#Maybe hondo for the blue thing

[imintheairconditioning]

This came across my dash a 2nd time and sure it may be over

BUT CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW MS PIGGY IS SO TRINA CODED PLSSS

[fluentmoviequoter]

I Chose You

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!(book reader!)reader

Summary: Street enlists all the help he can find to plan the perfect proposal.

Warnings: fluff, banter, a few book references at the end, brief mentions of gambling and breaking and entering

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

When Street enters the locker room at the end of the day, Hondo, Deacon, Luca, Tan, and Chris sit on the bench and watch him. He furrows his brows and slows between steps as the door closes behind him.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“You tell us,” Hondo answers, leaning back on his hands. “You’ve been weird-“

“Weirder than usual,” Tan interjects.

“There’s something on your mind,” Deacon amends. “If you want to talk about it, we’re here to listen.”

Street sighs and glances down. His team knows him well, too well, he thinks. There is something he wants to talk to them about; he needs advice and help but isn’t quite sure how to ask about it.

“Do not say you’re breaking up,” Christ blurts out.

“Chris,” Deacon whispers, turning quickly toward her.

“He did the look! He only makes that face when he’s thinking about her and clearly whatever is bothering him is big!” she defends.

“It is about her,” Street admits. “But I’m not breaking up with her. The opposite, really.”

Deacon smiles as Hondo’s eyes widen.

“20 Squad’s resident playboy is proposing?” he asks incredulously.

Tan checks his phone to ensure it’s not April Fools’ Day, then shakes his head as he smiles. He’s happy for Street; they all are, but that doesn’t mean there will be a break in the banter they’ve grown used to.

“I’m sure you need a lot of help,” Tan says. “With… everything, right?”

“Yeah,” Street murmurs. “But maybe Deac is more suited to help with this kinda thing.”

“We’re all helping,” Luca announces as he stands. “But I think we’re going to need more hands.”

“Why?”

“Because we know you Street,” Deacon answers, smiling as he joins Hondo. “And you’re going to go big.”

“What is going on in here?” Hicks yells as he enters SWAT HQ. “You’re all supposed to be at home.”

“We’re busy!” Mumford calls over his shoulder before looking at the paper in his lap.

“Oh, well in that case,” Hicks mutters sarcastically. “What are you doing?”

“Planning a proposal,” Rocker answers with a smile.

“Whose?”

“Guess, Commander!” Luca interjects.

Hicks pinches the bridge of his nose but smiles as he asks, “Hondo?”

Hondo makes a sound between retching and crying, then shouts, “Mrs. Right ain’t knocked down my door yet, Commander.”

“Gentlemen!” Hicks calls again before the common area descends into even more chaos. “Who is proposing?”

“I am,” Street says, waving from beside Deacon. “We’re planning the whole night.”

Hicks stares at Street for several moments, then asks, “Can I help?”

“If you care at all about our sanity, you will,” Deacon replies. “He wants to propose but doesn’t know what kind of ring she’ll like.”

Hicks rolls his eyes as he takes a paper from Deacon. “You and I both know he does.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Street argues before immediately correcting, “I don’t.”

“What’s her favorite color?” Hicks asks, holding a pen above the short list of ideas Deacon jotted down.

“Uh, she likes blue.”

“Does she wear jewelry?” Mumford adds. “Rings?”

“Small ones, sometimes.”

“First shape you think of when you hear her name,” Rocker calls.

“Heart,” Street answers without hesitation. “Wait, what?”

“You’ve got your ring,” Deacon tells him. “Small blue heart.”

“Where would I even find something like that?”

“You’re right, Streeter,” Luca says, shaking his head with a frown. “Because Los Angeles has a shortage of specialty jewelry stores.”

“That was unnecessary,” Street responds. “But, sure, let’s say I get a ring like that. Then what?”

“Is he serious?” Hicks mumbles to Deacon.

Deacon smiles and matches his tone to explain, “He’s nervous.”

“Street, she’s going to say yes,” Chris assures him. “Figure out when and where you’re going to ask.”

“Right… How do I ask?”

“You’ll figure something out,” Tan says.

“Real helpful, thanks.”

“Hey, you said she likes reading,” Mumford begins. “Why not do something with that?”

“Yeah, you could hide the ring in a book or set up some romantic reading night-type date,” Rocker adds.

“She’d love that,” Street agrees. “Reading night would work.”

“Well then,” Hondo announces, pushing his hands on his knees as he stands. “Sounds like we have some shopping to do.”

The rest of 20- and 50-David squads stand, and Hicks asks, “That requires all of you?”

“You’re invited too,” Hondo says with a wink.

Hicks tilts his head to the side, then shrugs. “Why not?”

“Oh, uh, hello,” a woman squeaks after the bell over the door chimes. “What can I help you with today… sirs?”

“Excuse the crowd,” Hicks tells her.

“We have a very nervous young man here looking to propose,” Luca explains.

“I’m not very nervous,” Street argues.

Hondo nods behind him, and the jewelry store attendant presses her lips together to hide her smile.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asks Street.

“Something small and blue,” he answers, glancing down at the case of rings between them. “Maybe with a heart?”

“I may have just the thing. One moment.”

She walks through a doorway, leaving the LAPD SWAT teams alone in the showroom.

“At least the place won’t get robbed,” Rocker murmurs as he leans over a watch display.

“Way to jinx us, pal,” Mumford grumbles from the other side of the room.

“Perhaps something like this?” the woman asks, opening a velvet box. “It’s a sterling silver band with a natural heart-cut topaz insert.”

Street hums as he watches the light glint off the shiny edges of the rock. “I like the shape and the color,” he says. “Do you have blue diamonds?”

“Lab-grown,” she replies with a nod.

“What if…”

“Go with your gut, Street,” Deacon encourages.

“Would it be possible to put a blue diamond heart in a ring, and then a small white diamond on either side?”

The woman sets the ring in a locked box beneath the counter and then clicks a few buttons on her computer. She turns the screen so Street – and the other officers – can see a blue diamond with white diamonds on either side. It’s a small ring, but it’s exactly what Street can imagine you wearing.

“We can then shape the blue diamond into a heart and use a sterling silver band,” she explains.

“I’ll take it,” Street responds.

“Perfect! Do you know her ring size?”

Street’s smile falls, and Hondo sighs.

“Guess we have to break into her house and steal a ring,” Luca muses.

“I’m in!” Rocker calls.

Two months later, Street has the ring box in his pocket and his backyard decorated like a reader's dream. There is a new swinging chair with plush cushions, accented by a book bouquet. He’s only waiting for you, and for his nerves to wear off.

“Street?” you call from the front door. “Where are you? I’m not playing Nerf hide and seek with you again, it’s not fair!”

“Backyard!” Street calls, forcing himself to keep his hands out of his pockets.

When you walk out, dressed in your favorite dress, Street forgets about his nervousness. You’re his future, his everything, and he wants to make you his wife. So, when you wrap your arms around him and don’t even notice all of the gifts, he buries his face in your shoulder and smiles.

“Are those books?” you ask suddenly.

“They are. And I know you can’t help yourself, so start reading,” Street replies.

You kiss his cheek, then hurry to the chair he constructed just for you. As you carefully extract a book from his special arrangement, you don’t notice him move to stand behind you or lower to one knee.

“How did you remember I wanted to read this?” you ask, opening the book to the first page. After you read a few lines, and Street still hasn’t answered, you turn with a smile.

Your book falls as your hands move to cover your mouth, and Street extends one hand from the ring box to catch it.

“I remembered that you wanted to read that book because I remember you. You have become my everything, you’re all I think about, all I want to come home to. I want to know you, to love you, for the rest of my life. Even though I know I’ll never be exactly like those guys in your books… mostly because I could take them in a fight-“ Street smiles as you laugh wetly, then continues, “I will do everything I can to be what you deserve, to show you the love that you are worth and I will be your other half, by your side, for as long as you’ll allow me. So, will you turn your back on the romance in those books and marry me?”

You nod quickly, dropping your hands toward Street’s shoulders as you answer, “Yes! Yes, Street, and not because you can take them in a fight but because the love you’ve given me has made me whole.”

Street smiles and pushes up, holding you close after you jump into his arms. After a moment, he pulls back slightly and slides the engagement ring onto your finger. You gasp at the sight of it, and Street knows that all the fun he and his SWAT brothers had planning this doesn’t hold a candle to the light and love in your eyes right now.

“Um, does turning my back on that romance mean I can’t read all the books?” you joke, blinking to clear your tears.

“Not without me,” he replies.

You take Street’s hand as you survey the rest of his perfectly planned night. A tea set and fresh bread wait on a plush picnic blanket, red and gray accents spread across the patio, and a distinct sense of how well your fiancé knows you.

“So, where is everyone?” you ask, proving how well you know him.

“Waiting down the street for my signal,” he answers. “They want to brag about how much work they did and that I couldn’t have done any of this by myself.”

“You could have,” you whisper before kissing Street. “But sound the signal and let me show off this ring.”

“We have a date night to finish first,” Street reminds you.

“You’re going to make them wait?”

Street leans close to whisper, “You’re my fiancée.”

You kiss Street once more, then lean against his side as you enjoy the evening he has planned and discuss the beauty of your romance story.

Bonus:

“What’s the signal?” you ask Street.

“Maybe it has to do with a rider without its dragon,” Street answers, running his finger over your cheekbone.

“A tragedy?”

“We had to have a plan in case you said no.”

“You didn’t. What is it?”

“Maggie chose a rabbit,” Street whispers.

You smile widely and take Street’s hand. “The signal can wait,” you murmur as you lean in.

Down the street, not at their planned waiting place, but in a restaurant a mile away, Hondo collects his winnings from the bet that Street would not use the signal. He splits the winnings with Deacon and Luca, and they walk away nearly as pleased with the night as you and Street.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hello there!

I am here to ease ya'll into my favorite ship:

Banaka (Cad Bane x Hondo Ohnaka)

Best in the Bunch.

I have so much planned for these two in a fanfic I am only just beginning to write (that spans Cad Bane's entire life), but conversations with @allsystemsblue led me to write this fluff scenario and I could not stop myself.

Pretend that what you are reading is based on an already well-established relationship. Bane shows affection by acts of service and gift giving, as his feelings are something he has trouble with expressing. The rest is self-indulgent garbage.

I should mention this is not how the rest of said fic will go. This is a one-off just for fun. You can expect angst, drama, hurt, comfort, toxic relationships, violence and smut in the future.

Credit goes to Teeth for the idea that Hondo, while not believing in the God Quay, still finds comfort in performing magicks for his own peace of mind.

Word count: 1.4k+

Warnings: None. Fluff, a kiss, and a lot of negativity on Bane's part.

He didn’t know a thing about them, flowers, only that they might come in useful for a certain predicament he had found himself in, as it seemed most sentient beings thought the seed-bearing parts of plants—consisting of its reproductive organs, mind you—were somehow beautiful.

He supposed he could see it, what with their bright-colored corollas, petals coming in all shapes and sizes, typically paired with a calyx as green as his own blood. That was only on some planets. On others, they were red, or blue. Purple. Indigo.

On Florrum, they came in various shades of orange, or yellow, a rarity after an even rarer desert downpour.

Fragile is what they were, and a waste of money. The resources used to farm them could be utilized in more efficient ways. Perhaps he would like the wild ones better, though to pull weeds as a manner of apology didn’t seem good enough. Didn’t seem thoughtful enough. He was sure the Weequay would run him out.

Then again, apologizing wasn’t something he often did, as Bane rarely meant not to do something he had set his mind to. Only this time, he had hurt Ohnaka’s feelings.

Feelings. Hondo had too many, and maybe Bane had too few. Callous one might call him, insensitive another. Cynical was more like it; tired; disillusioned. Yet rare was the man who could crack him open to show him what lay beneath; like a geode, Ohnaka exposed his insides, revealing to Bane all the pretty bits he never would have known existed.

And Bane did care, if only when it suited him. If only on his terms. But this time, he cared because Hondo did. It was partially anathema, this caring, yet he did it anyway, unable to coax his mind to let their little squabble go.

To the pirate, it had been more than that, Bane insulting his very heritage. He didn’t understand the tiny dolls he kept, the archaic sources of illumination that were made of wax and smelled like things Bane could not identify, nor the bits and scraps of flimsi that had been burned to cinders.

These things decorated a small table, resting atop an ornate cloth; Bane had touched it much to the pirate’s chagrin, then disrespected his arcane practice, ridiculing his efforts to appease some nonexistent deity in order to bring about Bane’s good luck.

His job was dangerous, but the hunter was unaware he was being prayed for behind closed doors. Somehow, that had irritated him, more so as he didn’t understand it, thinking Hondo must be attempting to commit himself to witchcraft like those little ladies that lived on Dathomir.

“What’s with dhis nonsense. Ain’t no use in doin’ dhat,” he remembered saying; a poor choice of words to one who meant no ill will.

He understood that now, if nothing else. So what if Hondo lit a candle for him. Who was he to say he hadn’t lived to hunt another day because of it? It was possible the only thing keeping Bane alive besides his street smarts and good aim was the Weequay’s magicks; Bane shuddered to think that was the case.

Even so, here he was, holding a bouquet tightly in one hand and his hat’s brim in the other, deigning to do what he felt might be ignored. This was nothing more than a gesture to barter passage into the pirate king’s good graces—an act of service on his part, the buying of them—for in the here and now, there was nothing more he wished to accomplish in this life. Had you told him he would be doing this a year ago, he would have laughed himself hoarse, or worse yet, right into an early grave.

Yes, flowers. Expensive, frail, and pointless. He had chosen the prettiest of those assembled according to his tastes, selecting a color he assumed was the dummy’s favorite: red.

Ladalums were scarce and imported from Alderaan, a fact he’d learned upon their purchase. They would only bloom if pollinated on their homeworld; these were fresh off the cargo freight, able to last months if given the right treatment.

That was one good thing about them—once out of his hands, the rest was up to the pirate to take care of. He was good at that, Bane mused—caring for things.

Eyes and heads—not dissimilar from all the others that populated this chamber of sorts—turned to look at this bounty hunter who relunctantly proceeded with his walk of shame. Bane would bite back all his nasty words, even as members of Hondo's gang jeered and snickered at his expense.

What he wouldn’t give to kill them on the spot. Somehow, he imagined, that would not do him any favors.

Seated on a low dais, in a throne fit for a king no less, his disgruntled paramour still fumed, swoop-goggles purposefully removed to rest upon the front of his worn helmet. Those expressive gray eyes were the Duros’ weakness, finding that he could not meet his narrowed gaze. Already oblique, Hondo’s stormy depths had gathered further into slits, leaving Bane to swallow down his spit.

Still, he approached, feeling naked and vulnerable as he stood there like a scolded child without his hat to shield him. He did his best, fathomless red ellipses meeting Hondo’s glare head-on, Bane saying the only thing he could think to say.

“Brought some flowers.”

Nothin'. There was no reaction, not even a change in his demeanor or a brightening of mood. Bane overtly frowned, taking a step back for his boots to echo lightly against the duracrete floor of Hondo’s beloved fortress home.

Supposin’ this didn’t work, Bane planned for his retreat, hoping to retain some dignity among those present. He lowered his head, his hat rightfully returned to where it belonged by a flat palm, Bane ready to drop the bouquet like so much trash at his feet; it was difficult to care when you didn’t know how to fix the wrong you’d done. Trying wasn’t as good as doing. Doing was the hard part.

“Are dose for me?”

Four little words that set Bane’s heart to thumping, the hunter wisely keeping his eyes averted as he saw the pirate stand out of his periphery. He would only nod, an infinitesimal movement of his head, up and down, affirming what Hondo already knew—those flowers were for him.

His spark descended, that charming scoundrel who kept him going on a dark night of the soul; he strode down the short flight of stairs that would bring him nearly to his level, Bane taller than Ohnaka, though the man was bigger in some ways; his heart for one, Bane thought.

“Dey are beautiful, my Moon,” his bit of sunshine said, Bane’s sorrowful eyes rising out from the shade of his bolero.

“Picked de best in de bunch,” he humbly offered, words bordering a whisper, eerily heard as the hall was quiet, grim faces and furrowed brows sparing him none of his embarrassment. "Same could be said, fer ye,” he added.

It was then the Weequay smiled, a dazzling thing, brighter than dual suns. Bane relaxed openly as he expelled a breath from between his teeth; it was a slow, heavy sigh of relief.

“Flatterer,” Hondo teased, his smile spreading wider, gold amidst pearl and oh-so satisfying to witness should Bane be the sole cause of it. “Dey need water, hm?”

The shuffling of a crimson coat and an idle toss of a braid signaled to Bane that Hondo would exit, the hunter grateful his gift had been accepted. However, the Weequay would pause, turning about face, reflecting on the shrinking Duros as he had been tempted to follow in his footsteps.

“Just… one more ting,” he announced, his expression hardening back to a look previously sported as his voice lowered an octave, Bane’s heart sinking toward his belly as he did not wish to incur any more reprimands.

Hondo took him by his coat’s lapel, jerking him forward. Bane held onto his hat as dusky lips brushed across his, pinpricks of electricity teeming along his scales like minuscule lightning bolts. The Duros would slump his shoulders to sink to Ohnaka’s height, a warm, black tongue invading his mouth to skirt one that was cool and pink.

This must be what it felt like to be forgiven, he assumed, some invisible weight lifting from off his conscience.

“Take it ye like flowers,” Bane remarked once free of his kiss, wanting to fill the now awkward silence with something to lighten whatever tension might be left between them.

For Hondo, there was none. He could just as easily forget as he could forgive. A rough thumb smoothed down the bit of Bane’s flesh left assailable, brazenly descending to aid in the tweaking of one sharp fang.

“Yes,” Hondo harmoniously agreed, “you might say dat.”

[never-ending-fanfic]

Things my Star Wars Clueless Bestie™ said about Star Wars:

Part 1-Part 2-------------------------------------

"I just randomly remembered that jedi steal children, and I am very confused because I thought they were the good guys"

"If Anakin is Luke's father and also the evil black dude then how many years do pass between those damn movies?!" (huehuehue)

"dark wader??" (sure)

"and his ship is like orb of death? Or was it star? Star of death? Dark star? Am I even close by this point?" (adorable is what she is)

"hello there. Obiwan kenobi" *shu shu playing with 4 swords*

(about Maul) the red horny evil dude, that is, I repeat, definitely not hot, can strangle pepole with force and that is fucked up, like he can look at anybody and just be like "that's enough air for you", horrific

Upon me explaining to her that all Force users can potentially do that, she replied with "Oh so he just a bitch like that, I see" (I can't wait for her to properly meet Anakin)

I told her that in Star Wars Rebels they kept describing Thrawn as "the one with red eyes" and hardly ever mention his blue skin, so she keeps on refering to him as "the one with red eyes and no other interesting features"

she appreciates Kallus' Zero Hour hair noodle and says he has great brow game

wonders where did Thrawn's eyebrows go

(about Pryce, buckle up) haircut using a bowl, vile eye color, maybe a lesbian, nevertheless "needs to be fucked now", great brow game cause she apparently shares a cosmetologist with Kallus, would be a math teacher in another life, bra size 75 B (just... okay...)

she asked if Pryce really needs 2 pens, upon learning that Thrawn carries around 4 of them she snorted and upon learning they weren't pens she seemed to have an existential crisis

Pryce=not a prize xoxo

compared Hondo's hat (from Star Wars Rebels) to Hootie from The Owl House

(about the Grand Inquisitor) "such big forehead, such little brain"

Lightning Sword™

called Zeb a frog once

shocked that Jedi are an order and cannot officially have significant others (I seriously thought she knew at least that)

"I keep seeing a trailer of some new Star Wars show with this dude in a helmet and with Baby Yoda and I just can't help but think about Deadpool, for the singular reason that they are both wearing a full coverage suit, I mean I think it's the only similarity cause there is not way this star wars guy is a cool as Ryan Reynolds" (everything in this sentence is so random...)

[powpowpunchout]

What Were You Thinking?

Hondo stormed through the halls of the stadium.

His hands were curled into tight fists.

His glare was strong enough to kill a man.

And the absolute fury on his face was the kind not even his opponents had to witness.

Whatever staff members came his way only needed one glance at him before they quickly stepped aside.

Hondo knew he looked like a wreck

He knew his hair was an absolute mess.

He knew his white headband was about to come undone.

He knew his red dress shirt was crooked, and that dirt clung onto the bottom of his pants, but he didn’t care.

The moment he got that text from Bear Hugger? Everything else was trivial to him.

‘Hello, I got hurt. I won’t be able to respond properly for a little while.’, Was what Bear’s text said, and despite how short and formal it was, it set off every alarm in Hondo’s head.

Bear never texted that formally, and the moment Hondo’s eyes saw the word ‘hurt’, he dropped everything and ran straight to the stadium.

Hondo kept glaring down the hall.

He blocked out every other sound, save for his black shoes hitting the tiled floor.

The subtle smell of copper stung his nose.

He turned a corner.

His eyes landed on the locker room door.

He swung it open. The door hit the wall with a loud bang.

“Tiger, is that you?” He heard Joe holler.

The smell of copper only grew worse.

Hondo’s face scrunched. He walked further into the locker room, and that’s when he saw Bear and Joe.

Bear was sitting against a row of lockers with his light-blue gym bag and his tote bag beside him. Joe sat next to him, a frantic look on his face as he held crumpled paper towels around Bear’s left hand.

Joe had rolled up the sleeves of his black turtleneck, and his wine-colored pants and black shoes were nearly hidden by sheets of paper towels.

Bear was mumbling something to Joe, but he stopped when he saw Hondo approaching.

“Heya, Hondo.” Bear said with a wavering smile, “Shoot, I hope ya didn’t come all th’way over here just cause of me.”

Hondo stared down at Bear. He stared at his pale face and his puffy eyes before he looked over to Bear’s hand.  

Hondo opened his mouth–but he stopped when he saw multiple mouse traps sitting beside Bear’s foot. His stomach turned when he saw blood splatters on a particularly large one.

“What happened?” Hondo asked through gritted teeth.

Bear’s mouth hung open for a moment–

“I was trying to find Sandman’s bottle–” Joe started, “--but then I passed by the locker room and heard Bear scream! I rushed inside and saw him gripping one hand and–and there was blood, and–it was everywhere!”

Hondo felt a twinge of fear shoot through him.

“Wasn’t that bloody.” Bear shrugged in an attempt to act casual.

“One of your nails nearly fell off!” Joe jumped, “And your other fingers looked so purple, and swollen, and–”Joe shuddered. He brought his focus back to the paper towels, holding them firmly around Bear’s fingers as he kept talking, “Tiger teleported into the room not too long ago and went to get a medical kit, and Bear wanted me to text you just in case…” His voice dwindled into mumbles.

Hondo looked back to Bear.

Bear looked away.

His cheeks grew pink.

“Yeah, I… It was kinda my fault, really. Should’a thought twice before stickin’ my hand through–” Bear fumbled with his words, “I just saw somethin’ coverin’ my locker ‘n got curious. Th’dang thing was taped to th’walls so I thought maybe someone placed it there to protect whatever critter was inside, even though that sounded weird, ‘n I just stuck my hand through! Was basically beggin’ for it to happen.” Bear stared at his injured hand. The tips of his fingers burned with each throb of pain.

“Don’t say that.” Hondo was about to add on, but he froze when he saw the inside of Bear’s locker. Nearly every inch of it had been taken up by mousetraps, save for the several missing spaces along the walls.

Hondo’s fists started to tremble. The fact someone spent this much time to hurt his friend made him sick.

He kneeled down to Bear’s level, “You had no way of knowing someone had set those traps for you. They hid it from you. Do not blame yourself.”

Bear nodded.

Hondo watched as Bear’s cheeks grew pinker.

Bear lowered his head.

And then Hondo heard him sniffle.

His heart started to ache.

“Th’pain ain’t that bad–I ain’t cryin’ cause of th’pain, even though it hurts like heck.” Bear raised his good hand up, “I’m just kinda–I’m… Could you imagine if one’a my li’l buddies had been stuck in there? They would’ve been killed, ‘n–” Bear wiped his eyes.

“Hondo.” Joe muttered, his focus still on Bear’s hand, “Could you… Throw away those traps, please?”

Hondo brought his eyes down to the traps that were on the floor. Their wooden bases were chipped, and their metal bars were horribly dented–some had been completely torn from their hinges.

“Of course.” He whispered.

The thought that one of Bear’s animals could’ve gotten their neck snapped, or that one of the mousetraps’ bars could’ve come loose and pierce right through Bear’s fingers, or that even more of Bear’s fingernails could’ve come off made Hondo grateful the injuries didn’t get that severe, but Bear should’ve have gotten hurt in the first place.  

Right as Hondo reached for the first trap, he suddenly heard Joe curse to himself.

His eyes flickered over to see Joe shaking his hand before desperately trying to clean the blood off his fingertips with a paper towel.  

“Sorry, did I bleed through th’paper again?”

“It’s fine.” Joe grabbed another fistful of paper towels and wrapped them around Bear’s hand, “I’ve had bloody noses worse than this, but–but other people’s blood always makes me–”

“Hey, s’all good. I get it.” Bear gave him a weak smile, “I think I might have a towel in my bag. Could be better than these cheap things.”

The moment Bear reached for his gym bag, Hondo got in front of him.

Confusion flashed across Bear and Joe’s faces. Hondo just glared at the bag.

He gave it a kick.

Several snapping sounds could be heard.

Hondo turned back to the men.

“Who did this?” He snarled.

He already knew the answer to that. And by the looks Bear and Joe were giving him? So did they.

“I believe it’s quite obvious…” Tiger’s voice boomed through the locker room.

A swirl of smoke appeared in front of them. It grew in size before it was swished away by Tiger.

“Aran.” Tiger hissed.

Tiger held onto a first aid kit. His gem flashed. The kit hovered into the air and its lid popped open.

“Who else would be run by enough malice to do something like this?” Tiger said as he gestured towards the kit. A roll of bandages flew out and started to unravel itself. A small tube of ointment came out as well.

Bear tugged at the end of his beard, “Yup. Probably got a good idea as to why he went ‘n did it as well.”

Tiger raised a brow, urging Bear to go on.

“Shoot, ya remember when Macho got covered in that ink?”

Hondo’s eyes widened. Bear didn’t have to say another word.

“He’s doing this all because you were looking out for someone?” Hondo’s knuckles were starting to turn white.

“What?” Joe pulled away from Bear, “What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Bear noticed Aran acting odd just a few days before the ink incident. He gave a warning to the higher ups–he didn’t even accuse Aran of doing anything–but–” Hondo threw his arms down, trying to suppress the urge to strike one of the nearby lockers.

“As if Aran cares about the specifics of that.” Tiger frowned as he used his magic to spread the ointment on one side of the bandage, “Could I see his hand?” He asked Joe.

Joe slowly took the paper towels away from Bear’s hand, revealing his purple and blue fingers, along with a particularly bloody pointer finger.

As horrible as it sounded, Hondo was thankful for the dark blood that covered the finger. Just the mere thought of how Bear’s nail must’ve looked made him shiver.

Tiger sharply inhaled.

“It ain’t too bad. Dealt with animal scratches worse than this.” Bear swatted at the air with his good hand.

“That’s not the point.” Hondo said.

Tiger used his magic to carefully wrap the bandage around the finger.

“This wasn’t the act of an animal, Aran wanted to hurt you.” Hondo watched as Bear tried to bend his swollen fingers, “And something tells me he didn’t do this alone.”

The other men shot their heads over to Hondo.

“Who else?” Tiger asked.

“Don’t act oblivious.” Hondo spat.

Tiger put his hand to his chest, as offended as he was taken aback, but then his expression slowly shifted to anger.

“Overload?” He whispered.

“Sounds about right.” Joe got back to his feet and put his hands on his hips, “Those two are always together. It wouldn’t surprise me if he lent Aran a hand.”

“No, that doesn’t sound right at all!” Tiger exclaimed, “What reason would Overload have to do this to Bear!?”

The second he finished wrapping Bear’s hand, he snapped his fingers and the medical kit teleported away.

“Does he need a reason? We’ve seen how he yells at everyone over finger tapping and humming. For all we know, Bear could’ve tapped his foot and that’s all Overload needed to go along with this little setup.” Joe raised his head.

Tiger sputtered, “Yes, I–I agree that he can lose his temper occasionally, but there’s a fine difference between shouting at someone and doing this!” He pointed to the inside of Bear’s locker.

“You saw the way he grabbed Don’s hand during the dinner.” Hondo spoke firmly, “If he can–”

“Oh, the dinner night. The dinner night!” Tiger raised his voice. He suddenly flew into Hondo’s face–making Hondo step back.

“You didn’t even try to talk to Overload during the dinner.” He hissed as he inched closer to Hondo, forcing Hondo to keep moving backwards, “Do you think I didn’t notice the way Bear had to urge you to talk to him? Or how you kept glaring at him since the moment he stepped foot into the bar?”

Hondo felt his back hit a row of lockers. His and Tiger’s faces were an inch apart.

“And why would I want to talk to him?” Hondo growled, “After everything he has done–after the way he has treated us–why would I ever want to speak to him?”

“Hondo’s right.” Joe said as he helped Bear to his feet, “Overload isn’t exactly the most pleasant person to be around, and after what happened at the restaurant–”

“You weren’t even there.” Tiger said as he flew in front of Joe, his hands curled to fists and his eyes glowing as brightly as his gem.

“No,” Joe stood tall, unfazed by Tiger, “but Bear told me about it, and it certainly didn’t sound like fun.”

Tiger whipped his head over to Bear, “What in blazes did you tell him?!”

Bear jumped and threw his hands up, “I was just bein’ honest! He wanted to know how things went, ‘n I told ‘em that it got a bit rocky cause Octave ‘n Don started arguing.”

“Overload grabbed Don.” Hondo threw in.

“For one moment!” Tiger added, “For one, singular moment. Then he let go!”

“That doesn’t matter.” Hondo shot back, “What matters is he acted out, he insulted us, and he put absolutely no effort into treating us better that night. I know he’s somewhat nicer to you, but nothing has changed for us.” He narrowed his eyes, “I don’t see any reason as to why he wouldn’t set up these traps inside Bear’s locker.”

“Fine, fine! You’re so certain he helped with this?” Tiger asked as he started to pace around in the air, his gem blinking wildly, “What else could you possibly use to justify your inane theory besides the fact that he and Aran are friends?”

“We’ll just ask Aran ourselves.” Hondo put his hands behind his back and walked past Tiger “Joe, you have most of the boxers’ numbers, do you–”

“Hold on, Aran?” Tiger shook his head. He teleported in between Hondo and Joe, “You want to ask for confirmation from Aran of all people? Are you listening to yourself? Is anyone else hearing this?!” His head darted around the locker room, “Why do you think Aran would ever be honest with you? With any of us!? He can’t even box truthfully!”

“We don’t even need to ask Aran.” Joe said as he brushed the hair out of his face, “It’s just common sense–”

“To who?!” Tiger shouted.

Before the argument could escalate even further, the locker room door swung open and hit the wall. The men turned their heads and watched as Super Macho Man came into their view.

He stomped over with his head held high and the ends of his dark blue robe dragging behind him. Despite the sunglasses that hid his eyes, it was quite obvious that he was staring down at them judgmentally.

“Do ya chumps mind keepin’ it down?” He said, holding his flip phone in one hand while covering its speaker with the other, “I’m in th’middle of a brand deal, and all your shoutin’ is makin’ me look bad.”

The men stared at him for a moment.

Hondo broke the silence, “We don’t have time for this.” He marched over to Joe, “We need to call Aran now.”

“I don’t have Aran’s number.” Joe said, a hand on his chest, “I’d rather die than give it to that man.”

Hondo’s brow twitched.

“Hang on a sec.” Bear looked back to Macho Man, “Macho, ya gotta lotta folks numbers, do ya–”

“Nu-uh. No way. Not happenin’.” Macho shook his head, “I mean like, I do have his number, but ain’t no way I’m gonna let ya get your grimy hands all over my phone.”

“We don’t have to touch your phone, we just need Aran’s number.” Hondo said.

Macho took his sunglasses off and looked down at Hondo, “Why?”

Hondo covered his face with his hands.

“They think Overload placed mousetraps inside of Bear’s locker.” Tiger grumbled, “And they believe that–”

Macho gasped and shut his phone, “Overload would never do that!”

Tiger pointed to Macho Man, “Thank you! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but for once in my life, I agree with Macho!”

Hondo groaned before he dragged his hands down his face, “Do you realize how ridiculous you sound agreeing with Macho Man of all people?”

“Dunno what that’s supposed to mean.” Macho shoved his phone into the inner pocket of his robe, “But I saw Overload earlier today. We were at th’third floor chattin’ it up, he had some big clunky box in his hand, ‘n unless he’s got super speed or somethin’, I doubt th’dude–”

“Wait, box?” Hondo lifted his head, “What box?”

“His lunchbox, Eyebrows.” Tiger growled.

Hondo shot him a dirty look.

“Awh, c’mon, take it easy on him.” Bear said, “How was he supposed to know that–”

“I absolutely will not!” Tiger cut him off, “He’s just–just looking for reasons to despise Overload, and I will not stand for it!”

“Why do you even care so much about this, Tiger? If Overload gets suspended by his own actions, it’s his own fault.” Joe folded his arms.

“It’s called sympathy!” Tiger exclaimed.

“Why don’t you find Overload and teach him about that word? I’m sure it’ll save us a load of problems.” Hondo snapped back.

“Oh, be careful Hondo…” Tiger slowly leaned into Hondo’s face and spoke in a harsh hush, “I think your temper is starting to show.”

Hondo’s eyes widened. A look of repulsion flickered within them.

He opened his mouth–

But Tiger spoke up again.

“I’ve had enough of this.” He teleported away from Hondo and to the center of the locker room, “I’ve been with Overload most of the afternoon, I actually give him my time of day, so I can say for certain that he wouldn’t do an act like this.”

His gem flashed, and Bull’s gym bag appeared next to him, “Bull’s fight is coming up, and I’d like to focus my energy on supporting him, not putting up with this–this nonsense.” He gestured towards the rest of the men, “If you truly want to stand around all day finding a way to pin the blame on Overload, so be it. I have better things to do with my time.”

He snapped his fingers.

The mousetraps disappeared.

Then his gem flashed, and he teleported away.

The four boxers stood still, silent for a moment.

“I’m going to the higher ups.” Joe said as he started to march away, “They need to hear about this.”

Macho slammed his hand into the side of a locker and stood in Joe’s way.

“They just need’a hear bout Aran. He’s th’guy causin’ all th’problems here.”

Joe rolled his eyes and ducked underneath Macho’s arm, “What does it matter to you?”

Macho yanked him back by the collar of his shirt, “Aran got ink on my clothes. I don’t care what happens to him. Overload though? Guy did nothin’ wrong.”

Joe scowled and fixed his collar, “You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you.”

Joe pushed Macho away and kept walking, “I’d rather play it safe than risk another person getting hurt again–”

“Hold on, Joe.” Bear said.

Joe looked over.

Bear hesitated before he hugged onto himself, “If ya gotta report someone, just do Aran. I ain’t so sure Octave helped with this either.”

Joe and Hondo both jumped.

Macho Man nodded approvingly.

Joe sputtered, “But Bear, he’s–”

“I know he can be a li’l sour, but I saw him just before my fingers got snapped. I was givin’ him his gift ‘n nothin’ seemed off bout him.” Bear stared at his injured hand, “I don’t think he helped Aran. Sure, he’s acted rotten before, but I just can’t see Octave doin’ this.”

Joe sighed, “Bear, I understand you…”

Hondo watched as the men talked amongst each other, their voices slowly faded into the other sounds of the locker room–the fans, the buzzing lights, the footsteps that passed outside the door–until Hondo could hardly make out anything they were saying anymore.

He just stared at the scuffed, gray floor.

‘If I had been there…’ Don’s voice echoed in his head.

‘...I would’ve never let such behavior slide.’

Hondo wasn’t there in time to catch Aran and Overload in the act.

He wasn’t there in time to run into Overload and question him.

He wasn’t there in time to help Bear.

And all those times he was there?

When he watched Overload threaten to crush Bear’s origami?

When he pinned Disco against the wall?

When he insulted each and every one of them at the night of their dinner?

What did he do?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

And the longer he thought about it, the worse his chest burned.

‘What will it take…’ He wondered to himself, ‘...For you to finally do something?’

He clenched his fists.

As much as he’d love to step in, to take action, another part of him knew the results could be disastrous. That his attempt at intervening could make things worse. That someone could get hurt.

He brought his eyes back to Bear.

He was still talking to Joe, nodding along as he clutched onto his injured hand, blood slowly seeping through the bandages.

Tiger’s words about his temper rang through his mind.

Hondo shook his head.

“Bear.” He finally said. Everyone looked over to him.

He took a step closer to his friend, “You said you saw Overload right before you got hurt?”

Bear’s mouth hung open, “Yeah, bout several minutes ago I think. He was just bout to leave–”

“Where did you see him?”

“Th’--At th’back door.”

Hondo grabbed onto the ends of his white headband and tightened it.

“I will be right back.”

Without saying another word, he turned around and stormed out of the locker room.

If Overload had left only a little while ago, there’s a chance he’s still close to the stadium.

There’s a chance that Hondo could find him.

He headed towards the stadium’s backdoors, ignoring whatever threats Macho hollered at him from across the hall. He didn’t care what Macho had to say. If he wanted to sue him or beat him to a pulp over this, so be it.

If Macho doesn’t want Overload to suffer whatever punishment the higher ups have in store for him, then maybe he should help Overload better himself. Then they could prevent situations like these from ever happening.

Hondo swung open the doors. His head immediately shot over to the left where the streets of the city laid.

He started walking, never tearing his eyes from the buildings ahead; a mish-mash of sleek structures, worn down stores, and apartment complexes that have seen better days.

Tucked between all those buildings–nearly hidden by the hundreds of passing people, lamp posts, and street signs–were alleyways.

Alleyways that branched out and intertwined with each other. Alleys that hardly received any light, making them a task to maneuver through. Alleys that ran so deep into the city that after a certain point, all the world’s ruckus turned muffled.  

Traveling through the alleys always took longer compared to following the sidewalks, but they were the perfect place to escape the noise of the city, all those flashing lights, and the crowds of people who couldn’t help but bump into shoulders and step on passing feet. Hondo had gone through these alleys before as a means to unwind, and they seemed like the perfect place for someone like Overload to walk through.

Of course, he wasn’t certain.

Hondo’s only seen Overload leave the stadium and head off in this direction a handful of times.

For all he knew, Overload could’ve called a cab and was already at his house.

But at the very least, he could try.

He had to try.

Hondo crossed the road, weaving through the hundreds of people, their shouts and hollers filling his ears and mixing with the sound of car horns and engine sputters.

Each building he passed carried its own stench.

Cheap beer, the sting of spray paint, burnt food that had been scraped off the stove, all mixed with the smell of cigarette smoke and thick storm clouds.

Hondo glanced at the sky.

It was covered in dark clouds.

The wind was picking up.

He turned a corner and entered the first alley he saw

It was placed between a bank and a convenience store you could find at nearly every block of this city.

The sides of their walls had been covered in crude graffiti and strange stains.

Rusted pipes ran just below their roofs; water dripped through their tiny cracks and hit the small puddles that were scattered along the ruined asphalt.

These alleys were the worst place to be after it rained.

Water filled whatever cracks and potholes the paths had. There weren’t any drains either–the city never bothered–so the water often reached past people’s shoes and soiled the ends of their pants.

And the way the rain filled the dumpsters? How it mixed with whatever disgusting ooze was inside of them? How bits of trash floated atop the water? It was putrid. And don’t even get him started on the smell.

He turned another corner.

The sounds of the city grew quieter.

The paths grew narrower.

Hondo was turning whatever corner caught his eye, going deeper and deeper into the city.

He scanned whatever alleys he passed.

Had it not been for the little differences each building had–their windows, neon signs, boarded up doors–he would’ve believed he was going in circles.

Every object he passed by, every silhouette he saw made him do a double take in the hopes that it was Overload.

He didn’t know where he was heading; where he could find Overload.

As the clouds grew darker, a part of him started to worry he’d have to head back, that he’d have to wait another day to see Overload again.

The low roar of thunder echoed through the alleys.

The smell of the storm grew worse.

Rain threatened to spill at any second.

Hondo turned another corner.

Then he stopped.

He stood still for a moment.

He didn’t know if the stress was finally getting to him, but he swore he heard another set of steps.

They were faint. So, so faint, but he heard them.

He rushed to the other end of the alley and took a sharp right.

He kept looking ahead, turning corner after corner.

He’d stopped at every intersection to listen for those steps.

He kept moving.

The sound of blasting music and hundreds of conversations slowly started to seep into his ears.

One of the buildings nearby must’ve had their windows open. He might lose track of those steps.

It might not even be Overload who’s walking nearby.

It could be anybody.

Anybody.

He turned a left corner.

The first thing he saw was a bright-pink neon sign. No words on it, just the flickering shape of a wine glass.

It hung above a beaten up door that was an ugly shade of green. Through the door, Hondo could hear that obnoxious music and the laughs of drunken people.

Nearly every part of this alley–the walls, the puddles, the pipes, the dumpsters–had been doused in the sign’s saturated pink.

And at the very end of the alley was–

“Overload!” Hondo shouted, his voice bounced off the walls.

Overload stopped walking and jerked his head around.

“Pisty?” He heard Overload mutter, “Th’heck do ya want?” A scowl spread across his face.

Hondo’s heart pounded against his chest.

He took a deep breath and stepped closer.

“Do you think you could just leave after the stunt you pulled?”

Octave gripped onto the handle of his beaten up lunchbox and raised his head, “What on earth are ya talkin’ bout?”

Hondo narrowed his eyes, “Do you think we’re stupid?”

“Do ya wanna honest answer?”

“I know you and Aran were the ones who placed those mousetraps inside Bear’s locker.” He pointed to Overload.

“Mousetraps, eh?” Octave wrapped his thumbs around his white belt, “And what made ya think I’m th’guy who put ‘em there?”

“Given your behavior? It was quite obvious.”

“Dang, ya hate me that much?” Octave put on a sappy, sad expression, “See one bad thing happen to a guy ‘n immediately think I caused it? I mean, c’mon,” He started walking closer, getting illuminated by the neon sign above, “sure th’big guy’s annoyin’, but ya think I’d really go outta my way to do a thing like that?”

“Yes.” Hondo answered through gritted teeth, “You belittle people. You scold them. You’ve grabbed at Don–”

Octave opened his mouth, but Hondo kept going.

“--And I know you held Disco against the wall and threatened him. I watched every second of it.”

Octave growled, “And what’s all that gotta do with me ‘n Bear?”

“You’ve hurt people over miniscule things before. This case is no different.”

“Hurt.” Octave repeated with an eyeroll, “It's not like Disco’s dead. Not like I broke Donny’s wrist or somethin’. They’re still in one piece, ain’t they? ‘N I doubt those traps barely did a thing to Bear–”

“All his fingers were nearly purple. One was covered in blood.” Hondo said.

For a second, just a split second, Hondo saw Overload’s grin flicker down.

“So?” Octave scoffed, “They didn’t fly off, right? He’s been through worse.”

A sting of anger shot through Hondo, “Do you get some sort of amusement out of this? Is there a thrill that comes from being so cruel?” His hands slowly turned into fists, “It doesn’t matter if they’ve been through worse, you still hurt them.”

“Oh, I’m cruel?” Octave set his lunchbox aside, “I hope you’re plannin’ on givin’ this speech to th’rest of the chumps at th’stadium, cause boy, do I have news for ya: We’re boxers. People are gonna be rough, and ya gonna have to get over it.”

“There is–”

“Shaddup.” Octave spat, “Ya think people like Soda ‘n Bull would’ve gotten where they are if they didn’t toughen themselves up? Ya think they’d be in th’World Circuit if they didn’t spit back? They don’t let a couple’a jokes ‘n roughhousin’ bring ‘em down cause they ain’t sensitive, cause thats how boxers work.”

Hondo kept his eyes locked on Octave’s, “There is a fine difference between banter and vileness. It seems you’ve yet to figure it out.”

Octave sneered, “If ya can’t handle anything that ain’t praise or a slap to th’wrist, it’s a miracle how ya even made it past Kaiser.”

Hondo watched as Octave grew closer to his face, “If you truly think this way, it isn’t a wonder why you’re stuck with Aran.”

“You’re a joke.” Octave muttered.

“You’re despicable.”

“I don’t gotta take this from some guy stuck at th’bottom of th’Major Circuit.” Octave stepped back, “Ya went through all that trouble huntin’ me down ‘n for what? For somethin’ I didn’t do? For somethin’ that don’t even matter? What’s th’plan here, Pisty?” He started to circle around Hondo, “Gonna keep lecturin’ me till I die of boredom? Gonna tattle?” His eyes flickered down to Hondo’s fists, “Gonna punch me?”  

He watched Hondo’s body tensen.

“Throw a hit then.” Octave kept circling around Hondo, “Make th’first move!” He stopped when he was in front of him again, “But let’s not forget who beat who. Let’s not forget th’guy who’s next in line for th’Majoir Circuit belt.” He pointed to himself.

“I will not stoop to your level.” Hondo said, his knuckles turning white.

Octave’s smirk only grew, “Betcha that’s th’whole reason ya even lecturin’ me in th’first place. Cause ya know I can beat ya again.”

Hondo didn’t budge.

He watched as one of Octave’s hands curled into a tight fist.

Octave lunged forward and threw his arm back–

Hondo shielded his face.

He waited for the hit.

And waited.

And when nothing came, he peered through his arms and saw Octave still standing before him, a crooked grin on his face.

“Yeah.” Octave lowered his fist, “That’s what I thought.”

Hondo’s heart pounded.

He was stuck in place, forced to watch Octave pick up his lunchbox and storm away.

His breaths grew heavier.

He clutched at his chest, the pounding of his heart now clashing with the only word that rang through his head.

‘Coward.’

That’s all he was.

As the sound of thunder boomed through the alleys and the first, frigid drop of rain hit his face, that horrid word played on repeat over and over, until it was all he could focus on.

‘Coward.’

‘Coward.’

‘Coward.’

~ ~ ~ ~

Hondo watched the rain pour down through the windows of the stadium’s third floor.

He leaned against the cold glass, watching as the heavy drops splashed against the roof.

He had managed to reach the stadium while it was only drizzling, and though his top was still a little wet, he wasn’t going to complain.

He took a deep breath.

Bear had left the stadium shortly after he returned.

Hondo had kept checking Bear’s hand after every little action he did. From picking up belongings to opening a door, Hondo knew he was probably much more worried over Bear’s hand than Bear himself, but he couldn’t help it.

Bear didn’t deserve that.

No one does.

The office door behind Hondo opened.

Joe came out, brushing the hair out of his face with one hand while holding a gray water bottle covered in an array of stickers with another.

Behind Joe, Hondo could just barely see Macho Man talking to one of the higher ups at their desk.

“Macho Man came with you?” Was the first question Hondo asked.

Joe rolled his eyes, “Unfortunately. He didn’t want me to mention Overload at all. Kept threatening to ‘punch me into next week’, or ‘sue me to oblivion’. You know, the classic Macho Man threats.” Despite the exhaustion in his tone, he still had a small smile on his face.

“Did you bring Overload up regardless?” Hondo asked as Joe joined his side.

Joe’s smile faltered, “No.”

Hondo was about to ask why, but Joe went on.

“I didn’t do it because of Macho Man. If he wants to break me in half, so be it. I did it for Bear.” He gripped onto the bottle’s handle, “He didn’t want anything serious happening to Overload in case he was innocent. I’ll admit, I was tempted to report him anyways, but Bear looked like he was about to cry. I didn’t want to make his day any worse.”

Hondo could only give a gentle nod before he turned back to the window.

“How about you?” Joe asked, “Where did you run off to?”

Hondo inhaled, “I tried to find Overload. I succeeded but… Not much came from it.” He folded his arms, “I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. An admission, an apology, but he was too stubborn, and when things started to escalate–” He dug his nails into his arms, “I backed away. I was… Cowardly.” His throat tightened when that last word left his lips.

“Don’t go saying that about yourself.” Joe put a hand on his shoulder, “Leaving in the middle of all that chaos and managing to find Overload in the city for your friend? You’re not giving yourself enough credit for the amount of bravery that takes.”

Hondo lowered his brows, “Thank you. I just wish I’d…” He hesitated, “I wish I had taken more action, I suppose.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m just glad the two of you didn’t break out into a fight, the last thing we need is more people getting injured.” Joe took his hand off of Hondo and watched the rain fall with him.

It didn’t take long for their peaceful moment to get interrupted though.

The office door swung open again.

Macho Man came storming out.

Joe and Hondo looked over to him, ready for him to start going off on them, or brag about how he was so much better than them, but instead, he stayed quiet.

He kept glaring at them, the frustration on his face was something Hondo’s never quite seen before.

Hondo’s seen Macho mad plenty of times, but they were always loud. He usually had the sort of anger that was paired with heavy stomps and grunts, an anger where insults and dismissiveness followed along, the loud anger that suited Macho well.

Here though?

He towered over them. Stiff, silent, and serious.

“I don’t wantcha two goin’ around tellin’ people bout Overload and those mousetraps, got it?” Macho said sternly, “We don’t need those sorta rumors bein’ spread round here.”

“We’ll do as we please.” Joe huffed, “We’re all adults–Overload included–if we feel we have to warn others, that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

“Why do you care so much for Overload?” Hondo asked, “He despises you.”

“It’s tough love.” Macho narrowed his eyes, “And he needs somebody lookin’ out for him. Guy’s probably stressed after losin’ a fight against that Flaming guy, not to mention that cruddy soundin’ dinner.” He pulled at the sleeves to his robe, “He needs a good role model.”

Joe nearly choked on his own spit when he heard that.

As Joe held a finger up, waiting for his cough to die down, Hondo spoke.

“And you believe… You’re a good role model?”

Joe threw his head up, “Seriously, you? How? Why?”

Macho’s glare grew colder.

“Never mind. I really don’t want to hear it.” Joe waved his hand, “Go ahead, be his hero or whatever it is you’re set out to do.” Joe then tilted his head, motioning for Hondo to follow along. The two made their way to the stairs, leaving Macho all alone.

Macho stood there, staring at the door and listening to the rain for what felt like an eternity.

He needed a drink.

Not even the good, high quality liquor he prefers, any would do right now.

The stadium’s bar was probably open. It shouldn’t be too busy at this time of day.

Macho adjusted the center of his robe and made his way downstairs.

Joe and Hondo’s questions rang through his mind.

His mouth curled down.

He is a good role model for Overload.

The fact that the boxers below him constantly run to him for his help, yet have the audacity to turn around and claim he’s doing a poor job? It made him furious.

He’ll swallow a portion of his pride and admit he’s not always perfect, but he always gives his absolute all for Overload.

Macho opened the doors to the main floor and stormed on.

Even though Overload hated every single lecture he got, even though he constantly insulted and pushed Macho away, there was nothing in this universe that was gonna make Macho stop trying.

It didn’t matter what the other boxers thought. What did they know?

They’re not the ones who try to give Overload guidance, they’re not the ones looking out for the little guy, they’re not the ones who consistently try to help him–none of the other boxers even realize Overload needs his dang help.

As Macho approached the stairs to the bar, he lifted up the bottom of his robe so it wouldn’t pick up whatever dirt was hiding between the cracks of the black steps.

The thin, vertical orange lights along the walls bounced off his skin and gave him a slight glow.

He looked at the bottom of the stairs.

The bright blue light that usually filled the bar wasn’t there. It was probably too early to turn it on.

Good.

Macho hated how obnoxious the bar’s lights could get. He always preferred it darker; less casuals were drawn to it.

The moment his foot touched the last step, he peered past the corner and eyed the bartender that stood in the middle of the round, black bar counter that was in the very center of the room.

“What’s th’strongest stuff ya got?” Macho asked as he weaved his way through the tens of empty tables. He cringed when he felt something sticky latch onto the bottom of his boots. He looked down at the black, scratched up and stained floor below to see what in the world he stepped on, but it was impossible to tell with how dim it was in here.

The only lights on were the lamps hanging above the bartender’s counter, their orange glow just barely more vibrant than the lights along the stairways. He preferred it over the stupid blue light, sure, but that left the rest of the bar engulfed in darkness.

“I’ll check what we have, sir.” The bartender said as they bent down and started opening whatever cabinets they had.

As the clinking of glasses echoed through the room, Macho sat down at one of the leather-brown bar stools by the counter. This place reeked of wet newspaper and cheap booze. Even with most of the lights off, he could still vividly recall which walls of the bar were covered with hundreds upon hundreds of boxing posters. Honestly, he was sort of glad he didn’t have to see those worn down, hideous posters.

He then eyed the shelves that dangled from the ceiling and surrounded the counter. They carried an array of bottles and wine; nothing fancy, of course.

Macho rested an arm on the counter. At least this dang thing was cleaner than the floors.  

As the bartender set two small shot glasses in front of him, Macho stared at his blurry reflection on the countertop. Joe’s voice echoed through his head.

‘Why?’  

Did he need a reason to believe he was the best role model for Overload?

Did it matter?

Did Joe actually want to hear a reason? Because Macho could give a million of them.

How about the fact that he already inspires thousands of people to be like him?

How about the fact that he started at the very bottom of the WVBA and worked his way to the top by himself?

How about the fact that despite everything the world’s thrown at him–despite everything he’s done–he still manage to end up at the #1 spot in the World Circuit?

As the bartender started to pour whatever drink was in their hand, more and more of that frustration sunk its teeth into Macho’s mind.

Was it such a bad thing to keep an eye on Overload?

Was he not allowed to look out for the little guy?

It’s not his fault he has the urge to help somebody who’s several ranks below him.

It’s not his fault he’s able to figure out Overloaded just needs some guidance.

It’s not his fault he’s got a heart big enough to care for him.

He’s a good guy.

He’s a great guy.

After the bartender finished pouring, they quickly capped the drink and walked to the far back wall of the room.

With a few quick clicks, the rest of the lights turned on, revealing the rest of this gaudy, good for nothing bar and the ridiculous posters plastered all around it.

Macho downed one of the shots and held the empty glass in his fist.

Despite how far he was from most of the walls, he was still able to spot some of his very first boxing posters that were decades old at this point.

As he kept staring at a particular poster of his–one where most of the colors were faded, and the only things that popped out were his black boxing attire and his black hair he kept slicked back–his stomach grew sour.

He downed the second shot.

Though he’ll never confess to it out loud, a part of him couldn’t help but feel some sort of shame over the fact that Overload reminded him a little too much of his younger self.

[manawitchyt]

NSB: The Prequel

Chapter 7

Story starts after the cut

Anunux leaves the Cantina and heads to Doc#7 to grab something to eat and ponders her thoughts. A: I can't believe Hondo would treat me like that. I guess i learned the hard way not to trust a Scoundrel. Mmm this is delicious! wow, so good. Varp, it even smells good.

After eating Anunux seems to be in a better mood. She heads home to grab the lightsaber she had hid under her mattress. It wasn't the best place to hide it but she had no other choice. She didn't want to be stopped by the roaming First Order troopers and be caught with it.

She didn't get stopped on her way, thank the Jedi. She stuffed as much of her stuff as she could into the satchel on her hip. Now she needs to find HIM and deal with that mess before her ship leaves without her.

She looks all over this SithKriffin outpost and she can't find a single hint of HIM.

A:What the Frack, he is usually right over here. I swear if he makes me miss my Ship, He can go Shutta it up with Hondo instead of me! That Spit better show him self soon!

The search continues.

On the way back to her place, she sees a familiar face in the crowd.

A:MOM! what are you doing here?

M: I was just going to leave you a note. I wanted to apologize. I got really scared and upset and it wasn't fair to you how I reacted to your news.

Anunux and her Mother talked for a good long while. They worked out how they would talk to each other once she got to her new world.

M: You better leave me a few messages while on route. I won't get them for a bit due to the Hyperspeed delivery system. Wiping away a tear, You better send me a voice message THE moment you land on the new world.

Her mom then gave her great advice on how to enjoy her time off planet, and how to update her translator if it stopped working and a million things that mothers have to say when thier children are leaving them.

A: How did you and Dad manage to make friends on a new planet? M: It was hard at first, but once we were given our disguises it was much easier to blend in and be accepted into the new surroundings and cultures. Its hard being a Sixam in this part of the galaxy.

A: What about me? I didn't have a disguise growing up. I didn't find it very hard to be accepted.

M: You look almost like a young Twi'lek. People just assumed you had a tenticle malformation and never mentioned it, thank the stars! We didn't want or need too many questions asked.

A: WAIT a minute! You let people believe I was a Twi'lek? Oh My Stars MOM! You have no idea the kinds of Sleemos I had to fend off. I just thought they were creeps, now you are telling me its because they thought I was... I'm not even going to say it.

M: It was our only option!! Little Sixums can't control thier disguises. You would have ended up looking like our neighbour who got stuck as a Loth-cat.

M: And besides there is nothing wrong with being a Twi'lek. They are a honorable ancient race.

A: Yup, a not well respected one on this world mom. So how can I disguise myself on this new world? Its so primitive it hasn't been claimed by the Empire yet.

M: The council wont be happy but ill show you...

Anunux's mother shows her how to properly disguise herself. It's a lot harder than Anunux realizes. The shifting is not a skill that comes easy to her, But she tries her best.

A: Ok maybe if you don't look at me *makes a weird scrunched up face* There, how's this?

M: AHHHH!!! What the Frell is was that. Did you even try?

A: *laughing* Well with that kind of reaction I guess I didn't disguise myself. Did I at least change colour? You turned Pale Blue! *Laughing even harder*

They laugh like old times. They both know they will miss each other so much.

M: I'll miss you my little Nux. I will love you until the stars go dark and the Universe stops spinning.

A: Mom I'm not dying, I'm just going on an adventure. We will see each other again I'm sure of it!

A: When you retire you can come out and live with me.

M: That would be lovely place to retire. I've got to rush back to twin falls outpost. Vi is waiting for an update on some geo samples I picked up.

A: I love you too Mom.

Im leaving it on a sad bit, sorry. Thanks for reading my NSB:TP ch. 7 thread.

[luca-street-chris-deacon-rp]

Luca hugged her tightly against his chest and pressed a soft, but firm kiss to her lips. "Does Lexi flavour count?" He teased. "I'm thinking blue raspberry and maybe w cheese burger and some ribs?" Now he sounded like he was pregnant as he cupped his beloveds face in his hands. "I'll be out for a couple of hours, have a weird trippy dream and then ill be back up here to recover with my girl right beside me."

Next thing they knew there was a knock in the doorway and the entire SWAT team, including Hicks and Rocker and a few of the other team members standing there.

"And we'll make sure everything is okay for you getting back up here." Hondo said to them both, Chris putting her arm around Lexi as the nurse instructed Luca to get into the bed.

@lexi-rpb

The drive to Marzia's home was exciting and Luca and Niamh could tell that Lexi was excited as Luca pulled into the driveway in their rental car. It was going to be an amazing Christmas and everyone was looking forward to it. Marzia was surprised to see a strange car pull into the driveway and opened the front door, grinning with happiness as she saw her daughter, Luca and Niamh on her doorstep a day early.

"You're early!" She exclaimed with a smile, pulling each of them into warm hugs. "I had no idea you were coming or I would have made a nice lunch."

[twosroos]

meet the bradshaws

( bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem reader )

authors notes: me?? writing an x reader? oh my god im lowkey freaking out, this is so out of my comfort zone I hope it’s okay D: !! it’s a bit short because I ran out of steam and I’m not used to x readers at ALL.

for this au Goose is paraplegic and uses a wheelchair or a rollator !!

main characters: nick “goose” bradshaw, carole bradshaw, bradley “rooster” bradshaw

tws: talks of injury, rollator/wheelchair use, self-doubt, a few sex jokes/references to sex and/or sexual actions but no “on page descriptions”

Despite Carole and Nick living in San Diego, you’d never actually met them face to face. And, despite Bradley promising you that his parents would love you, you felt absolutely terrified. Goose was regarded as one of the best RIOs Top Gun had seen-- according to Hondo and Warlock, so you thought it was natural to be terrified of the man. Okay, maybe it wasn’t, because you’d heard such nice things about him, but all you could think is that you’d somehow screw this up.

This was a huge deal for Bradley, who you’d only been dating for about a month now-- since the mission was over and your squadron was stationed somewhere away from his, so you could date without being reprimanded by the higher-ups. No fraternization was a pretty good rule, but damn hard to follow.

But as the weeks had winded down, Penny had called you about having a party at her house for the pilots and her family, since the medal ceremony and dinner would be the day after. You’d agreed, even after feeling all party and ceremony-ed out before you found out the Bradshaws were gonna be there.

You were totally, perfectly, normal and not absolutely dreading your meeting with them. Everything was normal, and fine, and no you were not about to cry over this stupid dinner. There was no reason to be so stupidly stressed!

To distract yourself from spiraling-- and to make sure you were on time, you slipped on a modest but very flattering baby blue floral sundress, one you knew Bradley adored and one that made you feel good. It hugged you perfectly, and was loose at exactly the right points, making you look like a runway model (as you boyfriend had said before trying to slip his hands under the skirt a few nights prior) You had chosen the bathroom as your getting ready area, Bradley taking the bedroom because really all he had to do after his shower was change.

You pinched the dresses fabric, unrolling it from where it had tucked in on itself when you’d slipped it on as there were three knocks place on the bathroom door. Once the skirt was settled and modest, you nodded to yourself.

“Come in, hon.” You called, leaning across the sink to put in these beautiful golden set stud diamond earrings Bradley had gotten you for your birthday only a few weeks back. As soon as Bradley could see you he wolf whistled, leaning next to you to kiss your cheek as he wrapped an arm around you lazily.

“You look amazing, baby.” He murmured against your skin, kissing your cheek again, then lower to your neck, and then your collarbone, and you laughed.

“Maybe later, Bradley.” You took one hand to gently place on his neck, pushing him back from leaving any stray love bites on your skin. He awed softly, jokingly pouting, before quickly pressing a happy chaste kiss to your lips as he slipped behind you, moving to his side of the double vanity in your bathroom. Newly renovated thanks to you.

“My mom is so excited.” He comments as he grabs some gel to put in his hair, you smile softly, watching as he styles himself for a moment before rummaging through your makeup bag to grab your lipstick from the counter. It was Bradley’s favorite shade, a dark pink color that complimented your skin beautifully.

“I’m more nervous than I thought I would be.” You sigh, leaning across the vanity again to apply your lipstick. It was just going to be a dinner at Penny’s house, with Maverick and the rest of the squadron to celebrate their successful mission. You shouldn’t have been as stressed as you were, it was stupid to be so stressed. But you felt seconds away from a breakdown.

It was getting harder to see through glassy eyes, and you had to quickly finish up your lipstick and blink away your tears forcibly. Though, you can't hide anything, because Bradley pauses when he sees your tense face and turns, wiping his hands off on a towel before gently grabbing your face,

“Hey, relax,” He murmurs, “I promise it’ll be okay. My mom can be a lot when she’s excited but she says and does everything with love. Every single day this week she’s been asking me if you’re coming and she’s-- according to my dad, atleast, been dying to meet you since I told them we were dating.”

“But what if something goes wrong?” You blink up at him, trying not to cry, “What if they hate me? Or think I don’t deserve you?” 

He frowns at your tears, leaning down to give you a soft kiss to attempt to cheer you up, it doesn’t work as well as he thought, “My mom already loves you, and I promise, If Maverick likes you, my dad will too, I promise.” 

You sigh, wringing your hands out, “okay, fine.”

“Yes.” He says, grinning as he adjusts your necklace so it lays flat on your neck, “It’s fine. Everything's a-okay.”

--

Bradley’s blue Bronco rumbled to a stop, the old engine clicking as Bradley turned the key and sat back for a moment. Then he turned to look at you with a soft, goofy, smile as he grabbed your hand off the shifter and kissed your knuckles. Something he always did after driving with you, or at any red light.

“Ready to meet the Bradshaws?” He asked, though it wasn’t really like you had a choice. He was clearly so excited, by the way his grin made his eyes crinkle fully, and he let out a giddy laugh.

“Yes, I’m ready.” you reply even though you very much aren’t ready to meet his parents. He grins even bigger somehow, giving you a quick kiss, before slipping out of his door. You lean down to collect your bags, your purse full of your swimsuits for later in the night after dinner, as he opens the door to let you out. As the door swings open, he hold out his hand and you gratefully take it as he helps you hop out of the Bronco and onto the street. As you look you can see Maverick’s bike parked behind Penny’s car with Phoenix’s Pontiac, Hangman’s truck, and Payback’s SUV all in a line parked behind an old Ford pickup. So, hopefully, everyone else was already here, nd it would help you alleviate any awkwardness.

Your stomach twists at the sound of loud laughter from the back deck you don’t recognize. It’s feminine, and not Phoenix’s low cackle, Amelia’s loud laugh, or Penny’s chuckle, meaning it has to be Carole. Plus, who else would have a laugh exactly like your boyfriend’s?

The only thing passing through your brain is how terrified you are, you don’t even notice Amelia waving from the side gate, announcing, “Rooster’s here with Y/n!”

Fucking Goddamnit.

Not a moment later, a blonde head of hair pops next to Eden and the woman is undoubtedly Bradley’s mother. She has the same green eyes, the same goofy loose smile, and even though you’d seen in pictures just how much Bradley physically looked like Nick, you could also not ignore the way he moved his face exactly like Carole. God, these parents had strong ass genetics.

“Oh! My baby!” She called and Bradley immediately flushed, making you want to start laughing, but your nerves held you tight in silence. You couldn’t even break out a smile as Bradley pulled you across Penny’s driveway towards his mother who waited patiently.

“Mom. We talked about this.” He says as you two walk up the sidewalk to the back gate where Carole stands, Amelia long gone and into the noise of the backyard and the house, which has its windows open, letting the late August breeze inside.

“I’m sorry!” She immediately says, “I just wanna meet the girl who makes you so happy! You talk about her all the time, Bradley!”

“Hi Mrs. Bradshaw.” You manage to say after a moment, “Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Oh honey, you have no need to be so soft! I’m probably the loudest one here other than my own husband--,” she cuts herself off with a laugh and suddenly a wave of confidence washes over you since she didn’t immediately reject you, “Ugh, are you a hugger? I need a hug from you, you look so cute in that dress! Isn’t that the one you wore to that Squadron dinner a few days ago?”

“I am a hugger,” You laugh softly, stepping up to accept her tight hug as she beams, “And yes, I did wear this.”

As you step back she grabs your hands, scanning you up and down with a far-off smile, “God. I’m so glad Brad was able to find a girl like you, beautiful, smart... and so so kind! I’ve herd so much about you! I can’t-- ugh, I’m gonna cry.”

“Ma,” Bradley laughs awkwardly as he shifts behind you to grab your shoulders, “You’re getting overwhelming--”

“You flatter me.” You grin, immediately coming out of your shell at the compliments and trying to steer her away from breaking into tears because that would be worse, even if they are happy tears, “Bradley talks about you all the time. He says how much we act like you and your husband, from the singing to the loud flirting-” you laugh, “I’m so glad you like me, Mrs. Bradshaw.”

“Please, call my Carole honey.” She says, bringing you in for another hug (and grabbing Bradley by the sleeve of his Hawaiian shirt this time) as she squeezes the two of you in her arms with a loud laugh, “I’m just so excited to meet you, Y/n.”

“Yo, Roost!” Hangman leans over the deck railing, causing you all to look up, “Penny brought the piano outside for you!”

“Alright!” Rooster yells back to Hangman as the two fo you exchange greetings.

“Can we sing, Bradley?” You turn to look up at him and he laughs, squeezing your hand as he smiles down at you. When you look at him, you can feel the lovesick expression that crosses your face, and if Carole growing more excited by your ide tells you anything-- she sees it too.

“Of course, honey.” He grins, “But let’s talk to my dad first, yeah?”

“He’s right inside with Maverick, they’re making the steaks and stuff for tonight.” Carole waves you on, and the two of you walk up the small metal ramp Maverick had clearly put up over the decks stairs with some ratchet straps. Inside there’s a bit more hustle and bustle- Amelia’s beating Hangman in Wii Sports, Phoenix is helping Penny string up some lights, Payback is watching Hangman lose Wii Boxing with a grin on his face and a Tito’s cooler in his hand, while Fanboy and Coyote bet over some pool game with the rest of the crew. Bradley walks you in, Carole bee-lining for the kitchen before the two of you can make it there. Then, you hear loud laughter, before someone’s slowly walking their way out with a rollator in front of them.

“Bradley, Y/N!” the guy smiles and you instantly know its Nick based off that fact he looks exactly like Bradley- or, you guess, Bradley looks like him. And because you’ve seen his face in about a hundred pictures by now.

“Hey Dad, this is Y/N--” Bradley goes to introduce you before Nick’s crossed the room and gently pulled you into his arms. You happily accept the hug, letting him squeeze you a bit before he steps back and does the same look over assessment Carole had done.

“Wow. Brad really scored with you.” He comments as his legs start to shake a bit, “I’ve heard nothing but good things about you, hon, and I’m real glad you decided to come meet us.”

“Dad, your legs.” Bradley softly reprimands and his father scowls, clearly not liking the fact Bradley’s interrupting him. He’s so much like his son it makes you instantly smile.

Nick scrunches his face, “I’m having a moment, Brad.” 

“Nicholas.” Carole chimes, motioning to the seat of the rollator and he sighs, stepping back to sit down. You don’t hesitate moving with him, sitting him down on the rollator and making sure he’s secure before letting go and stepping back.

“Thank you, honey.” Nick said, flashing you a soft smile, before you’re able to respond, Amelia’s pulling you away to play Wii Sports, and you have to offer them a rushed goodbye as she tugs you, shouting, 

“You’re basically my sister now! Come on, Y/N!”

--

You see Carole again when everyone gets in the pool much, much later into the night. Amelia’s napping on the deck, Maverick and Penny sitting up there with her, and you and Phoenix took to personally taking off the cover of the hot tub connected to Penny’s pool and setting it up. As you guys rest in it, she tells you about her family coming up and enjoying their time in California, before you regale a story about Bradley crying over a Romcom. The two of you laugh, relaxing in the warm water, before Carole comes up.

“Mind if Nick and I join?” She asks and Phoenix beams, standing up as she says,

“Let me help you get him in.” 

You stand up as well, and Nick rolls over in his wheelchair. Once the electricity is turned off, Carole walks up next to him and helps him stand up so he can slowly slide into the hot tub. Once everyone has settled,  Phoenix says she’ll go grab everyone another round of beers from the fridge inside and slips out of the hot tub. In the downtime, you watch as Bradley tackles Hangman in the grass besides the pool as the rest of the squadron plays dogfight football, Coyote cheering them on as they rough house-- luckily this time it’s all for fun and not because Bradley and Jake actually fighting.

“He’s so happy.” Nick comments, “I thought he’d never smile that wide again after Mav and I pulled his papers... I still feel awful.”

“He doesn’t hate you for that, y’know?” You comment softly, turning to his parents in the water, “He’s still a bit mad about it, and probably will always be, but the initial sting is over.”

“Yeah.” Nick leans back, letting the water soak up to his neck, “I just wish I’d never had the accident in ‘86. If I hadn’t, he’d probably be a captain or something by now.”

Carole rubs his shoulder, “But look at it this way, he’s flourishing now?”

“He is.” you say and Nick shrugs halfheartedly before Bradley’s jogging over and leaning over the wall of the hot tub to steal a kiss from you before he says,

“The pianos out of tune, so we’re just gonna use karaoke. Feel free to sing along, okay hon?” He murmurs and you grin, stealing a chaste kiss from him.

“Of course, stud.” You whisper, and pretend not to hear Carole’s breath catch in her throat as you watch your boyfriends face redden. He clears his throat, splashes a bit of water at you jokingly, and then is taking off across the yard where you hear Penny asking for music suggestions. The first few are older songs-- Metallica, Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, then a few newer songs (where you find out Natasha has turned Jake into a Lizzo fan when she comes back with Michelob Ultras) before the song comes on.

And as the first few piano keys hit for Great Balls of Fire, you laugh and point to Bradley as Carole cheers. You realize one of the things BRadley had kept from you, his parents were also fans of the song the two of you sang together every time you went to the Hard Deck. So as Bradley lazily wraps his arms around you over the side of the hot tub, and you watch as his parents sing along you smile to yourself.

Yeah, you liked them. And you knew now, they liked you back.

[ratquesadilla]

3005 (chapter 1)

pairing: jake “hangman” seresin x fem! mitchell! oc

word count: 956

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41505768

“it’s an existential thing”

a story where the return of north island's resident player leaves a girl with a lot of influence in a predicament.

chapter 2 - series masterlist - full masterlist

----

when she was younger everyone assumed she would grow out of it. her compulsive need to be around the people she loved. it wasn’t because she thought something bad would happen to them, or herself, she just needed to be there. 

maybe her father was to blame. bringing her to the hard deck every chance he could, exposing her to all types of people. keeping her around bradley and carole as much as possible. 

it never had to be anyone specific, just someone she cared about, and her father was never that someone. he couldn’t bring himself to separate her from the bradshaws or the kazanskys, and he couldn’t put her through relocating every couple of years because he pissed off another admiral. she knew that he loved her, she never doubted it for a second. even when she was younger she had faith in him. she had faith that all roads would lead to rome. 

that is, if rome was a beach town inhabited by familiar faces and navymen that would rather be shipped off to middle of nowhere america than agree with him.

and rome had one thing that he could never replace. her. 

————

the hard deck was busy, sweaty, and sticky. “there’s your beer mister buck, do you want to start a tab or pay now?” i asked as i handed the elderly man in front of me his drink. 

“i’ll start a tab,” he said as he handed me his card. “any news on when your old man will be back in town.”

“soon i’d assume.” i replied. “hondo texted me this morning letting me know that admiral cain wasn’t too happy with one of his schemes and wanted to sack him.”

“how that boy isn’t out of the navy yet blows my mind.” he joked, sliding away from the bar and returning to the group of vets in the corner. i returned to the glasses i was cleaning. meticulously stacking them on the shelf under the bar. the attachment issues weren’t too much of an issue, but the neat freak issues were. how i managed rush hour in the bar was a mystery to everyone that knew me. 

a pair of blue eyes greeted me as i rose from my glass organizing. before the mysterious man opened his mouth i pointed to the sign behind me. he had a look to him, one i’d seen in a younger more arrogant rooster years ago. “don’t worry, i know my manners.” he said. making sure to tip the corner of an imaginary cowboy hat down.

“if you were a real cowboy you’d know that you wouldn’t be able to wear that in a bar.” i replied, trying to suppress a smile. 

“good thing i’m not a real cowboy, never got the hang of horses.” i caught a glimpse of the silver chain underneath his shirt. that combined with the aviators tucked into his collar gave away allegiance to the navy very quick. his “look at me, i get girls” smile told me everything i needed to know. 

“if you aren’t gonna order something i’m afraid i won’t be able to give you any more of my time. there are paying customers to attend to.” 

“i’m not here to order,” he said. “i’m here to ask you out.”

“i’m flattered but theres at least 2 men you’d have to go through before i would give you my number.” i responded while leaning over the bar to gracefully grab his sunglasses.

“and who would those men be?” he asked. i could tell he thought i was playing hard to get, which i was. it’s fun, sue me. 

“i have a feeling you’ll find out soon enough.” i said as i placed the glasses on the shelf above my head. “i’m leaving now jimmy! my shifts over!” i shouted to the man in the kitchen as i began towards the door. 

————

the house was cold, it always was. carole liked it that way. i liked to think that keeping the temperature sub-zero would make her ghost-self happy. almost everything about the place was the same, down to the smallest details. the paintings untouched, the trinkets on the mantle unbothered, the plants happy and healthy. 

it had been years since her death but the door to her room stayed closed. bradleys room was virtually untouched since her last visit, just in case he came back. my room was the only one in the house that had been upgraded. i’d swapped my twin for a queen and replaced the posters with paintings. 

i pulled out my phone to text bradley. 

==

are you back? i saw a top gun boy at the hard deck earlier.

got called back for some mystery mission. is it okay if i stay at the house? 

yeah obv, i own it but its still your house.

is the key still under the doormat? i don’t know what time i’ll be over.

bradley bradshaw if you bring a girl home on your first day back so help me god i will find a way to get you kicked out of the navy.

i won’t.

i’m not joking.

cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.

==

he came in around midnight. i imagined carole scolding him for staying out late when he had an early morning. when bradley was back for top gun she would try her best to stay awake until he got home. even when she was too weak to get out of bed. i’d lived in the house alone for years but the emptiness was still strange. some days i woke up expecting carole to be there, watering her plants or watching her tv shows, but she never was. 

[askthewvba]

on a scale of one to ten, how much does each boxer swear?

0:

Peter Punch. Too pure, too kind.

Dragon Chan. The idea of swearing makes him feel uncouth.

King Hippo. It's unbecoming of a King to have a foul mouth.

Little Mac. He mutters things like crap under his breath sometimes, but otherwise isn't much of a swearer. It helps that he doesn't talk a lot in general!

1-3:

Heike Kagero. He prefers a more polite, delicate way of speaking.

Piston Hondo. His vocabularly is dignified, though occasionally has let a kuso or kisama slip out. He's embarrassed about it later on.

Glass Joe. He feels swearing is immature, but has uttered a curse or two over the years.

Great Tiger. Not much of a swearer at all. He considers it lacking manners.

Disco Kid. Not afraid to use damn here and there, but shies away from the harsher words.

Bear Hugger. It's not his personality to use anything harsher than doggone or confound it, but like Disco has been known to say things like dammitall.

Hoy Quarlow. Doesn't swear often in his day-to-day conversations, but sometimes will drop a curse out of the blue just to mess with however's listening.

Nick Bruiser. Like Mac, doesn't really speak often enough to warrant a particularly high rating - though he's willing to drop bigger bombs than Mac is.

4-6:

Doc Louis. Has toned it down considerably since taking Mac under his wing, but isn't a stranger to some of the more colorful words the English language has to offer.

Referee. He can get his point across without swearing, but that's not to say he doesn't do it at all.

Narcis Prince. Similarly to Joe and Dragon, Narcis views profanity as boorish. He does, however, drop less-than-refined language when particularly riled up (bloomin', bloody, wanker, buggered, etc.).

Gabby Jay. Less reserved about it than Joe is, but at the same time considers potty mouths like Aran and Muscle to be ignoramuses.

Bob Charlie. His opinion on cursing is as lax as his opinion on everything else. If the situation calls for it, use it! If it doesn't, use something else.

Von Kaiser. When calm, his usage of swears is virtually nonexistent. If angered he'll explode, including a variety of curses upon whoever's responsible.

Mad Clown. While his language isn't usually as profane as the WVBA's other Italian boxer, sometimes when he rambles and rants to himself he's not exactly polite about it.

7-9:

Don Flamenco. Not actually too much of a swearer regularly, but a big user of joder - especially when Aran's around.

Super Macho Man. Of course he uses bogus, as we're all well aware, though he still uses the typical choices often.

Soda Popinski. Has mellowed out over the years, but in his youth was pretty crass. Still occasionally gets a little spicy when worked up.

Birdy. Loves a good cuss word! Tones it down around his dad and coach, though when around friends he'll let it fly.

Rick Bruiser. Casual swearer, dropping them whenever he feels it necessary, though he doesn't go out of his way to squeeze one in all willy-nilly.

Mr. Sandman. To match his intense demeanor, he comes equipped with an intense vocabulary.

Bald Bull. Comes with the territory of having anger issues. Let them hear him curse up a storm! Maybe they'll leave faster.

Piston Hurricane. Lax about swearing in everyday conversations, considering them more modifiers than expletives. He likes the emphasis!

10:

Masked Muscle. Swearing's basically his third language. When he's in a good mood, when he's in a bad mood, talking about friends, talking about enemies, talking about the lunch he had the other day.

Aran Ryan. Mouth of a sailor. If he can get a swear in, he'll do it. Has zero filter for decency.

Pizza Pasta. Just as foul-mouthed as Aran, if not moreso, though he usually uses Italian expletives.

[foulfirerebel]

This was...rather difficult for me to answer. Without Palps and Dooku, you'd arguably have No Ventress, no Durge (possibly?), no Grevious (maybe?), Maul and Savage would still be a problem regardless but not as effective without Palps, the Mandalorian conflict wouldn't have escalated as hard, and things would've probably gone well for the Republic given the Jedi aid and the Clones' training and numbers.

On the other hand, the Seps still have plenty of droid factories and cannon fodder to throw around. They'd still be getting money from big corporations and still have more than enough left over to fund superweapons like the defoliator they "tested" in that one episode of the Clone Wars. The Zyggerian Slavers would still be a thing, and a few other things besides like the Blue Shadow virus. The bounty hunters like Cad Bane, or pirates like Hondo would cause havoc either way.

Much as I'd like to say the Republic would have an easy time of it, I'm not entirely sure. Hence, I hedged my bets on it being even due to the sheer numbers involved. Though, I will say that without the Sith? The Jedi's job gets much easier, though the senate corruption would still be a problem.

So, basically, I went with them being even on a pure army vs. army front. The scales would tip in the Republic's favor, but the wild cards like the senate corruption, superweapons, bioweapons, pirates, bounty hunters, the Hutts and other crime syndicates, would still be problems that need resolving at the end of the day.

At the least, the Sith not being a factor would hopefully make those problems easier to resolve.

Yes yes it depends on what you consider canon of Legends and Disney etc. Base your claim SOLELY on the Prequel movies and the cartoons (TCW '08, Rebels, maybe TBB if you're feeling spicy).

[sorry-but-no-sorry]

Firstly, I love your art you’re so talented and it’s really cool, secondly, I saw that TikTok with Hondo in the background and now all I can think about is how great Hondo Ohnaka would look in a corset, thirdly, I hope this question isn’t insensitive but I’m actually curious what the blue thing is on the drawing you did if Echo. If that’s a stupid or rude question please ignore this ask and I’m sorry.

It’s not stupid or rude, don’t worry !

It’s part of a headcanon I gave him and Maul

What Echo is wearing is a stoma/colonoscopy bag. It’s purpose is to collect digestive or urinary waste.

There’re many reasons for its use, like bowel cancer, bladder cancer, inflammatory bowel disease or an obstruction to the bladder or bowel (quoting bladder and bowel.com) it can be temporary or permanent depending on the cause.

but in the Star Wars univers is for the damage both Echo and Maul sustained:

-Maul was cut in half (plus the trash he might have ate before Savage found him), so maybe a Ileostomy and Urostomy

-Echo was held in a freezer stasis pod for a long time (dunno how much time passed before and after his rescue) and was maintaining Alive via tubes and wires, he didn’t have access to (solid) foods, and cold temperatures could have lead to some infections. and let’s not forget the ordeal he went through while he got turned into a living computer (again Echo was mostly seen more as a piece of property than a human being so only his important/vital organs we spared).

Echo’s digestive system must be severely damaged and must have run on big amounts of adrenaline during his rescue (unless Tech temporarily turned off his pain receptors while unplugging him, nonetheless) and during his stay with the bad batch, he had to get used to eat again and his system must be pretty weak and sensitive, so far ration bars pass with no issues (zoom back on Echo sniffing the Mantel Mix and Tech smiling at him)

So yeah, here’s my reasons for this headcanon

Again I’m not in the medical field, I could be wrong on some details. This is mostly because I’m fascinated by the human body and how far we progressed in the medical world and attempting to give representation (feel free to correct me ! I’d be happy to learn more !)

[sinisterexaggerator]

That Hondo/Bane post....I would like to see (read about) the baby (babies?) *eyes emoji*

OH NO. LOL. Are you sure, anon? It’s an idea for an AU I had but it is very not-safe-for-work, total crack scenario, and involves alien biology and eggpreg/mpreg because how ELSE are you going to get these kids?

Essentially, I plan to write an entire Cad Bane series that will cover his life from pre-bounty hunter days to death ( or not death?? ) the way *I* see it and with the ships *I* want. One of those is Cad Bane x Hondo Ohnaka, which I dub Banaka.

Like, what's the point if you can't make your favorites kiss each other?

Anyway, if I allow it, I could branch off into an AU scenario and things get weird.

Expand your disbelief here. Duros and Weequay are, lets say compatible. They both remind me of reptiles, Hondo more so like a bearded dragon with the frills, but let’s say both species can lay eggs. Maybe both have an internal dick and a cloaca. Maybe Duros can act as either gender depending on the situation. Heh Heh. Anyway, you can bet Hondo does most of the pitching and Bane fucking LOVES it.

Bane didn’t know Weequay and Duros are compatible. Neither does Hondo. Let’s assume they are totally, madly in love in their Cad Bane and Hondo Ohnaka way, and in comes Cad feeling different. Pants too tight, they won’t fit, he’s extra irritable. Lo and behold his eggs were fertilized. Now he’s gotta carry the clutch to term.

Hondo is freaking out. He’s beside himself. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s scared. Bane is too, but he’s trying to hide it. I imagine he’s emotional. His back starts to hurt. He’s not as fast as his movements slow down the heavier he gets. Everything you might experience during this time, but it’s Cad fucking Bane.

Oh, and Hondo also feels terrible. This is technically his fault. He may try to shift the blame at first but ultimately accepts their predicament.

His caretaking side kicks in. He waits on him hand and foot. He tries so, so hard to do good. He’s there for him every step of the way. It is SO SELF-INDULGENT AND SO DAMN CUTE.

He lays his eggs. He protects them with his life (Bane) because attachment is real even though he never asked for these damn brats.

They hatch. Hondo is a GREAT FATHER. He lets them crawl all over him, sits them on his knee and tells them stories, bathes them, puts them to bed, keeps them out of blue dad’s way so he can nap, and as they get older … he teaches them skills.

Pickpocketing, thieving, how to tell a believable lie, how to escape binders, how to swordfight (maybe), how to easily distract someone, etc, etc.

Maybe one or two also take to Bane – I am going to say he lays 6-10 eggs here – they have a whole brood -and he winds up teaching them all about bounty hunting. Hondo gets the idea he can create his own ARMY. The Ohnaka gang will truly be a gang!  He wants more. Maybe he can convince Cad to give him more. Maybe they get married and live happily ever after LOL.

Also, I had a name in mind for the subspecies. “Durwee,” SO CUTE. Maybe they have slightly smaller heads, Weequay’s skin ridges, but their flesh is blue. Maybe they have the same red eyes, but frills! Maybe they grow hair from he base of their skulls like Weequay and Hondo teaches them all how to braid!

That is the breakdown. Maybe I will write this one day. Maybe. Shoutout to @allsystemsblue for helping me brainstorm.

[jgvfhl]

Hondo's New Buddies

@icouldntfinditsoiwroteit you inspired me, so I did what your url told me to do. Original post here!

If it weren’t for the throbbing pain in his side, waking up with a splitting headache with only a vague idea of his surroundings wouldn’t have been out of place for Fox. Although, when he thought about it like that… well. Chock it up to another day on the job. Before he pried his eyes open--or maybe to delay doing that just a bit longer--he stayed still and took stock of what he could feel and hear around him.

He was sitting upright against a hard surface, still in his full kit, but without his helmet. He had strong suspicions his wrists were bound, but he couldn’t feel anything resembling cuffs around them. There was a weight against his shoulder--probably one of the men he’d had on this escort. Hopefully. And it was warm. Not hot, but distinctly warmer than most ships or transports. That, and the stillness of his environment, told him that at least he was on the ground. Wherever he was. He couldn’t hear much, just breathing. Breathing was good.

Ah well, time to rip the bandage off. Fox cracked his eyes open, wincing as he pulled his head up. For it to be that strained, he must have been in that slumped position for a while. He glanced around, confirming what he’d pieced together earlier. The four men with him were propped up next to him against the wall of their small cell, their wrists all bound and linked by a glowing blue chain of energy.

Footsteps sounded beyond the triangular barred door, and Fox just waited, noting their five helmets piled in the corner next to it.

When the door opened, he caught a glimpse of a weequay, sloppily dressed and armed, probably a pirate of some kind or other--

“Rise and shine, gentlemen!” A second weequay strolled into the cell, his long red coat swishing in behind him.

Fox closed his eyes, groaning internally as he recognized the pirate. Ohnaka. Memory after memory of reports about the outer rim nuisance that was Hondo Ohnaka surfaced in Fox’s mind. Most of those reports were from Kenobi, and all of them had made Fox intent on never having to associate himself with the pirate in any way. So much for that.

“Ah ah, I said rise and shine,” Ohnaka repeated, standing a few feet from Fox’s boots. The other clones were slowly rousing themselves. “Old Hondo has some questions.”

“Wouldn’t asking the senator we were escorting be far more productive?” Fox replied tiredly. He did not have the energy to be kidnapped and ransomed today…

“Eh, he keeps fainting every time we try to talk to him,” the pirate answered, sounding more than a little miffed. Fox recalled something about this senator fainting under stress in the mission debrief. Heh.

Fox rubbed his eyes, feeling a bit more awake at least. “Right. So… what, you need me to negotiate the ransom or something? Or talk to him?”

Ohnaka shrugged. “I need to get paid, you need to leave. Whichever gets those two tasks accomplished quickest, I will assist in doing it.”

Fox nodded once, slowly. “How… long have we been out?” He remembered their little ship being attacked, but the events that had led to his capture were still hazy at best.

The pirate drummed ringed fingers on his chest, his eyes narrowing behind his goggles. “Hm… Three hours? Perhaps four, I wasn’t counting. Your senator woke up an hour ago.”

Four hours, call it five to pad it out… so that’d be ten hours since they’d left Coruscant. They weren’t expected on Corellia for another… two hours or so, and people wouldn’t really start panicking until another two hours after that. So, reasonably, that was four hours Fox didn’t need to be doing anything.

“I’m assuming the senator’s…” Fox gestured vaguely as his groggy mind searched for words. “He’s unharmed, aside from whatever he’s managed to inflict while fainting?”

“Of course, I don’t deal in damaged goods.”

Good enough. “Okay. Tell you what, Ohnaka. You let me sleep for four hours. And then I will deal with whatever inconsequential crisis you’ve created.”

Ohnaka blinked. “Sleep?”

“Yeah, sleep.”

The clone leaning on Fox’s shoulder, Frosty, turned to him. “Uh...sir, we’ve just been kidnapped,” he said quietly.

Fox grunted, shifting around so he could sleep. “Yeah, and that means time off. Enjoy it, ‘cause we don’t get leave.” He leaned his head back against the wall.

“You don’t get leave?” Well, he hadn’t expected Ohnaka to ask about that of all things.

Fox sighed. “We’re the Guard. We’re always on duty. Hell, we’re the ones who have to deal with all the osik our brothers get up to on Coruscant when they have leave. Frankly, these Senatorial escort gigs are one of the more relaxing parts of the job.”

Ohnaka made a noise of disgust. “I suppose four hours’ sleep is well-earned, then, my friend.” The only reply Fox mustered was another grunt, his eyelids already feeling heavy at the prospect of uninterrupted sleep. The pirate looked to the other four clones. “You other four going to join him, or what? You want a drink? Your senator was carrying some very nice bourbon with him.”

Fox closed his eyes, getting as comfortable as he could against the wall in his armor. “Say yes.”

After a moment of hesitation, he heard one of them reply, “Uh… yes?” before his mind sank into a far more blissful unconsciousness than the one from which he’d previously awakened.

Ta daaaaaa! I wanna write more with the other commanders but idk if it'll happen so enjoy this!

[jessicas-pi]

ohoho ANGST YES GOOD GOOOOOD

And consider how it looks to the people on the outside.

To Bo-Katan, Satine has suddenly turned into an annoying overbearing older sister who cares too much about who she's spending time with, and Bo-Katan can't stand it.

To her parents, Satine has changed overnight. The girl they know is gone. She won't go onto the training grounds, barely ever wears her armor, is extremely suspicious of a few very specific people, and she looks at them with such sad eyes. And then the things she says are cryptic and confusing and frightening. Out of the blue she'll simply say "don't trust her" or "don't go there" and then, inevitably, something happens and she's right. Their daughter is a little prophetess.

15-year-old Obi-Wan is dazzled and crushing hard on the terrifyingly hypercompetent Mandalorian girl who might possibly be Force-sensitive—of course he is. But she never looks at him and won't speak to him, unless he talks to her first. There is something broken about her, but the only time he ever got even a little close to the subject, tears began to well in her eyes, even as she shut him down in a cold voice.

Qui-Gon is simply confused. She's not Force-sensitive, but it moves around her in ripples and waves and whispers change is coming. She's sharp to Obi-Wan's face, but he sees her looking at Obi-Wan when he's turned away, and it's so full of loneliness that it makes his own chest hurt.

Oh, and another thing—Satine died before the end of the Clone Wars.

She doesn't have the whole picture. She doesn't know the endgame and she doesn't know the chessmaster.

Of course, that never stopped a Mandalorian. She works with what she has, to do what she can. She uses a spare set of armor to disguise herself as a bounty hunter and makes connections throughout... not the underworld, but with people who have more connections.

(One encounter with Hondo Ohnaka was enough for her, thank you very much. Hondo does not feel the same way. Hondo wants to adopt the teenage bounty hunter girl who is clearly not who she claims to be.)

Satine funnels as much information to herself as she can, gathering it up and hoarding it. Maybe eventually Bo-Katan gets brought in on some of the secret and Satine goes from Annoying Big Sister to COOL Big Sister. They plan together to prevent the tragedies to come.

Even her foreknowledge and her sister's help is not enough to stop the death of their parents or the start of the newest civil war.

But this time, Bo-Katan is at her sister's side when the Jedi swoop in to save the day, and there she stays.

A time traveler we do not explore enough is Satine Kryze. She's a pacifist brimming with rage. We should toss her back a decade and set her loose on the senate.

[rose-blooms-red]

Significant Others/troopers under their command react to Edee's latest volley of obnoxious gifts :D

Did I start this 3 months ago? Yes. Did I also write over 2k of it Today? Also yes. Productivity is a Relative Term. 

[read on ao3]

Fox twitches as he reads the clearly handmade voucher. Says, pleasant as anything, “I’m going to fucking murder him.”

Ponds hums, looking over Fox’s shoulder, “It’s sweet. Probably.”

Fox makes a noise in the back of his throat that isn’t entirely describable by any known language. 

Does he still have that clock he found during that one shopping trip? The one with that awful fucking peach, mustard, and grey-blue combination that spat out an eeopie’s mating call every half hour? He’d been planning on saving it he remembers but—

“Telling you to take a break like that,” Ponds continues, like he can’t hear the way Fox’s higher reasoning is currently dying a slow painful death, “very considerate.”

Fox grits his teeth. Needs must, and Fox needs to crush the little fucker’s spirit thoroughly under heel. He’ll have to take it out of storage tomorrow.

“No.”

Ponds giggles, “I’m sure it’ll be entertaining at least.”

“Hondo,” Fox reiterates, digging his elbow back into Ponds’ stomach. 

Ponds drapes himself over Fox’s back, knocks the side of his head against Fox’s, “As I said,” he simpers, “entertaining.”

Fox makes a disgusted sound, sneers down at the offending…. Gift.

‘All expense-paid cruise on the Hondo Ohkana ‘Sights of The Galaxy’ tour!!!!!!’ It proclaims in neon colours and excessive exclamation marks, ‘Very Romantic and Exciting!’

“When’s it say it’s good for?” Ponds asks, like he’s actually contemplating it.

“No.”

Ponds snatches the voucher out of his hands anyway, “Oh good! We aren’t busy that ten-day.”

Fox’s hand twitches, “I am not getting on a fucking ship with fucking Hondo Ohkana, Ponds.”

“Mhm, ‘course not Fox.” Ponds responds absentmindedly, pats his arm lightly in the way that means they are definitely getting on the fucking ship with fucking Hondo Ohkana, “We’ve got a ten-day to pack and get everything in order, that should be enough.” He nods to himself, breezes out of the room with a vague sense of purpose as he flits around the house, presumably for things to take on a ‘very romantic and exciting’ trip.

Fox is going to murder somebody, preferably Hondo, or Neyo. 

He hears the sound of Ponds grabbing the DC-15A’s and he grimaces, ugh, time to find the fucking holdout blasters, those things haven’t been serviced in at least a ten-day, and he needs to check on the blaster packs for the DC-17’s. He can’t remember if he restocked the things after the last time he used them. 

If they’re going on the fucking trip, they’re gonna be well fucking stocked.

(Fox manages not to murder Hondo, but it’s a very near fucking thing.

He does come back from the trip in a much better mood though, other than the twitch he’s developed from listening to Hondo all day. Ponds is annoyingly amused and smug about it. Fox ignores it, like he does every other fucking annoyance in his life. 

He shuts down the talk of another trip like it happening any time in this fucking century before Ponds even opens his mouth to respond. Once was fucking enough thank you.)

__________

Colt closes his eyes, casts a net about his mind for a sliver of patience and finds his supply has dwindled something awful.

When he opens his eyes again both nuisance and potted plant are still there. Gree smiles winningly and Colt smells danger. 

Or maybe he just smells the plant, because that is the thing overwhelming everything else right now. He glares down at it, it looks harmless, mostly, in it’s large pot but already Colt can hear the sounds of flies swarming around.

“That is not a houseplant,” Colt says, relatively tamely in his opinion, given that the overwhelming smell it emits is decay, “that is the type of plant one shoots and hopes doesn't survive the encounter.”

“It’s a very rare and endangered plant,” Gree lies, grin earnest and eyes bright with humour.

“It’s a pile of banthashit dressed up in vegitive form.”

“It’s an Amorphophallus titanum,” Gree corrects, “and it’s very rare, it’s one of the largest unbranched inflorescence in the galaxy that isn’t also carnivorous in any shape or form.”

Colt gives the plant a dubious look, “I’ll believe that when it doesn’t smell like it just ate and digested something.”

Gree shrugs, “It’s possible it’s a type of carrion flower…. but in the name of protecting it from extinction there’s no one I’d trust more than you.”

Colt twitches, he has no clue what a carrion flower is or how that accounts for the way it smells like Colt has a pile of corpses rotting away on his front step, but he does not like it at all.

The worst part is that he can’t actually tell whether this is Gree being serious or him pulling a shithead move. Because this is exactly the type of thing Gree would genuinely do and also the type of thing Gree would do just to fuck with him.

Behind him someone gags and Colt twitches.

“Fine,” he grits out, and Gree’s smile tries for sunshine and comes up partly cloudy and fully shiteating.

“Wonderful, thanks Colt.”

“Please leave.” 

Gree laughs as he leaves and Colt closes the door with a sigh.

“It smells like someone died over there,” Blitz calls out and Colt groans.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Havoc sniggers, “It really does sir, we might have to keep the Little’s away for a few days, wouldn’t want one of ‘em puking.”

Colt winces, that image does enough to convince him of the necessity, the only thing that could be worse right now is over a dozen Little’s sicking up from the smell. “Might be for the best.”

Blitz hums, looking at the now closed door in interest, “How likely is it that he was pulling your leg?”

Colt slumps into his chair, “50/50” he admits and Blitz raises his eyebrows.

“That is almost more concerning. What the kriff did they put in your batch.”

“Mistakes,” Colt grumbles back. This is why he’s the oldest, he’s the only one in the entire batch who managed to wrangle any sense out of his tube and keep it all the way through.

Havoc laughs and Blitz snorts, then looks like he immediately regrets it, “Ugh, Colt your batch is full of sadists I’m not gonna get the smell out of my nose for weeks.”

“It’s probably seeped into the clothes at this point,” Havoc agrees and Colt groans.

(When Shaak comes home she takes one look at the plant and can’t seem to decide whether to grimace or smile.

“Apparently,” he drawls, “it’s a very endangered plant that’s been entrusted to my care.”

A burst of laughter ripples out into the room and Shaak smiles, hand covering her lips as her shoulders shake minutely, Colt forgets about the death plant for a second as he looks up at her, heart stopping for a moment in the split second it takes her to swallow her laughter back down and he wants nothing more than to pull that sound out from her again.

It takes him a minute to realize that at some point he’d started smiling. He can’t seem to stop it, but there are worse things to find himself unable to stop doing.

“It’s commonly known as a type of carrion flower,” she tells him finally, laughter lacing her tone, “otherwise known as a corpse flower for the smells they produce. It is not endangered, though there are those who agree that it might not be too much of a loss if it was.”

Colt groans. Shaak giggles and Colt finds himself forgetting for a second to plot his revenge.

Maybe Gree will get off a bit lighter this time, if only because Colt got to hear that bright laughter. 

He hums, “Plant it far, far, far away from the house?” Shaak smiles, presses a kiss to his forehead.

“That, my dear Colt, sounds like a brilliant plan.”)

__________

Gree gives the box a look of suspicious distrust that makes Barriss giggle and Decker snicker. 

It’s a big box, about the size of his torso and Gree has seen that bland, even smile too many times before to trust the contents of the box.

“Fox,” he warns and Fox’s grin goes sickeningly sweet.

“Gree, Baby Brother Dearest,” he drawls and Gree can hear the capital letters what the fuck, “I put my heart and soul into this you know, I’m hurt, really I am.”

That, Gree thinks sourly, is the worst load of banthashit he’s ever heard, and he’s had to listen to ‘scientific lectures’ given by people who read maybe one Edupad and then promptly forgot all of the information in the Edupad and decided whatever half-remembered thing left was Fact and Truth and refused to listen to Reason…. or sources and cited works.

Gree was very annoyed about that one, he’d put Effort into that paper thank you very much and he’d taken the class to learn things, not whatever that had been.

Fox wiggles the box in his hands around, expression pleasant and smile sharp.

Gree sighs. At least, he assures himself as he takes the box, it won’t be as bad as whatever happened after Fox and Ponds had come back from Neyo’s…… Gift.

Maybe.

The box is squishy. Boxes are not supposed to be squishy.

Gree has a Bad Feeling about this. He raises an eyebrow, Fox doesn’t even twitch.

Behind him Barriss is watching the exchange with wide, mirth filled eyes and a hand covering her mouth. Decker has long since lost the battle of keeping his snickering quiet and the rest of Gree’s so called loyal troopers of Green company watch with rapt attention.

He sighs again, loud and long-suffering, Fox’s smile never shrinks a shade less than serial killer pleased.

Gree unwraps the wrapping flimsi with ease, and then stares with distant horror at the plasti-cling underneath it. Not a box, no, plasti-cling.

It’s layered.

Gree twitches and reaches for one of his vibroblades.

“It’s very delicate,” Fox informs him, just as he gets the vibroblade out of it’s holder.

“Oh?” Gree asks, really quite pleasantly given the plasti-cling is so layered he can’t see a damn thing through it.

“Extremely,” Fox confirms, deadpan. Behind him Barriss giggles uncontrollably and Decker is flushed with laughter and gasping for air and the others aren’t much better. 

“Do they always do this?” one of them whispers incredibly poorly, Gree twitches, Fox eyes him with that malicious amusement that cements his place as youngest forever in Gree’s head.

“Always,” Barriss whispers back, giggling still and Gree’s heart warms for a second before his impending humiliation via gift settles in again.

“I knew the Commander wasn’t only, you know, learny, but I always thought he was sane.”

“Oh he’s sane,” Cooker reassures, “far as we can tell their entire batch is just, Like That.”

“But this is Torrent lev—” Fox’s face gives an unpleasant twitch that Gree sympathizes with.

Torrent, ugh.

“Shhhh,” the rest of Green hisses and Barriss hides her head in her hands as she laughs.

“We don’t compare them to Torrent, makes them touchy,” Draa mutters, as if he isn't half the reason Gree goes into interactions with Torrent prepared to have engineering go on another crazed building spree. He has a hunch that they feed on each other, the engineers, and it's their own special kind of crazy that Gree is half fascinated by and half resigned to.

“My point stands.” 

Gree grits his teeth, narrows his eyes at Green Company as a whole to no avail, turns a raised eyebrow to Barriss in a last attempt at gaining control of a situation he’d lost all hold over the moment Fox had walked up to him with a ‘gift from the bottom of my heart, Gree’.

His cold dead heart maybe. Gree is plotting his revenge already.

He puts the blade back with mechanical motions, feels around for the beginning of the despised plasti-cling, seriously who made it Gree has complaints for them, and begins the arduous task of unwrapping it all.

Who let Fox have this much plasti-cling.

(Over 10 hours of nonstop focus later the last of the plasti-cling has finally been ripped away and Gree stares at the new puzzle cube. Ugly and about the size of his palm. Much, much smaller than the wrapping he’d been given, nearly the size of his torso.

Gree makes a strangled sound that he will forever deny, Draa. 

The plasti-cling sits around him tauntingly, viciously victorious in all it’s piled glory.

It takes 3 days for Green Company to stop laughing about it. It does not take 3 days for them to stop sharing the holopics and vids they took, that takes much longer.

Barriss is Gree’s favourite now, everyone else is awful and everything they say is lies, and Fox has been demoted to all the way to being the baby.)

__________

Neyo tilts his head, grin bordering manic, “That, is the ugliest piece of garbage I’ve ever seen.”

Colt smiles, “It’s high class art.”

“It looks like someone took cans of paint and dumped them on the nearest patch of dirt they found.” 

“The texture adds value.”

“It’s chunks of dirt and grass.” Neyo hisses in delighted outrage. 

Colt waves a hand, voice disinterested and all ‘above all this nonsense’ like, “Very classy. Made with only the best of intentions.”

Neyo giggles, “It looks like actual manure, I hate it.”

“I got it just for you,” Colt simpers, like the little shit no one ever believes he is, “I saw it and just knew you’d connect to it.”

Neyo cackles, “This is awful, you’re awful, I’m hanging it on the wall and telling everyone you painted it.”

Colt raises an eyebrow, “No one will believe you.”

He’s right, it’s awful. Neyo pouts, “I could convince them.”

No he can’t, but that’s besides the point.

Colt hums, “mhm, I’m sure you could kih’vod.”

Neyo flicks at Colt’s wrist and wilts, “This is harassment.”

“Whatever you say Ney’ika.”

“You’re a bully.”

“Mhm.”

“I can’t believe anyone thinks you’re responsible.”

“That is because I am.” Colt says, putting Neyo in a headlock, they both ignore the way Neyo tenses up for a fraction of a second before he relaxes, sulks, digging his elbow into Colt’s side.

It’s the first time Colt has given him such a blatantly awful gift. Neyo cackles and something shakes loose in his chest. His throat feels grossly tight and the stupid shitty canvas covered in dirt and paint sits leaning against the wall innocently.

Colt makes the same even face he uses on the Little’s when they’re being hilarious and he can’t afford to tell them or when he’s about to say something completely karking stupid because no matter how much he likes to tell everyone he’s the oldest he totally isn’t. 

Neyo slips out of the headlock, giggles through the knot in his throat and rolls his eyes.

“You’re deluding yourself and everyone around you.” he tells Colt. Colt has only ever been responsible by necessity, and never once in all of Neyo’s memories of him, has he been anything less than an absolute shithead just like the rest of them when there was no necessity.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“I’m not arguing with you like a first-cycle.”

“Are too.”

“Neyo.”

“You’re the one who gave me the shitty painting.”

“It’s high class art you bastard.”

Neyo preens, “Thank you, still the worst thing I’ve ever seen though. Might hang it up in the front room, just to really bring it all together.”

Colt sighs, aggrieved. Neyo has no sympathy for him, really if you’re gonna play the game you gotta be in it to win it. It’s not Neyo’s fault that the trashy, awful, horrible dirt, grass, paint mixture splattered onto canvas happens to be horrifyingly tasteless. Neyo loves it. It’s gonna make Fox so mad.

(“Neyo,” Vaughn asks, staring at the wall, “why is there a, what even is that, dirt? On canvas?”

Neyo straightens up, grins wide, “Colt painted it. Out of the love in his heart and the limited talents he was decanted with.”

Vaughn raises an eyebrow, “That’s lovely and everything, why is it hanging in our front room.”

“It is horrifically awful and I love it and Fox and Ponds are coming over tomorrow.”

Vaughn laughs.

The next day, Ponds takes one look at it and giggles, “Fox, Fox come here, you’re gonna hate it.”

Fox takes one look at it and walks right back out of the house, Neyo cackles the entire time.)