#boy i miss you so bad

[sun-sandwich]

Another quick happy owlet

[pinacoladamatata]

blink and you'll miss it moments around skyhold....

[stellarbit]

Two Faces

Word Count: 11k Pairing: fem!reader x Bad Batch, light Tech nods Warnings: nada except light violence. Training, some fluff, and general fun Summary: When your sister becomes a senator, you decide to join her guard to protect her. Your mother sends you to train on Kamino as backlash. You are paired with Clone Force 99 under the guise of a regular trooper. Encountering you outside of uniform they mistake you for your sister. It is a delicate situation and you have to play your cards carefully.

This started out as a request for the guys getting jealous of you undercover and here I am. When I tell you this was SO FUN to write but took SO LONG. If y'all like imma make it a part 2.

Edit; you wanted it so here it is Two Faces pt 2

“You want to be a foot soldier.” Your mother snarled down her nose. She was a tall woman, taller than you at least, and the governor of your planet. She waved a slender dismissive hand. “Then be a foot soldier.”

Face neutral, you stood before her in the white armor of a clone trooper. You held the helmet with both hands and a white knuckle grip. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you told your mother you wanted to join your sister’s guard

From your mother’s right your sister stood wringing her hands together. She stood at your height with a face that mirrored your own. Often you were mistaken as twins. Only a few years older than you and already she was the senator for your planet -- the perfect example of what you should have been. Despite everything, the two of you were extremely close.

Concern ate her alive as she watched on. She opened her mouth, but your mother’s hand splayed out in front of her face, cutting off your sister’s voice and view of you.

Continuing to stare you down, your mother’s mouth twisted into her nose. Your family practically bred politicians and that was never your path. If the two of you agreed on nothing else it was that you were no politician.

When your sister was elected as Senator, you knew if you were trained you could be in her guard and keep her safe. It was a decision you were proud of and one that sealed your fate in the eyes of your mother. You would be of no use to her. She heard your wish and wanted to make sure you fully regretted it.

Rolling her eyes away from you, your mother turned her attention to a Kaminoan by her other side. As the leaders of two allied planets, your mother and Lama Su maintained a close relationship. At least close enough to call in favors.

“Thank you, Prime Minister, for this opportunity.” Your mother’s disgust faded into a pleasant smile. “Although, I worry she may damage the reputation of your clone troopers.”

The Kaminoan shifted his gaze to you. In near boredom he said, “You do realize she is liable to die?” Settling his hands in front of him, he turned back to your mother. 

She scoffed, the idea of no concern to her. “She made her choice. Should that come to pass, Kamino will not be held responsible.” They spoke of you as if you weren’t even present. “But, do make sure they don’t take it easy on her.”

They. An ‘unorthodox’ squadron of clones you would be paired with.

Your mother said your name, her tone sharp enough to straighten your back. Her head tilted back, the crimp in her lip returning. “If it is discovered that my daughter is beneath that armor, forget ever coming home.” She muttered something to your sister and, in unison, they made for the door. 

Your sister managed one last glance at you before the Kaminoan door swirled open and your mother shoved her through. Your heart sank as the giant white doors shut behind the women.

What if you never saw your sister again?

Alone with Lama Su, the bright, sterile room began to strain your eyes. The unnatural ambience of the room was enough to unsettle you without the addition of the Kaminoan’s cold stare. With slow fluidity, he fully turned towards you. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “The modified armor will hide your identity. All you have to do is follow orders.” Lama Su said in his smooth, detached voice. He gestured a long finger towards you. “Put on your helmet, do not remove it in front of others, and remain silent. Your family may tolerate embarrassment, but I will not endure it here.”

Under his cold stare, you lifted the helmet and sealed it over your head. Your eyes had barely adjusted to the restricted line of sight when the doors hissed opened again.

Where your mother and sister had left, five men strode in. Their armor was mismatched in shape and color, but there was some vein shared between them. It took you a moment until your eyes widened and the gears finally turned. These were the clones!

You were no stranger to clones. The Republic had dispatched a group of troopers to your planet as a show of good faith and alliance, although you wondered at times if your family fully reciprocated that sentiment. That said, these men were unlike any clones you’d seen. 

Their appearances were as mismatched as their armor. Your attention immediately drifted to a behemoth of a man towering over his cohorts and obviously blinded in his left eye. Standing shorter than the rest, one man sported a tattoo covering half his face. Two of them stood at the same height, one with goggles and the other with silver hair. The fifth man looked more akin to a standard clone than the rest, yet his complexion was blanched and he was outfitted with cybernetic prosthetics.  

They were the most mesmerizing things you’d ever seen. And none of them spared even a glance in your direction.

Resisting the urge to look to the Kaminoan for clarification, you kept your eyes forward and did your best to look at attention.

“Clone Force 99, welcome.” Lama Su took a smooth step forward and swept a hand in your direction. Still, their eyes remained trained on the Prime Minister. “This promising trooper is being assigned to your squad for training. While their designation number is of no concern to you, you may refer to your new addition as ‘Phi.’”

Phi. A word you recognized as meaning nothing.

A pale hand landed gently on your shoulder, finally dragging Clone Force 99’s collective attention to you. Even through the armor, Lama Su’s touch made your skin crawl. The urge to bite settled between your teeth and the intensity of his stare did nothing to dissuade that.

His next words came across as almost proud. “I trust you will find the skills of this soldier to be exemplary, possibly even to surpass standard clone trooper protocol. It has been decided that integrating with your unit will provide... a most beneficial learning environment for all.”

The praise threw you off until you noticed the change in the squad’s expressions. Something in Lama Su’s words did not sit well with them. In particular, the tall silver-haired clone did nothing to hide his annoyance. Whatever it was, the undue praise clearly sealed your fate in some way. His sharp glance alone indicated that the undue praise had somehow sealed your fate—a fate Lama Su had very intentionally engineered.

“Training will begin immediately.” Lama Su said. “Proceed to the training facilities to begin. You have your orders. You are dismissed.”

Clone Force 99 wasted no time in filing out of the room, offering no introductions or even a glance to see if you followed. Their dismissal was clear; you were an outsider, not worthy of their camaraderie. Hurrying after them, the quiet of the corridor seemed to amplify the shifting of armor and footsteps.

"Just our luck!" His voice boomed, echoing off the walls. "Why do we get stuck with a reg?" He threw a glance over his shoulder, his good eye scanning you with disdain.

Reg? The term echoed in your mind, a label you didn’t yet understand.

The cybernetic clone fell back beside you. “The question is: what did you do to get stuck with us?” His tone wasn't unkind, merely curious, probing.

Instinctively, your mouth opened to respond, but Lama Su’s directive flashed in your mind—Do not speak in front of others. Clamping your mouth shut, you turned your gaze forward again, grateful for the helmet’s limited field of vision that spared you from seeing their reactions. You did see the way Crosshair's eyes narrowed, it was safe to assume your silence hadn’t helped matters.

Adjusting to the weight of your gear seemed trivial compared to the weight of maintaining silence.

Sighing, the tattooed man shook his head. “Listen,” He said as he stopped and turned. “If we are stuck together, we might as well get along. I’m Hunter.”

He gestured to the others as they continued walking. "That’s Wrecker," pointing to the large man, "Echo," indicating the cyborg, "Tech," nodding towards the one with goggles, and lastly, "And Crosshair," with a tilt of his head toward the silver-haired clone who had kept his distance.

They all waited for your addition, but it didn’t come and your silence remained. From behind your helmet you cringed. This was shaping up to be a terrible idea. You held your breath, bracing for the uncomfortable journey ahead. 

Your silence only fueled Crosshair’s anger. His gaze narrowed, head cocked like a raptor eyeing prey. "Too good to speak to us?" His lip curled in a familiar, cruel sneer that reminded you of your mother. 

Noticing Crosshair had an actual crosshair tattooed over his right eye you couldn’t help the little snort you made, emphasized by your helmet’s voice modulator. You immediately regretted your slip up as Crosshair set his shoulders, head snaking forward. “Something funny, reg?” The way he said that word was pure venom.

 You almost conceded at the guttural sound he made at your continued silence, but before you could react Crosshair cracked his elbow into your helmet. The helmet crashed into your face and pain bloomed across your nose, knocking you down to one knee. Blood trickled from your nostrils, leaving you reeling with doubts and likely a broken nose.

"Crosshair!" Hunter barked. He didn't need to step in further; Crosshair stood back, arms crossed and lips twisted into a smirk of satisfaction.

Echo and Tech shared a glance, Wrecker gave a supportive smile, and Hunter shot Crosshair a sharp, disapproving look before turning his attention back to you. "Get up," he said firmly, "and keep up."

With one last glare from Crosshair, you pushed yourself up to your feet, determined not to show weakness. But as the sharp metallic taste of blood filled your mouth, you couldn't ignore the cold reality of your situation.

They certainly did not take it easy on you and by the end of your first session it was clear to all of you that you were a miserable excuse for a recruit. In the solitude of your room, you finally removed your helmet. In a small mirror you twisted your head, examining the crusted blood and swollen nature of your nose.

A gentle, and painful, touch confirmed your broken nose suspicions. You leaned in for a better look and smiled. It hurt like hell, but at least you made it through your first day.

You looked to a photo of your sister you’d pinned to your mirror. It’s worth it for her. Giving yourself a nod, you replaced your helmet and headed for the med bay- a trip you were going to frequent.

As you entered the medical wing, the only presence were that of two medical droids floating about and a female Kaminoan. The female swept her head in your direction, slowly blinking as you stood at the entrance. You recognized the Kaminoan as Nala Se. She’d given your family a tour of the cloning operations in the past.

She addressed you with a good evening and gestured for you to approach. “I am aware of your identity. You may remove your armor in my presence.” Nala Se said in her ever measured tone. When you still hesitated she added, “The clones are currently in the canteen.”

Reluctantly, you lifted the helmet from your head, exposing the bruised face underneath. Nala Se observed you quietly, her expression unreadable. “You should return home.” She suggested. “Our clones are trained from their creation. You will not be able to match their abilities.”

“That’s not an option now. I either return with training or in a body bag.”

You placed your helmet in a tote at the foot of the medical table and began discarding the rest of the armor in the same fashion. Clad only in your black undersuit, you continued undressing under Nala Se's impassive watch. Her clinical detachment did little to ease the discomfort of the situation

Stripped down to a bandeau and shorts, you climbed onto the examination bed. A droid hovered over you, scanning your body. "Subject exhibits a broken nose and extensive bruising," it reported to Nala Se, who nodded slightly before administering two injections—one for pain and another to reduce future bruising.

As the droid tended to your injuries, Nala Se handed you a set of clothes. "There is more than one way to remain hidden," she stated as she unfolded a Kaminoan-style outfit—a set of dark, tight-fitting pants and a long-sleeve shirt, complemented by a light-colored vest with fabric strips cascading down your legs

You’d no sooner dawned the outfit when the doors slid open again and voices immediately broke the silence.

You froze with your back to the door. Tech's analytical voice floated through the air, "I am merely saying, excess violence will only worsen the situation for all of us."

It was Crosshair who answered with dry amusement. "Speak for yourself," he scoffed. 

Nala Se held your gaze a moment longer before she looked to the approaching clones. “CT-9902 and CT-9904, what is it that you require?”

Tech spoke up from behind you, "There is a high probability that Crosshair fractured his knuckles during training." You could think of a few instances that could’ve caused that, the bruises across your body serving as evidence.

Swallowing the groan in your throat, you finally faced them. Tech and Crosshair stopped in their tracks both staring at you with some confusion.

“Senator.” Tech offered a nod of respect. His polite tone threw you off balance as he mistook you for your sister. The Kaminoans' medical treatment had indeed worked wonders, hiding your identity well enough to prompt the error.

Crosshair frowned, a toothpick tilting in his mouth.

Tech, noticing Crosshair’s tight expression, nudged his brother. “We passed her on the way to meet the Prime Minister.” This was enough for the sniper to remove his toothpick and stand a bit straighter.

The immediate respect was a stark contrast to the blows they’d dealt you all day. Embracing the assumption you smiled graciously despite the stiff feeling in your face. “It is a pleasure to formally meet you, troopers.” You rounded the table to stand before them.

Without your gear, you realized just how much taller they were. And without the restrictive view of your helmet, you could fully appreciate how striking they were. They stood with practiced military bearing, radiating strength and a sense of purpose that matched their formidable presence.

Absolutely breathtaking, and in a much different way than when they'd been knocking the wind out of you earlier.

“The honor is ours, Senator.” Tech said. His eyes searched your face, for what you weren’t certain.Though having his eyes on any part of you was a lovely sensation. He paused momentarily, but found your eyes again. 

Crosshair kept his gaze steady as he studied you, lending some clarity to your earlier question. "What brings a senator down to the med bay? Surely not curiosity."

Holding your composure, you lied, “I am… personally interested in the development and progress of the valiant men keeping our galaxy safe.” You took the opportunity to circle the two men while they remained still and eyes forward. The men had equally long legs and cinched waists that were positively sinful. This view of them was certainly an upgrade, igniting an idea in you.

“In fact,” You polished a smile as you came back to their fronts. “I’d be interested in some personal lessons from esteemed men such as yourselves.” 

Surprise lifted Tech’s eyebrows and pulled the corner of Crosshair’s lip up. 

“Mistress Se mentioned your squad is already undertaking the training of a new recruit.” Their expressions dulled at the reminder. “What’s a few extra morning sessions with a mere Senator?”

Nala Se, observing the exchange from the background, stepped forward to say, "That can be arranged for the morning after next. For now, the senator has matters to attend to. CT-9904, please proceed with your treatment."

Tech offered another polite nod before leading Crosshair to the medical equipment. As they moved away, you exhaled, glancing at Nala Se, who gave you an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

The following morning, back in your armor, you walked into the training room and the middle of Clone Force 99’s conversation.

Wrecker was throwing his head around, moaning about something you couldn't quite catch. “-well, why didn’t I see her?”

“You did, Wrecker.” Tech said in a flat, exasperated breath. “If only in passing.”

“But why would a senator want to watch us train?” Echo shook his head in confusion.

Tech adjusted his goggles. “Correction: she wants to train with us.”

As he twirled a knife between his fingers, Hunter asked, “Then why would a senator want to train with clones?”

“Does it matter?” Crosshair drawled from his perch on a rectangular obstacle with a knee pulled up.. “If the little princess wants our hands on her, who are we to deny?”

Little princess. Your mind stuttered at the words while your body visibly jerked at them. The squadron cut their conversation short and looked to you. The amusement between them quickly faded, yet even this attention had heat crawling through you.

“Let’s get this over with.” Hunter gruffed while putting on his helmet. The rest followed suit and training began.

The session was as brutal as the day prior, starting with sparring and finishing with blaster drills. You didn’t do much better than the day prior, but you were proud to have left with no new fractures. By the next morning you could barely leave bed.

But ‘little princess’ was enough to push you up.

You arrived at the training room early. It was much smaller than the usual arenas, scattered with mannequins instead of physical obstacles. You traded your armor for a form-fitting suit similar to the blacks troopers wore. Without a helmet, you felt exposed—but exhilarated.

When the doors slid open, your pulse quickened. With composure your mother would admire, you smoothed your expression and smiled. “Nice of you boys to join me.”

A small smirk lifted Hunter’s lips as he regarded you. “Senator.” he greeted, his gaze sweeping over your form. The word almost caused your smile to falter, reminding you of the misconception they were under. 

They made their introductions before Hunter, hand at his hip, gestured for you to advance. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

The soreness that wracked your body protested when you squared your shoulders. “I was born ready.” Hopefully your feigned confidence won them over.

The way the leader’s head dipped with a small laugh said it did. Even from a distance, the sound reverberated through you to your core.

“Don’t worry,” Wrecker’s large hand clapped down on your shoulder and right onto an unseen bruise. “We’ll take it easy on ya!”

Crosshair rolled a toothpick between his lips. “Easy’s not our style, Wrecker.” You met his still skeptical stare, not backing down from the challenge.

“I can handle it.”

He snorted, flicked away his toothpick, and strode over to you. Leaning in he said in a low, snippy voice, “Better keep up, princess.”

As much as the nickname heated your blood, you maintained your smile, determined to earn their respect. “I intend to.” You said in an equally low, taunting tone.

From the very beginning, their training style was a complete turn around compared to the borderline abuse you endured while in armor.

Hunter set the pace, showing you rapid movements to prove your reflexes. When a moment of exhaustion hit and you noticeably slowed, Hunter teased, “I thought you said you’d keep up.”

Sagging your shoulders, you rolled back your head with a laugh. “Alright, maybe I wasn’t born for this.”

“We sure were.” Wrecker laughed and took over, launching into instruction about utilizing your body weight against an opponent. He demonstrated on Crosshair, who loudly hissed in protest. Wrecker put a shoulder into Crosshair’s abdomen and tossed him over his shoulder like a sandbag. 

Crosshair struggled against his brother’s hold, until he landed safely on the ground. He snarled at Wrecker, then caught the amused smile tugging at your lips. With a grunt of annoyance, he averted his gaze and casually placed a toothpick back between his lips, feigning indifference.

“C’mon, now you try,” Wrecker encouraged as you stepped close. He used his massive hands to reposition your torso into a bent over position. “Like this, see? You gotta feel the power through your whole body!” His bubbly enthusiasm made it hard to take the movement seriously.

His demeanor wasn’t your only distraction. Despite your mother’s disregard for you, as the daughter of a politician, people were always careful with you. Between their ruthless training of you as ‘Phi’ and their gentle instruction as a ‘Senator,’ you were finding them more and more captivating.

Their presence was intoxicating.

Tech used a more methodical style of instruction. His hands deftly maneuvered your body into a slightly different form. “Optimal form is crucial,” he explained. His fingers lingered just a moment too long on your spine, sending an unexpected shiver down your back. With one hand he pressed your bruised shoulder lower.

Your teeth clenched against the pain, a quiet whine making its way past your lips. Tech immediately released his hand, observing you with a tilted glance. “Interesting,” he whispered with curiosity that pulled your eyes to his. Behind those brown eyes of his, something passed through. He blinked once, twice, and stepped back.

The moment went unnoticed as Echo chimed in. “Throw your weight behind it and aim for his diaphragm.” Wrecker tried to chuckle, but you cut him off by doing just that. Despite your best efforts, he didn’t even flinch. A chorus of chuckles erupted around you, but it felt good to join their lighthearted banter instead of getting the kriff kicked out of you.

The training continued until you were slick with sweat. You were exhausted, sure, but the exhilaration you felt in the beginning only grew with every brush with the men.

Though throughout the trading, Crosshair paid the experience little interest.  He meandered the outskirts of the room, only chiming in when you had a misstep. Finally, winded but grinning, you let yourself sink to the floor. Crosshair sauntered over, standing behind you as he shifted his weight onto one foot.

His weight shifted onto one foot and postured over you. “Looks like what they say about senators is true.” He snorted, but the bite his voice carried when you were Phi was missing.

You leaned back, hands propped behind you, and squinted up at him. “And what’s that?”

His keen eyes scanned you, briefly pausing on your heaving chest before meeting your gaze again. “You’re all talk.”

Crosshair maintained a smug expression while his brothers fell silent, their attention fixed on the two of you. For the first time since training began, the ache in your nose surfaced in your mind. The memory of Crosshair's initial blow hung in the air as you carefully considered the situation, your tongue slipping over your teeth. He didn't realize it, but as you sat there inches from his feet, he was perched right within your reach. His guard was down, dismissing you as a non-threat.

The backhanded comment about Senator inaction was the deciding factor in your next move. You could always tolerate insults aimed at you. The rough training was even tolerable if it meant a means to your purpose. 

Calling out a senator’s - your sister’s - resolve, however, was a step too far.

In one swift motion, you fell back, hooked an arm around his ankle, and yanked his foot out from under him. Crosshair's arms swung through the air, desperately trying to catch his balance, but he tumbled to the ground with a thud, a gasp of air forced from his lungs. Lounging back on one elbow, you kept his ankle cradled firmly in your arm.

The rest of Clone Force 99 tried - and failed - to stifle their laughter. Eventually, they gave him the same round of laughter you received. Crosshair shoved up on his elbows with a scowl. The twitch in his lip betrayed the amusement nipping at him. Grunting with a roll of his eyes, he pushed you off his foot. “Lucky shot.”

You raised your eyebrows with a satisfied hum, then let yourself fall back onto the training mat. As you lay there, staring up at the bright ceiling and still catching your breath with a laugh lingering on your tongue, you felt an unfamiliar sensation—happiness.

All your life, you’d been chasing after your sister, constantly seeking your family's approval. You had never been allowed to simply exist or pursue anything for yourself.

But laying there, beaten and exhausted, you felt strangely good.

Wrecker’s face appeared above you with a lopsided smile. He extended a hand as he said, “Now, where’d you learn to do that?”

Groaning, you accepted his hand and he lifted you with ease. “It comes with having a sister,” you replied. The mention of your sister brought a bubble of anxiety to the surface and Lama Su’s warning pricked you.

“Ha! Just like us then.” With his hand still clasping yours, Wrecker steadied you by gently pressing his other hand against the small of your back.

Your face heated, though it was already flushed from training, and you quickly cleared your throat, stepping out of his grasp. Brushing off imaginary dust from your thighs, did your best to sound casua. “I’m curious,” you said, eager to switch topics, “how’s training that trooper Nala Se told me about?”

Just like mentioning your sister had done to you, bringing up the trainee cast a shadow over the troopers’ mood, which only heightened your anxiety.

“Don’t remind us.” Wrecker gruffed. “It’s bad enough we’re missing out on missions and we’re stuck with a reg.”

“Reg?” You repeated.

Echo sighed with exasperation. “Regular clone.” The way you muddled your face prompted the others to elaborate on their own differences. Though you knew Clone Force 99 was different, you hadn’t realized the full extent until now. You understood now why Echo was the least brutal in his training. With his origins as a regular clone, he sympathized.

Lama Su’s conversation with them finally made sense. He was stoking a fire meant to burn you out. 

You laughed nervously, “Surely it can’t be that bad.”

Hunter rubbed the bridge of his nose, dreading the afternoon ahead. “Trust us, you’re showing more potential than this guy.” 

They all launched into a conversation about the trainee's abysmal performance, not realizing the irony. Meanwhile, Tech stood back, focused on his datapad, occasionally looking up at the group- at you.

Walking away from the group, you tried to peek at his screen. “What are you looking at?”

Tech glanced up at you and quickly tucked the device away. “I was reading up on some political matters.” He adjusted his goggles and glanced at his brothers still chatting away. “Nothing you are not already appraised of.”

Mouthing an ‘oh’ you followed his gaze t back to the others. They looked so different now, discussing the reg amongst them, than they did just moments ago. “Why exactly are you here?” Tech questioned, you could feel his attention on you.

Not bothering to meet Tech’s stare, you answered without hesitation. “To make a difference the only way I can.”

From that point on, a cycle began. Every morning they trained you as the Senator and every afternoon you received a beating as Phi. 

Knowing their distaste for Phi was completely unrelated to you may have eased your anxiety but it didn’t make your training any easier.

That came with your mornings with Clone Force 99 and, on occasion, an even meeting.

The first time you ran into them outside of training happened when you’d snuck off to comm your sister. After stealing a holocom from the medical facility, you wandered the corridors for a few nights to find the best place to reach her. You always worried about an unexpected visitor in your barrack room. Wrapped in a cloak, you huddled beside a viewport, lost in thought as you stared at the device in your hands.

It had been the longest stretch you’d gone without speaking to your sister. Nerves kept your fingers hovering over the controls, practicing how you'd greet her, when suddenly your vision went dark. Your hands dropped the holocom in surprise, but it never hit the ground. 

“Look who we found!” Wrecker’s boisterous voice boomed, warm and close, as his large form pressed up behind you.

Letting out a startled breath, you gently pulled his hands away from your eyes. Standing before you were Hunter and Crosshair, both of whom looked amused.

Hunter practically sauntered forward as he offered you the holocom back. "Caught you," he teased, handing the holocom back to you with a sly grin. His eyes dipped as your fingers brushed against his, he shot a question with smirk at you. “What are you doing out here so late?”

You clutched the device a bit more securely and shrugged. "Just needed a quiet spot to contact my sister," you admitted.

Crosshair raised an eyebrow, plucking the toothpick from his mouth and pointing it at you. "And you chose the coldest corridor on Kamino for your heartfelt chat?" he was unconvinced.

You spun the device nervously in your hands. “I didn’t think anyone would be out at this time.”

The silver haired clone gave a low chuckle, twirling the toothpick between his fingers. "Well, don't let us interrupt your cozy little conversation.”

“We’re headed to the canteen for a bite to eat, you should come.” Wrecker suggested, resting his hands on your shoulder.

Hunter nodded in agreement. "You’re right about one thing - it’s quieter this time of night. Less regs to get in the way."

Wrecker grinned wide and leaned in closer, giving you a gentle shake as his presence nudged you forward. "Besides, it's warmer there!"

You certainly felt warmer, but not just from the prospect of a heated room. Glancing down at the holocom, you wondered if your sister was even awake. Unable to resist their invite, you stashed the device away and smiled. “Alright, why not? Lead the way.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Crosshair said in a way that made you roll your eyes. He could make anything sound sarcastic.

Joining them turned out to be a worthy trade. Crosshair and Hunter sat across from you and Wrecker. Wrecker made a habit of pushing into your space, offering bites of his favorite bits, while Crosshair and Hunter discussed your upcoming training sessions as Phi—a topic you found less than thrilling. Instead, you chose to bask in Wrecker’s warm attention.

Despite his high energy and monstrous strength, Wrecker proved to be the most gentle of the batch. Always the first to help you to your feet or catch you when you stumbled. His touch light, the calluses of his hands only ever brushing you. The skinship was a new experience for you, but one you wanted more of each time.

After your last bite of a chocolate morsel, Wrecker caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He rubbed a thumb over the corner of your mouth, dragging your lip down with the pressure of his touch.

“Got a little somethin’ there,” Wrecker chuckled, showing you the smear of chocolate on his thumb. “Guess I’m not the only messy eater ‘round here.” His smile crinkled his eyes as he dipped his thumb into his mouth to suck off the sweet remnant.

The casual intimacy of the gesture wasn’t lost on you, though it seemed to escape him. He turned back to his plate, completely missing the heat rising to your face. As a soft smile lilted your lips, you shut your eyes and leaned into Wrecker’s form. Surrounded by them, you felt a wave of contentment—you could happily spend all your free time like this

Wrecker perked up, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised as he felt your weight against him. He sat stock still for a moment, glancing between you and his brothers. Gradually, he relaxed into your touch and reached an arm around you.

“H-Hey,” he stammered slightly, patting a hand on your hip, “What’s all this?”

A foot knocked into yours from beneath the table. Peeking out from under an eyelid, you met Hunter’s lopsided smile and received another gentle tap. “Don’t be falling asleep on us. It wouldn’t be a good look for us to be carrying your limp body back.”

“Is the little princess tired?” Crosshair added lightly, a rare hint of playfulness in his tone.

Closing your eye once more, you hummed in agreement. Sitting alone with them in a mess hall, sharing a meal and laughing under the harsh lighting, you felt completely at peace.

Your mother had meant this all to be a punishment. She couldn’t have imagined that this place, these men, would heal a part of you you hadn’t realized was broken. They built you up and their training made you feel strong. They never admitted to it while you were in armor, but from their observations of the Senator you were improving.

Something you showcased one afternoon as Phi. During a drill with dummy droids, you found yourself blindsided by a metallic blow to your back. Another droid seized you by the neck and hurled you about twenty feet, leaving you crumpled on the ground as the simulation abruptly ended.

Still seeing stars, you heard the familiar cadence of Crosshair’s footsteps. “Get up.” Crosshair growled from above you.

Twisting onto your side, you struggled to catch your breath. Crosshair’s helmet angled to the side as he clicked his tongue, shoving his heal into your hip. “I said get up.” He punctuated his words with another kick. The sharp pain instantly boiled up weeks of frustration and pain.

Not a single thought registered with you as you snapped. As fast as a hydrosnake, you lashed out, looped an arm around his ankle and thrashed him back as you had before. This time your training took over.

You didn’t stop at holding him by his foot. No, you pulled his leg to the side, opening his hips, and pinned his thigh under your knee. Before he could grab at you, you pressed your torso across his, driving an elbow into the side of his helmet. Your hands clasped behind his bicep, effectively locking him in place.

Crosshair thrashed against you as his free hand hammered into the soft spot between your chest and shoulder plates. With every hit, you tightened your grip on him. His vile threats drowned out the sound of Wrecker’s stomping towards the two of you. 

A large hand ripped you by the back of your neck, instantly detangling you from the sniper. “Not so tough now, are ya?” Wrecker taunted.

Dangling in the air, your legs kicked and fingers scratched at Wrecker’s fingers. The fingers that otherwise delicately touched you choked you in more ways than one. Crosshair shot up from the ground, ripping off his helmet to expose his seething expression. 

“Wrecker!” Echo’s voice rang out from the sidelines, but his veiled command did little to deescalate the situation.

The sarcastic, teasing Crosshair who interacted with you as a senator was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he whipped a finger at you, a silent but unmistakable threat as he closed in on you.

It was Tech that quickly slid between you, effectively barring Crosshair from getting his hands on you. “Crosshair.” Tech’s tone was firm, if not altogether scolding. “You kicked them while they were incapacitated. Therefore, their actions were justified, while your reaction is not.”

Crosshair shook with rage, eyes burning into you past Tech's shoulder. The silent threat of his pointed finger became a promise.

“Wrecker, drop him.” Hunter ordered he yanked Wrecker’s arm down. 

Wrecker begrudgingly released you, setting you down with a rough thud, but you quickly steadied yourself, brushing off the dust. Your breath was labored, but you didn’t falter under Crosshair’s glare. It didn’t matter who Crosshair thought you were at this point, he was just being cruel. It fully pissed you off more than anything up to that point. Tension hung in the air, and with each passing second, your urge to snap grew stronger.

Tech stepped aside and Hunter’s stern gaze moved between you and Crosshair. “Are we done?”

Crosshair let out a low growl before reluctantly shoving his helmet back on with a quick twist. You, on the other hand, weren’t done and needed to calm down fast.

“You’ll never be worth our time,” Crosshair said with venom. “You fight like a child.”

That simmering urge burst through. You lunged forward, craned your head back, and bashed the front of your helmet into his. The old wound on your nose flared, but watching Crosshair thrown back and stumbling dulled the pain to an ache.

He shook it off quickly enough and charged you again, narrowly missing as Echo intercepted him.

While you regained your balance, Tech fell in beside you, gently catching you by the forearm. You were too busy wheezing to notice the strangeness in Tech’s assisting you as Phi. While you watched Hunter and Echo work to calm Crosshair, Tech brought his head closer, whispering for only you to hear, “Do not antagonize him. You’ve already had one broken nose, let’s not aim for another.”

All of your burning rage cooled in an instant. You slowly looked at the technician, whose eyes watched you intensely from behind his helmet. Something in his gaze drowned out all other sounds around you. He looked at you differently from how the others ever had.

You had no idea how he knew, but the way he looked at you made it clear: Tech knew exactly who you were.

He leaned closer, his voice a low, amused murmur. "It was obvious." Your head jerked back as if to say ‘how was it obvious?’

Sensing your immediate tension, he added quickly, "To me, at least. The others don’t seem to have noticed." He glanced over his shoulder to ensure Crosshair remained restrained before looking back at you. "We'll manage Crosshair. You should head to the medical facility to have your nose examined."

“Tech-” You tried to whisper but Tech cut you off, spinning you towards the exit. You didn’t wait for him to tell you again.

You did manage to hear Tech quip, “For the record, Crosshair, that would be twice now they bested you.” You made sure you were out the door by the time Crosshair turned on his brother.

Tech was right to send you to get checked out. You’d avoided a broken nose, but the swelling did need attention. You were still in armor when you got back to your room. Dropping down onto a storage tote, you set your helmet between your feet. Elbows on your knees, you sat looking out over the swath of ocean beyond your windows. 

The steady drum of rain against your window helped soothe your nerves, which had barely eased since you left the training grounds. You sat there for a while, combing through your time on Kamino, searching for any clue as to how Tech figured out who you were. With his keen mind, anything seemed possible, but you still wondered when you slipped up.

The sound of your barrack door opening snapped you out of concentration. You couldn’t reach for your helmet fast enough when someone said,“You need not bother with that”

You whipped around, twisting in your spot. Sans helmet and alone, Tech stood in your room. He’d already seen your face and touched your body, but this felt like you were meeting for the first time.

You slowly stood, picking at your fingertips. “Hi,” was all you managed to croak out as the door shut behind him.

It must've been an odd sight, you thought. The face of a senator on the body of a trooper. You snuck a glance at your reflection in the window. The sight was familiar to you now, but you remembered the juxtaposition taking time to get used to. You weren’t happy that the first time Tech was seeing you as you, your hair was stuck in a bird’s nest of a bun with crooked hairs jutting out at all angles

Tech said your name and something in your chest lurched at the sound. “If I am correct,” He said as moved his goggles up his nose. “-And I usually am, that is your real name. Is it not?” He remained standing just at the entrance of your room.

Your lips tucked into your mouth as you nodded slowly, still unsure about what to even say. ���How did you know?”

Upon your admission Tech walked closer, free of the tension you carried. “Observation and deduction.” He explained, stepping around the tote separating you to take you in fully. Unlike when you portrayed Phi or the Senator, you had never noticed him observing you with such explicit curiosity.

Tech circled you, one hand cradling his elbow and the other holding his chin. “I was fairly certain Crosshair broke the trooper’s nose during the initial altercation. When we met in the medical facility, I noticed a distinct mark on your nose—an odd thing for a distinguished guest such as a Senator.” He moved around your right side, his finger gently pressing into your shoulder. “To confirm my suspicions, I applied pressure to a region I hypothesized would be tender if my assumptions were correct.”

"Your reaction confirmed it," Tech concluded, stepping back to give you space. "It was subtle, but it was enough for me to piece together the truth about your dual identities."

He took a seat on the tote facing the window and pulled out his datapad, tapping away as he continued. “Still, I didn’t have an explanation as to why a senator would be here like this. Until you mentioned your sister, which finally prompted me to do a bit of research.” Tech angled his datapad towards you, displaying a news article with a photo of your sister. “I must admit, the resemblance is uncanny. However, with her being accounted for on Coruscant, it would prove impossible for her to be on Kamino.”

He pressed a button and a photo of a stoic family appeared - your parents standing behind you and your sister. You only got a glance in before Tech pulled it back to his face. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the photo. “Besides, while the two of you do share similar features, you are far more… captivating.” Tech looked up at you, still standing beside him. “I could never confuse the two of you.”

Your breath hitched at ‘captivating.’ No one had ever remotely said that to you. It was always either you could pass for twins or your sister was the more fortunate child. Coming from Tech, such a logical and blunt man, it took your breath away. He saw no point in undue praise or flattery; to him, he was merely stating facts. It melted you.

You lowered yourself next to him, knees turned in his direction. “Why haven’t you told the others?”

Tech thought for a moment, his eyes shifting to the side as he considered your question “I do not know your reason for anonymity, but I respect your decision and will not jeopardize that. Your privacy is your own.” He nodded, pivoting to fully face you. “And I find I rather enjoy being the only one to know this about you.”

The tension in your shoulders ebbed, replaced by a fluttering that started in your chest and made breathing a manual task. You caught your reflection again, feeling frustrated that in such a moment you looked so disheveled. You balled your fists tightly enough that your fingernails dug into your palms, embarrassed that he offered such compliments to someone like you.

“Why are you making such a face?” Tech asked.

You watched yourself a second longer before offering him a sad smile. “I think I know now why you wear those goggles.”

Tech’s brows pulled together. “They alter the way light enters my eye to correct my eye’s refractive errors.” You sat back, blinking at the explanation, humor coming to your smile. Tech kept a serious face, not understanding the nuances you were attempting. “They help me see,” He clarified in a flat tone.

You yielded a small laugh, leaning over to tap his knee. “I know, I was trying to say you must need them if you think I’m the pretty sister.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized how mean they sounded. Not just insulting Tech’s taste, but fully airing the distaste you held for yourself. Your smile dropped and along with your eyes to the hand still on his knee.

A drop of panic hit your gut as you started pulling your hand away. “I’m sorry, I-”

Tech grabbed your wrist and you couldn’t react before he hushed you, “Get down.” He said, pulling you both down to the floor. He ducked his head, pushing yours down and pulling you flush against him in one motion. His hand cupped over your mouth just before you heard the door open. Two sets of footsteps echoed in. Whoever it was, they were too far away for you to get a clear image of them in the window’s reflection.

You craned your neck, trying to get a look but Tech held you fast.

“His armor isn’t here.” Crosshair’s sharp voice rung out. “The little snake isn’t home.”

Hunter answered with a sigh, “Cross, none of us like this but you need to ease up. The sooner we get him trained, the sooner we get rid of him.” The two of them made themselves at home, walking around on a light inspection of your space.

Tech kept you both completely still, staying so silent you weren’t sure he was even breathing. Which was impressive considering that between the intruders and being positioned between Tech’s legs you were having a hard time regulating your own sounds.

One set of footsteps quieted. “Would you look at that?” Crosshair snarled. “Looks like the reg has a little crush.” The sound of paper snapping told you he found the picture of your sister hanging from your mirror. The level of agitation in his voice made you worry for the next time Crosshair caught you in uniform.

“That might be why I-” Hunter stopped mid-sentence. You heard footsteps shuffle in place.

“What is it?” Crosshair pressed.

A moment passed before Hunter continued. “It’s nothing. We should go. You can play nice later.” Crosshair made a noise of frustration, and the two of them left the room.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Tech eased his grip on you. His arms hung beside you while you instinctively sagged against him in relief. You twisted around to ask, “What were they doing in here?”

“My guess would be that Hunter wanted Crosshair to make amends.” You could see a thought turning over in him. “And I would say Hunter either just realized the situation or is on the very cusp of doing so.”

“How did they-”

“We have always known which barrack was yours.” Tech answered before you could get the question out. He glanced away momentarily, considering his words carefully. “I advised them early on to leave well enough alone.”

The two of you held each other's gaze for a moment, and Tech's expression softened, becoming more reflective. “I did say I enjoyed being the only one to know your identity,” he murmured. “What I neglected to mention is that I took measures to keep it that way.” Gently, he lifted a knuckle to your cheekbone, brushing back a stray hair. The corner of his mouth ticked upwards.

“It doesn’t bother you - not really knowing me?” You asked.

As Tech began to help untangle the two of you from your hiding spot, he responded. “We may not have had traditional introductions, but I know all that I need to.” You pulled your legs beneath you, reaching out for Tech as he stood. He gripped your hand firmly and pulled you up.

With a slight grunt as he helped you to your feet, Tech continued, “You are resourceful and brave. These qualities are not just observed; they are proven through your actions and decisions here.” Tech’s voice carried a respect and a hint of admiration that felt more personal than his usual factual observations.

“And while I may not know every detail of your past or every layer of your personality yet, I understand your core—your competence, your strength, and your commitment to your goals. These are the attributes that define you, not just the name you carry or the role you play.”

Tech bent over and plucked your helmet from the floor. “Plus, as a clone, a name doesn’t hold a great deal of value for me.” He held the helmet in his hands, He rotated the helmet, examining it before gently handing it back to you. “Does that answer your question?”

Nodding in slight awe, you gently accepted the helmet and immediately dropped it, opting instead to quickly wrap your arms around his waist. “Thank you, Tech.” 

Tech stiffened slightly, the rush of adrenaline visible as his posture tightened—a clear sign of his surprise at the physical closeness. This type of interaction was uncharted territory for him. In the window’s reflection, he watched the two of you. Your face was tucked into his chest, hidden from view, but he could feel the tremor of your breathing. Unsure of what else to do, Tech lightly touched your head. “O-of course.”

Tech had a myriad of questions for you about your past and your motivations.Holding you in that moment, he decided, was enough. The questions could wait for another day.

The next morning's training session was particularly challenging for you. It was hard to ignore Hunter's scrutinizing gaze. He watched you as if decoding every movement, his eyes sharp and probing. Tech's earlier observations were spot on—Hunter was definitely onto something.

For once, you found yourself eagerly awaiting the end of the session. As soon as it was over, you hustled away faster than usual, leaving Clone Force 99 to prepare yourself for that evening. You were going to tell them the whole truth.

After mentally rehearsing several scenarios multiple times, you donned your armor and headed for the training facilities. However, as you stepped out of your room, you nearly collided with Nala Se. 

She didn’t flinch, embodying the typical Kaminoan stillness. Towering above you, she blinked slowly, her gaze piercing. “Before you go, I must see to your injuries,” Nala Se stated matter-of-factly. Without waiting for your response—accustomed to your practiced silence—she turned and headed towards the medical wing.

You followed quietly, your mind racing as you pondered which injuries she referred to. Certainly, your nose and the rest of your face still ached from the previous day's exertions, and your torso was a tapestry of bruises, but these were all injuries that had been treated before. Moreover, Nala Se had scarcely crossed your path in recent weeks. Initially, she had helped you avoid detection, but she had not intervened since.

Her sudden appearance was less than comforting.

In the quiet of the medical facility, oddly void of the typical droids, Nala Se motioned to a bed. “Have a seat and remove your helmet.”

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of how your tardiness for training might disrupt your planned conversations that you barely registered her instructions. Nala Se said your name, snapping you back to the present.

Removing your helmet, you looked across the bed at her and realized her gaze was focused past you. It hadn’t been her calling your name.

Outside, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Echo, and Crosshair were on their way to the training facilities, helmets under their arms, when they noticed the Senator entering one of the medical rooms. Today, you weren’t cloaked in your typical attire but wore a robe of deep purple with gold threading, which seemed oddly formal.

Crosshair snorted, “Looks like we need to ease up on our little princess.”

Tech, who had been absorbed in his datapad, looked up. “To what are you referring?”

“I told you she was actin’ weird.” Wrecker said, more concerned than accusatory, ignoring Tech’s question. “Should we do somethin’?”

Echo, looking to clarify for Tech, gestured with his prosthetic arm. “We just saw the Senator enter the medical facility. And yes, we should check on her before heading to training.”

Tech paused, processing the information. He knew you well enough to be aware of your usual post-training soreness and kept an eye on the medical records associated with your after-training exams. You hadn’t sustained injuries severe enough recently to necessitate a deviation from your normal routine. He buzzed with suspicions and worried over the implications of your unexpected visit to the medical facility at such an unusual time.

“Let’s get this over with.” Hunter said, moving forward with all but Tech who stood in place a second longer. If his suspicions were correct, this was not going to go well.

Back inside, you were faced with your reflection. Blinking back confusion, your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. Stepping towards you, adorned in the traditional regalia of your homeworld, was your sister, looking every bit the senator she was meant to be, her hair elegantly braided back with strands of gold and pearls woven through. The purples and golds of her dress made her appear radiant and regal—so much like your mother, and so unlike you in your scuffed armor and haphazardly tied hair.

Nala Se wordlessly removed herself from the room, making the entire setup evident.

“Sister?” Your voice barely whispered as you took a hesitant step forward, half-fearing that any sudden movement might cause her to vanish like a mirage.

Her eyes widened, her pace slowing, as she scanned your face. Her face, so alike and unlike yours, crumpled with emotion, her lip trembling. Then, with a burst of energy, she ran towards you, hands reaching out from the folds of her cloak. You caught her in a tight embrace as she collided into you, her presence grounding the surreal moment.

She didn’t speak at first, only managing to choke back muffled sobs against your shoulder. You rested your head against hers, holding her close, and savored the familiar scent of her perfume—a reminder of days long past. “I’ve missed you,” you murmured, your voice not choked with sadness but steady and comforting. You had always been the pillar for her to lean on; this time was no different.

Your sister pulled back, rubbing tears away with the heel of her hand. She managed a shaky smile, laughing through another small sob. "I’ve been so worried. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner."

You shook your head with a smile, gently gripping her shoulders. "You have more important things to do. Like, I don’t know, running the galaxy," you joked. Pulling her into another hug, you held her close for a moment before stepping back to reassess her. "Though… what are you doing here?"

Your sister took your hand, her grip soft against your calloused skin, and squeezed it tightly. "I’ve come to take you home. Mother—"

"Mother?" you interrupted, your tone sharpening as you pulled your hand away.

“We need you-”

“We?” You repeated louder. The joy of your sister’s visit dimmed the instant you remembered why you were standing together in a Kaminoan facility in the first place. “If this is for her, you shouldn’t be here.”

Your sister pressed a hand to her chest, perturbed by your tone. You’d never spoken to her like that. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Swallowing the instinct to give in to her, you reached for your helmet. “I don’t need to. You know why I’m here and I intend to see it through. You should leave-”

The sounds of the doors whirring open cut you off as you snapped your helmet on in a hurry.

Suddenly confused, your sister opened her mouth to say something, but instead you heard a familiar voice and the strength you’d maintained was replaced by panic.

The sudden arrival of Crosshair and the rest of Clone Force 99 sliced through the tense atmosphere like a vibroblade. “How touching,” Crosshair drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he rounded the privacy divider at the room's entrance. “What is our little princess doing alone with a reg? I didn’t realize you had a pet.” His cold gaze landed on you, igniting a tremor in your hands.

Your sister’s expression twisted in a stomach churning and familiar way. She scoffed and turned, “Little princess?” She spat the words out, her disdain palpable. You felt like you might gag yourself.

Your attention snapped to Tech who was just as stunned as you’d been moments before. Apparently he’d not predicted this. Hunter kept a straight face, eyebrows a little furrowed. If he had any suspicions about your dual identity, this chaotic reveal was likely skewing his thoughts. Echo, ever the sentinel, stood slightly taller, his posture tightening as if preparing for conflict. Wrecker towered behind the group, watching on with a rare sense of seriousness.

Crosshair, shifting his weight casually and placing a toothpick between his lips, continued to provoke. “What? Don’t want him knowing about our little fun together?” His wording would’ve made you laugh had the situation been different. He stirring up a misunderstanding for his own amusement.

Your sister didn’t bite. She cocked an eyebrow, giving the sniper a challenging stare before turning her attention back to you. “Are these the clones that have been training you?” Her tone was sharp, and her expression mirrored the stern demeanor of your mother.

Caught between weeks of training to maintain silence in your armor and the escalating tension, you found yourself paralyzed, struggling to formulate a response. It seemed all you could do was breathe through the growing panic.

“You two know each other?” Wrecker piped up.

Your sister, her confusion morphing into frustration, glanced quickly back at the group. “Answer me,” she demanded, her voice heavy with authority that did nothing to ease the stiffness of your tongue.

“You little shit,” Crosshair fumed, stepping towards you but immediately restrained by Hunter’s firm grip. Despite being held back, he snapped, “Show respect and answer her.”

Receiving his anger as an unnamed clone never felt as painful as the anger directed to you now.

Whirling on them, your sister jabbed a finger at him. “Who do you think you’re talking to, clone?” The disrespect in the way she said ‘clone’ gutted you and visibly startled Wrecker and Crosshair.

“Me?” Crosshair retorted, pointing a finger back at her. “Why are you defending him?”

“Him?” Her voice rose almost to a shrill. You reached out, trying to pull her back from the brink of the confrontation, only to have your hand sharply slapped away. She spun around to face you. “Take that ridiculous thing off!” She reached for your helmet, and this time, you reflexively slapped her hand away.

Crosshair, seething with anger, wrenched free from Hunter's grasp and charged toward you. Tech's shouts echoed behind him, but Crosshair was undeterred. He brushed past your sister with a dismissive flick, gripped the rim of your helmet with one hand, and shoved you backward with the other. Just as you tumbled to the floor, your sister retaliated, pushing him away forcefully. From your position on the ground, you didn't see it, but the sharp slap she delivered resounded through the room.

With his cheek stinging from the slap, Crosshair held his ground, his grip white-knuckled on your helmet as he turned a furious gaze on the woman standing defiantly before him. The intensity in her eyes was something entirely new to him. They locked eyes, each poised for further confrontation, when a realization dawned on Crosshair.

He’d never seen you look quite like this. In fact, you seemed like a completely different person. Dropping the toothpick from his lips, confusion replaced the anger on his face as he scrutinized the subtle differences in the face before him—slight variations in aging lines and hair length. There was more than that, Crosshair realized as he picked out the innumerable differences.

“Crosshair…” Echo said hesitantly. Still sat on the floor, you were on full display for Echo.

Wrecker’s face fell as he glanced around Crosshair at you.

Steadying a shaky breath, you gathered what composure you could and pushed yourself up off the floor. "Calm down," you whispered, touching your sister’s shoulder as you rose beside her.

Standing there, you couldn't bring yourself to look directly at Crosshair, afraid of the disgust you might see mirrored on his face. You missed the horror breaking across him. Instead, you kept your gaze fixed on your sister, silently pleading, "Sister, please."

Snapping her hand out, your sister harshly gripped your face and forced it towards the men. “You're the ones who did this to her?” She was likely referencing the scar marking your nose or the other tiny, healed wounds your helmet had dealt you over time.

Heat scorched your face as you were forcibly put on display. You reluctantly met the eyes of Clone Force 99. Crosshair’s face was pale, his brows furrowed deeply and his mouth slightly ajar in a mix of horror and disbelief. Echo and Wrecker were in similar shades of shock. Hunter, on the other hand, looked almost regretful. 

Gently removing your sister’s tight grip, you attempted to soothe her. “They didn’t know. Mother-”

“Do not blame Mother for your stupid decisions!” She screamed, gesturing a hand at you.

“Stupid decisions?” You challenged, feeling insulted. “My decisions have been for you. So I can keep you safe.”

“I didn’t tell you to do something so childish and I didn’t tell you to go and ruin your face.” You inhaled sharply at her words. She knew how to slap with more than just her hand.

Ignoring the clones, she straightened herself, her demeanor cooling into a composed facade that echoed your mother's authority. “Enough.” she stated firmly, making you straighten your posture subconsciously. “You are to come home and act as my body double at an upcoming gathering. The clones who trained you are to act as your security.” Pulling her hood up to shroud her face, you saw a glimpse of your gentle sister once more. “We will discuss your future afterwards.”

With that, she was gone. 

Left alone with the squadron, you looked to the ceiling as opposed to facing them immediately.

Tech approached, saying your name. The others whipped their heads to him, the familiarity in his tone throwing them off. “Are you alright?” He asked gently.

“You knew about this?” Echo accused, turning on Tech.

“Of course I did.” Tech said quickly and dismissively.

Crosshair's hands clenched into fists repeatedly, his anger barely contained. "Was this all a game to you?" he growled, his gaze intense and accusing as he finally turned to you.

You were to weary to be angry at him. How he could ever think being pummeled everyday for weeks was anything close to a game was beyond you.

Meeting his fierce stare you offered a weak smile. It lasted only a second before it fell with your eyes. “No, never. I was sent here for training… I didn’t mean to deceive you.” Your mouth pressed into a tight line. “I’m sorry you were dragged into this.”

The room fell silent. Wrecker, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. "So, all this time, you were…”

“Yes,” You finished for him. “But I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I’ve been taking all the training seriously.”

“It shows.” Echo said softly.

Hunter stepped forward. “Alright, we can sort this all out later.” He gave you a firm nod. “As a team. But right now, we have a mission.” He extended you a hand and a smirk, an offering. “The rest… you can explain on the way.”

Your chest caved at the sight. Taking his hand you choked out, “Gladly.”

Tech adjusted his goggles with a smile. “Then that settles it.” Brandishing his datapad, he started scrolling through the screen. “And I have compiled a list of questions that will clarify this entire ordeal.”

Hunter walked beside you, placing an encouraging hand on your back. “Let’s get going.”

Echo and Wrecker still looked conflicted, but nodded in agreement with Hunter's decision, and even Crosshair, though still visibly upset, did not contest.

Tech gave one final note. “All things considered, that went far better than even I could have predicted.”

@bruh-myguy-what i hope you like <3

[stressfulsloth]

I've seen a couple of takes about Disco Elysium being copaganda going around recently, and beyond the fact that DE is relentlessly critical of the police force in general and makes explicit reference to the failures of the system that allow the officers in game to abuse their power, I also think it's important to note that there very literally is an in-world version of copaganda that the writers of the game use to parody that romanticised view of the brutality of policing. The RCM at their inception were structurally inspired by in-world copaganda- their culture, their "fashions, even weapon preferences, borrow heavily from classic Vespertine cop shows." Every investigation is it's own little drama, every officer imagining themselves to be the bad-ass hero of their own crime serial. Detectives name their cases like they're naming episodes of a TV series in a "robust but literary system"; a title that "draws inspiration from snoop fiction and Vespertine cop show staples". They give themselves nicknames to sound like cool, suave fictional officers- Ace, Dick Mullen, etc.- from the cool, suave world of copaganda.

The legend of the RCM's inception, the "point of contention" over its uncertain origins, is even an extention of that; the whole organisation is shrouded in this self-fictionalising mythos that allows for distance that in turn obfuscates much of its violence to the officers that participate in it. They get to convince themselves that they're not abusing their power; they're the hero of the story! The dichotomy of "good guy" taking out the "baddies," a manifestation of the libertarian fantasy of the "good guy with a gun" who does what it takes, just like in Annette's detective novels, and at the same time who rails against oversight bodies like Internal Affairs/'the rat squad' because due process slows down the immediate satisfaction of Swift Justice, despite Internal Affairs existing to protect the citizens from overreach on behalf of the police. "Wanton brutality" from police in their real world is a cold bitter reality but Dick Mullen was "made to crack skulls," "bend the rules and solve cases no one else can," and which version of that story is more comforting to the overworked, underfunded officers of the RCM?

The level of fantasy and detachment required for the cops to still see themselves as the good guys after everything that they do in the line of duty mimics The Pigs and her breakdown too; she parallels Harry so clearly. Both "did right by the kids" in the past, hoping for a better future- Marianne (The Pigs) by looking out for Titus and the Hardy boys when they were young, Harry in his role as a gym teacher. Both abandoned and left behind by the system that the RCM uphold- a brutal capitalist landscape with no safety nets. Both turning the source of their trauma into a costume, a performance, a shield, shaped by "radio waves and cop shows." The Pigs uses RCM items scavenged from the Esperance where they'd been thrown away, while Harry uses the Dick Mullen hat that Annette gives him but both are essentially in costume.

Harry identifies himself with the fictional detective as a kind of wish fulfilment; Dick Mullen is "wicked smart." He doesn't fuck up his cases and when he's sad it's not pathetic; it's effortlessly cool brooding and everyone sympathises. Everyone loves him. His violence- "skull crack[ing]"- is justified because he's a "good guy" enacting that violence against the victims of police brutality sorry "bad guys". He doesn't ever face repercussions; "Dick Mullen won't be sent to the clink for the sake of some legal niceties!" So if Harry is Dick Mullen then his failures, his breakdown, they're all just a part of being a "bad-ass, on-the-edge disco cop." He's not wrong, he's a hero! This idealised fictionalised idea of the police force, this "new, sadly better, reality" that both Harry and The Pigs cling to is "escapist stuff," "receed[ing] into a ludicrous fantasy world," so far removed from the brutal material reality that they're in.

My point is, idk. Disco Elysium is so far from being copaganda. It is a multi-million word long dissection of it, of the purpose of policing, of state sanctioned violence and its interaction with capital and the fallout experienced within the wider community as well as the trauma cycle created for individual officers. A dissection of how copaganda interacts with RCM culture and perception, and by extension how we interact with irl perceptions of police through that lens.

[raiiny-bay]

some WIPs from the 80s AU i never finished

[jetii]

Promises Made (pt. 2/3)

Part One | Part Three

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

Words: 7,387 / 23,314

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, that comes into play a lot in this part, reader is genuinely unfair to Cross here sorry, protective!Crosshair, everyone is bad at feelings, smut in part 3

Summary: Crosshair is back, and you're the only one who still can't seem to forgive him. When you finally have the lead you've been seeking since the extinction of the Jedi, you seize the opportunity to escape the constant turmoil his presence causes you. Of course, Crosshair has other plans.

A/N: Thank you again to everyone for your kind words and support on all my fics, it really means a lot to me! I loved writing the drama in this part, and it was hard to stop, so hopefully it doesn’t drag on too much. Enjoy!

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The moment you enter the cockpit, Crosshair stiffens, staring out of the viewport with wide eyes. The smoggy grey atmosphere of Bracca, pocked with smears of red rust and the glimmer of steel, stares back.

You can practically feel the tension radiating off of him, and you know he’s remembering what happened the last time the two of you were here.

You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he clenches his jaw and curls his lip. You know he doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to set foot on this planet ever again, and you’re surprised at how guilty you feel. You thought a part of you would relish the pain he was feeling, would be glad to see him squirm.

But you aren’t.

"Are you alright?" you ask. You hadn't meant to, hadn't even realized you were thinking it until the words slip past your lips.

He looks at you, startled, as though he didn't think you'd notice.

"I'm fine," he snarls, and the bite in his words catches you off guard. You recoil, turning back to the control panel.

"We're landing in twenty," you mutter, and that's the end of the conversation.

The rest of the flight is silent, and it's not until the Marauder is descending into the atmosphere that he speaks again.

"What's the plan?" Crosshair asks, standing behind the copilot's chair. You can hear the creak of the leather as he grips the backrest, can feel his eyes on the top of your head.

"There is no plan," you say. You look back up at him, and there's a furrow between his brows. "We're not here for a job."

He blinks, clearly confused. "What?"

"We're landing, and we're meeting my contact." You turn back to the control panel, watching the ship descend through the viewport. “She’ll give us the coordinates, we’ll get what I came for, and then we’ll leave.”

“That easy, huh?” Crosshair scoffs.

“Were you expecting something more thrilling? A daring chase? A firefight?” you tease. He rolls his eyes. “I told you it was just an exchange. There won't be any trouble."

The Marauder touches down, the landing ramp dropping a moment later. You stand, stretching.

"Besides," you say, grabbing your bag, "you've had your fair share of trouble for one lifetime."

He watches you closely as you sling the bag over your shoulder, and when you look up, you catch him staring. You don't understand the intensity in his eyes, or the way his expression seems to shift, the frustration replaced with something softer. He averts his gaze, crossing his arms.

"If you say so," he grumbles, but there's a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You smirk. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

"I don't need protecting."

"Of course you don't, dear." You pat his shoulder as you pass, and he scowls.

He's still glaring when you glance over your shoulder, and you have to hold back a laugh. You don't miss the way the corners of his lips twitch upward as he follows behind, and for a moment, the tension lifts.

It's raining when you exit the ship, and the cold droplets soak through your jacket almost immediately. Crosshair tugs on his helmet as you step out of cover, and you ignore your flash of jealousy as you pull your hood up over your head.

You don't waste time, hurrying toward the abandoned building you're meeting your contact in. Puddles splash under your feet, soaking through your boots, and your clothes cling to your skin. Your hood is doing little to protect you, the water dripping from the edges and onto your face, and you try to focus on anything other than the chill that's settling into your bones.

Crosshair stays a few steps behind, keeping pace. He looms behind you like a shadow. His presence is both comforting and unnerving, and you find yourself constantly checking over your shoulder.

"I hate this place," Crosshair grumbles. The modulator on his helmet makes him sound even more irritated. "Stay close to me."

You turn to see his head on a swivel, his posture stiff, and his hand on the blaster at his side. You can’t help but scoff, and his head snaps towards you.

"What?” he growls.

"Nothing,” you mutter back. “Just nice to know some things haven’t changed.”

“Are you going to be like this the entire time?”

You can hear the annoyance in his tone, the barely concealed frustration, and it makes you smile.

"Probably," you reply, turning down a side street.

Crosshair makes an irritated noise. It only encourages you, putting a spring in your step in an otherwise miserable situation. Maybe it's a good thing he came after all. You can practically hear him grinding his teeth, and it's hard to contain your amusement.

"I don't get it," he mutters.

"Get what?"

"This. You." He gestures vaguely, the hand not on his weapon flapping in your direction. "You're being..."

"Nice?" you suggest, glancing over your shoulder.

"Fucking obnoxious."

You laugh, the sound echoing through the empty alley. Crosshair groans, and you can see his shoulders droop in exasperation. "That's my default setting. You should know that."

"Yeah, well," he says, his voice low and rough, "I forgot."

The admission hangs in the air, and you feel a rush of... something. It's not quite guilt, or sadness, but it's not happy, either. It's an uneasy combination, and you shove the feeling down.

"Maybe I've missed this," you tease. You slow your pace, falling into step beside him. "Maybe I've missed the sound of your voice."

"You're a liar," he replies, but you can hear the humor in his tone.

"What are you talking about?" You feign innocence, but there's a playful lilt to your voice that gives you away. "I'm an honest person."

"An honest pain in the ass."

You snicker. "Maybe I've missed having someone to bother."

"You've never had trouble finding a victim," he quips, and you nudge his arm with your elbow. He pushes back, and it's almost a joke, almost a friendly gesture, and for a moment, you forget why you're even here.

"True," you concede. "But nobody else puts up with me like you do."

His helmet tilts down, and you can feel his gaze on you. You look at him, and it's impossible to see his face, but you swear there's a hint of a smile.

"Yeah," he says, and the word is almost fond. "Lucky me."

"Shut up."

You bump his arm again, and he chuckles, the sound barely audible through the filter on his helmet. It's a tender moment, a brief glimpse of the old Crosshair, the one who would banter and bicker with you for hours, and the sound of his voice pulls you back to a different time. You miss it, more than you thought possible.

"We're here," you say, interrupting the moment. You push the door open, and it swings inward, revealing a stairwell. You glance back at him, motioning him forward. He falls into step behind you, all trace of amusement gone.

"Let's get this over with," he says.

You descend into the building, the stairs creaking beneath your feet. You can see feel the tension rolling off Crosshair in waves, and he reaches over his shoulder to draw his rifle.

"Calm down, would you?" you say, and he bristles.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You said it yourself," he mutters, scanning the shadows. "I've had my fair share of trouble for a lifetime."

"That's not what I—"

You're interrupted when you reach the bottom of the stairs, and a tan Abednedo steps from the shadows, a blaster pointed in your direction. She lowers the weapon when she sees you, and a small smile crosses her lips.

“Master Jedi. Pleasure to see you again," the Abednedo drawls, holstering her blaster.

"Saaba," you nod. You nudge Crosshair hard with your elbow, and he grunts before slowly lowering his rifle. You can see his fingers flex, as if he's not sure he should put it away, and you hope he listens.

Saaba gives him a once over, the tendrils that frame her mouth twitching. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Crosshair. Cross, this is my friend, Saaba," you explain.

"A pleasure," Crosshair says, his tone dry.

"I'll admit, I'm surprised to see you've brought company." She squints, her large goggles emphasizing how she sizes him up. “And a trooper, no less. I thought they were your enemies now."

Crosshair tenses, and you can feel his anger flare. You reach for him, touching his wrist. He looks at you, and even with his helmet on, you can tell he's glaring. You shake your head, and he sighs, relaxing a little under your touch. 

You hadn't told her about Crosshair, or about the rest of the Batch. It hadn't seemed important, and you weren't sure how she'd react to knowing the man standing beside you had more than once tried to kill you.

"Things change," you say, your tone light. "He's one of the good guys now."

"Well," Saaba hums, "that's a relief. I'd hate to have to kill a friend of yours."

Crosshair shifts his weight, and he takes a step closer. "You could try."

"Easy," you say, giving his arm a squeeze before dropping your hand.

Saaba laughs. "Oh, I like this one."

"Me too," you agree, and you can't help but grin. Crosshair's helmet swivels towards you, and you can imagine the bewildered look on his face. You shrug.

"Anyway," you say, ignoring the way he's staring at you. "Let's get down to business."

"Of course." Saaba smiles. She reaches into her bag, pulling out a small data disk. "The coordinates you need. As promised."

"Thank you."

You reach for the data, but she doesn't let go, pulling you closer.

"Don't get caught." Her voice is low, and her expression is serious.

"You know me."

"Which is exactly why I'm telling you not to get caught," she says. “I told the Guild I was stripping the place for copper, and I need to report back soon, or they’ll send their own crew. But I can’t guarantee they won’t go poking around on their own.”

"Understood."

She lets go, and you step back, putting the disk in your bag. You grab a pouch, holding it out to her. "For your trouble."

She shakes her head, pushing the credits away. “I owed you one.”

You blink. “Are you sure?”

"Just don't let me regret it," she warns, but her tone is soft. You always liked Saaba, even if she could be a bit of a handful. But she was reliable, and she didn't ask questions.

"Never."

You turn, heading towards the stairs, and Crosshair follows. You don't look back, and Saaba doesn't stop you. Once you're back outside, the door swinging shut behind you, you let out a sigh.

"Well, that was easy," Crosshair drawls.

"Don't jinx it," you grumble. You shiver, tugging your soaked jacket tighter around yourself. The rain hasn't stopped, and you're beginning to realize you didn't think the weather through.

There's a rumble of thunder, and Crosshair looks up.

Great, you think, just great.

"You should have brought a coat."

"Shut up."

He laughs, a real, genuine laugh, and the sound warms you. You can't remember the last time you'd heard him laugh like that. It makes you smile, even if he is laughing at your expense.

"It's not over yet," you continue, ignoring the way your stomach flutters. "We still have to find what we're looking for, and get off planet."

"I thought you said it was going to be simple," he teases, his tone smug. It's so strange, to hear his voice sound like that again, and it feels... good.

You huff.

"It should be." You glance around the alley, noting how the rain had driven the locals inside. "It's just the retrieval that might be difficult."

He hums, and the two of you walk in silence. The rain hasn't let up, and by the time you reach the Marauder, your hair is plastered to your face. You push it aside, wringing out the water.

"Now, let's see where we're going," you say, climbing the landing ramp.

You settle in the pilot's seat, Crosshair leaning against the doorframe, and you pull the data disk from your bag. You slide the disk into the control panel, waiting as the computer loads the coordinates.

You frown, leaning forward.

“The coordinates are a few clicks south of here," you say, zooming in. “But we can’t take the Marauder there, the terrain is too rough. We'll have to go on foot.”

"On foot?" Crosshair repeats. "Through the scrapyards?"

You nod. He sighs.

"Great."

"You can stay here if you’re scared."

"I'm not scared."

"Well," you say, grabbing your bag and heading towards the exit, "I'm glad to hear it."

Crosshair grumbles, and when he passes you, he knocks his shoulder into yours. You laugh, shoving him back.

"Come on, you big baby. It's not so bad," you tease, closing the ramp behind the two of you.

He scoffs, and the sound is distorted by the rain and his helmet. 

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

As soon as the Marauder disappears from view, the rain goes from bad to worse. The cold droplets sting your face as you trudge through the mud, and the wind whips at your clothing.

The scrapyard is a dangerous place. Thousands of broken starships litter the area, stacked on top of each other in tall piles. Some of them are old, rusted from years of exposure, while others are relatively new, their hulls dented from the harsh winds. Even though you’re cold and miserable, you’re grateful for Saaba's work. If you’d gone searching yourself, it would’ve taken you years to find what you were looking for.

As you climb over a particularly large piece of debris, you glance at Crosshair. The rain is pouring, and it's put both of you in a sour mood, your prior banter forgotten.

You can feel his eyes on you as he walks behind you, and it makes you nervous.

"I'm not gonna fall," you snap, reaching the top.

"Didn't say you were."

"Then stop looking at me like I'm about to."

"What am I supposed to look at?" he asks, his tone sharp.

You glance around. There's nothing but rain and rust, and the looming shadows of the ships stacked around you. It's an eerie sight, the remains of war and violence, and you feel a chill run down your spine.

"Anything else," you grumble. You slide down the other side, and he's quick to follow.

"How much farther is this thing?"

"I don't know. Not far," you say, but the truth is, you have no idea.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Shut up, Cross."

You push your hair from your face for the thousandth time, and you can’t decide if the rain or the wind is the worst. Both make your clothing cling to your skin, and you're pretty sure you're never going to feel warm again.

"Real mature," he mutters, and you can practically feel the eyeroll. “Are you going to tell me what we’re looking for, or am I going to have to guess?”

“Guessing could be fun,” you tease, trying to distract yourself. But his patience is wearing thin, and you know it as well as you know that yours is fraying too.

"I’m not in the mood for games," he growls back. 

The taught threads of your sanity finally snap, and you stop in your tracks, your patience evaporating like the mist. Crosshair slams into you, and you stumble, barely managing to keep your footing.

"Would you watch where you're going?" he hisses, and you whirl around.

“You didn’t have to come, you know.”

The venom in your voice catches you both off guard. He falls onto his back foot, taking a step away from you. You don't let it stop you. Your anger rises, the floodgates open, and your emotions come pouring out.

“Why are you here, Crosshair?”

The question comes out harsher than you intended, and Crosshair recoils, his head jerking backwards. You can't see his face, but the tension in his frame is clear. You're not sure why you're asking, not sure if you even want an answer, but the words spill from your lips regardless.

He doesn't say anything.

You cross your arms, waiting. The wind howls, the rain hammering down around you, and his silence drags on. He stands there, the rain pinging off his armor, his shoulders hunched.

Finally, he speaks, and the words are strained. 

“I told you. It’s my job to keep an eye on you."

You scoff. "Is that really all?"

"Yes," he says, taking a step closer. "Why else would I be here? Do you think I enjoy freezing my ass off, traipsing around in the mud?"

"No," you reply flatly. "But I don't believe you, either."

Crosshair sighs, and his helmet tilts skyward. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Something true, for once," you say, stepping into his space. "Because if protecting me is your job, you're fucking awful at it."

He flinches, and the movement is so slight you almost miss it. You regret the words the moment they leave your mouth, but you can't help but double down. You've been holding it back, all this anger and hurt, and the dam breaks.

“I’ve been hurt dozens of times since you left, at least once by your hand." Your voice rises, and he's motionless, his entire body stiff.

Your hands shake, and you clench them into fists, the ache in your knuckles a welcome distraction. He's still staring at the ground, and your temper flares. Something within you snaps.

"You left, and you didn’t come back. And now, what, you show up here, with some bullshit excuse, and act like nothing ever happened?"

"I can't—"

"I don't care," you cut him off, and your voice is cold. "I don't care what you have to say. You had your chance. You should've stayed away."

Crosshair recoils as though he's been slapped, and for a moment, he doesn't move.

You're frozen, too, the weight of the words hanging in the air. You hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant to say any of it, but you were tired.

Tired of his excuses, of his lies, and his refusal to acknowledge what had happened.

You were tired of hurting.

And in that moment, you didn't care if he knew it.

You can't see his face, but you don't need to. You can feel the tension rolling off him in waves, can feel his rage, and it mirrors your own.

You stand there, staring at each other, your anger a palpable thing, and a part of you is relieved. It's the first real emotion he's shown, the first real indication he's been anything other than indifferent, and you're glad. You wanted a reaction, and you got one.

The thought is quickly quashed when he speaks.

"Maybe I should've," he growls. The pain in his voice underneath the anger takes you by surprise. "Then I wouldn't have to deal with your fucking mess."

His words sting, more than they should, and you hate yourself for it. He's always been good at that, cutting deep with his words, and it's something you'd hoped would change.

You should've known better.

"Well, then," you begin, and your voice is quiet, a contrast to the anger simmering below the surface. "I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you."

You turn, and he grabs your arm, stopping you.

"Don't—"

"Don't what?" you ask, whirling around. You yank your arm from his grasp, and his hand drops.

He doesn't reply. You don't move, the rain pelting the ground around you, and the wind whipping at your clothing. Crosshair doesn't say anything, doesn't try to explain himself, and you can't stop the anger from boiling over again.

"Don't go? Don't leave? Why shouldn't I? Why do you care? It's not like you cared about me when—"

"You don't know what you're talking about," he interrupts sharply.

"No!" you shout. Lightning cracks in the distance, the flash illuminating the metal around you. "You're the one who doesn't know."

"You think I don't know what happened?" His tone is hard, his words clipped. "You think I haven't had to live with that? With knowing what I did to you?"

"Don't you dare." You jab a finger into his chest, and he takes a step back. His shoulders tense, and you can tell he's furious, but you can't stop.

"You don't get to act like that's some big burden you've been carrying around."

"I have!"

"So have I!"

Crosshair is silent, and you can tell he's taken aback by your admission. He shifts, his weight moving from foot to foot, and his hands clench and unclench at his sides. He doesn't say anything, his attention shifting from the ground, to the sky, and back again.

The wind blows, and you shiver. You tug your jacket tighter around yourself as the adrenaline starts to wear off. You don't speak, waiting for him to respond.

"I'm trying," he says after a beat, his tone sharp. "I'm trying, and I don't know what else you want from me."

"Not hard enough," you spit back.

"How the hell am I supposed to—"

"You're not," you interrupt. "Not anymore."

He goes still, his entire body rigid. For a moment, the rain is the only sound, battering against the scrap metal and his helmet. His fists clench, and he shakes his head. He lets out a long, slow breath, and the mist from his vocoder obscures your vision.

"I never thought you would forgive me." His voice is low, barely audible over the howling wind. "I just hoped you wouldn't hate me forever."

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. There's a lump in your throat, and you can't swallow. Your chest aches, and your fingers tingle, and it takes everything in you to remain upright.

"I don't hate you," you say, and your voice is a whisper. "But I wish I did."

The words are painful to admit, and you're not sure what's worse: saying them out loud, or knowing they're true.

His hand lifts, as though he's going to touch your face, and the movement is so gentle, so careful, that it makes you ache. Then, his hand drops, and his fingers curl into a fist, and he lets out a frustrated huff. 

You can see his hand shake, a reminder that the Empire took something from him, too, and you feel a sudden surge of guilt. But you can’t bring yourself to apologize, can't force the words past your lips, and so you just stand there, watching him. 

The silence stretches on, and you can feel the cold steep into your bones, and you’re tired of waiting for Crosshair, so you turn and start to walk away.

You barely take a step when he speaks, and his voice is pained.

“I’m sorry,” he says, barely audible in the wind.

You stop, your feet sinking into the mud, and your breath catches. The apology is so unexpected, so raw, you feel it in your chest.

You want to look at him, but you can't.

You're afraid that if you do, he'll see right through you, and you'll have to acknowledge that despite your best efforts, your anger has faded, replaced by something else.

So you don't look at him. Instead, you stare at the ground, at the way the mud oozes around your boots.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, and his voice cracks. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I didn't— I don't expect you to forgive me, but I'm sorry."

He takes a deep breath, and you can hear it, the way his lungs stutter. It catches on something inside of you, and your eyes burn.

"I don't want you to hate me," he says. The words are so soft, so quiet, that you almost miss them. "And I know I deserve it. But don't. Please."

"You should've thought about that before you shot me."

He's quiet, the only sound the rain and the wind, and it's obvious the words hit him hard. A part of you regrets it, regrets being so cruel, but another part, a darker part, wants to hurt him. Wants him to feel the pain you've felt since the day he left.

"I know," he says, and there's a note of resignation in his tone. "And I will regret it every day for the rest of my life."

You turn, and his helmet is pointed at the ground.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, that it was the only thing I could do. But I was wrong, and I made a mistake, and I have to live with that." His voice is low, his words heavy, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. "If I could take it back, I would. In a heartbeat."

You blink, the tears burning the back of your eyes, and you fight the urge to turn away. You swallow hard, the pressure behind your eyes so intense that it hurts, before you ask, "Why are you telling me this?"

He lifts his head to meet your gaze. "Because you deserve to know."

"And what do you deserve?"

"Nothing."

It's immediate, so assured and without hesitation that you nearly stumble back.

"I deserve nothing," he continues, and his tone is so self-loathing, so full of hatred, that it makes your chest tighten. 

Your mouth opens, but the words don’t come, and you can't think. You want to scream, want to shout, want to hit him, to comfort him, to apologize, and it's too much, and you don't know what to do.

His words hang between you, the gravity of the situation dawning on you.

He really believes it.

He truly thinks that he deserves nothing.

That he deserves no forgiveness, no mercy, no sympathy, no second chance.

And as much as you want to be angry, as much as you want to hate him, it hurts to see him like this. To see him so resigned, so accepting, that he's willing to take whatever punishment you deem fit.

Your anger fades, and you can feel the fight draining out of you. You let out a long sigh, and the tension in your frame eases. "Cross—"

"Don't." He raises a hand, cutting you off. "Just...don't."

Your mouth closes. The rain batters the metal around you, the wind whips your hair around your face, and it's impossible to keep the tears from spilling over. They mix with the rain, and you wipe them away.

He lowers his hand. "Come on. Let's keep moving."

Crosshair pushes past you, his shoulder bumping yours. He starts to walk, his strides long and purposeful, and the space where his armor touched your arm tingles.

You hesitate before you follow him, and the rest of the walk is spent in silence. Your boots sink into the mud, and the rain beats against your hood. By the time you reach the coordinates, you're shivering, and the rain has started to sleet.

Your feet slip on the icy ground, and you stumble. Crosshair catches your arm, steadying you. You look up, meeting his gaze through the visor of his helmet, and your heart twists in your chest.

"Thanks," you mumble, pulling away.

He says nothing, turning his attention back to the ruins. The star destroyer is huge, the metal hull jutting up from the mud. The bridge has long since broken away, but the main section remains intact. You make your way to the hull, searching for an entrance.

You can feel him watching you, and you wonder if he's thinking about what you said, if he regrets his words, and your stomach twists.

You shouldn't care, not after everything he's done, but the thought of him thinking he deserves nothing, nothing at all, makes you feel sick. You know he does, and it hurts, because there's a part of you that still cares about him.

A part of you that's always cared.

And no matter how many times he's hurt you, that won't change.

You've wanted nothing more than to put the past behind you, to forget the hurt and the pain and the loss. And here is Crosshair, finally willing to talk, to apologize, and all you've done is push him away.

And despite how angry you are, how hurt, you're tired of fighting. You're tired of running from the past, and tired of letting it define who you are.

You take a deep breath, and then another. It's not too late, you tell yourself.

"Here."

You find a service hatch, and you pull it open, slipping inside. The metal groans as your feet hit the ground, and you narrowly avoid a gap in the floor. The interior of the ship is dark, and the only light comes from the holes in the ceiling. Crosshair follows you, and his rifle scans the room.

"It's clear," he says, lowering the weapon.

"Good," you say, wiping the sleet from your jacket.

You start down the hallway, searching the rooms as you go. The ship is in disarray, the furniture overturned and the walls peppered with blaster fire.

There’s a scorched line carved into a wall, and you wince at the sight, your feet slowing to a stop to examine it. You don't have to touch it to know what happened here, and your eyes burn.

You turn, startled to find Crosshair directly behind you. He stares down at you, his posture stiff. "What is it?"

"I..." You're not sure how to respond. He must sense your hesitation, because his head tilts, and you can feel his eyes on you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice surprisingly soft.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he says, and his words take you by surprise.

You cross your arms, looking away. The hallway is dark, and the silence between you stretches on. You're not sure what you expected, but you didn't think he'd call you out. "Cross..."

"No," he repeats, stepping closer. "Don't. Talk to me."

You open your mouth, then close it.

"Talk to me," he says again, more firmly.

Shaking your head, you turn and start walking. He trails behind, the metal creaking beneath his boots, and the sound echoes around the corridor. The hallway splits, and you go right. The lights flicker, the wiring exposed, and the darkness seems to seep in from the edges of your vision.

"It's the burn marks," Crosshair says, after a moment, his voice low.

You stop.

"In the walls," he adds, when you don't respond. "That's why you stopped, isn't it?"

You turn, and he's standing there, his helmet tilted, his posture rigid. He says your name quietly. “What are we really here for?”

You sigh. There isn’t any fight left in you, not now, and you can’t bring yourself to lie. 

“My Master’s body.”

Crosshair inhales sharply, and his shoulders tense. He doesn’t move, and the silence is stifling.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would it have changed anything?"

He pauses, considering. "Maybe," he says, his voice low, "but I still would've helped you."

Your fingers twitch at your side. It's a struggle, but you keep your emotions in check. You're not sure if he's being honest, if he's telling the truth, and the uncertainty makes your stomach twist, tangling with the grief that threatens to swallow you whole.

"I couldn't..." You trail off, your throat tight.

You don't have the energy to lie, and your eyes burn. You want to say it, want to tell him how much it hurts, but the words are lodged in your throat. You're afraid, afraid that once you start, you won't be able to stop, and the fear keeps the truth from spilling out.

The moment stretches on, and his fingers brush your shoulder. It's a simple touch, one that's barely there, and it's so unexpected that it takes you by surprise.

He squeezes gently, and the contact is grounding, comforting, and it feels so good that it makes your chest ache.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice is thick with emotion.

You turn, and his helmet is tilted downwards. You know he's looking at you, his eyes boring into you with a heaviness you can't decipher.

"I need to find him," you whisper. You hate how vulnerable you sound. His hand tightens on your shoulder, and you swallow. "I need to..."

"We'll find him," he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument.

"Thank you," you manage. The words sound strange coming from your mouth.

He nods, releasing your shoulder. You miss his touch, and you have the urge to reach for him, to take his hand, but you push it down.

"We'll find him," he repeats.

You nod, and the two of you continue down the corridor. The hallway opens up into a larger room, and you glance around, looking for a clue, a sign, anything. But the sleet has left the space dark, blocking the light from the windows.

"There's nothing here," you say, defeated.

"There has to be," Crosshair insists.

You turn to look at him, and his helmet is pointed in your direction. He's staring at you, the intensity of his gaze causing your skin to prickle.

"There's nothing," you repeat.

"We'll keep looking."

"There's nothing, Cross."

"We'll keep looking," he repeats, and the steel in his voice is enough to make you waver.

You shake your head, frustrated, but before you can speak, the ground lurches beneath your feet.

"What the—"

Crosshair's arm wraps around your waist, and he yanks you forward, his grip on your jacket so tight you're sure it's going to rip. The ship groans, and the ground lurches again, and this time, you can hear the sound of metal scraping against metal.

"Shit," you mutter, gripping his shoulders. "The ground, it's—"

"I know."

You look down, and the ground beneath you is shifting. You can see the cracks spreading, and the ship starts to tilt, and you realize the ground isn't the only thing that's changing.

"We need to move," you say.

Crosshair doesn't need to be told twice, and the two of you start toward the hallway. You're not fast enough, though, and the ground shifts violently, the force of the impact sending you flying.

You scream, and Crosshair curses. He lunges, wrapping an arm around your waist, and your body slams into his.

The two of you hit the ground hard, and the impact knocks the wind from your lungs. You roll, and your stomach drops as the ground disappears beneath you. Crosshair grunts, and his hand digs into your hip, holding onto you tightly. The ship tips, and you slide down the slick metal floor, heading straight for the gaping chasm.

You let out a panicked cry, and the world goes sideways as Crosshair grabs onto a railing. You can see the bottom of the ship, hundreds of feet below, and you have a fleeting moment of panic.

Your command of the Force is still shaky, and there's a good chance that the two of you will plummet to your deaths if you try to slow your descent. Your heart is in your throat, but then Crosshair pulls, his grip strong, and he hauls you over the edge. 

Your boots scrape against the ground as he pulls you upwards, and you feel your feet catch on the edge. You gasp, relieved, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He pulls the two of you onto the platform, and his arms wrap around you, crushing you against his chest.

"Are you hurt?" he pants, his chest heaving.

You shake your head, and you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to him, and you realize he's trembling.

"I've got you," he says. "It's okay, I've got you."

Crosshair doesn't let go, and his breathing is ragged. Your hands curl around his shoulders, and you lean into him, the contact calming. You can feel his heartbeat, and the rhythm is quick, erratic. You stay like that for a long moment, neither of you moving.

You're not sure who moves first, but his arms relax, and you shift, pulling away. He releases you, his hands sliding to your waist. He's still shaking, and his helmet is tilted downward, his gaze focused on you.

"Are you okay?" you ask, and your voice is a little too high.

He nods. "I'm fine."

Your lips press into a thin line, and he must notice your disbelief, because he lets out a shaky laugh. "I will be," he amends.

You nod, and you can't seem to look away. He's still gripping your waist, and his gloves are slick with rain. You can feel his fingers digging into your skin, and despite the chill, the contact is grounding.

"You saved me," you say, your voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah."

You're not sure what to say. There's a part of you that wants to thank him, a part of you that wants to pull him close and wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. It's a strange feeling, one that you haven't felt in a long time, and you struggle to push it down.

Instead, you say the only thing you can think of. "Thanks."

He shrugs, as though it's no big deal. "It's my job."

"No, it's not."

"Yes," Crosshair starts, his tone firm. You blink, and he's leaning down, his helmet inches from your face. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your fingers curl into his shoulders. His grip tightens on your waist, and you can feel his breath through his vocoder. "It is."

"I—"

"We can argue about this, or we can keep going."

"Right." You nod, pulling away. His grip lingers, and then his hands fall, and you feel cold without them. "I mean, you're right."

You can hear him exhale, and he pushes himself up, holding a hand out to you. 

"I usually am," he says as he hauls you to your feet, and there's a hint of a smile in his voice.

"Asshole," you mutter, pushing past him.

"Brat," he says, following close behind.

You climb through a hole in the floor, and you're surprised to find the hallway intact. You walk cautiously, your senses alert, and your steps are slow. The hallway ends at a door, and the panel is cracked, but the lock still works.

The door slides open, revealing a small, dimly lit room. A window looks out onto the snow, and there's a bed, and a chair, and a desk. You look around, and a lump forms in your throat. The bed is made, the covers neatly tucked. A holoprojector sits on the desk, and a stack of books is piled in the corner.

"This was his quarters," you say.

Crosshair doesn't answer, and the quiet is unnerving. You cross the room, your heart hammering in your chest. You stand beside the bed, and your hands curl into fists. You can feel his presence behind you, but he doesn't speak.

"What do we do now?" you ask, your voice sounding far away to your ears.

"Look for clues," he says. "Anything that could point us to where his body is."

You nod, and the two of you search the room. You're not sure what to expect, and you're not even sure what you're looking for. You pick up a datapad on the bed, but the device is blank.

Crosshair is rummaging through the desk drawers, and you walk over to him. He's looking at an open drawer, head tilted. You peer around him, and your breath catches in your throat.

There's a few pieces of flimsi, and a stylus, and a data card. But what makes your heart skip a beat is the stone. It's small, no bigger than your palm, and the surface is smooth, black with a white streak bisecting it.

"I can't believe he kept it," you say, and your voice cracks.

"Kept what?" Crosshair asks, and you can hear the confusion in his voice.

"The stone. I gave it to him when I was a Padawan."

"Why?"

"I don't know," you admit. "I was always giving him gifts. I used to think they were the only way he'd know I cared about him."

Crosshair looks down at you, and his voice is softer than you've ever heard it. "I'm sure he knew."

"You think so?" you ask, and your eyes burn.

"Yeah."

You nod, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill down your cheeks.

"It's just..." Your voice trails off, and you clear your throat, trying to dislodge the lump that's formed.

"It's okay," he says, his hand resting on your shoulder.

"No, it's not. He's dead, Cross, and I wasn't here. I was supposed to be here, but I wasn't."

"That's not your fault," he says, and his other hand lifts, resting on your opposite shoulder.

"I know, but..."

"You couldn't have done anything."

"But I—"

"Stop." His voice is firm, and his grip on your shoulders tightens.

"Cross..."

"Shut up and listen," he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. "You did the best you could. You were fighting a war, you were doing what was right."

You nod, but the guilt is overwhelming. You force yourself to look up at him. His hands are still on your shoulders, and his helmet is tilted down, his gaze on you.

"It wasn't your fault," he repeats.

His thumbs press gently against the hollow of your collarbones, and his touch is soothing. You take a shaky breath, and his grip loosens, one hand sliding from your shoulder to your face. His thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a tear. You inhale sharply, and his fingers cup your jaw, and you lean into his touch.

"Thank you," you manage, your voice breaking.

"It's going to be okay," he says. "I promise."

"Cross—"

"I mean it," he says. Crosshair grabs your hand, and you let him manipulate your fingers until only your littlest one remains facing up. He curls his around yours, squeezing gently.

"Promise?"

He nods. "Promise."

Your lips twitch up, and he squeezes your finger again, his grip firm. His other hand cups the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, and he pulls you against his chest, holding you tight. You wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest plate.

You stay like that for a moment, closing your eyes as his fingers run through your hair. You sigh, leaning into him, and you can hear his breathing through his vocoder. His hands are warm, and he's solid, and he smells like leather, and blaster oil, and rain.

"We should keep looking," you say, but you don't want him to let go.

Crosshair hesitates, then nods, his grip on your hair loosening. His hand slides from the back of your head to your jaw, and he tilts your chin up, staring down at you.

"Okay?"

You nod, and his thumb strokes the apple of your cheek. His touch is so soft, and you can feel his gaze on you. He lingers, and you wonder if he's going to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, his fingers tighten on your face, and he leans down.

His forehead presses against yours, and his hands fall away. He exhales, and his breath fans across your lips before he pulls away.

The absence of his touch leaves you cold, and your chest aches, the space between your ribs feeling too tight. You blink, and Crosshair is gone, already walking across the room.

He starts rummaging through the closet, and you shake yourself, clearing your throat. You turn to the desk, and you pick up the stone. Your thumb runs over the surface, feeling its imperfections. 

Suddenly, you gasp. A memory flashes through your mind, one that doesn't belong to you.

"What is it?" Crosshair asks, instantly alert.

"I know where he is."

Taglist: @covert1ntrovert @bruh-myguy-what @huntersnikeheadband @thebadbatchfan @absolfan @winchesters-girl @sukithebean @spicy-clones @arctrooper69 @qvnthesia

[huntingrays]

so many people forget that apollo told jason that leo was alive, so no he didn’t die thinking he’d get to see leo again. he died knowing he’d never get to see leo again and leo lived thinking he saved himself and his best friend and that they would get to reunite again

and that’s much sadder

like, imagine? (i haven’t reread toa so apologies if im forgetting anything)

he knew he had to die because he couldn’t allow it to be piper. he heard that leo was alive but likely knew he’d never get to see him again before he died so piper wouldn’t have die. he realized that it would always have to be like this, that in the end one of them had to die. leo escaped death, so it fell back on jason’s shoulders. jason couldn’t even be mad. he knew he’d always take it, that he would die for leo in every universe. leo thought he could outsmart the prophecy but, like every other person from the tales, he simply made it come true

he had his regrets, though

he regretted he couldn’t fulfill his promise to the minor gods. he regretted he couldn’t be a normal teenager. he regretted he couldn’t see leo one last time before he died. he regretted that leo would inevitably blame himself for jason’s death. he regretted that he would force piper to deal with the death of her best friends twice

but most of all? he regretted that he didn’t realize his feelings sooner. he wished that he knew his time with leo was limited. if he did, he would have told him how much he meant to him. if he knew, he would have told him he loved him

[blue-boxes-magic-and-tea]

sometimes i wonder if i would’ve survived seeing lockwood reject and separate himself from lucy like in the hollow boy. like … would i have survived that or just imploded on the spot? seeing it all before my eyes i think would’ve hurt so bad idk if i would’ve made it

[bylrndgm]

JULIE AND THE PHANTOMS (2020) // JULIE E OS FANTASMAS (2011) 1.01 - Wake Up // 1.01 - Enfrentando Fantasmas -> Julie meets the Band.

[respectthepetty]

The Rebound is going to be everything I wanted it to be!

Golf is doing the damn thing as usual by bringing back the Cafe for All plus a good story!

So I have faith that I'm getting the sports romance that I deserve!

It's giving me brotherly conflict that revolves around attaining one's dreams versus family obligations.

And everyone is struggling here! Zen has multiple jobs, Ryu is hustling, Coach might have a drinking problem, and his daughter is walking around with holes in her bra because a new bra? en esta economia?

I'm getting color coding all over the place because in the present, Zen is light while Ryu is dark, which makes sense because Zen is far more optimistic.

But I'm also getting MORE colors since Atom is a Green Guy (peep his watch), so he'll hopefully be a chill, easy-going guy even though he has daddy issues.

Ryu is a loyal Blue Boy, which is probably why he has been helping his brother out so much and will help Zen out.

And Zen is the optimistic and communicative Yellow/Orange Oddity.

But I think he'll be more orange

Like that basketball patch he sewed on Ryu's jacket!

I like the potential of the side couple since one is pouty and the other is a jerk.

And I'm LOUDLY rooting for my ghost ship of these former championship teammates to turn into something more since the principal clearly wants to help out his down-on-his-luck "friend"

And I'm quietly rooting for these two because even though one is a clear baddie, I think Q could calm him down

Because we all know how a boy is calmed down in BL Land *cough* sex *cough*

Basically, I am seated, sat, satted, sitted, and here for this! Ryu and Zen love each other, I love them, and I'm going to love this because teamwork makes the dream work.

LET'S GO!

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Static

This is a drabble I have been planning for a while and I finally know how I want to write it :3

Are you ready?

First Drabble here (with original prompt by @spotaus ) Prev Drabble here Next Drabble here

You see.... there was still something that hadden been addressed :3 Something about how Dust was dealing with the pressure and looks and backstory he has to follow :3

No beta and no edit. (also it is a big boy woops)

Timeline is that Nightmare was deaged like 4 months ago. One month in farmtale

*---------------*

Cross isn't sure how to deal with the tension in the air.

The bickering between Killer and Dust isn't making it any better.

Okay, Cross has got to be honest. It is much as much bickering as it is Killer being annoying and Dust trying to ignore him.

It had started this morning wiht Dust being more anti-social than usual. Easy to note by the fact that he had darkened the inside of his hoody.

Dust hadn't said a single word the whole day even as he went through the motions perfectly.

Cross is enver sure how to help in these moments. The moments which Horror once explained where most likely the times when the maybe ghost maybe hallucination of Dust's brother were extra loud.

Cross isn't even sure what that situation is. He asked everyone but Dust about it and no one really knows for sure if the Papyrus haunting Dust is actually a ghost. Or if it is a hallucination made of his own guilt. From what Cross heard from the others Dust isn't sure either.

The fact remains. They had tried to help in the ways they usually do. Cross tried to stay near in case he wanted something but mostly kept quiet. Cross tried to be a quiet reminder that Dust isn't alone and isn't whereever he was before.

Horror makes Dust's favourites and gently bullies him into eating and taking care of himself.

Killer tries to distract him.

Killer's tactis either goes very well or very wrong. At least Cross has been told that.

Cross has seen the two fight obviously but as soon as one manages to down the other the fight ends. The winner will be smug in their own way, Killer by loudly proclaiming victory while Dust will just have this smug little smile on his face.

The first time they just tackled one another to fight Cross had been worried. But after getting Horror and asking him what to do he had reassured Cross that this was just something the two did. For Dust it helps unload some of his large magic levels and overcharge and for Killer... welll Horror isn't sure about Killer, he assumes Killer just likes fighting or the attention with fighting.

Cross watches as Killer hangs all over Dust and yaps away about something. Cross can see that the fork Dust is holding is slowly but surely starting to curve under the pressure of Dust's phalanges.

Cross can see that Crop is a lot more nervous as he looks between the two worried before looking at Horror. Horror shrugs at the unspoken question.

Cross turns to check on Nightmare and sees him looking at the two with a frown. Cross grins and nudges him "No need to frown. Just them being silly again." he smiles.

Nightmare looks at him before looking back at the two. The frown not leaving "no... it isn't."

Cross is immediantly more worried, and he already was worried! He studies the two and notices that Dust is breathing very shallowly. Cross looks at Horror and signs it quickly to him.

Horror has a look of alarm on his face before slowly, and very carefully, inching closer "Come on Killer. That is enough. Not in the kitchen."

Killer grins cheerfully, completely unaware of the ticking timebomb he is hanging over "oooooh! here comes your knight in shining armour Dusty!"

Dust's fist twitches and Cross can see the fork fold over completely. Oh no.

Killer continues on as he leans on the other "Princess Dusty, getting saved and needing protection-"

And Killer flies over the table right into the stone wall, leaving large cracks on it. Dust follows two seconds after and punches him straight on the face.

Horror gets to Dust and tries to pull him off only to be turned blue and pushed away. Horror manages to fight the force but is still pushed away.

Cross doesn't think as he grabs Nightmare and backs up against the wall on the other side of the room. Even as Nightmare makes an unhappy noise and reaches for Dust. Nope! Not save right now!

Dust stands there panting heavily as mana and magic crack like electricity over him. Fuck. He is overcharged with magic. Fuck they are idiots to not realise that was going to happen soon. Fuck fuck fuck.

Horror somehow still looks calm even with the two different coloured eye lights staring straight at him from under the dark hood. "It is okay... we just ened to go out and-"

Dust huffs "Don't fucking bother." he sounds furious. He glances around the room and looks into Cross's direction for a moment. Dust looks away with a flinch and he is out of the room.

The front door slams shut.

Horror is by Killer as he helps him up. Killer groans as he rubs his skull "okay... maybe i was pushing it... again."

Horror gives him a 'no shit' look before checking his wounds.

Cross glances at Crop who had backed out of the kitchen and now inches back in "is everyone okay? what... waht was that?!" he waves at the front door.

Horror sighs as he rubs his skull "Overcharge... Dust has a lot of LV, EXP, magic and mana. Even with his buffed stats it gets a lot and he needs to release the steam or well... it goes off." he glances around "Sorry for your kitchen..."

Crop nods as he looks at the frontdoor "is it... safe for him?"

Horror nods as he looks into the same direction "It is... just dumb i forgot he would need to discharge...." he sighs.

Killer groans as he gets up "We all forgot. We have been busy and well... I think Dusty forgot as well."

A tug on his sleeve and Cross looks down at Nightmare. Nightmare just looks at him "Can I go to Dust?"

Cross feels panicked "no?! Just let him discharge Nightmare. You know he will be fine."

Nightmare shakes his skull as he looks at the frontdoor "It seemed different... I can't explain." a frown on his face of frustration.

Cross frowns as he looks at Horror and Killer. They share looks before moving towards the front door.

A loud boom of thunder and they open it to stare.

A large vortext of pure black clouds with purple lightning. SLowly but surely swirling to somewhere above the fields.

Crop whistles "Well then... I never saw that much magic before." he frowns and points "That normal?"

Cross follows the direction as he sees small zaps and static all in the air, all that same purple colour.

Killer shakes his skull "No that isn't normal... fuck I need to apologise..." he rubs his skull before quickly looking at Nightmare "don't repeat that." Nightmare shoots him an annoyed look.

Killer grins back before walking towards the stairs of the porch with purpose. only to get zapped as soon as he gets off the wood. Killer yelps and rushes back to stand behind Horror. glaring at the air "Rude! What the hell Dusty!"

horror frowns at him "hurt?"

Killer shakes his skull "More like a tiny zap when you are like static and stuff." he frowns and looks at the air "Though i don't know how that will be once that gets worse..."

Cross frowns as he follows Killer's sight. Cross can admit he is also worried. if this gets much worse it can spell very bad news.. not to forget that it has never been this bad before... Is this just what happened if they don't help him remember to discharge in time? Is Dust even okay with this much pressure and magic going on?

Cross frowns as he hands Nightmare to Horror "You guys stay here. Help Crop with the kitchen and keep Ngihtmare safe." just in case.

Ngihtmare glares as he is put down "I am safe!"

Cross nods and stares at Killer and Horror "I am going to go to help and try to get him to calm down and discharge safely." a spar usually works best.

Horror frowns as he shakes his skull "I will just come back if it goes wrong."

Cross shoots him a look "I got better stats and have the endurance to keep dodging to get through the worst. Killer has a straight up bullseye by his sternum and he annoyed Dust already. YOu may come back but do you really want to do that to Dust?" Horror frowns but nods his agreement. Cross nods himself "just keep an eye on Nightmare and-"

"See? Perfectly safe."

They all turn only to stare. Becuase Nightmare is just standing off of the porch. in the middle of the static. But nothing happens. the static follows along his body but never zaps him. Nightmare looks unamused "I will go to dusty and fix this."

Cross shakes his skull as he gets off the porch. Fuck the zapping is almost constant. He gets ot Nightmare and picking him up gives him a much much much larger and slightly painful zap. Cross breaths through it "No. You are going to stay here and wait. This is our mess so we will fix it ourselves." he nuzzles the small skull "We got this."

Nightmare looks unhappy to doesn't fight being handing back to Horror, Horror flinches at the zap but takes it in stride.

Cross nods to the others and goes into the direction of the large vortex of clouds.

The zapping is honestly just annoying. It helps that Cross can see none of his HP dropping even as he gets closer and closer.

He ends up finding Dust in the wheat field, well in a circle of completely vaporized wheat. the current and magic having turned the plants and part of the ground into ash. Dust just stands there. muttering as crackles of lighting go all along his body.

Cross gulps before stealing himself "Hey Dust!"

Dust freezes. Okay! Good news! Dust can still hear him! not too far gone!

Cross smiles and feels a bit braver "sorry we didn't realise... want to spar? Blow off a bit of steam?"

Dust tilts his skull but nothing. okay wait! Cross knows what this means!

Cross speaks louder "don't listen to whatever he says!" Dust doesn't react. Cross takes a step closer "please. whatever he says it isn't true or real oaky? Or at least not the full truth and-"

Dust chuckles and stares at him "What? Think i ened fucking protection from him?"

Cross blinks and opens and clsoes his mouth. Not sure what to say "I... euh... maybe?" is this a trick question?

Dust looks displeased by his answer. That is fair Cross couldn't commit to either answer. Dust huffs "Don't fucking bother. I am fine."

Cross frowns and feels braver again. No time for self doubt. Dust needs his help. Cross steps clsoer "You aren't fine."

Dust glares back at him "I am fine!" crackles and the ring of vaporized wheat grows bigger. Oh man Cross hopes Crop won't lose too much money thanks to that.

Cross gulps but keeps going closer "It is okay Dust... If it hurts i can heal you!" his healing is weak but he can still heal! "We just need to get you to use some magic and-"

Dust snaps "You want to see fucking magic!" and it crackles loudly as a snap of lightning crashed just by Dust's feet. Cross yelps and feels afraid it did damage but Dust seems fine even as the energy from the lightning travels through the ground. A loud whine of magic nad Cross sees an overgrown blaster right by Dust's shoulder.

Dust hisses "leave. me. alone."

The blaster blasts and Cross dodges. After the dodge Cross actually feels reassured.

You see?

If Dust wants to hit you. He will hit you. The fact he gave Cross enough time to get ready to dodge and didn't change the direction of the beam to still hit him gives Cross hope.

Cross glares back "I am not leaving." not again. He is not giving up on them again.

Dust glares as more blasters appear "You think I won't do it?! You think I am fucking weak?!"

...Weak?

Cross blinks "No? You are like one of the strongest mosnters I know..." Cross has seen Dust fight Ink 1v1 and win. Dust weak? Why would he ever think that? Who would ever think that?

Dust laughs and more crackles in the air as the static grows. Dust's face becomes visible and he smiles sharply at him "That is quite a different answer than you gave before!"

before? When?! Cross never said Dust was weak!

Cross doesn't really have a chance to dodge. Because even if Dust gives him time to see the attacks coming Cross sitll has to dodge them himself.

Dust growls as he charges more attacks "Helpless? Weak? Useless? come on! You can tell me! I already figured it out anyway! With the endless hovering and shadowing!" another blast.

It clicks.

They are fucking idiots!

Cross looks at him panicked "It is just an backstory!" Dust had said no. They still pushed and he had been unhappy wiht it.

They thought it was fine.

But then again. It isn't Cross who has to deal with it with every interaction he has...

Shit. They are assholes.

Cross barely dodges another blast and Dust frowns a tiny bit. He pulls his arm a bit back and a few blasters hold their fire "Well?! Still weak?! Still useless!?"

Cross needs to do something.

And well, the answer is obvious.

Cross gets ready for his sprint. He needs all the speed he can get. Dust sees him hold his own run and rolls his eye lights before shooting at him with a sneer on his face.

Cross runs straight at Dust, straight at the blast. Dust's sockets and eye lights widen and he has to pull hard at his own magic. the air crackles angerly as the blast changes directions just before it hits Cross.

Cross gets right up into Dust's personal space and locks his arms around the other.

Dust snarls and tries to free himself but Cross has more physical strenght than he has and Cross has a good hold on him with locking his arms to his side.

Dust screams and wiggles "Let me go!"

Cross shakes his skull and pushes close to the other "No. I am not letting go of you." not of you. not of nightmare. not of the others. No. He isn't letting go.

Struggling and more screaming. Blasters going off but without his arms he can't aim them right. Dust goes as far as trying to kick, scratch and even bite him but Cross just keeps holding on. Refusing to give up or give in.

The storm around them calms slowly and eventually Dust goes lax in his arms. still some uneasy crackles far above them but the vortex disappeared and the clouds turned more of a dark grey colour.

It starts to rain and this is when Cross thinks it would be safe to let him go. Not that he does. Cross keeps holding on.

Dust isjust lax in his hold. Not saying a word and Cross doens't even know how to say what he wants to say. That he is sorry for pushing. For not helping Dust think of a new plan. So being so okay with Dust having had to carry most of the burding concerning their back story. and later more responsiblity about money. and before that even with taking care of nightmare. All wihtout Cross even trying to help him.

Cross had just... liked the idea of the backstory. That Dust came to them for help, that Cross had a bit of the savior role in the story... Just like he had enjoyed the idea of some people thinking he and dust had a kid together. Just like he enjoys the idea that everyone knows the four of them are an unit and won't separate... Cross is a jerk.

He still isn't sure what to say "... We can probably change the backstory still..." Instead he just talks.

Dust just sounds tired "We can't..."

Cross shakes his skull and just tightens his hold "No we totally can!" think think think "We... we... we can just be that... that i was the one with the ex! But that i hadn't been sure about a kid... and so i just left but regretted it and found out about the bad stuff..." he is just rambling "So i went back and got you guys for help but nightmare had been so young so he didn't remember me and i was still weird about being a father but you were great at it so you and nightmare bonded and so we just kinda told him it was you and... and..." Cross doesn't know. he is stuck and can't think.

Dust snorts against his shoulder "People will hate that... they won't trust us in anyway if they 'found out' we lied..."

Cross gulps and knows he is right. still... "I am sorry... I should have told killer to stuff it when he oppered."

Dust shrugs "Could have done that myself..."

They continue to sit there in the rain. Cross trying to think of some way to fix this mess.

Dust sighs "It is fine... just... stupid... got the best of me... won't happen again."

Cross feels even worse "I am sorry..."

Dust tries to pull back, probably to shoot him a look of some kind but Cross just keeps holding him tighter. No. Not letting go.

Dust sighs and gives in rather easily "I know why... it is fine..."

Cross shakes his skull "you are overworked... and we were to dumb to see."

Dust lets out an annoyed sigh again "I don't need a babysitter. I should be able to take care of myself just fine cross."

Cross feels tears appear but pusehs them back "It isn't being a babysitter you moron! It is about being friends and looking out for one another and not being a dumb idiot to forget one of your friends also needs help!"

silence.

Cross just keeps going "We shouldn't have pushed the backstory. WHen you said no we should ahve just accepted that! You were uncomfortable wiht that plan. YOu are still uncomfortable wiht it. it isn't fair that we kept pushing and you had to brun for it."

Cross feels himself start to ramble and he doesn't bother to stop it "And then the tinkering! You like that and that is great but that doesn't mean it should be a must or have the pressure of being our solo income! You are overworked and tired and need rest and i don't want to hear any comment or self hating joke about you being lazy!"

Dust huffs and mutters "kill joy" but stays quiet otherwise.

Cross keeps going as if he didn't interrupt him "You are also the one who takes charge with Nightmare and that is fine as well as long as you don't have all the pressure! It is unfair of us to just assume you will decide or have the decision or even that you thought about it! Even if you do have the answers and you did think about it it isn't fair that we put that expectation and pressure on you! We are a team and we should share the burden of stuff!"

Cross pants as he just sits there. feeling partly mortified by what he just said and partly relieved he managed to get it all out.

Dust is quiet for a long time before answering "I don't mind it..." it is hardly more than a whisper.

Cross huffs and just keeps holding it "Even if you don't mind it now clearly it is too much or we wouldn't be sitting in a circle of vaporized plants."

Dust is silent but does give a small nod against his shoulder.

Cross nods himself "When you feel okayish. we will go back to the others. you are going to get cleaned up and sleep. actually sleep. and sleep in. No more trying to get up early wiht Nightmare."

Dust mutters "I sleep in..."

Cross huffs "Yeah. until like 8 or 9 compared to the 5 and 6 of Horror and me. But I mean you need to sleep sleep Dust. Sleep in untill at least 10. Don't even think I won't get Horror or Killer to tie you down to the bed!" Dust is almost always up until late at night. he needs rest clearly.

Dust snorts and mutters "Don't let Killer hear you say that. He will have many things to say about that implication about your preferences."

Oh god no brain don't think about that mental image when Dust is stuck in your arms. You don't want to have that type of conversation now when that image does things to you!

Cross feels himself blush as he stares striaght ahead "Very funny."

Dust snorts "I know."

Cross huffs before spekaing again "Well then! You are going to sleep in and get the rest you actually need. We are no longer going to allow you to plan your days full like you did before anymore."

Dust groans "Cross we still need money."

Cross nods "and so we will figure something out eventually! But you are no longer trying to earn enough for everyone. And please for the love of everything actually buy something nice for yourself for once!" so far he had only spend money on stuff for Nightmare. or clothes for any of them. Cross appreciates the clean clothes and things but please Dust just get stuff for yourself.

Dust mutters and mumbles some stuff but nothing that Cross can really make heads or tails from "Good! Now that we agreed to that... Ready to go back?"

Dust is quiet again but sighs "Yeah.... need to apologise to Killer for attacking him... and crop for probably breaking part of his house..."

Cross nods "Yeah... Good news though Killer didn't have actual HP damage so i think even when mad you were pretty controlled over what you actually wanted, which was just Killer to shut up I guess... as for Crop's house I only saw some cracks and Horror and I can do enough construction stuff to fix that." a moment of silence "Also Killer owns you an apology for annoying you the whole day."

Dust listens before sighing "Thanks..."

They sit a moment longer before they both get up. Cross can't help his curiosity as he sticks his phalanges into the lose sand.

Dust frowns at him "What are you doing?"

Cross looks away embarresed "Heard that... if lightning strikes sand like glass is made... I am curious..." he feels something but can't pull it out. Instead he pushes more sand and dirt aside and uncovers a giant glass electric strike in the ground. he can see how the electricity move and made the glass.

Dust frowns at it "Hopefully I didn't ruin his field... Will have to dig that out and any other stuff to make sure it doesn't damage his machinery when he does farming stuff." Dust already sounds tired as he looks around his large circle were Cross cna see multiple hits of lightning hit the ground.

Cross pats his back "It is fine. Horror and I got a lot of free time so we will get to that tomorrow."

Dust looks at him before sighing and nodding "fine."

Cross nods.

The two walk back as Cross looks at the sky "It is clearing... I didn't know you could do the whole sky thing..."

Dust shrugs "never did that before."

huh. Cross keeps looking up "Think it was because you have more charge or something?"

Dust shrugs "Could be..."

Cross nods as he taps his chin "We will need to make sure you don't overcharge faster than..."

Dust is quiet but Cross feels Dust nudge his shoulder. Cross beams at him and Dust shoots him a small smile back.

They near the house and find their other three boys waiting on the porch. Dust goes straight to nightmare nad hugs him before looking at Horror and Killer for just amoment before looking down "sorry... I.... sorry."

Horror smiles bakc and nods. Killer grins himself and shrugs "Euh. It is fine. Sorry to you for once again not picking up on your social clues." he rubs his cheek which has a large bruise "No hard feelings."

Dust nods and agrees easily enough.

After apologizing to Crop for the mess in both the kitchen and field and promising to fix it they get back to their attic. They take a moment to sit together and Cross explains what the deal had been about. Mostly because dust had retreated to hoody-city while hugging Nightmare and was refusing to admit himself what was wrong.

Killer and Horror both look deeply unhappy with this newly gotten information and looka t Dust. Dust manages to somehow look even further away as he mutters "Cross makes it sound worse than it is."

Cross glares. Rude! Because he actually thinks he is underselling the issue!

Killer must come to the same conclusion as he wiggles around until he is laying right up against Dust's side and looks at him begging "You know that I know you are like the strongest monster ever right? Like it is obvious. We all know that? You know that right?"

Dust shrugs and nods but Corss has his doubts. Seeing as he didn't seem to beleive so just moments ago. Killer pouts and has his scheming face on.

Cross sighs "Either way... we need to balance the work load better." he shoots Nightmare a look "You aren't allowed to share the load as you are a child and no child labor."

Ngihtmare huffs and crosses his arms "I can help"

Killer nods "You help by staying safe nad being a good babybones!" Nightamre grumbles even more and pushes closer to Dust.

Horror hums and nods "We will... need to calm down... Taking it easy with townvisits." he shoots Dust a look "Only when it is relaly necessary."

Dust huffs and mutters "Still need cash."

Horror nods "We will figure that out later. First taking things calmly. step by step."

Cross nods as he sees Dust relax a bit. Step by step. They can do this. They got each other and everything will be fine.

*---------------*

First Drabble here Prev Drabble here Next Drabble here

[the-kipsabian]

[s1ushyz]

I think about the first two pictures a lot 😮‍💨

Pictures taken by me! 3/1/24 in seattle 2ourdust🎱

[f3ralbadomens]

@concretenoah thank u sm for these ✨

[demigodwitchdw]

Having caught up with the available English Twisted Wonderland, I really, REALLY wish I could see Silver in a Disney Princess getup. I mean, dude befriends forest animals, has a "curse" put upon him(his sleeping thing, which reminds me of narcolepsy), and has a somewhat tragic backstory(Lilia adopted him and raised him well, love to that, but he still fits the Disney bill of missing parents that many princesses have). Now I want to see Disney Japan put him in Sleeping Beauty's blue dress

[xxri]

maría for the ad astra zine! lc u will be missed T_T