#could be a batch of him falling back to old habits

[flock-talk]

Toto had just about three consecutive days of being virtually unhandlable, there was one half a day in there that he was alright then the rest were just a ton of hissing and lunging and even outright flying across the room to attack.

It’s nice to have his sweet affectionate self back today. Whatever he’s been struggling with the last few days I hope he’s feeling safer now.

[morning-star-joy]

KISSES TO GET THEIR ATTENTION!!!!! For ASHWAH please I beg

AHHHH I love this one so much!! Thank you for sending it in, I hope you enjoy another little snapshot of their lives together!

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, established relationship, set in the ASHWAH universe

Warnings: Pure fluff

Wordcount: 987

She had moved into Joel’s house the same way she moved into his heart; slowly, in such a way that neither of them even really noticed it until she went back to her house for the first time in three weeks.

“Where are you going?” Joel had asked her as she rose from her spot leaning into his side on the couch, his arm falling through empty air from where it had been resting around her shoulders while he was watching a dumb old action movie that she poked plot holes into every other scene.

“I have a few movies that are far better than yours,” she teased with a smirk, and Joel’s brow furrowed, her own doing the same to mirror his confusion before she clarified, “At my house.”

Joel’s confusion stayed for a moment before he slowly realized that she did have her own house, even if she hadn’t been living in it for weeks. He nodded then, not sure why it made his stomach twist that she hadn’t called his house her house, because suddenly, he realized that’s what it was to him.

Their house.

He realized again how intertwined their lives had become when he passed the living room where she had curled up under a blanket with one of his books in her lap, continuing a habit of making her way through the stories he had collected on his bookshelves.

“I didn’t think you were a big reader,” he had said the first time he caught her reading one, smiling to himself as she nearly blushed at his observation.

“I’m not,” she mumbled, yet she turned the page anyway, lifting the book to bury her nose in it and hiding the flush on her cheeks as his smile grew at how endearing it was that she was settling herself amongst his daily life at home.

She looked up now as Joel walked into the room, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head and mumble, “I’m heading to the market to pick up some fruit.”

A hum of acknowledgment left her as she turned the page, and he gazed down at her for a moment, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, pulling her attention up to him with a softened gaze that made it hard not to stay right where he was and cover her face in kisses that he still couldn’t believe he could give her sometimes.

“Wanna come with?” Joel asked, arching an eyebrow in question as she blinked in surprise at the offer. “What?”

“That is painfully domestic,” she said slowly with a growing smirk, and he sighed, rolling his eyes as he moved away from her, but not before brushing the back of his thumb against her cheek in a small show of affection.

“You’re one to talk,” he replied, shooting a pointed look towards the book in her hands, chuckling under his breath as she tossed it away from herself with an endearing blush he so loved to see on her face because of him.

Joel grunted quietly as he leaned down to put his boots on, lacing them up when she appeared next to him to do the same.

“What?” She repeated his own short question from earlier as she laced up her own boots, straightening up and offering a hand to help him stand. “Who said I wasn’t going?”

That was the first time they embarked on the painfully domestic task of picking out fruit, a task Joel quickly realized she had no idea how to do. He explained the mundane intricacies of picking out a good batch of lemons or nectarines, enjoying the annoyed look on her face as she tried to take in the new information, an annoyance that would fade when she would glance up and see his soft smile that was reserved for her.

One day on a run to the small market in Jackson, she was distracted, brow furrowed as she tried to find the best apple in the bunch. So focused on her task, she didn’t notice Joel trying to show her one he had found from another small crate, and he soon found himself distracted from all the bustling bodies and conversation on Jackson’s streets by how fucking cute she looked so focused.

Suddenly, Joel remembered that he could do something about that now. He could kiss her. He could kiss her in front of everybody in Jackson and let them know that she’s his, that he’s hers.

And so he did.

Joel leaned down, kissing her on the cheek to get her attention, and she looked up in surprise, immediately focusing on him at the affectionate action that they hadn’t dared to do in a place this public, even as she had settled completely into his life.

“Joel—”

Then his lips were on hers as his name left that pretty mouth, kissing her fully as he leaned up and over her, his hand not holding the apple cupping her cheek to tilt her face up. It took no time for her to melt into it, and he smiled against her lips before pulling back to smirk down at her.

“Here,” Joel said, placing the perfectly shiny apple in her hand. “Just getting your attention, sweetheart.”

She snorted a laugh, but he could see her blushing again, as endearing as her little smile as they turned away from the stall. For a moment, he saw her stiffen, surely noticing the other attention Joel had gathered from being so publicly affectionate, but he found his chest filling with warmth as her free hand found his, their fingers intertwining as they walked to the next stand.

“Painfully domestic,” she murmured again, sinking into his side when he removed his hand from hers to wrap around her shoulder, pulling her closer as he leaned down to kiss her cheek again with a wider smile.

taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @sinsofsummers @dinsdjrn @cupofjoel @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi @sumamitt

[falling-star-cygnus]

ONE BADASS BILLY COMING RIGHT UP >W< -> these two know what's up

thank you all so much for your kind words, by the by!! words can't express how thankful i am that you enjoy my content <3 Masterlist

bare with me, this is about to be a dumpster fire of attempted trick shots and angsty dialogue. LET'S GOOO 🙌

It all happened in an instant.

The shot was lined up, non-lethal upon the Boss's request, and he swore he could see target lines painted in gold-

And the roof caved in on him.

"You've gotten soft, Kid."

It was one of the special occasions that the Hares' weren't making a deal for a Hollow Raid- one with some kinda mechanic enthusiast this time. Why were all the mechanics they met so hellbent on prying into his wiring anyway?

"And I don't just mean your mettle."

It made it hard to find a consistent repairman.

Billy didn't know what his bullet ended up hitting- when the shot went wide- didn't remember much of anything after his head was kathunked by a heavy piece of tin, but he knew it lodged in something fleshy. And he really hoped it wasn't one of his girls.

"Guess some things never change though, huh?"

....really hoped it wasn't one of his girls.

Squirreling his way out of this batch of rubble was thankfully... relatively... painless. At the very least the android kept the majority of his oil inside this time. If Billy ignored the piece of rebar in his abdomen then it wasn't there, and it clatters to the ground forgotten all the same anyway.

A note sits innocuously among the tattered remains of the warehouse, a single geometric flower etched in the corner. It's expensive paper, cardstock the android thinks, with roughly the same feel as a hit card.

Fitting. ________________________________________ Heey, Kid. Enjoy your power nap? By the time you read this, we'll be long gone. So don't bother searching too hard, kay? ;) Or blowing a fuse, the Hare broads are safe. For now, anyway, the tiny one- white hair?- put up one hell of a fight when you went down. Jeez. Anyway, I think you know how these things work. Deliver 5000D to XXXX and you'll get your girls back If you're quick about it, we won't even declaw your kitty ---------------------------+_____________|\_/^

Billy crumples the note before even reaching the sign off. He doesn't care. The location he was given was one he was familiar with, a little hole in the wall where foot traffic was light.

A hole in the wall where everyone had some sort of involvement with each other. No one would be there by accident.

No one would leave by accident either.

The android can feel a familiar buzzing under his plating. A buzz that tinted his video sensors with target signs rather than faces and made his trigger happy fingers even twitchier.

It was terrifyingly familiar.

He wanted to sink into it, let himself fall into old habits until the Boss ordered him out of it. And why shouldn't he, anyway? His family was gone. The people who let him be Billy instead of Billy Kid, the feared enforcer, were gone.

"You've gotten soft, Kid."

War was not a place for soft metals, or gentle hands, or off-beat dances. Billy had gotten careless, allowed himself to become too lax in the clumsy love of people who didn't quite know how to be a family.

This was his fault.

Something bumps into his sneaker.

Billy just barely manages to keep himself from shooting it down, and it's only because the tiny thing's green body registers as familiar.

"Amillion?"

Nicole's little Bangboo, as quiet a thing it is, chitters at him- clutching at his ankle like a needy dog. Billy hates that it soothes the fire ant itch- that need to hurt- under his plating somewhat.

"Did you get yourself hurt?" the android questions as he crouches down.

"Ehn-na. Nah, Nah!"

...yeah, he doesn't know why he asked either. Amillion is a hardy sucker. For a Bangboo, at least.

"Na- ehn-na! Ehn!"

It sticks out it's plush little hand, waving it was such insistence that Billy feels compelled to take it between his fingers. The android keeps his grip gentle, despite-

Discomfort spikes in Billy's head as memories- familiar, warm, memories- are inputted directly into his video processors.

Braiding soft hair, powering off in the sun with the smallest Hares curled into jacket, dancing in cramped living rooms with the weight of socked feet on smooth metal.

His family chases away that burning rage that had threatened to drown him- a life ring in a sea of brownish red tar that drags him back to his body.

"Ehna..."

It takes a few more seconds, mostly because every wire in his body is clinging to the remnants of his girls' voices, but the android snaps back to the present.

Amillion pats his palm with a comforting chirrup.

...right.. Billy wasn't a mindless weapon anymore. He wasn't going to act like one. ->;<- Slinking into a rusty warehouse with a bright green Bangboo hooked onto his shoulder theoretically should've been harder than it was. Especially considering his own choice of bright red leather.

Or- as Nicole would say- his choice of R255 leather.

Heh.

Billy missed his boss.

The android descends on the group with a flurry of bullets, ignoring the screams that ring out as the metal shells find new homes in kneecaps, elbows, and feet. Immobilizing shots.

Not lethal ones.

Although Amillion might not have gotten that memo, considering it's little machine gun causes... quite a few lackeys to drop. But what Billy doesn't dwell on can't hurt him. His abdomen throbs.

It doesn't take long for the head honcho to come scurrying out of his hidey hole.

What do you know, flooding an anthill with blood works just as well as flooding it with water.

The android shoves his gun into the hollow of his jaw.

"Where are they."

"Hey, hey, hey-!" he tries to backpedal, hands raised up by his head, "We can talk about this, yeah? Calm down-"

Billy is freshly out of patience, and apparently- so is the Bangboo, because they pull the hammer back at the same time.

"They're not hurt! Just- oh, who am I kidding, you're not going to kill me." He's not, but Amillion might.

"You've gotten soft, Kid."

It's odd to hear it said again, that phrase that's been rattling around his memory banks. Maybe he has.

Maybe it's not such a bad thing if it means more warm memories to look back on. The android pulls the gun back-

"Wow," the man chuckles, low and mocking and borderline hysteric, "You really have! Showing me mer- hrk!?"

-and pistol whips him.

"Believe me," Billy starts, holstering The Girls to take the man by the back of the neck, "Putting a bullet between your teeth sounds pretty good right now."

The man gulps and if the android had a mouth he'd probably grin.

"Killing you would be mercy."

Compared to what my girls' are going to do to you after I make sure they're ok, Billy tacks on- in the privacy of his head. His fingers twitch on the back of the man's neck.

"If I find out you've hurt them..." "I haven't! I haven't, I swear, they're all ok!"

...and this was the man that called the android soft? He caved so quickly..

After everything is said in done, the man hadn't been lying. Nicole, Nekomata, and Anby are all ok- sans the slight irritation of rope burns and metal cuff chafing. [Anby had to be restrained more effectively]

The girls' let him fuss over them for all of a few minutes before returning the favor tenfold. Which he didn't think was fair- the android wasn't the one that got kidnapped!

"You have a hole in your abdomen!" Nicole nearly screeches, shaking him by his lapels but being careful not to dislodge Amillion from the hook on his shoulder, "Billy!"

"You were in danger!"

[phantom-of-the-501st]

The Evolution of an Echo

Okay well I wasn't planning on doing this now but I decided to strike while the iron is hot and have now started writing a full on character essay at *checks watch* 22:06

But despite his limited screen time, I really love how Echo has been portrayed this season and I really want to have a look at his character evolution over the course of The Bad Batch and how he compares now to who we were first introduced to in The Clone Wars.

Steph waffle about Echo coming up down below! 🧇

@saturn-sends-hugs @inkstainedhandswithrings

So I feel like the main thing we see with Echo is that he generally has more confidence now than he did before. Don't get me wrong, he still had confidence in a combat situation and was not afraid to throw himself into the action if it meant he could help people (self-preservation who?), but he seems to have become more comfortable with being himself, like he's properly found his own identity.

And I think that that is interesting considering what Echo has gone through. Personality-wise (and looks-wise), he is very different to who he once was but he still feels like Echo. We haven't lost him, he's just become more aware of what makes Echo Echo. Because when he was first given the name, he hated it. He didn't like being called that because it stemmed from people teasing him about his habit of repeating orders. While there wasn't any true malicious intent (the Dominoes were his brothers after all), Echo ended up being the target of "bullying" during his early years in the GAR. He was a rule follower and believed that things had to be done by the book for a reason. But that resulted in him getting teased a lot and I don't think he ever truly built up the same level of confidence as some of his other batchmates. And for him, that name probably suggested that everything that made up his identity, everything that made him him, was that name and how it stemmed from his belief that rules were made to be followed. His identity was in some way intrinsically tied to his name.

However, over time we saw that he came to fully embrace the name ("is there and Echo in here?") and over the course of the last couple of seasons, have really begun to see Echo fully living up to his potential, no longer tying himself to the "rule-follower" identity that he had carried with him for so long. Because what happened to him on Skako Minor fundamentally changed who he was: not just physically, but personally as well. He had to navigate being a new person and that meant finding himself again, even if the person he found was not the one he was expecting. And remember that at this point, all of his batchmates are gone; the people who gave him the name that summed up his personality are gone. The Batch don't know the old Echo and in some ways that probably helped him find himself. There was no expectation from them for him to go back to who he was before because they don't know that side of him. It gave Echo the space to breath and I feel like in some ways there was less of a pressure for him to try and go back to who he was.

Now that's not to say that the old Echo isn't still there in some ways. When he first ran with the Batch, he didn't quite have the same level of chaos as them, didn't really have the same way of going about things. And that never fully went away. Look at the way he challenged Hunter in season 2: he didn't instantly fall into doing things that Batch's way, but still held onto his own beliefs. But that confrontation did show a build in confidence. Echo became much more confident in standing up for himself, for doing what he believed even if that wasn't how everyone else wanted to do it. And so much of that stems from what he went through. Echo has been through hell, and if he can prevent that from happening to other people, then he will, even if it means disagreeing with his brothers.

One thing that has stood out to me is how Echo has begun to accept that where he belongs isn't always in one spot. And I imagine that this was something that had never really occurred to him much until this point because he'd only ever really been in one place: with his batch. I mean, they spent rotation after rotation after rotation together on the Rishi Moon. Echo never really had to deal with change until his brothers died. Then he found the 501st and that's when Echo began to adapt to shifts. He was in new places, with new jobs, but he always had one constant: Fives. And yet, following his rescue, that constant was gone. The place that had once felt like home to Echo now didn't feel like that anymore because it wasn't what he remembered. It's why he went with the Batch.

And I think this change was crucial in building the Echo we see today. It was a point in which he learned that home didn't mean one place. And sometimes it didn't even mean the same people. Home is simply where one feels like they belong, and for Echo that isn't always the same spot. It's where he feels like he can truly be himself and for him that means being in a position where he can help people. Whether that be with the 501st, or the Batch, or the Rebellion, Echo has learned to find a place in wherever he feels he needs to be. And that's why he's become so confident: because he has found where he belongs and what truly makes Echo Echo.

So we can look at Echo now and see the change. But we can still see the old him there - the drive to do the right thing, the protectiveness he holds for those he cares about, and the incredibly stressful habit of always putting himself in harms way in order to get things done - but he's embraced it more than ever before. While his screen time has been short this season, what we've seen from Echo is the perfect demonstration of why he was made an ARC and why he has always been so amazing. He is an incredibly talented soldier and now that he's found his calling, he's flourishing. He's embracing the change and he's taking everything in his stride. He's a good leader, a competent soldier, an incredible tactician, and a genuinely nice person who cares about the wellbeing of the people around him. Echo has come out of his shell and truly flourished and it's amazing to see.

And his humour has come back as well! One of the things that was often pointed out was how Echo's jokey side had kind of faded while he was with the Batch and yet over the last season it's come out in full force. Echo finding his confidence has also made him snarkier and bitchier in the best way possible. He knows what he wants and he isn't going to put up with anyone's bs. And what I love even more is how much the Batch have embraced him. They trust him now more than ever; he's their brother and they respect his drive and support him, even if it isn't the path they wanted to take themselves.

Now Echo still has his struggles, he isn't perfect. He can still be overly blunt sometimes, and he still has his vulnerabilities ("I don't enjoy solitude") but they don't make him weak. In fact Echo is stronger than ever and embracing who he is even more. And we can see where his growth has been influenced by those around him; the soft side that has become stronger after caring for Omega and the complete and utter chaos stemming from Fives and the Batch for example.

And you know what, Echo is a fitting name. Not because he repeated orders, but because in everything he does, and everything he proves himself to be, you can see the echoes of his past, who he was, who he's known and who he grew to be.

[akutasoda]

my mind always circles to you

synopsis - simple everyday things that remind them if you

includes - kaeya, albedo, shenhe, yelan, thoma, cyno, dehya, navia, columbina

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, down bad characters, reader wears jewelry in yelan's, wc - 533

kaeya alberich ★↷

kaeya, when not on duty can be found strolling around mondstadt, if he's not with you or at the tavern. sometimes strolling down the bust yet somswhat peaceful streets, he stops by some well known stalls or shops as something would catch his eye. something that immediately reminded him of you and he can't wait to buy a matching pair.

albedo ★↷

albedo often struggles when he wants to draw or paint to distract himself from other things when alone in dragonspine, as he can't think of much inspiration as his head is drawn back to his latest experiment that keeps going wrong. that is until he thinks of you, and suddenly his motivation is at an all time high. upon his return he often gifts you his art of you.

shenhe ★↷

shenhe, when she's helping protect liyue often finds herself on the outskirts and more in nature. and with that sometimes when she's finished would spot a batch of flowers that you like or she thinks you'll like, her mind already consumed with images of your smile. and makes a bouquet of them to replace the old bouquet that is displayed proudly in the centre of your home.

yelan ★↷

yelan has quite a bit of fun when dealing with insignificant skirmishers. who sometimes will catch a glance at a bit of jewellery that looks quite nice. immediately thinking of giving you some, so on her way back to you will find a piece that thinks would compliment your looks perfectly.

thoma ★↷

thoma when finishing up at the kamisato estate and walking home, would catch a glimpse of some typical vendors selling food and immediately thinking of what he could make you. would you like your favourite? or would you want to try something new? he can't wait to get back to you and maybe you could help him prepare dinner.

cyno ★↷

cyno who, when not on duty would be found with you or at the akadeymia and most times would catch himself staring at a book or books that either remind him of you or think you would like. or perhaps when he is on duty, quite far away would often let his mind drift to you and things you could do when he gets back.

dehya ★↷

dehya often goes on missions, and as a mercenary often spends some nights away in the vast desert. but that often leads to her missing you. so she developed the habit of watching the moon as it rises and falls, thinking straight back to you with the silent promise of coming home as soon as possible.

navia ★↷

navia finds comfort in baking simple fontaine delicacys and goving them to companions. but more often nowadays she gifts them to you. and sometimes, if you chose too, you join her in making them or return her gifts by making her some of her own. a personal favourite is macaroons.

columbina ★↷

columbina when visiting a theatre of simply singing a melody she learnt recently or have recited for years, would always think about your intrests. which one would you like the most? or maybe she could compose a melody for you ears only, a song dedicated to you.

[love-minor-poltergeist]

Could I please request headcannons on The Devil from Cuphead? Specifically, his cat-like habits🤣 For some reason, I can see Dice having a bottle labeled Holy Water(It’s just tap water actually😆) to spray Devil with when he gets unreasonably hissy.🤣🤣🤣

A/N: Once again, another dated request given how the Cuphead Show had the very same idea (ノ_<。). Nevertheless, we love a giant housecat from Hell. I hope you enjoy this batch, anon! Do reach out if you want me to adjust anything!!

Hell’s Top Cat, AKA The Devil:

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

Long before the fall, one could argue the Devil already exhibited certain… feline habits. The silent, judgemental stares he’d doled out to his brothers and puny mortals, rising at god-forsaken hours early in the morning to expend whatever energy he’s pent up from being stuck behind a desk all day, a weird habit of chewing on anything non-edible— the list could go on. Of course, the Devil has long denied such behavior back then, and still does to this day. 

After the fall and surrounded by wild-eyed, bordering feral beasts within Hell’s landscapes, not to mention going through a bestial transformation himself, said habits have only grown more apparent. 

The Devil could be hard to read at certain times. However, certain business partners and the imps under his command have learned to pay close attention to his body language. Loathe as he is to admit it, he’s quite expressive with his tail and ears. Ears pointed straight up? The demon’s heard something and is straining to hear it, or you’ve caught his attention. Tail wagging and ears rapidly twitching? You got an angry demon on your hands and you better tread carefully. Ears wiggling as he’s eating? Oh golly, looks like he’s enjoying whatever he’s eating! 

His eyes were already unnerving back when he was an angel. Now they can glow in the dark? There may have been numerous times where King Dice nearly pissed himself when he stumbled upon his boss in the dark, nothing but the unnerving, inhumane glow of his eyes indicating the demon was even there. 

Thanks to his shapeshifting abilities, the Devil is able to comfortably fit in whatever confined space he sees fit. Truly the ultimate form of “If I fits, I sits”. Not to mention that it gives him an edge on spying on any employees that’re slacking off or sneaking up on any potential victims. 

Back in heaven, his pica-like habits were at least managed by his brothers and the Devil fussing over his public image. However, not that dear old dad isn’t around and he’s the King of Hell, he can do whatever he wants– so said habits have gotten worse. Numerous pens, clothed furniture, and a few telephone wires have fallen victim to the demon’s teeth. It’s gotten to the point where King Dice is considering spraying bitter apple spray on everything in the casino just so he didn't have to replace everything. 

The Devil usually has a nail file on hand to maintain his claws. He considers sharpening them on anything else to be beneath him. However, when he’s in a particularly bad mood or feeling territorial, he’ll tear up anything he could get his hands on. Couches, wallpaper, desks, people– it’s best to stay out of the way until he calms down. 

Sheds more than a tree in fall. There’s so much of his loose fur on his bedsheets, his balcony chair, and his office furniture that if you sneeze, it’ll trigger an explosion of hair everywhere. No, he refuses to acknowledge it. Shut up. 

That being said, he absolutely adores it when he’s brushed. It’s like a pleasant massage for him, scratching particularly pleasantly at an itch he didn’t even know he had. Of course, it’s a sobering experience for him when he’s presented with enough hair to make a life-sized replica of himself after a brushing session. 

┕━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┙

[masterjedilenawrites]

A Silly Thing Like Sleep

Tech & The Bad Batch | 1.7k words

Content: one curse word, hyperfixating, "brotherly love"

Inspiration (from @rosemarynightmares): And someone should tell Fixer Tech to go tf to sleep, I'm sensing that he doesn't do that *nearly* enough.

No one could burn the midnight oil like Tech.

There was simply too much to do. Too many ideas, too many questions that needed answers. It's what he was made for, trained for, and the movements of his hands as they tinkered and fiddled and created, in sync with his mind as it mulled and mused and imagined, is what made him feel like... well, himself. He was grounded this way. Soothed, even. How could he ever stop for a silly thing like sleep?

A little after 2000 hours brought the first of his brothers into their room.

"Tech," Hunter nodded as he passed by. The Sergeant's hair was damp from the shower; he must have just finished training. "Don't stay up too late. Big day tomorrow."

"Yes, of course."

Tech only responded out of respect, his eyes fixed on the project in front of him. To the untrained eye, it looked like he was fussing over a mere black box. But he knew it to be an old surface isotope oscillator, a rare find whose parts held potential for so many of his other projects, or potentially brand new projects he had yet to discover.

Hunter settled into his bunk, pulling a sleeping mask over his eyes and jamming in some earbuds. Tech only barely registered the lights around Hunter's bunk going out. The Sergeant would be unaffected by his tinkering so long as his custom mask and earbuds worked, which Tech knew they would because he had made them. Depriving Hunter of two of his sharpest senses would be enough to keep him asleep.

2100 hours brought the next brother, Echo, just as Tech had managed to carefully remove one of the oscillator's outer panels. The clone eyed him as he passed back and forth a few times in front of the workbench in order to get ready for bed. Echo, unfortunately, didn't have much space to call his own and had to make-do with keeping his things in various places throughout the dorm, much to the chagrin of his disciplined and orderly habits.

Tech hardly noticed, keeping his focus on the delicate nature of his work. There were some wires, some chipboards, and several high-voltage rods he had to work through to get to the good stuff. Though an experiment on the device's stress-points would be beneficial, he didn't want Hunter to put him on laundry duty for causing an explosion in the barracks. Not again.

"You uh, going to be long?" Echo finally spoke up, having finished his bedtime routine and ready to slide into his hammock.

Tech didn't respond; he was in the middle of clamping some tweezers on a little microchip.

Echo shifted to his other foot. "Well, I'm going to turn this light out now, if that's alright with you."

Still no response. So Echo shrugged and flicked the switch that controlled the overhead lights to the room. There were still the glowing lights in the bunks and the safety lights around the door to the hall. But otherwise there was a nice dim to the room that made it much easier to fall asleep in.

Tech didn't even react to the change in lighting, continuing to transport various parts via tweezers to a tray he had set aside. After setting one down, he clicked on the flashlight feature on his goggles and continued, not skipping a beat, as if that was a step he was going to perform anyway.

Echo shook his head before climbing into the hammock and settling himself in for the night.

At 2330, Wrecker dragged his heavy feet through the door. He clunked down one of his weapons kits by his bunk and the thud did catch Tech's attention, at least for a moment. He looked up at his hunking brother as if startled to see another being around.

"You're not going to be making noise all night, are you?" Wrecker asked through a yawn.

"I'll be quiet," Tech gave a dismissive wave. As if Wrecker cared about noise when he could sleep peacefully through a siren alarm.

Besides, Tech couldn't control what noises these experiments would or wouldn't make. He had now set up a complex array of other devices and systems in order to plug in the oscillator's pieces and see what they'd do. He switched from twisting things apart and together to typing notes furiously on his datapad. Sometimes they made noise, sometimes they didn't, but that detail only mattered when the noise indicated potential backfiring. Otherwise he didn't bother noting it.

Meanwhile, the thudding of Wrecker's movements also jostled awake the room's other occupants, most notably Hunter. The Sergeant often tossed and turned, thought Tech had never understood why. His mask and earbuds worked perfectly, got his brother in the perfect sensory stasis to manage a full night's sleep, but there were still periods of wakefulness he couldn't account for. Hunter usually said something about an overactive imagination, though Tech didn't like that answer since there wasn't much he could do with that sort of information.

While Hunter readjusted and tried to fall back asleep, Wrecker was already conked out in his own bunk. The lights on his side stayed on for a bit, until Hunter finally pulled him up to turn them off. He paused on his way back to his bed, addressing Tech.

"Start wrapping up and get to sleep," he instructed.

"I will, I will."

That seemed to be enough to calm the Sergeant down and he eventually drifted off again.

Tech was now making trips between the workbench and his own bunk, though sleep was hardly part of the reason. His bunk was less of a bed and more of... an area, to house additional parts and manuals, keep certain hand-drawn configurations he hadn't had the time to transcribe onto a datapad yet, and of course, his great mess of wires that he'd pulled from the ceiling.

It was these wires he was clipping from, returning to the workbench, finagling some kind of rig between various bits and bobs, and then analyzing the output of data that resulted on his screen. He was starting to generate more noise as a result, but he knew Wrecker would start snoring soon and his tinkering would get drowned out anyway.

Just before 0100 hours, the last of his brothers, Crosshair, finally slunk into the room. Though the sniper wasn't purposefully trying to be sneaky - he really was just minding his own business - he still was so quiet and quick that Tech didn't even notice for a while that a third bunk now had an occupant. Cross stayed awake a short while longer, quietly thumbing through a book of some kind, before fixing Tech with a stare. He didn't look away until Tech had noticed, and then he promptly rolled over and went to sleep. Tech knew what the stare meant, but he didn't have time to explain why he couldn't go to bed right now.

No right now, he was knee-deep in his work. Literally. Somehow the projects had spread to encompassing larger materials and machinery, such that they had to be stacked on the floor around him for ease of access. He'd have to crawl over the table if he wanted to visit any other part of the room at this point. But he was done with his business in his bunk with the wires, and was now locked into the tedious tasks laid out before him.

0100 turned into 0200, which then turned into 0300. Tech was like a machine himself... going, going, going. Was he making any progress? Hard to say; he wasn't measuring things like that. Progress implied a goal, an amount to get through, and right now he was still exploring. One piece put into one machine produced one result, which got noted and thought about, before ultimately being tried in a different machine, while a combination of different parts were put into the first machine, and continuous notes were made, and new ideas were brainstormed, and sometimes whole minutes would go by before Tech's eyes felt so dry that he wondered if he'd even remembered to blink...

"Go the fuck to sleep, Tech!"

The exclamation startled him. In part because he'd been so enveloped in his own world he'd forgotten other people existed. But also in part because the one who'd yelled at him was the last he would've expected.

The flashlight from his goggles illuminated a very upset clone trooper in a hammock. Echo was looking over his shoulder at him, his murderous stare cutting through the space like a laser. Tech couldn't help but gulp at the sight.

"Uh, apologies, Echo," he said, suddenly self-conscious, and for good reason. He could feel the eyes of his other brothers trained on him from all directions now. "I... didn't mean to disturb you."

"Go. The fuck. To sleep," Echo repeated himself, his voice a little lower this time, but still full of punch.

Tech nodded. "I will, I just have to finish--"

"Tech..." Hunter's drawl came from the shadows.

Tech stood for a moment, looking between the dozens of projects he was still in the thick of, and back up at Echo who seemed ready to fight him if he dared tried to ignore his request.

Order. It was more of a order, Tech acknowledged. Accompanied by a warning from his Sergeant. He nodded again, this time more in acquiescence than before. He clicked the light off his goggles, plunging the room into true darkness for the first time all night. He gingerly set down some pliers he was holding and made a few clicks on his holopad to turn it off. Echo was still twisted around to face him, and he was sure the others were tracking his movements as best they could too. Though, Wrecker did end up letting out a snore while he picked his way through the piles of machines on the floor, so perhaps not everyone was watching him after all.

Tech shuffled back to his bunk and made a show of getting under the covers and settling in. He debated whether he should call out goodnight when he heard the shifting of the hammock and rustling of sheets from Hunter's side of the room. They were turning back in for the night. He was off the hook.

Tech still let a few minutes go by before he stuck his head under the covers and pulled out his backup datapad.

~ ~ ~

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[bireggiemantle]

archiereggie 48 :)

tysm for the prompt, anon! so many people have sent archiereggie asks for the kiss ficlet game, and I can't wait to write all of them :)

48: a kiss out of habit.

fyi: this piece is set in the 50s and contains very minor spoilers for s7.

-

Things with Reggie feel less like maintaining a relationship and more like tapping along to the rhythm of their favorite song. It's simple, familiar, and their intimate moments slot perfectly into the cracks of Archie's day to day life.

Things with Reggie feel like a chaste kiss in the locker room after a grueling afternoon of practice.

Things with Reggie feel like holding hands in the safety of their own bedroom.

Things with Reggie feel like screaming in unison as they race down the highway at unfathomable speeds.

Things with Reggie feel as close to perfect as they can be, and Archie can't help but be enveloped in the comfort their relationship brings. It's something to look forward to every morning and every night, knowing that there will always be a warm smile waiting by his bedside.

It hasn't always been easy, of course. A few short months ago Reggie was shying away whenever their fingertips brushed in the halls, and they'd often end up in arguments about where their boundaries laid for public displays. But, just like with souping up an old jalopy, it's amazing what some hard work and elbow grease can accomplish.

So, three months and a few days later, Archie's flipping pancakes and frying eggs for the man of his dreams in their shared kitchen.

The hissing sound of the oil and the sweet smell of maple syrup fill the air around them, weaseling their way into Archie's head and leaving him feeling soft and fuzzy as he cooks, like the blurred edges of an older picture. He's humming quietly, a song he remembers his dad playing a lot when he was a kid, and he can feel Reggie's eye settle on him as he starts to grow slightly louder.

"You almost done there, chef?"

Archie nods, a shameless smile forming on his face. "Just a few more of these pancakes and we'll be good as golden." He slides the most recent batch onto a nearby plate, adding onto the already crooked stack, and slathers the newest pair with butter. It's been a while since Archie's gotten to cook like this, but falling back into it is a bit like riding a bike. The last time he made breakfast for somebody was a few years prior, when his mom was too grief stricken to make anything more than tea. And cooking out of necessity is much different than cooking out of passion.

Or out of love, but he's not quite ready to admit that out loud yet.

He scrapes the last drops of batter onto the pan and tosses the now-empty bowl into the sink. The eggs are seconds away from finishing too, and Archie's able to slide those alongside his precarious pile of pancakes before carrying them over to Reggie. He sets the plate down between them both, making sure that it sits far enough away for Reggie's face not to be obscured.

Mary's out with some friends for coffee at the moment, and Uncle Frank is still sleeping, so it's unlikely either of them will be disturbed.

"So, what do ya think?" Archie grins as he watches Reggie take his first heaping bite.

"They're swell." Reggie says through a mouthful of food.

"Just swell?" Archie counters, but he knows Reggie really means that they're fantastic. Judging by Reggie's sly smirk, he catches Archie's joke as well.

"How's old Bella coming along?"

Reggie takes a sip of his coffee, hot, black, and too bitter for Archie's taste. "Betty and I gotta take another look at her engine today. She'll start, but not willingly."

"Is she still making that noise?" Archie reaches for his own cup, a much, much sweeter mix of milk and sugar with the barest hint of caffeine.

Reggie shakes his head. "No, that was just a bearing problem. Easy fix."

"You think we could take her out sometime soon? Go for a joyride around town? Maybe even a highway?" Archie brushes his foot against Reggie's ankle from under the table, nudging him slightly. It's their way of communicating in moments like these, sharing a feeling of reassurance or excitement about whatever topic might be at hand.

Reggie, as always, leans into the contact, pressing their lower calves together. "I don't know about a joyride, but she should make it to Pop's by this time next week."

"Pop's? Are you asking me on a date, Mantle?"

"Well, it'd be a shame not to take Bella out after all this work." Even after all this time, Reggie can't seem to say it directly. He dances around terms like "dates" or "boyfriends", replacing them with ambiguous statements or witty remarks. Archie would be lying if he said the lack of acknowledgement didn't sting a little, but he's grown used to the phrasing. It's not exactly safe for them to be broadcasting their bond to all of Riverdale yet, and he understands that Reggie has spent his entire life on thin ice already. Maybe one day things will be easier for them, and things with Reggie can feel like he's always dreamed like going steady would.

For now he can live with pancakes and euphemisms.

"I'd love to take her to Pop's with you, Reggie." he says, leaning over the table and pressing a kiss to Reggie's left cheek. When he pulls away he can see the faintest dusting of pink along his skin.

It takes Reggie a moment to regain his composure, the color disappearing from his cheeks as quickly as it came, and what he says next shocks Archie.

"It's a date then."

He leans back towards Archie, connecting their lips in a brief kiss, and Archie is suddenly reminded of every kiss they've shared before; There's the habitual ones before basketball games, the chaste goodnight kisses he yearns for every evening, and the sweet pecks they'll place along the contours of each other's jaws in the privacy of their own home, alone in the early hours of the weekend mornings. He's kissed Reggie like this hundreds of times before, and he knows that he'll get to kiss Reggie like this hundreds of times more.

Archie all but melts, his own cheeks glowing a bright rosey red as his lips curl upwards.

"It's a date."

[bejinyoung]

alien.

@bejoomi

isn't it strange how quickly familiar things can become so unfamiliar? how what was once taken for granted can warp and shift into something unrecognizable? maybe jinyoung could deflect, project, whatever it is and say that it's this situation that's become so alien to him; joomi in his apartment, tucked into tight quarters in the small kitchen, alone except for each other. in reality, it's jinyoung himself who doesn't quite recognize who he sees in the mirror these days.

if nothing else, this has got to be the longest stretch of time that he's gone without anyone else in his bed since high school. perhaps that alone would make the sultry, flirtatious moon jinyoung unrecognizable to many who knew him for his trysts and hedonistic tendencies. but it's more than just action, there's thoughtfulness brewing under the surface that wasn't there before. there's an attempt to connect with his sense of self that is not defined by what has been done to him, by what he has allowed other people to define him as. honestly, jinyoung still isn't sure about it. he almost laughed when the company therapist he was paired with told him that it sounds like he has trauma. surely not me, he had thought. but i'm normal. i'm not a basket case. as if his breakdown, witnessed by ren, had never happened. as if he wasn't totally convinced that he would only ever be desirable company for one reason and one reason alone.

still, it's strange being around joomi now. he's still here, for one, patiently staying by jinyoung's side as a friend despite the sudden halt to their more intimate activities, despite jinyoung ignoring him for over a week before he finally had to explain that he was working through something privately and couldn't bring joomi home every night anymore. despite the distance, despite the lack of touch and intimacy... he's still here.

jinyoung is still working out if the extra chill at night is from old habits haunting him or because joomi sleeping next to him was a different kind of warmth. he doesn't know if he wants to continue whatever it was they were doing just to feel wanted or because it's something that he wanted to share with the other man. he's never been the brightest and thinking through all of his questions, unlearning the bad habits his brain has developed over the years, is taking longer than he thought it would. not that he had any expectations for needing to do any of this thinking; he thought he was fine after all.

"the first batch should be cool enough to frost by now," he informs the other man, breaking the awkward silence in the apartment. he doesn't know how to talk to joomi right now, he realized quickly. so much of jinyoung's vernacular had been flirting and innuendos. and certainly there's still a time and place for such things, but somehow it doesn't feel right to fall back into that right now, right here. if joomi was something different than all of the others, then he should want to talk to him differently too, right? jinyoung just doesn't know what that sounds like, even if he had been doing it all along. sometimes thinking turns into overthinking and everything just becomes more confusing.

"thanks for helping," he manages, "sooyoung'll appreciate it. she likes you."

[suddenlyalright]

Today was fucking CRA-ZE

So we moved into this house two months ago, and the house right beside ours seemed pretty much abandoned (there's no neighbours on the right side of our house since the second floor is above a real state agency). It's a goddamn forest in there, it's shockful of plants, and the only living soul we ever saw in that house was a very badly cared for dog. My parents say they saw a man who comes to feed the dog so who knows what's his relationship with that dog.

So TODAY around 15:00 we went to buy some big stuff. So we did, the car was full, but we still had more big stuff to buy so we went to leave that first batch at home, and when we got there, around 17:00, we found...two bikes, between the front of our house and the forest house, and one of them was on the floor. So, like, suspicious, who would let their bike carelessly fall on the floor?

We looked around and saw no one. And we were scared shitless of that house because, our house and that house are very much glued to each other (as most brazilian houses are), and the wall from our service area that separates our house from the other one does not reach the ceilling. There's a BIG gap between the wall and the ceilling for wind to come through, and a human being could very well jump from one house to the other throught that gap. If you didn't get it, we were afraid some criminal would hide in the forest house and break into our house through that gap. Thankfully, the door to the area is strong and has a lock, and the kitchen window that let us look into the service area have bars in them.

So we looked around our house, everything normal. So, thinking that maybe a normal citizen was indeed coming back for those bikes, we went out again to finish our shopping. So we left, came back at 19:00 and the bikes were STILL THERE. As we stood there wondering "what the hell" my mom noticed a teen in a bike passing by and staring at the place. So that was scary, but she then mentioned that a guy in a car also passed by and stared, so did another guy walking by with a package.

Pretty much, our neighbours noticed it. My mom wanted to call the municipal guard for a while for the dog and the forest house. But we got the bad habit of not wanting to cause trouble (don't be like us. You might die) so we looked around the house again :/

Thankfully, our neighbours are smarter than us. Because not long after we got in, the police rings the intercom. They do what they do, asked stuff and looked around. We talked about our worries with our neighbour house, they also thought it looked abandoned so they broke into that house and looked around.

Uuuhhhhh turns out we have people neighbours. There's an old guy and, according to him, there's also his wife who lives there, and some other guy from the family. The guy got documents and all. My mom was doubting the old guy actually lived there,we've never seen anyone inside that house. Buuuuut he pretty much does, no one tried to steal anything from him, the police startled him because they broke into his house, god knows who the bikes belongs/belonged to, and they're still in front of our houses because their owners weren't arrested much less found so the police can't take them away. I hope someone actually steals those goddamn bikes now.

JUST GOT THE NEWS. SOMEONE TOOK THE BIKES AWAY!

[paperback-rascal]

this is the idea for “mock up” cover ilustration of what-if-LucasFilms-contacted-me-about-drawing-a-one-shot-comics-about-TBB-what-would-it-be?-kind. Yes, it something I think about from time to time.

The gist of it would be Omega and Crosshair get separated from their teams (CF99 and Elite troopers respectively) and have to work together to find them.

It’s during “Crosshair is with Empire” part of show. It involves several plot points some of them were discussed with @kalm5​ so if you like them, just know they poked me in the right direction:

At first the planet was suppose to be the ice-planet but, after a discussion with Kalm, I came to conclusion that this type of setting is getting a little bit overused recently, so since I like aesthetic a snowy planet brings and how it’s fun to draw mud the most fitting would be an early spring/late fall setting on some normal but uninhabited planer. So there could be some tricky weather conditions like, warm days but below zero degrees temperatures at night. I can have a huddle for warmth trope as well as slip on the mud/slide on the butt trope.

Crosshair using Omega’s energy bow with proficiency and Omega’s getting jealous of his skills. Followed with “give the bow back, it’s mine” quarrel that is settled with a quick match that Crosshair easily wins (That might or might not lead to a an archery lesson[s]).

Dialogues are sparse. It’s mostly Omega’s rambling all the time (she hates silence). Crosshair is barely talking + Crosshair getting pissed at Omega’s constant shilling about CF99 (especially Hunter) as she tries to convince him re-join his brothers. Crosshair uses his usual "you don't get it” deflection, to which Omega demands an answer but the sniper just sits there watching the fire unbothered and never elaborates further. It’s never brought up again.

Also, someone gets sick trope. That person is Crosshair. He gets super feverish, delusional and mumbles incoherently (talks with someone from CF99?). It’s time for Omega to put her “medical assistant” skills to a good use. However it also makes her realize her status quo was more honorary than actual as she struggles to keep Crosshair stable.

Not only Crosshair’s orders are to kill CF99 but also bring Omega to Empire if he stumbles upon her. So he is at all time war with himself. He wants to follow orders (the chip) but also old-habits-die-hard and his old habits were to disobey orders. So, subconsciously, his mind is jumping through the hoops to find a loophole.

Omega thinks she is a fully-fledged member of CF99 just to be proven wrong. Crosshair makes her realize the guys handle her with kid gloves and shelter her from many issues and hardships.

At some point Crosshair dislocates Omega’s shoulder by grabbing her as she was about to fall. It was due to the fact that the sniper is used to pull his brothers up and they weight far more than some frail, looking girl (especially Wrecker, since he has Acrophobia[?] and often clings to his brothers for mental support). With Omega, as he acted on instinct, he miscalculated and used far more strength than it was necessary.

At the climax of the story Omega shouts in anger: "no wonder they didn't come back for you" and immediately regretted it, because, of course, it wasn't true, but the damaged has been done.

EDIT:

Companion piece -> [LINK]

===

STAR WARS: The Clone Wars/The Bad Batch © George Lucas/ Dave Filoni/ LucasFilm/ Disney

[jupiters-galaxy]

brain empty, only mitsuya

specifically these two, little meow meows fr

Y know what I am in a Mitsuya liking mood, take some hcs dear!!

-Even though this is a bit irrisponsible, he likes to take his little sisters out for rides on his bike. He makes them wear helmets but they think it is like, absolutely the coolest thing ever!

-He also loves to make his sisters fashionable dresses out of his old clothing, he's crafty!!

-When he was depressed over (manga spoilers) death, Yasuda came over to take care of his siblings for awhile so he had more room to grieve. As a thank you, he designed her a stuffed rabbit and sewed it for her. He felt like it was the least he could do, plus it helped him calm down

-He's a big MCR stan. I know I have said this before but Welcome to the Black Parade was his SHIT when he was younger, it made him feel edgy and deep and cool.

-He's allergic to mosquitos. That's it that's the thought

-His family situation is pretty difficult. His mom took the kids and walked out on his dad, who was abusive. (She was pregnant with Mana at the time) They lived with their grandma for a few years, and she took really good care of the kids while their mom tried very hard to get back on her feet, but it was hard to get hired with minimal qualifications, and she had debt due to her husband's spending habits.

-His grandma was just a sweet women who liked sewing and cooking. She taught him how to cook, and he loved helping her!

-She died before he got the chance to learn how to sew from her, but he kept her sewing kit, and he still uses a lot of her supplies to carry on her memory.

-He's oddly good at making pastries, he loves to make a batch of them and then let the girls snack off of them for breakfast. They love his pastries!!

-He kind of hates sharing a room with them but sometimes when he's sad he's glad they're there because he can cuddle with them (this one is DEFINITELY not me projecting!! I love my 8 yo sister though, totally unrelated)

-His mom cuts all of their hair on her days off, it's a whole endeavor! She's good at it, and it's her way of spending time with all of them. She buzzed the side of his head for him when he decided to show off the tattoo

-Every girl in the home ec club has a massive crush on him and he chooses to just treat them kindly as friends

-Originally he wanted Yasuda to be the club president, but Yasuda insisted that he got the position because of his charisma. She handles a lot of the paperwork and the strict rule following, while he handles the charm and publicity of the club. They're an unstoppable duo

-He was 100% Pah's wingman when Pah was trying to gather the courage to court Yumi Moru. Peh was too stressful so Mitsuya took over and tried to help Pah whenever possible. He actually liked Yumi a lot so he was passionate about it working out!

-He loves taking naps when it's cold outside, he has a bunch of big sweatshirts and soft blankets that he loves to utilize! He just loves fall in general, he loves the leaves and the colors in particular!

That's all I got for ya!! Hope you liked this babes :)

[jaskwritesthings]

old habits die hard

Anonymous asked: Oooo for the Writing Prompts- Molly-Caleb-Essek-Molly and Essek see Caleb falling back into old habits and not taking care of himself, so they spend the day taking care of him;)

(ao3)

“Essek! Have you seen Caleb today?” Molly asked as he dramatically flopped over the back of the sofa, hooking his chin over Essek’s shoulder. 

“Hm?” Essek mumbled, his attention on the book in his hands more than the tiefling currently curling over his shoulder like a limp overly affectionate cat. He was rather used to Mollymauk ignoring the boundaries that would keep others at arm’s length by now. He no longer flinched when Molly flagrantly invaded his space without a second thought, boisterous and affectionate and determined to make that his and Caleb’s problem on a daily basis. Not that either man minded.

“A Mister Caleb Widogast? Our own little firebug. Hot wizard in both senses, currently unaccounted for,” Molly listed, his smirk revealing one of his fangs that gently scraped against Essek’s cheek.

“Not recently,” Essek muttered, still not fully paying attention despite Molly’s flirtatious presence doing his best to distract him. 

“A touch worrying, it’s after dinner and I haven’t seen so much as a red hair of his since…” Molly hummed, his tone carrying a worried note, “Last night actually. He was up before either of us.”

Essek opened his mouth to automatically correct Molly - afterall he required less sleep than both of them - but found the truth of the matter in a murky memory of coming too that morning and finding his back abnormally cold. He blinked, attention finally drawn from the equations and scrawlings of a long dead mage. 

“He was as well,” Essek turned to face Molly, putting away the book. 

“Didn’t show for breakfast and I haven’t seen him wandering around but I’ve been out with Yasha,” Molly informed him and Essek frowned as he tried to remember if he’d seen Caleb at all that day. 

“I’ve not seen him…Have you checked-?” Essek began but Molly shook his head.

“All the usual places; study, library, hot tub, even the training room. Nothing. Wherever he is it’s not in the tower,” Molly listed and Essek felt the anxiety begin to tangle into a heavy knot in his chest. 

“Where could he be?” Essek pondered quietly.

“He mentioned something about a spell yesterday, seemed excited about it. Wasn’t something dangerous was it?” Molly’s eyebrow flicked up in question. 

Essek thought back, the previous day had been delightfully full of studying the latest batch of notes and ledgers they’d managed to salvage from Aeor. He remembered something had caught Caleb’s eye more than his own. A simple diary revolving around some transmutation magic. The spellwork within hadn’t captured Essek’s curiosity so their studies had divided into more quiet contemplation as they devoured their own treasures, comfortable simply sharing each other’s space. It had been a pleasant day that now soured in his mind over the idea that he had failed to notice Caleb’s plans.

“Nothing dangerous,” He hoped but unlike their lover he didn’t have a near perfect memory and so couldn’t be sure, “just interesting.”

“Something the two of you could work out on your own or more complicated?” Molly inquired and Essek frowned as he tried to clear the fuzzy overlay that had coated the memory. 

“Complicated, I believe. Why?”

Molly nodded, more to himself than acknowledgement of Essek’s answer, “We should check the Archives then.”

Essek felt some of the rising concern melt away as Molly provided a perfectly sound, and frankly obvious, avenue to investigate. 

“Yes, we should,” Essek agreed, quickly rising to follow Molly’s lead. 

It didn’t take long to locate their missing wizard amongst the near empty stacks of the Rexxentrum branch of the Colbalt Soul Archives. His copper toned hair stood out against the muddy colours of the library, especially as it flashed like a gently burning fire in the low light of his amber dancing lights hovering around the table he had seized as his own. 

He’d clearly been there since the small hours of the morning as Caleb had built himself a small fortress of tomes and scrolls that nearly overshadowed him. 

Mollymauk whistled to draw the engrossed wizard’s attention and received a half-hearted wave of his hand in response. 

“Mr Caleb, just what have you been up to all day?” Molly asked, bumping the desk with his hip as he leant against it. Not even the near tipping of an inkpot brought Caleb’s head up from the book it was almost touching as though getting closer to the words would aid him in absorbing them faster. He grumbled quietly but otherwise didn’t seem to acknowledge their presence. 

Essek sighed and gently cupped the back of Caleb’s neck feeling the - no doubt painful - strain of the muscles under the skin, “Caleb it’s well past dinner, its time to go.”

“In a moment schatz,” Caleb mumbled in a way that told Essek his thoughts where elsewhere. He shared a loaded look with Molly who sighed dramatically and then reached out and with a quick flick of his fingers, snapped the book shut. The cracked leather nearly clocked Caleb’s nose at speed and he jolted backwards wincing as his neck protested the movement after what was potentially hours held in the same position.

“Book time is over,” Molly declared as he yanked the book out from under Caleb and held it aloft before the wizard could recover enough to retrieve it. 

“Mollymauk!”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Liebling, I have eaten…recently,” Caleb said, unconvincingly as he tried to snatch the book back and stretch out his stiff muscles at the same time. 

Molly hissed something unkind under his breath before declaring, “You’re grounded, no more research for at least a day or two.”

“Mollymauk I am -”

“Suffering from a lack of self preservation instinct? Don’t worry, it appears to be a common trait amongst wizard folk,” Molly said, raising an eyebrow at Essek daring the drow to object. 

Essek made an offended noise but resisted crossing his arms thankfully, managing to maintain some dignity against the slightly true acquisition. 

“Essek, some help here?” Caleb whined, his tone tired and Essek felt it tug at his heart but one pointed look from Molly steeled his resolve. 

“Apologies Caleb but I happen to agree with Molly.”

“Now,” Caleb pointed out testily and Essek knew that if the situation were reversed he’d be just as frustrated as Caleb to have his research interrupted but that was for another day. What mattered was Caleb, in the here and now. 

“It’s my lot in life to keep the two of you from becoming buried alive in books,” Molly chuckled, “come along, it's well past dinner and I’ve missed my wizards today.”

“Feeling neglected Mr Mollymauk?” Caleb teased.

“Yes,” Molly replied sharply, cutting through the jest. The bite appeared to be unintentional if Molly’s soured expression directly after was any indication. It sobered the joking air quickly.  

“I am sorry liebling, it was not my intention,” Caleb soothed quickly, ceasing his attempts to retrieve the tome Molly held aloft in favour of tucking a loose curl around one of Molly’s horns softly. 

“Nor mine Mollymauk,” Essek added, reaching out to tangle the tips of his fingers with Molly’s. 

“I’m aware, my own fault for falling for handsome geniuses. I am the mistress to the knowledge you both love,” Molly shook off the darker air like a loose layer of snow with a flashing grin. 

“Nein, you would never stand to be the hidden mistress for long,” Caleb chuckled. 

“Then come to dinner and stay with me tomorrow to make up for things,” Molly demanded with a salacious wink that held a depth of filthy promises. 

Caleb looked at his hoard of books and cracking scrolls longingly before his shoulders slumped, “Very well.”

“You too?” Molly turned his attention on Essek. The drow blushed and fidgeted as Molly’s tail curled ever so slowly around his thigh. 

“Of course,” he replied, already mentally rearranging his plans to accommodate his lovers without hesitation. 

“Excellent, then let’s go!” Molly declared loudly, his tail retreating quickly as he sauntered back down the stacks without looking back at the two wizards. He expected them to follow, and well, he wasn’t wrong. 

“He has us wrapped around his tail,” Essek muttered to Caleb quietly. 

Caleb chuckled, “Would you have it any other way schatz?”

No, Essek thought to himself, no I would not.

[thefanficmonster]

Matured

Corpse Husband & Little Sister Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Sibling Fluff, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse’s search for a roommate ends shortly after his little sister calls him, telling him she’s moving out of her high school dorm in the suburbs following her graduation to attend college in San Francisco.

Requested by @bugger2002  Hi darling! Thank you so much for this adorable request, I had such a fun time turning it into a fic! Sorry it has taken me so long to complete it but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Alright, it’s been a month since Y/N announced she’d be moving in with me - no, she didn’t ask if she could nor if I’d want her to, she straight up casually informed me she’d be moving in with me since she’s starting college. I’m lucky she even thought to tell me, knowing her it wouldn’t have been so strange for her to just show up on my doorstep with a grin like “Alright, I live here now.” Having a six years younger sister who can act both younger and older than me - sometimes both at the same time - is a bit complex. Obviously, my protective and nurturing brotherly instinct kicks in whenever she complains to me about something, but seconds later she tells me she’s taken care of it already and I feel like a fool for overreacting even if it was only internal. She’s calm and rational when she needs to be and a reckless airhead whose only goal is to have fun when she wants to be.

And judging by her and her friends’ main methods of obtaining said fun I can see how much alike we are: playing drunk video games, drunk darts, drunk pool. You see, there’s a lot of drinking involved and that’s something I’m greatly unhappy with and have scolded her on countless times just to get a fake promise, probably with fingers crossed behind her back - that she’ll cut down the alcohol. Not to mention she’s not even old enough to drink so I’ve been very insistent on her cutting her bad habit. She’s tried calling me hypocritical at times but she can’t do so rightfully since I’m, you know, of drinking age. So she’s basically bound by law to follow my advice and orders.

At least now that she’ll be staying with me I’ll be able to keep a better eye on her. A rascal high school student will either mature-up in college or go even more downhill. I aim to make her fall in the first category, but I’m making no promises - she’s very unruly, just like me. Damn, never did I think my own traits would come hitting me in the back of the head like a boomerang but here we are.

Regardless of all the crap I’ve just spewed about her, she’s a wonderful girl. She’s always been my pillar of support and never gets tired of it. She never misses a call of mine and has never not replied to a message of mine, no matter how drunk she’s been. She’s never skipped a Saturday night Skype call, no matter how busy she’s been. She’s never let herself forget she has a brother who often times needs her by his side.

Once she even talked one of her friends who has a car and a driver’s license drive her all the way to my apartment complex when I was having a really bad anxiety attack and legit couldn’t talk on the phone. She went door to door to find which apartment I live in and stayed with me the whole weekend she was supposed to spend at a music festival or something. It’s not wonder she’ll be a med student - she’s always wanted to be a nurse and has practically been my personal nurse since she was twelve. She maybe wasn’t always physically present to help me, but she’s a great instruction giver for when I need her and she’s unable to come to my aid.

Well now, we’ll both be there to aid one another.

“BEEP BEEP FUCKER!“

I nearly flip off my chair at the distinct yelling coming from directly below my window. I’d recognize that voice anywhere, and it’d always bring a smile to my face without fail.

I rush to get up from my desk chair and open the window but when I do so, she’s no longer on the sidewalk. There’s only a car I recognize to be the one of the friend that drove her here during that nightmarish episode I explained earlier.

Before I can ever back away from the window, I hear my front door swing open and a yell echo from down the hall, “Corpse! How many times do I need to tell you to lock your door, damn it!”

“The same amount of times I’ve had to tell you to cut down on the al- WHOA!“ She doesn’t let me finish the sentence and jumps me the second I step out in the hallway.

“Missed you, stupid!“ She says, her legs wrapped around my waist as she ruffles my hair, “I’ll trim your hair later. Why have you let it get so long?“ She questions, furrowing her brows at me while running both her hands through my mess of a hair - she has a point, I’ve let it get out of control. While doing so, she seems to get an idea all of a sudden so she quickly climbs down, reminding me of the huge height difference we have now that her feet are on the floor. “I know you two have met before, but I think you need to re-meet...“ she says, turning to look at her friend who’s smiling timidly at her. She sends the flustered girl a wink before turning back to look at me, “Corpse, I’d like you to meet Abbey, my girlfriend“ she says proudly, skipping over to the blue haired girl and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Y/N pushes up on her tiptoes and places a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek. It’s adorable to see her shorter than yet another person she clearly adores to annoy.

I smile at the two girls, holding back a chuckle as to not embarrass Abbey more, “Well then, nice to meet you Abbey. You should know you are one strong soul to be putting up with all that.“ I purposely don’t look at Y/N as I motion towards her, earning me a pissed off “Hey!“ as a response to my remark, “Stick around for dinner, don’t worry neither of us will be cooking.“ I point at myself and then at Y/N as if to reassure her she won’t be a victim of food poisoning.

“Actually...“ Abbey says, tilting her head to look my shortie sister in the eyes as if taunting her to say something.

She finally caves, raising her left hand as though she’s volunteering, “Ugh fine, I may or may not have taken a cooking course and may or may not know how to cook a decent meal. It’s whatever, really.”

To say I’m impressed would be an understatement. I’m impressed, shocked, surprised and flooded with joy that my sister has finally decided to start maturing. “Cooking course, huh? When did you decide living off of takeout isn’t a nice way to live?”

She rolls her eyes at me, “Oh no I still go full weeks with only takeout and cereal, I just needed a distraction because...well...” she trails off, her gaze dropping awkwardly as she fishes for words or perhaps already has them found but doesn’t want to spit them out.

Abbey huffs, taking Y/N’s hand and lifting it to show off her wrist where I catch sight of a batch of colorful handmade bracelets, “Because these aren’t gonna earn themselves.”

I raise an eyebrow, puzzled as to what exactly she’s referring to.

Y/N sighs, taking one of the bracelets, playing with it nervously, “I have one for every month I’ve spent without getting drunk - Abbey made them for me. I need a distraction to stay sober so...I took up cooking.“

I can’t remember a moment I haven’t felt proud of my sister. Y/N’s always been on top of her shit, drunk or sober she knows what she’s doing. She’s mindful even when she’s reckless, thinks soberly even when she’s been drinking heavily. She’s always proved herself to me and to the people who think of her as a lowlife without even trying. She lets the world breeze by her without thinking too much of it and yet she still mesmerizes me and many of the people she meets - Abbey has now officially joined the club.

But, all things said and considered, I think I’ve never felt as proud of her as I do right now, seeing those six bracelets on her wrist - half a year without getting drunk. I know she wouldn’t lie to Abbey, she rarely lies to me too, so those bracelets have been earned and well-deserved and that makes me feel like the Y/N I remember is not the one standing in front of me right now. That silly girl is still in the suburbs, making a shitty-ass choice of messing up her liver. A grown woman, a responsible adult has taken her place though, and I couldn’t be more glad.

“Y/N...“ I finally manage to utter her name, making her gaze meet mine, “I’m so fucking proud of you.“

A smile slowly stretches the corners of her mouth upwards, her eyes shning in a way that has nothing to do with the lighting in this hallway. She’s not a crier though, I know those tears are gonna stay right there, stubbornly refusing to escape her eyes, “Thanks, Corpse. I’m proud of you too....” she says, nodding her head slowly, “I can overlook the untrimmed hair.”

Sigh

Y/N will always be Y/N no matter what I guess. That’s a good thing - I love her just the way she is.

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[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.

[bokutosworld]

then and now | kuroo t.

pairing: kuroo tetsurō x f!reader word count: 1863 words, fluff! mutual pining!  warning: manga spoilers, with mention of kuroo’s timeskip occupation summary: always the bridesmaid, never the bride. you thought your time would never come until someone from your past comes along and brings up something you’ve long forgotten. OR where you and kuroo make a silly marriage pact and he shows up after years apart to make it come true.  

He chuckled, now comfortably holding your one hand and hiding it in his pocket to keep it warm. “Here I was wondering if you were waiting for me.

Because I was.” 

The church bell tolls, white doves are released, and joyful cheer and applause erupts from the crowd as the newlywed couple steps out from the cathedral. The now husband-and-wife gaze at each other full of love, and it is a sight guaranteed to make one envious and long for that same kind of affection. 

But to you, it’s a scene that you’ve seen so many times that it already feels like a short film played on repeat. For the past year, you’ve lost count of how many weddings you’ve attended – whether as a guest or part of the bride’s entourage – that you’ve acquainted yourself with the workings of the event. 

Heck, you’ve even memorized the readings of the priest that if they ever need a replacement, you can be the stand-in and officiate the program. 

However, this wedding was different. Your best friend of more than fifteen years is the one who walked down the aisle, and you’re more emotional than you expected you’d be. Earlier in the morning, she woke you up, feeling sentimental, and demanded a pep talk. It was laughable because, more than her, you thought it was you who needed that assurance as you sent off your childhood friend to a new journey in her life. 

The whole ordeal felt surreal and somehow, a tad more personal, because it wasn’t just any bride – this was the same girl you grew up with, the one you’ve seen in diapers, the one who held your hand in the playground, the person who you always ran to for boy troubles. Watching her exchange vows and rings felt like a coming to life of a scrapbook page, a long-awaited dream that you’ve talked about together in sleepovers where none of you really slept. 

It made you wonder if you will ever march down the same aisle towards the waiting arms of your beloved.  

---

“What a wedding, huh?” 

The hotel reception was no different to the ceremony that took place prior. This time again, you wore the bride’s maid-in-honor hat and only after making sure that everything – that included the food, drinks, and entertainment – were in place did you take your place on the table and chatted with your old friends from high school. 

The conversation started off with comments on how grand, intimate, and special the ceremony was. They talked about how it was wedding season, counting just how many of their schoolmates have already been wed. And before you knew it, eyes were on you and you had an inkling of what would follow. 

“So,” Yoshioka, your former student council president, turned towards you. “You’re the only bachelorette left in our batch. We’re just curious.”

You laughed awkwardly, “No, please don’t expect a wedding invitation from me anytime soon. I’m still happily single.” The smile you wore felt strained, but whether the other girls recognized it or not, they chose to not comment further. 

“Besides, it’s a great source of joy for me just being able to see you guys get married.” Noticing that the lights have begun to dim and focused on the spot on the stage, you clapped your hands, “Now, let’s just enjoy Yukie’s wedding, alright! Look, they’re coming out.” 

As soon as the couple walked to the floor for their first dance, you heaved a sigh of relief and slumped in your cushioned chair. They moved gracefully as one across the dance floor, seemingly lost in their own world as they gazed deeply in each other’s eyes and swayed to the tune of the love song. 

You thought back to the conversation earlier and weirdly, you felt a pang inside. Truth is, in every wedding you’ve attended, you can’t help but feel wishful. You consider yourself successful in almost every aspect of your life but sometimes, it can feel dejecting when you return home to an empty apartment at the end of a tough workday. 

A part of you craved to make that little girl’s dream come true of wearing the wedding dress that you’ve designed, staying up all night for a bridal shower, and walking down the aisle to where your lover was waiting. 

When the couple’s first dance ended, the host entered the stage and the program officially began. You could only hope that hours would pass faster. 

---

Two hours into the reception and you can already feel the shots kicking in your system. 

It wasn’t a really good idea downing five straight shots of tequila. At first, you thought it would quell your nerves, make you let loose and be the funnier version of yourself as you stepped to the podium to deliver your congratulatory speech to the couple. 

In retrospect, it looks like the drink did its job as you managed to emit laughter and emotional tears from the crowd as you reminisced on your relationship with the bride, recounting the story of how she fell deeply in love and decided that he was the one. 

But now, hunched in your seat with head on your hands, you were seemingly tipsy and all you could think about was escaping outside for some fresh air. 

So, you did. When the groom’s best man took the stage, you saw this as an opportunity to quietly slip to the balcony. 

Shutting the door behind you with a quiet thud, you eyed the empty balcony and sat towards the nearest bench. The surface was a bit cold as the city was now ushering the season of fall, signaling the arrival of long nights and chilly evenings. You shivered slightly and tucked your coat closer to your body as you stare at the darkness. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been outside until you heard the door open and in came a tall, attractive, and oddly familiar man. His face held a warm smile as you noticed that his gaze was directed towards you. 

“Long day?”   

And it was only until he stepped closer and stood in front of you, the moonlight illuminating his face and accentuating his features, that you realized who he was. 

“Tetsurō?!”   

When was the last time you saw the Kuroo Tetsurō? You racked your brain for your last encounter with him and your memories point to your high school graduation. All of a sudden, you felt small and your surroundings became hot as you stood in front of him. Your former childhood neighbor. Former best friend. Former crush. 

Not that he had any idea about that last item. 

“I thought I saw you earlier before the reception started,” he made himself comfortable on the bench, patting the space beside him to urge you to sit as well. “But it’s been so long since I last saw you so of course I thought I was hallucinating. Then you gave a speech on stage – which by the way, I thought was awesome, you’re still as witty as you were before – and my suspicions were confirmed.” 

You were breathless. Speechless. What were the odds that your reunion with him would be at a wedding? 

“Did Yukie send you the wedding invitation?”  

His laugh echoed in the darkness of the night, “Yeah, she did. It was nice to see familiar faces again.” He stared back at you, “I missed everyone.” I missed you, he wanted to say. 

You hummed in agreement and without realizing, the two of you engaged in a comfortable conversation with Kuroo leading just as he always did. Being charming just as he always was. Telling you stories from the part of the past that you didn’t know. Catching you up with his present where he now works in the sports promotion division of Japan Volleyball Association. 

A small part of you was relieved to know that Kuroo was doing well and successful just as you always hoped he would be. Years of no contact with the boy that stole your heart from day one certainly left you lonely. You wouldn’t say it out loud but he was part of the equation of why you still haven’t tied the knot. It was silly but you always thought that no one could measure up to him. 

Absentmindedly, you started fiddling with your fingers, a habit you’ve formed when you were feeling cold, and Kuroo noticed. And just as he always did back then, he enveloped your hands with his and brought them to his lips to blow warm air on them. 

“That better?” 

Your heart threatened to flutter, “Yeah, thanks.” 

After a long while of silence, Kuroo spoke. “I see there’s still no ring on your fourth finger.” He was now nonchalantly stroking your hands, letting his fingers slip in yours. 

You coughed nervously, averting your eyes from his deep ones. “Well, I haven’t really found anyone.” 

He chuckled, now comfortably holding your one hand and hiding it in his pocket to keep it warm. “Here I was wondering if you were waiting for me.

Because I was.” Oh no, be still my heart, you thought.

Kuroo went on, “Remember that silly pact we made on the night before graduation?” 

Your mind takes you back on that evening when you and Kuroo were sitting on the rooftop, away from the noisy crowds and drunk soon-to-be college students. This was your thing, enjoying the calmness and admiring the stars spread out in the night sky. 

That evening, you and Kuroo talked about the uncertain future that lied ahead. That evening, you bared your soul to him, letting him in on your worries and you fell apart in his comforting presence. He, as always, acted as your anchor, assuring you that he would always be your biggest supporter and that he’d always cheer on you even from afar. 

That evening, with the two of you drunk on the excitement and the many possibilities for the new chapter of life, he brought up a proposal.

“I have a crazy idea.” Kuroo linked his pinkie finger with yours. “If we’re still single and not yet married by the age of 35, I’ll find you and we’ll get married.”  

Swept away in the moment and the thrill of the idea, you agreed and sealed the proposal with a harmless kiss. 

“You still remember that?” You questioned, not expecting him to actually remember that silly pact. Not expecting him to be holding on to that agreement. 

“Sometimes, I wonder where we could be now if I just manned up and asked you out that night instead of pulling that act.” He holds your gaze, careful as he brings a hand to cup your cheek. “I’ve liked you for the longest time. And if you’re still available, if you’ll still have me, I am yours.” 

“But we’re not yet 35, Kuroo,” you teased. He chuckled and playfully shoved you before bringing you in an embrace. 

“I’ve decided years ago. You’re the only one for me,” he pulls away. “I’m sorry it took me a long time.” 

And that night, it wasn’t only your best friend that went home feeling the happiest girl in the world. 

Because there was Kuroo who was ready to make up for lost time and give you a reason to look forward to your trips back home.