead, you opted for your darks and your identifying badge.

"Ahh," he said, nodding.

"I’m not usually out of base for this long so I wasn’t really prepared."

"You’re not with the 104th?" He asked. He must be a shiny.

"No." You tilted his head back and forth, looking for any missed pieces, "I’m with the 99’s."

"The 99’s?" The other clone asked from over Tack’s shoulder, "The commandos?"

You nodded. "Alright, I think I got it all. Let me get some bacta, and you’ll be cleared." You grabbed an applicator and began dotting it over the cuts.

"Wait, are you the omega Commander’s always talking about?"

"What?" You looked at the other clone, giving Tack a tap on the shoulder, letting him stand.

"Yeah, he’s always going on about the omega running with the 99’s!" He smiled, "Told us about the attack on Crait."

You paled. In the background, a clone trooper screamed in pain, making you focus back on your work.

"What’s your name?" You asked, moving on to him, grabbing your scanner.

"Grim."

"I’m Y/N, and yeah, I guess I’m that omega." You shook your head and started scanning the clone. You noticed the way he clutched his arm, and your scans confirmed it was dislocated.

"Sweet." He looked at you with playful eyes. You raised a brow at him, "You got something to say, trooper?"

He smiled, "Commander said you were pretty…"

You took his arm and looked him in the eyes before aggressively resetting the limb. He let out a pained gasp, not expecting you to do that so suddenly and mercilessly.

"He was right." He gritted out, clutching the arm.

"What’s your position?" You asked, walking over to the supply bin to get a fresh sling. You ripped open the plastic baggie and walked back over to him.

"Sniper," he groused, starting to feel the dull pain in his shoulder.

You laughed, "Oh, you’d like one of my alphas then…"

He quirked a brow, "One of?”

You felt your cheeks redden. "Sorry, they're pack. I meant, we have an enhanced sniper. His name is Crosshair. He hates everyone though... except firepuncher."

Grim chuckled. "Oh yes, my little lady is my favorite girl as well." He gestured to the rifle leaned up against his cot. You just smiled and sent him on his way.

What is it with snipers and their guns?

The day continued like this. Tech only came to bother you when Echo had lunch ready, but by the time the sun was setting, you were exhausted and covered in blood and various gross fluids. With a sigh, you cracked your back and stretched your arms, eager to eat some chow and get to bed, but first, you wanted to wash up.

The Marauder’s water supply had been recycled too many times to be considered usable, so your squad had resorted to hiking down to the river to wash up and do laundry. You had begged Tech to fly the Marauder closer to the lake to drain the reserves and refill with fresh water, but he didn’t want to waste any fuel before they could return to Coruscant. You pouted but knew he was right in the end.

"Ready?" Crosshair asked, meeting you outside the medic center.

You just nodded and followed after him as he walked you through the camp. You passed groups of men you’d "kind of" come to know over the past few weeks, along with Wookiee leaders and warriors. Once you passed through the camp, the hike back to the Marauder was mostly in the dark. All you could see was the campfire in the distance, with Echo tending to whatever meat Wrecker and Hunter had tracked down that day.

"I’m going to wash up first." You gestured to your ruined outfit. He just nodded and detoured to the fire while you rifled through your things, looking for the soap packets and a fresh pair of clothes.

"I’ll be back!" You called out to the boys before starting your trek through the darkening woods. Passing all the familiar trail markers, you could hear the river rushing up ahead. You grabbed your little solar lantern and flicked it on, setting it down on your favorite rock. Looking around to make sure the coast was clear, you began stripping down to nothing, throwing your dirty clothes in the wash basket you had woven with Tech’s instruction on the second week on Kashyyyk.

You took a deep breath before toeing into the freezing cold water. You let out a little squeal as you sank in, fully submerging yourself in the lazy water. This was the moment where you always began to miss the heated showers on the Marauder. The water was chilling, it made your muscles start to lock up if you took too long.

Moving quickly, you reached up to the rock, grabbing a packet of hair wash and tearing open the brown paper, pouring the contents into your hand. You rubbed your hands together, causing the powder to rehydrate, and then you lathered it everywhere. Scrubbing your scalp aggressively, you were determined to get every little bit of sweat and blood out of your locks. Once satisfied, you sunk under the water, letting the current rinse out the suds.

When you resurfaced, you heard the telltale sound of someone approaching through the woods. You lowered yourself below the currents and silently huddled closer to the rock, feeling your heart start to race.

"Nah, Corporal said tomorrow we have a new mission objective—" One of the men said. You peeked around from your hiding spot to see a trooper chucking his shirt over his head and throwing it onto a rock, reaching down for his waistband.

You bit your lip and moved back around the rock, determined to finish up and get out without being seen. You reached up and turned off your lantern and grabbed your body detergent. You quickly got to work, taking your scrub brush to your nails, trying to get as much crusted blood out of them while the men bathed, unaware of your presence.

You heard them continue to talk about Corporal Comet as they stripped down and jumped into the water, yelling and making all types of noise.

It was time to scrub your dirtied clothes after giving them some time to soak. You reached around the rock, grabbing the loose weave basket and bringing it in front of you. In the process, you knocked over a round rock, hearing it plonk into the river.

"Hey! What was that?" One of the men said, and your heart jumped.

"Kriff," you whispered, throwing your unwashed clothes up onto the shore and crawled out, grabbing your towel. You quickly wrapped it around you and squatted down to finish your washing. You heard them coming and knew you had no other option but to just stay there and pretend like you didn’t hear them.

"Warthog, is that you?" You heard one of them yell.

"Tryna cop a peek?" They laughed from over the stones.

"You're a freak," one of them chastised.

You just tucked the towel a little tighter around yourself as one of them climbed around one rock, stopping in their tracks.

"Oh shit!" He immediately realized his mistake. "S-sorry…"

"What are you looking at, trooper?..."

Then you were met with one grey, scarred eye that made your throat instantly tighten up.

Up above, Wolffe and one of his troopers stared down at you in all their naked glory. You coughed and quickly shot your eyes upward, trying to avoid looking at their bodies. Clone standards apparently didn’t apply to the Commander. He was well-endowed, and you instantly felt your face redden at the realization.

Only the trooper had the humility to be self-conscious, covering himself and shrinking back down the rock and into the water. Meanwhile, the commander in front of you didn’t seem phased in the slightest; he carried himself with so much confidence standing there.

He let out a low whistle. "Sorry, mesh’la," he smirked. "Didn’t know you were over here."

"I’m just finishing up," you fidgeted, tightening your towel and praying for him to go back to his washing.

"No need to rush on our account," he flashed you a charming smile, showing off his white teeth as he folded his arms across his broad, muscular chest, puffing out slightly. He had a couple of scars littering his pecs along with a wolf tattoo on his ribs. He was clearly enjoying your mortification.

"I, uh... I…" You went to step back, but a loose rock wobbled under your bare foot, causing you to lose your balance. Wolffe reached forward to catch you, but when he grabbed your arm, you both went tumbling into the water. You screamed as you were totally submerged in the freezing water; all you heard was his disgruntled grunt before being swept under.

The undercurrents suddenly made it difficult to surface as you felt yourself being dragged downstream, ripping your towel from your body as you passed over bedrocks. You paddled weakly, but you weren’t a skilled swimmer, and the water was much stronger this far out.

You suddenly felt a warm arm wrap around your midsection, and the force of the water as Wolffe dragged you up to the surface, clutching you close to his front. You pawed wildly at the water, sputtering and coughing like a drowned tooka as he swam with the two of you.

"I got you," he said, finding his footing and lifting the two of you into the shallows again. "Relax!"

You went limp under his arm, letting him rescue the two of you. His broad hand wrapped securely around your rib cage, holding you firm against his large body as he trudged closer to shore. When he finally could keep the two of your heads above water, you tried wriggling free again, suddenly hyper-aware of your nakedness.

"Omega. Stop," he growled, trying to keep his grip. He leaned forward, grabbing onto a smooth rock and hauling you out of the path of the currents. You panted, trying to calm your racing heart. You weren’t sure if it was from the fear of drowning or the fact that Wolffe’s deliciously strong and warm naked body was pleasantly pressed against your back right now. You wanted to rub yourself further into him; your entire body was freezing except for the warmth radiating off of him, it was sinful.

"Wolffe," you cleared your throat, coughing up the last of the water.

He slowly let go of you, keeping you on the shallower side of the riverbank. You wrapped your arms around your chest, covering yourself before turning to face him. "Thanks," you sighed, shoving your soaked hair back out of your eyes and letting yourself catch your panicked breath.

"Any time, mesh’la," he said, fighting to catch his breath, letting his chest heave. "Your boys always keeping you out of trouble, huh?"

You laughed quietly, starting to shiver. "Pretty much."

"Come here," he said, offering you his hand. You hesitantly took it and let him pull you into him so he could warm you. Keeping one hand sturdy on the rock, he used the other to hold you close and warm your chilled skin. You shuddered, pressing further into his plush chest. His scent was delicious, spiced and salty. You couldn’t help but take a deep breath in, letting it dance along your scent receptors; your omega was thrilled.

"Can you swim?" he asked softly.

You shook your head. "I was born and raised on Coruscant. I’ve never swum before or even really seen so much water before." You remembered what Rex had told you about Tapoca City and how the entire civilization was surrounded by water. The clones probably had plenty of swimming experience.

"Cyra’ika, you gotta be more careful," he shook his head, rubbing your back soothingly.

"I know," you agreed. "I didn’t really anticipate this happening." You felt his rough hands rub slow circles into your back, and you sighed, finally starting to warm up again.

“I lost my towel,” you groaned, realizing you had absolutely nothing to dry yourself off with or keep you covered in any way.

“I’ll get you mine,” he said, standing up straight and looking over your shoulder. “Stay here.”

You nodded and sat down on the smooth rock, keeping your chest covered as he crawled out of the river and began walking back to where his men were.

“What the fuck?” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head. Echo’s going to eat this up, you already knew.

Wolffe returned quickly, sporting a pair of black briefs when he handed you his towel. You took it from him, keeping your back turned as you wrapped yourself in it. It smelled like him, warmed spice, and you fought back a little purr bubbling up in your chest.

“Here,” he handed you his hand again. “Let’s get you back.”

To your pack. You hesitated, making him furrow his brow. You took his hand, but you knew this was going to cause a ruckus. He helped pull you up the slippery rock as you used the other hand to hold his towel closed, trying to keep a shred of your dignity together.

You could already hear the lecture Hunter was going to give you. Spending time alone with the Commander, nonetheless naked. Ugh. You should have told Wolffe to let you drown. But the view as the Commander’s tight ass was certainly was making it worth it. His back was rippled with muscles along with his sturdy thighs. You wanted to lean forward and sink your teeth into him. You had to take a deep breath before things got out of control and he noticed arousal scenting from you.

When Wolffe finally got you back to where you had left your things, you quickly realized, in your fall, the splash had soaked your clothes too.

“Kriff,” you bent down, holding up your little sleep t-shirt. The grey fabric was soaked through along with your fresh panties and sleep pants.

Wolffe just snickered and turned his back, letting you change in peace. Well, at least he’s honorable, you thought to yourself when you brought the soggy shirt over your head. You slid your panties up, cringing at the coldness, and then finally the sleep pants.

“This is awful,” you mumbled, picking up your other things. Wolffe laughed and left to get changed too, yelling something to his unit about returning to camp. They hollered at him when he returned to find you standing there with your wet laundry and dirty clothes in hand.

He took the lantern and let you lead the way through the now-dark forest. When you started to smell whatever food Echo had doctored up, your stomach growled, desperate for a hot meal.

“You should go,” you turned to take the solar lantern in your hands.

“Why?” he smirked. “Afraid your pack won’t approve?”

“I know they won’t,” you jested. “They’re protective.”

He gave an amused huff. “Well, thanks for the thrill, omega,” he smiled, turning on his heel back towards the river, giving you a good view of that ass.

“My name is Y/N!” you called after him.

“I know,” he winked at you.

You bit your lip, watching him fully disappear into the darkness before you trudged the last trail back to the Marauder. Your head was spinning. You thanked the maker you had your suppressor implant; without it, you knew you’d be acting like a pathetic horny teenager. Being rescued by a hot, rugged alpha had to be top-tier omega fantasy material. You giggled, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. You bit your lip thinking about how solid he felt against your back and wondered how solid other parts of him were too…

When you rounded the corner of the Marauder, you found your pack carrying on with their little evening tasks.

“Y/N, you’re back,” Tech acknowledged you before squinting his eyes, scrutinizing your attire. “Why are you wet?”

You looked down, realizing how pathetic you looked. “I, uh… I fell into the currents and almost drowned,” Wrecker spun around, looking at you in shock.

“Are you okay?” he asked, standing up and putting his dinner bowl down. Hunter looked at you from his bowl too. You thought it was strange he didn’t immediately ask as well. He looked almost… angry?

“Yeah, I’m just cold,” you set your things down and wrung out your hair, shivering.

Crosshair suddenly appeared from the darkness of the direction of the 104th war camp. You didn’t even notice him walk up on you.

One second you were standing next to the fire, and the next you were being thrown up against the side of the Marauder with Crosshair's arm being shoved across your chest with a rough thud. You yelped when your back connected with the hard durasteel.

“Crosshair!” Wrecker yelled in shock. “What the fuck?”

You looked at him wildly, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. He gave you a nasty look. “I can smell him from their camp,” he snarled, pushing you a little harder with a deep, menacing growl.

You let out a pained whine as he pushed you harder against the ship. You desperately looked to Hunter to intervene, but he just sat there, fisting his spork.

Crosshair bared his teeth at you. “You fuck him, huh Y/N? That kriffing reg!”

Feeling yourself panic, your instincts took over, and you bared your neck to him in submission, praying it would appease him. “Alpha, please… it hurts.” Your voice was pathetic, but you’d never had any of your packmates ever corner you like this. It was terrifying.

He snapped down to you slightly, letting up on you just a little. The use of his designation seemed to soften him slightly.

Then in a flash, a blur of dark grey came from the left, and Crosshair was suddenly thrown from your chest. You collapsed down to your knees, clutching your damp chest, heaving. When you looked over to the right, you saw Wolffe and Crosshair throwing punches at one another in a flurry on the ground.

You let out a horrified scream that echoed throughout the forest, causing Hunter to wince.

“Get your fucking hands off of her,” Wolffe landed a particularly hard punch to Crosshair’s jaw. “She’s your pack!”

Crosshair returned his fist in kind to his solar plexus, making the Commander lunge forward and throw the sniper into the side of the ship just next to you. You cried out and ran towards Wrecker for safety while the two Alphas got into it. The big clone wrapped his arms around you protectively, keeping you out of the way of harm and swinging fists.

“Keep your fucking hands off her, reg!” Crosshair growled.

“What the hell is going on up here?” A few regs from the camp started making their way over, hearing the commotion. Hunter put his bowl down and walked over to the two fighting and grabbed Wolffe by the shirt, wrenching him up off of his brother.

You took a breath, thinking Hunter was going to break up the fight. Instead, you watched your Sergeant wind his fist back and throw a sharp punch to Wolffe’s cheek. It connected with a snap, and you were certain you saw blood.

Then it was madness. Wolffe’s men jumped into the fight, forcing Echo and Tech to run in as backup, their brothers. It was nothing but a whirlwind of fists and boots and raging alphas. The other regs and some Wookiees stood on the sides, yelling at the brawl.

“Stop, please!” You screamed and begged, feeling the tears slide down your cheeks. “Alpha, please!”

No one was listening. The fight only seemed to get more violent. You cried and turned back to Wrecker, refusing to watch the brutality. He just maneuvered you two out of the way and kept his hand on the back of your wet head, trying to console you, even though it was killing him he couldn’t leave to help his brothers.

“Alright, enough!” A booming voice shook the camp. Master Plo stood before the group, using a deep commanding voice and the force.

The fighting seized immediately. The regs froze in place, fists raised and bloody. Wolffe threw Crosshair off of him, and he walked over to you, raising your chin to make sure your alpha hadn’t hurt you ignoring Wrecker’s warning glare.

The general crossed his arms, looking at the absolute disaster his commander was directly involved in. Then he looked to you and extended an arm in your direction. “Are you alright, little Y/N? Are you hurt?” He used the same tone he had used with Ahsoka when they were together. Plo’s fatherly concern made you cry more.

You shook your head. “I’m alright, General,” the tears still poured down your face. Wrecker gave your back a little rub.

Plo nodded and looked back to the panting alphas.

“Back to your bunks,” he ordered, forcing all of the regs to leave, wiping the blood from their lips.

That left you with the general, Wrecker, and Wolffe.

Wolffe just looked at you, despite the blood dripping from his brow and chin. His eyes were searching for something.

“This ends now,” General Plo pointed down towards the ground with emphasis. “We have a war to focus on.”

“Yes, General,” they all replied, including your unit.

When Plo Koon turned on his heel and stalked back to camp, you felt Wolffe’s hand press up against your arm. “There’s always room for you with us,” he looked over his shoulder. “If you want.” He was giving you an out.

The alpha was making an official offer to adopt you into his pack. Your heart started beating fast the longer you gazed up into his eyes. It was a big offer. Clearly, Wolffe didn’t trust the others to play nice.

Crosshair had to put a hand on Hunter’s shoulder before the Sergeant started another fight. Seeing his hands on you was making him feral.

You just nodded and thanked him for saving you one last time before watching him follow his General through the dark grass. When you turned back to the others, your face turned into a snarl. You couldn’t even speak to them. You shoved Wrecker’s hands off of you and you marched up the stairs of the ship before locking yourself in your bunk.

~~~

You kept your back turned on Tech when he finally returned to the bunks. He was smart not to say anything, tasting your anger in the air. When you finally heard all of them settle in for the night and their grumbling hushed down, you got up to confirm your theory and stepped out into the galley. All of their doors were closed, and you walked down to Wrecker’s bunk, hitting the access panel to let the door slide open.

He lifted his head, staring at your form in the doorway.

“Pip?” he asked, squinting his eyes to see you in the dark. “What are you doing?”

“Can I stay with you?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Uh, yeah. Sure!” He tried his best to shimmy over to give you what little room he could on his comically small bunk.

You lifted the blanket and slid in next to him, letting out an angry huff. He didn’t ask because he already knew what was wrong. He just let you maneuver however you wanted before you settled into his side. He clutched Lula to his chest and let out a big yawn before quickly falling into a deep sleep. You only wished you could fall asleep as easily as Wrecker; the giant snoozed peacefully while you lay awake.

You breathed in his comforting scent and stared at his door, knowing Hunter was just across the hall, probably nursing his wounds. Good, you thought. He should be hurting for letting Crosshair do what he did.

You were seething.

He let Crosshair manhandle you like a fucking animal without even intervening. He just sat there, looking pissed behind his stupid bowl of rations. He probably had heard you and Wolffe and that's why he didn’t step in… stupid territorial fuck head alphas. 

Even Tech, sweet Tech, of all the brothers you thought would come to your aid… nope. He just sat there watching it unfold.

You’re giving Echo a hall pass because he was busy making the food and definitely didn’t have enough time to react before Wolffe stepped in. Plus, you knew you’d need someone to talk to.

You shivered, thinking about that murderous look in the commander’s eyes. He must have heard from the woods and came running to your aid. Twice in one night, the alpha came to your rescue.

Then he offered you a place in his pack… You rubbed your exhausted eyes, rolling over onto your back. Wrecker grumbled something in his sleep before reaching an arm over and wrapping it around your middle, snuggling you closer like you were Lula. You decided this was a problem for tomorrow, but right now you wanted to go to sleep. The day had finally caught up to you, and you felt yourself slipping.

You relaxed into Wrecker’s warmth and let sleep take you.

~~~

“It’s been a week,” Hunter grizzled, watching you leave for your morning shift. Echo was the only one you’d allow to accompany you on your little journeys into the growing war camp. Other than that, you haven’t even looked at your unit, letting them stew in your silence.

Tech shifted uncomfortably, “I believe she’s waiting for us to apologize.”

Crosshair grunted, “For what?”

“Well, you did force her to submit under your threatening behavior,” Tech looked to his little brother, “Most omegas don’t take too kindly to that.”

“What do you know about omegas?” Crosshair narrowed his eyes.

Tech just bristled and continued staring at the breakfast grains.

“She can’t keep this up much longer,” Hunter sighed.

“I hate it!” Wrecker sobbed, “You better say you're sorry!” Wrecker missed you. You hadn’t been talking to anyone, and that included him. He just watched you in silence when you came back to the ship to sleep and change your clothes. He tried so many times to bribe you into giving him attention, but you just smiled and nodded instead.

“She’s most likely going to take up Wolffe’s offer if either of you don’t say something,” Tech looked at Hunter, who just soured over his breakfast, “I’m seldomly wrong.”

“He can have her if she prefers those regs,” Crosshair snapped.

Wrecker just groaned and threw his head back dramatically.

“Fine,” Hunter stood up, “I’ll go and apologize. Hopefully, she’s willing to listen.”

“A little groveling may be beneficial,” Tech pushed his goggles up his nose, “and she usually enjoys being fed snacks. That may be a good bribe.”

Hunter brushed off his pants and began his walk into camp, “Thanks for the recommendation.” Hunter felt like ripping out his own nails might be more pleasurable than facing the brewing wrath of his tiny little medic.

Hunter was approaching the ridge when he heard a strange buzzing. Looking around, he didn’t see anything but instead grabbed his com, “Hey, does anyone else hear that?”

“Negative, Sarge,” Wrecker responded.

Hunter then looked to his left and noticed a formation of strange-looking LAAT/c ships approaching. They slowed on approach to the camp, and Hunter noticed that they were empty inside. Where were the infantry? He reached for his scopes to get a better look.

Then something unexpected happened. The gunships halted their advance, and Hunter noticed multiple battle droids appear inside the main cabins.

“Oh shit,” he started running towards the camp, “Battle droids on approach!” He yelled into the com, hoping anyone would hear him, “Commander Wolffe come in!”

Then the camp suddenly turned into madness. The battle droids pushed out red-looking torpedoes from the side openings, watching them plummet directly into the war camp below. With a massive explosion, plumes of crimson powder billowed over the entire camp like a fog. Hunter froze in place, staring in horror as the smoke began to spread rapidly among the 104th.

“Oh no,” Tech caught up to Hunter, coming to the same halt, “Is that-”

Hunter’s attention immediately went to the triage center, “Y/N…”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Dunndundun...

Next chapter gonna be a doozie... sryntsry the slow burn's turning into a wild fire next update.

Taglist: @substantial-exposure @rains-on-kamino @minimissmoo

[techwrecker]

The Bad Batch Headcanon

When Omega finally convinces coerces the gang into painting their nails, she will paint one finger a different color, but for each one its different according to their number.

Hunter: CT-9901, his thumb

Tech: CT-9902, his pointer finger (so when he says "Technically" and holds up his finger, he will think of Omega)

Wrecker: CT-9903, his middle finger

Crosshair: CT-9904, his ring finger

Echo: his pinky (even if he isn't officially a 99 clone, he's still a part of their family)

ib: @131-vr 's art !

[transsexual-homunculus]

Jurassic Park analysis post 1/??

was watching jurassic park the other day and was just really struck by how much this shot communicates, like.

okay, we have hammond in all pristine white, fancy clothes. opposite him, divided by the worktable that he funds, are sattler and grant, in practical work clothes covered in dust from the literal work on the ground that they were doing. and he is about to use his class position to coerce them into doing what he wants them to do.

his posture is upright and straight and places him in a somewhat superior position to them.

and the light coming in through the window directly onto hammond, illuminating him, giving him a look as if he's descended from on high (and in a way, he has dropped from the heavens to the ground, just. in a helicopter). and knowing from the film just how much spielberg saw himself in this magician who presents illusions for the entertainment of the masses, it is fascinating to me how reminiscent that window light is of a film projector, casting the image of the kindly old wizard hammond is projecting himself as. and so hammond is shown as above them — in space, in class relation, and in his method of arrival. and throughout the film we see hammond associated with this sort of deific imagery, both in how is is positioned compared to those around him, and how he describes himself.

Here, immediately after the brachiosaur reveal (which is a purposeful move to hook them on the park) he engages with the awe the paleontologists feel and positions himself as someone who has performed a miracle and about to cause a revelation. and here too, he puts himself into the superior position. and the first thing he does after this is take them to see a film about the "miracle" of cloning.

he projects himself as a benevolent master to all the little creatures. though we know from how he talks about these creatures that he doesn't care about them at all beyond what revenue they can get for him. they aren't even animals, they're products. living biological attractions.

backlit by another projector, he discusses the science and tech behind the park in terms of light, once more evoking the idea of revelation

in the scene where he argues with nedry, he purposely walks around to this ramp and puts himself into a superior position over nedry in order to talk down to him.

and during his flea circus conversation with ellie, he directly invokes deific language about himself. he is the creator, and this was all a mistake, and he can start it all over, bring a flood and just move on with the next iteration.

[aealzx]

Opening his eyes brought a scene of sterile grey walls and blistering white light that had Donnie squinting after the darkness they had been sucked into. After a few grimaced blinks he simultaneously realized his wrists and ankles were restrained, and Lil Mikey was missing. No matter, he could break these chains with a bit of mystic tech. The magic came easily to him, bringing him comfort in his tech always being with him despite the physically crafted devices having been stripped from him. But this time his effortless attempts were sliced away from him by a wave of nullifying energy that also drilled into his head with a stabbing wave. A light noise of irritation escaped a sneered nose as the energy within him flickered out along with the lights on his markings. Anti mystic tech. Great. They apparently knew who they were dealing with.

But who were they?

A question that was answered sooner than expected when a near invisible door slid to the side, a group of people behind it. “Well,” the woman at the front started. “I’m glad Agent Bishop’s records included a small note about the possibility of you four having gained mystic abilities. I have to admit I’m not completely familiar with the concepts, but I did coerce some help in crafting the proper precautions, just to be safe.” She spoke with an even, familiar tone that didn’t match the situation as far as Donnie was concerned. Her path took her towards him before she stopped and sat in a metal chair that was brought to her from behind. A good signifier to Donnie that she was the one in charge. After a moment of staring at him, earning nothing but a silent glare back, the woman adjusted her glasses and held her hand up, her assistant placing a tablet in her hand. “I have to say, you’ve really let yourself go. Losing nearly a third of your weight. You really ought to take better care of yourself, Donatello Splinterson.”

That caused Donnie to blink, questions rising in his mind that he could mostly start to form answers to. That wasn’t his second name. Mistaken identity? With a mutant turtle? Not likely. But with a yokai? He didn’t know of any yokai turtles by the name of Donatello. She had data about whoever she thought he was though, and he had nothing on her. “Then I presume you’re….?” he trailed off, giving her the chance to fill in the information he was lacking.

“That’s correct. Agent Jane Augustine. John Bishop’s successor, and the one you and your brothers have persisted to be an annoyance to,” Augustine supplied, adjusting her glasses again before rising to her feet once more. “I have to commend you for the setbacks you’ve given me. No one else has managed to break into government security as often as you-...”

Augustine’s speech broke off when she noticed something, her head twitching to get a different angle. She was silent for a moment, then voiced the subject of her derailed thoughts. “Your eyes are the wrong color.”

Oh. Well that was easy. Apparently this other Donatello didn’t have delectably golden eyes like him. “Maybe your sources are just colorblind,” Donnie sassed back.

“And you have an attitude…,” Augustine noted, eyes narrowing slightly. Donnie knew the signs of a brilliant mind churning through possibilities when he saw it. And sure enough a bud of excitement was starting to rise in her frame. “...Where are you from?”

“Earth,” Donnie answered automatically, giving the vaguest response as possible just to be a pain.

Augustine didn’t seem perturbed, instead gripping his chin for a moment. “Which Earth?” she asked.

Donnie realized what was going on the moment Augustine’s thoughts were confirmed by his raising brows. Drawing a breath to smother back her breakthrough, Augustine released him before turning to the others hanging back at the entrance of the room. “Get me a full blood, fluid, and tissue sample immediately. From this one, and the one that was with him. Documented currently under the name Michaelangelo-”

She started to direct her workers, but as soon as Donnie heard enough evidence they had Lil Mikey as well he snapped. “If you even scratch my brother I will blow up this entire establishment. With or without people in it.”

Augustine looked surprised to be interrupted, but politely let him finish before she laughed. “And how will you do that? You’re my ward now. And I have you in chains, and your mystic abilities effectively nullified.”

As her assistants moved to comply with her orders Augustine stepped back, a smile growing on her lips as she watched her new toy squirm and try to pull back from the prying hands. The restraint holding his left arm was transferred to a separate device that allowed them to keep it taught as they lowered it to where they could more easily access it. Donnie struggled fruitlessly against all of the chains, yanking until he could feel the metal biting into his hands and feet, especially when one of them circled wordlessly around behind him. It immediately made him feel isolated, and claustrophobic. His scarred shell was exposed to their invasive hands, the contact delicate but still earning a warning hiss from him. Another set of hands was reaching towards his face, and Donnie pulled back for just a moment before lurching forward without fully thinking.

The monotonous emptiness with which the assistant had been working shattered with shriek from the one Donnie currently had his teeth sank into. It didn’t matter that they had a surgical gown covering their forearm, it was already shredded through. Donnie was aiming for blood, and he got it. The other assistants scattered with various startled noises as Donnie’s victim punched him in the nose, as if they could get him to let go like some rabid dog. They drew their own blood from him, but he refused to release them, even as they yanked against him.

“Doctor, please,” Augustine spoke up calmly, raising her hand to still the commotion as soon as a fist had been used. “I prefer to have my wards physically unharmed as much as possible,” she chastised, striding forward and moving her raised hand to the side of Donnie’s jaw. “There are much more efficient ways to open a mouth…”

Donnie yelped as her finger wedged into his joint, pressing against a nerve and making him snap his jaw open and pull away from the source of the pain. As soon as they were free the assistant scurried back to the others and Augustine calmly withdrew her hand. She paused for a moment to let Donnie spit the blood from his mouth before reaching forward again to snatch his chin in her hand once more. Forcing him to look in her direction, Augustine gave him a slight smile. “Behave yourself, Donatello. I might be a forgiving woman, but many of my employees are not. Especially when you’ve damaged them as such,” she cautioned, reaching her free hand up to smudge away the blood dripping from his nose, but ignoring the lines running down his chin.

Donnie just gave a snarled hiss in response. “Try it again and we’ll see if they lose a finger or two next.”

The response earned a single syllable, mirthless chuckle from Augustine. Pausing for a moment, as if daring him to try biting her, she eventually released him again. Turning for the door, she casually grabbed a damp wipe from one of the carts that had been pulled in to clean her hands. “Evangeline, you’re excused to wash up. But please take samples from the wound for me if you will,” she directed on her path to the exit. “The rest of you finish up here, then meet me in the other rooms. Drop him to the floor if you must.”

Apparently the fear of being bitten was overridden by whatever hold Augustine had over them, for the assistants returned to their assigned task with just a bit more caution than before. At first Donnie thought he was going to be knocked unconscious, but instead the other restraint on his arm was moved like the other one. And this time, instead of just being stretched across a clothesline, mechanical arms with mildly padded poles at the ends curled out from the walls. A breath half left Donnie’s lungs as the poles collided with the back of his shoulders and legs, pushing him forward as the chains kept him taught, lowering him forward until he was pressed against the floor. It made the inside of his elbow harder to reach, but they didn’t seem to care, a clasp slipping over his hand to keep him from twisting his arm as they brought a needle towards it. Donnie snarled, and hissed, and forced his body against the abundance of fetters binding him in place to no avail. It was too much. The wrong kind of weight against his exposed skin. Cold, unforgiving pressure on his scarred back, squeezing air from his lungs. Sharp edges digging into his limbs while they stretched his muscles just barely below the point of damage. Drawing the largest breath he could manage, Donnie released his irritation in the form of a long, headache inducing bellow.

___________________

Previous Next

___________________

This scene was plaguing my brain all day today |D

If anyone is worried this is the most I'll get into in regards to violence against someone that can't fight back. I'm not planning on getting all that dark =u=b

[nahoney22]

Hi! I am such a big fan our your writing and every time I see you pop up on my dash I get so excited!! 🤍🤍

If you are looking for ideas, how do you think the batch would react to you trying to throw them a collective birthday party? I know they don’t really have a “birth”day but maybe they agree to celebrate on a specific date (maybe an important day for them)?

Birthday Surprise

All Bad Batch X GN!Reader

word count: 883 words

warnings: none, fluff. Platonic relationships.

authors note: so sorry for the wait, this is only short but I was drawing blanks and I’d rather post something than nothing at all. Hope this is okay ♥️

As rumors of a surprise spread among the members of the Bad Batch, excitement and curiosity filled the air. Each member pondered over what awaited them, their imaginations running wild. But as they stepped inside the Marauder, their jaws dropped in surprise.

The interior of the ship had been transformed into something neither of them could ever imagine. Vibrant balloons floated cheerfully, adorning every corner, while colorful banners draped the walls, displaying the message ‘happy birthday’. A massive birthday cake, meticulously crafted (that none of them would believe that you made if you told them) took center stage on the control panel in the cockpit, its sugary aroma tantalising the senses of certain clones.

Hunter couldn't hide his surprise as he glanced around. "What's all this?" he inquired slowly, his eyes locking onto your mischievous grin.

"Happy birthday!" you exclaimed, a twinkle in your eyes.

The confusion on Tech's face was evident as he analysed the unexpected scene. "To whom are we celebrating?" he inquired, searching for answers amidst the festive chaos.

"All of you!" you proclaimed, your response causing Tech's brows to furrow even deeper as he struggled to comprehend the unusual situation unfolding before him.

Wrecker, ever the cheerful and boisterous one, erupted with joy, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Do we even have a birthday?” He wasted no time in donning a party hat, playfully placing one on Omega's head as well. He even attempted to coerce Echo into joining the festivities, though Echo's patience dwindled with each failed attempt, swatting Wrecker's hands away until the pink hat finally sat on his head.

“Well, with thanks to Omega she told me that you guys were actually… made….?” You trail off, unsure if that was the right terminology to use but it was clear to them what you meant, “on this day!”

Hunter chuckled and with a playful kick, he sent a balloon soaring across the room. "Really?" he inquired, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You nodded, a broad smile spreading across your face. Extending your hand, you exchanged a high-five with Omega, who beamed at her brothers. "Absolutely," you confirmed, your voice brimming with genuine enthusiasm. "I thought it would be a fantastic idea for you guys to celebrate something special, together!"

"That is rather interesting information for me to log, actually. I was never aware that it was this particular date," Tech remarked, a faint smile gracing his lips as he pulled out his data pad to record the newfound knowledge. "Although this type of celebration is not necessary for the likes of us. We were made to be expendable, not to have celebrations."

"Oh, lighten up, Tech," Crosshair chimed in, his voice laced with playful sarcasm. He swiped a bit of frosting from the cake with his finger and licked it off, savoring the sweetness. "Say thank you."

"I believe you are yet to say that," Tech quipped, glancing at his brother over the top of his data pad. Crosshair smirked in response, then turned his gaze toward you.

"They already know I am," he acknowledged, gratitude shining in his eyes.

Tech looked at you and offered a small smile. "I apologize. This is great. Thank you."

"No worries, it's just a little something," you replied cheerfully, refusing to let their banter dampen the festive atmosphere. After all, with cake, games, and party hats involved, it was hard to feel anything but joy.

The day unfolded seamlessly, with the boys and Omega basking in the celebration. Laughter filled the air as they reminisced about past missions, sharing humorous anecdotes that never failed to bring a smile to their faces. At one point, you pulled Echo aside, quietly reminding him that although the day wasn't specifically tailored to him, it actually coincided with the time when he joined the others.

"This is really kind of you," Echo expressed, seated beside you amidst the lively music within the Marauder.

"You guys have done a lot for me! It's only fair that you get a treat, even if it's just once a year," you responded softly, observing everyone's enjoyment. Even Crosshair seemed to be reveling in the fun.

As the night neared its end, each of the boys approached you individually, surprising you with heartfelt gestures of appreciation. They expressed their gratitude with hugs, while Tech opted for a handshake, true to his analytical nature. Crosshair, unexpectedly, even gave you an awkward side hug before retreating to his bunk, a smudge of frosting lingering on the corner of his lips.

"This meant a lot to us. Thank you," Hunter conveyed, being the last to embrace you. As he rubbed gentle circles on your back, you could sense the sincerity behind his words. He had always believed that he and his brothers didn't deserve the recognition they received, but seeing them all calm and content for once on their "birthday" made it all worthwhile. The vibrant and bold colors of the celebration had momentarily overwhelmed his senses, but he chose to say nothing, not wanting to spoil the experience for the others or undermine your effort.

With hearts full of gratitude and newfound memories to treasure, the boys all settled down to sleep, their hopes eagerly fixed on the promise of next year's celebration, just around the corner.

Masterlist

Tags; @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 7 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @cwarssimp @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 7 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @imalovernotahater @crystal076 @blustalker @the-good-shittt @s1st3r @by-the-primes @the-bad-batch-baroness @nunanuggets

[mostlysignssomeportents]

No True Apple User (transcript of a Twitter exchange)

Benedict Evans: Different people prefer different trade-offs. The important thing is to understand that these are mostly trade-offs - and about one and a half billion people like the trade-offs that Apple makes

My reply:

Before Apple offered one-click opt-out from FB tracking in iOS, it could have been argued that Apple users like Facebook's "trade-off." After all, they all signed up for FB and kept using it. But once there was an opt-out for surveillance, >96% of Apple users took it (and FB lost $10B in the first year). 

FB offered a bargain, and Apple helped its users make a counteroffer. That's a common practice in tech, as old as the first third-party drive for an IBM 360.

This practice (“adversarial interoperability“), greatly benefited Apple in the past, e.g., when Apple reverse-engineered MS Office's file-formats for  iWork, reversing losses due to the poor compatibility between Win Offce and Mac Office.

MS would have argued that the legions of users defecting from MacOS for Windows in order to enjoy high-reliabliity interchange between Office docs preferred that trade-off - yes, users liked MacOS, but they liked reliable collaboration more.

iWork revealed this trade-off for the false choice it was: you could use MacOS and you could reliably exchange files with Windows users. 

In other words, you could bargain.

Trade-offs without bargaining don't reveal users' preferences (what they'd like in the best of all worlds). Rather, they tell us about users' tolerance. 

Users would tolerate Windows as a condition for reliable collaboration. They'd prefer MacOS and reliable collaboration.

iOS  users would tolerate Facebook spying on them via their iPhones, but they'd prefer to use Facebook on iOS without being spied upon.

Which explains why FB has gone to such enormous lengths to present take-it-or-leave offers to its users - it knows that the company's preferences are totally disconnected from its customers' preferences.

FB would prefer to spy on you with every hour that god sends, and make this surveillance a precondition for participating in the community, family life, civics, and commerce that lives inside its walled garden.

FB users would like to do all those things...and not be spied upon.

And because it is always technically possible to make tracker-blockers, ad-blockers, alternative clients, etc, the only way FB can win that  contest is to make it illegal for users to get their way.

For example, FB can entice, funnel or coerce its users into primarily interacting with its services via apps. Because apps are encrypted, they can't be lawfully reverse-engineered and altered without risking "anti circumvention" liability.

You can make an ad-blocker for the web because you don't need to bypass a technical protection measure to block web-ads. But do the same thing for apps and you risk a 5-year prison sentence and a $500k fine.

Apple is an enthusiastic proponent of this regime, because  it's the primary means by which the firm prevents third parties from offering rival app stores.

Apple's argument is that having a legal right to decide which software its customers can install allows it to act as its customers' proxy. If Apple can override the choices made by its users, it can prevent them from making bad choices.

Moreover, Apple can bargain with large firms whose take-it-or-leave-it offers would otherwise impose hardship on its users. An individual user who objects to FB spying is out of luck.

But Apple can say to FB, "We have blocked spying, and your only choice is to leave the app store altogether, or suck it up." In other words, Apple can give FB the same take-it-or-leave-it treatment that FB imposes on 3b users, which is a delicious irony.

Hearing FB squeal that Apple is exercising its market power - derived from the fact that billions of people can only be reached by subjecting oneself to the conditions of Apple's walled garden - to harm FB's interests is such a sweet bit of comeuppance.

But the sweetness has a bitter core, because Apple also spies on iOS users, even those who opt out of app-based surveillance, in exactly the same way that FB does, for exactly the same purpose (ad targeting) - and they deceive their users about it.

And, like FB, Apple devotes enormous lobbying efforts and legal resources to increase the legal risk of allowing users to express their preferences (as opposed to just their tolerance) for Apple's trade-offs.

If Apple users preferred to be shut out of  shopping around for app stores, or if they preferred to only get their devices repaired at official, Apple-sanctioned repair depots, or if they preferred to be blocked from using refurb parts, Apple wouldn't have to do anything. It could save millions of dollars in engineering and legal bills.

 But Apple behaves as if it believes its users strongly prefer to have more choice, even if they'll tolerate less choice.

Now, there's a "No true Apple user" rejoinder to this argument: "You knew when you bought an iPhone that it came shackled to Apple's commercial imperatives, which could be enforced through legal action by wielding the DMCA, patent, copyright, CFAA, tortious interference, etc. If you didn't like it, you could have bought an Android device, or no device at all.“ 

But that same argument can (and was) made by FB, to Apple: 

"Those users for whom you blocked our surveillance knew the deal: sign up for FB, get spied on. No one forces anyone to sign up for FB. You can use Mastodon. Or you can just use FB on the web only, and run tracker/ad blockers. They may have preferred surveillance-free socializing, but they tolerated the 'trade-off' of being spied on."

Apple has repeatedly demonstrated that it is an imperfect proxy for its customers' interests. And Apple behaves as if it believes that its users strongly prefer a different trade-off, and takes heroic measures to prevent anyone from doing unto Apple as Apple did unto MS and FB.

Firms are neither intrinsically good, nor are they intrinsically evil. They respond to incentives and constraints. The possibility that users might bargain back against a proposed trade-off makes those proposed trade-offs fairer, on average.

If a firm knows an obnoxious course of action will trigger users taking a step to block, reconfigure, or modify some or all of its products and service, it has to weigh those costs against the expected parochial distributional benefits from imposing bad trade-offs on its users.

Firms that aren't subject to discipline from user defection, modding, etc, are prone to folly - they arrogantly overreach. Users experience harms as a result, and it's only when those harms accumulate to the point where tolerance for the 'trade-off' runs out that the harm ceases.

Preferences are revealed by user conduct, sure - but the extent to which a preference can be revealed is limited by the extent to which it can be technologically expressed.

A world in which there are extensive legal restrictions on users expressing their preferences is a world in which successful trade-offs tell us little about users' preferences.

And a firm that goes to lengths to expand and invoke those legal restrictions tells on itself, revealing its own secret belief that it is imposing a trade-off on its users that the users would gladly jettison... if they could.

ETA: Evans replied:

Sending over two dozen tweets is not good faith engagement in a conversation - rather, this is what in other contexts is called a Gish Gallop.

Meanwhile, it's almost about FB and Windows. This is deflection and whataboutery. I made one very specific point about the trade-offs between security and flexibility on the iPhone. Those trade-offs are real - that is not debatable. The only debate is which to choose.

[Image ID: An Apple 'Privacy. That's iPhone.' ad. The three rear-facing camera lenses have been replaced by the staring, red eye of HAL9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey.]

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

[thesith]

Can I request a Hunter x fem!reader where the Batch are undercover a criminal party for a mission and he asks her for a dance and they tear up the dance floor with their moves and undeniable chemistry? (Can be spicy or SFW, your choice)

If you need music to set the mood for the party, I got you:

— Dancing with a Stranger

hunter x f!reader

this is a requested one shot (1k)

warnings: 18+, sexual topics & implication of sex, alcohol usage

notes: neither hunter or reader are drunk/intoxicated - neither have finished their first drinks.

summary: hunter sees reader from across the room while he (and tech) are undercover at a pirate party for intel.

A/N: thank you so much for the request, @kombatkid ! this is my first request for tbb & i hope i did it justice. also, i’ve wanted to write a fic like this for so long - thank you for giving me reason to xd <3

requests are open!

“Hunter,” Tech started, eyeing the girl across the room, “If you do not initiate a conversation with her, I will.”

Hunter looked at his brother, wide-eyed, “What has gotten into you, Tech?” When the mentioned didn’t offer an answer, Hunter continued, “We have a mission - best we stick to it.”

“What better way to gather intel than from the source?” Tech’s eyes wandered to the girl clad in a dark red dress, hugging her form in all the right places. “It is not a bad thing to ‘let go’ once in a while. I am sure Echo would agree with me if he were here.”

Hunter’s mind wandered to his brothers stuck on the Marauder, wishing he didn’t have one of the less attention grabbing appearances in the group - face tattoo and all. The tattoo did help him fit in with the pirates surrounding him, though. At the change of the song, Hunter was brought back to reality - back to you.

“Am I allowed to say no?” Hunter rhetorically asked, already knowing what Tech’s answer would be. Before his brother could even reply, a sigh left Hunter’s lips, “If you record this, you’re on cleaning duty.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Tech spoke, a mischievous glint in his eye. Once Hunter was far enough away from him, Tech started the recording for his brothers. Force, they were going to love this.

You leaned on a high table and observed the scene around you - loud music, dancing people, drinks. God, the drinks were incredible - they were the only reason you were there to begin with. Partying with people like you was definitely not your idea of fun, but people watching was. You took a sip of your drink, hardly having touched it. Your crew seemed to be having the time of their lives on the dance floor, leaving you by yourself. That was how all of these outings went - they coerce you that “it will be fun!” and “you’ll have a great time!”, but these parties have yet to live up to either expectation.

You were disturbed from your thoughts when a man with a half-skull tattooed on his face walked up to you - he looked to be having as much fun as you were. He stood beside you, holding a drink of his own and sipping from it. You’d be the first to admit he’s attractive - more attractive than anybody else in the crowded room. You turned to face him fully, placing your elbows on the table.

After a few moments of pounding music in the background, the man spoke.

“Do you wanna…” He awkwardly started, motioning with his head toward the pit of people, “with me?”

You thought for a moment. Anyone who’d asked before you declined immediately, yet this was tempting. You weren’t sure if it was the alluring presence of the man or if the liquor was hitting, but you ultimately decided to accept the invitation, taking the hand he offered.

The man led you to an open space between people before grabbing hold of your waist and giving you a look, asking if his hand placement was okay. You nodded, letting a smile grace your lips. A polite and handsome man? That’s a first at parties like these.

A familiar song came on, to which your eyes lit up - you love this song. You’d always wanted to dance to it at parties like these, but you’d never had a partner to. You felt yourself let go of whatever front you were putting up and allowed your hips to sway, the hands on your waist gripping you tighter.

You’d found yourself with your back turned to the stranger after the first verse, his hands now on your stomach. You bent over and brought your hands up your legs, leaving his hands to trail to your hips. Your ass brushed against his crotch, something almost bursting at the seams of his trousers. As you came back up, your back was flush against his chest and he breathed heavily in your ear, head slightly tilted downward.

The two of you continued the sensual dance to the song - two strangers in sync. The chemistry between you only strengthened with each song played, the last song ending with both of you out of breath and leaning against each other - your hands on the nape of his neck, tangled in his hair and his hands gripping your waist. Sweat was now dripping from your faces as you looked at the man you didn’t even know the name of - he was perfect.

For the first time, you didn’t want the night to end. Usually you were anticipating the time to leave - not this time. You were with the perfect man, who somehow single-handedly made the experience one of the best you’ve ever had.

“All of that and I didn’t even catch your name,” he whispered into your ear, the music finally having been turned off. You refused to move, as did he - you were both enjoying it too much.

“You know, everyone has to pass the dance test before earning that right,” You joked with him. You leaned back far enough to see the smile on his lips - along with the blush on his cheeks.

A laugh fell from his lips, “Surely I got a passing grade.”

“Just barely,” You offered your name with a smile, and learned his name - Hunter. “Well, Hunter. Thank you,” You combed your fingers through his hair, “I had a good time. Too bad it’s over.”

Hunter thought for a minute before boldly speaking, hoping he didn’t read the room wrong - “Who says it’s over?”

The next morning (after getting your comm channel), Hunter returned to his brothers on the Marauder. They all greeted him with knowing looks - looks that said ‘you got laid’ in not as many words.

“I am impressed by your ability to ‘connect’ with people,” Tech said, eyes trained on his datapad. “I would not be surprised if you returned with no information - thank the Force I was there too.”

“Didn’t know you could move like that, Hunter!” Wrecker laughed with a clap to Hunter’s upper-back, “Ya gotta teach me sometime!”

“Cleaning duty for the next month, Tech.” Hunter winced, knowing his brothers have all seen his less-than PG dancing with a stranger. He walked to the bunks, ready to get some much needed sleep before hearing someone’s muttering.

“Worth it.”

tags: @skellymom @burningfieldof-clover @dangraccoon

if you’d like to be tagged, fill out my taglist form through the word “agree” in my bio or at the bottom of my masterlist! <3

thank you for reading! check out my masterlist!

[bloobluebloo]

I found myself thinking back to that interview today because it had me thinking that Nintendo just doesn't seem to have the chops to write a compelling villain. They utilized Ganondorf in TotK because he is easily identifiable as a villain; in other words, the narrative did not have to do much work to prove his villainous nature. Ganondorf is evil, anyone who sees him knows he's the big LoZ villain, so they could just write him in as a bad guy with no justification at all to his actions apart from "Ganondorf bad" and everyone would buy it. It drives me insane because it feels like Nintendo themselves does not recognize, or fails to recognize, the sort of position they wrote Ganondorf into in their stories that allows him to be compelling and an interesting villain.

Then, the whole bit about Zelda going to the founding of Hyrule to see what a kingdom and a respected king are supposed to be like just sort of...doesn't make sense to me? How is what Rauru did any different than what her father did as king? How was Rhoam viewed as any less respected as a king of his time? Rhoam was working with what he knew at the time; that Shiekah technology was what would destroy the Calamity and so he put everything on the line, himself and his daughter included, in order to see it through. He was harsh with Zelda because he saw it as her duty, as the duty of Hyrule's monarchy, to protect Hyrule even at the cost of his relationship with his daughter and at the cost of her personhood. Rauru was kinder to her and showed interest in what she said, but did he really do *that* much better than Rhoam when it came to taking her word seriously, especially when it came to her misgivings around Ganondorf? At the end, both Rauru and Rhoam failed, leaving Zelda to hold back the Calamity so that Link could take care of it and leaving Rauru to seal Ganondorf until Link could take care of it. Both Rhoam and Rauru's miscalculations led to the death of many people. And finally, having Ganondorf being an absolute evil king in contrast to Rauru, the respected king. Again, TotK leans far too much into people simply recognizing that Ganondorf is the titular villain of LoZ. However, apart from the game's narrative constantly reminding us that Rauru is the good king and Ganondorf just loves to destroy things, I find very little proof in game that tells me that Ganondorf is this absolute evil king that stands in contrast to Rauru. The Gerudo followed him when he attacked Hyrule, and they did not seem like they were coerced in any way. Rauru called him a hero to his people, indicating that he had the respect of the Gerudo. Even as Demon King, I would argue that Ganondorf did something immediately that Rauru did not; he lent his power to his servants so that they could be powerful service to him. Rauru only lent his power to the allied tribes once he needed their assistance to push Ganondorf back. You want to tell me that Ganondorf is an absolute tyrant of a king? Show me then, because what I see so far from the story I've been presented is that he seems to be respected by the people he claims to rule over, the Gerudo at first and then the demons.

One more thing, and it's this: I find it incredibly funny that we keep learning lore through interviews that has like, a drop of evidence in the game itself. Is this normal? Is this how we're supposed to consume stories? If you didn't put it in the game it's clearly not important enough to mention. I could infer lore from TotK the same way these interviews are inferring to lore. For example, some people argued, when it came to learning about the Sheikah tech just disappearing from an interview, if it would have made that big of a difference if an npc in game had said it. My answer is yes? The characters in the game should mention it? This to me shows laziness in story writing; I mean why even include a story? I'll just tell you the whole story in an interview! Should suffice.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Year One

Part Two of Three Years

Proposal | Masterlist | Year Two

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only.

Length: 3.3K

Notes: ....Hi! It's part two: Nathan Bateman boogaloo

Warnings: Cursing; angst; enemies to enemies who fuck; tech-talk; angst (I know I said it before but really); Nathan being Nathan

Summary: You settle down in one of your usual places, connecting your laptop to the monitor there and settling in. There’s a low level of nerves churning in your stomach as you get started. As you open up your calendar, you find it packed with meetings—for Q4 budgets for both Marketing and IT; for budget allocations for the following year; for marketing strategy for the following year; for a proposed overhaul of JIRA ticket rankings and escalation practices; to find a content management system to transition all of your learning and training content over to— 

You slam your laptop shut, embarrassedly ignoring the looks that a few coworkers level you. You draw in a deep breath and push it out again as you rest your head in your hands. This is going to be hell.

You have an office. 

Whenever you’ve worked at Sc(ai)le before, you’ve worked among the engineers. The workspace has an open desk policy, so you’ve just taken any open seat you could find. But now you have…An office. 

It’s nearly the same size as Jenn’s, with fishtank-like glass walls and a large desk near the back windows. You look around, eyeing the empty desk and the empty shelves. It’s too much space. It’s too much money, it’s too much space, it’s too much mandated time—

You suck in a deep breath, tightening your grip on your bag strap. 

Maybe you can ease into this. 

You shut your office door, pointedly ignoring where your name and titles are etched into it before heading for one of the work areas further down the hall. 

Communication that you would be joining full-time as part of the C-suite had gone out both internally and externally two weeks ago. You haven’t been allowed the typical onboarding period that another in your situation may be permitted. You’ve had one foot in the company for a long time. You don’t need to be brought up to speed. You need to start patching the holes and righting the ship. 

You settle down in one of your usual places, connecting your laptop to the monitor there and settling in. There’s a low level of nerves churning in your stomach as you get started. As you open up your calendar, you find it packed with meetings—for Q4 budgets for both Marketing and IT; for budget allocations for the following year; for marketing strategy for the following year; for a proposed overhaul of JIRA ticket rankings and escalation practices; to find a content management system to transition all of your learning and training content over to— 

You slam your laptop shut, embarrassedly ignoring the looks that a few coworkers level you. You draw in a deep breath and push it out again as you rest your head in your hands. This is going to be hell.

Three years? Right now, you’re not sure you’ll even make it one day. 

-- 

“Hey! I need you in here,” Jenn waves you toward her from across the hall. You curl your hands around your laptop and nod, glancing around to make sure you’re not cutting anyone off as you join her. It's been almost a full week of being asked to hop on to a call or tugged into meetings that hadn't made their way onto your calendar yet.

“What’s up?” 

“Call with Nathan.”

You clench your jaw at the sound of his name. Nathan. Since when is he ‘Nathan’? Why isn’t he ‘Bateman’ or ‘That Asshole Who Coerced You Into a Job’? 

“You good?” Jenn asks as she rounds her desk. “How’s your day been? Sorry I didn’t put this on your calendar sooner, it just came up—Hey!” She reaches out, unmuting her phone without waiting for any of your answers. “You’ve got both of us!”

“Hey hey,” Nathan’s voice comes across the phone. “How’s the newest member of the C-Suite?”

Losing my mind, you think.

“I’m great,” You answer as nicely as you can. “What’s up?” 

“...I’m fine, thank you for asking,” Comes Bateman’s smart reply. You set your laptop down in a seat and brace your hands against the back of it, glaring down at the phone. Glancing over, you see Jenn waving you toward the phone encouragingly. 

“Glad to hear it,” You offer before reiterating, “What’s up?” 

“You guys been taking the media temperature on the C-Suite announcement?” 

“It’s been mixed,” You answer. “Tipping toward the negative.”

“So you have seen it.” 

“I’m CMO now, Bateman. It pays to pay attention.” It’s a fight to keep the irritation out of your voice. You can feel Jenn glancing between you and the phone. It’s another moment before Bateman speaks up: 

“I think you ought to lay low for a few months. We’ll keep your name out of the press until the joint summit in September.” 

“That sounds reasonable.” You mean it, too. You’re more than happy to just do your job and fly under the radar. 

“Good. I’ll loop back with my CMO about coverage as we get closer to the conference.” 

“Alright.” 

“I’ll give you, uh…Twenty minutes back. Thanks, ladies.” 

“Thanks, Nathan!” Jenn chimes as you blandly offer, “Have a good one.” 

Jenn reaches out, ending the call. You reach down to take up your laptop, going still as Jenn asks, “Are you alright?” 

You glance up to find her watching you closely. You shrug, drawing your laptop up to your chest. 

“Fine. Why?” 

“You wanna do dinner at mine Saturday? No work talk, just a catch up?” 

You smile genuinely, nodding. “Sounds good. Is it eligible to be expensed?” 

--  

Jenn’s apartment has upgraded since first opening Sc(ai)le. When she’d started the company, the two of you had shared a tiny, overpriced one bedroom apartment. She had the bedroom; you slept on a lumpy fold-out couch across from the minuscule kitchen. Looking back, the accommodation had been awful, but at the time, you’d just—managed. 

You had been working freelance; Jenn had been hocking the idea of Sc(ai)le to anyone that would listen while whittling away at her trust fund. Now, you each have your own spaces. Jenn’s apartment is just a few minutes away from the office; you’re about twenty minutes from the office by car. 

Jenn’s apartment is larger than yours, but is decorated so sparsely. You can’t blame her for that. It’s no wonder, considering how much time she spends at work. Her office space is cluttered—there are notes, books, mockups and proofs scattered on every surface. Your own apartment is a different matter. You've taken the time to make it feel homey, and lived in. It's a space that you're happy to return to, and do your best not to drag work into if you possibly can.

“Wine?” 

Jenn’s offer knocks you from your consideration. You nod, shoving your hands in your pockets as you drift deeper into Jenn’s kitchen. You wait patiently as she unpacks the takeout that you ordered, fiddling with the wine glass that she fills and passes to you across the kitchen counter. 

“How’s your first week been?” 

This time, she doesn’t chase the question with two more questions before cutting you off for the sake of Nathan Bateman’s stupid voice. 

“It’s been…Alright,” You offer, peering into your glass. “Somehow more and less action than I expected.” 

“How so?” 

“You know, just more like…Telling people what to do rather than…Doing the doing.” You wince at your clunky answer. 

“Everyone has growing pains. You remember how hands-on I was when we started.” 

“I mean, you kinda had to be. There were only five people.”

Jenn chuckles, nodding as the two of you settle at her kitchen island. 

“Yeah, but you were one of them.” Jenn raises her glass, clinking it lightly against yours. “I know this wasn’t your first plan, but I’m glad you agreed to come on.” 

You can’t bring yourself to return the sentiment, and you can’t bring yourself to lie to Jenn just now. So you just smile, and take a full gulp of wine as you turn toward your food. 

“...I know we said no work talk tonight,” Jenn hedges after a moment, “But I just wanna bring up one thing.” 

“Okay?” 

“You don’t seem to…” 

When Jenn trails off, you glance over at her. Her expression is pinched; she’s toying with an auburn curl with one hand and pushing her fork into her food with the other. 

“...Jenn?” 

“Mm?” 

“Don’t spare my feelings.” 

“Why don’t you like Nathan?” 

Because he’s an asshole. Because he twisted and bent your affection and loyalty to Jenn and what she’s built to get what he wanted. 

“I dunno,” You shrug, turning back to your food. “He just strikes me as a dick.” 

“I mean, I get that, and he kinda was—at first. But…You get used to it.” 

“You got used to it. Does it really matter if I like him?” You ask, picking at your food with your fork. “I’ve worked with plenty of people that I couldn’t stand. And I know you sure as shit have, too.”  

“Yeah, but this is different. We’re working really closely with Bateman, and we’re all at the top. We need to present a united front to the company. You get that, right?” 

You want to play dumb. You want to tell her, no, you don’t get it one bit, and Bateman can ram his impromptu meetings and his bullshit business terms up his pompous, freakishly round ass.

“I thought this was a no-work-chat dinner,” You grumble. 

“This isn’t even, like, completely work. We don’t see Nathan that much.” 

“Mmm, but we’re all at the top, right?” You remind her bitterly before shoving a forkful of food into your mouth. Jenn huffs moodily, looking down at her plate and stabbing her food. You wince as a prong of her fork scrapes roughly against the plate, emitting a screech that makes your jaw clench. You lean back on your seat a little, resting your chin on your hand. You didn't think the two of you would butt heads so soon—and not over this, of all things.

“For the sake of C-Suite harmony, I will try to be nicer to Nathan,” You offer. “But I’m formally requesting that you let me work at it without too much oversight. This whole thing has been nuts for me, J. I need time to adjust.”

Jenn’s quiet for a moment. You can hear her chew, chase it with a gulp of wine—and then her pinkie is poking into your field of vision as she says, “Deal.” 

You raise your pinkie, hooking it around hers and giving it a squeeze, nodding. “Deal.” 

--  

Deal or not, you are two minutes from slapping Nathan right across the face right in front of the entire tech community.

Things have gotten better. You’ve reached a point where you don’t flinch at the sight of Bateman’s name in your inbox. You can keep a moderately cordial tone with him on the phone. But all of those things have come with blessed, much-needed physical distance.

Now, in person, you’re not sure you can manage not to slap Nathan Bateman in the middle of the joint BlueBook and Sc(ai)le summit. You just keep your gaze focused on the back wall, your hands clasped in your lap, drawing in and pushing out steady breaths. Sitting between him and Jenn has made the last hour feel interminable. You’ve only been asked a couple of questions, and you’re more than fine with that—but you would take being asked a hundred questions if it meant that you didn't have to hear Bateman's long-winded, self-aggrandizing responses.

Now and again, you can feel him looking in your direction, but it’s entirely possible that he’s looking past you to Jen. You’re not willing to meet his eyes to find out. 

“Final question,” The moderator says, knocking their index cards against their thigh to straighten them out. “This partnership is almost a year old. Any regrets, from any of you?” 

Your fingers flex in your lap, your expression carefully placid and flat as you wait for the answers around you. 

“Not a one,” Jen answers without a thought before peering around you. “Nathan?” 

Pointing the question right to him makes the attendees laugh, and you can’t help but smile a touch, yourself.  

“Whoa, put on the spot,” Bateman chuckles, too. “Um…You know, I’ll be honest, I was a little rocky going into this partnership.” 

Oh, you’re definitely going to slap him— 

“I, uh…This is the first time I’ve thrown real funding and time into a company that isn’t BlueBook,” Nathan adds, “Into something that isn’t mine. It was a new experience, being so involved with something that I'm not in control of, but…” Bateman trails off, and you can feel his gaze directed toward you again. Surely it’s pointed at Jenn this time—though you’re still not willing to check. “The partnership is solid, the team is strong…the company’s pushing forward. No regrets here.” 

It’s a relief. You have to force yourself not to sink down in your seat, to scrub your hands over your face, to groan out the, Thank fuck, that’s building up behind your lips. You glance toward the moderator as they say your name, slapping on a smile as they wait for your answer. 

“Like Mr. Bateman, I was a little apprehensive going into this,” You offer, “But I think we’re all settling in, and I look forward to seeing this company and this partnership grow.” 

It’s a safe answer, one that you’ve been practicing since you got the approved list of questions for the panel. 

The moderator smiles, thanks you for your time, and disbands the panel to a round of applause as the three of you rise out of your seats. You’re just a couple of steps offstage before you  feel Bateman’s hand land on the middle of your back. You glance down toward it, then look around to find his other hand placed on Jen’s back. 

“Let’s grab a drink, decompress,” He suggests. 

“Absolutely!” Jen chirps, grinning. When you don’t answer right away, you feel the two of you turning to look at you. In another situation, you might be able to decline, to say that it’s been a long day, that you promised someone that you’d catch up with them. You'd managed to get out of it once before, when Bateman had first gotten you in this position. But this is the first time you’ve been around him since you agreed to join the C-Suite—and you know you’ll catch hell from Jen later if you pass on this invite again. So you force on a placid smile, nod, and offer, “A drink sounds great.”

--  

A drink sounds great.

That was what you had said.

A drink. One. Singular. 

Any hopes you’d had of pounding back some champagne and exchanging short pleasantries with Nathan before relaxing alone in your hotel room are quickly dropping away. You're three rounds in, and you can’t bring yourself to argue as you all pile into the back of Bateman’s Benz. You give the driver a shaky, apologetic smile as Bateman yells the name of a bar at him before Jenn tugs the door shut. 

You raise your hand to buckle yourself in, scrunching up against the door to shove the metal bit into the mechanism, and ignoring the way Bateman watches you with amused derision. You fumble in the dark, your fingers feeling thick with your growing buzz, but you finally manage to buckle in before slouching back against the seat and looking out of the window.

It’s a mistake. Watching Silicon Valley blur together is taking your slight tipsiness and tipping it in the direction of the spins. You close one eye and draw in a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You hone in on the music being piped through the car, and the sound of Jenn’s voice chattering on the other side of the car. It’s curious that Nathan is so silent beside you. It’s odder still that your tipsy brain is hooking into the cool scent of his cologne, and the press of his thigh against yours. Jeez, for a billionaire, you’d think he’d have a roomier backseat. 

You prop your head up on your hand, hesitantly peeking both eyes open as the car rolls to a stop at a red light. You lift your head, glancing around and trying to catch sight of anywhere familiar. You recognize a spot or two. You peer around to the other side of the car, squinting at the nearest store on that side. On your way to leaning back and refocusing out of the nearest window, your gaze catches on Nathan’s. 

It sends a shock through you, making your stomach flip, and nearly unseating every drink you’ve had so far. You turn to the window again, sinking down in your seat a touch as heat rushes to your face. 

 -- 

“C’mon!” Jenn chatters excitedly, grasping your hand and trying to pull you up out of the booth. “C’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon, we’re up next!” 

“Uhhh,” You let out a shaky laugh, shaking your head. “Nu-uh. This one’s all you, kid. Go flag down Nathan, he’ll join you.” 

“Ugh,” Jenn groans, “You’re both so boring—Oh, that’s me!” 

Both? 

You don’t have a chance to ask. You can’t help but smile, leaning back in the booth as Jenn scrambles toward the ramshackle stage at the front of the karaoke bar. The decor is dated, and sort of tacky. There are Halloween-themed fairy lights that look as if they’ve never been taken down; there are knickknacks all over the fucking place, with no visible theme or cohesion. The vinyl booths are a cool glitter-laden turquoise; the seats make flatulent-like sounds whenever anyone moves on them. You glance back as you see someone walking around the back of the booth before they slide in. 

“Here.” 

“Thanks,” You mutters, taking the drink from Nathan. You expect him to settle some ways away, but he presses as close as he did when you’d all been in the car. You clear your throat after you take a thick gulp. 

“So,” You tip your head toward Nathan, eyes still set carefully on Jenn. “How do you know about this place?” 

“You kidding? This was one of my favorite spots when I still lived around here.” A pause. Then, “I own it.” 

“What?” You ask, finally stunned enough to turn to look at him. He shrugs nonchalantly. 

“It was gonna close,” He excuses. “It’s a good time.” 

You blink a couple of times before you turn toward Jenn again. The music is still starting up; the words are populating on the screen behind and in front and in her periphery. You’re not sure what to make of this information. You actually think it’s…Kinda sweet. And then Nathan leans in, adding, 

“I have a thing for failing businesses with potential.”

You roll your eyes openly then, using the dimness of the room as cover and tipping your head away from him. You shift in your seat a little, subtly creating space between the two of you. You feel it again—Nathan turning to look at you. 

“You gonna fuckin’ pout now?” He leans in to ask it, speaking over Jenn’s opening drunken yells of Ke$ha’s TikTok. 

“I’m not pouting.” 

“You’re not smiling, either.” 

“Usually don’t have a reason to when you’re around.” 

It just slips out. You only just manage to stave off a wince, your fingers flexing around your drink. And Bateman, the incorrigible shithead, just chuckles. 

“You don't like me very much, do you?” He asks. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“You don’t have to.” It’s a moment before Nathan leans closer again, speaking into your ear. “I know I spend a lot of time with tech, but the reason I’m so goddamn successful, why my search engine works? I know how to read people.” 

“Congratulations.” 

“I thought you’d do a little more sucking up, you know?” He adds, “Considering how much my contribution has done to help your company.” 

“Jenn’s company.” 

“DON’T STOP, MAKE IT POP, DJ TURN THE SPEAKERS UP—”

Your gaze flickers to her as she jumps up and down in time to the beat, pumping up the energy of the otherwise lethargic bar crowd. Nathan’s focus seems to shift there, too, and he nods. 

“Certainly didn’t invest with her for singing ability,” He comments. You smile a little.

“No, you didn’t,” You agree, turning to look at him. “You invested because when she wants something, she throws her whole heart and fucking soul into it—” 

“Alright,” Bateman waves you off. “You don’t need to sell me when I’m already signing your checks.” He turns, giving you a knowing, shit-eating grin. You turn from him, stomach churning and bubbling with alcohol and annoyance. 

“...So what are we singing?” Bateman adds, nudging your arm with his. You scoff a laugh. 

“We are not singing.” 

“Not at all?” 

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell.” 

“Maybe next time.” 

You smile ruefully, shaking your head. 

“Probably not,” You offer, meeting his eye. “Time’s ticking, Bateman.” 

--  

You don’t have a physical calendar, so you don’t mark it outright, but when a company-wide message goes out from Jenn, congratulating and thanking you for rounding out your first year, you can’t help but grin. You’d been glib just about a month ago when you’d mentioned it to him, but time really was ticking.

One down, two to go. 

Next Part: Year Two

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