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ctrlsatoru · 4 months

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DIABLO CH2 - TOJI FUSHIGURO

content: techbro billionare!toji, reader is gojo's little sister, age gap (toji's in his mid 30s, reader in mid 20s) kind of ooc toji, suggestive themes, no smut yet. protective!toji and also asshole!toji. warnings: 18+ only. suggestive themes. explicit language, references to being roofied. toji being toji. minors do not interact. pairing: toji fushiguro x afab gojo!reader word count: 8k tags: @liitlesushi a/n: ok so this might be longer than I anticipated and also semi slow burn. it'll be worth it, trust. summary: It's Gojo's anniversary party, you're doomed by your Satoru's whims, haunted by your father's scheming, and now a devilish third player appears: Toji Fushiguro. And he's here to collect.

Toji opens his eyes, manually focusing on the ceiling above him. The strange pattern spun in slow circles, and then it settled.

This bed is not his own. The pillow feels too flat under his head, which is throbbing painfully. He feels like a dozen horses ran over him. A voice, distinctly female, unnecessarily loud, makes him wince and curse under his breath.

“... If I agree, and I haven’t, you’re not picking my outfit. Know that .”

This is unlike him. He can’t remember a thing. The one good thing about not recognizing the bed is that he’s not gonna have to deal with a strange woman in his place–

“Because your conception of what’s socially acceptable to wear to a formal function is not tethered to earthly reality, Satoru.”

Oh.

It’s you .

You’re on the phone, standing by floor-to-ceiling windows. The sunlight casts off your ring like white laser when you turn, blinding him.

“Mornin’” he croaks, pushing himself to sit against rough the rattan bed frame. The room moves from side to side, like you’re both stuck in a boat, and not in one of Haibara's many guest rooms. It’s all coming back to him, the party, watching you and your boyfriend’s fight, the deck–

“Oh. Hey, buddy.” you say idly, looking over your shoulder as you sit on the other side of the bed, your ring-covered finger tying some slutty sandals around your ankles like some kind of shibari countess. The strap of your top falls as you lean over. Toji’s buffering.

His ears must be fucking deceiving him.

Buddy?

The fuck?

He can’t for the life of him remember anything after the deck. You’re zooming through the room, texting furiously. On top of that, you look fresh and plump like lettuce out of the fridge, don’t you? But he had to blink several times to break through the layer of crust around his eyelashes, and his body is telling him you two fucked like animals for the past 12 hours.

Or he spent the weekend in the trenches.

He feels wildly unprepared for this morning after, and it’s a just fucking relief that you’re keeping your distance until you start tap tap taping your little heels to the door.

“The hell do you think you’re goin’?”

You stop, surveying him over your shoulder like he’s coming close to being some sort of inconvenience.

And then the corner of your lips lifts, the mole on your cheek jumping with the motion.

“It was fun.” Your phone starts ringing again. The sound drills a hole into Toji’s temples. “Too bad that it never happened.”

With that, you’re gone.

You abandon Toji with a bunch of unconscious people scattered around the house and Haibara, who’s still young enough to not know what a real hangover is. The kid will just not shut up about some hardcore surveillance system he had installed around the house recently after he noticed someone was stealing from his Kaws collection.

Toji listens to the whole story, sipping on the cold pressed green juice Haibara made himself, simply refusing to use the crystal straw, and makes a promise to himself. You’ll pay for whatever it is you did to him.

Even if he doesn’t remember what that was. Yet. It doesn’t matter. You’ll pay anyway. Nicely.

“Say, kid.” he asks Haibara, licking the green foam off his lips and putting down the empty glass on the counter. The juice tasted just like it looks, which is cow puke, but his mind is somewhere else. Machinating. Scheming.

“This system of yours, does it cover the whole house?”

Here’s the thing.

There are many things Toji isn’t.

For starters, he’s not easily bothered by most things, a trait that people usually mistake for a personal attack, like it has anything to do with them and isn’t just the hand that he was dealt. People assume others, in this case him, think about them more than he can be bothered to.

He’s not a control junkie either, not anymore. He left those days behind.

Control isn’t something he needs to worry about anymore. He has plenty of it. If something gets out of line, it gets back on it automatically. That’s just the way life is. Sure, he had his vices back then; lactose, gambling, adrenaline, women.

But the thing is, you learn a few things with age, right? Shiny things lose their sparkle. The excitement wears off. Nothing is safe from becoming predictable, not even the rush of hearing bone crack under his fists or the juiciest, tightest pussy presented to him on a tray.

And this sheds a light on the fact that he’s way past the age of being pussy whipped.

“You cannot be serious.”

So why the fuck is Shiu Kong looking at him like that?

And who does he think he is standing next to him, all up on his screen, and mind you, only alive thanks to the fact that Toji has lost some edge from his gory days?

He shuts down the tab like a kid who got caught watching porn on the family PC.

“You listen to me. Don’t you ever fucking do that–”

“The Gojo kid?”

Toji’s eyebrows dig into his face because you’re certainly not a kid. No. Kids don’t look like that. Kids most certainly don't go around passing people horse tranquilizer or whatever the fuck it is you fed him with that glossy mouth of yours.

And that’s what you did. That’s as far as he can remember.

“Is that what’s been–”

“I’m gonna stop you before you say some dumb shit and piss me off any further.”

Shiu’s been pestering him for days now about the upcoming iteration and the threat of several deadlines. Toji has been brushing it off. No nagging back or shutting down his complaints.

Somehow, his silence only pushes the stick further up Shiu’s ass. Like he’s his sexually neglected wife of 40 years.

Truth is, he hasn’t given the dynamic with his CFO/best friend much thought lately. Why would he when there’s an infuriating, mouthy woman with siren eyes that somehow look down at him even when he’s about two heads taller than–

You.

“–stalking the poor girl on the desktop version of Instagram.”

Toji returns to the conversation. “I don’t stalk people. I’m a grown-ass man.”

And you’re not a girl either. You’re something else. He hasn’t figured what yet.

“Mm. So am I.” Shiu says, still standing there with his hands in his pockets, head tilting down at some forgotten paperwork on his desk. “And even I know looking at someone’s profile on a desktop computer is a concerning level of unemployment, which you’re not at. Yet.”

Toji’s not that thick-headed. He knows he’s been distracted, but he can’t just brush that night at Haibara's away.

You pop up in his head unannounced and make yourself comfortable, rent fucking free. Like a little squatter. In the middle of meetings, when he's driving back home, at the gym, when he’s at the club with a gorgeous woman on his lap.

It’s becoming so frustrating that he’s started to despise you for real, and not just the made-up version of yourself he created when he met you and decided you were an ill-mannered bunny that he wanted to toy with for a bit.

In this scenario, of course, he was a wolf.

No one ever talks about how sometimes the bunny knocks the wolf out and bolts the morning after.

Days pass and his mind is blank of memories, no glimpses, no time-stopping sex flashbacks, just a bunch of strange vivid dreams about you that would make any mid-century french cult film director weep and the Soviet Union recoil. They distract him to the point of him nearly knocking the front teeth off his trainer’s face, or spilling orange juice all over his clothes this morning.

Toji’s positive you didn’t fuck. Sure, you had a bit of bed hair, but your face lacked the I-was-fucked-by-the-Toji-Fushiguro glaze he's used to seeing in women and takes pride in. You looked perfectly fine, collected enough to be giving your dimwit brother hell on the phone and fuck with him before disappearing.

It was fun.

He was also wearing underwear, and you walked just fine. No wobbly legs or tilted hips. No bruises on your neck or scratches on his back–

Too bad that it never happened.

You had shared a bed, that much he knew. He caught a whiff of your perfume after you left. He had cursed you then, feeling like a pathetic fucking dog sniffing up some pillows, but now the confusion and annoyance faded to a curiosity that extends past the time in his head he gives to the best lays he’s had.

So today he put up an incognito tab and looked you up hoping to find something annoying, corny or pathetic about you to make you unappealing, and somehow he landed on your personal IG profile.

You posted a set of pictures three days ago of meaningless corners at some random location. The fourth picture is a snap of what looks like your desk. There’s a polaroid of you and your fiancé next to a stack of notebooks.

You’re standing in front of him, leaning your head to the side with his chin resting nice and cozy on your shoulder, his nose pressed against your neck. Toji's lip curled in distaste.

He found your twitter account as well, because why not? And found nothing of particular interest. You stick to promoting your work and that's the end of it. Other people in your circle, on the other hand…

Toji went through a twitter phase not too long ago. He found endless amusement in pissing people off with less than 140 characters and replying to those who enjoyed his work. He uninstalled the app the second he found people selling mugs with screencaps of his tweets.

Safe to say the decision made Shiu’s and the PR team quite happy.

He’s out of the loop with the overall discourse, but it’s clear that you have farmed your own dedicated micro following online and your boyfriend is some kind of A24 flowerboy on the rise.

Toji heard of him before meeting you. His newfound success is the byproduct of his dreamy looks, a melancholic breakout role and the occasional activism, something that's been often questioned due to his relationship with you, and the consequential ties to your family.

Both of you, as a couple, act like viagra for a very specific, insufferable and presumptuous crowd. They’re hyper-focused on the fact that you haven’t posted him on your stories for weeks, that Hiroki allegedly deleted some posts with you on Instagram, and that he's been caught dreamily staring at his female co-star during press conferences.

Why people choose to waste their time with their noses up stranger's ass is something Toji does not understand, life being as short as it is.

“Please tell me that’s not her twitter account,” Shiu says. Toji inhales sharply. “This is more pathetic than I thought. No wonder you haven’t gotten anything done in days.”

He kills the rest of the tabs, spitting over his shoulder “I can’t very well do my fucking job if you’re breathing over my fucking shoulder, can I? You know how I fucking feel about people standing behind me when I’m trying to get shit done.”

“Twitchy .” Shiu notes and takes his sweet time walking around his desk, plopping down on the chair.

“Yep, take a seat, why don’t you.” Toji grumbles.

Shiu drums his fingers against his knee, a sign that he’s craving a cigarette, surveying him.

“So I’m gonna take a leap of faith here and assume this is some kind of executive-level scheming, and you’re just exploiting a vulnerability.”

Toji’s face twists like he sucked on a lemon at the mere thought of it.

“You know damn well the day I do business with that old cunt will be the day your ex-wife comes clean about what she did at that yoga retreat in Bali and asks for forgiveness.”

“Figures. So?”

“You’d probably take her back. Fucking cuck.”

“She really got under your skin, didn’t she?” Shiu notes, unbothered by the unprovoked attack.

Toji sniffs, comes down from the spike of anger, and finds a more comfortable position on his chair.

“She owes me.”

Shiu leans his head back, mildly amused.

“You adding usury to your ledger now?”

“Not money.”

“Alright then, I don’t want to know.”

Lies. But Shiu knows better than to push too much. Toji’s the type to hoard details not because he’s afraid of compromise, just to be an asshole.

It’s refreshing to see him almost… desperate. If you were anything like your brother, Shiu thought, you might be just the perfect little karma agent for his best friend.

“Fine. You get that business sorted. You’re no use to me if you’re distracted.”

“You worry about sorting your own business and I’ll worry about mine, Kong.”

Shiu stands up, fighting back a smile until he opens the door, stopping at the sight of Toji’s assistant about to knock.

“What is it?” Toji asks, scratching his eyebrow, already exhausted.

Keiko looks down at the tablet in her hands, hesitant.

“The team at Gojo Corp has reached out, sir. It seems Gojo Shinobu would like to invite you to dinner next week.”

The look on Shiu’s face as he slowly turns to face him is priceless. Toji rests his elbows on his desk, a sinister smile pulling at his scar.

“Well, isn’t that interesting?”

“Interesting indeed.” Shiu agrees. Keiko eyes them skeptically, because her boss smiling like that cannot mean anything good for society, or her sleep schedule.

“I better get to work then, eh?”

“Anytime would be nice, yes.” Shiu says, turning to Keiko. “I guess I’ll finally find out about Bali, then.”

So you might be thinking, look at him backtracking like that.

Don’t get him wrong, it’s nothing like that.

Toji’s sitting across from Gojo Shinobu, the man, the myth, the bigot himself, with absolutely no intention of making business with him.

He’s just sniffing the territory.

In person and up close, Shinobu's a disturbing aged mix of you and your brother: the hair and the uncanny valley eyes went to him, but the eyebrows, the slope of his nose, it’s you. Even the handshake, firm and tight like a war general, reminds Toji of you.

Gojo Shinobu’s old as the fucking bible. His eyes are graying, eyelids sagging but it's clear that grandpa's still sharp.

For the record, Toji doesn’t like the old fart. He represents many things that he despises about older generations, and his business model is one of the many reasons for the country living in the past, but he’s not about to get political.

Not liking Gojo Shinobu doesn't mean he has no respect for him, so he’s honest and immediately shuts down the proposal of Gojo Corp. being involved in future Diablo releases.

Dignified, not happy, but never one to accept a no, Shinobu just smiles, brushes his beard like a Ghibli villain, and switches the subject.

Alcohol involved and pretending to put business talk aside, the conversation flows easily. Your father has a surprisingly entertaining dry sense of humor. Toji supposes you stop giving a shit when you have one foot in the grave, he also imagines the borderline cruel wit had something to do with your mother getting knocked up with you at the peak of her career as an actress and sex symbol.

“I hear you have a kid.”

“Two.” Toji corrects, remembering that he’s supposed to pick up Tsumiki in an hour. Ballet class. She’s getting rather serious about it. “A girl and a boy.”

“Ah, good balance.” Shinobu nods with a knowing smile. “They listen to you? How old are they?”

“15 and 16. And they do.”

They don’t, because they’re teenagers, not soldiers. Megumi and Tsumiki are good kids, certainly better than he was at their ages, they don’t need him ordering them around, watching their every step.

“Dangerous, dangerous age.” your father hums. “You make sure they do that, save yourself the bitterness in the future.”

Damn. Alright. Toji lifts his eyebrows and leans back, listening. That’s all it takes.

“You’d be surprised. You get a little too light handed, and a perfect sapling can get ruined just like that.” he snaps his fingers. “It’s harder to straighten them up as they grow up.”

Toji takes a long, good sip, fighting back a chuckle. He has no concerns when it comes to who or how people choose to fuck, but the blatant homophobia is always amusing.

“And then they gang up on you.” Shinobu scoffs. Toji can imagine you and your brother scheduling a year worth of publicly terrorizing Shinobu. “No wife? You raising them on your own?”

“I am.”

“Good man. It’s hard, honest work. Make sure you look for a good one to settle with, not all of them are in touch with their motherly instinct.”

His assistant comes in, tells him someone has arrived, and Shinobu makes a noise with his nose or mouth that reminds Toji of an exasperated horse.

“Take the advice from me. You see–”

He leans over the table, brushes his beard.

“If, and I am not wishing this upon you, your daughter comes of age and– after years of picking up and dropping all sorts of interests with no interest in commitment,"

He pauses, chuckling humorlessly.

"–comes to the conclusion that she wants to waste her life playing with cameras and hanging out with gender-bending creatives,”

The word is said with so much despise Toji feels like there should be a new phobia for it.

“You have to sit down and choose what’s more important; letting her waste her potential away, or being in her good graces. More often than not it can’t be both, that’s just how it is.”

Perhaps Toji hasn’t given you enough credit. You could’ve ended up a lot worse than you are. Knocking him out was nothing. You could’ve chopped him up, kept his dismembered body in your fridge, and he’d see where you're coming from.

“But when she tells you she wants to let some vulture into your family and make him blood, you take matters into your own hands.” he nods firmly, like it’s Toji he’s mad at, and finally looks over his shoulder, nostrils flared.

Asaya Hiroki approaches the table. Jetlagged eyes, tail between his legs.

“Fushiguro, this is Asaya Hiroji, my daughter’s boyfriend.”

Hiroki looks like he has half a mind to correct him on either the name or relationship status but he’s too fond of keeping his head attached to his body.

Hiroki’s pretty. Toji can’t compete in that department. He looks like he puts sugar and milk on his tea and smashes the china on the floor when he’s told he can’t have more, like a psychotic puppy.

In other words, you make sense together.

You like to look at pretty things so your boyfriend’s cute. No harm in acknowledging that, though he remembers Tsumiki mentioning that when noses dip down like that it means there’s some kind of prosthetic.

And if you pay attention, really read between the lines of his 90’s film heartthrob face, something’s off with him, isn’t it?

But what does he care? A nose job is no crime. Hiroki has other flaws to offer. For example, he has a rather shitty way of hiding the fact that he’s doing something he’s not supposed to.

Perhaps, even, going behind someone’s back.

And the guy calls himself an actor.

Satisfied with the results of what he thought would be a waste of an afternoon, he excuses himself. He’ll be just in time to get to Tsumiki’s class before it’s done and have the other kids’ moms and nannies ogle at him. Tsumiki hates it when he does that.

“Don’t be a stranger, Fushiguro. I’d like to keep this channel between us open. I hope to see you at the anniversary party.”

“Pardon?” Toji stops, surprised.

“The company’s anniversary party this Friday,” Shinobu says, like it’s obvious. “I’d like you to meet my son, and well, you’re already acquainted with my daughter.”

Hiroki’s round bobba eyes follow him all the way to the grand crystal doors. Toji has the distinct feeling that he was just part of Shinobu taking matters into his own hands.

He’s both disturbed and impressed. He never mentioned meeting you, and he’s pretty damn sure that this detail didn’t slip from your lips either.

Every year the company throws an anniversary party, and you and your brother and every high-level employee have to attend and listen to your father’s rendition of why diesel was better and how you’re all wimps for being born after the extinction of smallpox.

The one year that you didn’t attend, because you were stuck in Norway with a canceled flight, your father spent exactly 11 months reminding you of it like you had any say in the weather conditions of the North Sea.

Tonight might be his last speech as chairman, since he’s about to step down from his position after growing health concerns. The company has gone all out; live music, huge venue, ice sculptures, people are dancing. They've put so much effort your father's probably more annoyed than anything.

Suguru approaches you at the empty family table and sits down next to you with a knowing smile, like he's thinking the same thing as you while you're watching people waltz. He’s looking as handsome as ever, you just miss the bangs framing his face.

“So, when do you think he’s going to publicly execute the medical staff that diagnosed him with Alzheimer’s?”

“Probably after he declares war on Gretha Thunberg.”

You’re wary. He might have everyone convinced, but it’s not like him to step down quietly. Your instincts are telling you to expect shenanigans tonight, and they’ve never once failed you.

“Seems too good to be true, don’t you think?” you say, eyeing the crowd. “I don’t know how Satoru’s so cool about it.”

Suguru sighs, craning his neck. “I wouldn’t say he is.”

And that’s when your brother slams his palm on the table, making you jump in your seat. He leans over the two of you, eyeing the room like it’s the school cafeteria and he’s the king of prom.

And he kind of is. Today your father will officially name him his successor, so the sour look in his face makes you and Suguru share a look.

“Do you see Hideo Kojima on steroids hanging out with Nanamin? I guess next year we’ll have the Yakuza on the jazz band.”

You laugh, only half weirded out. Suguru looks up at your brother, confused.

“Who? ”

“Toji Fushiguro. ” Satoru drawls, icily amused, and your neck turns so fast Suguru worries it’ll break. “And his underling.”

Remember your intuition? Red sirens start ringing in your head, and the edges of your vision start staining in with a deep burgundy color.

What on earth is he–

“Dad invited him.” Satoru says, still not sitting down, still scanning the room with deadly eyes. You feel the urge to look around and pinpoint his exact location, but you wait for him to point with his chin. “They’ve been seeing each other. Mimosas and manicures, I heard.”

You find him across the room, several tables between you, just over the elevated candles in the middle of your table, talking with Nanami and some man you don’t recognize.

You fight the weak but sensible urge to look away when he suddenly turns to your table and lifts his glass in your direction, like he felt the shit talking from a distance.

The room is vast, but you recognize the feeling of his eyes looking straight at you. Your brother is too occupied cursing under his breath while he mockingly lifts his glass to notice you gulping.

“You think dad’s hitting that?”

You try not to gag. “You’re sick.”

“Cause someone will owe me a loooot of money if that’s the case.” he taunts. You both placed a bet on whether your father is bisexual or not years ago. “Look at him, standing there like he’s threatening to swipe all the fertile wives in the room. Freak.”

You snort. A bit of your goes down the wrong pipe, Suguru helpfully pats your back.

“You better hold on to yours then.”

“Nah, he’s locked in. Ain’t cha , babes?”

You roll your eyes, feeling Suguru shake his head with a lovesick smirk. Your brother replies with a wink, lazily dropping his weight on the chair next to you, like you need to be in the middle of all that.

You lean back, stretching your neck and stranding up. “Ok, you can back up a little. It’s embarrassing enough to be matching with you.”

Satoru stretches his arm over your now empty seat. They’ve been purposefully keeping a distance, him and Suguru, people assume it’s for appearances' sake, but you know them better than that. They’re playing some game tonight, and you’d rather pluck out your lashes one by one than learn the details.

“And I distinctly remember asking you to stop feeding into those fucked up theories online about me terrorizing you as a child, but you had to take those creepy family portraits with the heads cut off. We don’t always get what we want, sis.”

And don’t you know that. Tonight was stressing enough without 6’ something with a lip scar, ever so subtly following with his eyes as you make your way around the party. Not too obvious for an outsider to notice, but just enough to make the exposed hairs at the back of your neck stand up.

You’re a little too energized. Like too many shots of espresso and Ritalin after an allnighter.

It makes no sense to start feeling threatened by Toji Fushiguro tonight, when he’s in your territory, but you do.

But you weren’t raised under the same roof as Gojo Shinobu and Gojo Satoru to be so easily intimidated, so you mingle, let people stop you for quick, boring catch ups and questions about being excited about your brother and what-have-you-been-up -tos, even those whose faces or names you can’t recall.

You smile, entertain and even ask people about their whereabouts, until you’re out of social battery for the rest of the season.

“Took you long enough.” you say, making a point of not looking at him.

His voice comes closer than you expected or feel sane about. Smooth and dark, in through your left ear.

“Patience is a virtue, haven’t you heard?”

His presence is more unnerving than you geared up for, and just like the first time, a shiver cuts through you. Something urges you to move and take a step sideways, out of the magnetic pull around him.

You finally take him in. Tailored tuxedo, slightly tousled black hair that you know for a fact is unfairly soft, exuding confidence. Never in your life had you encountered someone as infuriating and intoxicating as him.

“So, are you my new stepdaddy?”

A slap to his face would’ve stunned him less. Hell, he might’ve enjoyed it. You don’t give him a chance. His pants have no business getting tighter from that fucking question. Toji buffers again.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

He hums, hands in his pockets.

“Depends.”

You tilt your head.

“You into that kind of thing?”

You scoff, dismissive as always, but suspiciously purse your lips to one side before taking a sip of your drink. Perhaps gatekeeping a chuckle.

Head held high, nose up in the air. Toji takes your profile in. The light bouncing off the high points of your face, the deliberate, doll-like curl of your lashes, the soft slope of your neck and the dips and curves of your shoulders. Your dress painted a nice image in his head of your body from afar, so he refrains from going past your collarbones like the honorable man that he is.

“What? No backtalk? I’m disappointed.”

“I didn’t expect to see you any time soon.”

“Like I said, patience is a virtue.”

You roll your eyes and laugh dismissively. “You don’t believe that.”

“Bold assumption.” he counters. “I wanted to see how long you’d last entertaining guests, but then your right eye started twitching and I suppose took some pity on you.”

“Aren’t you an empath.”

“Even to those who don’t deserve it.”

Your chin quivers, but you keep the smile to yourself with a quick sigh. Toji could look down at the way your chest rises and drops, but he’s not in a rush here.

“Why are you here?”

“Is that any way to speak to a guest? I’m sure Shinobu raised you better than that.”

Name dropping your father gets the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“Why are you here?” you repeat, enunciating slowly, but the words you want to say are don't fuck with me right now.

But you’re too precious for him to deny himself the pleasure. Not when your eyebrows tremble like that.

“Your father was kind enough to invite me. It would’ve been rude to turn him down.”

“You’re not here to entertain him. He’s stepping down soon and you can’t stand him.”

“Doesn’t mean that I don’t respect him. Why else would I waste a perfectly nice friday night surrounded by a bunch of suck ups? Are you suggesting I have some ulterior motive?”

Your squint at him, like you don’t believe he has the guts to say it.

“Did you perhaps assume I’m here for… you?”

Toji wonders if your silence has anything to do with the white haired manchild looking your way for the second time.

“We do have something to settle. You owe me something, if I remember correctly.”

“I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Nice try. An explanation, does that ring any bells?”

Your head snaps up to him, the wisps of hair hanging from the sides of your face flow with the movement. The tip of your nose and your cupid’s bow catch the light, if he couldn’t see your face this close he’d mistake that for sweat.

He’s reminded of how you looked at the deck in contrast to the sight of you right now. A sheer layer of sweat was covering your skin, your plump thighs spilling on the wood surface, he'd kept his hands in his phone and held on to his own sanity.

“What is there to explain? Nothing happened.”

Toji tilts his head. “Lying is a bad, bad thing,”

“We didn’t do anything, Fushiguro.” you insist, lowering your voice. Toji looks over your head, bored with your attempts at gaslighting. “If you–”

“You wanna dance?”

The nonchalant act drops, you unconsciously lean back and open your mouth like there’s not enough air in the room. Toji smiles at your hesitation, cold and challenging.

“It’s in your best interest.”

“How?”

“Because the old cunt that kept kissing your hand earlier is coming our way and I’m about to leave you alone with him” he lies and you don’t dare look over your shoulder to check, not wanting to risk making eye contact with the slimmy fucker.

It’s a bad idea. Being near Toji is a bad idea, dancing with him is the equivalent of putting on a vest bomb. Your father is somewhere in the room and your brother might act aloof but not a single interaction of his interest is going unnoticed.

Putting your hand in his is a bad, bad idea. The worst. But you suspect figuring out Toji Fushiguro’s intentions will take some compromise on your part, so you don’t hesitate when you grab his hand.

With his arm around you, he's reminded of a particularly striking dream he had about you days ago. The first thing he did when he woke up from it was open his app notes and write two words, perverse angel.

Now he knows it was actually deja vu; you close your eyes for a bit, the breathing image of reminiscing. This isn’t your first time in his arms.

The melody gets rather slow. You hold yourself with all the poise of a reluctant little heiress, defiant but serene as you look at him, arm resting over his.

While he’s growing quite fond of the sight of your neck exposed, he’d rather find the main pin and let your hair down. Let you get comfortable, not taut like you are in his hold.

“You look like a tall pint of guinness.”

Toji could do this all night. Just watch your expression drop, annoyance pinch at your temples.

One ankle betrays you, but he’s not about to let that happen. The arm around your waist keeps you steady, moving along with him. His grip is firm, but not overpowering.

“You’re an asshole.” You say like you just discovered it tonight.

He’s right. You know it and you hate that he described it so right. You’re dressed in a black, sleek and form fitting dress that goes down to your ankles and the top is made of an off-shoulder white band that wraps around your shoulders.

Toji laughs with that shark grin of his, his scar stretching.

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” He adds helpfully, hand coming up to straighten the white fabric around your left shoulder. The air turns colder with the absence of his arm, but it returns to the spot in no time. “Wouldn’t have been my first choice, granted, but it’s a lovely dress. Perfect for a night at the pub, watching the game with the boys.”

“I think I’ll pass on the unsolicited fashion advice, thanks.”

“Come on. You can never go wrong with a red dress.” he counters, eyes dropping briefly. You wrinkle your nose, he takes offense. “What?”

“Not my style” you shrug.

“Now that’s just tragic.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure to wear one to your funeral.”

The couples closest to you turn with different looks of controlled distaste. Toji laughs heartily, head thrown back and everything.

“I’ll hold you to that. I might just return just to see it with my own eyes.”

“Not sure doors open both ways in hell, but hey, more power to you.”

“So you wanna hear my theory?”

You sigh. “Nothing happened, Toji. I mean it.”

What a terrible liar you are.

“I think you had a little alcohol in you, were fresh off a fight with your boyfriend, and just couldn’t help yourself because you have a thing for problems.”

You nod sarcastically. “And of course, you’re the problem in question.”

“Well, yes.” he blinks. “And also, you don’t have half the self control you believe you have. So you freaked out and put me to sleep to stop yourself from doing something you thought you might regret.”

This is how it was. You had forgotten the rush, despite replaying time and time again your past conversations. Interacting with Toji Fushiguro is like playing five finger fillet, thrilling and grueling and high risk, but it’s a whole other thing with people around you. You can’t let up, all your senses need to be on guard.

“Aren’t you too old to be throwing a fit because I gave you more than you could handle?”

Toji’s eyes dig into yours, a hint of amusement and something else.

“Here’s a piece of advice: choose your words very, very carefully. They might come back to haunt you. ”

“It never happened. And it won’t.” You repeat with a cool tone. The pulse on your wrist drums against his own.

“I have to say, you’re a better actress than he is.” he mentions. “But denial does not suit you. We’re gonna have to do something about that or things will get very awkward real soon.”

“Actually I think we should focus on your rejection issues first.”

“I’m not a problem for you to solve, sweetheart.” he chuckles darkly, eyes knowing, never leaving yours.

Years of practicing the art of bullshitting in your household could not help you deny the fact that you're maddeningly, disturbingly attracted to him.

“What you see is what you get. And you could, if you stopped being a little coward.”

He makes you turn effortlessly, that’s when you see him. Hiroki. The words die on your lips, your stomach drops, all resolve wavers. He releases you and your arms hang limp on your sides.

He licks his scar and smirks sideways at you, eyes twinkling. You could push him off the roof of the building.

“You should fix your face, angel, ‘cause I won’t behave if he wants to pick a fight.”

You’ve always liked Nanami Kento. He’s one of your father’s closest, youngest and less... spineless advisors, the pathological victim of your brother's pestering, and always impeccably polite to you, sweet even.

But right now, when he’s introducing Toji Fushiguro and his friend whose name you didn't catch to Suguru and Hiroki, you’d love to hit him in the head with a hammer.

At least your brother is nowhere to be seen.

"Pleasure to meet you." Suguru says.

Hiroki has his arm around your waist. He's not looking at you. You know what the dimpling of his cheeks mean.

“We’ve met before actually, haven’t we?” Toji turns to him, brow burying into his face like he’s not too sure, shaking his finger in the air. “Correct me if I’m wrong. I don’t remember too well.”

Your heart is stuck in your neck, threatening to crawl out of your mouth. Suguru gives you an odd look.

“We have.” You don’t see the look on Hiroki’s face when he replies, but his tone is controlled.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

Shiu Kong says something, and Suguru responds another thing. It's all noise to you.

You grab a drink from a passing tray and the corner of Toji’s mouth tilts, his attention on Suguru’s conversation. You feel irrationally mad, like slapping him, but then he’d probably fix his jaw and look at you like you should've gone rougher and–

There’s something seriously wrong with you. Officially.

You grab Hiroki’s hand and pull him with you.

He’s confused, but follows you nonetheless. “Can you just wait for a–”

“We should ditch the party.” You tell him, but he doesn’t agree like he usually would and grabs your arm, stopping you at once, brown eyes searching yours.

“You’re not even gonna ask why I’m here?”

“My dad invited you?” you reply, confused by the offended look on his face.

“No. Why would he? You know how I feel about this kind of thing.”

Now you’re confused. You smell his breath and notice his flushed cheeks. “But you’re here.”

“Wow. Try to contain the excitement, why don’t you.” he scoffs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fly across continents and interrupt whatever the hell that wa–”

He’s starting to raise his voice, drawing attention, usually composed demeanor nowhere to be seen. You catch a whiff of alcohol on his breath.

“You’ve been drinking.”

His face drops. The volatile look in his eyes is not something you can deal with tonight.

You’re forever grateful for the woman announcing your father’s speech. Hiroki’s expression clears up, but he gives you a look that says you’ll resume the conversation later, soon, tonight.

Then he pulls you to his side and leads you closer to the podium.

Your father looks into the crowd with piercing blue eyes. You, like you have for the past few months, have a bad feeling. Like if you were to take a picture right now, it would later be displayed as the moment before hell broke loose.

“... And as many of you know, the time has come for me to step back and allow a new generation to lead us forward."

The crowd hangs on his every word. You scan the room for the 10th time, looking for a head full of white hair.

Hiroki notices your unease and looks down at you, rubbing your arm. “Hey, what is it?”

“I don’t see Satoru.”

Your father continues, voice unwavering.

"It is with great confidence and optimism that I announce my successor, a person who embodies the values and vision of our company."

You finally find Satoru at the back, he’s with Suguru and Nanami. Waving his arms around him, hair a mess, pissed.

"Please join me in welcoming our future CEO, Noritoshi Kamo."

The room bursts into applause, but before his words can fully register in your mind, a sudden, sharp crack echoes through. For a split second collective confusion takes over, and then it turns to full blown panic.

You watch your father duck under the podium. Your legs move on their own.

Gunshots.

People are running, crawling and diving for cover all around. Tables are overturned, glass shatters. It's all white noise.

"Get down!" someone shouts.

Something slams into you.

Toji picks you up from the ground. Exit located, going for it.

“My dad," you protest with wide eyes, hastily trying to look over your shoulder. Toji has half a mind to throw you over his shoulder.

“He’s fine.” he assures, hand covering your head, pushing it down.

Security sprung into action in no time at the first gunshot, formed a barrier around your father and hurried him down the stage. Toji saw it with his own eyes right before he caught you running like a tweaking baby reindeer, right before some piece of shit shoved you to the ground.

You keep protesting, resisting, trying to go in the opposite direction, so Toji has no choice but to lift you up and thrown you over his shoulder.

A colorful string of panicked and enraged expletives follow. You’re livid, fists slamming into his back without mercy. Toji pays no mind, pushing through the crowd, making his way to the emergency exit.

He doesn't put you down until you're both alone in the emptiness of some sterile corridor. And you're still rambling.

“Shut up for a second, will you?"

That does it. You're flabbergasted, opening your mouth again in full Karen fashion.

Toji doesn’t care for it. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” you reply furiously, fist tight on your sides. You catch your breath, step down from your heels and start to speed walk down the corridor. “I have to find my father– I need to– Satoru–”

“They’re safe.” Toji catches up to you in two or three long steps. “Gojo’s security doesn’t fuck around. I mean– yeah, they did fuck up letting a guy bring a gun inside the premises, but they were quick with it.”

Your nostrils flare. Toji hears voices at the corner and pushes you behind him. He sees a couple of guys in black in the reflection of a fire extinguisher cabinet. Dressed in black, wired ears, walking like they know they might lose their jobs tonight.

“Hey, I got the heiress here. She’s looking for her old man.”

They escort you both, eyes hopeful, looking at you like you're their ticket out of unemployment. Your father and his people are gathered in some conference room one floor above. The altercation can be heard from outside.

“It’s for the best. You're too out of it to see it now, but you will.”

The room is packed. Your father, his disciples, your brother and his boyfriend, a very uncomfortable looking couple of cops. A woman approaches you, asking you if you're ok, but your eyes and attention at stuck on your father and your brother dueling for the whole room to see.

Your brother stops his pacing and turns to face Shinobu.

“No, that's not it. I see it, I see you. You’re too prideful to let me clean up after you.”

Getting caught in a family brawl was not in Toji’s plans tonight, but he stays put, watching you approach them with confusion all over your face. They don’t seem to notice you.

Gojo Shinobu levels his son with warning eyes, finger pointed at him. “Watch your words, Satoru. You don’t know what you’re talking about. My decision is final.”

He turns around, beckons the woman who approached you to him, but your brother is not done.

“You know I can do it." he says, your father stops and turns to him with death in his eyes and his lips pressed into a thin line. "You know I can. You just can’t stand the thought of me succeeding where you fucking failed.”

The look on your face says it all, you don’t know what your brother is talking about, and that you’re in no headspace to ask either. Satoru's not just pushing the limits, he just sped past them.

The words hit your father square in the chest.

Things are about to get bloody.

“You’re nothing but a spoiled, entitled brat who thinks he deserves everything handed to him on a silver platter. Look at what you’ve made of your life, acting like everything is a fucking game. You think I’ll let someone like you lead what I spent my life building?”

You turn to him, mouth falling open. “Jesus christ, dad.”

“Over my dead fucking body.”

Your brother’s face contorts in rage. He -predictably and unpredictably at the same time- lunges forward, fist aimed at your father’s face.

The room springs into action. Your father's guard dogs, the cops, Nanami Kento, you beat them all to it, but it’s ultimately Toji who gets to him.

In another situation, Toji would've found a comfortable seat for himself, perhaps a drink, and watch the havoc unfold. Let the son champion the decade long cause of union workers, environmental hippies, human rights, consumer advocacy activists alike, and punch the lights out of his father's smug face.

Then he'd spare no details for Shiu over a nice dinner.

But he grabs Gojo Satoru's arm instead, stopping him mid swing.

Blue, crazy and uncanny eyes land on him.

As a general rule, he avoids getting involved in other people's affairs, especially when it comes to love spats or family drama. However, when he says,

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

He means it.

Your father chuckles dismissively.

Your brother watches as he walks away, chest heaving up and down.

“Toru?”

Surely those two syllables did not come from you. If denial did not suit you, this uncertainty is just disturbing. It’s not right.

“What was that?” The question comes from the depths of your throat, voice nothing like Toji has heard before.

“Not now.” your brother snaps, turning around and walking out. Geto Suguru on his side.

Toji’s phone starts ringing, he tries to shake off the unsettling image of you before walking out of the room to answer.

It's Shiu. He's waiting outside, watching the police drag the gunman into a car, and wondering where he is. Toji sighs, comes to terms with the fact that he's on a streak of sorts tonight, because once again, against his own code, he tells him Shiu to leave without him, not answering any questions about his whereabouts.

People have dispersed with your father gone from the scene. Toji walks back inside, pocketing his phone, and finds you by a corner of the room. Your boyfriend has found you again, fuck knows where the came from.

He's pulling his phone out, ready to call Shiu and tell him he's on his way down, but you're shaking your head, running your hand through your hair like you forgot it's pulled back.

Hiroki gets in front of you when you try to walk away. You put your hands between you, like the last thing you need is someone coming close. You must've just said something nasty, hit a tender spot, because he freezes where he stands.

Toji drops his arm.

Once again you try to walk around him, but this time Hiroki gets a hold of your arms.

“Why?” he asks. You’re looking at him like he grew a second head. “We talked about it all the time, we always said–”

Toji's wandered close enough to catch your reply.

“What do you mean why? Have you lost your mind? I can’t leave Satoru alone right now, Hiroki.”

“In case you didn’t notice he just fucking left you here.” he snaps at you.

You flinch. Recoil. Push against his hold.

“Let go. I’m sorry but I can’t deal with you tonight.”

“You can’t? Right. You can’t. Tell me something, do you have any idea what kind of shit I’ve had to put up with–”

You snarl at him, baring your teeth, bare feet stomping on the carpeted floor. Hiroki doesn’t even sway with your attempts, or flinch at the near animalistic way you look at him.

“I fucking don’t. And I don’t want to know. I didn’t ask you to be here tonight.” you reply, tone vicious, jaw locked. “You don’t get to hold it against me.”

The next thing Hiroki says pours out of his mouth like it’s a known fact, or an acceptable thing to say to the woman you’re going to marry.

“They don’t give a shit about you. You know that.”

By now, you two have caught Kento Nanami's attention. He wraps up whatever he's discussing with a couple of men and approaches the scene.

Hiroki does not let up, it's easy to see that he will not. He fixes his grip like you'll turn to liquid and spill between his fingers if he gets distracted.

You wince.

Toji walks over with four or five committed strides until he's between you two. The abrupt interruption and breach of personal space startles Hiroki, gives you the chance to step back.

“I think that’s enough.”

“Well, this is just great.”

Hiroki chortles, looking away like he’s collecting his thoughts. Biting his lips in contemplation. Nodding to himself once or twice. Toji regards him coldly, lets him gather his thoughts, or the guts to attempt something idiotic like, who knows, get himself pummeled to the ground.

“You know, I keep seeing you everywhere lately, why is that?”

Toji shrugs, uninterested and unintimidated. Hiroki won't get his face cut even if he deserves it, and it's not that Toji's against the idea of being a vessel for some sort of long time coming retribution. In fact, he'd be doing it just for his own satisfaction.

But the night should end now. He’s gonna have a hard time forgetting how you looked earlier when your moron of a brother stormed past you and left you standing there, in the middle of a room full of people that did not care about you, heels hanging from your hand, shoulders sagging.

Doesn’t mean he’s not gonna give the boy something to pop a vein about.

“Why don’t you take a guess, hm?”

Something snaps behind Hiroki's eyes. Toji's front row this time, and he confirms everything he suspected about him.

And he makes his mind up.

Hiroki looks at you, lids heavy, ears red. “Are you fucking him?”

How predictable. Toji looks at you over his shoulder, and somehow, you understand. It's barely noticeable, but you shake your head.

“You have to leave.” you sound a lot more like yourself this time. Only tired. Really exhausted. Like your feet are about to give out under you. Toji's not blind to the way you’ve been putting all your weight on one foot.

Hiroki pauses, realization lands on him that you’re talking to him, and not Toji.

“Get on a plane, fly back to Spain, and stay there for as long as you have to.”

“This is fucking unbelievable.”

“I disagree. Have a safe flight.”

Hiroki stomps out, shoulders past unfazed Nanami Kento, who looks at him like he’s a speck of dust. He approaches you, asks you if you're ok.

You ask about your dad, he tells you he’s currently talking to the police and insists on getting you a car and someone to accompany you. Says you should rest.

“I can take her home.” Toji says. You peer at him like that's the last thing you were expecting to hear, and then you nod.

Nanami watches Toji carefully, studying him intently. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Keep me posted?”

His features soften just a bit, he touches your shoulder, promises he will.

He doesn’t keep his eyes off Toji until you two make it to the door. Toji might find the guy agreeable, stick up his ass and all.

#toji fanfiction #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #toji fushiguro #toji fanfic #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut

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quillandink22 · 5 months

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Michael Cudlitz (Bull Randleman) Ross Owen interview: Funny moments/anecdotes:

Boot Camp:

"3 hours sleep at night, food was horrible, conditions were horrible" (Feel like this must have improved for Masters of the Air. Can't see Austin Butler doing any of this)

He had food poisoning for the first two days. Dale Dye let him stay in bed. (Someone had told Dale that Michael was after having surgery) when he found out: "Food poisoning !! Goddamn it get back in line."

A doctor was apparently called for him. (Was this Shane again. Probably. Who needs a doctor when you have Doc Roe)

When he did start running "the running was brutal, I have horrible knees and I don't run unless I'm being chased." (I agree)

Rick Gomez (Luz) was his bunkmate.

While on night patrol guarding a house: Jimmy Madio (Perconte) brought a camera with him to take photos (not allowed). Michael barged into the house and yelled, "Goddamn it who's using flash photography" (Dale dye impression).

Jimmy panicked and threw his camera out the window of the second floor.

Cigars: (obviously spent half the interview on this topic).

The producers in his opinion were "cheap bastards" so he had to buy his own Cuban cigars.

Chewing tobacco: first time he tried it on set he was sick for two hours. "The most hideous crap you'd ever want in your mouth." "Tastes like Donkey ass." (When asked if he's ever tasted donkey ass he replied yes.)

Apparently, he got "high as a kite" from the tobacco. (Will be looking at him in the show very differently now)

Funny stories:

Shane Taylor (Doc Roe) witnessed Jimmy "rush 5 British guys" (Picture this in your head)

Jimmy also got into a fight outside a club with the entire cast standing around watching it. "Cops were coming, half the guys had no shirts on." (Where was Ron with his video diaries?)

More vomit:

Richard Speight (Skip) got parasites from the trenchs. (Did anyone review the health and safety manual on this set).

As a result, he was the last one to shoot a scene for the series.

BBQ:

The annual Michael Cudlitz BBQ. (I wonder if this is still a thing)

He spoke about how they invited the cast of The Pacific to one after it aired. (I need an invitation to the BOB × MOTA bbq).

Who do you want to see next? 👀

#band of brothers #bob cast #bull randleman #frank perconte #eugene roe #hbo war

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sixhours · 4 months

Text

Firsts - Colic

Rating: Everyone Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel and Ellie, Ellie Williams, Joel Miller x f!OFC, soft!Joel, no really super soft!Joel, Joel is a sap, mostly follows canon, fluff, fluffy baby stuff, no really this is sickeningly sweet, tooth-rotting, don't forget to brush your teeth Word count: 1.8k

Notes: I promise it's just fluff this time. Sickly sweet with a dash of humor, nary an angsty cloud in sight. Joel thinks of Sarah but it's not sad.

You can also read Firsts on AO3.

Six weeks.

Joel holds Anna on his right shoulder and walks her up and down the hall, patting and shushing and soothing, knowing it does absolutely no good. His socks are threadbare from all the pacing, and he could swear there’s a fresh trench in the wood floors where they take turns walking her back and forth, back and forth.

He’s never been more grateful to be almost deaf in one ear; at least the ringing dulls the constant wail.

No one sleeps. Even Ellie has taken to wearing earplugs to bed because she can hear the kid crying from her room in the garage.

The midwife–doubling as the town’s resident pediatrician–was as helpful as the goddamned pacifier that Anna refuses to take. The baby is gaining weight, eating well, outgrowing her newborn clothes. She’s alert and healthy and this awful phase is just that–a phase, and a perfectly normal part of her development.

So says the woman who doesn’t have to listen to her every night.

“Just don’t shake her,” the midwife says dismissively, handing the baby back to Joel after her third evaluation that week. “She’s fine.”

Joel thinks if he were going to shake anyone, it would definitely not be the baby.

During the day, Anna is a tiny joy, all gummy smiles and coos. Little fingers scratch at his beard and pull his hair and he nuzzles her round little belly with his big nose and his heart is so full it hurts.

But five o’clock rolls around and their sweet little angel morphs into an angry demon who sleeps in half-hour fits between feeding and screaming. She won’t take a bottle or the breast, she’s dry, she’s not gassy, and short of being pinched by invisible ghosts–a theory he and Charlie debated at length during a particularly exhausting night when they were both half delirious with sleep deprivation–there’s nothing to do but wait it out.

And so it’s pacing, and swaying, and rocking, and shushing, and they’re all shuffling around like infected during the daytime.

“C’mon, kiddo,” he sighs, deciding to take Anna downstairs for a change of scenery. Not that she’s seeing much, little eyes all scrunched up as she concentrates all her energy on exercising her lungs.

Joel hums and murmurs as he makes a fresh circuit around the living room, the kitchen, the dining table, then back. On the fourth pass, he pauses to look out the window over the kitchen sink and sees the glow of Ellie’s light from the shed. He and Anna aren’t the only ones up at this hour.

After one more lap, he decides what the hell, the baby can scream just as well in the fresh air as she can in the house. He grabs the infant snowsuit that’s still a size too big off the coat rack and starts to bundle her up. It dwarfs her tiny, scrunched-up body, but at least it’s warm.

“I know, baby girl, I know,” he murmurs, working her little arms and legs into the torture device as she screams louder, only quieting a fraction when he picks her back up and stuffs her down the front of his jacket, turning it into an improvised sling.

What he wouldn’t give for his old pickup right now. When Sarah was fussy he could strap her into her car seat, turn the radio on low, and drive around the neighborhood until the rumbling of the engine knocked her out. Better than Benadryl, his mother used to say.

But life in the apocalypse is a mostly manual affair, and strapping the kid to the back of a horse isn’t an option. Neither is Benadryl. Not that he’s considered either.

Not often, anyway.

He steps onto the porch and the early February air is a brief shock. Anna settles for a few precious seconds. It doesn’t last, but it’s long enough for Joel to take a deep breath, nuzzling the baby’s forehead, grounding him in her sweet, milky scent.

“Little bug,” he murmurs into the fur of her snowsuit. “You ready to sleep, hmm? Got it all out of your system?”

Her response is a resounding wail.

“Alright, I hear ya,” he mutters, and begins a meandering walk down the porch steps, to the curb, to the end of the street, and back. Five more laps until he trods back up the porch steps with a still-crying baby in his arms, no closer to sleep than he was twenty minutes ago.

The porch swing is lightly covered in snow, so he dusts it off and plops down, immediately taking up the back-and-forth motion, relieved to be off his feet even as Anna continues her symphony of sadness. He tips his head back and closes his eyes and sings aloud. He’d prefer to have a guitar in his lap, but no one will be able to hear his gravely voice over the sound of Anna’s crying, anyway.

But I've wandered much further today than I should,

And I can't seem to find my way back to the wood,

Help me if you can, I’ve got to get back to the house at Pooh Corner by one,

You'd be surprised, there's so much to be done.

Count all the bees in the hive,

Chase all the clouds from the sky,

Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh…

“That’s a weird fucking song.”

He pauses, cracks an eye to watch as Ellie plods up the porch steps, hands stuffed in the pockets of her sweatshirt, wincing at the racket.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “We wake you?”

“Nah, couldn’t sleep. Scootch.”

He does, moving over so she can join him on the swing. Ellie peers at the screaming bundle perched on Joel’s chest.

“She’s still at it, huh?”

“Yup,” he mutters. “She’ll wear herself out here pretty soon…I hope.”

“I forgot how loud they are,” she sighs, falling into the same rhythm on the swing as they rock together. “The babies at the orphanage used to keep me up at night.”

He tries to keep a neutral face. He imagines Ellie at Anna’s age, left to cry for hours with no one to pick her up and pace the floor, no one to answer. It tugs at something deep and raw inside him, something that makes him want to hold her too tight. She doesn’t talk about her life before they found each other, but he knows what it was like in the QZ; no birth control, too many kids and a lot of dead parents. The orphanages were packed.

“Want me to take her for a bit?” she offers.

“Sure, if you want,” he shrugs. “She’s windin’ down.”

Joel pulls the squalling baby out of his makeshift jacket carrier.

“Behave for your sister, bug,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on the baby’s angry, sweaty temple before handing her over, biting his tongue on a reminder to support her head and neck as he watches Ellie do just that.

Ellie props Anna up on one shoulder, patting her back and rubbing in circles the way Joel showed her. After a few minutes, Anna’s cries dwindle to soft whines and whimpering hiccups.

“Look who’s got the magic touch,” she says, smug.

Joel tips his head back and closes his eyes, smiling, soaking in the sudden and blissful quiet. “You caught her at the right time. She was gonna settle down any minute.”

“Yeah, right,” she snorts, pretending to talk to the baby. “She just didn’t want to be stuck with her stinky old man all night, huh? I’d cry too if I had to walk around strapped to this asshole.”

“Smartass. S’normal for ‘em to cry at this age,” Joel says, more to reassure himself than her. “Sarah went through it, too, I think. Don’t ‘member much about it, just that I didn’t sleep then, either.”

“What about Sarah’s mom?”

“She, uh…she had a hard time after the baby came. Happens like that sometimes. Didn’t really…bond, I guess.”

Her eyes widen. “So what, she just…left?”

“Yeah.”

Ellie whistles softly, shifting Anna’s weight in his arms. “That’s fucking rough, dude. I’d be pissed.”

Joel considers this carefully. “Yeah, I was…for a while. But it was prob’ly for the best. Her loss an’ all.”

“Nobody’s gonna leave you, kid,” Ellie says softly, tilting her head back to see Anna’s little face, almost hidden in the fur of her snowsuit. “We’re gonna be around for a long, long time…me, your dad, and Charlie.”

He watches them out of the corner of his eye, his daughters. Anna, still wide awake, making gentle cooing sounds against her sister’s shoulder, whose body he cradled in his arms as she took her first breath. Ellie, the scrappy, scrawny QZ kid who greeted him with the broad swing of a knife, who saved him in ways he is only just beginning to understand.

Christ, I’m a fuckin’ sap , he thinks, swallowing hard, blaming the sudden tightness in his throat on exhaustion.

“So…still think you’re never havin’ kids?” he asks.

“You that eager to be a grandpa, old man?” she counters.

He smirks. “Didn’t say that.”

“I dunno,” she frowns at the baby. “She’s not exactly selling it. No sleep, diapers…and there’s that whole childbirth thing. Yuck.”

Anna gives an indignant squawk.

“Yeah, I know, she’s not bein’ very nice to you, huh?” Joel says in mock sympathy. “Pickin’ on a helpless li’l baby.”

“Just telling it like it is.”

Ellie looks over at him after a few minutes. “You know I like girls, right?”

“...do I know that?”

She rolls her eyes. “Dude, c’mon .”

“I’m just sayin’...we’ve never really, uh, talked about that…stuff.”

“Well…I like girls, Joel.”

“An’ I am one-hundred percent fine with that,” he says easily. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a family if you want.”

“Wow, you really don’t know how babies are made,” she says dryly. “And here I thought you were just ‘really fuckin’ drunk.’”

He arches an eyebrow. “We were, but that’s–wait, how did you–”

“Charlie told me.”

“Of course she did,” he mutters. “So uh, sure, that’s, uh…one way. But family doesn’t have to mean blood.”

He nudges her boot with his, gives her a meaningful look.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she softens. “But don’t think I’m gonna start calling you ‘Dad’ or something, asshole.”

“Call me whatever you want, kid…just don’t call me late for dinner,” Joel yawns.

“Ugh, that’s such a dad thing to say,” she groans, but she leans in, snuggling closer in a rare moment of affection. He puts his arm over the back of the swing and Ellie rests her head on his shoulder.

“Think she’s almost out,” he murmurs after a while, leaning back to peer into the hood of the snowsuit where Anna has gone quiet, blinking drowsily at him. “We can go in.”

“M’kay,” Ellie whispers, but she makes no move to get up, and he’s in no rush to interrupt this tenuous peace.

The porch swing creaks its familiar rhythm into the night. Joel places a kiss on Ellie’s temple, and Anna finally sleeps.

#the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #babyfic #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfic #fluff

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nanowrimo · 1 year

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How to Set Realistic NaNoWriMo Goals

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. Dabble, a 2023 NaNoWriMo sponsor, is a tool specifically designed for fiction novelists. Today, Dabbler Robert Smith shares a few tips to help you set daily writing goals that will work for you:

November looms, and with it the thrilling, harrowing, and sometimes carb-loaded journey of National Novel Writing Month. As we tie our writer's capes and ready ourselves for a month of intense creation, there's a small matter we need to address: our writing goals.

The Weight of 50,000 Words

Setting goals for NaNoWriMo is like setting a pace for a marathon. You wouldn't expect to sprint a marathon. The same goes for writing. If you try to sprint through, chances are you'll burn out faster than a candle in a windstorm.

However, only doing the minimum can leave you in a precarious position. Because if something comes up—and something always comes up—you’re suddenly behind on your goal, and that can really hurt morale.

So here are some goal setting tips to crush NaNoWriMo this year:

1. Start off strong, so you can end strong.

There is a simple fact about motivation. It starts strong and wanes with time.

Now to be honest, you won’t be able to write a book with motivation alone. It requires a lot of discipline, and you’ll have to write even when you don’t feel like it.

But a great way to get the most out of that early motivation is to channel it into higher early output.

We all know that 50,000 words split over 30 days is 1667 words a day. But authors who win NaNoWriMo often don’t start there. They shoot for 2,500-3,000 words a day in the first week. That way they build up a buffer for the later weeks where motivation isn’t as high.

Plus, it gives them great forward momentum on their project. So consider setting higher goals early and taking advantage of your early NaNo fervor.

2. Account for daily life.

Even if you've cleared your calendar for November, life has a knack for throwing curveballs.

Kids get sick. Work projects pop up. You know what I mean. If your word count goal is teetering on the edge of feasibility, any small disturbance can throw it off.

To combat this, make plans and backup plans. Schedule your writing time around family gatherings. Plan what happens if you miss a day. Set yourself up for success before those situations arise.

3. Use the buddy system.

Find a writing buddy to be accountable to. It could be a friend participating in NaNoWriMo, or even someone you connect with in the NaNo community.

Check in with each other daily. Celebrate your wins, commiserate over the tricky bits, and hold each other accountable.

Sometimes, knowing someone else is in the trenches with you can be incredibly motivating.

4. Have weekly check-ins.

Instead of focusing solely on daily targets, also have a weekly goal. This gives you a broader view and allows for some flexibility. If you have a slower day, you can make up for it later in the week without feeling like you've thrown the entire month off course.

5. Actually track your goals.

Obviously, you need to track your goals, but there are multiple ways to do it.

Dabble integrates with NaNoWriMo, so you don’t have to manually submit your word count. And if you fall behind a bit, Dabble will automatically adjust your daily goal accordingly to keep you on track.

But even if you’re just marking off your goals on a napkin at your desk, tracking your progress will help you stay the course to victory.

Now go forth, share your stories, and remember: it's not all about the word count; it's about the words that count.

All NaNoWriMo participants can use the discount code NANOWRI2023 for 20% off 1 year of Dabble! Offer expires January 31, 2024.

Robert Smith is a Dabbling Writer, and a Writing Dabbler. He likes playing board games with his wife, and deconstructing plots from movies in his spare time.

Top Photo by Isaac Smith on Unsplash.

#nanowrimo #writing #writing goals #writing advice #by nano sponsor #dabble #robert smith

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incesthemes · 16 days

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tag game!

thank you for the tag, @according2thelore 🥰

Do you make your bed? i basically live in my bed, so no. i want it cozy and making it makes it un-cozy.

What's your favorite number? 3! or rather, repeating 3s. my mom and i look for repeating 3s out in the wild ever since she heard about some kinda christian number thing relating to angels (idk i don't go there), and it's become a whole Thing. i like that we can share it :)

What is your job? i do translations...! spanish and japanese, mostly. i translated a video game last year too which i'm very proud of!

If you could go back to school, would you? yeah tbh. i hated school for disability reasons, but i really enjoy sitting in lectures and learning things. structured learning is great and super easy so i'd love to return. i'd be the kind of person who would get like 20 masters degrees if college were free.

Can you parallel park? noooo..... i never got that far lmao. i don't have a license and i would like it to stay that way for as long as i can get away with it. peace and love ✨

A job you had that would surprise people? i did an internship with the linguistics department while i was an undergrad where i helped do some menial work for a larger research project the school was conducting? i sucked at it though, lol

Do you think aliens are real? statistically speaking there's basically no way there's NO other life in the universe, so yes i do. i'm even fairly confident there has to be intelligent life outside of humans somewhere out there. i do not have any belief in any kind of alien life form having made contact with earth, though.

Can you drive a manual car? yes, actually. which is apparently shocking to people, considering i don't even have a license lmao

What's your guilty pleasure? i have an addiction to solitaire? i downloaded the app about a year ago but i am on level 329. ok girl get a grip

Tattoos? none yet, but i've had my first tattoo figured out since i was in high school. i just don't want to deal with the cost and care of it (lazy + poor...)

Favorite color? a very warm, light pink! almost peach-colored.

Favorite type of music? folk music :) and by folk i mean like. literally the songs people sang around a campfire 300 years ago. like dúlamán and the irish rover and rolling the woodpile and whatnot. but i also really like more modern folk music (big fan of umm santiano, plumbo, celtic woman, the builders and the butchers, mumford & sons, poor man's poison, the longest johns, stuff like that...) and country music. basically a bunch of genres along that sort of continuum.

Do you like puzzles? puzzles like jigsaw puzzles? i hate them, but once i start doing them i can't stop. logic puzzles or whatever are totally my jam, though. seriously i love them so much. i'm not interested in more hands-on puzzles like blocks and stuff.

Any phobias? nnnnno. i was scared of the ocean (specifically and exclusively trenches inside the ocean) growing up but then i got over that, and i've been working on getting over my fear of bugs so they're not super scary anymore either. i also used to suffer from trypophobia but it really hasn't been much of a problem in recent years. idk what happened there, though.

Favorite childhood sport? olympic-level sleeping? idk i tried a lot of sports at my mother's request when i was a kid, but i didn't like any of them. now i enjoy ice skating, but i live in the deep south where it's 80F nine months out of the year so like. lmfao

Do you talk to yourself? YES it's a generational thing. everyone on my mom's side of the family does it so i just picked it up naturally. i make myself laugh constantly ✨

What movies do you adore? my letterboxd Top Four are: the witch (2015), death becomes her (1992), the phantom of the opera (2004), and showgirls (1995) so it's kind of all over the place. i like movies with either very strong, well written stories or campy dumpster fires—NO in-between. the more artistic a movie is, the more likely i am to enjoy it. some other movies that really stand out to me

la sociedad de la nieve (2023)

late night with the devil (2023)

midsommar (2019)

the love witch (2016)

creep (2014)

mamma mia! (2008)

master and commander (2003)

zoolander (2001)

o brother, where art thou? (2000)

ravenous (1999)

romeo + juliet (1996)

the mountain men (1980)

the devils (1971)

beyond the valley of the dolls (1970)

so you can make of that what you will.

Coffee or tea? i don't actually like either unless you count southern sweet tea? i like chick-fil-a and mcdonald's sweet tea... but i drink almost exclusively water. if i'm feeling fancy, i like lemonade or like... craft root beer specifically. or sarsaparilla?

First thing you wanted to be when you grew up? an architect is the earliest i can remember back to, but i switched my passion project every couple of months and never really settled on anything.

i'm really bad at tagging, but let's go with ummmm... @schizosamwincester, @sam-winchesters-gay-lover, and @aceing-on-the-cake! no pressure though haha

#.txt #tag game #looking back at this like wow i'm so pretentious for a guy whose favorite genre of music is sea shanties #that movie list is so embarrassing too. beyond the valley of the dolls (clutching my head miserably)

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gars-weaponeer · 23 days

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The Hunted Batch (Ch. 1)

Summary: What if Hunter's inhibitor's chip activated instead of Crosshair's?

Word count: 3,540

Characters: Hunter, Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech, Echo and Omega.

Tags & Warnings: Canon divergent, No romantic relationships, Inhibitor chips, Angst with a happy ending. (If I miss one please notify me)

You can also read it on AO3:

“Hey Kid, you ready for this? We move fast.” “Good, that’s the only way I know.”

It all seemed good at first. A mission like many others they had had all up to that point. Droids did not stand a chance against their combined tactics, after all they were “The Clone force 99”, one of the best special forces the GAR had to spare.

Now they were running through the snow of Kaller, chasing after the remaining separatist forces alongside a young Padawan named Caleb Dume. The cold of the winter could still be felt as they ran, even with their armors on, but neither Crosshair nor his companions seemed to care about it. The promise of the war ending soon had everyone filled with a rush of energy, there would be time to rest later. For now they pushed forward, ready to successfully finish another mission.

However the sound of distant blasters behind them caught Crosshair’s attention. Were they being attacked from behind? His Squad stopped dead in their tracks as they saw the padawan rush back towards the trenches they just left. The heat of a battle had lifted a soft cloud of mist that prevented Crosshair from seeing clearly what was going on, but the light of a blue lightsaber deflecting blaster fire was recognizable.

General Billaba, the Jedi in charge of this front, was in danger.

Hunter and Crossair exchanged looks for a second before rushing back towards the battle, ready to assist their allies against a surprise droid attack.

As they ran, Crosshair lowered his rangefinder to get a better view of the enemy and start his attack from afar, after all he was the sharpshooter of the squad, however what he saw shocked him to his core and froze him in place.

Those were not droids attacking General Billaba, those were clones.

Confusion took over Crosshair at the fight he was witnessing, it was so bizarre, so unthinkable that he did not know how to react.

Before he could relay this information to his brothers, a blood curdling scream tore through the air, a sinking realization settled heavily on Crosshair’s gut. They were too late.

Hunter stopped when he saw the young Padawan running back towards them, tears streaming down his eyes. Were the regs going to attack him too?

“What happened?” Hunter asked, just as freaked out as he felt out of the confusion of the situation. He didn’t see what Crosshair had seen, how could he? Hunter did not possess his enhanced eyesight.

“Stay away from me!” Commander Caleb swung his lightsaber at them, forcing the team of clones to keep their distance before he took off into the woods.

The squad stood frozen for a couple of seconds as they tried to process what had just happened. Just moments ago everything was fine and now an eerie sensation of peril took over the scene before them.

“Wha- What just happened?” Echo’s shocked voice brought Crosshair back to reality, as he blinked to see his fellow teammate.

“The com channel is repeating one directive: “Execute order 66''.'' Tech said, his eyes glued on his data pad, as if trying to translate a phrase that was spoken in another, unrecognizable language.

Those words however caused a strange stir inside Crosshair, a dreadful sensation of something important he should know but had been long forgotten. It didn’t matter how much he tried to “remember” it just didn’t make sense to him. He had never heard that order before.

Was it a reg thing?

As he looked over at his brothers he could tell they were all as confused as he was, even Echo, who knew more of the “Reg manuals” than they did.

Whenever there was doubt, the squad would always turn to Hunter.

He had a natural skill for rational thinking and staying calm even in the most daring situations, which he used to guide his team towards victory or safety countless times. This would not be different, Crosshair thought.

At that moment, Hunter had his eyes glued to the forest, barely taking them away from the path the Padawan had left behind.

‘He is probably worried about the kid’ Crosshair thought to himself, after all Hunter always had a soft spot for children. One that proved annoying for the sniper.

“Echo, Tech, talk to the Reg Captain, see what proceeds.” Hunter began telling his orders, directing his companions to move back to the trenches.

“Crosshair, you and I will track down the Padawan and bring him back.” Crosshair nodded in agreement.

“Wrecker, you contact me if anyone else tries to follow us.” Hunter told the tallest of his brothers before he began to run into the forest, giving Crosshair a signal to follow him close behind.

They trotted down hill, knees deep into the snow, but keeping a determined pace.

Crosshair and Hunter didn’t always see eye to eye, but there was not denying that the sniper trusted Hunter with his life.

Crosshair had to admit that he admired and envied just how easily Hunter could stay calm in the worst of situations. Knowing that the sergeant was staying cool and composed gave him a sense of security. Everything will be fine as long as Hunter can lead us.

They ran through the thick evergreen branches, barely feeling the cold in the air as they kept their chase.

Hunter would stop for a few seconds to read some tracks and check the air for signals of the kid before continuing down a path. He was focused like a hound chasing a target.

Crosshair took the opportunity to find a large boulder, perfect for a perch and got in position, climbing to high ground with quick graceful moves. He scoped the area carefully, getting a better view of the terrain.

His and Hunter’s abilities complimented each other perfectly for this kind of operations, with his keen eyesight catching the slightest details on the horizon, and hunter’s senses scanning for trails, there were very few things that could hide from them.

Crosshair was about to move down from the boulder when Hunter’s voice was heard from his spot below.

“He is close…” Hunter whispered, raising a fist, signaling Crosshair to stop in his place.

As he looked around at the trees, Crosshair noticed Caleb perched on one of the high branches, huddled with his robes in an attempt to camouflage himself and pass unnoticed. Sadly said disguise could not fool the sharpshooter’s eye.

“There he is.” Crosshair pointed to Hunter with a slight gesture of his head, lowering his rifle and waiting for the sergeant to make the next move.

Hunter has always been the face and voice of the group, being the only member of the batch that actually had decent social skills, along with natural charisma and good looks. He was skilled in making up for their antics with just his words, and people seemed to like Hunter better than they liked the loud Wrecker, the Introvert Tech or the broody Crosshair.

So it was no brainer that Crosshair would step aside so Hunter could try and calm the kid down. After all, that’s what Hunter was good at. He would walk up to the kid, speaking softly and calmly, asking him to come back down so they can take him safely back to camp.

Crosshair even moved his rifle’s barrel upwards to seem as less threatening as possible.

However, he did not expect what happened next.

Hunter doesn’t move from his place, he doesn’t get closer to the kid, he doesn’t even try to talk. Instead he draws his blaster from its holster and shoots at the kid. The blaster fire passing right next to Crosshair’s shoulder, startling him.

Caleb reflects the blast away with his lightsaber and runs away jumping through the treetops, getting lost in the snow for a moment.

But Crosshair was not caring about that now, instead he was staring at Hunter in shock.

“What are you doing?!” Crosshair asked the sergeant with a hiss as he leaped down the boulder, marching closer to Hunter.

“We need to finish the mission.” Hunter said sternly, hostling the gun back in place and starting to move back into tracking the kid when Crosshair grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing Hunter to look at him.

“What mission? This was not in our report to begin with!” He was trying to read Hunter’s expression through the visor of his mask, but it was nearly impossible. “Shouldn’t we stand down until we know what’s going on?”

Crosshair has never been fond of children, he had always found them annoying and a nuisance. And he had always had a problem with authority, finding Jedi to be pretentious, only a handful being able to gain his respect. But killing Caleb? A Jedi Commander? Let alone a Kid!? That was way out of line, especially for Hunter and it made Crosshair suspicious.

Before he could respond, however, Hunter began to clutch his head, as if a sudden migraine had taken over him, bending over slightly, facing the white snowy floor of the forest.

“Good soldiers follow orders…” he whispered eerily.

“What was that?” Crosshair leaned a bit closer to see if he could catch what Hunter was saying, but Hunter did not repeat his strange whisper.

The comlink activates again with a beep and Wrecker’s voice could be heard.

“Hunter, you’ve got Regs inbound.”

This seemed to snap Hunter out of his trance, as he stood up back straight and talked back into his comlink.

“Copy that.” He relies before looking at Crosshair as if nothing had happened. “Come on, let's keep moving.” He urges, running after the trail of fallen snow the kid left behind.

Crosshair cannot help but stare at Hunter’s back as he runs, a sinking feeling of dread taking over his chest and the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong, very wrong.

Regardless, he follows the sergeant in the chase.

“Hunter, we got a situation.” Tech’s voice cracked through the comlink.

“Talk to me Tech.” Hunter demanded as he kept running, seemingly undeterred as he searched around for the kid.

“It appears the Regs have been ordered to execute all the Jedi, they are saying they committed treason.” Tech says, shocking Crosshair to the core.

“Right, that explains a lot.” Hunter said coldly, prompting Crosshair to snap slightly at his words.

“How does that explain anything?”

He was beyond confused. The clones suddenly turning on the Jedi made no sense, it almost felt like a trap, a separatist ploy. How could Hunter just accept the situation with no skepticism? The Bad Batch had always been a rebellious group compared to the more disciplined soldiers of the GAR, they had broken many rules, among other things. They never just charged into battle in a straight line, following instructions to the T. Their success came from their ability to improvise and think outside the box.

Every problem had a solution, they just needed to find it. Unofficial motto. So why was Hunter just accepting this as if nothing weird was going on?

It appeared Crosshair was not the only one feeling confusion over Hunter’s words as Tech stuttered a bit before continuing.

“I… suggest you get back here.”

“Not until I’ve found the kid.” Hunter says firmly, determinedly, and terrifyingly cold as he shut the transmission with Tech and looked around. He was a soldier on a mission and it was well known of their squad that they did not stop until the mission was completed.

However, the idea that the mission was hunting down a kid sent shivers down Crosshair’s spine.

As Crosshair scans the area he notices the kid again, perched on a tree branch once more, and he freezes.

He should tell Hunter, but he hesitates, this did not feel right with him but he also did not know how to proceed.

Before he can react, however, Hunter’s senses catch on to the Kid’s rapid breathing and he quickly turns around, drawing his blaster and shooting towards him. The branch Caleb is perched on snaps and he falls down into the snow below.

There is a moment of silence as the mist caused by the stirring of the snow settles and Caleb turns on his lightsaber, glaring at both clones before rushing towards them. Ready to fight for his life like a cornered animal.

Hunter immediately reacts, trying to shoot back at the kid as he gets closer and closer with each hurried step.

Crosshair freezes as he stares at the scene unfolding in front of him. What should he do? Should he shoot the kid or try to stop Hunter? His hands fumble with the safety of his rifle, his eyes darting from the gun in his hands to the battle.

He can almost see it in slow motion, reading each movement before it happens, and it is then that he sees how Caleb lifts his lightsaber, ready to strike Hunter down. Crosshair can almost see it cutting his brother in half and a panicked “no!” slips out of his lips as he points his rifle at the padawan.

This seemed to make Caleb react, as in the last second he contorted his body to kick Hunter in the chest, sending him tumbling towards a tree and making him hit his head, knocking him out cold.

Caleb then turns towards Crosshair, glare blazing hot as the saber in his hands. Ready to lunge at him, however, Crosshair has his rifle pointed at him, waiting for him to make the first move. One false movement and it could be the end of either of them both.

“I do not want to hurt you…” Crosshair growls, ‘but I will if I must.’ He thinks.

Caleb doesn’t take his chances, instead he runs away back into the forest.

Crosshair hesitates for a second, looking at Hunter carefully. The sergeant is still breathing, but still out cold, Crosshair instead decides to rush after the kid, following his tracks right towards a Waterfall.

He can notice how Caleb moves anxiously in his place, looking around, desperate to find a way out when he senses the presence of the sharpshooter behind him, immediately drawing his lightsaber to confront Crosshair.

“Stay back!” Caleb was frantic, waving his lightsaber erratically, trying to keep Crosshair away.

The clone stopped and stayed still. He needed to make sure the kid was ok.

He slowly raised his hands and dropped his rifle to the side.

“Listen, I’m trying to help kid.” He says, his voice sounded more like a growl to which Crosshair mentally kicked himself.

“No! You killed her! you traitors killed her!” There were tears streaming down the kid’s cheeks, and he backed away.

Crosshair knew that if he did not do anything the kid wouldn't stand a chance on his own. He could be many things, but he was not a heartless man. He had to try and do something, even if he had no idea of what. What would Hunter do?

“The regs did” Crosshair tried, really tried, to soften his voice. But he was not made for that. “I’m not like them.”

Caleb seems to doubt for a second, but he is still looking around frantically.

“I…I can help you get out of here alive.” Crosshair offers in a hurry.

Frankly, Crosshair had no idea how he would do that. Planning was not his forte, but he trusted, partially, he could figure something out quickly before Hunter came to or before the regs found him.

The kid seems to calm down at his words and for a second Crosshair feels relief. He managed to convince the kid. However the damned voices of the regs in the distance caught both their attention. Caleb was not going to get himself captured, he glares at Crosshair for a moment before he takes the chance and jumps across the ravine.

Crosshair almost dreads he won’t make it. but the force has allowed Caleb to land safely on the other side. Once there, Caleb does not waste time running into the forest until he is lost from Crosshair’s sight.

The sniper sighs, maybe it was for the best. The regs would not be able to chase him like this. However there was one clone who still might.

Crosshair took a piece of thick wood from the snowy forest floor along with his rifle and threw his target up into the air before the ravine, aiming at it and shooting.

It made a sound that he knew Hunter would recognize. The sound of a bullet hitting “something”.

He could not do much to help the kid now, but he hoped to at least fool Hunter enough to lose his trail.

Crosshair can hear footsteps running towards him, just a pair, which tells him that his brother has returned. So he keeps his eyesight on the misty falls below, begging to the force that Hunter won’t be able to see the footprints on the other side of the ledge.

When Hunter reaches Crosshair he immediately kneels to inspect the tracks at his feet.

Would he notice the kid jumped? Of course he would, this was Hunter...

But would he notice his trick?

“Where is the Jedi?” He almost growls, like a dog anxious to catch its prey.

“He tried to jump” Crosshair said, keeping his sight down “... So I shot him mid air, He fell into the waterfall.”

Without looking at Hunter, Crosshair turns on his heels and marches away.

He can feel that Hunter is not convinced. He can tell that his brother is probably trying to regain his trail. But he also knows Hunter won’t be able to sniff out the trail in the mist of the waterfall.

The trip back home to Kamino was long, however Crosshair spent most of the time napping.

It wasn’t unusual for him to nap as the Marauder cruised through hyperspace; The inside of the ship, surrounded by his brothers, was one of the two places Crosshair felt the safest and where he could sleep soundly, truly rest, without feeling on edge.

“We are coming up on Kamino.” Tech’s voice brought him out of his slumber, slowly waking him up. Crosshair sighed and stretched slightly in his chair. He could hear his brothers talking in the cockpit, something about how long they had been away from home.

However what caught Crosshair’s attention was the eerie feeling of being watched.

Hunter had been staring at him, his eyes unreadable under his helmet. Crosshair could not tell if he had just now laid his eyes on him or if Hunter had been staring at him for a longer time while he slept.

Still Cross tries to remain calm as he just growled back at Hunter. “What now?” He asked, acting annoyed at Hunter’s stare.

“Are you sure you shot the padawan dead Crosshair?” Hunter asked, his tone cold under the helmet, causing an involuntary shiver to run down Crosshair’s back.

“I never miss my shots Hunter” He reminded him, trying to sound as convinced as he would usually be.

“Well, I could’ve sworn I still heard his heartbeat at the ridge.” Hunter says, keeping his stare on crosshair, reading his expressions. Crosshair thanked the maker that he knew how to keep his own heartbeat stable, or else Hunter would know he was lying.

“When you don’t shoot the heart, it usually still beats until you bleed out. Besides, if the shot didn’t kill him the fall did, or the rapids." Crosshair said. “Either case, the kid is dead.” He lies, standing up and walking towards the rest, feeling safer by their side as Hunter’s glare was still burning at the nape of his neck.

Hunter didn’t chase after him, but the dreadful feeling that something was wrong kept eating at Crosshair’s mind.

Hunter was not acting as his usual self, he was angry and aggressive and for once Crosshair was not sure what caused his attitude to change. Usually when he got upset it was because of something they had done or something that had gone wrong during the mission. He was 90% sure he and his brothers didn’t do anything wrong this time so he ruled that one out.

Was Hunter upset that they couldn’t save the jedi general? No, if that was the case he wouldn’t have tried to kill the kid.

Did he think the kid had done it?

Crosshair remembered that only he saw the regs attacking the Jedi master, maybe Hunter had the wrong idea of what happened? Then again, Caleb had run back when they started hearing the blasters, Hunter must have noticed that too.

As he kept replaying the events of the mission in his head, he felt more and more confused.

It almost felt like someone or something had replaced Hunter and the Regs all of the sudden.

He remembered that one time they had a mission involving clawdites and a shiver ran down his spine. What if--

No, it couldn’t have happened, Hunter never left his side before he started to act weird, so Crosshair could rule out that he was actually replaced.

But then… Why was everyone acting so strange all of the sudden?

If you enjoyed it, please consider linking/re-blogging my work!

ᴰᶦᵛᶦᵈᵉʳ ᵇʸ @stars-n-spice

#my writing #the bad batch #tbb #clone force 99 #what if #clone wars #star wars #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb tech #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb omega

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