#a batch of requests done ^__^ more await

[perfectlychee]

another villager compilation 💌

click for better quality 𑁍ࠬܓ

[milliesfishes]

hi honey!! can i please request a pk coryo thing? i saw you say you want to write for him and it made me happy! could you do something along the lines of you get in trouble with another mean peace keeper and coriolanus sees but isn’t able to do anything about it in public and it’s lowk angst/comfort

lol idk if that even makes any sense

꣑ৎ౨ৎpeacekeeper coryo comforts you꣑ৎ౨ৎ fem reader x coriolanus snow

His eyes were trained ahead, expression cold as he stared at the edge of the fence and the forest out ahead. Coriolanus had been patrolling for hours now, and he was more than ready to be done with it. Though months in this district in uniform had desensitized him to a point, today had been long. His knees and back ached, and he was tired.

For about an hour, this slow and torturous march of time, he'd been thinking about the hot shower that awaited him, daydreamed about sinking into the mattress and letting his eyes close for a long time. Tomorrow was his day off, which only made today feel longer.

To his right, a pair of fellow Peacekeepers were whispering to themselves, looking at something a little further off. Coriolanus quirked his eyebrows in annoyance, trying to disregard them. Though he got on fine with his peers, that didn't mean their antics didn't bother him more often than not.

Refocusing, he decided to bide his time by thinking about what he wanted to do tomorrow. Maybe he'd be able to pop into town or draft a letter to Tigris. Sejanus' Ma's weekly batch of homespun baked goods would likely arrive tonight, and he imagined them now, taking a bite of a flaky apple tart, somehow still warm after being mailed across the country.

The rustle of a chain link fence startled him, and his head snapped in that direction. Furrowing his brow, Coriolanus squinted, taking a step forward. The other two Peacekeepers were already heading over to investigate, their movements quick and heavy.

There was a figure crouching down, and even though it was practically dark he could see that it was a woman. She was holding something wriggling in her arms...an animal maybe? He decided to move forward too, see what all the fuss was about.

As he got closer his heart sank as he recognized the figure. You were frozen, holding your beloved cat in your arms as one of the other Peacekeepers spoke to you, his voice biting. "-shouldn't be out here right now. It's past curfew."

"I'm sorry, my cat got out." When you said it, Coriolanus' heart clenched. You were soft-spoken, as delicate as one of the blossoms growing by the river. And his brothers in arms fed on such things like timber to fire.

"The punishment for being out after curfew is detainment. For at least two days," the other one said, looming over you like a tower. Your eyes were blown wide, and you shrank into yourself, clutching the black cat in your arms to your chest. He smirked a little, and Coriolanus' jaw clenched. When the man decided to poke the end of his gun into your cat's side, you made a noise of fear.

"Don't!" The other two men laughed, and Coriolanus could see that you were on the verge of tears. He quickened his footsteps, shoving in between them and ignoring the relief on your face.

"What's this?" he asked, maintaining a firmness in his voice. The taller of the two men gave him a look.

"Pretty girl thinks she can walk around however she'd like after dark," he mocked, turning his eyes back to you in a way Coriolanus did not appreciate. You were staring at him, pleading. His arms ached for you, to secure you between them. And maybe you'd reach up like always, cling to the tags of metal secured around his neck. He liked when you did that.

Instead, he straightened. Tore his eyes away from you to look at Taller. "Just let her go home."

"Nah, we were havin' fun, weren't we princess?" Shorter asked, letting his eyes rove over you. You tried to take a step back, but your back hit the fence, sparking a laugh from the other two men again. Coriolanus suppressed a huff. He wished Sejanus was here- he'd back him up. But he was back at the base, peacefully enjoying a night off patrol.

So Coriolanus straightened, shaking his head. "No. Let her go. She won't come around here again. Right?" He looked at you, mouth set straight but eyes trying to convey something else. You nodded, the tail of your cat wrapping around your arm.

He stepped aside, creating a berth. "Go." You fled immediately, only looking back once. Coriolanus watched you run until you were no more than a dot in the distance.

The other two men grumbled at him but he paid them no mind. Time passed quickly after that, his thoughts remaining with you. He pictured how scared you'd been, the way your hands had trembled. It took every modicum of restraint to keep him from seizing each of the other men by the collar and teaching them a lesson that would end with bloody noses.

That was his girl. And nobody spoke to his girl like that.

Later in the barracks, having showered and dressed down, Coriolanus stared at the dark of the ceiling, listening to his bunkmates snore softly. Even the batch of sugar cookies sent by Ma hadn't lifted his mood. In all the time he'd spent at your side, he'd never seen you so terrified. He tried taking in a breath, attempting to convince himself to sleep. But the wretched sensation never came.

Finally he sat up in the darkness, reaching for the notebook he kept beside his bed. Messily, he scrawled two words on a blank page and tore it out, leaving it on the nightstand where Sejanus would see it in the morning.

Cover me.

Sneaking out was fairly easy, though his heart pounded a crater into his chest. If he was caught it wouldn't mean more than a night scrubbing dishes, but still. He wasn't one to get in trouble. Once he was outside the walls and ducking into the trees he breathed easier. Anyone who wondered would assume he got up early to go on a run or something of the like, and Sejanus would confirm the story if needed.

It had been close to eleven when he'd left the base, tramping through the tall grass on a very familiar path. Coriolanus moved faster once he recognized the contours of your little home, even in darkness. There was a light glowing in the window still, and he knew you must be up. It was rare you left a candle burning for so long.

He knocked even though he knew the door was unlocked. It wouldn't do any good to scare you worse than you'd already been today. When you answered, his heart stuttered. Though you looked exhausted you were beautiful, just like always. Staring at him for a moment, you searched his face. It hurt him like a twinge to the side that you didn't immediately run into his arms.

Coriolanus extended his hands, beckoning to you. There was hardly a moment of hesitation before you were barreling into him, face pressed against his chest. He secured you to him, wrapping his arms around your body and lifting you up. Digging his nose into your hair, he inhaled that sweet scent he'd been missing all day.

"I'm sorry." His words were muffled by your head, and you gave him a squeeze. He set you down and stepped through the frame, shutting the door gently behind you. The second his fingers fell from the door handle you were on him again, breathing in. Your hand grasped for something on his chest and he fished his dog tags from the neckline of his shirt for you to hold.

Your fingers wrapped around them and you sighed, body releasing tension. He smoothed a hand up and down your back. "Shh, just relax. I've got you."

You tentatively leaned your head against his chest. "Do you have to go back soon?"

"No," he murmured, walking you over to the couch and sitting, pulling your legs across his thighs. You nestled under his arm, your cat jumping up on Coriolanus' other side. He lightly stroked Fish's furry head with his free hand.

You didn't ask questions, just cuddled into him and shut your eyes. Here, Coriolanus was able to calm. Hot showers had nothing on having you in his arms, your cat purring against his leg.

Hand finding the back of your head and stroking your hair, he murmured, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. About earlier."

Shaking your head, you reached up to cling to his tags once more. "It isn't your fault. You had no choice."

"I'm sorry for them, then."

"Don't be."

As he looked down at you, his angel amidst the coal dust of this district, he embraced the warmth you bloomed in his chest. You were love and sunshine and all things good, packaged up in the body of a beautiful woman. Coriolanus couldn't fathom what he could have possibly done to be gifted you. He had very little to give you, only what time he could afford and words that were not nearly pretty enough to present you.

Still, you took it all, happy as though it were lined in gold.

You lifted your sleepy eyes to him and he nearly melted. "You came to see if I was alright."

"Yeah." Coriolanus let his chin rest atop your head, watching the glow of the single candle. It was a comforting thing in the quiet darkness of your home.

A slow, tired smile spread across your face. Coriolanus leaned down and kissed your nose, pressing his forehead to yours. "I want you to be safe, sweetheart."

"I know," you mumbled, shifting against him and yawning. "I...I won't do...that...anymore."

He could feel you drifting off, and so he let you, deciding to save whatever else he'd wanted to say for later. You were safe and he was here to protect you. That was all that mattered.

Coriolanus pressed his lips to your forehead. "I love you." He'd scrap his former plans for tomorrow and spend the day with you, pretending he never had to go. Whatever you wanted; a walk through the forest, a trip to town, a lazy day here...he'd do it. But for now he'd wait until you fell asleep and then carry you to bed. Imagine his ring was around your finger, that he'd always be able to wake up with you like this.

You curled your fingers around his shirt, your final sweet words before you drifted into the ocean of sleep, ones that lingered long after they were uttered.

"I love you too."

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

John the Apostle | Anointing Hearts | Romantic

Whilst selling his father’s oil at Capernaum’s synagogue, a chance meeting blows the younger Son of Thunder away.

Requested by Anonymous

The day cannot get any brighter for the family of Zebedee; a new batch of their much-anticipated olive grove has been pressed and made into fresh oil, ready to be sold at the synagogue. Humming an excited tune, Zebedee walks in front of the cart, leading it carefully across the streets of Capernaum, making sure that the jars are secure. His sons both walk behind it, each on one side, keeping an eye on the olive oil as well, both of them proud of their father for finding such renewed purpose in his life. 

“This is all going so much better than any of us could ever have expected,” Zebedee says over his shoulder, “The third batch within a month…” It has been tough labour, but also honest and satisfying. The grove has been a good purchase, and after offering the trees some extra love and care, they are thriving like never before. 

John smiles at the content mood of his abba, glad to be part of the journey. The fishing industry had been his passion for as long as the younger Thunder could remember, but now that he’s found a new calling, it is almost as if the middle aged man is experiencing a second wind of youth, tackling each day with as much energy as an adolescent in the prime of his life has. Frankly, it is endearing to see.

The brothers push the cart towards the synagogue as their father gently guides it to go around the bend, rabbi Yussif already awaiting their arrival. “Ah, shalom shalom,” he greets them with his usual soft demeanour, stepping closer to aid them in getting the cart into place. A few teenagers head towards it at his gesture, starting to assist in unloading the jars. “It is a beautiful day today, isn’t it?” 

“It simply couldn’t be better!” Zebedee muses, gesturing at the sky. “Praise Adonai for a wonderful sunny day as well as a ripe harvest. You rabbis have been making good use of your local resources lately.” 

Yussif smiles a bit. “What can I say? It’s cheaper than outsourcing. Besides, it is not like you can deliver the same amounts that we used to order from Jerusalem.” His smile falters a bit as he realises how that might have sounded. “I didn’t mean to come across as ungrateful or dissatisfied. I know that you have been working on this grove so hard. It is more difficult with only one man to do the job instead of a few dozen, like they do in the bigger cities.” 

“Ah,” Zebedee smiles. “No harm done. If I’m lucky, my boys are sometimes around to help me out.” 

“I see,” Yussif replies, “But their main calling is more important, yes?” 

The middle aged man lets his gaze alternate between his two children and sighs, planting his hands on his hips proudly. “Always.” 

He claps his hands and gestures at the Thunder brothers. “Come on, you two. Why don’t you help them unload the jars whilst I talk about our payment with rabbi Yussif?” 

The sigh that leaves the two is only feigned and playful; they gladly help out by lifting the heavy jars of oil from the carriage and handing them over to the errand boys bringing them to the basement, where they are kept for later use. Finding it polite to help out, both John and James carry the jars inside as well, descending a small flight of stairs in order to put the oil in the storage room below, then heading back up again to repeat the process.

The cart is nearly empty and John lets out a sigh, wiping his sweaty brow before lifting another jar into his hands. It is not as heavy as the previous one he carried, but he has to put effort into it nevertheless. Carefully, he walks down the stairs into the basement, rounding the corner to put the jar with all the others.

He cannot see it happening, nor that there is something there— Or rather someone. He collides jar-first with a person turning out of the storage room, a sharp gasp leaving them. Only when he releases the container out of instinct to catch himself on the wall, John realises that he’s run into another person. 

The jar falls to the ground with a crash and for a long beat, he stares at the shards of clay amidst the translucent green of the oil. After a few moments, he looks up at whomever he ran into, and his breath is immediately taken away. 

Flushed with embarrassment, you pull your veil a little tighter around your head, the list of notes you had been collecting now steadily soaking up oil as it lays on the ground. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” you breathe, letting out a nervous sound as you begin to apologise, “I wasn’t looking where I was going—” 

“—It is my mistake, really, neither was I—” John suddenly finds his voice. He swallows hard as he takes you in; a young woman with (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair peeking from below your veil. It seems that you were taking inventory of the newly received batch of oil, now minus one jar. Your face has turned pink as you look down at the shattered jar. Letting out a noise, you hide your cheeks in your hands. 

“Goodness, this is such an action for me. Don’t worry, I’ll get it cleaned up.” 

A few of the errand boys have already witnessed the commotion and are on their way with rags and water in order to prevent the liquid from seeping between cracks too much, and you crouch down to help them out, not caring about the fact that your dress gets stained in the process.

John snaps out of his frozen state, quickly starting to aid you as well. You look up at him with an apologetic smile, the sight of which makes his heart skip several beats inside his chest; there are little specks of light in your eyes and your smile is just so dazzling— “I’ve got it, thank you,” you breathe, “This is all my mistake, so let me clean this up. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do.” 

The younger son of Zebedee shakes his head. “No— No, we are both equally as guilty, if anything.” 

“Ugh, they aren’t going to like this one bit,” you mutter, “I’m such a fool.” 

“Hey,” John says with a firm voice, “I just said that we both have part in this. It was just a little accident, nothing more.” 

You hum and bite your lip. “Spilling sacred oil meant for Adonai is not that little of an accident, I fear.”

“Adonai knows our nature and won’t hold it against you. People make mistakes. It happens, you don’t have to stress out about this so much.” 

Letting out a sigh, you look at the stranger in front of you properly for the first time. He has a kind smile on his face in an attempt to reassure you, of which the sight makes your heart flutter inside your chest. He’s cute, you think to yourself, trying to instantly get yourself out of it. Pull yourself together! 

“Thank you,” you muse, “For not being mad at me.” 

“Of course,” he replies. “Uh… My name is John, by the way.” 

You curtsy at him. “I’m (Y/n),” you introduce yourself. He smiles at the sound of it. He likes that name a lot. “Once again, I’m so sorry for ruining your hard work. These batches cost so much time and effort to make. Of course we will pay you for this jar as well, don’t you worry about that.” 

“I wasn’t afraid that you wouldn’t.” John murmurs, smiling at you a little, attempting to not gawk at you. After all, you’re one of the most beautiful women he’s ever laid eyes on. “You seem like an honourable woman.” 

You blush a bit at that, humming a soft smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t know about that. I’m just trying my best for Adonai, you know?” 

“And humble, too. God-fearing.” 

“And very clumsy,” you say with a sigh, cleaning up the last bit of spilled oil. “I feel like such a ditz.” 

John reassuringly shakes his head. “I didn’t think of you as one. Don’t be so hard on yourself, (Y/n).” 

The two of you have a moment of long eye-contact. Your heart flutters at the sight of his hazel irises and you bite your lip to keep from growing too shy.

Clearing your throat, you shuffle back and forth a little. “Anyways, thank you for selling to us. I’ll be heading back inside to get myself a new roll of parchment.” You walk around the younger Thunder with a hurried: “Shalom shalom,” hiding your bashfulness.

John looks after you with a sharp exhale, the scent of your perfume making his head spin. Once you are out of sight, having ascended the small flight of stairs, he closes his eyes with a heavy sigh. 

He doesn’t see you again that afternoon, no matter how much he hopes to catch a glimpse of you, but you haven’t returned to the basement yet by the time his father returns from selling the anointing oil after bargaining with Yussif. There is a disappointed sound that leaves him when Zebedee walks out with a large grin on his face, but it soon falls into a frown.

“What, not happy with your abba making some good money for the ministry?” Big James remains one step behind them as Zebedee pats his younger son on the shoulder in an attempt to cheer him up. 

“Ah, that’s not it. It’s just…” he comes up with an excuse, “I dropped one jar by accident. The synagogue paid for it anyways, but still. It feels a bit bad in some way.” 

“It’s not about the oil itself, my boy,” reassures Zebedee, “But what will be done with it and how it will be used in the service of Adonai.” 

Forcing a smile on his face, John hums and pretends to be more relieved as they set out back home, where Salome eagerly awaits them to hear about how things went for them. However, the rest of the day and these that follow are full with images of your smile and the way you had blushed, your presence clouding John’s mind, allowing him no space to think of anything else.

—

A few weeks later, the heavens are chucking it down like there is no tomorrow. When it comes to rain in the region, it is either all or nothing, and the streets have formed shallow puddles where the ground is too arid to soak up all the water properly. Sandalled feet find their way across the roads in spite of it, cloaked by a roughly spun hood. 

When John hears a knock on the door of their home, he doesn’t think much of it. Opening to greet whomever is visiting them at this time and in this weather, he stands on the threshold with a slight frown on his face. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Shalom,” your voice sounds, and for a moment, the youngest son of Zebedee thinks his ears are playing tricks on him. No, there is no way that you’ve shown up to his doorstep, let alone in a deluge like this. He must have been daydreaming about you too much… “Is your father home?” 

It still sounds like you, but he is certain that it isn’t you. “Yes, he’s in the back of the house.” He steps aside to allow you entry, watching you cross the threshold into the home. 

When you remove your hood, droplets of water falling from your cloak, he realises it is indeed you.

“It’s you, from the synagogue!” he exclaims, causing you to softly smile. 

“Right,” you breathe, “I was wondering if your father could sell us more anointing oil. Usually my brother is the one who makes the purchase, but I felt so guilty for running into you the other day, and I simply couldn’t let him go visit your family in this weather…” 

John frowns. “Your brother?” 

“Rabbi Yussif.” 

He gulps hard. “He is your brother?” 

You laugh softly, and in he way your eyes glitter, it suddenly hits him. There is an undeniable similarity in the smiles of you and Yussif, and for a second, John feels stupid that he didn’t realise it in the first place. 

“Of course, how silly of me. I could have known.”

You shrug and smile. “Not at all, John. It is usually the response I get from people, that they never connected the dots. We don’t look that much alike unless you know we are related.” 

Realising that he would have to ask Arnán for your hand in marriage makes John a tad nervous, but at the same time relieved. He is well aware that your abba has been showing an increasing interest in Jesus, so he might as well use that to his advantage… It would definitely make things less complicated.

Zebedee shows up before the two of you can converse any further, but John suddenly feels incredibly elated, hoping that he will get to know you better in the coming weeks now that he knows that you are the sister of one of Capernaum’s Rabbi’s and will thus be around, seeing that they have struck a deal regarding the anointing oil.

Upon ordering the amount of oil you’ve come for, Zebedee smiles at you. “I think I’ve got that exact amount somewhere in the back.” He says, then looks at his youngest son with a small smile, “I think John here can carry it back to the synagogue for you, right boy?” 

The younger Thunder blinks in confusion. “Huh? I—I mean— Yes!” 

Chuckling, the middle-aged man heads for the other side of the house, where he has a few jars of oil ready for sale. When John looks at you in slight bewilderment, the way you’re smiling at him makes his heart soar.

“Thank you for your help in advance,” you muse, softly adding: “John.” 

You head after Zebedee into the back of the house to get the oil, and it takes him a moment to realise you’re speaking to him. “Of course! The pleasure is all mine, (Y/n)…” 

He watches how you interact with his father, getting the right amount of money from your satchel upon weighing the anointing oil, and as soon as the deal is finalised, he smiles, approaching his abba to grab the jar of oil. 

He’d carry every jar of oil in the world if it meant spending more time with you. John senses that something beautiful might come from helping his father run this business.

[varesai]

HELLO! may I request a elysia x reader :3 I LOVE HER SO SO MUCH OSMDHSJS okay

reader and elysia baking cookies together pls or reader bakes cookies for her and surprises her with them

-> cookie baking

synopsis -> you and your girlfriend, elysia, bake cookies together!!!

a/n -> I LOVE ELY TOO AHHH i lkke squealed when i saw this request shes so cute i love her so bad

warnings -> none! pure fluff :)

w/c -> 645

knowing your girlfriend, elysia, ideas like this were so common! so you took no surprise to her skipping into the living room and flopping down on the couch, kicking her shoes off and cuddling into your warm body.

“hiii~” she mused, smiling up at you. “i have a fun idea, hear me out.”

you listened as she spoke about how aponia and griseo baked cookies together that morning, on the behalf of griseos request. she saw and she thought it was cute, and now she wants to do the same thing with you, too. 

you nodded, before lightly pushing her off of you and getting up to check and make sure you have the right ingredients. 

you didn’t.

so, that made for an eventful late night shopping trip with elysia! you came in needing flower and chocolate chips. you both knew that. you both repeated it to yourselves with each other over 40 times, at least.

you spent over 100 dollars and have a cartful of grocery bags. whoopsies! 

but it’s okay, you got to go out with your girlfriend. she made it fun anyways. but back onto the point!

you two immediately went to work in the kitchen, with elysia telling you the ingredients and you mixing them together. your ipad was filled with flour, due to elysia wanting to make the dry mixture but accidentally spilling a whole thing of flour everywhere. you laughed at the sight, making her laugh too.

there was also another accident in the kitchen, where you both “accidentally” put a whole entire bag of chocolate chips into the mixture (where you later on regret it), leading to even more laughter.

she tried to initiate a flour fight a couple times, but you didn’t necessarily feel like cleaning even more of a mess up tonight. she understood, so she just bounced around the kitchen, bringing you all the ingredients you needed. 

thats when she brought out heart and flower shaped cookie cutters! when she laid them down on the counter, you swore you could see her eyes glimmer with happiness. you smiled, feeling incredible that you could bring such a heartwarming experience to your gorgeous girlfriend. 

“alrighty, into the oven they go!” she laughed a little, before putting pink oven mitts on her hands and sliding the cookie pan onto the top rack. “these look sooooo yum. i hope they turn out alright…” 

you pat her back, and she grins. “they’ll be fine, i just hope all that chocolate poured into them wont do too much harm. these are gonna be really sweet, but if they don’t turn out right, we can always make another batch.”

she nodded. “and we could relive this night all over again. this was a lot of fun, y’know.”

“you’re right, it was,” you chuckled, before turning around and looking at the mess awaiting. “but if we don’t clean this mess up soon, we’re gonna get a bug problem. i don’t think either of us could even fathom finding bugs all the time.”

“ew, i don’t even want to think about that,” elysia makes a disgusted face before turning around and wetting a washcloth. “bugs are so nasty, you’re gonna be the one squashing them if they find their way in here!”

you laughed, cleaning up your mess before taking a seat on the couch with a glass of cool red wine in your hand, elysia following you. 

“how many more minutes until the cookies are done, did you check?” you look over at her, watching her pacewalk over to the oven. 

“we can take them out now!” she calls, putting back on the oven mitts and sliding the cookie pan out of the oven.

when they cool off, you two turn on your show of choice, eating your heart shaped cookies. the chocolate was too much, but its the experience that counts, right?

[anony-man]

A request made by my good friend @siberat. I hope you enjoy!

Chubformers drabble #99!

Character: Perceptor (IDW)

Word count: 1.1K+

Nearly half of his personal fuel stock for the week had been ravaged in a matter of minutes, but Perceptor was still so, so hungry.

It was likely that ridiculous play Brainstorm called experiments the other day that had done him in. He never felt this hungry, not even after hours spent hunched over his desk working on various projects. His tanks groaned and cramped, begging him with noisy growls for more, more, more.

He needed a medic, or maybe an antidote, but most of all, he needed something else to eat.

Brainstormed was a skilled bot, even when things had a tendency to turn sideways with him in the laboratory. The giddy excitement and enthusiasm coupled poorly with his cocky demeanor, and more often than not Perceptor was forced to save the inventor from his own oblivion.

No, that should not be smoking and I don’t believe those chemicals react well when mixed were often phrases uttered from a distance as he watched Brainstorm work his magic, but in the end, things typically sorted themselves out. The more time they spent together the better, it seemed, and Brainstorm was getting faster at picking up the scientist’s tips and tricks.

He was getting better, much better, and Perceptor’s relief at seeing a drop in daily catastrophes had desensitized him to the ever-present risk that came with anything Brainstorm put together.

His latest notable invention—and by notable, Perceptor meant having the most potential to do some good for the rest of Cybertron—was what Brainstorm referred to as a miracle elixir. His obsession with breaking boundaries and bending the rules of existence was never squashed, no matter how long it took for him to make progress, and the morning prior Perceptor had been ushered into his colleague’s workshop for his role as the experiment’s guinea pig.

“It cures the need for fuel completely!” Brainstorm had said, his servos stretching wide as he imitated the swell of full tanks. “No more hunger, no more energon shortages… it’s perfect!”

Perfect seemed a bit of an overstatement, but Perceptor was willing to try. After all, the worst that could happen was it offlined him on the spot. Knowing Brainstorm, however, he had likely experienced much worse and more realistic side effects from a botched batch of new inventions.

He drank it without complaint, and tolerated Brainstorm’s chatter while they awaited the results, but to the inventor’s disappointment (and his, if he were being honest), nothing spectacular came of it. There were no side effects, no threats of illness, nothing. He didn’t feel different, and he certainly didn’t feel bad.

“Give it a few hours,” Brainstorm had said, insisting on walking him back to his own lab after they’d finished up with the failed experiment, “and let me know how it goes. I’m curious to see what changes!”

Perceptor was tempted to reiterate the fact that this was likely going to be another experiment that didn’t work out as expected, but the glee on the inventor’s face was far too fresh for him to crush. He would give a few hours, he decided, and see what changed… if anything. Granted, no immediate effects had him doubting the reliability of the starting formula, but changes could always be made moving forward.

He felt fine at first, and as the hours progressed, he was almost surprised to find that his fuel levels had in fact remained steady. Cleanup for the evening was quick and his drift into recharge was simple, and by morning, Perceptor had all but forgotten about the new experiment.

It was around morning, too, when his symptoms had begun to appear.

Perceptor pored over the scribble list Brainstorm had so hastily put together in his rush to create, one arm braced around his rumbling belly while the other held him upright in his chair. His optics were glazed over as he struggled to focus long enough to get past the first line, and his processor was occupied with the thought of rummaging through their storage for something, anything, to satisfy his hunger.

No, no, he wasn’t just hungry anymore . He was starving, weakened, and feeling like he’d gone without fuel for days on end. His vision was crossed as his groaned and rubbed his forehelm, the arm around his belly softening so he could rub at his middle and soothe the pains.

His plating was swollen from the bloat of his gut, his tanks stuffed to the brim from the sheer volume of food he had packed away. Processed fuel and bite-sized snacks had been the first to be devoured, but Perceptor had soon moved onto other things like canned ores and bottles of fizzy fuel in the lounge. His belly ballooned outward, stuffed far beyond its limits with food and fuel, but his tanks still rumbled.

He needed something more, and he needed something else. He was absolutely famished by now.

Perceptor lifted his helm from the desk—wait, when had he stopped reading the ingredients to that Primus-forsaken mixture? His helm was aching now. He stared back down at the pages, but the words blurred together, creating lines of fuzzy ink and illegible print.

His belly rumbled again, louder this time, and it was all he could do not to get up and stagger back out to the kitchen. His tanks would burst at this rate! He couldn’t dare pack any more fuel into them. Right now, he had to focus. He needed a cure, or an antidote, or something to reverse the effects of this ridiculous experiment.

“Focus,” he whispered to himself, scooting forward in his chair. “Focus, Perceptor. Think.”

The edge of desk dug painfully into the mesh of his belly, pushing it further back beneath the plating straining around it. He read one line, then another, his lips moving silently as he struggled to process the words. His belly ached with the sharp pain of gnawing hunger, and his helm pounded with every pulse of his spark, but he was going to be fine.

He had to find a solution to this, and fast. But maybe… maybe a break was deserved. He was painfully hungry, after all.

Perceptor pushed his chair back from the desk and stood with a groan, his servos immediately settling atop his protruding gut. Walking to the door was little more than a slow, painful waddle, his belly bulging outward as though full of a healthy, growing sparkling.

A break was needed if he were to make any further progress, he decided. Just one more break, and then he would put an end to this mess. Maybe, if he were lucky, there was still as stash of energon goodies stowed away somewhere in the kitchen

There was only one way to find out, and only one cure for his insatiable hunger. Perceptor stumbled out of the lab and headed towards the kitchen, his frantic search for an antidote forgotten and replaced by the desire to quell his voracious appetite.

[beevean]

I misunderstood again, then XD 🍀 29 for Hectaly? That's a ship name I've seen floating around on your blog, I think ^-^

A kiss to the back of the hand

T-the beloveds... 🥺

I got a bit carried away lol. because they are the them 💖

~

By the time the rooster crowed, Rosaly had already dressed up, put on her shoes, and had been working hard in the kitchen. A long morning awaited her, and she could not wait to start it.

Rosaly was used to the quieter moments of her life. When the sun's first rays chased away the shadows of the night, the first birds kept her company with their chirps, and long before the children were sent to her by their parents or the nuns with gifts and requests. Before any of that, it has always been just her, and her small home to take care of. She had been living like so since her parents died, and she never had any reason to believe things would change, and it suited her just fine.

Until she had stumbled upon the man currently sleeping in the guest room.

His wounds had healed into clean scars, and only a limp by now belied the sorry state Rosaly had found him in. She had been only happy to help him: Hector was not a man of many words, more content to listen to Rosaly go on about her day, but there was such gentleness in his eyes, a softness to his callused hands, that she simply couldn't believe the villagers' fears that the man was a bad omen! Not when knowing that he was there, in her home, put a spring on Rosaly's step.

(And heart. He really had beautiful eyes, the color of the sky when snow was approaching. Rosaly struggled to look at them for long before her cheeks burned and she was overcome with giggles.)

But now, like the birds that seemed to be called to him, he was free to fly away to go live wherever he wanted. And whatever decision he may take, Rosaly would accept it, and send him away with the freshest pie baked by her own hands. However, she did not long to return to the quietness of her home...

She started at a hand cupping her waist.

"Oh, you're up early!" Rosaly squeaked, surprised that she didn't notice Hector's steps. He must have been awakened by the aroma of bread. "I hope you're not too hungry. I need to finish baking this batch!"

Even with tousled hair and eyes heavy with sleep, Hector looked in fine form, as he eyed the rows of loaves fresh from the oven. It was still a novelty, for Rosaly, to be greeted in the morning by someone that wasn't a stray dog, to know that she could sit on the table and share bread with a companion. It was nothing like feeding a sick man in his bed, and it made her heart flutter.

"Good morning. I wasn't aware that you were asked to feed an army," he commented with an amused huff.

"It's for the children of the church. They grow up so fast..."

"I wasn't too far off, then."

Rosaly confirmed with a giggle.

Now that she was almost done, she doubled her efforts to knead faster, so that she could set up the table for the two of them. However, her fingers were clumsy, under the touch of Hector's hand still placed on her. There was something reassuring about it, like he wanted to confirm that yes, he was there, he wasn't going to vanish, and its warmth seeped through her dress after she endured the cold of the morning, but... oh, she shouldn't think certain things.

And then she spotted it. Hector moving to steal a loaf, with movements so slow they could hardly be called sneaky. He wanted to be caught, and so she did, swifly grabbing his hand herself.

"Ah! So you are a thief!" she laughed.

His hand was quite larger than hers. And she was not holding it to check for any wound or nail to cut. Her mouth dried up.

A mischievious light sparkled in Hector's eyes, like a cat that spotted a toy. And with a boldness she had never seen in him, he brought her hand to her lips, placing them on the back of her hand.

"My deepest apologies for my transgression, my Lady," he murmured on her skin, not averting his gaze. Oh, Rosaly could have simply burned up. Who was this fascinating man who carried himself with the gloominess of a wanderer, but the charm of a knight?

"N-no need to..." she stammered, not knowing what to say. "I'm not a princess."

"No, you're not. You're a hardworking woman with endless love to give, and I have been beyond fortunate, to have received part of it." His smile felt like the rays of the sun breaking through a blanket of clouds. "Thank you, Rosaly, from the bottom of my heart. Anything you may ask of me, I will give to you."

Oh. Rosaly batted away the sting in her eyes.

With a thumb, Hector wiped away the flour on Rosaly's hand, small caresses that nevertheless send pleasant shivers up her arm, straight to her chest. In response, Rosaly dared to do something she would have never contemplated, before: she passes her own thumb on Hector's mouth, equally covered in flour. His eyelids fluttered shut, his exhale hot on her skin. His lips were chapped, but plump, and soft, and she yearned to...

"Then... could you stay longer, please?" she asked, pleaded. "The weather is not suited for travel, and I wouldn't want you to fall sick again."

With a chuckle, Hector leaned closer. Oh, Rosaly never had noticed, before, that even his eyelashes were as silver as his hair.

"What a coincidence." He cupped her cheek, and she wondered if he could feel the blood rushing to it. "I was planning on asking you the same thing."

At that, Rosaly could not contain the joy bursting in her chest. They closed the last distance at the same time, tasting flour on each other's lips.

Perhaps her life was bound to change soon. Rosaly couldn't wait to live it, with Hector by her side.

[cinerins]

IAT – Clones

Going over the general points, mostly drawn from Legends.

Note that the mind control chips don't exist in this setting, as it was.

Overall Model

Production

Training

Conditioning

Decommissions

Desertion

Armor & Gear

Overall Model

Jango Fett was recruited as the prime clone template and advisor for the Kaminoans sometime around 34 BBY. Drawing on his experiences as a supercommando and former leader of the True Mandalorian mercenary company, he helped organize the military structure, training regime and production plan for the future army.

Tipoca City would be specifically designed for such an enormous and top secret project, with its construction mostly finished by the end of 33 BBY. In the meantime, the Kaminoans would indulge Fett's requests of growing an unaltered clone (Boba) and experimental units for testing before the actual production of standard troopers in 32 BBY.

Much of the initial gestation period was spent in preparation for training and equipping hundreds of thousand young soldiers. Several instructors and additional advisors were hired for it, ranging from skilled mercenaries to veterans. Most went in with only a vague idea of what awaited them and the promise of large amounts of money once the contract ran out—however, there was no turning back after taking the deal.

By the end of their training, the clones would've been "improved" versions of Jango's peak physical condition in his early twenties and at only half the time. All of them would've been genetically modified and conditioned to be stronger, more resilient, more attentive, more obedient and loyal to fault. Combined with rigorous training and indoctrination since "birth", they make a much more favorable army to conscripts in terms of quality, but at a greater cost.

The average clone wasn't trained to be Mandalorian, yet some aspects of their ideas and conduct bled through—even the armor was based on Mandalorian designs. Jango had a strong hatred for the Jedi and Republic; while the clones were made to be loyal and obedient to a fault, it was done with the intent of the Jedi's downfall. Historically, Mandalorians made decent adversaries for Force-users, so it only makes sense to train these soldiers in ways capable of countering such abilities.

But there was more to it, on a personal level, Jango had a certain obsession with building a legacy for his late mentor, Jaster Mereel—one he believed he could no longer fulfill. Instead, he saw the clones as both a means for vindication and a way to further that legacy, deliberately so through his son, Boba.

Jango may have been a complicated man and while his attitude said otherwise, some part of him seemed to care for the clones (even if mainly out of professionalism), but when push comes to shove, they're still just a means to an end (as with anyone else in his life...). In this setting, he may have smuggled stuff into Tipoca City, but it would've been too much of a risk to smuggle anything out of it, especially clones (sorry Spar).

Among said clones, he has a bit of a mixed standing: Many troopers generally have a great respect for the man—or rather, the idea of him—but the majority have no real opinion on him beyond either questioning or appreciating certain genetic traits they've inherited.

Production

Clones spend their first 730 standard days in a growth tank (a.k.a. grow tubes, hence the nickname "tubies" for babies) and are decanted when they are developmentally a little over the age of three—ideal for quickly mastering motor and language skills.

While there are 800,000 available chambers, the batches were set up incrementally as 1,000 units per day to allow for observation and changes in the early stages. Unlike regular clone troopers (CTs), whose regimen mainly consisted of computerized flash training and standardized drills, command clones (CCs) were additionally trained by hired instructors to oversee units and lead military operations.

In the first few years since contact, a number of chambers were reserved for experimental commando units. Despite initial protests, Jango and his military advisors recommended a branch of specialized, independent clones better suited for complex high-stakes operations.

Jango himself took to training the Alphas, which had even more genetic modifications than the proper RCs that followed two years later with the rest of the clones. They made up the original 100 Advanced Recon Commandos: So called one-man-armies shaped entirely after Jango's mold. Once the war started, some of these would go on to train both command-class and otherwise promising clones to become ARC troopers after completing their base training.

In the end, 10,000 recon commandos were made upon the success of the Alpha batch. The Cuy'val Dar were called in to personally train about a 100 commandos each and shape them into elite soldiers, while also offering their expertise for general training programs. 75 of these trainers were Mandalorian veterans of one kind or another, while the rest consisted of former Jorneyman Protectors and Corellian specialists. Because of that, these clones would often adopt the culture and even language of their trainers, starkly setting them apart from the others.

By mid 22 BBY, the eldest clones (Alphas) would've been around 22-23 (developmentally), while the rest of ready-to-deploy troopers would've been 18-21 for the first battle of Geonosis. However, several factors could influence the accelerated aging, resulting in clones that aged slower or significantly faster than their peers. While many of the latter were decomissioned due to a fear of "passing their prime" before deployment, some were kept to act as additional overseers and instructors.

Beyond the RCs, only some of the command clones trained by a handful of Mandalorian mercenaries picked up on pieces of Mando'a and some practices. More would later trickle down the ranks of those chosen for the ARC program, though it's comparably little.

Boba was commissioned upon Jango's hiring, but was only decanted 20 months later in 32 BBY, which at a normal growth rate made him about a year old. He would've been nearing 11 when Jango died.

Training

All of them undergo basic training and drills from the moment they're decanted; they quickly build up mental and physical skills relevant to military operations. The cadets are assigned specialized training programs based on their performance and purpose, focusing on infantry, scouting, piloting, or similar.

The average clone trooper never really leaves the same halls they're brought in until deployment. Things look a little different for command clones and even more so the commandos.

To ensure the secrecy of the project, no clone was to leave the planet and majority of the training consisted of pure simulations. The trainers, on the other hand, saw to make as much use of the facilities as they could manage. They established several sites that emulated different environments, as well as regular platform training sessions in harsh weather conditions.

In this setting, unnecessarily killing clones in training would've been pretty counterproductive and understandably frowned upon. Beyond planned termination due to "severe inadequacies" most deaths were because of extremely rare accidents. Commandos definitely had to endure much harsher conditions under their sergeants, but nothing intentionally lethal. The only exception we'll keep is Dredd Priest & Isabet Reau's fighting ring, which was violently disbanded by Jango and would've served as a message that these clones were too valuable to be wasted before deployment.

Once the Jedi took over, additional training facilities were installed on Kamino's moons, allowing troopers to experience different biomes in person. It was seen as essential for them to grow familiar with aspects of nature not covered by simulations; from differences in undergrowth to the hazard of sand particles jamming blasters.

Homeworld Security also set up their own training facilities on Coruscant within the first months of the war. A number of cadets were transferred after their base training to become proper shock troopers used to an urban setting and constant civilian contact.

Standard troopers were divided into full companies, but rotated training in drills as various units ranging from platoons to battalions. The CCs split their time between being trained separately under an instructor and acting as the commanding officer to different units in simulations. The same groups rarely saw each other again after every drill rotation, and even if they did, there was usually not enough time for clear recognition.

The opposite was true for commando units, whom were brought up as tightly knit "pods" of four since their first breath. This, in turn, helped to build greater familial bonds and synergy within future squads. The downside was that on their own they were decidedly less effective compared to an ARC, as the squad-members are meant to complete each other, not operate alone.

Conditioning

According to the Kaminoans, the very genetic structure of every clone was altered to make them more loyal and susceptible to following orders without question. The extent to which this is applied in reality is debatable, considering they're trying to promote a business model; however it is true that their conditioning and experiences gained in the war would greatly influence a clone's mindset.

Their brains are better adapted to quickly absorb and retain information, which is particularly suited for "flash training", also known as "flash learning"— a faster and more efficient method to accumulate knowledge and skills through holographic flashes. A newly decanted clone would be able to learn Basic within mere weeks.

Commandos also received flash instructions early into their base training, but the process would later be replaced by direct in-person tutoring from their instructors, with independent studies making up most of their down-time.

The Contingency Orders, also referred to as the Executive Orders or General Orders, were 150 commands that clones were to execute on authority of either the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) or Republic Security Council. The orders were imprinted through flash training and no one outside of authorized GAR personnel—with the exceptions of Jango Fett, Count Dooku and a few key scientists—knew of their contents. Their secrecy acts as a fail-safe to ensure a smooth execution; the numbers essentially being code words, so that enemy forces wouldn't be able to counteract them as easily.

We've decided to ditch the inhibitor chip plot, as it doesn't really add much beyond convenience and isn't something I feel like writing about. Overcoming years of indoctrination in the face of morally questionable orders and peer pressure—fueled by the experiences and insights gained throughout the war—is much more compelling to me without a conventional mindcontrol aspect.

Decommissions

How does it guarantee the success of Order 66? As much as any of the other orders, which include arresting the Supreme Commander or the destruction of entire worlds if they switched sides. The clones were, quite literally, designed to be loyal to the Republic and do what they have to. They're at war and traitors can crop up even among their own, so if they're ordered to kill the Jedi because they (allegedly) betrayed the Republic and have thus become a major threat, they'll do it. Not all of them might like it and some may even question it or refuse to follow through, if they believe it to be wrong based on what they've learned, but the number would be relatively low. Even if an entire battalion decided to stand with their Jedi, they would all become targets across the rest of the army and galaxy at large. A steady stream of propaganda would make sure of it.

Decommissioning in itself primarily refers to removing clones from the active/viable roster, during which they would be placed under evaluation to determine how to best proceed. They will then be scheduled for one of three possible outcomes:

Reconditioning

-> Clones undergo an invasive process that removes any of their experiences and individuality gained over time, to be superimposed with the desired traits and behaviors, besides the imprinted knowledge and skills of their base training. The method is comparable to a system reboot or memory wipe in droids, but to a clone where the little things are everything, it's the same as dying.

Observation

-> Clones are put in stasis or observation rooms to be studied and used as a reference point in correcting "mistakes" among future batches. Clones deemed too dangerous yet invaluable are also frozen as a potential backup.

Termination

-> Clones are euthanized when they are deemed entirely unfit for duty; too "defective" or "unsalvagable" after a mission. This was also typically the fate awaiting traitors and deserters.

Kaminoans pride themselves on the quality of their work and don't take kindly to any aberrations or faults in their product. Even before Jedi intervention, there was pushback from Jango and some of the instructors against the extremely high standards.

They were gradually convinced to allow for a certain amount of leniency in physiology and behavior. Though they weren't too happy about it, they would eventually come to agree with some of the decisions, as long as they weren't detrimental to the overall result.

Wildly different hair and eye colors as seen in TCW (2008) aren't really a thing in this setting, at least not naturally and definitely not while still on Kamino. Minor structural differences could explain a very slim range in hair texture and eye shade. More noticeable would be physique and speech based on their individual training. Any later physical changes beyond scars or moles would be artificial, such as dyes, tattoos, or even prosthetics.

The whole point is that on Kamino they're deliberately trying not to stand out in any way—at least not visibly. Even with Jedi around, it's such an ingrained aspect of their upbringing, that they continue suppressing most of their personalities well into their deployment. It would take some time for them to realize they're allowed to be different and even longer for them to shake that instinctual fear.

Desertion

It's not entirely unusual for troopers to be listed as MIA and eventually assumed dead if no evidence to the contrary exists. Not every body can be accounted for and some losses are expected. But clones going AWOL are considered serious security risks and tracked down by Republic Intelligence to be retained. If a clone has officially defected, they are subsequently executed once found, as they are deemed too dangerous to be left alive.

The topic rarely ever comes up among troopers; the majority doesn't dare imagine a life beyond what they have, much less going against the Republic in any way. However, it becomes an increasing issue the longer the war goes on, particularly among higher ranking clones and the commandos. Despite what one might assume of the Alpha ARCs when knowing they were directly trained by Jango Fett himself, they are among the least likely to even consider desertion.

Armor & Gear

The iconic Phase I clone armor only lasted for the first 8 months of the war, before it was fully replaced by the lighter and more comfortable Phase II set. Though the predecessor held some points over the newer design, such as a better field of view and more blast-resistant cuirass, which some clones preferred and continued to utilize by combining pieces.

While the exact components and features of a set varied depending on their intended use, generally all of the standard kits contained basic life-support, thermoregulation, a comm-system, as well as air filters and a heads-up display in the helmet. The black bodysuit is made up of thick but flexible individual sections, enabling access to specific parts without removing the rest of the armor. It was not only insulated, but also airtight and could be pressurized to survive the vacuum of space or toxic atmospheres for a while.

The Katarn-class commando armor also underwent some changes and upgrades during the first year of the war. Like the standard kit, it was made to be overall lighter and more maneuverable, although without diminishing protection. They were outfitted with more customization options and, like other upgraded clone armor, eventually offered a selection of base colors to better blend in when necessary: white, black, or various shades of camouflage patterns.

ARC troopers also enjoy a more protective and specialized armor set as their "Phase II" upgrade, with a distinctive look beyond simple add-ons. We wanted to base them a little on the 2003 Clone Wars designs as an homage, but also generally thought it made sense to set them apart from standard troopers or commanders, considering their job.

Additional note on commandos:

In this setting, the first battle of Geonosis didn't go over quite the same and started out as an investigation/rescue mission, which was only later backed by the newly formed GAR as a full campaign.

Commandos weren't haphazardly thrown into infantry jobs, but a small number of teams were actually utilized for special operations behind enemy lines as intended. They still suffered significant losses due to the overwhelming number of Geonosians, leading to the formation of Omega Squad, but nowhere near the amount stated in RepComm material.

-> general collection of thoughts and overview for the setting are collected in this post (continually updated)

[havenhawthorne]

Timeline: November - December of 2023 Mentioned People: Lake Sinclair, @julianxheywood, @kanyonwebb, Marie Sinclair, @summercassidy (brief recap of the thread), @riverxjackson (brief recap of the thread), @noahsinclaxr, @norasinclair (Some of the threads are still being written on the dash so I summarized what I imagine will happen.) Notes: All research in regards to this self-para was done via Google. It is in no way intended for this self-para to be harmful, nor misinforming as I simply used the internet and my imagination to develop a scenario and instill some development within my character.

Note: Colored writing is dialogue by NPC's. Yellow is Lake, pink is Haven's mom

November 15th, 2023

"You know, Mom, that stuff you put on my cut didn't fix it like you said it would." It wasn't typically normal for Lake to be argumentative in this sense, but, to say that Lake had been 'normal' recently was almost the wrong word to use. Things with Lake had been rather tense since he'd started spending time with his dad, Kanyon, and while Haven was almost too concerned with it, she let it going; after all, Lake was at that age where growth spurts, mood swings and puberty were all possibilities. While she was convinced it was anxiety ridden from the change in his environment, she knew that he would talk when he was ready, and until then it was her job to help him. Raising an eyebrow as she listened to her son's words, Haven turned from the stove where she was making a fresh batch of mac and cheese for Thanksgiving and looked at the spot on his arm that had popped up what felt like two weeks ago. "It's still not heeled?" she questioned, letting herself turn towards him and examined it as he lifted the band-aid that he'd been picking at for nearly an hour it seemed. "Well, if you'd leave it alone, Lake it would probably do better." she spoke, though, she couldn't deny the thought that something about it not healing completely yet seemed suspicious. "Let's maybe try something else and keep it covered for a few more days, but someone may have to eat some more vegetables to keep his bones nice and healthy and his scrapes healing up properly." she laughed, offering her son a playful wink as she heard him move to the bathroom to grab some other medical supplies, the faintest 'bleck; leaving his lips in disgust. With a chuckle, Haven shook her head as she washed her hands, following her son to doctor up his injury before dinner.

November 23rd - 26th, 2023

Thanksgiving morning started out like all the other mornings in the Sinclair household. Just like she'd done many time growing up - and especially when she'd moved to college and only really got the comfort of home for the holidays - Haven turned on the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade and cuddled on the couch with a cup of coffee in her hand. She had biscuits and bacon in the oven - upon Lake's request - and was spending as much time with her boy as she could while they awaited the presence of Julian and time for Haven to start cooking her portion of Thanksgiving dinner. Haven wouldn't get too many of these, so, she was trying to soak it up while she could; if she blinked too hard she'd find herself watching her son drive off to college or something just like she'd done to her parents, and the thought made her heart hurt a little. So, just like she often did, Haven leaned over in the moment, cuddling with Lake who was laying on the couch, but instead of being greeted with an eager and enthusiastic child, she was met with an attitude that reminded her a lot of herself in her younger days. "No, Mom! Get off of me. I don't want to cuddle you." The remark it's self wasn't what seemed to take Haven back; it wasn't unusual for Lake to not want to cuddle her in his older age, but rather it was the attitude, the way that her son seemed to be talking to her like she was his worst enemy. This wasn't like him, even when he was mad or upset Lake had never snapped at her like this. Nodding as she moved, Haven sat up, moving from the couch in an attempt to distract herself - the only thing she really wanted to do was cry - she checked the food in the oven, setting a timer for the remaining time limit on the oven and sipping the glass of water she poured herself and awaited her boyfriend. At least he wouldn't yell at her and tell her he didn't want to cuddle..

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Well, sweetheart, he's a growing boy. You know, you weren't exactly the nicest child when you were going through puberty yourself." The sound of her mother's statement sent a shutter down Haven's spine at the mere thought that Lake could be experiencing signs of puberty. He was almost twelve after all; but, Haven hadn't expected for this to happen for another few years. Sure, it was an unreasonable thought, she knew that, but, the idea of her son being her 'baby' for just a little while longer had become such a comforting feeling to her that she wasn't quite ready to face that things could be changing for him. With a sigh she nodded as she looked over at her son who was carelessly playing video games on the living room tv and nodded, despite the fact her mom couldn't see her. "I think that's it. Or at least I hope." she added. "I was talking with Julian and Kanyon about it and Kanyon said he noticed it too, but, I'm trying to just be positive." she sighed. "I wonder if he's a little anxious about all the changes and such and that's why. I mean, he went from having just me and our family to having to share me with Julian and share his time with his dad too, I just think it's a lot." It had been a few days since the Thanksgiving get together with the Sinclair family, and just like the morning that he'd snapped at Haven, Lake's behavior was back to him being snappy. It was consistent, and thankfully it wasn't just at her anymore, however, the feeling of not doing or being enough for him seemed to be overwhelming her more and more as each day passed. Though, something about listening to her mom made he smile, and Haven nodded when she heard the voice of her mom reassure her on the other end. "I just don't know where it's coming from. I wasn't ready to deal with this yet, but if this is a glimpse of what it's going to be like raising a teenager, I'm not ready."

November 30th, 2023

It was a tradition that Haven and Lake get a real tree every year, just before the start of December and decorate it once they got it home and situated. And this year was nothing different, only difference is they were going a little earlier in the year than planned, but Haven didn't mind that. With Kanyon now in the picture and her splitting time with him for the holidays, she wanted to do as much with Lake early so that they didn't miss out on their traditions. And much like with other years in the past, shopping for their Christmas tree ended with a night of grocery shopping and picking out a new Christmas movie to watch, but much to Haven's surprise, Lake picked out far more snacks than normal this year. But, she didn't say no; she couldn't. The part of her that was holding onto her son's childhood was enough for her to nearly give into any random request; from Christmas cookies to the holiday trail mixes, slowly the cart started filling and Haven smiled. These were the nights she'd been looking forward to the most when she'd found out she was pregnant; carrying on holiday traditions and creating new ones with her children some day. Dinner had been pizza - much like years passed - and Haven had been shocked at how much of the pizza Lake had eaten. Eight slices of a medium pizza at one point had been enough for the two of them for dinner, and lunch the next day at least, but, tonight had been different as Lake had managed to eat nearly the entire pizza in one sitting and was asking for more. With a small shake of her head, Haven laughed at her son watching as he devoured the last bite of pizza. "Sorry bud, but I don't have any more pizza but I can make you something." she smiled, looking at her son for a moment before she tussled his hair. "Or we can dive into the snacks?" she watched as Lake began scanning the snack spread that was on the counter and she laughed, looking at him with the smallest smile. "You feeling okay, bud?" she questioned, but watched as Lake nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, I'm just hungry." he shrugged, opening a bag of trail mix and moving towards the living room. "Can we watch Elf next?" he asked and Haven nodded. "Sure thing, get it ready and I'll get the hot chocolate." she smiled, making herself a mental reminder to be sure to buy Lake the next size up in clothing. Between the energy he was exerting into sports and his age there was probably a growth spurt happening with this amount of food he was consuming, and she wanted to be prepared for it just in case.

December 7th - 13th, 2023

With Lake's emotions in full pre-teen swing, Haven was thankful for any attention he was getting outside of the negative attention he'd been getting from her recently. She didn't like putting her foot down or being strict when it came to discipline, but, his behavior and attitude recently had been something she couldn't ignore, much less when he was around other children. It was one thing for him to be hateful or snappy with her, but, for him to do it around other kids seemed unusual, though, just like most of the things Lake was doing these days, that didn't stop him from being a kid. The mother and son had been at the park for nearly half an hour already when Lake was reaching for a bar on the monkey bars and completely missed, falling to the ground. Obviously concerned Haven checked on him, only to be told that his vision was a little blurry, and concerned that he'd hit his head, she'd made the child sit which had resulted in 'worst mother of the year award' she was sure. Because no child wanted to be sat down at the park, much less one Lake's age. Though, as Lake and Luke played once Summer and Luke arrived, Lake's mood shifted - more so confirming with Haven that her fears of being the worst mom ever were in fact proving more to be true by each passing second. That was something she'd definitely have to work through, that was for sure. But for now, she was focused on watching her son play and while he was still young at heart she wanted nothing more than to watch him be a child.

"Lake, man, you keep rubbing your eyes." Haven spoke, looking at him as he came back from the lane rubbing his eyes again. "Are you sleeping okay?" she questioned. "Do we need to get you some allergy meds or something?" she placed her hand on top of his head as she often times found him eager to do whatever his mind was set on instead of stopping to listen to her. Though, just as she assumed Lake shook his head. "No, Mom. I'm fine." the child spoke, looking at his mom, rubbing his eye again and then closing it, looking at her now with one eye. Though, shaking her head she looked down at him. "You say that, bud, but, you rubbing your eyes like that has me concerned." she spoke. "You still seeing things blurry?" she asked, looking down at him. With a small nod and a quick glance at River, before shrugging. "We'll keep an eye on it, use some drops and maybe talk to your teacher." she commented. "But maybe go clean out your eye, see if that helps and then come back." Nearly five minutes later Lake did just that, nodding at his mom. "That was a good idea Mom, it worked!" he excitedly explained, taking the glass of water he'd poured for himself and chugging it, before returning to the bowling lane. With a small smile and a nod, Haven laughed. "Glad it helped, bud." she smiled, looking back at her son and then at River, shrugging before they joined him on the lane.

The week had been long, and Haven felt like she'd been running around like crazy. Between the playdate with Summer, bowling with River, holiday shopping and all of that had taken a toll on both of them. So, when Lake had decided to nap after school on a Wednesday afternoon, Haven hadn't thought much of it. He'd had a dentist appointment just after lunch, and once he'd finished his homework, Haven had found him sleeping and while she put dinner in the crockpot for that night, she let him rest. Though, at 5 o'clock when he was still sleeping she went to wake him having him get dressed for his horseback riding lesson, though, the second she left the room Lake was asleep again. And when she got distracted with a meeting, she didn't quite realize it until it was already after six, and when she rushed into Lake's room to get him to leave, she found he was sleeping again. "Sorry, Mom, I'm just tired." Though, being tired didn't warrant an apology and Haven shook her head at him. "You don't need to apologize for being tired, Lake." she smiled. "Your rest is important. If you want to skip practice today you can stay home and rest. It's flu season so, I don't want you to risk it. If you need sleep, stay home and rest." she reassured, but made a mental note to keep an eye out for any other symptoms as she left his room.

December 18th - 22nd, 2023

Haven had noticed enough about Lake to be concerned and had already tried calling to get an appointment with his doctor who didn't have anything available until the middle of January. She'd notified his teacher, curious if they'd noticed anything to which she'd been told no. Though, when the last week of school before Christmas break came around, she'd gotten an email from his teacher, explaining that this week he'd been easily distracted, unable to focus, very moody and also was needing to take frequent bathroom breaks, which was really beginning to disrupt his learning. Replying to the email that she'd talk with him over break and try to get him in with the doctor, Haven sighed, letting herself really think about all the things that she'd been experiencing with Lake. What could they mean? What was going on and why did it suddenly not feel like this was pre-teen hormones anymore?

December 29th, 2023

Waking up that morning had been nothing short of normal; Lake had stayed the night at Noah and Nora's place and Haven had gotten some much needed alone time after some holiday plans. She'd planned to go to their house for lunch, spend the day with them and bring Lake home to have some quality time with her son - she was hoping that some alone time with him would help his attitude recently - as she knew these days were limited. Lake was growing before her eyes and she wanted to hold onto every part of his childhood that she could. He seemed to be growing right before her eyes, and she hated every moment of it. She was enjoying the peace and quiet though, watching a Christmas movie she'd been meaning to catch up on, a bottle of sparkling water on the coaster beside her and a bar of chocolate in her hand. She still had a few hours before lunch, and in true Haven fashion she'd missed breakfast so this was her first 'real' meal of the day. She hadn't even realized that she left her phone on the island in the kitchen, and only stood to get it when she heard it buzzing, watching as the screen changed from a call to a missed call and she saw that Nora had called her twice now. Growing concerned, she lifted it to call her back just as Nora was calling her a third time, and Haven answered, but before she even had time to speak she was hit with the news that felt like a punch in the gut. Lake..passed out.. conscious.. loopy... Noah and hospital. were the only words that seemed to resonate in her ears and she nodded, quickly, feeling her breathing begin to quicken as she felt herself begin to panic. She couldn't even remember if she said anything to Nora before she hung up the phone, grabbing her keys and leaving her home abandoned. She could barely even remember getting from point a to point b, her heart pounding in her ears as her wallet and phone were thrown into the passengers seat and her car was thrown into reverse, backing out of the driveway as her mind went through all the things that had happened recently. The mood swings, the intense hunger and thirst, the blurred vision, the fatigue, his behavior at school along with the constant bathroom breaks, and lastly him passing out, was it all connected? Had she missed something that she should've seen a long time ago, something that was a key part in why Lake was on his way to the hospital now? She didn't have time to think, she didn't even have time to cry, yet, somehow the tears that she didn't even know she was holding in had escaped, running in streams down her cheeks. Wiping her cheek and her nose with the back of her hand, Haven put the car in drive and began the drive to the hospital, flashers on and foot on the gas; her baby needed her, and there was nothing and no one that would stop her from getting to him.

THE END

[totallywizard07]

The Bad Batch Death Trooper AU Part 3: Action and Consequence

Part 1: Fire

2,769 words - when Hunter is woken from his painful stupor to be taken to a new lab, he decides he must escape

Preview - This ‘enhancement process’ Hemlock kept talking about must be whatever had been happening to him after he had been taken. The doctors and needles, the restraints and droids, the darkness and pain. So, so much pain.

And Hemlock said it was happening to his brothers too.

He had to save them.

He had to save them from the pain.

He had to escape.

Thoughts of his brothers rarely strayed as far as his conscious thoughts anymore, confined to his nightmares and fleeting dreams of goodness. It became harder and harder to tether himself to reality during the rare occasions in which he was awake, and even more difficult to tell when this was the case. Nightmares and Hunter’s likewise-nightmarish existence blended, leaving him delirious.

All he saw of his brothers were tear stained faces and shaking hands.

“No, no Wreck!” He slurred. One minute, he was calling his blurry looking brother back over, the next, a doctor was peering over at him, small tool in hand.

“Lemme go… what you done t’ me…” he tilted, or rather flopped, his head to the side in question.

The doctor reached out and he felt a hypo breach his skin; he waited for the telltale signs of a sedative making its merry way through his system, but the drowsiness never came.

Slowly, the ringing in his ears dissipated. His pounding headache followed. His shaking hands stilled, his blurry vision cleared, awareness flooded back into him.

Suddenly, he could feel the sweat soaking his forehead and arms, the way the binds dug into his wrists, the dry tear tracks on his face- all with a clarity he hadn’t known in a while.

He could also make out the voices and faces of the people towering over him.

“Can you hear me? Answer, boy,” he belatedly realised the dark-haired lady was speaking to him rather than over him.

He stumbled over his words as he answered, “Ye-yes I, I can hear you,” he squinted as a droid shined a light in his eyes, blinking as it was pulled away. “Why- why did it stop? What did you do to me?” He tried to recover as best he could from his surprised confusion.

But instead of answering his query, the doctor simply turned and moved from his limited line of sight, speaking to the others in the room, “The subject appears to be lucid. Call the doctor in, he should be ready.”

Hunter’s confusion only worsened with this reply, or rather lack thereof. What had the lady meant, ‘the subject’? Was he the subject? And who was the doctor?

Before he could ponder it any more, the people previously bustling around him stilled and quietened, parting to reveal a man with pale skin and dark slicked hair, dressed in a dark jacket that greatly juxtaposed the white walls Hunter was so used to. He wrung a black-gloved hand as he addressed Hunter.

“I have been monitoring your progress over the past few weeks. It appears your enhancements are coming along as planned,” he spoke evenly and with a detached tone, turning to speak to the doctors lining the wall in his wake, “Have him ready to move to testing room one within the hour.”

“Yes Doctor Hemlock,” a chorus of voices replied, all resuming their abandoned tasks to fill his request.

Hemlock turned back to Hunter, ignoring the growing snarl on the boy’s face.

“My name is Doctor Royce Hemlock. I have-“

“What have you done to me? Where are my brothers?” Hunter interrupted him mid sentence, desperate to finally gain long awaited answers.

To Hunter’s annoyance, the doctor brushed aside his disruption.

“As I was saying, I have been in charge of your enhancement process since you first arrived at this facility. I have no doubt, as you have already voiced, that you are wondering what has been done to you in this time. While it is far from a straightforward experiment, especially for such a young child to understand, I will attempt to explain the basic concept to you.”

Hunter tried his hardest to maintain a confident and stern demeanour, but every word the man spoke chipped away at his armour of bravery, piercing his heart with uncertainty and fear.

He opened his mouth to speak, but only managed to make a small squeaking sound before abruptly closing it again.

The doctor sighed, before muttering, as if to himself, “You will definitely need to be trained out of such childish fear. All in due time.”

He straightened and smiled coldly at the boy gazing anxiously up at him, “Now, your enhancements. Let me ask you this, child: do you find loud noises to be disruptive?” He did not wait for a reply before continuing, “It is not uncommon for children- or even adults- to develop hyperacusis, as you had prior to our meeting.”

Hunter always knew he had sensitive ears. He hated it when the lady in the market would ring her big bell in the mornings, or when Wrecker would shout too loudly. How did the doctor know about that?

“When my doctors and I studied you and your brothers and discovered this, we decided to enhance your hearing even further, to an almost superhuman level, along with several of your other senses.”

When they studied him? When they studied his brothers? Were they alive, were they there too?

He was confused by the ‘enhancement’ of his hearing and other senses the doctor was talking about, but his brothers always came first. He had little space for other thoughts in his head right then anyway; he had to know where they were.

“My brothers? Where are they?” He scrambled frantically against the restraints habitually- he knew he would never break them. “Are they here too? Let me see them!”

“Your brothers are here. We studied them, as we did you, and they are also being enhanced for the use of the Empire.” He shifted on his feet, turning to nod to a doctor on his left. “Call the guards in to relocate him.”

Hunter opened his mouth to ask more questions about his brothers, but Hemlock interrupted smoothly, “You will soon be taken to a new lab, a lab in which you will have more freedom-“ Hunter gaped at this. He had no freedom now! “-but more will be expected of you, subject 1. I expect complete cooperation. Insubordination will be punished.”

Hunter’s confusion was growing rapidly with every new sentence. Punishment? Lab? Insubordination? Subject 1?

He pushed the feeling aside when realisation struck. This ‘enhancement process’ Hemlock kept talking about must be whatever had been happening to him after he had been taken. The doctors and needles, the restraints and droids, the darkness and pain. So, so much pain.

And Hemlock said it was happening to his brothers too.

He had to save them.

He had to save them from the pain.

He had to escape.

—————————

Fels hadn’t been to this wing of the academy before. It was buried deep under the populated rooms and hallways, hidden behind locked doors and whispered rumours. No, he hadn’t been to this wing, but he had heard of it.

Being assigned to the Scarif facility was known among stormtroopers to be a fruitless allocation. What little was known about the silent, dark-clad death troopers trained in this academy was that they were more than capable of holding their own- more so than the stormtroopers; Fels wasn’t naive enough to claim otherwise- due to whatever extensive training they went through. Fels often found himself curious as to their conditioning, but had since given up trying for answers. He rarely saw those troopers interact with each other, let alone one who wasn’t in their ranks. Regardless, his curiosity built every time he laid eyes on one of those sleek, black-helmeted figures.

“Wonder who this ‘subject’ guy is,” he tried, stealing a glance at his stern counterpart and struggling to keep up with their purposeful strides are they both made to their way to the labs to assist a relocation, “Maybe he’s one of those rebels they caught the other week, you hear about that?”

His companion merely sighed and slowed their pace minutely, muttering, “I would recommend not asking questions, kid.” Her voice was coarse and low, but unmistakably female. “What I’ve heard of this wing does not sound like something you’d want to be poking your nose into.”

Fels moved his gaze to the floor, perplexed. He’d heard the rumours, his whole squad had, but he never really believed them. Not fully anyway. How could anyone believe that the Empire was experimenting on its soldiers, cutting into their heads and wiping their minds? They were just rumours. This was probably just some abandoned medcentre or a secret brig, nothing Fels hadn’t heard about or come across before.

A sigh to his right pulled him from his deliberation. “Name’s Ellis. TK-487. How long have you been assigned here kid?”

Fels was surprised by her introduction- Ellis had previously seemed uninterested by him- but he was not so fazed as to appear dumb to his assigned associate. “TK-5201, my name is Fels. I was sent here two weeks ago from the Eriadu academy,” he kept his words even and smart, addressing Ellis as he had been taught to address a superior.

“Well, Fels, we’re nearly at our destination, so I advise you to follow my lead and keep your mouth shut. The doctors won’t take kindly to your questioning, and even if they did, they wouldn’t give you any answers.” She tilted her head to one of the many stark metal doors lining the surgically white hallway, “This place isn’t one many of us-“ he realised she was referring to stormtroopers “-often get to visit, and, from what I’ve heard, it isn’t one many of us would want to.”

In the near silence of the wake of her words, Fels thought he heard a scream from deep within the walls.

He scratched it down to his imagination.

—————————

By the time he heard the thumps of the approaching guards’ footsteps, his plan was fully formulated.

“Remove his restraints.”

The troopers approached, one slightly more hesitant than the other, and unfastened his straps- his ankles and head, then his hips and torso, then his wrists. Now to put his plan into action.

The guards grabbed him by the arms at the doctor’s request and pulled him into a sitting position; he found his aching limbs leaning on their grasps to stay up. They yanked him down from the cot, his legs almost giving way underneath him, and shaking even with the troopers’ support. Maybe his plan would prove to be more difficult than he expected, but he had to try- for his brothers’ sake if not his own.

Hunter didn’t struggle as the soldiers essentially carried him to the doorway, using his strength to take in his new surroundings. The lab looked much smaller from an angle that was not looking directly up, and he could now see the complexities of the room. Tools hung from metal hooks on the walls, and tubing connected to whirring machinery was dangled across shelves. The cot he had lain on for so long was surrounded by tables and even more tools and machines, and the whole room was surrounded by computers showing complex images and scans Hunter didn’t understand.

He stared at one monitor displaying two different oval-shapes in varying shades of grey. One had a little red dots in places, and darker patches dotted around the sides. He squinted at it, but before he could think any further on what the strange shapes were, he was dragged out through the door by the guards.

Hemlock walked in front of them, the echoing click, click, click of his shoes on the tile the only sound made by the ghoulish man.

Hunter’s feet still dragged paths along the floor, but his head was held by his resolve. It was time to escape.

Three. Hunter’s ankles ached as he stretched them; he distantly hoped they wouldn’t hurt when he ran.

Two. He shifted his head slightly to either side, making sure the troopers were not aware of his plans. Neither so much as shifted their head.

One. The butterflies circling his stomach fluttered violently. He took a deep breath, in and out.

Zero.

—————————

Fels released his grip in surprise as he felt a jolt from the child in his arms. Cursing himself on his mistake, he quickly stepped back towards the boy, now squirming in Ellis’ iron grip. Reaching his arm out to regain hold of the boy’s shoulder, he was met with flailing limbs, making it impossible for him to help restrain the child.

“Let me go!” He was kicking now, not powerfully- barely making connection- but he was desperate. With every frustrated grunt accenting his weak attempts at evasion, he got louder, however his attacks got even worse strength-wise. At some point in his struggle, he reached a peak, and from then on his energy levels dropped.

His angry yells developed into half-hearted begs, and then into sad sobs. “Jus’ let me go,” tears streamed down his face, each word was accompanied by a gasp. “Lemme see them!”

Fels had by now returned to his station at the young boy’s shoulder, his terrified sobs shaking the trooper’s grip.

He chanced a look at the ‘subject’ they had been sent to relocate. This child barely looked six years old to Fels’ admittedly inexperienced eye, far too young to be roped up in matters of galactic conflict, particularly political conflict.

He was just a child.

Upon arriving in the lab only to find a scared young boy with a brave face strapped down to a medical table, surrounded by myriads of equipment, droids, doctors and the like, he had been shocked. Were the rumours true? Experimentation?

He had thought the idea of experimentation to be far fetched, but it was even more so on children. It was outright wrong either way, and yet somehow infinitely worse in this case.

Now, as he watched this boy break down in the face of failure and fear, begging to be released, to be reunited with his brothers (were there more children here, he wondered?) he gently, hopefully imperceptibly, squeezed the kid’s shoulder. He thought he saw the boy turn his head ever so slightly, but before he could ponder on it, the doctor standing ahead of them in the hallway broke his silent vigil.

He had been watching the events unfold, entirely impassive, showing no sign of wanting to help stop the escape of his previous subject. In fact, he almost looked curious at one point. Now, however, he was unmistakably disappointed.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he tutted, shaking his head slowly. He never took his eyes from the boy. “I expected better from you, one. Especially considering the great service I have done for you.”

The knowledge of what service this could possibly be evaded Fels.

“Your attempt at escape was entirely fruitless, although I am sure you realise you have done yourself no favours by chancing it. Rather, the opposite.”

The boy raised his head. His sobs had mostly stopped, although his breath still came raggedly.

“Simple: action and consequence. In this particular case, I will let you off with a warning. Just know, one, that your lapses in judgement will result in consequences that I am sure you would rather avoid. I would hate for something to happen to one of your precious younger brothers.”

Fels tensed at this. Threats! This man had just threatened a child! It was about time he put an end to this.

A hand brushed his shoulder as he stepped forward and as he looked up, Ellis levelled him with a shake of her head. He frowned; how could she just stand by and allow this to happen? She shook her head again, slower this time. Fels shuffled back reluctantly, glad the doctor had been too wrapped up in his criticism to notice his near mutiny.

“What? What do you mean?” Fels was reminded, yet again, of the youth and innocence of this poor child. He scrutinised the doctor with a glare he could not see.

Hemlock sighed impatiently. “If you make a mistake like that again, your brothers will be punished as well as yourself. I am sure you would prefer to avoid this outcome.”

The doctor turned and began walking again without warning, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Fels grabbed the silent boy’s upper arm and prepared to have to borderline carry him to the new lab. What he wasn’t expecting however, was the small voice that sounded up to him from below.

“Please. Please, my brothers, they are here too, I know it. Please let me see them. Please let us go,” he mumbled, looking between Fels and Ellis, the fear and heartbreak in his gaze seizing Fels by the throat.

“Let us go home.”

[kinfanfiction]

Bernard x Elf!Reader - Chapter 9 - Goodbye

A/N: The final chapter!!! This has been a lot of fun, this fic brought back a lot of writing motivation for me and I’m so glad you guys seem to like it! I plan to make more fics in the future, whether Bernard related or not. I will make a separate post soon will future ideas I have but Idk if I’m ready to be accepting requests yet for anything outside of Bernard fics, but if I’m gonna continue writing fics for him specifically I’ll definitely need requests. Anyways, enjoy! Sorry it’s really short, I’m just using this last chapter to wrap up the story.

     For the remaining hours of Christmas Eve, you and Bernard stayed up kissing and talking about your feelings. Eventually, you grew tired and began to drift off. Bernard kissed you goodnight as your eyes grew heavy and decided perhaps it was too soon to stay the night, but you pulled him close, making it clear you thought different. He wrapped his arms around you until you fell asleep. Then, he removed the necklace from your neck, setting it on your nightstand so it didn’t hurt you, he wrapped the blanket around the both of you, and then he went back to holding you until he fell asleep too. 

     You woke beside him, as he still slept with his arms around you. Your eyes widened and in your first few seconds of lucidity you struggled to remember the events of the night before. Once you did, you relaxed. You knew this wasn’t going to be easy to get used to. You carefully slipped out of his grasp, getting up and walking to the bathroom to get ready and change into your work clothes. Once you were done with that, you went into the kitchen and made breakfast for the two of you. You made a new batch of oatmeal cookies, and the smell of them baking in the oven woke Bernard up. 

     It took him a moment to remember what had happened too, but as he slowly began taking in the sight of being in your bed with you across the small house in the kitchen, he did. You were still making a couple hot cups of cocoa as he got up, and he wrapped his arms around you from behind, kissing your head. He was so quiet when approaching you that you jumped a little when he touched you. “Oh! Good morning!” You said with a surprised chuckle, turning to face him and giving him a quick kiss before returning to making cocoa. 

     Bernard let go of you, understanding through your body language that you were still processing everything. He had years to think of what a relationship with you would look like, and those ideas had only recently appealed to you and they were already starting to unfold. To him, everything as it was felt long awaited. To you, it was sudden. He knew you’d need space and time to get used to the change in dynamic.

     Soon, the cookies were done and you put two on a plate for each of you, and soon after the cocoa was done and you made two cups. You sat down by the fireplace and quietly ate as you stared into the flames. Bernard sat beside you and was silent for a little while. Over the years, you’d grown comfortable with just sitting silently beside each other. You both thought to yourselves for a while before either one of you spoke. You reveled in the safety you felt around him, he read your every move with ease, he knew you well. To you, that was everything. To be understood thoroughly for who you were, to have all your boundaries respected without even having to voice them. He made it his mission to make you feel comfortable, and you couldn’t be more relieved that this was the case.

Bernard thought about what your next steps could be as a couple. Not that being your best friend and being your partner were extremely different, but he just thought it might be nice to do something that he knew had been on your minds for a while, in spite of you only mentioning it out loud recently.

     “So.. remember when you talked about wanting to go on a vacation?” Bernard finally spoke up, immediately drawing your attention away from the fire. 

     “Mhm?”

     “Why don’t we start it today? When Santa gets back, let’s request time off, a week, maybe 2, and we can just go.”

     “On Christmas day? Isn’t that kind of bad timing since he’s going to go be with his family?”

     “We have always done well in ensuring that the current Santa, and the Santa’s before him have gotten a vacation, I think it’s time he ensures we get ours. We’ll let the younger elves practice taking care of things without us for when we eventually retire.”

     “Hmmm.. I don’t know.. it’s kind of sudden for us to request a vacation don’t you think?”

“I mean, sure, but when have we ever done anything that was spontaneous?”

“When have you ever wanted to do something spontaneous?”

“Well, you know what they say.. love makes you want to be spontaneous!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “That’s not the saying.”

He grinned, “It is now. So, what do you think?”

“I hate to say it, because this is not an organized event- and the version of you I swear I knew a week ago would be furious with you now for that- but I think I’m in.”

“You think?”

“Not I think- I’m in. We definitely need a vacation, and a little bit of spontaneity every now and then can’t hurt.”

“Great! Let’s get our well deserved vacation as our Christmas gift from Santa and pack our bags. We can go anywhere you want. It’ll give us time to process a change in our relationship, and time to see places outside of the North Pole.”

     After breakfast, Bernard went home and changed into his more casual clothes, and then the two of you walked together to the workshop. You had slept in and spent your time getting to work since it was your one official day off, so by the time you got to Santa’s office he had already been back for a couple hours. Charlie was talking to him when you first walked in, but when he saw you two he quickly stopped.

     “Santa, I don’t often have requests, and I especially never request anything on Christmas, but I have one to make today.”

     Santa looked confused, and gestured for him to go on with his request.

     “Y/n and I would like to take a vacation. In the 800 years we’ve worked here, and the 1600 years we’ve both been alive, we’ve never taken a vacation and we’ve never left the North Pole. All other elves our age have retired by now, and we haven’t even waded in the waters of the world. I hope that perhaps, as your Christmas gift to us you could... let us take 2 weeks off?” Bernard built a little bit of an argument behind his request, but Santa looked as if he had made up his mind on his answer as soon as he suggested vacation.

     “I mean it’s short notice.. but y’know what? Of course you can! You can take the sleigh if you need. You’re my two hardest working elves, you deserve time off.” He agreed with a smile. You and Bernard both felt a sense of relief wash over you, and you looked at Bernard with a bright smile on your face.

     “Thank you so much, Santa, this means a lot.” You spoke, unable to hide your excitement. 

     You left, but once again Bernard was held back. “Does this mean you finally told her?” Santa asked with a knowing grin.

     “I did, Sir.” He confirmed with an excited nod.

     The two of you packed in your houses, and then you met with your bags. You put your necklace back on, and he packed his teddy bear. You were ecstatic about finally getting to travel. You walked together to borrow Santa’s sleigh and reindeer, putting your bags in the back and taking off. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. Are we stuck on Iceland?” You questioned for clarification.

     “We’re not stuck anywhere, if you want to go to Iceland, we’ll go, if you change your mind halfway there, we’ll change course.” He confirmed with a smile. 

     “This is gonna be incredible, I can’t wait to come back with stories of our adventures to share with the other elves!”

     “I can’t wait to experience a new adventure with you.”

     The two of you couldn’t stop smiling as you flew away from the North Pole. You were so happy to be with him. The comfort he gave you even through all these new circumstances made you feel all the more ready for them. You didn’t know what the next two weeks would look like, or the next 200 years, but you knew you wanted them to be spent with him. 

[photogirl894]

To celebrate your 1000 followers milestone 🥺👉👈 can I request "Playful shove" with Crosshair and Wrecker (after hypothetical rescue at the end of season 2)?

I know you sent this in before the season 2 finale, so I apologize, my dear...but we can just now say this is a hypothetical rescue during season 3! How about that? 😜 And I'm going along with the "Tech Lives" theory for this, as well! (Cuz come on, we're all thinking it!)

Not gonna lie, I nearly cried writing this...😢 Doesn't help that I threw in a few references from both Clone Wars and Bad Batch to help drive the feels home.

"One of Us"

33. Playful shove

Pairing: Crosshair & Wrecker (platonic)

***

For the Bad Batch, breaking Crosshair and Omega out of Tantiss was, indeed, difficult, but a task they undertook nonetheless. Their family was in trouble and it was up to them to get the two of them out. They had quite the firefight on the way out, but with great luck, they managed to not only escape, but greatly hinder the experimentation that was going on in Mount Tantiss. The Empire's efforts might've been temporarily thwarted, but it was a good start to fighting against them.

Crosshair had been reluctant to go with them at first. He felt he didn't deserve to be rescued and that his former squad should just leave him there to die. It was what he felt he deserved. However, the others were just as stubborn and were refusing to go without him, especially Omega. So, begrudgingly, he went with them.

"Why wouldn't you just leave me there?" he asked the others. "Why would you rescue me instead of just the kid?"

Tech stepped forward and stated with surety, "Because we are a family, Crosshair. You're our brother...and we don't leave our own behind."

His words struck Crosshair to the core and, for once, he found that there were no words he could think of to properly respond. Despite everything he'd done and how last they parted ways, they still thought of him as a brother; as family...after all this time?

Then Wrecker came up to Crosshair, towering over him, but a big grin adorned his face. "So you turned on the Empire," he stated. Then, with a hearty laugh, he gave Crosshair a playful shove in the arm.

Crosshair let out a quiet grunt and rubbed at his arm. "I see you still haven't grown up, Wrecker," he stated, more as a simple observation than trying to make a snide remark.

Then Wrecker smiled even wider. "I always knew you had it in you! You just needed to see it yourself, too," he told his brother.

"You...you really thought that?" asked Crosshair.

Wrecker bowed his head. "I knew you'd come back to the right side one day...and come back to us."

Crosshair questioned him, a hint of sorrow in his eyes and regret in his voice, "You would still take me back? After everything I did and have done since?"

The giant Clone reached out and laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You're still one of us, Crosshair...and I told you on Kamino that we'd still take you back, didn't I?"

Crosshair's mouth quivered, trying to reply, but he was too overwhelmed with so many emotions to properly find a voice to speak. He was shocked and yet relieved and the genuine look in Wrecker's eyes told him that his brother meant every word.

Then Hunter came up beside Wrecker and asked, "Crosshair...Wrecker's right. You're still one of us and there's still a place for you here. Will you join us again?"

There was a silent moment of anticipation as Crosshair thought things over. His eyes wandered over, taking in the sight of all the faces of his once former squad watching him and awaiting his response. For so long, he thought they'd abandoned him and he'd been angry with them. On Kamino, he'd tried to persuade them to the Empire's side just so they could all be together again, but they'd refused and he'd chosen to stay away from them. He thought he'd found his purpose once...but the Empire had proven to be the opposite of what he thought it would be. He'd never been more miserable in his life...and it wasn't until he was on a desolate, snowy planet while standing on a triggered pressure mine, thinking he was possibly minutes or seconds from dying, that he realized how much he missed his former squad...his family. The reg who was helping him with the mine, Mayday, had made him open up about them for the first time in ages. After remembering them as well as the death of his newfound friend, Crosshair had made the decision at last that he would no longer be loyal to the Empire. Even though he never thought Clone Force 99 would take him back after the terms they'd parted on, that decision alone would be enough to help turn things around for him. Now, here he was, having been broken out of his awful captivity on Mount Tantiss by Clone Force 99 themselves, and he was now back on the Marauder with them and they'd offered to let him come back. This very scenario had been nothing but a distant dream he thought would never come to light...but if there was one thing his brothers and sister loved doing, it was proving him wrong...something he'd actually come to miss.

A familiar, devious smirk turned up on his lips as he made his decision and gave his reply: "You missed me? How touching."

That was all the Clones needed to hear. Hunter reached out and laid a hand on Crosshair's other shoulder, grasping it and giving it a gentle, friendly shake, exchanging a nod and a grateful look with his brother. Omega, with a cry of joy, ducked under Hunter's arm and hugged Crosshair around the waist.

"Welcome home, Crosshair!" she exclaimed.

Echo, with a pleased grin of his own, turned to Tech and stated, "It looks like the prodigal brother has finally returned."

Photogirl894's Physical Affection prompts

Photogirl894's 1,000 Followers fics

[nahoney22]

Hi! Could I do the honours of requesting your first crosshair one shot if you haven’t got a request already 😁? I’m in the mood for some angst so maybe when crosshair gets his chip removed but it doesn’t go according to plan with the reader?! Reader can be GN or whatever you’re comfortable with 🤗 thanks! 💙

we love an angst one shot! You asked for angst @kryptoknight123 so you better prepare yourself to board the angst train.

Where Loyalties Lie

Crosshair X GNeutral! Reader

word count: 2.7k

Crosshair has been saved but he is different. He is angry and he knows where his loyalties now lie. Will he be the same man that you once loved?

Warnings: this is a pure angst crosshair one shot. If you want a loving and happy crosshair with fluff this is not for you. Angst central. Talks of anxiety, injuries and indirect mention of Order 66. Did I mention angst? Strap in.

You had never felt a sickness like it before. You had never felt the way your heart hammered like a drum against your rib cage, almost cracking your bones in the process. You had never felt your hands get so clammy that no matter how much you wiped your hands against your pants, they still remained to be soaking. You had also never felt the sickness inside your stomach before that you could relieve yourself at any given moment.

But there you sat with all these feelings in the copilot seat of the parked Marauder. One of your legs was tucked up to your chest, your chin resting ontop of your knee as you let out shaken breaths. Hours ago that felt like minutes, you and the Batch had managed to finally subdue Crosshair and remove his chip.

You knew it was going to be a tough and long awaited task but you didn’t expect it to happen like it did. Crosshair didn’t go down without a fight. Of course, why wouldn’t he? The Kaminoans implanted him, all of them, with mind controlling chips. The thought of them made your skin crawl. You knew deep down that all clones were victims in some way or another; bred to fight a war they had no say in. But to think that all along they had this thing inside them, just waiting to come to life was devastating.

You knew from the moment you saw the clones slaughter that Jedi on Kaller that something sinister was happening but you never expected one of your own to change too. You saw how wound up, more so than usual, he came to be. You watched as he wanted to defy all of Hunters orders to which he had never done before. You saw him slowly turn against his brothers and then you watched as he turned against you.

The moment he entered that hangar, dressed in his new black attire, you knew that he was gone.

Echo had rushed you straight onto the ship as he didn’t want you to take part in what was about to unfold. So as you went up that ramp and turned to look at Crosshair, you saw something in his eyes change for the briefest of seconds but that’s when he open fired. He had missed you, aiming for Hunter, and all of you had escaped with a new addition to replace the old.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” You had zoned out completely as you thought back to that day that you didn’t notice the little blond girl stood beside you. Omegas hand was resting against your forearm, a sign of comfort.

“I’m okay, kid. Are you?” You exhaled softly, hoping Omega didn’t hear the anxiousness in his voice as you sat up with open eyes and looked down at her.

“I’m okay. But…” Omega drawled off but you knew what she was gesturing too. She had been waiting outside the door that Hunter, Wrecker and now Crosshair were hid behind. It was clear to you that Omega loved you all and to see everyone so out of sorts was somewhat abnormal to her. She thought that this was a good thing, the Bad Batch back together! But it wasn’t. She had heard the swearing and shouting from Crosshair, as had you, whilst Wrecker and Hunter attempted some form of comfort to their vod. Echo and Tech were outside the ship. They said they were going to do some alterations to the ship but you knew they were lying. Echo was a terrible liar. They just needed space.

“I know.” You say simply and patted your knee. Omega wasted no time in crawling onto your lap and pressed her cheek against your shoulder.

You were unsure of Omega at first truth be told. You were unsure why Hunter wanted Omega to come with them but a part of you was bitter. Bitter that he had chosen a child over his own brother. Someone he had fought alongside with for years but you soon came to love Omega too. It took a while, but after Omega had watched you crumble to pieces one night, holding tight onto the blanket that Crosshair had used to sleep with, she had crawled into the bunk with you and ran her tiny fingers through your hair, soothing you, as you repeated over and over how sorry you were. Sorry for leaving Crosshair, sorry for being reluctant to Omega and sorry that you and Crosshair had never disclosed your relationship.

——————————————

You felt something shift from your body, causing you eyes to peel open. Wrecker was stood in front of you, his hands now occupied with a sleeping Omega who he placed over his shoulder, gentle snores pooling out of her mouth.

“Sorry to wake ya, you should go to your bunk.” Wrecker suggested and he was right. You and Omega had fallen asleep in the chair and your neck ached from the position you were sat in.

“Thanks Wrecker. You get some rest too, yeah?” You tell him as you stand, stretching out your tired limbs and placed a comforting hand to his scarred cheek before disappearing into the back of the Marauder. Tech and Echo were still no where to be seen and you paused as you saw Hunter with closed eyes on his bunk.

You watched him, his chest slowly falling and rising and then your eyes dithered to the door where you knew Crosshair was behind. You didn’t know if he was sleeping, sulking or just sitting in the room.

You took a step forward and slowly and carefully pressed your ear to the door just to hear if anything was being said or done inside. You closed your eyes, somehow hoping that it was going to heighten your hearing but you let out a startled gasp as a hand clasped on your shoulder.

With fear stricken eyes, you turned and are faced with Hunter.

“Sorry to frighten you.” He hummed, removing his hand and stood now with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “What are you doing?”

You felt your throat tighten and you leaned further away from the closed door, stammering over your words as you hoped for an answer to emerge.

“I was, I just uh- I was going to maybe-.”

“To see him?” Hunter finished for you and you sighed with a sad nod.

You saw him shift in his slot and sat down back on his bunk, looking up to you.

“He isn’t in a good way cyar’ika… you need to know this. Even with his chip removed.”

Hunters words lingered, the term for sweetheart or beloved hit you hard. Crosshair would whisper this to you as he used to sneak into your bunk with you whilst everyone was sleeping. He would whisper this to you if he watched you easily take down a handful of clankers and he has whispered this to you the first time your lips met.

You knew Hunter didn’t mean it in an affectionate way, more of a love of a friend. All of the boys had given you some soft names since Crosshair was left as they all deep down knew that you and him had something going on.

“I need to see him, Hunter.” You spoke after a moments silence. Your head held high as you mentally shake off your nerves.

Hunter is unconvinced but knew best than to fight with you about it. You wanted to be there when he woke up but Tech had told you that it was for the best not to overwhelm him with too many people. Then, after hearing his shouting, you decided to leave it for a while too. “Alright. If you need me I’ll be here.”

You thanked him quietly and took in a deep breath and hit the button on the side of the wall, the door sliding open and in you stepped with the door hissing and closing behind you.

The room was dark but you could see the outline of Crosshairs figure. He sat on the table in the centre of the room, his long slender legs over the edge and his head facing down. His back was to you which you weren’t sure if you were relieved with or not.

He didn’t speak, didn’t make any sound or noise at the sound of someone entering but he knew it was you. He heard you outside and he had heard what Hunter had called you.

You take slow movements towards him, the more you walk around the side of the table, the more you saw how different he looked. Skin scarred and broken and his head shaved.

“Crosshair?” You finally managed to breathe out, trying not to let your voice tremble. You wasn’t scared, just cautious. After all the shouting and swearing, he was still unpredictable.

Crosshair felt your presence to the side of him but he said nothing. His primary focus was on his breathing but as he saw your hand reach out towards him he lifted his hand and grabbed at your wrist, his head snapping in your direction.

The contact shocked you, eyes wide as his stared straight into yours as if he could see into your soul. Jaw clenched and brows furrowed. He was furious.

“Get. Out.” He let go of your wrist aggressively, his teeth clenched together but you didn’t budge. You should comply and do what he says but it had been too long since you had last seen him.

“Crosshair, speak to me.” The wrist he had grabbed was now behind your back, slowly rotating as if to erase the slight pain he had caused.

“There’s nothing I need to say to you.” He spat.

“Well… I think there is.” You argue but did not raise your voice. This time you stood in front of him but kept at a good distance.

Crosshair then stood, slow and calculating. His eyes were trained on you and his head tilted as a small smirk appears on his lips. “And what is there to discuss, cyar’ika?” He said with venom in his voice. “Or is that what Hunter calls you now?”

Your lips parted and your face resembled nothing but disbelief. You couldn’t form any words as he watched you and you swore you heard him chuckle before gnawing onto his lower lip instead of the toothpicks he usually had.

“It’s not like that at all. He cares about me, they all do.” You defended yourself.

“Of course not.” He said sarcastically. “Atleast they care about you. And the child more than their own brother.”

“Cross we wanted to come save you! We all did! But it was so hard.” You tell him, taking a step forward. “The whole empire was out to kill us, you were out to kill us! How could we have saved you until we finally had you by yourself?”

Crosshairs jaw tightened again and his chewing on his lips stopped and he too took a step forward. “You could have done something. Anything.”

Your face softened. His tone of voice was somewhat sad though his face surely didn’t show it. “We… I… I wanted to help. I tried to reason with Hunter many times to come and try save you but we had other priorities-.”

The words came out wrong. Completely wrong.

“Other priorities? Other priorities other than me?” He snarled, fury and betrayal in his eyes.

“No! I didn’t mean that, I just meant that with Omega we couldn’t risk having her near the Empire. She’s valuable to them! She’s now valuable to us.” You gestured towards the door where the other members were behind but his face didn’t change.

He watched you, your eyes pleading with him to see sense: to see that you care.

“You left me for dead, Y/N. Look,” he pointed to the side of his scarred head, “look what you did to me.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You couldn’t believe how he was being either. You looked to where he was pointing and you shook your head.

“That’s not on me, that’s on you! You trapped us inside an ion engine for Kriffs sake.” You threw your hands up in the air in anger. “You could have killed us, you could have disintegrated me.”

He turned away, knowing that what you were saying was true but shook his head. “Yeah? Well believe me when I say this then meshla,” he glances over his shoulder, “I don’t regret it.”

Your lip instantly trembled at his harsh and vile words. This was not the reunion you had expected. You had half expected him to run to you, picking you up and grinning like a mad man with his lips crashing to yours in front of his brothers, exposing the true relationship between the pair of you. But no. You instead listened to him say that he had wished you had all died instead of rescue him.

“H-how could you say that Cross?” You whispered, the hurt evident in your wavering voice.

He hated hearing you like that but that anger was still boiling inside his mind. He had changed and even with it the chip, his loyalties now lie somewhere else.

“You shouldn’t have come to save me.” His voice was barley above a whisper at this point. “I serve the Empire.”

“The Empire? Maker, Crosshair! Are you listening to what you’re even saying? They slaughtered the Jedi, the Republic!” You gasp, your hands clasping to hold onto the back of your neck as you shook your head still facing his back.

“The Jedi committed treason.”

“What treason? Look what the Empire has been doing to all the clones all along. Inhibitor chips? I mean, that doesn’t scream very trustworthy to me either.” You tell him, eyes glazed over with frustrated tears.

“The Empire is bringing order to the galaxy and good soldiers follow these orders and I am a good soldier!” He turned to you with a raised voice, striding towards you with his body practically leering over you as you flinch back into the wall.

Again, you were in disbelief and you could feel your heart strings snap slowly one by one. He was not the man you loved no more.

You closed your eyes at the close proximity, yet you still found it painfully difficult to not reach out and try and coax him out of these thoughts. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, maybe the chip had infected his mind completely. You wished Tech could give you an answer but right now, you just had to listen to the heartache.

“I… don’t believe you’re telling me the truth.” You say boldly, you eyes locking onto his.

“Well you best believe it. You have betrayed the Empire.” His warm breath fanned on your face making your knees tremble.

“Oh yeah? Then tell me this Crosshair…” You don’t break eye contact and you swallowed your nerves. “Why haven’t you killed us yet?”

The tension was thick. Disgustingly thick and painful to endure. His eyes were like razors, cutting into you but he found himself struggling for an answer. He stepped away, a shallow breath leaving your chest as your space is given back.

“Leave.”

“I’m not leaving you Cross… not this time. I-I love you.” You defied him with a gentle tone as the truth seeps out. This was your first time confessing how you truly felt- you had wished it to be in better circumstances.

Crosshair listened to your words and turned his back to you once again. His hands clasped onto the table, knuckles burning white as he tried to control himself. He was screaming at himself in his mind, screaming for him to tell you that he had loved you too but he couldn’t. You had left him, his brothers had left him and now he had a different purpose in his life. The Empire. A single tear leaked out of his eyes, sliding down his cheek and hitting the table with a small splash.

“Then you’re a fool.” His words were harsh, strained and and hurtful.

You backed away from the wall, walked around towards the door before turning to face him once more. The man you had loved was in him, you knew it, but you were afraid he would never come back. So, you looked away and opened the door stepping out. Before the door shut, your next words burned more than any ion engine blast could.

“I’d rather be a fool… than a traitor.”

——————————————

Back to masterlist

[yanderenightmare]

You made me fall in love with fear, it's all just fascinating. The way you write is an aesthetic in itself! It's so beautiful and thought-provoking. If your requests are open, I would love to see your volume one Yanderes with a clumsy s/o. Like, she is accident prone, always injuring herself, etc. I wonder how they would react with such fragility? Thanks! Have a wonderful day! :D

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, dumbification, abuse, manipulation, ableism, anxiety, death, murder, drugs, drugging, kidnapping

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

He knew fragile things existed in the world.

And he knows that the world was designed to chew such powerless things up then spit them out again.

And he knows he isn’t one of those frail things.

As a child he thought it was fair for the strong to conquer the weak.

And hell… he still thinks it’s fair.

Her brittle nature provides him with such a great excuse too, such a perfect explanation for him to justify taking her.

To justify keeping her in soft frilly clothes, locked inside a room devoid of walls where they have been replaced by cushions and pillows and blankets and furs and stuffed-animals and all things soft, soft, soft against the bruises and scrapes on her knees and ankles and elbows and chin. Keeping her all cozy and clumsy where she’s unable to keep her footing on the plushie asylum floor, reduced to vertigo, especially with that fluffy pink ankle-cuff chaining her down.

Sometimes she’ll hide when hearing Bakugo’s footsteps coming thundering from behind her door. She’ll wrap herself up in all those soft things she’s grown to hate, pray under the covers only to hear the cracking predatory humor of Bakugo’s laugh once he spots where the chain trails to.

He'll drag her out of hiding like a puppy on a leash, all for him to punish, all with that splitting frenzied grin on his face, the one that makes her head dizzy on the sight of seeing how sharp those canines of his are, knowing how they’re going to find her neck as though she’s some chew-toy.

He’ll always make it sound as though that’s what she wanted, that punishment is what her weakness begged him for, as though weakness is synonymous with wanting pain or needing pain.

He’ll sleep there with her most of the time, in the room he’s made so painstakingly clear was her home. She’s coming more and more gradually to the understanding that nothing in reality is hers anymore. Not the room, not the clothes, not her body.

She’s too weak to be allowed to be in charge of anything, better for her to just find comfort in knowing how she has no responsibilities, better for her to just be grateful Bakugo wanted her as his pet rather than his prey. Better for her to listen and believe him when he tells her that she’s safe, instead of thinking of all those crippling reasons as to why she is far from being safe.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Clumsy prey is a sport Shoto always believed to be too mediocre and boring, given how easily the dexterity of the predator can win the chase.

He didn't think he could achieve stimulation without a challenge.

But, he’s now finding that chasing someone who’s barely able to keep her own footing is a game he rather enjoys quite salaciously. Understanding now that it’s less about the quest, less about actually catching his prize, and more about the experience, those funny little moments leading up to it.

The amount of hungry pleasure he derives from seeing her stagger away from him is bottomless.

He doesn’t know why, but it’s the outmost endearing and lovable and precious and cute thing he can think of.

Seeing her stumble and fall, all in the product of mixing her clumsiness with her wild manic fear. Watching those beautiful swivel-eyes spiral as she looks up at him through the thick darkness of the poorly lit hallways, hearing nothing but Shoto’s inhumanly sadistic snickering and her own heavy panting as she tries desperately to drag herself further away. Yet, knowing and awaiting his massive biting cold hand to grip around her ankle to drag her across the marble-floor back into her dungeon, back into the soft bed, so that they can do everything again.

Most chases end up with her hurting herself and eventually aiding her own capture.

She’ll always wake up with bruises she has no recollection of when or how she got, yet looking at them she can tell that they’re way too mellow to be something given to her by Shoto.

It's funny, where he hurts her, he actually ends up saving her more times than most. Where her sporadic escape has almost led her to go tumbling down the stairwell, where were it not for Shoto catching her in her fall, things could have gotten really ugly.

He wouldn’t want her to actually break her legs after all, no matter how many times he might tease and threaten her with the thought. Broken legs would mean no more games, and Shoto doesn’t want that to end any time soon.

But, there are softer aspects to her silliness too.

She can be just as dopey and awkward with her rambling thoughts as him, where her inelegance with her mobility seeps into her skillfulness with words too.

If she’s proper blissed-out she can talk up storms of complete and utter nonsense, rambling on about her dreams and what animal the shape of Shoto’s scars resemble and how pretty his eyes are and how much her body is tingling in the aftershocks of what fun Shoto exercised on her skin.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Naivety really is bliss, isn’t it?

Not just for herself, but for him too.

To watch her, in all her clumsy glory, fall on her face, time and time again, never learning her lesson.

That’s the definition of insanity, you know?

Doing the same thing over and over again expecting things to go differently.

But, no matter how many times she tries to escape, no matter how many times she runs, or screams or cries or swears she hates him until her lungs burn, she’ll always end up right where she started off, right where she belongs, right in his arms, under his thumb, under him.

He doesn’t even have to put any effort in to prevent it.

He just needs to sit back and enjoy the show as she fails so spectacularly all by her very own, then pick her up off the floor and coo and hush and shush and tsk at her to calm down or else she might end up hurting herself all over again.

How has such fickle featherbrained maladroit messes managed to survive? How hasn’t evolution wiped them from existence yet?

Perhaps because other more evolved creatures found them to be such a perfect source for blowing off steam. Entertainment is important after all. Small little escapes through the day where you can forget what nasty troubles you’ll eventually have to deal with and simply just play with your silly little pet.

He saves the world every now and again, the world can allow him this much, to have his very own swivel-eyed toy. He deserves it. 

Besides, she needs him. If he hadn’t stepped in and helped her, saved her from her own mistakes, evolution would have done its job and she’d be dead already.

But, he doesn’t expect her bumbling brainless little head to understand that, she’d just get a headache from thinking about it too hard.

No, better for her to focus on other things… like how to entertain him before he decides to show her just how small a foolish little thing she is.

He’ll often play with her, make her turn all shades of hopeless because she’s too forgetful and too soft-natured to comprehend what’s happened.

He’ll give her things, small little trinkets as presents for her good behavior, mostly accessories such as hair-bows, necklaces, anything he can easily slip off her without her noticing, then pretend to be disappointed, scolding her as though she’s some child who’s unable to take care of her things, punish her and kiss her on that scared foolish little face as she splutters out her apologies, having not a single clue she’s right where he wants her, completely clueless to the fact that she’s perfect in every which way imaginable.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

It feels so unexplainably good to hold something infinitely helpless and vulnerable and dainty in his destructive hands without it shattering like glass.

It feels so insurmountably meaningful and purposeful and godsend to save someone for once, even if it’s from themselves.

It’s nice being in the presence of true chaos, the true absence of order, a great real heap of a total clusterfuck. It makes him believe that even life requires a little death to scare them into safety, that even light requires darkness, that even love needs darkness, that even love desires darkness.

He used to think small things such as her were made up of cotton and all things soft like dandelion-fluff, but now he knows they’re made of breakable brittle things such as autumn-leaves, in desperate need of being wrapped up, suffocated, drowned in safety. He’s the one who needs to be soft like cotton, he’s the one who needs to be gentle and soft so she not crumble like the sweet pastry she is.

It’s cute. She’s cute. Unbelievably so too sometimes.

He feels like half the time he spends with her he’s teaching her how to walk properly, catching her when she falls or helping her up from the ground, dusting her off, wiping tears away from her face, patching up small scrapes and gashes, kissing her forehead, letting her know how it’s all okay, making sure she knows she’s no such thing as a burden, though not letting her in on the fact that he loves seeing her fail only for him to save the day.

He’ll take her outside more because of her ditzy nature, knowing how she’s far too dopey to ever manage an escape without pulling out a near miss unintentional suicide attempt, where which after a number of rescues from him she forgets why she was even running in the first place, now too caught up with being close to him instead, with feeling safe, feeling protected.

He’ll save her from wandering off into traffic, protect her when she says the wrong idiotic thing to the wrong batch of people, fight for her when her cuteness lures and pulls and ensnares other predators.

It’s symbiosis, if he thinks about it, if he tries justifying it.

She needs him and he needs to feel needed. She needs to be taken care of, he wants to take care of her, she needs protection from herself, he wants her dependence, he wants the safety of knowing how she cannot survive without him.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

It’s hilarious.

She’ll break her own legs for him at this rate.

He wonders how many braincells could possibly be left in that thick skull of hers, with how much she trips and walks into walls and rolls out of bed, bumping her head on every possible thing, he can’t count how many times she’s head-butted him, whether it’s been on purpose or not. 

He wonders if she might just be blind.

If maybe she needs glasses…

Well… that’s too bad if that’s the case, no chance he’s giving up watching her agonize over every misstep that leads to her falling on the floor by his feet, her head tipping to look up at him with that ridiculous expression, that dumbfounded adorable confusion.

It probably doesn’t help that he keeps the room so dark.

It probably doesn’t help that he leaves things on the floor in hopes of her foot catching on them.

But, can you blame him for wanting to see her all cute and flushed? Watching her frustrate over herself, too caught up in being mad with her own inadequacy to bother being mad at him. So preciously hopeless as she tries to pick herself up off the floor, her hair always in a mess and bruises and scrapes littering her otherwise soft skin.

Pretty and stupid isn’t usually the type he fawns over, in fact: pretty and stupid is usually the type that disgust him, pretty stupid bitches that never spare him a second glance, pretty stupid bitches that are only worth one fuck before he dusts them.

But pretty stupid and sweet? 

That’s the perfect cocktail.

So stupid and sweet she doesn’t even know how pretty she is. So stupid and sweet that she’s surprised he gave her a second glance.

He wonders if he as well would be this careless and reckless if he hadn’t been gifted with that destructive quirk of his.

He wonders if she had been born with a heart made less up of honeycombs and more daggers like his, if she would also second-guess touching things as opposed to making it her mission to bump into every single thing in her path.

If she would be less trusting and more cynical like him.

He’s grateful she wasn’t.

He’s grateful that the only type of death she’ll ever get the chance to taste is him, that as far as she’s concerned… he is death.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Most of the time it’s cute.

Most of the time he loves watching her fall prey to her own absentmindedness. Watch her trip on nothing but her own poor footing.

After all, he does love catching her before she hits the ground. He loves being her hero, seeing that shocked expression on her face, that cute blush of embarrassment as he smirks down upon her jumpy skittish person.

Then of course there’s the less salvageable moments, yet still no less cute, where she’ll drop dinner plates or her glass or the wine bottle or the remote-controller, where she’ll get so frustrated with herself and her stubby fingers, her feet always needing bandaging where she always manages to step in her own mess of glass-shards.

Those times where she fucks up and fears Keigo’s temperance so much she’ll turn into a timid little ball of apologies and gratitude, where she’ll fear that any more screw ups will cost her his understanding attitude and awake something livid inside him.

She’ll be so sweet with fear as opposed to when she’ll jerk away from his touch.

So yeah, most of the time it’s cute, most of the time it’s beneficial.

But that habit she has of not thinking before speaking or acting gets her into a whole lot of trouble too.

Especially when she pushes him away or calls him something unsavory. When she acts like a brat, forgetting who’s in charge.

Keigo feels the need to teach her a thing or two about being a bit more careful and a little less brainless. 

He’ll pose her in the middle of the living room, with only red lace adorning her tiny frame, looking cold but not so much to be the reason to her shivers, he knows better as he can smell the fear laced in the air.

On top of her head he’ll put a perfect plump red apple and tell her to stand as still and picture-perfect as possible.

She’s pretty good at it too, at being still and quiet and pretty, speaking only when spoken to, at least until he starts sending knife-sharp feathers in her directions, creating her silhouette in the wall as the feathers fly just short of nicking her skin, where if she moves only a slight mere inch, the crimson edges will slice open her skin.

And if the apple should fall, well… if she can be sweet and apologize and show him just how sorry she is, he’ll think about making the punishment enjoyable.

SHINSO HITOSHI

Hitoshi can’t manifest how much awe he has for that ditzy nature of hers.

So forgetful, so clueless, so cute.

She’s like a little girl, a child, a baby in a cradle, yet with the ability to get lost, wandering off at every slight distraction.

He’s tempted to put a bell around her neck if only to be alerted off when her curiosity has taken her out of his eyesight. She would look adorable with a little golden jingle bell around her throat, hanging on a velvet choker.

But then again… he wouldn’t have the joy of finding her all tousled and knotted up in her newest little fuck up.

Little Miss Forgetful forgetting all her lessons, all those rules Hitoshi’s taught her, forgetting her manners, forgetting her chores, forgetting how to be his good little girl or else suffer the consequences of being punished and becoming Master’s little puppet on strings.

Little Miss Messy making a total clutter in the kitchen when trying her best to get her hand on a knife, but only managing to bump into everything, shards of glass painting the crime scene with the culprit displayed and trapped all perfectly in the middle of her own mess, all for Hitoshi to come and catch red-handed.

Little Miss Bump with new bruises and scratches as she’s fallen yet again on the floor in the midst of her newest escape attempt.

He could go on all day about his sweet little Miss Silly, his little Miss Scatterbrain, his little Miss Stupid, who’s always getting into trouble, constantly needing Hitoshi to come to her rescue.

But, when he’s not home, he can get anxious.

Scared that she might actually hurt herself just a bit too much and he’ll arrive just a bit too late.

It should take a lifetime to die, yet she’s on the verge of death nearly every day, it only takes an instant and it’s over.

He’ll check in on her at home more times than he probably should throughout the day, praying before he unlocks the door and steps inside the quiet stillness of their house, picturing her having cracked her skull open when slipping or accidently managing to hang herself off of something or drowning in the tub after having fallen asleep, there’s no end to what horrors he can picture.

His anxiety only satiated when finding her still asleep on the bed, soft untroubled snores hanging off the walls. 

It makes sense with how much melatonin he slipped in her drink before she dozed off…

Just a little safety measure.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

It manages to surprise him each and every time… just how much danger such a little thing is able to wrap herself up in.

It’s as though she chases the trouble, as though she wants the punishment that follows.

He doubts she ever really thinks anything thoroughly through.

She’s reckless, ruthless in her disregard for safety. Hare-brained and untrustworthy and in desperate need of his protection and his correction, or else she might just accidentally kill herself one day or worse… end up in the wrong set of hands.

It’s come to the point where he’s stopped gifting her with jewelry, because he gets so hysterically uneasy whenever she’s gotten her hands on anything sharp.

Before he’d get angry when she threatened him, wrathful, raging because she doesn’t listen, her foolish little brain unable to follow the simplest of directions. 

Now though, he gets scared because she’s unable to understand what’s best for her, because the only thing she'll ever manage to hurt with those sharp trinkets is herself.

And if she hurts herself, if she risks getting bacteria in her bloodstream, infections in her wounds, scarring and marring that beautiful body, he’ll have no choice, he’ll see no other option but to make sure she can never manage such a thing ever again.

He often humors the idea of simply tying her to the bed and feeding her with a silver spoon, only liquids so she not choke when she forgets how to chew properly.

He’ll act as though she’s a nuisance, but it will be a lie most of the time, while actually finding an inane amount of reassurance and relief in her whimsy, in her gracelessness. Where yes, she is a danger, but she’s far from deadly.

And besides, it’s nice getting a little break from all formalities, someone he can finally be a little rough around the edges with, someone he can let himself enjoy soft pleasures with, someone he can smile or even laugh with when the occasion calls for it. 

Sometimes he’ll place her in high-heels, only to watch her stumble around awkwardly like a little deer skating on ice.

She’s so determined too, determined to prove she isn’t a klutz, how she too can be elegant enough for a dance fit for the ballroom.

He’ll humor that fantasy, but she’ll always throw her heels off in favor of standing on top of his surgically white sneakers and letting herself get floated and swayed with how swiftly and precisely Kai has the established proper poise to enact.

He’ll smile then, when those flirty bubbling giggles erupt from her as she holds onto him, telling how him wonderful flying feels like.

TIP-JAR

[refurbishedgray]

Point of Contact

Reader x Tech. Maybe we get feisty and it’s reader x Crosshair, too. In this house, we like both.

Multi-part fic; probably NSFW; f!reader (she/her pronouns)

**Updates: I’ll tag you if you holler

Summary:

“No good ever comes to the Republic from Banking Clan business,” Hunter tells them, “Let’s get this done and get home, boys.”

Arriving on Scipio with the unhelpful directive of, “be discreet, but do whatever it takes,” the Bad Batch find themselves at the mercy of a stony representative whose allegiances lie with the best deal.

Or, the one where Tech and Crosshair think the reader is as intense as she is pretty.

**************************************

Part One

The office is too empty, too bright. The merciless glare of Scipio’s sun cuts across the room, gleaming unpleasantly from the gilded corners of all the fine furniture and glass. A corner office, inherited from an out-maneuvered relic of the past. 

All light and no warmth, you think, not for the first time. Never any warmth. In your early years with the Banking Clan, being stationed here had felt suspiciously like a punishment you hadn’t deserved, a proving ground when you had already proven so much. These days, however, you’ve come to understand that the frigid peaks standing vigil beyond your window are a reminder of how far you have climbed.

Now, as you shift in your chair, the expensive Corellian leather barely squeaking beneath you, you squint past the harsh light filtering in from the floor to ceiling window at your back. It’s all pristine snow on those peaks. Icy. Easy to slip if the cold didn’t kill you first.

Yes, you had climbed and clawed your way up these proverbial mountains. And like the man who last haunted this office, it has left you with so very far to fall.

The early days had been simpler. Smile. Look pretty. Never forget what can be saved for later. You hadn’t forgotten. Beyond the pale blue sky, twinkling out of sight, are worlds fraught with battles, littered with unsuccessful or unlucky tacticians from two sides of a conflict that won’t ever be ended, not truly. You have always preferred to keep your strategizing corporate. Clean. 

A frown drags at the corners of your mouth at the uncharacteristic foray into reminiscence of the…

The…

A phrase comes to mind and you allow yourself a small, private smile against the sunlight. The bad old days. 

Since then, things have always been kept tidy.

Until now. 

An unwanted spur of concern digs in behind your chest as your gaze turns from the window to sweep over the room. To your dismay, you realize why, and realize too clearly that the concern is not solely for yourself. 

He should be here.

Things were less empty when he was around, a relic in his own right and your pride and joy and confidant. How proud you had been when you had been informed that you would require a bodyguard. “A mark of success if there ever was one,” you had told the few family members you kept in contact with, of which there were very few, upon being informed of the recommendation after your previous promotion. “Aren’t you proud?” you had wanted to ask. But you had not asked. Better not to make the query when the answer was always so heavy and obvious. 

He had become your one and only friend. But he, too, is absent now, and upon permitting the observation, your office seems at once less empty and instead, guttingly, horribly hollow. Two rotations it’s been. Two rotations to give into the inconvenience of noticing.  

No, no, you think. You had noticed. Admitting it, that is the phrase that would be more accurate, but if it makes you feel less or more weak, you find you cannot decipher the bitterness creeping up your tongue.

Rising from your seat, you at once miss the meager warmth provided by the leather as the cool office air licks at you. Once upon a time, you had comforted yourself with the promise that one day, you would get used to the cold here. It was one of the few lies you allotted yourself over the years. Crossing the office, the marble floors as white and frosted as the mountain peaks outside resounding crisply beneath your heels, you make your way to the small bar trolley tucked away in one corner. Your last guest, a senator with strong -- unsubtly strong -- ties to the Clan, had complimented your selection of fine whiskeys and other alcohols. You had not admitted then that you did not keep the bar stocked for the guests who were few and far between, but rather for yourself, to chase away the damnable chill in this place. 

Your hand stills between decanters, your mind hesitating at the threatening burn that awaits your selection.

A bad habit.

You can imagine that peculiar modulated voice now. “Madam, the faces you make.”

Instead, you shun the alcohol and the ice that never thaws, yet still gets replaced each morning, now resting in a round chest, as gilded as everything else in this room, and reach for the Felucian pear juice. Duller, perhaps, but you don’t need anymore guilt on your conscience. 

A sip, then two, settles a gnawing in your stomach you only notice once it passes. 

Intolerable, you muse, downing what remains in the glass. The beverage is sweet, almost as sweet as the air outside is cold. Too quiet. Where are -

A rush of air and sliding metal breaks the silence. Glass in hand, your eyes narrow over the rim at the assistant who scuttles in. This one has been particularly insipid since her arrival. The daughter of someone marginally important, she is small and hunched shouldered -- she hasn’t learned, not like you did, and a part of you suspects she never will. 

She stops just short of where the tile begins and as she does, your eyes track down her uniform to a pair of shoes that have never been polished. Stars help her. 

In a quavering voice, she asks, “Madam?”

You raise a brow. 

“We’ve received word. The transport with the troopers has requested permission to land. They’re on their way.”

You set the glass aside, gingerly, its bottom barely clacking against the tray atop the cart. Republic troopers. A battering ram when a scalpel is needed. 

“Ah, the Senate’s grand favor,” you murmur. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

So many years spent with watchful eyes on you has made you good at hiding your frustrations. You swallow a sigh before it ever rises and allow yourself a brief moment to thumb the crystalline edge of the glass. The senator had warned you. 

Your voice is quiet as you instruct the girl, “Get out.”

She scurries gracelessly back through the door. It is an improvement; the last time she had squeaked pitifully before leaving. Perhaps you should have enjoyed the alcohol while you could. If this goes badly, all these nice things, all this luxury will be reassigned, a new name on the door. Such is the way of things -- you know the warnings well.  

Until forty-eight hours ago, they had been going so smoothly. An unfamiliar voice at the back of your mind whispers at you. Had you gotten complacent? You never get complacent. You had been warned for star’s sake. Senator Clovis had been all too clear that vaults here on Scipio were being targeted. You had taken that to mean the transports would be targeted as well. Credits were valuable, gold was valuable, as were artifacts and treasures. The Clan stored it all.  

But most valuable of all were and would always be secrets.

And secrets...you were very good at secrets. Finding them. Keeping them. Exposing them. 

The hand on the glass tightens and through touch or through sound, you sense that just a little more pressure will splinter it. Gently, you lift your fingers. 

You’ve got enough messes to clean up already.

.

…………….

.

Two of his brothers look unhappy. Hunter suspects he, too, looks unhappy. Only Crosshair remains unaffected, toothpick lolling from one corner of the man’s thin mouth to the other as he watches the sky shift from icy atmo to the very tips of craggy mountains. 

“Looks cold,” rumbles Wrecker from his seat, thick legs kicking out miserably. “Nobody said it was gonna be cold.”

From the pilot’s chair, Tech glances at Hunter, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat. Now that Hunter can see him full-on, rather than that goggle-obscured side-profile of his, he realizes that he’d been right. Even Tech is unhappy with the assigned locale. Still, the man sniffs and turns back to navigating the gunship.

“It is Scipio,” says Tech. 

“What’s that got to do with anything? Just sayin’, a little warning might’ve been nice.”

Crosshair shifts, the movement almost imperceptible, just enough that Hunter knows the sniper is asking for his attention. “I believe Hunter was preoccupied with warning us about the...what was it you called them, Hunter? Denizens?” 

“The word does have an apt connotation for the Banking Clan,” Tech mutters. He gives Hunter another look, this one says that he’s no more excited about the prospect than Hunter has been. 

Their mission brief had been a strange one. It wasn’t their usual brand of run-and-gun from the sound of things, but it was important to all the right people, and they needed guaranteed success. “Go to Scipio, meet the point of contact, establish the responsible party, recover the stolen data.” It was more or less all they had been told. 

Hunter knows his frown is getting deeper, sinking into the lines on his face -- he can feel it pulling at his bandana, and he raises a hand to scrub it away.

“Who is this contact anyway?” asks Crosshair. “You never said.”

“Because I wasn’t told a name. We’re to meet with the, and I quote, ‘Principal Trades Specialist for the InterGalactic Banking Clan.’”

“Trades specialist?” Crosshair plucks his toothpick from between his teeth and for a moment, it takes Hunter longer than he would like to decipher the look on the man’s face. He doesn’t look unhappy...he looks intrigued. Crosshair replaces the toothpick, then says, “Sounds like a fancy way of saying ‘corporate spy.’”

“Head corporate spy,” Tech says, “If he’s - “

“She, from what I’m told,” corrects Hunter. His frown has yet to go anywhere, so he lets it stay, his hand falling to his lap.

Tech nods. “If she is based here on Scipio, we’re dealing with someone who needs to be watched closely. Some important players are based on this planet.”

Crosshair folds his arms. “Did the spy part give it away, Tech?”

“The Banking Clan part, actually,” Tech replies dryly, “We’ve dealt with spies before. The IGBC is something different. It is...new territory.”

“We’ve also dealt with new territory before.” At this, Hunter hears them all shift, their quick heartbeats settling into a familiar, all’s-well rhythm. His, too, follows. Just in time, it would seem, for the comms to squawk at them as the Marauder banks left and begins its final descent to the landing pad. He stands from the co-pilots seat, the faint tilt of the floor beneath him a familiar calm before the inevitable storm. He looks to Wrecker, who shakes his head, and then offers a grin. 

“Might be fun. Never clobbered bad guys with snowballs before.”

There’s a snort from Tech and despite himself, Hunter smiles. 

.

**************************************

.

Ten minutes later, they are suited up and disembarking into a cloud of snow flurries and ice crystals. The Banking Clan’s guards are as heavily armored as some of the Separatist patrols Hunter’s encountered. He scowls beneath his helmet. This should be a job for Jedi -- if the Jedi weren’t all dispatched to the war front.   

Soldiers...they don’t deal with these sorts of people. Not well and not effectively. Too much bad blood between the Republic and profiteers like these.

He motions at his brothers to close ranks, their familiar presences a comforting reminder that this isn’t anything new, not really. It’s a mission like any other. 

As the frosted cloud clears ahead of them, the guards, in their gilt armor and insulated cloaks, make way, too much way, Hunter thinks, for the clearance to be for a group of Republic troopers.

Then he sees her.

Half camouflaged by the swirling winds and clad in half a dozen shades of gray and silver, her shoulders draped in white fur, she stands waiting for them, her hands clasped serenely in front of her. She could be a diplomat, a Jedi even, if not for the gleam in her eye. It’s a cold thing, sharper and as frostbitten as this frozen world itself. 

He’s not the only one to have noticed. Beside him, Hunter hears Crosshair draw in an appreciative breath so quiet no one without incredible senses would notice it. In his periphery, he catches an almost imperceptible twitch of Tech’s helmet as his brother spares him a questioning glance. 

When the woman speaks, her voice is crisp, professional. “Clone Force 99, welcome.” She does not smile, but her eyes track to each of them, lingering too long, as though somehow looking past the armor to the men beneath. She introduces herself with a name that sounds too soft for the title she wears. Then, she gives them a crystalline smile. “But you may call me Trader, if you please.”

“Trader?” It is Wrecker who asks the question, finally distracted from the snow and ice. “Sounds like…”

Another smile, this one not quite as cool as the first. Amused, Hunter thinks, though how benign that amusement is, he can’t tell, and it makes his skin itch beneath his blacks. “Like traitor?” she hums. “I suppose it does, doesn’t it?” 

She steps aside and gestures at them to follow. “With me, gentlemen. First, we’ve a meeting. Afterwards, we will take a tram to the vaults, then from there, speeders to the site of the incident.”

“‘Incident’ is an awful clean way to say ‘bloody heist,’” says Hunter as he moves to follow. Her gaze slides to him, her stride never slowing. Shoulder to shoulder with the woman, he has the uncomfortable instinct to slow his steps, to lag behind, as though if he isn’t careful, a blade might slide between his ribs on a blink. He pushes aside the urge, then asks, “How many people were lost?”

“Enough,” she replies. “One could even say too many.”

“But not you?”

“Must someone say something for you to believe they think it?”

Behind him, Crosshair snorts, but does not comment. Hunter lets the statement slide, though the itch he’d felt earlier is heating to a burn now. Together, she leads them through a set of gleaming durasteel doors into a foyer as stark as it is grand. 

“Proceed through those doors.” She crooks a finger to their left. “Senator Amidala has requested a meeting in...eighteen minutes. I will join you shortly.”

Wrecker whistles, the sound too sharp to come from beneath his helmet, and Hunter glances back to see that the man has removed it, his one good eye roving the pristine interior. With a sigh, Hunter follows suit. It’s not exactly warm here, but out from the planet’s whipping winds, it’s close enough that even he can fool his sensitive skin into enjoying it. Soon, they are all unmasked. The woman - Trader - lingers long enough to observe them.

Her expression is...unreadable. There is no twinkle of bemusement in her eyes, not the first twitch of surprise. Normally, when the helmets come off, it gets at least some sort of reaction, gives him some kind of measure. 

Now, the only read Hunter gets is the fact that he can’t get a read on her -- and that, he doesn’t like. There’s no trusting people who have become so numb. 

Her gaze slips between Crosshair and Tech, where it lingers on the latter for seconds longer than it had the rest of them. Something in her frigid eyes warms, the ice of her expression cracking just enough that she might be pleased by what she sees. And Tech...for all his usual detachment, has no datapad to bury his nose in now, and he notices. 

Hunter thinks the woman lets him notice. 

His brother stands a little straighter, eyes flicking nervously to Hunter behind his goggles. Stumped, for lack of a better word. For once, flat out puzzled. 

Then, without a word, Trader looks back to Hunter and inclines her head. “Stay warm, gentlemen. I will see you soon.”

She is gone behind a pair of adjacent doors without another word. 

No sooner do they watch the durasteel whisper shut, than does Wrecker drive his arm into Tech’s side with a chuckle. Tech winces with a hiss and waves the man away. 

“Heh, she likes you.”

“I hoped it was my imagination.” Crosshair’s lip curls, his eyes narrowing until he looks away, and Hunter wonders if they’ve been reflected back at him through the shine of Tech’s goggles.

Tech runs a hand over the back of his head. “What do you think, Hunter?”

“I think she’s Banking Clan, through and through. We’re not among friends here.”

“If we let her alone with Tech, things might get friendlier -”

“Wrecker.” 

Hunter scowls. Another voice has echoed his own and he looks to see Crosshair, arms folded, rocking back on a foot to glare at the wampa-sized man. 

Tech clears his throat. “Perhaps we should wait in the briefing room?”

His heart rate, harder to hear away from the tight confines of the Marauder, sounds schoolboy quick and Hunter wishes, not for the first time, that his brother was more inclined to find company in their off-duty hours than he was. Pretty faces were fine - Hunter himself was inclined to enjoy them - but something about the mask this one wore was dangerous.

Wrecker’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. “Did she say Senator Amidala was waiting?”

“She did. The commander warned us the Senate was at play here.”

“That’s not our usual playground though, is it?” Crosshair is still scowling, his arms folded more tightly now than they had been. All that characteristic suspicion exacerbated by annoyance that has set in and won’t leave him. It makes his eyes hard, his narrow features sharpened and cold beneath the glare of sunlight on durasteel. 

Hunter shakes his head. “It’s not, but I feel better knowing Amidala’s behind us on this.”

“That makes one of us,” says Crosshair.

“Two,” Tech interrupts, his voice crisp; back to himself, Hunter realizes, his relief warm down to his fingertips, until he isn’t sure why he’d been worried in the first place.

“Three! I like Amidala.” 

“We know, Wrecker.” Tech’s smile is gentle, even as he rolls his eyes. “The poster by your bed speaks for itself.” 

Hunter’s gaze slides to his remaining brother, the smile that had spread turning crooked, then fading. “Crosshair?” 

It’s always been an unsettling characteristic of Crosshair’s that his eyes, as brown as all of theirs, manage to be so very cold when the mood hits him. The look in them is not unlike what he had witnessed in the woman. 

The observation tightens Hunter’s throat and he swallows it, turning away, and hopes not to notice it again.

[mcwriting]

A Science Project for the Ages

Big thanks to this anon for this request! Sorry it's taking me longer to fulfill my requests from when I was in quarantine but I'm trying to get those done soon!

This is a slight continuation of lab partners but can definitely be read alone :)

Ship: SoftNerd!Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 1883

Warnings: one blink-and-you'll-miss it bad word

⚛︎

There was a loud buzz as your phone vibrated against the wood table in the science library.

You quickly picked it up, trying not to disturb the few other students around as you looked down at the screen.

Tom.

Though you were together now, he very rarely called at this time. He knew you always studied here before dinner time and respected that.

You grabbed your notebook and bag and shuffled into the hall to answer.

"Tom? Is everything okay?"

"Hey, um. So sorry to bother you, but you've finished your science expo project, right?"

You furrowed your brows as you slid down the wall to sit and stuff your notebook back in your bag. You knew this conversation was going in a weird direction already. You could hear a faint beeping in the background.

"Uh, yeah..?"

"Right, and what was that project over again?"

"I did an analysis on light absorption of different common solutions and then compared them to the color they turned when I lit them on fire. I thought we already talked about this the other day..?"

"Yes, yeah, sorry. So one more question before I tell you what's up. Do you happen to know how to bake?" Tom asked quietly.

Suddenly you remembered what all his project was on.

He was doing a food chemistry project, explaining certain phenomenons that happen when you bake. He had hoped giving people baked goods would make them like his project more.

"I- Tom I told you I would help you but you said it would be fine," you said flatly."

"Well..... Now it's not fine, and Alex isn't here to help me. He went to his girlfriend's."

Tom's roommate. He was usually pretty patient with Tom's clumsiness, but sometimes he just had to get out and enjoy a day off, too. Tom understood, but now the burden fell on you.

"Fine, I'll be there in a little bit. Text me if you need me to bring anything."

⚛︎

You walked in to the smell of burnt. It was overwhelming and you choked as you rushed to the window to air out the apartment.

"Hey, sorry about the smell," Tom said nonchalantly from the kitchen.

You turned to see the situation at hand, which was definitely... a situation.

It was like something out of a movie. Messy bowls and utensils littered the sink. There was cake batter splattered across the counters. Finally, the culprit still sat in a muffin tin on the bar: a dozen very black cupcakes.

You sighed.

"Forgot to set the timer?"

"Yep."

"And let me guess. This was your first experience with baking?"

"That's exactly right."

"Of course," you muttered, but then clapped your hands together enthusiastically. "Well, then. Let's try and fix this, shall we?"

You leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to Tom's cheek, then brushed past him to grab the tray.

"First on the agenda, we are going to take off the papers and chuck these off the balcony to let out some frustrations, alright?"

You were lucky in that Tom's apartment was on the top floor, and his balcony faced a wooded area. The only thing he could hit was a tree and the food would eventually biodegrade into the soil.

You both tossed them, competing to see who could throw the farthest. It let Tom blow off some steam, and also gave more time to ventilate the place before you went back in.

After the last cupcake (if you could call it that) was tossed, you got started on cleaning everything up. He had used a lot of bowls for one boxed cake mix, but you didn't ask.

It took a while to make sure things were sufficiently clean, but finally everything was ready to make a new batch.

"Oh one other thing before we start. Have you ever made a meringue?" Tom asked as he preheated the oven, which you carefully supervised to make sure it was right.

"I mean, I've made some before. Why?"

"Well part of my project was talking about how egg proteins bind. They sound pretty easy. Just eggs and sugar, right?"

Your hand covered your eyes in disappointed surprise.

"What? No. Tom, meringues are like, notoriously one of the hardest things to get right. They land just before macarons, and meringue is one of the main parts of a macaron!"

"What are you talking about? How can something with two ingredients be that hard to make?" he tried to argue, but you weren't about to let him trick you into making something so difficult.

"Did none of your research explain how moisture, temperature changes, utensils used, and method of cooking affect the outcome."

"...Uh... no."

"Were you planning on using the Swiss, Italian, or French technique?"

".....I didn't know there was more than one."

"Well then you might go do a quick search to add to your presentation while I cover the cupcakes."

While he did that, you made up the batter and got the cupcakes in the oven (set at the right temperature for the right time), then got started making some frosting.

"Hey, y/n. Did you know you aren't supposed to make meringues in a plastic bowl?"

"Yep. Plastic can retain lipids which prevent proper binding. Same reason you can't whip the yolk."

"That's what this says! How did you know that?"

You shrugged.

"I like to bake. By the way, you better credit me as your pastry chef on the presentation."

"Will do."

He made some edits on the page and found a recipe claiming to be the easiest method, so you caved and agreed to help him make them when the cupcakes were done.

As you measured sugar and got the whisk attachment ready, you looked over and admired Tom as he meticulously separated the eggs.

You couldn't help but fall head over heels for him all over again seeing how he did each step carefully, all his focus on each little egg.

Sure, he was a little clumsy sometimes, but he was precious and cared about whatever he did.

It took what seemed like hours to get the egg whites whipped properly (and lots of arguing with Tom about what "stiff peaks" meant), but finally you had them in a piping bag and on a pan to bake.

You couldn't help but wait by the oven in anxious anticipation for the meringues to come out, even though they'd be in there for a while.

Tom sat right next to you on the (surprisingly) clean kitchen floor as you stared at the oven.

"Babe?" he asked softly, leaning into you.

You hummed a response, taking the opportunity to rest your head on his shoulder.

"Thank you for coming and helping me. I know you value your library time."

You smiled and sat back up, looking Tom in the eyes.

"You know, I wasn't really studying anyways. I was watching youtube videos with my headphones in because I didn't want to go home yet."

Tom had a mischievous grin and furrowed brow.

"So you just go there as an excuse to get away from me?!"

You laughed and knocked into him slightly.

"No! I just got done with my homework and wanted to hang around campus for a while... and I had a feeling you'd call eventually."

Tom gasped.

"You didn't trust me!?"

"Now that I can answer truthfully..." you started, causing him to pout. "I'm not saying I didn't trust you at all, it's just that I had never once heard of you baking and figured I would prepare myself accordingly."

"Does this mean that Alex knew too?"

"I can't speak on his behalf, but I'm glad it was just us anyways. I like getting to spend time with you like this." You paused to peck him on the lips. "Want me to read over your project? I know those spelling errors can slip by sometimes."

Tom grinned, wordlessly getting up and offering you a hand.

⚛︎

The expo was in full swing and you nervously stood on the other side of the room as your project to watch people walk by and observe your findings.

You had already given your presentation to the judging panel and now the expo was open to the public, so you tried to avoid stressing too much as you talked with some friends.

Suddenly a pair of warm arms came around your stomach and Tom's scent enveloped you.

"Hey baby, how ya feelin'?" he asked, resting his chin on your shoulder as your thumbs rubbed over his hands instinctively.

"You know me. A little nervous." You flipped in his arms to face him. "And what about you? The judges like our sweet treats?"

"They sure seemed too. Dr. Grand liked the meringues so much she asked for another."

You smiled.

"Well either way, I'm proud of us both."

"Thanks again for helping, I couldn't have done this without you. I made sure to emphasize how difficult meringue making is during my presentation thanks to you."

Finally your friends had enough of the cutesy bullshit and convinced you and Tom to rejoin the conversation, both of you with arms around each other as you conversed.

Time passed and eventually they gave prizes to the best projects of the expo. You knew you wouldn't win anything, there were some far better projects out there that included heavy research.

"And in first place, 'Science around us: the chemistry of baking' by Mr. Tom Holland! Congratulations! If all of our winners could come pick up their ribbons and get a photo for the newsletter, that would be great."

Tom stayed casually next to you, so you had to shake him and get his attention.

"Did you hear that Tom? You won!"

Tom blinked a few times, then gasped.

"I won!? I mean, we won!!?"

You rolled your eyes and pushed him forward.

"Go on, get your blue ribbon, baker boy."

He excitedly rushed up to the table where his prize awaited (tripping a few times, but you ignored that) and bounced on the balls of his feet as someone pinned the ribbon to his shirt.

You could see the sheer delight on his face as the winners took a group photo, and he practically skipped back to meet you.

You and your friends gave him congratulations as he happily looked down at the blue piece pinned to him.

He then unpinned it and tried to hand it to you.

"Now, don't congratulate me, y/n gets all the credit for making everything."

"No, no. It was your idea and you did the research. You deserve that more than anyone else. And plus, you were right. Baked goods did give you an edge over the competition."

"Well I say it was a science project for the ages!" he exclaimed, holding up the ribbon. You and your friends cheered to that.

"How 'bout we go celebrate your win over lunch, hm? The cupcake I had isn't holding me over and I'm starving."

"Sounds perfect, darling. Lead the way."

You happily headed off towards the nearest place on campus, completely oblivious to the fact that Tom had pinned his blue ribbon to your backpack.

He quickly made up time and slipped a hand into yours.

If nothing else, he was the boyfriend of the ages.

⚛︎

A/N: thanks to the anon who sent the request for this! I really enjoyed writing it! I think I could've improved some things but overall I'm pretty satisfied with it, and I hope you are too!

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Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

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[waiting-for-motivation]

mud and blood

summary: War takes (Y/n)s best friend and breaks her. Fortunately, Hunter is there to soothe her pain.

pairings: Hunter x Reader, Bad Batch

warningst: pure angst

words: 1089

a/n: my requests are open for the clones so please hit me up with ideas :)

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

The hard fight is finally over but panic takes control of Hunters body. His legs carry him over the battlefield, over bodies as well as droid parts. Brown eyes search for someone special - for his beloved girlfriend.

After every other victory (Y/n) was at his side, holding his hand and keeping him from feeling overwhelmed. But not this time.

Hunter can hear his brothers screaming for him but he can‘t return to the ship. She has to be here somewhere. She has to be still alive.

From afar the sergeant hears muffled cries and because he has no other track of his girlfriend, he starts running. Under a tree he can make out a crouched person leaning on a dead body. The one still alive is covered in blood.

His boots stop in a puddle of mud and blood and that‘s when Hunter recognises the crying person as his lost love. At first the clone sergeant smiles but then he feels (Y/n)s dread and sorrow. So Hunter kneels next to his love and lays a hand on her shoulder.

(Y/n) doesn‘t move. He could be an enemy and try to kill her, but she wouldn‘t mind. Luckily he loves her and pulls her against his chest.

Deep down (Y/n) knows who is hugging her right now because only Hunter can make her feel safe when she feels like everything is falling apart. Her sobs and cries get muffled by his neck.

Hunters worried eyes wander from his love to the body she was clinging to. It‘s the commander of the clone force they were sent to help. Besides that he was (Y/n)s best friend too.

And now she lost him. And Hunter lost a brother.

Without exchanging one word, the sergeant stands up whilst also raising his girlfriend from the mud and starts walking to the ship. (Y/n) is covered in mud and blood but Hunter doesn‘t mind her dirtying his armor. Her feelings are more important than that.

His brothers await him in front of the ship and at the sight of their loyal companion they are at a loss of words. They watch Hunter carry the anxious female inside their ship and follow them after some time.

Their work here is done.

While Tech, Crosshair and Wrecker go to the cockpit and fly the ship away from this horrible planet, Hunter takes (Y/n) to their bathroom.

She has to bath, maybe drink and eat something and then sleep. They don‘t need to talk much because both know that would only overwhelm the other.

Carefully, the sergeant places his love on the closed toilet lid. Then takes off his helmet as well as upper armor because he has to move freely to get (Y/n) inside their tub.

The moment Hunter turns around again, his girlfriend is hugging her legs tightly and burying her face in between her knees. This sight breaks the clones heart.

“Hey, honey“, Hunter whispers as he kneels in front of (Y/n) and takes one of her hands in his, kissing it. While still close to his girlfriend, he reaches for the water tap of the bath tub and lets warm water fill it.

“Let me take care of you“, he adds and helps (Y/n) stand up so that he can take off her dirty clothes. The sergeant does this very careful and slow.

Then Hunter helps his girlfriend inside the warm water and kneels next to the bath tub, grabbing a cloth to wash away mud and blood. He starts with cleaning (Y/n)s face. To the sergeants surprise there is not a single injury. All the blood must be from others - from her best friend.

Gently, Hunter moves the cloth from (Y/n)s neck to her arms and finally to her hands. One of his own holds them and after they are clean again, the clone presses kisses to every knuckle.

But (Y/n) doesn‘t notice his loving touches. Her eyes are focused on the water which slowly turns red.

“Hey, honey“, the sergeant whispers and places a hand on his loves neck, high enough for his thumb to caress her cheek. (Y/n) doesn‘t move but Hunter forces her to face him. Her eyes look almost empty and the clone is pretty sure that she looks straight through him. She must be still with the dead clone commander.

“I‘m here. I‘m with you“, Hunter says with a shaking voice because he can feel (Y/n)s fear, sadness and distress. He closes his eyes for some time because him panicking right now wont help his girlfriend. After a few seconds he gets a grip on himself.

The sergeant scoops water in both his hands and lets it run over (Y/n)s hair. It needs some time but then her hair is clean again and before the water gets cold, Hunter lifts his love out of it. Carefully, he wraps a towel around her shaking form and dries her hair with another.

In her lovers protective arms, (Y/n) gets carried to their shared bedroom. Hunter places her on the bed and covers her with three blankets. Once again (Y/n) curls up tight and buries her face in the pillow.

With a sigh Hunter takes a seat next to her and holds her hand. He doesn‘t know what else to do. What could ease her pain? Probably nothing but time and love.

The moment the sergeant wants to undress and then lay next to his girlfriend, Crosshair stands in the doorframe. There is a steaming bowl in his hands and he looks almost worried. Hunter leaves the bed and takes the bowl from his brother.

“How is she doing?“, Crosshair asks and takes a step closer to have a better look at (Y/n)=. But he can only see the top of her head.

“Not good. But thanks for the soup although I don‘t think she wants to eat anything right now“, Hunter explains and sets the bowl of soup on his working table. His brother nods and leaves the room.

As quick as possible Hunter takes off the rest of his armor and lays down under the covers with only the bottom of his blacks. The moment his back touches the soft mattress, (Y/n) cuddles up to her beloved clone. She wraps her arms tightly around him and holds him close to remember that he is still with here.

“Good night, honey. I love you“, Hunter breathes and places a kiss on top of (Y/n)s head, wrapping his arms around her body and then closing his eyes.

star wars taglist: @shadowfoxey @luvzoria @remmyswritings @periwinklehoney @maximumcoffeeme