#photowizard17

[boggsart]

Last menu animation in the line 🧡 Now that those are out of the way, i'm back to creating new assets, then slowly moving on to making the trailer and some promo shots. The posters are also currently being redone with the new models, so they all look pretty n stuff. So slowly but surely, those will be up for sale soon as well

Here's one for Tech

Here's one for Hunter

Here's one for Rex

Here's one for Echo

Here's one for Wolffe

Here's one for Tukk

Here's one for Fox

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

taglist: @callsign-denmark@techwrecker@dahscribbler@lightspringrain@dreamsandrosies@brainless-tin-box@thecoffeelorian @luzfeather @burningfieldof-clover@99tech99 @theglitterdark @fangirl-goes-nova@foundenterprisefamily@fanfictasia@jedi-hawkins@megmegalodondon@lifblogs@photowizard17@isthereanechoinhere96@inthemiddle0feverywhere @namechange-mykidfoundmyblog

[ahsokasleftbicep]

Name and Soul: Chapter 8

Oh my god, I actually wrote the next chapter! I'm on winter break so I'll have more time to write. Let's go!!

@mqgriett @darkangel4121 @thelambandthewolffe @maulscrosshair @trash-dino-5000 @lightning-wolffe @killtherandomness @shadowwing1324 @sydnubabu @lafy-taffy @photowizard17

Crosshair x F!reader

Word Count: 1732

Warnings: Spoilers for episode 8. Bald baby burnt boi gets more sad. Tech and Wrecker blowing shit up. Reader finally seeing Crosshair up close again. A couple fucks lol

“Remember to bring her alive, Commander. Private L/N has knowledge that we can exploit.” Rampart walks off with Lama Su.

“Yes sir.” Crosshair boards the shuttle. I’ll get to see her again. She hates you. Shut. Up. She couldn’t hate me… 

~one year ago~

“You’re a dick.” You glare at Crosshair when he gets you to the ground in training. 

“And you’re awful at hand-to-hand.” He smirks as he puts a new toothpick between his lips. He gives you a hand up. You grumble and start to walk off. Crosshair grabs your arm and pulls you back to him. 

“You look like you hate me.” He’s still smirking, but deep down he worries. 

Your eyes soften when you look up at him. You knew he could be cold and sarcastic, but he could be insecure about it. No matter how he tried to hide it, you always seemed to know when his tone was a little more than a joke.

“Cross,” you grabbed his hand, “I could never hate you. Never.”

He gives you a skeptical look and scoffs. “Really?”

“It’s true. Sure, I can be mad at you. If you broke my rifle, I’d be mad for a while. But I don’t imagine ever hating you.” You give him a little smile. 

“Because you love me, don’t you?” 

“Hey, you said it, not me.” You roll your eyes and shove his chest a little. “But yes.” 

~return to present~

“How’d the test go, Omega?” You approached the two with Echo.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” The girl crossed her arms and frowned. 

You walked up to her and put your hand on her shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. None of us passed our disarming tests the first time.” 

“Yeah, it took me tons of tries to pass kid.” Echo chimes in. “Now c’mon, Hunter wants us back at the cruiser.

--

“Rex warned us about these guys, we need to leave before we have a bigger group to take on.” Echo crosses his arms. 

“We need money, Echo. And we can make a lot of it with this ship.” Hunter looks at all of you. 

“How are we supposed to do that? This ship is falling apart, there’s nothing of value here anymore.” You look at Hunter confused. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Y/N.” Tech looks up from his tablet. “My scans show that the armory and artillery bay haven’t been offloaded fully.”

“The weapons would get our debt cleared with Cid.”

“We don’t smuggle arms, Hunter.” Echo frowns at him.

“We need Cid, we don’t have the Republic anymore. We need to take this. Tech get to the bridge, Y/N, go with him. The rest of us will go down and clear out the armory.” Hunter walks off with Echo, Wrecker, and Omega.

--

“You take care of the rouges; I will take care of the private. No one else goes near her besides me.” Crosshair stands and puts his helmet on. The necklace feels heavier when they come out of hyperspace, and he stares at Bracca. 

Finally. We can put this stupid necklace and “love” business behind us. I can see Y/N again. Not for long, Tarkin has plans for her, I don’t care what they are. Well, I do. I won’t hurt her. I can’t. We can and we will, whether you like it or not.

--

Hunter sighs. “It’s Crosshair alright.” 

“I’m blocking their scanners, we need to get to the ship as quick as possible. Let’s go.” Everyone starts making their way to the ship. You stay behind and stare out the window. You can see him standing there, he knows you’re all here. 

“Y/N, we need to leave.” Omega grabs your hand. 

--

The artillery deck is quiet and dark. You walk to the opening and look down. Yikes.

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m going down there.” Wrecker shakes his head. 

“There they are!” Trooper come out of the dark, aiming their weapons at you all. 

“Tapping our comms, how predictable.” Crosshair steps out from the shadows. 

Wrecker scoffs, “Nice to see you too, Crosshair.” 

Crosshair turns his head to you. “Look at you, scavenging like rats. Pathetic. Especially for you, Private L/N.

Private? He hasn’t called me that since we first met. You lift your helmet and stare at him, confused. 

He looks down slightly, gazing at your necklace. I’ll question her before I give her to Rampart. 

“Sorry to disappoint you, Crosshair.” You raise your rifle at the other troopers. 

Crosshair sighs, “I suggest you drop your weapo-“ He’s knocked into a wall.

The cannons go off and the deck starts collapsing. Hunter grabs you and you climb down with Omega and the others.

Crosshair stands up, rubbing his head. Damn it. 

--

“Tech, why are we here?” You look at the ion chambers, it’s much bigger up close.

“It is our only way off the cruiser. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Wow! I’ve never been inside an ion engine before.” Omega twists her head around, trying to take it all in.

Wrecker looks at her, “It’d be weirder if you had.”

“Definitely weirder, Omega.” You say. 

You reach the edge of the engine chamber. The sky is a deep purple and you can see the stars pretty well. Nice night. Tech starts to climb up but is almost hit by blaster fire.

“Try again, Hunter! I already told you; you’re surrounded!” Crosshair yells out. The engines start rumbling and Omega holds onto you.

“That’s not good, the engine’s coming online.” You look at Tech. 

“Crosshair wouldn’t do that, would he?” Omega looks at all of you panicked. You pat her head with a small smile. 

“How much time do we have, Tech?” 

“Less than two minutes. We need to leave.”

“ What if we use explosives to break away from the ship. They are not powerful enough to disable the engine, so this is the best option.” You hold open your bag of charges, looking at Tech and Hunter.

“You mean fall? All the way down?” Omega looks terrified. 

“Either that or be burnt to bits kid.” Echo shrugs and grabs a charge.

--

“Sir, engines are ready.” 

Crosshair looks up at the cruiser “Engage.”

--

“Get down!” You give Omega to Hunter and the charges blow. The metal groans and starts falling from the ship. You all hold onto something, but when the piece hits the ground, it splits in half, separating everyone. You lose your grip and fall away from Hunter and Omega. 

--

“No!” Crosshair is knocked back by the blast, losing his helmet. His skin behinds to burn and he puts his hands out, trying to prevent it. He hides behind some wreckage. “Turn the engines off!” The power dies and he passes out. 

So much for getting her back. She’s probably long gone by now. I’ll find her… I’ve got to.

--

You open your eyes and groan. You get up and dust yourself off. You look around and don’t see anyone, but you hear a groan from above. You start climbing and reach the top. Poking your head above the rubble, you don’t see anything. You hear another groan and look to the side. It’s him. It’s Crosshair. There is no one else around, so you quietly climb up and approach him. 

He is badly bruised and covered in soot. You touch his shoulder, no response. You gently lean him up against the rubble and gasp. He’s burned, very badly. The scar is mostly on the side of his head, some on his ear and his right eye. He groans and you back up slightly, still holding him up.

His eyes open a little. “Y/N? Why…” He stops for a moment, slipping in and out of consciousness. “Come with me…” You put your hands on his face.

“I’m sorry, Crosshair. I can’t.” He looks away from you for a second before looking back. He is about to speak before he passes out again. You hold his face, wiping some of the dust off his face. “I’ll come back for you Cross, I promise. I love you so much, just hang in there. I know you’re forgetting, but you’re still in there.” You kiss his forehead. You feel something on his neck and pull out the chain, connected to his ring.

Carefully you switch your rings, putting your ring on his chain. You reclip your necklace and look at him one more time. “I’ll come for you, Cross. Wait for me.” You give him another kiss and climb down.

--

You get to the hanger and hear the guys calling out for you. You run out and see them lifting Hunter to the ship, and Omega is nowhere to be found. No.

“What happened? Where’s Omega?” You run up to Tech, helping him carry Hunter into the ship.

“We don’t know.” Tech seats Hunter on a chair and the other two join the ship. You remove Hunter’s helmet, and he coughs. 

“Hunter, where is she? Where is Omega!” You move his arms to get to his wound. Blastershot. You grab a bacta patch and start to try stopping the bleeding.

“He took Omega…” Hunter keeps going in and out. I need to stop the bleeding. 

“Who? Crosshair?” Wrecker holds him up, trying to keep him talking.

“No. A bounty hunter. He took her.” Hunter gasps and coughs, trying to get some air. “We have to find her.

“We will Hunter. We will.” You stand back and go to Omega’s room. 

--

Ow. It burns.

Crosshair wakes up to a trooper wrapping his wound.

Where is she? Y/N? No- no no no. She can’t be gone. 

His wound pulses and he winces. 

“I’ll come back for you Cross, I promise.”

He pushes away the trooper. “Get me on that shuttle.”

“I love you so much, just hang in there… you’re still in there.” 

He boards the shuttle, immediately going to the gunner post. He holds his side in pain. 

Wait for me. 

He stops for a moment. He feels too hot, overwhelmed. He lost the target, he-. He notices his necklace isn’t as heavy and sees the ring is different. It’s smaller and silver, but it has the same engraving. O'r gai bal runi. 

Wait for me.

“I can’t Y/N… I’m sorry.” 

“Commander?” 

“Go after their ship, we need to get Private L/N, no matter the cost.” 

“Yes, sir.”

[cg29]

I posted 1,828 times in 2022

51 posts created (3%)

1,777 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@janetm74

@gumnut-logic

@gordonthegreatesttracy

@soniabigcheese

@dragonoffantasyandreality

I tagged 1,265 of my posts in 2022

Only 31% of my posts had no tags

#thunderbirds are go - 746 posts

#virgil tracy - 313 posts

#thunderbirds - 304 posts

#thunderbirds fanfiction - 285 posts

#scott tracy - 239 posts

#gordon tracy - 222 posts

#thunderbirds fanart - 193 posts

#john tracy - 120 posts

#alan tracy - 112 posts

#thunderfam - 97 posts

Longest Tag: 115 characters

#now i’m much older i can eat sultanas and i’d love to try some of my grandads cake but sadly he’s no longer with us

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

With everything going on in the world and our personal lives I thought it might be a nice idea to help lift all of the Thunderfam spirits by filling our dashboards with some Thunderbirds art, screenshots, fluffy fic goodness etc..

#TFamLove so we can all find it 💙

💚🧡❤️💛💜

And here’s my first contribution some of my favourite screenshots

See the full post

56 notes - Posted February 28, 2022

#4

Starting an emoji Thunderbirds tag-along if anyone want’s to join in?

Show who your favourite Thunderbirds character is with 1 emoji (Without colour hearts 💙💚💛🧡❤️💜🖤🤍 ) TAG with TAGEmojiGame

I’ll go first:

🍿

62 notes - Posted June 26, 2022

#3

See the full post

69 notes - Posted February 14, 2022

#2

Hey Thunderfam 👋

I needed a smile today so I created a basic smiley pic👇 Decided to share the joy because everyone needs smiling International Rescue at some point 🥰 Big giant hugs to you all 🤗

70 notes - Posted June 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Screenshot of the day is this beautiful doofus 💚

Pic from S3, E9. Flame Out.

🏷 Tagging team land cabbage 💚@misstb2 @thunderstorm-bay @bonsaiiiiiii @gumnut-logic @louthestarspeaker @lenna-z @inertplanetary @little-old-rachel @weirdburketeer @sonatanotwo @5hadow-alpha @skymaiden32 @thundergeek59 @womble1 @scarlett3drag0n @drileyf @vegetacide @weathergirl8 @scattergraph @somnousbutler @cttagverse @mrseviltedi @i-am-chidorixblossom @photowizard17 @katblu42 @alexthefly

84 notes - Posted February 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[photowizard17]

Now available for purchase on my Redbubble Photowizard17!!

Rex's First Yeet

Jedi General Shaak-Ti

[louthestarspeaker]

Water Dancer

I was paired up with @photowizard17​ for the @tagminibang​! Had a wonderful time collaberating. I wrote the story and they drew the lovely art. Quite proud of what we did here :D

***

When Gordon was underwater, Virgil was a watcher. He hovered above the waves, eyes on the holographic marker that was a little yellow sub, on the telemetry numbers that marked breath and pulse. Virgil was a guardian, ready to tear apart the ocean if his little brother needed him. 

But, to be quite honest, when Gordon was underwater, he rarely needed anything.  Because when he was in the water, Gordon was a dancer. As a swimmer or in a sub, Virgil had seen him carve through the blue, had watched Gordon hone his skills his whole life.

But it was a very different thing, a rare thing, to be standing at his brother’s back, looking out the same windshield and watching the ocean rush by. Blue like his own world, his sky, but darker- and this world shook. 

“Seaquake!” Gordon shouted, his eyes going sharp and grip tightening on the controls. “Virgil, buckle up!” 

The warning came too late. The cockpit shuddered violently and Virgil grunted as he crashed into the wall before he could catch himself.  Four made a sharp turn and sent him sliding the short distance across the glass floor before colliding with Gordon’s chair, the air blown out of him. 

Virgil found himself staring through Four’s belly, his cheek pressed to the cool of the glass, high beams piercing through the dark. 

They were in the worst place you could be during a seaquake, deep in an underwater mountain range with jagged rock walls jutting up high on either side of them. They were crumbling, and Gordon, with expert maneuvering, wove Four through the falling boulders, trying to climb for the surface.       

It was loud.

There were screams coming from the passenger compartment, Gordon on the speakers telling them to stay calm. The deep rumble and sharp cracks as the world split apart around them. Deafening, even through the hull. 

A foot nudged at Virgil’s side. “Virge! You okay?” Gordon asked, shouting over the destruction outside. His eyes were still pinned to the windshield, but there was a crease of worry between his brows that had nothing to do with piloting.

“I’m okay.” Virgil quickly assured him. Don’t make your little brother worry.

Virgil gripped the back of Gordon’s chair and hauled himself to his feet, securing a tether to keep him from pin-balling around the cockpit again, and pulling on his helmet for good measure. 

Gordon chanced a glance over his shoulder, eyes meeting Virgil’s for a split second, making sure he was telling the truth. 

“I’m fine.” Virgil repeated. There was a dull ache in his shoulder and another in his side, but nothing he couldn’t walk off. Gordon had bigger things to worry about.

Four gave another great shudder.

“Come on, girl, come on.” Gordon mumbled to his sub between clenched teeth, eyes flicking rapidly from windshield to readouts and back again. 

Virgil kept a hand braced to the wall, trying to keep steady. 

A seaquake was nothing like turbulence. Air had a direction, a forward movement, you could learn to ride even the strongest winds if you had the skill. But quakes had no rhyme or reason to them, they seized you and shook you like you were caught in the jaws of some animal. There was no riding one, only enduring it.

But eventually, because it always did, the shaking did stop.

“That was a long one,” Gordon muttered under his breath as the cockpit stabilized. He relaxed a fraction, but not by much. They were still in a danger zone.

Boulders began to hit the seafloor, and the silt rushed up and enveloped them. Visibility petered out to zero and Gordon was relying entirely on his instruments and instincts to climb them out of the fog.

A slab of stone fell into their path, appearing only as a shadow in the silt, plummeting for the seafloor and eager to take them all down with it. Gordon maneuvered Four through a narrow gap, only a few feet of open space on either side of them.

Piloting Four was highly instinctual, the controls wrapped around Gordon’s arms like armor, designed so he could feel the weight of the current. His movements were quick and sharp as he darted through the falling rock, but they had a rhythm to them, a tide of their own.

Gordon was an ocean unto himself, dual sided in personality and skill. 

He was the obvious, the sparkling sunlit surfaces, the skipping waves and playful banter. And he was the hidden, the deep midnight blue in the depths, rarely seen in the light. 

Well, they were far from the sunlight now.

The sub swerved sharply, and Virgil struggled on his feet. A new alarm tore through the cockpit and Gordon swore, voice all sharp edges and hard surface.

"Okay, hold on, I think we're in trouble." Gordon said, the words slipped out of him in a breath.

Virgil leaned over to glance Gordon’s instruments. There was a boulder three times the size of Four free falling towards them.

Virgil swore too.

Gordon’s eyes ticked quickly back and forth, from his instruments to his blinded windshield, imagining the things Virgil didn’t know how to, and he could see the gears turning.  

“Hold on, I’ve got a stupid plan.” Gordon said.  

“Better than no plan.” 

For from his usual response when a brother said something along those lines, but right now the options were either stupid or crushed and Virgil had a preference.

Gordon kicked Four faster, sending her barreling upward, tight to the cavern wall, straight for the boulder. There was a narrow strip of negative space, was that what Gordon was aiming for? 

Virgil bit his lip. It was too small.

They couldn’t even see the distance closing. Gordon had the numbers, the meters decreasing, Virgil had the cadence of the proximity alarm, screeching louder, louder, louder.

Staring out and seeing nothing was scarier somehow.

Gordon hit the speaker button for the passenger compartment. “Everyone brace yourselves! We’re gonna hit!”

The lights switched to a pulsing red as they neared and it matched the heart beat thumping wildly in Vigil’s ears and chest.

“Helmet!” Gordon shouted. Virgil snatched his brother’s helmet out of a locker and slipped it quickly over Gordon’s head. 

This was all him. There was nothing Virgil could do. Adrenaline surged and it made his fingers shake. 

But the fear in him didn’t matter, because he wasn’t the one sitting in the pilot’s seat, because the person who was was a water dancer. And never had Virgil trusted him more than here, surrounded by the currents and the stone.

 Never more than now.

Gordon breathed.

And the world went dark.

The impact sent Virgil crashing into the side of the pilot’s chair, and there was a metallic thunk as Gordon’s head flung forward against the dash.

The screeching of the alarms bled together with the screams from the back compartment, melding together into blank, white noise in Virgil’s ears. A high pitched whine stretching out into infinity.

But infinity ended fairly quickly. And then that was it.

The red emergency lights blinked on again. Virgil’s shoulder smarted worse now but he was still in one piece. 

Gordon sat up from the dash, looking a bit dazed but no worse for wear. “We okay? You okay?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“All good.” Gordon grinned and rapped a fist against his helmet. “Nice to have a copilot.”

Virgil cracked a smile at that one.

He peered out the windshields. Outside the glass was a more solid darkness than the hazy shadows of before. “Gords, are we… in a cave?”

“Cave is being kind of generous.” Gordon said, taking stock of Four’s controls. “But I thought this hollow could give us some cover.”

“Are we stuck?”

“Totally. But lucky for us I’ve got a secret weapon.” There was a grin that was decidedly more cheeky little brother than reassuring rescue operative. “Check the depth gauge, bro.”  

Virgil looked over Gordon’s instruments and found a number he recognized. They were right on the edge of the threshold for Two’s rescue cable.

“I tried to get us a little closer to the surface.” Gordon said, watching his brother’s face. “But you could probably still fish us out.”

“I’m your plan B?” Virgil said, and the words were just a little incredulous. They were in an environment where Gordon was masterful, while Virgil was usually leagues away.

But Gordon just looked at him, aquanaut and submariner and water dancer, and his face said duh. “You’re always my plan B.” 

Which shouldn’t have been surprising, but in this instance it was. Gordon dove miles deep into the ocean, and Virgil waited for him far above. And sure he thought of himself as a guardian for his little brother but he couldn’t really tear apart the ocean if he tried. 

If he needed to.

Still. Virgil could understand it on some level. John’s voice in his ear could calm him like no other.  And it was always easier to fly with Scott on his wing. Virgil had just never considered he could provide that kind assurance from so far away. 

Though Gordon, apparently, felt differently.  

Virgil called Two to rendez-vous directly above them, and lowered the rescue claw to it’s maximum length.

It was a bit of a stretch, and had him pulling Two closer to the ocean than he would’ve liked, but her cable reached them. A hand reaching down from far away.

Virgil dig them out as quickly as he was able without ringing down more of the mountain. Gordon ran through a quick systems check, gave another word of reassurance to their passengers, then began to take them up. No one wanted to stay in the area any longer than strictly necessary. 

The cockpit grew steadily lighter as Four climbed for the surface, trading the silt for the sunlight. Gordon piloted with a careful frown, maneuvering his sub with practiced ease.

Carving through the blue as sure as ever. 

Virgil felt a smile on his lips. “Nice job, Gords.” 

Gordon looked up at him, crinkling eyes. “Nice job, yourself.”

[renxamamiya]

🌻

Cicero and Lydia are the best Skyrim followers and you can’t tell me otherwise

new ask game send me a 🌻 and ill just tell you whatever the fuck i want

[zhe-lazy-fox]

@photowizard17 replied to your post: I finished season 2 of Thunderbirds are go… now i...

*join us*

F.A.B.

[dailykilljoys]

requested by @photowizard17

[argentis]

Goliath (title prompt) ;)

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it

Kinda leaning towards something IDW-verse. Maybe something about Chromia hunting Liege Maximo? Her thoughts as she pursues him across the galaxy or her fight against him.

[drdone]

For your ask, 1 :)

If someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to?

Hm. Okay. So, primarily, watching wise, don’t judge me at all, but: Transformers Prime and Rescue Bots. And NCIS - a majority of my personality is a mixture of Tony and Abby, I swear. And Big Time Rush. Also, Power Rangers. Specifically Samurai, Dino Thunder, SPD, and Ninja Storm. And honestly, at one point, there was a point when I watched Handy Manny. It was my ‘depression show’ and I watched I think almost every episode of it. Monty Python, The Princess Bride, and Rocky Horror Picture Show. The Amazing Spiez, Yugioh (5ds especially), Rugrats, The Wild Thornberries, obviously Thunderbirds (TOS, 2004, & TAG), High School Musical, Halloweentown, Spy Kids, and some of those odd little one-season shows that deserved better, like Tower Prep and Aaron Stone, or In The Flesh. A lot of musicals, too. Anyway, pretty much anything I’ve watched in the past I’ve absorbed just bit of personality.

Reading-wise? Animorphs definitely. Harry Potter. All For The Game. I really liked the Uglies series by Scott Westerfeld, honestly? The Maze Runner. A LOT of fanfiction, too. There was this Big Time Rush one (that was my first fanfic community) called Little Hollow that absolutely destroyed me. Hagalaz, a Teen Wolf fic, hot damn that’s a fic. A Brother To Basilisks is a HP fic that hits me so hard every time I read it, Jesus Christ. And it’s still a WIP. Heavenward, because holy fuck.

Listening-wise: The Wicked soundtrack, “Top of the World” by Greek Fire, quite a bit of American Authors. I like Parachute and Paramore and Gavin DeGraw and “Good News” Ocean Park Avenue. A lot of different musical soundtracks, and some country music since that’s what I grew up on. Man, I have a lot of things I used to listen to that would go towards this. Too many, honestly. I just. Al lot of media helped shape who I am and God knows if I’d ever be able to list them all.

[hellowelcome2mars]

photowizard17

replied to your post

“Story Idea: Fool Me once.”

Who is Akerna and PHO?

My stories take place in an alternate timeline in which the first manned mission to mars is a a multi national effort managed by the UN and in which Jeff Tracy gave up his seat on the Mars mission so he could be with his wife and new born son.  

However this mars mission made first contact with an extremely advanced civilization on mars, known as the martians. Over the next 26 years the martians begin to colonize the earth and take a major role in the Global Conflict of 2040, which in this timeline lasts until 2045. During said conflict, Ambassador Coby, the Former martian soldier who made first contact had a child with his husband, Timothy Prickett, one of the astronauts who was on the mars mission and one of Jeff’s best friend. The child’s name is Akerna. 

The martians are a communist race. While normally referred to as the Martian Empire due to their imperialist nature, their official name is the United Republic of Martian Communist planets. They live in what is considered by some to be a Communist Utopia. 

The Martians are infamous for their use of their technology to help obtain their goal, which is believed by many to be the “civilizing” of humanity. This is due to the fact that to get access to their technology, a country must sign a very complex terms of service with states that the country must make very liberal reforms, including LGBTQ rights and freedom of speech. However the technology that they got was 50 year ahead of it’s time, allow that country’s companies to beat out all those who didn’t have the tech. With in a few years, the world economy was addicted to Mars Tech. 

The Purify Humanity Organization or PHO is a group of human (or more specifically White) supremacists, who have been working underground to build up an army to fight the martians. They are the main antagonist of my stories.

[boggsart]

Presenting the cops with a very special guest❤️ This project hasn’t been progressing as much as I want it to lately, partly because my regular job is taking all my time and energy, plus, I’m struggling to keep up my motivation. I have so many other great ideas I'd love to start working on, and I also really wanna start doing commissions too, but can’t until this project is about 90% finished. With all that, I’m not going to lie, finishing this has been a struggle. But hey, at least another one is down, which means only the 212th is left (then comes another struggle with the trailer animation😂)

Here's one for Tech

Here's one for Hunter

Here's one for Rex

Here's one for Echo

Here's one for Wolffe

Here's one for Tukk

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

taglist: @callsign-denmark@techwrecker@dahscribbler@lightspringrain@dreamsandrosies@brainless-tin-box@thecoffeelorian @luzfeather @burningfieldof-clover@99tech99 @theglitterdark @fangirl-goes-nova@foundenterprisefamily@fanfictasia@jedi-hawkins@megmegalodondon@lifblogs@photowizard17@isthereanechoinhere96@inthemiddle0feverywhere @namechange-mykidfoundmyblog

[matchaball]

@photowizard17 If you're from the US, you can watch MLB on Netflix! It should be in the children's section I believe. Otherwise you can check out @miraculousubs- they had a spreadsheet with links to streams of all the episodes in three different language options but I think that might be down atm. @miraculousenglish might be another good place to check out though!

[yllamse]

As much as I laughed at the original, I really just don’t see Gordon flippin’ the bird to any of his brothers. (Especially Scott) So yes, I changed it a bit.  x’D

[gordoncoopertracy]

photowizard17 replied to your photoset “GORDON!”

Please do one for Virgil!

Sure, I love making gif sets of my brothers, did you have a theme in mind?

[the-stage-manager]

Sun-Kissed, Chapter 2

For as long as he lived, Tech would never forget the sound of Crosshair's broken voice as he rambled nonsense on the other end of the com.

Read chapter 1 here! 

Characters: Tech, Echo, Crosshair

Chapters: 2 of 3

Words: 6000+

Warnings: mentions of blood, talk of death

@paperback-rascal @tzapora @shrikeser @f0rever15elf @karlyanalora @nova-de-sketch @wrecker-and-lula @photowizard17 @tazmbc1 @kimageddon @ourafanofeverything @namesmox @thesunwof @fangirl-goes-nova @mr-pym @thecoffeelorian @jaoddball @darkangel4121

Tech had always been fascinated by blood. Not in a macabre way—it began when he was a cadet. 

Clones, as a species, had no place in the galaxy. They had no ecological niche. The carnivorous togruta had evolved as predators; the moss-eating twi’leks evolved to be crepuscular—rising at dawn and dusk to avoid natural predators; the Mandalorians developed a culture of warriors; the Jedi became a culture of peace-keepers. They were natural beings. Their belonging was intrinsic. 

The clones, on the other hand, had been created to serve a singular purpose, and after that purpose had been fulfilled, their belonging dissolved. Their language was a patchwork of Basic, Kaminoan, and Mando’a. Their culture consisted of bastardized stories passed down from their archetype. They were alienated from the rest of the galaxy and Clone Force 99, thanks to their genetic mutations, was alienated from the rest of the Clones. 

But they all bled just the same. That’s where the fascination began. 

As a cadet, Tech used to spend his free time in Medical, watching the phlebotomists work, and asking all sorts of questions about the sticky red substance. 

“How much blood can you lose before you die?”

“How do white blood cells work? What about red blood cells?”

“How does blood carry oxygen throughout the body? Why does the body need oxygen?” 

One question lead to another and, what began as a fascination with the substance that defined his humanity, became a fascination with anatomy, with medicine, with healing. In addition to studying mathematics and engineering, crunching numbers and recording languages, the clever, bespectacled clone learned to set bones, drain abscesses, dress wounds, and transfuse blood. In addition to the team’s mechanic, Tech was proud to serve as his brothers’ medic. 

Which is how he was able to diagnose Crosshair’s condition almost as soon as they answered his distress call. 

It had been hours since the Havoc Marauder had departed from the sunken ruins of Kamino, leaving behind their brother once more—this time, seemingly, of his own volition. 

From the moment Crosshair had announced that his chip had been removed, Tech had felt nothing but confusion and disgust towards his younger brother. He understood Crosshair’s behavior, he knew where that behavior stemmed from, but it still hurt. He had expected better from Crosshair. 

The atmosphere was somber as they departed from Kamino and nobody, not even Wrecker, said a word for a long, long time. Omega went off to change into warm clothes, and buried herself in her bed, Hunter disappeared into the cargo bay to clean his kit, Echo sat wordlessly in the co-pilot seat, and Wrecker sat on the floor, sniffling. 

His brothers were hurting because of Crosshair’s shitty behavior, and Tech resented him for it. 

Why? Why did the sniper care more about the Empire than about them? He could understand Crosshair’s bitterness. He perceived himself as being abandoned, but that wasn’t the case. They had launched no less than six rescue missions, only to be thwarted by the Empire at every turn. There wasn’t a day that went by when the Batch hadn’t thought about their missing brother. 

Did Crosshair truly believed they resented him so much that they would simply abandon him? 

Tech blew out a sharp breath and removed his goggles. He rubbed his stinging eyes with the palms of his hand. 

“It’s not your fault,” Echo said softly, and Tech knew the former ARC was attempting to comfort him, but he wasn’t having it. 

“I would rather not discuss the subject at present,” Tech said gruffly and Echo scowled. 

“I’m trying to be nice. Just because you feel like shit, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me,” he said. 

Tech ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He was letting his emotions get the better of him, a trait he wasn't usually known for. “I... apologize. I am behaving childishly,” 

“No,” Echo began with a sigh of his own. He looked tired. Tech’s eyes ached sympathetically. “You’re not. I’m being an ass. I’m just...” With a shake of his head, he trailed off. 

“Hurt?” Tech supplied, quirking a brow. He turned his attention back to the controls, and lowered his head. “The feeling is mutual,” he admitted softly. "I fear that I, perhaps, carry some responsibility for the outcome of today's mission," he admitted with a scowl and Echo blew out a sharp breath. 

"How so?"

"Perhaps we weren't as clear as we should have been that we hadn't abandoned him. I believe his behavior was motivated by the belief that he was left behind. Part of me believes that if we had, perhaps, communicated more efficiently that our intentions had never been to leave him behind-"

"I doubt it would've made a difference," Echo cut in sharply. Wrecker, behind them, made a choked sound. 

"I know. I believe you are correct. He has always been-"

"Severe and unyielding. You don't have to say it again," Echo's voice was softer, wearier. 

The sudden shift in tone was unexpected, and Tech wasn't sure what it meant. Knitting his brows together, he asked, "I've offended you?"

"No! No. Not at all. It's just... Heh. My brothers used to say the same sort of things about me. I used to be sort of a stickler for the rules," he explained. 

"Used to be?" Tech asked. "You don't consider yourself to be that way anymore? Because I feel like I should remind you that, with how frequently you complain about our so-called 'unorthodox' tactics-" 

"Oh, fuck off," Echo huffed, rolling his eyes. Behind them, Wrecker made a sound that might have been a laugh, Tech wasn't sure.

Without their sniper, the Havoc Maurader felt far empty enough already. Without Wrecker making any sound, the emptiness was almost too much to bear. Tech was happy, therefore, that his comment had elicited some sort of sound out of Wrecker, even if he hadn't meant it as a joke. His chest puffed out, just a little, and he tipped his chin higher. 

Behind them, something shuffled—hard boots fell softly against the metal flooring. From the footfalls alone, Tech was able to recognize the approach of their sergeant, even before he spoke. 

"Wrecker, Omega told me to give this to you," Hunter said gruffly. Tech didn't bother turning around; Hunter was passing something—the tooka doll, perhaps—to the brawler. 

"Lula," Wrecker whispered, and Tech heard him shift, reaching for the toy. 

Tech and Crosshair had made it together, years and years ago, under Hunter's supervision. How old had they been? Four? Five? 

Crosshair hadn't been so angry then. He hadn't been so bitter and unyielding-

"How is Omega?" he asked, hoping a conversation would drive away his wayward thoughts. 

"Disappointed," Hunter said simply and Tech blew out a sharp breath. 

Disappointed. 

The word sparked a flash of anger in the engineer. 'Disappointed' wasn't strong enough word to describe the depth and complexity of his feelings about Crosshair's decision to remain with the Empire. Unfortunately, Tech had never been very good at feelings, so trying to find a word to more accurately describe his pain, proved fruitless. 

The heavy, suffocating silence returned to the cockpit of the Maurader. When he was younger, such a thick, layered silence would've made him squirm; he would've been spouting off any useless fact that crossed his mind, if only to fill the silence with noise. 

He wasn't so young anymore. 

Tech jumped when the ship's com went off—somebody was contacting them. 

"Who is it?" Hunter ask and Tech, startled back into awareness, ran his nimble fingers over the ship's console, tracking the origin of the signal, and the chain code of the sender. 

The breath caught in his throat. His stomach twisted. He could feel his heart beating, throbbing against the inside of his burning ribs. 

Kamino. 

"It appears to be Crosshair's com," he said simply, though his voice felt strange in his throat. The tips of his fingers felt numb. The skin on his face prickled. He was angry. 

"What does he want?" Wrecker asked. He sounded sad. 

"Reject?" Tech asked. His nose, wrinkling in disdain, pressed against hard, plastic bridge of his goggles. He could feel Echo's eyes on him. The ARC Trooper was startled, perhaps, by the vehemence in Tech's voice; he was disappointed. 

Hunter sighed, "Negative,"

Tech grit his teeth, but complied nonetheless. 

For as long as he lived, Tech would never forget the sound of Crosshair's broken voice as he rambled nonsense on the other end of the com. 

"I feel like shit-" 

"Help me!"

"You're lying-"

"Fuck off..." 

His voice was hardly above a whisper, the words punctuated by hacking coughs and gasps for air. He started gagging at some point, as if he was trying to force himself retch but nothing would come up. Nevertheless, he continued to speak, carrying a conversation, seemingly, with himself. 

"What's wrong with him?!" Hunter demanded. 

"Crosshair doesn't sound well..." Wrecker observed astutely. 

Any resentment, any anger that had been boiling inside of Tech's blood, evaporated like water in the sweltering heat of a summer day. What the fuck was wrong with Crosshair? His brilliant, racing mind tallied up the symptoms, cross checking them against the situation they had left the sniper in and-

"Will you remember me?" 

As understand sank in, Tech's eyes began to prickle. He felt like he was going to be sick. 

"Is he being interrogated?" Wrecker asked, beginning to grow frantic as Crosshair's voice grew fainter and fainter, and his breathing grew more and more ragged. 

"No, Wrecker," Tech began. 

Their brother was dying. 

"I'm afraid I misinterpreted the Empire's protocols," The blood in his veins grew thick with guilt, sticky and sludgy and vile. 

"I want to go home," 

Tech had never heard their brother sound so frightened. He stopped speaking after that and the space between his labored breaths grew longer and longer until they, too, fell silent. 

The Marauder jumped into hyperspace. If Tech's calculations were correct, Crosshair didn't have much time left. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Echo snapped, abruptly rising from his seat. "What the fuck is wrong with him?"

"It means the Empire isn't coming for him, Echo!" Tech snapped right back. 

"And-?" Hunter asked, stepping in between the mechanic and the engineer. 

"And we left him behind on a tiny landing platform, in the middle of the ocean, on a sunny day, with no shelter," Tech had no intention of sugarcoating anything. None of them deserved that mercy. 

"Fuck..." Echo whispered and collapsed right back into his seat. 

Out of the corner of his watering eyes, he could see that Hunter's expression was grim. 

Tech's bottom lip wobbled and his throat felt tight. He moved his goggles to the top of his head and rubbed his watering eyes. 

"So what's wrong with Crosshair?" Wrecker whimpered, his voice uncharacteristically soft. 

"Theoretically, in a harsh environment, a human being can only survive three hours without shelter," The mechanic responded. 

"But- but it was sunny when we left. Right? Sunny and warm? So he should be okay, right?" Wrecker's voice was starting to crack around the edges. "Tech? He's going to be okay, right? Because- because it was nice and warm? And Crosshair hates the cold. He always- he always complains about how cold it is on the ship. So he's got to be okay, right? Because it's warm? And he likes places that are warm? It's better than if it was raining, cause he hates the rain. So he's-"

"He's got heatstroke, doesn't he?" Omega asked, appearing in the doorway. It was startling enough that Tech finally twisted around. "I've seen it before. Sometimes cadets would overheat during training and-" his eyes flickered to Tech, as if she expected him to interrupt her, ever eager to regurgitate his wealth of knowledge. But Tech's throat was too tight to speak, so Omega's gaze fell to the floor. 

"The humans sweat to reduce body temperature," Echo explained, likely having noticed Wrecker's lingering confusion and Omega's increasing distress. "When you get too hot for too long, you sweat too much, and become dehydrated. If your body loses too much moisture-" 

"You die?" Wrecker whispered, and it was clear that he didnt really want to know the answer. 

'Yes,' Tech wanted to say—should have said. But instead, Hunter beat him to it and lied, 

"Crosshair isn't going to die," 

Wrecker rose to his feet and smashed his fists together, seemly reassured. "Don't worry Crosshair! We're coming for you!"

Tech slid his goggles back into their proper place and squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn't true, and Wrecker didn't deserve to be spared the truth—none of them did. They'd left their brother behind, after all. But his traitorous voice had abandoned him, so he said nothing. He merely stared out, dead ahead, watching despondently as the Marauder hurtled through hyperspace. 

* * *

It was the blood that bothered Tech the most. 

Crosshair’s eyes were half open, his lips parted, his head resting on a pillow of drying blood. Even from across the landing pad, Tech new he wasn’t breathing. For a moment, he couldn’t move. He felt like he was going to vomit. This was his fault. He should’ve insisted Crosshair let them give him a ride to somewhere safer, somewhere he could escape the elements. He should’ve anticipated the possibility that the Empire wouldn’t return for him. He should’ve known better, he should’ve known better! 

“Tech-“ Hunter prompted, and the mechanic finally snapped into action and sprinted across the landing pad.

He knelt beside his brother, and felt his neck for a pulse. The sniper wasn’t breathing, as anticipated. He still had a pulse, but it was weak and growing fainter by the second. 

“He’s alive!” Tech called out. His voice was rigid and without emotion. He should’ve felt worried, he knew, but he didn’t. He didn’t feel anything at all. It was like he was standing on the other side of the landing platform, watching his disembodied self move of its own accord. Even his voice sounded far away. 

“Heatstroke, as I—and Omega—suspected,” he explained when Hunted knelt beside him. “We need to get him inside and cool him off immediately. However, I should warn you that his chances for survival are slim to none. I suspect he will pass within the hour,” He slid an arm beneath the slender sniper’s knees, and another arm behind his back, and hoisted him into the air. 

Crosshair used to spend all day at the shooting range. He would come home long past curfew, when only Tech was awake, his palms covered in painful, open blisters. He would try to slink off to bed without acknowledging his brother, but Tech never wasted an opportunity to reprimand him, citing Kaminoan studies done on the importance of sleep and a healthy diet in aiding growth and development. Sometimes, his scolding would make Crosshair cry. He would attempt to hide it, twisting away and scrubbing aggressively at his face, with all the energy of a wolf stealing meat from the carcass of his brother's kill—a desperate attempt to appear invulnerable. Tech never understood the behavior; not what prompted the crying, nor why Crosshair refused to allow himself to appear vulnerable. As with the wolves, they were a pack; any kill they made was to be evenly distributed among their ranks, but Crosshair insisted on attempting to prove his worth. Tech would in,gore his brother's crying (Crosshair and didn't want his tears to be acknowledged, and Tech didn't know how to soothe them away) and insisted on bandaging his hands, while he wrangled with his own wayward emotions. 

“Tech?” Hunter asked. Tech’s knees felt wobbly. 

Sometimes, when they were much smaller, on particularly bad nights, he would offer to share a bed with Crosshair, and the young sniper would begrudgingly comply. Tech, who prided himself but yin his observational skills, concluded that, in spite of his outward behavior, Crosshair was afraid of being alone. Logically, it made sense: Crosshair's attitude had a penchant for landing him solitary confinement, sometimes for days at a time. Sometimes, on particularly bad nights, he would pet his brother’s grey hair, and (quietly) read aloud the text he was studying until his brother fell asleep. 

“Tech,” Hunter said, a little more sternly, but the mechanic wasn’t listening anymore. 

“I suspect his kidneys have already begun to fail. As other organs fail, the bacteria in his gastrointestinal tract will escape into his abdomen. If he survives the initial organ failure, I imagine he will die shortly thereafter of sepsis,” 

“Fett’s balls, Tech! You’re going to drop him!” Hunter snapped, reaching out to stabilize his brother, just as Tech stumbled and pitched to the left. 

"I'm fine," Tech assured quickly, breathlessly, but Wrecker had already stepped in and pulled Crosshair from his arms. The brawler looked utterly bereft. 

The cargo bay, as per usual, served as their makeshift medical bay. Cooling Crosshair down was Tech's priority, however fruitless the endeavor seemed. Their meager medical supplies were hardly sufficient—An IV was inserted into his elbow to reintroduce fluids and electrolytes; a tube was pushed into his nose and down the trachea so a ventilator could force air in and out of his tobacco-battered lungs; a defibrillator forced his corroding heart to restart so many times, Tech couldn't help but wonder if it was cruel to force it to keep pumping blood—

He refused to check the chrono. He wouldn't know the time. Crosshair would die within the hour—the odds were nearly 100%. With the severity of his heatstroke...

Once the sniper was in a condition that could be called "stable" (meaning that nearly all of his vital organs functions were being run by machines), he fled to the cockpit and locked himself inside. 

He didn't take his datapad. 

He didn't take his helmet. 

He didn't want to know the time. 

Surely, if there was an emergency, somebody would come to get him. But nobody came, and Crosshair would be dead within the hour. 

It was hard to wrap his mind around the idea of Crosshair, not only not being there with them, but being utterly uncontactable. Unreachable. Gone. Just gone. 

Even when he was off fucking around with the Empire, he was still there. He still existed. But, within the hour, there would be no more Crosshair. 

At some point, within the hour, he would cease to be a person and would, instead, become an object. A corpse. Not Crosshair, but a thing that used to be Crosshair. 

That was hard to imagine. The sniper had always been a constant in Tech's life. They were pulled from the same tube—a single cell split in two. As is common with twins, they one of them had been smaller, had developed slower. So, Tech had been decanted first, and Crosshair remained in the tube to continue to develop. Later in their life, Tech would tease Crosshair about being left in the tube longer than everybody else. 

'Little brother,'  he used to call him, just to make him angry. 

With a wet chuckle, he distantly considered returning the cargobay to tease the sniper. 'Haven't you slept long enough, vod'ika?' he'd ask, and maybe, Crosshair would get so angry, he'd wake up. 

If he wasn't dead already. 

* * *

It took a long time for Tech to work up the courage to return to the cargobay. He'd needed to carefully compartmentalize his feelings, to prepare himself for the great ordeal of preparing Crosshair's body for burial. Or cremation. Or- or whatever they would do with him. He didn't know what Crosshair would've wanted. 

Tech was surprised, however, to discover that there was no need to prepare the corpse for disposal, as there was no corpse to dispose of. Hours had passed, and Crosshair had lived. Tech had not prepared for this outcome, and his carefully boxed emotions began to spill out of their compartments. He pressed his hand and laughed until tears were running down his face. 

Well. 

He wasn't really laughing anymore, by that point. 

He remained there for hours and hours, covering his face, shoulders shaking, and all the while, Crosshair's heart beat steadfastly. 

* * * 

Returning to Ord Mantel was a welcome feeling. It was familiar, predictable. 

Stepping off of the ship felt was relieving; it felt like escaping—it felt like running away. 

"No, no, no! I told you already, no more of you clones in my cantina! The five of you are enough trouble as it is!" Cid protested, when Hunter requested access to another room. 

Tech couldn't help but smile. Cid was predictable. Hunter was predictable. Even Omega, who explained the situation and practically begged Cid for access to the room, was predictable. 

Cid, of course, begrudgingly accepted, because she always caved in to Omega's requests. 

Crosshair, however, was not predictable. He should have died. Statistically, he was supposed to have died. And yet, he lived. As predicted, the collapse of his organs caused the bacteria in his gut to seep into his abdomen. He raged with fever. His blood was poisoned with infection. Sepsis ravaged him.

He woke up , occasionally. When his sharp eyes opened, they were red, glassy, and unfocused. They stared at nothing. Sometimes, he gagged and thrashed, choking on the tube in his throat, fighting against the machine that kept him breathing. Sometimes he remained utterly still, eyes open and empty. Once, when Tech was changing his IV, he turned towards his brother and his eyes seemed to focus. He blinked, and tears rolled down his cheek. 

Tech thought nothing of it. Nothing more than dry eyes, he convinced himself. 

At one point, his fever spiked and he began to seize. 

He didn't wake up again, after that. Tech ruled him comatose, and Omega began to sob. He felt guilty for upsetting her.

Caring for Crosshair was a chore. Sheets needed to be changed. He needed to be turned regularly to prevent bedsores from forming. Physical therapy was required to prevent his muscles from atrophying. An IV delivered fluids and electrolytes to his body, and an NG tube delivered nutrients and calories. Urine was collected from a cather. He was given a sponge bath regularly. Wrecker insisted on keeping his face shaved and his hair trimmed, certain that Crosshair would appreciate the additional care. 

Tech disagreed. It didn't matter if Crosshair was shaved or not. Nothing mattered. Crosshair wouldn't wake up, he was certain of it. 

Especially after discovering that—either the heatstroke or the fever—had damaged his brain. His fine motor skills, eyesight, and physical strength would be effected. He might not have the strength to walk—sniping was out of the question. 

Nevertheless, he survived. Though he remained comatose, the fever broke. The infection receded. Crosshair lived. 

Tech wasn't sure how to feel about it. 

They took turns watching over their youngest brothers. Tech did everything in his power to weasel out of his turns. It was too hard to look at his brother's still body. He made excuses; always working on repairs for the ship, or fixing up the cantina for Cid. 

It wasnt as if he wasn't constantly checking on Crosshair anyways; though they all learned how to turn him, bathe him, and work his muscles, Tech was still the one with the most medical knowledge and, therefore, in charge of the more technical aspects of Crosshair's care—the IVs, the catheter, the NG tube, the ventilator. 

It was exhausting, constantly wrestling with the warring feelings of grief and concern and betrayal and anger. 

Compartmentalization soon became dissociation. He stopped remembering to eat, to drink, to rest. He lost interest in working, he stopped talking. 

The others noticed, they worried. 

It was Echo who finally intervened.

It was Echo's turn to watch Crosshair. Tech had just finished changing Crosshair's IV. Echo invited him to sit and Tech agreed. For a long time, they were silent. Then, Tech wrinkled his nose. Peaking up under the collar of Echo's shirt, was a tattoo that Tech had never seen before. It was rather simple: a domino with five dots—three black, one blue, one red—all outlines with clean, black lines. 

"Are you going to tell me why you're staring at me? Or should I start making guesses?" Echo asked with a huff. 

"You have a new tattoo," Tech replied simply, turning his gaze back to Crosshair. 

Echo rolled his eyes. "It's not new," 

Tech furrowed his brows together. The ink was still clean and crisp—indicating that it was, in fact, newer—however, it lacked the redness and swelling that came with fresh tattoos. "Well I haven't seen it before," Tech said haughtily. 

Echo, amused, breathed out a sharp laugh. "Yes, you have. You were with me when I got it. Then again, you were pretty wasted at the time, so it wouldn't surprised me if don't remember," 

Echo, that bastard, had the audacity to look smug about it, and Tech—who felt his cheeks begin to burn—scowled harder, tearing his gaze away from Crosshair. "I assure you, my memory is quite impressive and my alcohol tolerance is very high. It would surprise me if I had actually managed to drink enough to-"

"Tech, you were wasted! You were so fucking pissed, in fact, that when the artist asked if you were going to get anything done, you pulled down your pants and asked to get a tattoo on your shebs that said-"

"Alright!" Tech cut in loudly, mortified. "Alright! So maybe I had allowed myself to become somewhat-"

"-completely and utterly blackout pissed-"

"Yes-" Tech hissed. "That. I had allowed myself to become 'completely and utterly blackout pissed' but still-!" He froze, suddenly, when he noticed Echo's expression change. "What? Why are you staring at me like that?" He demanded. 

"You're an awfully emotional drunk, you know that?" Echo asked suddenly, catching the engineer off guard. 

"I- excuse me?" 

"When you drink, you get- well, you get giggly. Sometimes, you get giggly, I mean. Sometimes, you get sad. You don't get angry, though. Even black-out drunk, you don't get angry. It's like-"

"It's like nothing. I would rather not discuss-"

"-youre bottling it all up. That's what you do, right? You bottle up all your anger?" 

"There is no purpose in anger. Or any feelings, for that matter," Tech cut in sharply, trying to indicate that the conversation was over. 

Unfortunately, Echo, that stubborn bastard, wouldn't let it go. "You can't honestly believe that," he said with a snort. His smug expression quickly withered away. "You're being serious?"

"Emotion merely clouds judgment. It gets in the way. Get too angry, or too sad, and you're bound to make mistakes. Echo, youve been with us for long enough—you should know that we don't make mistakes. And you, personally-" he waved his hand, gesturing to the ARC's prosthetics. "Ought to know just how devastating the consequences of such frivolous mistakes can be," 

It was a low blow and Tech knew it. He could feel the cool sting of guilt already pooling in his stomach. However, such a jab should, theoretically, offend Echo enough to drop the subject. Perhaps, he would leave the room. Tech winced at the thought: he didn't want to be left alone with Crosshair. With Crosshair's body. 

"Did the longnecks beat that kind of thinking into you?" Echo asked, unperturbed. 

Tech's skin prickled. He didn't want to answer the question, didn't want to look the other trooper in the eye, so, instead his gazed fixed on Crosshair. 

The churning in his stomach returned. He was quick avert his eyes elsewhere. 

"I get it. Really, I do," Echo said. The softness in his voice made Tech grit his teeth. 

He didn't want to be pitied. He didn't want Echo peering into his soul, trying to pry him apart. 

"I really don't think you do," he said gruffly.

A heavy silence blanketed the room. Tech, mistakenly, believed that Echo had finally let the conversation drop. 

"They beat it into me too, you know," he said at last, and the breath caught in Tech's throat. "When I was a cadet, I... struggled to manage my emotions. I felt things intensely—I still feel them intensely—and I didn't know how to manage them. I felt so much, all the time, and it was overwhelming. I... struggled in my classes. I got too restless. Too much information made me too overwhelmed. I couldn't focus. And then I would fail tests, and it made me so angry, because I couldn't figure out what the kriff was wrong with me," 

Echo went silent for a moment, and Tech finally forced himself to look at him—he looked pained. His hands were gripping his knees, white knuckles, and his brows were knit together tightly.

"It was too much. I was too much. My batchers..." he heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. His hand skirted up towards the tattoo and Tech finally understood the significance of it. "They didn't know how to deal with it either. So I just learned to shut it off. Like a tap. Because I was scared all of my feelings were driving them away. And... I didn't want to lose them," His grip tightened on his shoulder. 

Three black dots—Hevy, Cutup, and Droidbait; one blue dot—Fives; one red dot—Echo. 

Domino squad. 

"You don't talk about them much—your batchmates. Why is that?" Tech asked. 

Echo's shoulders slumped, and his crack lips turned up in a weary smile. "I think you know why. Talking about them won't bring them back. It won't fix anything. It'll just make me sad. And in so fucking tired of feeling sad. I just want to move on. And the idea of talking about them all in the past tense, it-" Echo exhaled shakily. 

Tech's lips wobbled. His eyes began to burn. His finger's tightened around cro.

 "It's makes it feel too real," 

"Yeah," Echo whispered. 

"I dont... think I'll talk about him, either... when he goes," Tech whispered, suddenly unable to take his eyes away from Crosshair's gaunt face.

Echo shook his head. "We can't be like this, you know. All bottled up," 

"I know,"

"It isn't healthy,"

"It isn't,"

Silence. Then, a whisper: "He might live, you know," 

Sharp, like a knife cutting through the tension, Tech barked out a laugh. "The likelihood of him ever waking up is slim to none," He wasn't sure if that statistic pleased him, or distressed him. 

"He'll pull through. Severe and unyielding- remember?""

Tech's lips curled up over his teeth, flashing his canines like a wild animal. He didn't like that answer because it wasn't that simple. 

As cadets, they had been best friends. Crosshair was the only one who understood; he wrestled with his emotions too. 

Severe and unyielding and quick to anger. 

He used cry himself to sleep, after long, painful training sessions, when the trainers and the regs were particularly cruel. He held it until he thought everybody was asleep, and then he'd cry, totally silent, shoulders shaking, face twisted up in agony. 

And Tech would watch him, without saying a word, because he knew Crosshair didn't want to be caught crying. But after he fell asleep, Tech would crawl out of his bed and into Crosshair's. Because Crosshair was lonely. And Tech was lonely. He would grip the back of his brother's shirt, and grit his teeth as the tears rolled helplessly shown his face. 

Once or twice, Crosshair would turn around and wraps his arms tight around him. 

"Even so. I can't help but wonder if he'll even want to survive this ordeal, given the loss of his fine motor skill," Tech swallowed thickly. 

Crosshair chose the Empire over them.

"You know," Echo began. "There's more to his life than just being a good sniper,"

"Oh?" Tech asked. 

"There's us," 

They left Crosshair behind, and he roasted in the sun.

How was he supposed to feel about that? 

Tech rose to his feet abruptly and turned away, stalking out of Crosshair's room without a word. There was a twinge of guilt in his stomach, as Echo called out for him, but it was swallowed up by anger. 

No. Crosshair didn't have them. He didn't have anybody. He chose to be alone. He chose to be left behind and Tech was sick and tired of feeling guilty for honoring that choice. It wasn't his fault he was a miserable asshole who picked the Empire over his brothers. 

There was a rough hand on his shoulder, spinning him around. "Force, Tech! Fucking spit it out! You can't keep doing this! You can't keep bottling up your feelings and running away from your problems!" Echo snapped.

Tech gave the ARC Trooper a hard shove backwards. "You're advice, Echo, is neither needed nor wanted," he snarled, his lips curled upwards into a sneer. 

Echo blinked, stepped backwards, crossed his arms, and exhaled. "So that's how it's going to be, huh? You know, Tech, for as much as you seem to hate Crosshair, you sure do act an awful lot like him these days,"

It felt like the planet stopped turning, like the stars went dark. It was like being cut in half by a lightsaber; like the sky was falling. 

He didn't hate Crosshair. Of course he didn't! How could Echo think that? 

But he did hate Crosshair, didn't he? Just a little? 

"Crosshair and I have nothing in common. I would never abandon my brothers," he stammered. His lip wobbled. He took off his goggles and whipped his eyes. He didn't put his goggles back on. 

He didn't look at Crosshair, his brother, laying comatose in his bed. 

"I would never abandon my brothers," he whispered. 

Echo put his hand on Tech's shoulder, just as he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. He didn't want to cry. He didn't. If he started to cry, he wouldn't stop, and that would be unacceptable. 

"It's not your fault," Echo's hand tightened on his shoulder. Tech's breathing hitched. 

"I abandoned him, Echo," he whispered.

"You didn't abandon him. This isn't your fault. You couldn't have known," 

"I should have known! That is all I have ever been good for, Echo! Knowing things, predicting things! That's what I was bred for! My life has one, singular purpose and I failed! I calculated incorrectly and abandoned my brother in the sun without shelter! And part of me believes that he deserved it!" He shouted, his whole body trembling. 

He expected Echo to pull away, to reel backwards in disgust, but he did no such thing, rather, he pulled Tech closer. He wrapped his arms around him. 

Tech didn't deserve that kind of kindness. 

"Part of me believes he deserved it. Part of me is happy that he suffered," he whispered. "And part of feels wretched. I don't know how to feel. I don't know what to do. Echo... I don't- I don't know what is wrong with me," 

"Nothing," Echo assured firmly, gruffly, tightening his hold on the engineer. "Nothing is wrong with you,"

"Why?" Tech asked. Tears slipped down his cheeks. His goggles clattered to the ground. "He chose the empire over us. Why? What did we do wrong?"

"I don't know, Tech. But we can ask him when he wakes up," Echo offered up a little smile. 

"He won't wake up, Echo. The probability-"

"Fuck the probability! Severe and unyielding, remember? He'll pull through," Echo said emphatically. 

Tech sagged, breath hitching, and rested his head on Echo's shoulder. "I don't want him to die. Truly, I don't. In spite of everything... He's still my brother. I would never abandon my brothers,"

"I know you wouldn't," Echo whispered.

For a long time Tech didn't speak..his arms hung limp at his sides. Then, ever so slowly, timidly, he slowly wrapped his arms around Echo, and he began to cry. 

"I don't know what to do...!" He cried, voice muffled by Echo's shoulder.

"You don't have to know," Echo assured him. "I think, maybe, we should wake up Wrecker to take over the rest of my shift. I'll make you something to eat and then, Tech, I think you need to go to bed. You're exhausted, you need rest. How does that sound?"

Tech stiffened, then nodded, hesitantly. He felt foolish for requiring assistance with such a menial task but... Echo was right. He was exhausted. He pulled away from his friend, retrieved his goggles from the floor, and wiped.his eyes. 

"I... Apologize for my behavior. Thank you for being patient with me," he said softly. 

Echo lead him away from Crosshair's bed and out into the cantina. "It's alright," he assured, and his hand, once again, skirted up to the tattoo on his shoulder. "I understand how hard it is. Believe me, I do,"

Tech cast one final glance at his brother and exhaled slowly. For the first time in weeks, he didn't feel angry anymore. He just felt sad. Sad that Crosshair had betrayed them. Sad that he had gotten so sick. Sad that he wasn't waking up. 

"Don't worry," Echo said, drawing his attention away from his brother. "He'll wake up,"

"He'll wake up," Tech echoed. 

And two days later, he did.