#clone cadence

[babyscilence]

Questions I have about clones from someone who has family members in military active duty:

Do they have PT (physical training) when they're not in a combat zone? Like, does the Corrie Guard go for runs around base at oh five hundred every morning?

Do the ground troops have Company PT when they're back on Coruscant for a while? Sure they maybe get shore leave (is that even canon?) But that can't last forever.

Okay and say they do have PT or at the very least they did when they were in training still on Kamino. Do they sing cadence? Did their training sergents teach them songs like

"I don't need no teenage queen

I just want my Deece-15" (slight modification to an actual cadence)

We know in Legends they know Dha Wherda Verda and Vode An but those aren't cadence they're motivation songs.

So what would a clone cadence sound like?

[measlyscrapofseafood]

2023 art summaryyyyy😄😄

characters from april and october belong to @noah-maxwell & november rinzler design belongs to @whispering-woodlands

[valkyrieromanoff]

HOW BAD BATCH WOULD REACT IF YOU KISS THEIR NOSE?

warning:  mostly fluff, mention of past traumas, very slight angst

a/n: I still can't believe that yesterday was the last episode of Bad Batch, I don't think I can cry enough, or think about what my next few weeks will be like without the weekly dose of comfort and tension that this series has given me. I've never been as connected to something as I was to Bad Batch, I'm very happy with the ending they had, but it's what they say, even happy goodbyes are hard, so to stop myself from crying (again, because yesterday it seemed impossible to). 

I wrote about how I think the bad batch would react if they received a kiss on the nose, honestly, these don't have a well-defined plot, and the reactions happen in different time frames, they're not linear, anyway, I hope you like it ;)

✦ HUNTER

words: 368

You two had been dating for a few months now, and in this moment, you were on the Marauder, Hunter seated in one of the armchairs while you attended to a small cut on his forehead. He had decided to remove his helmet in the midst of the mission, only to inadvertently collide with a low-hanging tree branch.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you imagined the scene. It seemed almost ironic that the clone with heightened senses hadn't noticed the obstacle right in front of him. Your fingers delicately brushed aside strands of his hair as you reached for the alcohol swab, prompting a low sigh from Hunter. 

"Are you alright?" you ask, your voice laced with concern as you met his gaze with a gentle frown.

"Uhm," Hunter mumbled, downplaying the severity of the injury. He had weathered far worse wounds on countless missions, yet the tenderness with which you cared for him made each sensation feel heightened, imbued with an intimacy he had not known before.

"It's all done now, dear," you assured, your tone a soothing balm as you withdrew slightly to retrieve a bandage, your movements deliberate and tender.

As you leaned forward to apply the bandage, a spontaneous impulse overcame you, and you pressed a soft kiss to his nose. Hunter's initial reaction was one of surprise, his features momentarily frozen in disbelief. But as the warmth of your affection seeped into his being, his defenses melted away, replaced by a tender smile.

His hands instinctively found their way to your waist, pulling you closer until you stood between his legs, your proximity a comforting anchor amidst the chaos of your turbulent lives. 

Hunter enveloped you in his embrace, resting his head against your chest as he surrendered to the solace you offered. With his eyes closed, he savored the tranquility of the moment, the rhythmic cadence of your heartbeat, a symphony of that he would always find peace in.

You ran your fingers through his hair lovingly, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment as you both lingered in each other's arms. You found sanctuary, a fleeting respite from the trials that awaited you beyond the confines of the Marauder.

✦ CROSSHAIR

words: 538

"You know, honestly, it's not that bad, it's kind of cool, actually," you remarked wittily, your gaze drifting to where Crosshair's missing hand would have been. Though the absence was conspicuous, its significance hung in the air, a tangible reminder of the sacrifices made in their line of duty, in their last mission.

"You say that because it's not your hand," Crosshair retorted, his tone tinged with bitterness. He harbored a complex mixture of emotions—gratitude for their successful mission, relief at Omega's safety, and a lingering sense of emptiness that gnawed at him from within.

The absence of his hand served as a constant reminder of the price he had paid, both physically and emotionally. An undercurrent of guilt lingered within him, the thought of losing any of his brothers, after Tech, was a burden he wasn't sure he could bear.

"You're probably right," you agreed softly, settling beside him on the bed, the space between you bridged by mere inches. In the silence that followed, words seemed inadequate to express the complexities of emotions swirling within him. How does one greet someone returned from the depths of darkness, bearing physical and emotional scars?

Crosshair's gaze drifted to his arms, his expression clouded with a mixture of sorrow and resentment as he grappled with the reality of his altered form. Unwanted memories threatened to surface, accompanied by the phantom pains that plagued him even after  Hemlock's demise and the buried horrors of the Necromancer Project. Though dulled with time,  they lingered still, a persistent echo of his past traumas, an unfunny joke to remind him that he may have made it out alive, but so much had been taken from him.

"We could ask Phee to look for a robotic hand," you offered gently, your eyes radiating warmth and affection that Crosshair found unfamiliar yet comforting. The tenderness in your gaze was foreign to him, a stark contrast to the harsh realities of his former life,  the ghosts that haunted him. "Or a screwdriver, like Echo's."

Crosshair shook his head, a gesture laden with unspoken burdens. The absence of his hand symbolized more than mere physical loss; it signified a release from the shackles of his past traumas and the self-imposed guilt that threatened to consume him. An incoherent responsibility that maybe, just maybe, if he hadn't stayed with the Empire, Tech would still be with them.

You waited patiently for his response, your touch a gentle reassurance against the storm raging within him. When he offered no words, you cupped his face in your hands, drawing him into a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. 

Crosshair cast a sharp glance in your direction, surprised and confused by the unexpected action. His stoic facade momentarily falters in the wake of your affectionate gesture, a small, soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Though reluctant to show his vulnerabilities, he found solace in the warmth of your presence amidst the turmoil of his thoughts and the ache of his phantom pains. It was a small gesture, yet it spoke volumes—a silent reminder that he was not alone, that even in his darkest moments, you stood by his side, a beacon of light in the shadows.

✦ ECHO

words: 514

"So, did you really come to help me or just escape from socializing?" Echo asked, his tone laced with a hint of amusement as he extended his arm, waiting for the tool he had requested. But you seemed lost in thought, your attention elsewhere as you failed to retrieve the tool he needed.

"Oh, of course I came to help you," you retorted softly, finally handing him the Scomp link, though not without a hint of distraction. Echo sighed inwardly, a pang of familiarity washing over him as he adjusted to your absent-mindedness. "Sorry, what was that again?"

"The Carbon chisel," Echo pointed out, gesturing to the tool lying within reach.

You handed over the tool, your gaze lingering on him with a curious intensity as he busied himself with repairing a problem on the Marauder. A sense of restlessness gnawed at you, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing down upon your shoulders.

"Is something bothering you?" Echo's calm voice cut through the silence, his attention still focused on his task.

"I, I just feel like there’s something missing," you confessed hesitantly, your words a hesitant whisper that hung heavy in the air, a sense of disconnection gnawing at your soul, a hollow ache that refused to be silenced. "We're safe here in Pabu, surrounded by those warm and kind people, yet I can't shake this feeling of... emptiness."

"I understand," Echo murmured, his voice a soft echo of empathy as he peeled away the layers of his own turmoil. The weight of his words settled upon you like a heavy cloak, the burden of his past traumas a burden shared between kindred spirits. "That feeling of being part of something but not quite belonging."

"I saw my team fall one by one," Echo continued, his voice tinged with a quiet sorrow that cut through the silence like a knife. "Being the last survivor leaves a bitter taste, a nagging question of why. Why me? What made me different from my brothers?"

You listened in reverent silence, your heart aching with the weight of his confession. For Echo, the scars of battle ran deeper than the wounds of the flesh, a haunting reminder of the sacrifices made in service of a cause greater than themselves.

"But you can't live behind your ghosts," Echo declared firmly, his words a solemn vow to embrace the dawn of a new day. "If you've earned a chance at a new life, you can't waste it."

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of your lips, his unwavering resolve a hope amidst the darkness that threatened to consume you both. Without a word, you leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to the tip of his nose, a silent promise of solidarity and understanding.

Echo's reaction was one of surprise, his features momentarily frozen in disbelief. But as the warmth of your affection washed over him, his stoic facade crumbled, replaced by a soft smile. Amidst the chaos you find a silent acknowledgment of shared struggles and silent victories, a testament to the bond that transcends time and space.

✦ TECH

words: 509

"In essence, hyperdrive is the key to unlocking the vast reaches of the galaxy, allowing us to explore new worlds and civilizations beyond the confines of our own star system. It is a realm of infinite possibilities, yet also fraught with peril. Mastery of hyperspace travel represents the pinnacle of technological achievement, offering both promise and peril to those who dare to venture into its depths." Tech concluded his long and detailed explanation, his words punctuated by the hum of the ship's systems as it idled on the tropical planet's surface.

As Tech spoke, you remained the sole audience to his monologue, absorbing his every word with rapt attention. Crosshair and Hunter had already departed to try to steal another ship, while Echo focused on assessing the Marauder's damages. 

Wrecker and Omega had ventured off to explore the surrounding area, leaving only you to engage with Tech's meticulous discourse. Nodding along and occasionally murmuring affirmations, you appeared genuinely engaged, a rare occurrence for him.

"Honestly, your explanation was very impressive and enriching. I hadn't stopped to think about those points," you commented softly, a warm smile gracing your lips.

Tech's response was hesitant, his usual confidence faltering in the face of your unexpected praise. "Well, uhm, it's not that difficult, the information already exists, I just made sure I knew it," he mumbled, his gaze shifting to his holopad as he struggled to process your kindness.

"Oh, believe me, it's impressive. Your brain is impressive," you insisted, your genuine admiration evident in your tone. "Anyway, I like listening to you talk. I always learn a lot."

Tech's brow furrowed in confusion, his mind racing to comprehend your motives. He found comfort in the familiarity of his holopad, its data offering a sanctuary from the uncertainty of social interaction. Yet, your persistence was unnerving, your unwavering kindness a foreign concept to him.

Ignoring your words seemed the safest course of action, a way to deflect the unfamiliar emotions stirring within him. And then, without warning, you leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his nose. 

Tech's reaction was immediate, his body tensing with surprise as he adjusted his glasses in confusion. "Why did you do that?" he blurted out, his analytical mind already dissecting the situation in search of logical explanations.

"Because you look cute all concentrated," you confessed gently, your smile soft and affectionate.

Tech fell silent, his thoughts swirling in a whirlwind of confusion and conflicting emotions. Though uncertain of how to process your gesture, a subtle warmth blossomed within him, an unfamiliar sensation that tugged at the corners of his lips. As you lingered by his side, he found himself drawn to your presence. Perhaps, he mused, there was more to interpersonal interaction than he had previously understood.

As you smiled at him, Tech allowed himself a small, hesitant smile in return. In that ephemeral moment, amidst the complexity of the intricacies of human emotion, Tech found himself grappling with a newfound sense of connection – a connection he couldn't quite explain but was reluctant to ignore.

✦ WRECKER

words: 336

After a successful mission, Wrecker and you decide to buy some Mantell Mix before heading back to Cid's bar. The strong clone insisted that Omega would love the surprise, but you knew a big part of the reason was because Wrecker wanted to indulge in the candy himself. With a playful grin, you agreed, knowing how much he enjoyed the sweet treat.  

As you both bought the candy, Wrecker couldn't resist sneaking a few pieces into his mouth, his eyes lighting up with childlike excitement. You playfully scolded him, reminding him to save some for Omega, to which he grudgingly agreed, though he couldn't resist sneaking more when he thought you weren't looking.

Shaking your head with a fond smile, you followed Wrecker down a dimly lit alleyway that he claimed was a shortcut discovered by Tech during his planet mapping. The distant flashing lights obscure your view, and you stumble over an irregularity in the ground, sending the packet of Mantell Mix flying and sweets scattering into puddles.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Wrecker's concern was immediate as he knelt down beside you, checking for any signs of injury from your fall.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but there go the sweets," you remarked playfully, rubbing your neck where it had taken the brunt of the fall.

Wrecker's response was unexpectedly tender. "You're more important than sweets," he declared, his voice sincere as he offered you a warm smile.

His innocence and sweetness warmed your heart, and impulsively you leaned in and planted a kiss on his nose. Wrecker blinked in confusion for a moment before his face broke into a wide grin, his laughter filling the alleyway as he swept you up into a bear hug.

"Ha! You got me!" he exclaimed, his voice booming with infectious joy as he spun you around in exaggerated circles, his strength making it feel like you were weightless. 

You couldn't help but join in his laughter, the sound echoing through the alley as you surrendered to the moment. 

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

part 16 - but I know where to start

“Feeling my way through the darkness, guided by a beating heart. I can’t tell where the journey will end, but I know where to start.” -Wake Me Up by Avicii

Regent Masterlist Part 15

Was it a cop-out to summon Jazz back to the Far Frozen? Yes. Did Danny particularly care? Nope! 

Jason was comfortable, propped up with a book Ghostwriter who had popped by to personally deliver. How the ghost had known about Jason Phantom wasn’t going to question, but he suspected GW kept an eye on the bookworms that passed through the Realms- or at least those close to the “Royal family”. Phantom wasn’t much for reading, not unless it was space-related, but he enjoyed listening to the Liminal man reading out loud. He had a brash voice, accented with a cadence like those from Crime Alley, but it only underscored the passion he held for reading. Phantom didn’t interrupt him once, not even when the halfa pulled out his ecto-phone and texted Ellie. 

(His little sister was in Kansas, spending time with another clone she’d literally run into.) 

Almost another full day's cycle passed before Phantom realized Jason had fallen back asleep, a book resting open on his broad chest and soft snores coming from the man. 

Yeah, he could see how he and Jazz fit together so well. 

There was just something about the Once-Revenant, a part of what made him Jason, that resonated with the Phantom. It’s what made him talk to the man as Red Hood, feel comfortable enough to stay in his company for so long, trust him with his older sister- the person who raised him. 

(Spent her birthday money to get him those cheap plastic glow-in-the-dark stars.) 

(Taught him how to read.) 

(Held him as the nightmares of his death shook him to his core.) 

(Did not fear him.) 

(Not as Phantom, Danny, or Dan.)

(Loves him.) 

(Mourns him.) 

(He would never tell her, but he understood how Dan could succumb to grief.)

(Jazz was his.) 

(His first friend, his true mother, his rock.) 

(She wouldn’t have claimed Regency without that tie.) 

Remix & Original chat 

Remix: Lol hows weenie Original:   jasons x3 ur size pipsqeak                    Remix:  ur point?  Original:  lol hes ok                                 frosty says he got hurt wth shrpnel                        new healed core + shrapnel = bad time Remix:  sucks 2 b him  Original:               so tru        Whre r u? Remix: omw 2 spain barcelona Original: ooh send pics if u need me call Remix: pics or nay gotcha txt u l8r luv u  Original: love u 2

Safely back in the living Realm and tucked away in Jason’s apartment, Jazz and Danny tried to investigate the bomb- unfortunately there was nothing for them to do but wait. 

On the upside, the Justice League was about to hit the UN full force with all the subtlety of a tsunami and who had front row seats to the drama? 

Yep, the Regent.  Jazz wasn’t exactly thrilled that her presence was requested, even though it was on the path to the desired outcome the Nightingale siblings had fought for, but both her soulmate boyfriend and little brother would be by her side as support. 

The Birds and the Bats Group Chat

Zombie: I lived bitch Spoiler-Alert: Jason!  Fly-Like-A-Dick: Little Wing!  Blood_Heir: Todd. Zombie: don’t sound too excited there demon brat.  Blood_Heir: Never.  Sleep_When_Im_Dead: Where have you been? Zombie: Stayed overnight at my Docs for observation.  Fly-Like-A-Dick: For three days? Blood_Heir: Fail to find that humorous Todd.  Zombie: wasn’t meant to be a joke brat.  I was actually at my Docs.  Zombie: Got a shovel talk from my girlfriends little brother too.                                     Spoiler-Alert:  Whoa GIRLFRIEND!!!! 😱 Jason!  Why is this the first were hearing this??? Fly-Like-A-Dick: Little Wing!!!!!! Quiet_Dancer: 🤗  Zombie:  At least Cass and Dickiebird are happy for me                                    Spoiler-Alert:  Ecstatic! But details! Now.                                                      Zombie: No.                                              Fly-Like-A-Dick: Is she a redhead??? Sleep_When_Im_Dead:  Jasmine Nightingale.                                                      Zombie: Babs.                                               Oracle_of_Gotham:  On it.  [member Sleep_When_Im_Dead has been blocked from the group.]  Spoiler-Alert:  too late!!!!!! Cass  with me! Quiet_Dancer: 🫡 Oracle_of_Gotham: DENIED Batdad:  Welcome back Jaylad.                                                        Zombie:                                           Old man       You and I need to have a talk with words                                              Fly-Like-A-Dick: battle stations everyone!!!

Council of Uncaged Birds

Queen_Regent: Ellie, I want you to meet Jason.  Officially meet him.  WanderingPrincess: eh??? temp said wasnt srs Queen_Regent: Danny No InfiniteStarPrince: Danny YES Frosty said they are  soulmates!!!!!! WanderingPrincess: 🤯😱 wha th fuck!!!1 Queen_Regent: language!  WanderingPrincess: ENGLISH imma get a shovel gotta undead weenie 2 bury.

Template. [user InfiniteStarPrince has left the chat]  WanderingPrincess: coward Queen_Regent: I have many regrets.  WanderingPrincess: u luv us 👻

Lady & Knight chat Lady: Jay remember when I told you I wanted you to meet Ellie?  Knight: She’s bringing a shovel isn’t she.  Lady: I love how brilliant you are.  Knight: I aim to please. 

Lady & Knight chat Knight: you patrolling tonight? Lady: wasnt planning on it Knight: wanna meet me? Lady: same time same place? Knight: you know it

The abolishment of the Anti-Ecto Acts officially happened at three pm on a dreary Gotham Tuesday. Jazz was cuddled with Jason on his couch, dozing off to his heartbeat as he read Pride and Prejudice for the thousandth time. The comfortable silence they had wrapped themselves in only occasionally broken by Jason turning a page was completely shattered when Jazz’s phone rang with the Ghostbusters theme song. 

“Danny?” Jazz answered surprised, “School isn’t out yet, what’s wrong?” She was greeted by Danny’s heaving cries as he replied. 

“Batman, he- he did it!” Danny sobbed, “He saved us.” 

It clicked then. The Dark Knight had completed the task he was entrusted with by a Spirit of Protection, the Once and Future Star King, and unknowingly kept the promise a ghost made to a young Jasmine Fenton. 

One day my son will stop this. All of this. You only need to be strong. Take care of yourself and your brother. I promise. 

She had waited years for the promise to be fulfilled, the sworn promise of the dead to a living child. Jasmine was a patient soul, but she had still been a child that night in Gotham. 

(The Drs. Fenton believing the stories about a ghostly vigilante patrolling the streets, a never aging child by their side.) (Dragging their children with them. ) (Hungry and cold.) (A dead man who swore his son would end their torment one day.)

(She should’ve known it wouldn’t come fast enough to save Danny.) 

How was she to know the ghost was speaking of the Realms inhabitants, not the abused and neglected children of Ghost Hunters? How was she to know that the hope such a promise kindled wasn’t hers to keep?  Jason wrapped his arms around her, the book set aside and her phone gently taken from her grasp to be put on speaker so they could both talk to her little brother. Danny had dissolved from heaving sobs to muffled hiccups, seemingly now that he’d shared the news with his sister. 

“He really did,” she muttered. “He really did it.” 

(The furry fucker actually did it.) (She’d known that he was going to try, but humans are stubborn creatures.)

A/N: Hi! Welcome to an update for the Regent. Just to be fully transparent with each of my readers - The Regent is still on Hiatus.

I have deleted so much of my writing because I don't like the flow/dialogue/pacing. Original ending thrown out and rewritten twice- still don't care for it. Who knew something other than Angst would be so difficult.

(Not me!)

Having said that, this entry is of course beta'd by the wonderful @meditating-cat who has put up with my random messages.

(You are amazing!)

(In all honesty, I wish I could just skip right to the ending because at least I know 100% I can get it just right....eventually.)

Thanks for reading and happy easter!

[electronicwitchcollection]

~*Accidental mate; chapter 9*~

Here it is! I’m so sorry for the wait 😂 It was one thing after another, but I digress! Thank you to everyone, (Anonymous readers too!) for your kind support and eagerness for this to continue. Special thanks to @clone-bar-79s for motivating me to finish this chapter!

"The good news is, you've got time. His next rutting season isn't for another six months, you've got time to come to terms with it, make a decision that's best for you"  the joyful Cadence had returned to Urahara's voice, at this point you were positive it was as much of a disguise of his true thoughts and feelings as his hat and fan were. He was kindly trying to put you at ease, not letting his true concern shine through. More than you felt you deserved in this moment.

Letting your hands drop, shoulders squaring in mock determination, you raise your face to meet his eye. Fake it til you make it. "Thank you for telling me,". You raise to your feet, ready to accept your fate. Taking in a deep, soothing breath to steady your nerves. You needed to find Grimmjow. "I'll consider my options thoroughly" 

Urahara jumped to his own feet, hands presented to halt your departure, apologetic look on his angular face. Hat still secure in his hand, he looked so much younger with his mop of blond hair on show"Actually, there's more you need to know" 

More? You sat down heavily in your chair. You didn't think you could handle any more right now, you were still digesting the information you had just been fed, mind dizzyingly running though the conversation in an endless loop of uncertainty and guilt. You didn't know why you felt guilty, but it was there, heavily sitting in your stomach.

"If you were to decide to pursue a relationship with Grimmjow, there are some other factors you need to be aware of" Urahara disclosed as he rejoined you sitting down. You felt a little overwhelmed with the amount of information you had already been given, mentally exhausted with the drastic change in your life you were presented with. Though it did pique your interest, what else were you about to discover about the complicated Espada? "I'm sorry, I know it's a lot to take in" 

Your face must have betrayed how you were feeling, given the sympathetic look Urahara looked at you with. You shook your head dismissively, it wasn't through any fault of his own. Your own gluttonous actions had lead to this fiasco. Yourself and Grimmjow. Your throat tightened slightly at the thought of you and Grimmjow together in the same sentence, a couple.

Couple of idiots, you snarkily reminded yourself. Might as well get everything out in the open now, to save you from any more unwanted surprises later down the line. "Now that he has mated, part of Grimmjow's instincts will have him wanting to scent mark you. Which could be problematic " 

"problematic how?" You never realised how ignorant you were up to this point about Grimmjow's hollow side. You never realised it went as deep and animalistic as scent marking. Something you associated with mammals claiming their territory, hopefully he used another method than what you were aware of. You were pretty open minded, but you drew the line at Grimmjow pissing around your home. Or worse.

"While for the bonded pair, it can be considered rather intimate, for other hollows it's perceived as a warning... or a challenge"  For the first time since you entered the room, you notice Captain Muguruma turn to face you, seemingly interested in this part of the conversation. Arms crossed over his broad chest, he leaned back to the same window ledge Captain Hirako was using to prop himself up. "I'm sure you're well aware of the Captains and Lieutenants who have a hollow of their own residing within" 

You nod, eyes flicking to two of the captains who were visoreds , struggling to find the energy to participate verbally to the conversation yet. Shinji sent you a lazy wave, confirming what you already knew. You had seen first hand the blackening of their eyes, the inhuman warble hissing from the buff captains lips. Felt the chill run up your spine when his eyes locked onto you with a predatory gaze.

"The pheromones Grimmjow left on you can be smelt by the visored." Urahara explained, placing his hat back atop his head. Everything seemed to be falling into place, everything you had been confused about the past few days, running through your brain without answer finally being explained. Ichigo had told you that you smelt different, Grimmjow attacking him shortly after halted any further explanation. Subconsciously you breathed in deeper, trying to detect any foul smell coming from you.

Not as subtle as you had intended however, by the chuckle Urahara gave "You won't be able to smell it, neither can we" he indicated to himself and Kyoraku. That was somewhat of a relief, unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but you didn't relish in the idea of smelling.

 "Only hollows will be able to detect it, a survival instinct. It activates their instincts of fight or flight. The weaker ones, the beta's, will see it as a warning to avoid you for fear of getting into a fight with your alpha. For the stronger Alphas, they'll view it as a challenge"

"A challenge for what?" You almost didn't dare ask, not sure you wanted to hear the answer.

"To take you from him" Shinji interjected, tilting up his head to show off his smug grin. "To prove their strength, beat someone as strong as Grimmjow, steal his mate, become the most dominant" 

Your mouth fell open, gobsmacked at the new information. This was why they were here? To what? Let you know before hand that they may try and take you from Grimmjow? You felt a little nauseated at the thought. You didn't want that. Didn't want to be seen as the objectified prize of some barbaric testosterone fulled game. Offended at the thought of being passed around by whom ever claimed victory. You wouldn't accept it. You didn't want Shinji or Kensei, you wanted...

"Don't worry, this isn't us warning ya ta lock ya doors or we'll drag ya off to our caves"  Shinji's lips pulled at the corners,slowly dragging his eyes over your figure appreciatively. You fought the urge to cover yourself up from his lecherous gaze. Damn pervert. He was only joking, surely. Distasteful and outrageously unprofessional given the circumstances and his status, but he had better be only joking. "Though.."  he gave you a scandalous wink when he finally made it to your eyes " I could be tempted"

"Don't be a prick, Shinji" Kensei snarled at his colleague, seemingly reaching the end of his patience with all his teasing. Shinji held his hands up in surrender before placing them in his pockets and leaning back against the window, sulkily rolling his eyes at his fun being stopped "was only teasin' " 

Kensei rolled his eyes before focusing them on you. You shifted in your seat uncomfortably. While you didn't believe the head captain would allow any harm to befall you in his office, the large Captain scared you quite a bit. "Don't look at me with such a scared look on your face" he barked out the order, eye brows furrowed tightly. "We've got our hollows under control" 

"Most of the visored have beta hollows," Urahara took over the explanation again, saving you from having to change your facial expression for the short tempered Captain "Shinji and Kensei are the only two in soul society with Alphas. There shouldn't be a problem with Captain Otoribashi or lieutenant Kuna. " 

"Mines female, a lot easier to deal with then Kensei's." Shinji interjected, seemingly bored with the conversation now that he was denied his fun. You couldn't help but find the conversation fascinating. While you had heard the stories of Aizen's inhumane experimentation, Urahara's intervention and saving the hollowfied Captains and lieutenants, it was interesting in the way they described it. Like the hollow entity trapped within their own psyche, fighting to break out of their prison. "His is particularly aggressive.."

"An asshole is what he is," Kensei grumbled, cutting Shinji off from his deduction of the situation. Fixing you in his vision once more, he spoke with undeniable conviction "We have them under control, there won't be any problems now that we know what happened" 

"It was just a bit of a shock the other day". Shinji added, pulling attention back onto himself. You felt like you were getting whiplash, all this back and forth had the muscles in your neck stiffening "Never expected ta smell Grimmjow on ya like that, nor the reaction our hollows had " By the looks on Urahara and Kyoraku's faces, they've already been informed about your encounter with the Captains a few days prior. It eased your worry somewhat, the conviction Kensei had when he said he had his hollow under control. You released a shuddering breath, soothing the burning your lungs with the length you held it.

"You're perfectly safe here, YN. I have no doubt that the captains can control their hollows instincts"  Kyoraku spoke up, further soothing your worry. You trusted his judgment,he had proved his insightful deductions of situations to correct nearly one hundred percent of the time in your experience. He was a good judge of character. If he trusted the visored, then you could too. "The real concern lies with Ichigo Kurosaki"

"Ichigo?" You repeat surprised, you hadn't expected Grimmjow's sworn enemy to be brought into the conversation. You had just seen him. There was no reaction like what the captains exhibited. He treated you the same way he always had, friendly, relaxed. Though he did mention being able to smell you before Grimmjow attempted to knock his head clean off his shoulders

"Ichigo's hollow is still juvenile." Urahara picked up the conversation again, slipping easily back into rattling off the facts you needed to know "Though he is combative and defiant, he's not yet matured enough to want to seek out a mate, more interest in fighting for power over Ichigo. Given the history between Grimmjow and Ichigo, that could change once his hollow reaches maturity"

They were worried about it, you realised upon seeing the somber looks they all watched you with, waiting for your reaction. They were concerned not only for you, but soul society itself. There was no denying how incredibly powerful Ichigo was. No one had ever come close to reaching the level he had. The utter destruction he could cause if his hollow managed to break free and take over. The damage to soul society itself, the loss of life, the possibilities were staggering.

Grimmjow wouldn't refrain from doing something he wanted to do just because it may effect Ichigo. In fact you were pretty certain it would only make him want to do it more. Grimmjow's confidence in himself and his strength was bordering psychotic, he wouldn't care if Ichigo did challenge him. In fact, you believe he would welcome it whole heartedly, encourage it even. Idiot. He would fit in perfectly with the meat heads in the eleventh. He didn't care about the ramifications, so long as he got to thrive in the fight.

The subject would have to be brought up to both Ichigo and Grimmjow. You had the sinking feeling in your stomach, that you would have to be the one to convince Grimmjow to ignore his instincts and not mark you. If you decided to go through with it and be his mate. It would solve this problem if you simply refused to commit yourself to him, even though that decision would create problems itself. Your head was hurting, stress pinching the sides of your temples. It was too much, to many decisions falling on your shoulders.

"If Grimmjow can refrain from scent marking you,or we set up a plan for when he does, there should be little concern for ramifications". Urahara added to your silence. He could see your mind racing, thinking over all the possibilities of what you had just learned. He waited patiently for you to sift through your thoughts, silently watching as your unfocused eyes sharpened, to look him in the eye.

You had made a decision

"I need to see him

———

You walked in semi comfortable silence next to the eccentric exile, the clacking of his wooden foot ware against the stone floor, a steady beat to accompany his tuneful whistling. You appreciated the fact he didn't try to engage you in mindless chit chat as you followed him to his workspace in the outskirts of the twelfth division, Where Grimmjow was apparently staying until he was placed and housed permanently in a division. You just didn't have the capacity right now to pretend to be interested in anything Urahara could have to say to fill the silence between you.

Your mind was thick with all the information you had been given this morning. You struggled to sort through it, every question you had only leading to more questions, every solution met with an abundance of what if's and maybes. Ifs ands and buts attaching themselves to the end of every train of thought you rode on. You sigh mentally.

Remembering a time before Grimmjow forced his way into your life, with his aggressive nature and brash behaviour. When the only decisions you had to make were unimportant, mundane. Effecting you and only you. You couldn't believe how far away that seemed now. You hadn't even had the time to consider your own feelings yet. Grimmjow having invaded your every thought. Did you even like him? Well, no. Not really. His anger and snide comments annoyed you beyond belief. He was rude and infuriating, temperamental at best.

There was something there though, some pull you couldn't give name too. A niggling need in the pit of your stomach, Urging you figure out the puzzle that was Grimmjow. Wanting you to succumb to his unbending will, burn in his fiery passion. You were attracted to him, how could you not be? Handsome, strong. All the traits of a protector, a provider, that a millennia of evolution had you biologically trained to desire. There was something there. As much as you may want to deny it or ignore it, push it down and suffocate it until it no longer burns within you. It was there

A large hand settled on your shoulder, making you jump as it snapped you from your thoughts. Urahara didn't even try to hide the amusement on his face from your startled appearance. He nodded in front of you, getting you to see for the first time where you were.

"We're here" you sucked in a deep, soothing breath, releasing it slowly to rid yourself of the nerves threatening to shake you to your core. The hand on your shoulder squeezed comfortingly, departing with a tap "You'll be okay kid" 

Urahara pushed on, trusting you to follow. Opening the door with more vigour than necessary, he walked into the darkend space. "Honey I'm home!" You slipped in behind him silently, inquisitive eyes taking in the space. It was a large room, dimmed from the afternoon sun, with a desk littered with paper. Organised chaos immediately sprung to mind. Empty bottles of alcohol messily strewn on the floor, filling the space with the sharp smell of their remains.

Opposite you was a worn couch, currently moulded around the source of the rumbling growl you could feel reverberating through your chest. Grimmjow laid facing into the couch, back turned on his unwanted guest "Fuck off"  he grunted, curling in on himself, seemingly trying to disappear into the padding he was laying on. Arm thrown over his head, attempting to block out the punishing light streaming in from the open door, as well as the walking headache, Urahara.

Grimmjow Suppressed a groan, not ready to be rudely woken from his slumber. His throat was dry, scratching painfully around every forceful swallow he made in attempt to moisten the passage. His head thumped with every beat of his heart, every jolt a mercilessly cruel reminder of his rash decision making the night before. He didn't know what that freak kept in those bottles, but it sure as shit wasn't decent alcohol. Still he clung to the offered numbness it provided, willing himself to fall back into the black abyss.

"Come now ,Grimmjow," your eyes flicked to Urahara's back as he delved deeper into the room, approaching the temperamental beast with little regard to his own safety. Daringly poking Grimmjow in the back with the end of his cane, getting another growl in response "Remember your manners, we have a guest" 

"You can shove your manners up your..". Guest? Grimmjow felt his skin tingle, senses sharpening instantly. He inhaled deeply, tasting the air in the back of his throat. Mixing gently with the starchy alcohol and the dust imbedded in the couch was something sweet, rich, like thick honey clinging to the walls of the hive of the bees that created it. Fresh and salty, like the wind dancing over the oceans surface. You. You who he had ran away from, you with your bewitching eyes, your ensnaring lips. Ignoring the protesting scream of his head, Grimmjow pushed himself away from his forgiving nest, jumping to his feet, determined to not allow the discomfort to flash over his face

"The fuck do you want?"  He snarled at you, watching as your face betrayed your silly human emotions. Uncertainty, confusion, before settling on one he knew all too well, annoyance. He tried to glance at you sparingly, tried to keep himself from dissecting each and every aspect of your being, searching for the reassurance of your health. Your smell was tainted. Grimmjow could smell the musk of others lingering on your skin. He picked up the distinct notes of Urahara lingering on your clothes.

Another deep inhale and he picked up the signature of three others. The drunk, and the two who had acknowledged his claim on you. The discovery made his teeth clack together as his jaw tightened. Why the fuck were they all around his mate. Why were you looking at him, with pity.. and something else. Not quite fear.. but something he didn't recognise.

Eyes snapping to Urahara, Grimmjow snarled as he crossed the distance, chest rumbling with rising anger "What the fuck did you do!"

"Grimmjow.." Urahara's hand shot out to stop you from getting closer, halting your advance to calm him. Grimmjow roughly grabbed the lapels of his top, dragging him closer to the passed off Espada as he spit out the words "Why is she here!" 

Certain you would heed his advice and stay out of range, Kisuke lowered his arms to placate the emotional man on a subconscious level. "The head captain and I thought it best to inform YN of the situation between you." Grimmjows eyes widened, fingers slacking on the bunched up material. "We explained about the bonding, and what it means for ..hurmft!" 

The speed at which Grimmjow pulled back his fist and snapped it towards Urahara's face was impressive, if not for the unmanly exclamation of pain cutting off Urahara's explanation, you might've missed it all together. Almost instinctively you protested, scolding him with the disappointed use of his name, falling on deaf ears as Grimmjow pushed Urahara from his grip and into the desk behind him

"You had no fucking right" Grimmjow roared, fists shaking at his side with the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Fixing Urahara with a dark glare, he kicked violently at one of the many bottles left forgotten on the floor, ignoring it as it smashed into the wall with excessive force. Chest swelling with frustration, Grimmjow pushed past Urahara, heading to the open door, not even sparing you a glance. "Fucking stay out of my business old man"

"Grimmjow" you reached for him, his arm slipping just out of your reach as he jerked it away, stomping through the open door. Ignoring your soft call, ignoring the indignant cry of "Old man?!" Muffled by the hand covering his bloody nose. Grimmjow needed to get out, If he stayed he was going to kill him.

You watch him leave, sighing as he slipped from your vision. Your head fell into your hands, momentarily blocking out the room and the shit show that just transpired. How you and Grimmjow were going to come to any sort of middle ground when he insisted on running away way beyond you. You let your hands slip from your face, disappointed with how that turned out.

"that didn't quite go how I expected" you mumble, disheartened by Grimmjow's disappearing act. It cut you deeper than you thought it would've, now that you knew about the bond.. it hurt to see him distance himself from you again. To reject you.

"Really?" Urahara asked surprised, gently running his fingers down his sore nose to ensure it wasn't broken " It went exactly as I had thought" 

———

Grimmjow was seething. Rage coursed through his veins like lava, obliterating any coherent thought that wasn't tinged in anger.. Why the fuck were these damn Shinigami interfering with his business, with his mate! They had no right, no fucking right to tell you. They weren't hollows, they didn't have bonds, you weren't theirs! You were his, his mate, his responsibility. He was going to tell you. The right way, not fill your head with biased bullshit from shinigami who didn't know the first thing about him or his bond.

"Grimmjow!" He rolled his eyes at your call, not stopping in his desire to put as much space between you and that fool as he could. He needed a fight. A brutal, dirty battle, where he could let go, succumb to his unconscious mind, move and act without thinking, just reacting. "Grimmjow,"

Damn woman didn't know when to fucking drop it. Whirling round he scowled at her, arms folded defensively over his chest. Her cheeks were flushed.. delicate pink, likely brought on by the jog she fell into to close the distance between them. He could feel her warmth seep off her, radiating the space around her like the sun. It was pure and gentle, not brash and damaging like him. She stopped an arms length away, watching him cautiously. It pissed him off.

They each stood in silence, waiting for the other to break the awkward tension between them. Giving the other the opportunity to dictate the way in which this conversation would go, knowing that one misspoken word could result in vicious words being spat, one misjudged movement could have them colliding together in a rush of frenzied passion..

"What!" He snapped, having enough of her inquisitive stare. She had annoyed him endlessly with her fucking bitching and complaining, now she suddenly had nothing to say? He watched as your frown softened, eyes darting to the ground between them

"They were right in telling me Grimmjow. I needed to know.."  you spoke softly, concentrating on how best to gently speak your mind. You couldn't let him bury his head in the sand and ignore it any longer. Something needed to be decided between you now, before his next rutting season came along. Grimmjow's eyes flashed with your words, not yet ready to let go of his annoyance of his privacy being talked about by a bunch of damn shinigami.

" I was going to fucking tell you! I tried!"  Grimmjow snapped defensively, stalking closer to maximise the height difference between you. Intimidation was a weapon Grimmjow had used countless times, successfully, against bigger and stronger adversaries than the small woman basked in his shadow. So why was it that this woman was meeting his eye defiantly, not a shimmer or trepidation or fear showing on her face

"You've got to stop pushing me away, Grimmjow. I know now, so stop running away and.." Grimmjows fingers wrapped around your throat and stealing your breath. Pressure squeezing threateningly against the side of your neck, fingers twitching in warning. His hand trembled, you could feel the vibration against your delicate skin as his eyes burned into your own, darkly muttering inches from your face, hot breath dancing over your lips

"I don't run away from nothing" you instinctively took hold of his wrist, yet you didn't try to push him away. You could feel your blood pumping through your jugular vein, held prisoner against his dominating hold. It was a show, a display of strength of power that he so desperately needed to hold onto so not to submit to his own confusing contradictory impulses. You shivered at his dark tone, as black and as cold as the darkest of nights. You squeeze his wrist tighter, pouring out the light of understanding, the warmth of acceptance 

"I know your scared" you were too. Scared of these confusing, consuming feelings you had never wanted. Scared of change, everything comfortable and safe being thrown into disarray . Scared you wouldn't be able to make it work, that you wouldn't be enough. Terrified that it would. "I am too.. Im your....mate."  As quiet as it was, you heard the sharp intake of breath. You watched how his eyes widened, furious rage dulling behind his eyes. He's fingers loosening their grip on your neck by a fraction, startled by your acknowledgement, acceptance"we need to come together Grimmjow, work through this together, or you're going to suffer alone. I can't sit back and watch that happen"

"you don't owe me shit, I don't want your fucking pity" Grimmjow pushed you away physically and fugitively,  creating distance from the hope you cruelly dangled in front of his nose. A life line, in the crushing reality he unknowingly made for himself. You were speaking from guilt, from some twisted sense of duty. He wouldn't let anyone pity him. You reached for his arm, stopping him from turning his back on you. You couldn't let him run away again, couldn't let him think you didn't care

"It's not pity." You had to get him to understand. He was stubborn and pigheaded, but you could get through to him. You had to. "It's not guilt. Grimmjow, talk to me" 

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" Grimmjow screamed in your face, hoping to scare you off. Better you run now, than to pull him deeper into your Facade. Give him a sense of stability, lull him into a fabricated delusion of belonging before you pull it from under him and watch him down. You didn't back down, didn't even flinch at the display of crazed hostility. 

"Nothing. I don't want anything from you but to try. Stop shutting me out"  Grimmjow ripped his arm from you, pacing back and forth as he run his fingers through his hair as you spoke. Like a caged animal backed into a corner, comforting himself with what little freedom he had left. Clawing to it possessively, fearing you would try to take that too. "I just want a chance, a chance to see if we can make more out of this.. bond, than this... constant hostile back and forth!" 

You were struggling to keep your emotions in check. You knew Grimmjow was impossible to reason with, challenging to engage with, with anything other than anger. You didn't want to fight. Didn't want to snap and resort to his default of shouting and snarky remarks. You knew he was struggling with what he was feeling, that he wasn't happy about this bond. But it was here, it wasn't going anywhere, and all this back and forth was grating on you. If you were struggling keeping your emotions in check, then Grimmjow was loosing the damn war. 

"I don't know what the fuck you want from me woman!"  he yelled in response, glaring at you with every pass he made with his restless pacing." I can't fucking break it! I tried!" 

"Im not asking you to break it! I know you can't, and I know that you would if you could, you're clearly less than fucking pleased to be lumbered with me!" 

"Then what the fuck do you want!"

"To talk! To get to know eachother, find some mutual understanding!"  You shout back, disappointed in your inability  to not resort to a shouting match. You took a deep, soothing breath. Pulling it as far down as you could before controlling the steady release, willing your annoyance to leave your body. "I thought we could start meeting up, go on a few dates and"

"Dates?" Grimmjow sneered the word, almost offended his tongue had to manipulate around the syllable. He scoffed, seemingly finished with his mindless walking around. At last.. progress

"It's when two people..."

"I know what fucking dates are!"  That interfering old man told him about them. Offering unwanted, idiotic suggestions when all he wanted was a solution to end this infuriating bond. They sounded like they consisted of absolutely fucking nothing Grimmjow wanted to engage with. Flowers and holding hands. Fucking strolling mindlessly through fields while this bitch talked his ear off. Not this Espada. 

Sure.. don't know how to use chopsticks but is well fucking informed on dates and courting. Urahara seriously needed to reevaluate his priorities in what to teach Grimmjow.. 

"I ain't gunna fucking coddle you. I'm not going to bring you flowers or listen to you cry about your damn nails and hair. If you want all that bullshit go date the old man! Leave me the fuck out of it!"

You were instantly offended. Trying to palm you off on another man for something you didn't even want. You had no delusions about Grimmjow. You weren't expecting romance or sweetness. You certainly weren't so shallow or materialistic to demand or expect him to pander to you. Even if Grimmjow refused to see it, you were a strong, self sufficient woman. You didn't need all that from another person, you were capable of providing it for yourself. What you did require was damn respect, honesty and the same damn commitment you were willing to put into this

"I don't want to date Urahara, you fucking idiot. I want to date.." your angry retort died on your lips at the surprise widening of his eyes, the anger slipping from his face almost instantly. Inhaling deeply, you decide to finish your unintentional slip strongly. No more games. No more tiptoeing around the situation. One of you needed to stop this ridiculous back and forth and start being honest, truly honest "you, I want to date you Grimmjow. I don't need flowers. I don't need gifts or for you to change to please me. I just need a mutual respect, and a willingness to try and see if we can develop our own feelings not dictated by your bond."

He stepped towards you, a hesitancy in his movements you had never seen from him before. Questioning eyes searched your face, piercing deeply into the emotions swimming behind your eyes. "Why..?"  Searching for a hint of deception.. a sliver of hidden motives. All he could find was honestly, vulnerability. He didn't know how to deal with that. Everyone had a hidden selfish agenda. A selfish motive for everything they did. He had seen it time and time again, offering help if only it benefited you later. 

"I don't know"  you spoke softly, not a remnant of anger in your voice. Grimmjow scoffed, shoulders sagging with disappointment. He nearly fell for it, almost believed your bewitching lies.. you took hold of Grimmjow's hand, stepping closer so he had no choice but to look at you "I can't give it a name... this..pull that I feel. This feeling I get when I think of you,  these reactions I have when I see you.." 

 Grimmjow's mouth went dry, swallowing thickly as he listened.. heart thumping so loudly in his chest he thought it would bust right out his rib cage. The solidified need imbedded within the very fabric of his nature, that had been ripping him from the inside out,  suddenly sparking wildly in his stomach as you voiced your want for him. Both your small hands holding his, caressing mindlessly over his fingers, mapping out the hardened callouses, your eyes watching your fingers dance over his skin.. 

Then you looked up, the purest of eyes, shining with vulnerability, need, desire. Looking straight though him, through his defence, his armour. His breath hitched in his throat when you looked at him like that, so open, so... honest

"I don't know what it is. But it's there. It's real, and it's growing and it's not going away. I want to know what it is Grimmjow.... I want to see what it could become " 

[squidsponge]

Analyzing the Clone Assassins: Part 1

A little comparison between the season 2 clone assassin vs. Tech the assassin who is so laughably not Cody, and how they interact with their superior officers. Their voices and cadence are completely different.

The original CX patiently waiting for orders, arms crossed, but he holds himself tall and professional like a classic clone.

Tech CX-2 does not wait to be spoken to before questioning why his time is being wasted. He is petulantly hunched in on himself and does not verbally acknowledge the request of his superior officer. He stares blankly at Wolffe when getting chewed out. (he is also covered in gadgets and is probably upset about being interrupted while modifying his gear)

It's almost like the brainwashing didn't fully take and this clone has a problem with being ordered around by 'regs.'

Stay tuned for part 2, a gif filled infodump inspired by the person who tried to tell the internet that CX-2 has prosthetic legs

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

"Forget I asked"

@summer-of-bad-batch week 3 alt prompt

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Crosshair, Hunter Set after the finale when everyone is living happily (?) on Pabu. Technically Part 1 of the Beach Days & Hair Braiding series. Word Count: ~1875 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: Crosshair tells Hunter he wants to join the Resistance

“Your regrets will go wherever you are, Cross. You have to find a way to live with them.”

“I am. The Empire is still out there, Hunter. If I can help keep them at bay… If I can keep them away from you and Omega, that I can live with.”

Crosshair stared at the bed, the covers and sheets stripped, the end of the mattress adorned with the small collection of his belongings.

It wasn’t much. But then, clones had never had much in the way of personal possessions. Most of their ‘belongings’ were military issue gear, able to be recalled and replaced with the supply whims of the GAR.

What was there now was his. Really his. Clothes that had been gifted to him by the people of Pabu, even if he had balked at the charity. A pebble with dark veins spidering across it which Wrecker had found on the beach and brought back because ‘it has the same tattoo as you’. A beat-up datapad which Phee had sourced for him, and to which he had downloaded all the data from the recorder on Tech’s goggles – not that he had accessed the files since.

He was wearing the bracelets Omega had woven for him, dyed leather and coloured thread standing out against a grey-white fabric wrap bound round his left wrist.

That had been Mayday’s.

It felt like stealing to take the strip of bandaging from Mayday’s empty helmet when they had returned to the outpost on Barton IV, and he had kept it hidden for many months whilst guilt gnawed at him. When he had been ready he had taken it out and simply run it though his hands, remembering.

Recently the pain of those memories had instead faded to a bittersweet ache, and he had added the length of fabric to the bracelet stack Omega had made. When the rip-tide of his regrets threatened to drag him under, he pinched his thumb and forefinger to the material and rubbed softly, grounding himself with the rasp of the rough fabric.

His fingers left a grubby mark, but he didn't wash it. That would mean taking it off, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that.

He found himself worrying the knot of fabric now, right hand trembling slightly as he forced his breathing into the calm cadence Omega had taught him and gathered his thoughts for this next step.

Omega knew he was leaving. She’d worked it out – she was smart like that. She’d spotted the tell-tale signs of his inability to settle to life on Pabu, and had confronted him about it in that special oblique way she had that spared him any feelings of judgement.

“So when are you leaving?”

“Huh?”

“When are you leaving?” She kept her head down, gaze focused on tying yet another colourful string bracelet round his wrist. “That’s what you’re planning on, isn’t it.”

It wasn’t a question. She knew he was already decided.

He flexed his right hand, then crossed it to his left to adjust the new bracelet. He pinched Omega’s hand affectionately, touch lingering on the soft web of flesh between her thumb and finger.

“Don’t tell the others,” he said, voice low, not meeting her eyes. “I don’t know how they’ll take it.”

“They’ll be happy for you,” Omega said, but he could hear the sadness in her voice. “If this is really what you want.”

He shuddered an inhale. “We’ll see.”

It hadn’t stopped him feeling like he’d failed somehow. Pabu was a paradise, and he should have been happy. Instead he was anxious, restless, unable to adjust to the slow pace of life. It only made it harder to see how enthusiastically his brothers threw themselves into the island community, ready to put down roots for the rest of their lives whilst he was still tumbling like a wind-blown briar.

Wrecker had understood. His broad, honest face was a map of his emotions, and he had been unable to hide his disappointment – but he had understood all the same.

“Gonna miss you,” was the first thing he had said after the lapse of quiet when Crosshair first told him. Then, “But you can always come back, right? If you change your mind.”

Crosshair nodded noncommittally. He was fairly certain he wasn’t going to change his mind, but if it made Wrecker feel better, he could let him have that.

“Echo and I will still be in touch,” he reassured his brother. “It’ll be… better than last time.”

Better than last time they were separated. He didn’t need to say it.

Wrecker picked him up in a huge bear-hug, and for once he didn’t complain too hard.

“Promise me you’ll stay safe out there, vod.”

“Sure, Wrecker. I promise.”

That left Hunter.

And he had no idea how he would react. So he had put it telling him, and put it off and put it off, and now Echo was arriving to collect him today and this was his last chance to corner Hunter, alone, to break the news of his departure mere hours before he went.

An irregular patter vibrated against his thigh and he clenched his right hand to stop it trembling, hissing in a displeased inhale. Time to get this over with.

“Hunter.” He raised his voice so that the rasping edge of his call would reach through the small house. “Could you help me pack?”

He returned his attention to the pile of items at the end of the bed, and waited.

It wasn’t long before Hunter wandered into his room, sipping caf from a chipped mug. “Sure,” he said by way of greeting, taking in the neatly piled items. “Looks like you’re nearly done already. Where you going? Camping trip to the far side of the island again?”

Hunter knew Crosshair would retreat to solitary trips for a day or two at a time, when the pressure of socialising with the island populace got too much. Crosshair kept his gaze carefully on the mug in Hunter’s hand, so he didn’t have to meet his eyes.

“Bit further than that,” he confessed, voice dropping to a near-whisper. His volume didn’t really matter – he could scream it for all the difference it made, Hunter’s enhanced senses meant he would hear either way.

“Off to explore the atolls?”

“No.”

He jumped at the soft brush of Hunter’s hand against his elbow and turned to him, guilt twisting his gut as his brother squeezed his upper arm with a supportive smile.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Hunter said, his gruff voice low and reassuring. “I’ll see you when you get back in a few days. What do you need help packing?”

Crosshair raised his arm to clasp Hunter’s in return, taking a half-step closer and tilting his head to rest their foreheads together. He closed his eyes against the confused look on Hunter’s face, lips pressed thin in a grimace.

There was no way Hunter wouldn’t feel the trembling of his right hand where it held his elbow.

“Can you get my armour for me?”

Hunter didn’t pull away, but Crosshair felt the tense of his muscles under his fingertips.

“What do you need your armour for, Cross?” said Hunter slowly, his tone measured. There was a creeping note of dread in his words.

Crosshair tightened his grip imperceptibly, willing his brother to understand.

“I’m going with Echo.”

For a long moment they simply stood, foreheads pressed together, tense and unmoving. Hunter’s breath shuddered unevenly into the space between them.

“Not you’re not,” he whispered eventually, voice low and forceful. “You can’t.”

Reluctantly Crosshair pulled back, straightening to eke out his height advantage as he dropped their arms.

“I can,” he refuted, keeping his face carefully neutral, “and I am.” Then he softened his gaze, looking pleadingly at Hunter. “Help me pack?”

Hunter’s expression fractured, shock and grief breaking through his usual reserved mask.

“When are you going?”

Crosshair swallowed and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Today.”

With a wounded exhale Hunter sat down sharply, the edge of the bed sagging under his sudden drop.

Crosshair shifted restlessly, not meeting his gaze. "I... I have to keep moving,” he ventured, struggling to voice the explanation into the tense space between them. “I've tried staying still. If I do, everything will catch up to me..."

He trailed off, and neither of them needed him to finish the unspoken sentence. They both knew about his nightmares. Maker knew Hunter had held him through enough of them.

“It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” Hunter surged to his feet, pressing into Crosshair’s space once more. “You’re just going to… to leave? Without telling us, without telling Wrecker and Omega so we have the chance to…”

His words dropped away as he saw the guilt in Crosshair’s expression, and he shuddered in a deep breath.

“You already told them.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m the last one to know.”

“…Yeah.”

Hunter shoved him, hard, anger flashing in his eyes.

“And you thought you’d tell me… by asking me to help you pack?”

Crosshair grit his teeth and pushed Hunter away, turning to scoop up the single armful of belongings from the end of the bed, everything he owned in the world.

“Forget I asked,” he said bitterly. “I thought you’d be happy for me. I’m moving forwards.”

“You’re running away.”

“So what if I am?” Crosshair raised his voice in frustration, volume increasing as their argument escalated. “It’s better than staying here, waiting for it to consume me!”

“Your regrets will go wherever you are, Cross,” said Hunter, but he kept his voice low, and Crosshair felt a lick of frustration that Hunter wasn’t matching his anger any more. “You have to find a way to live with them.”

“I am. By helping Echo. The Empire is still out there, Hunter. If I can help keep them at bay…”

His voice wavered with uncertainty, and he forced his gaze up to meet Hunter’s eyes at last.

“If I can keep them away from you and Omega, that I can live with.”

Hunter’s arms folded defensively across his chest, and he tried and failed to wrestle his expression back to neutral. It was like now his mask had slipped, he couldn’t shove down the heartbreak that leached through.

Crosshair mirrored his position, the bundle of clothes and his datapad clutched to his chest.

A chasm of space yawned between them, a mere few feet wide, impossible to cross.

"I want you to stay.”

Hunter's voice ached with so much more than he was saying.

"I want you to stay,” he repeated, and now he gave a shaky, resigned sigh. “But I'm not going to stop you leaving if that's what you want to do."

Crosshair released the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, the sound punching out of him in a relieved gasp.

“Yeah. It is,” he said softly, willing Hunter to believe him.

Hunter nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the floor.

He stepped forwards, and Crosshair flinched, but Hunter’s hand came gently to the back of his neck as he pulled their foreheads together once more.

“I’ll miss you, Cross. You can always come back, whenever. No questions asked.”

Crosshair squeezed his eyes closed, unable to answer beyond a nod. He leaned into the gentle pressure of their embrace, arms still wrapped tightly round his meagre belongings.

Hunter’s sigh gusted against his skin, warm and sorrowful.

“I’ll get your armour.”

Aand another prompt ticked off from my @sweetspicybingo card! Hot Drink to Bad News

[tennessoui]

wip wednesday (early cause im offline tmrw)

When the dust settles, Obi-Wan is surprised to find himself still standing.

It takes all of him, he thinks, the end of the war. It takes everything he has.

He used to wonder, in a distant, nebulous way, what it would feel like in the aftermath. How his life would return to the routines he held before Geonosis, if the cadence of Temple life would feel strange and unfamiliar to him after so long spent in the trenches. If he would miss the sound of his men behind and around him, the steady stream of words and laughter and presence of others, at all times, surrounding him.

It’s only when the dust settles, when the first grains of sand whip through the arid desert air to sting his eyes, that he realizes that every time he ever allowed himself to think about the end of the war, he’d always assumed that they would win. He had never truly thought they would be defeated. That the Jedi Order, the Temple itself, so strongly entrenched in the galaxy and in Coruscant and in Obi-Wan’s world view, were capable of falling.

He had cautioned others against the same assumptions the moment he heard them. He had warned his own padawan to not look too far into the future, to not plan too much for the war’s end. He had told many people—clones, civilians, holonet reporters, other Jedi—that it was dangerous to think of the war as something they would inevitably win. Nothing was inevitable, especially not victory.

But he realizes now, only now, only as he traverses the desert on the back of a stolen eopie, wearing robes still smelling so strongly of volcanic sulfur that his eyes are stinging with reactionary tears, that he’d thought. He’d always thought. 

He’d never really considered…this.

This aftermath, where he is still standing on shaking legs and everything that he has ever cared for in the world has become ash, has become the dust settling around him.

Everything he has ever known and loved and fought for has slipped through his fingers. When the dust settles, when he looks down at his hands, he expects to find them empty.

Instead, there is a baby in his arms.

And he knows—he knows intimately how much damage these hands are capable of. What hurt these hands can inflict even on those he loves. Loved. 

He knows, as the homestead rises up in the fading light of the two suns, that these hands should not cradle this baby. Not the son of the man he has murdered. Not his brother’s son. Not his padawan’s. Not Anakin’s.

He knows the babe is safest here on this farm in the care of this couple. He knows he must leave the child with them, to raise and love a thousand times better than he is capable of. He has tried before. He has failed one Skywalker already.

He knows. 

And he can’t. He cannot let him go.

While the Galactic empire rises on one side of the galaxy, the dust settles on the other and Obi-Wan Kenobi looks down at the babe in his hands and realizes that he cannot let him go.

Not another Skywalker.

[quidam-vir]

The Latin Collaborative & Creative Internet

Welcome to my little reference post! I love all the crowd sourced places and places of creative expression on the Internet. I especially love when small communities, like Latin speakers, come together and do cool things. I want to shout-out some of these Latin-specific projects and places just to spread possibilities for the wide-reaching īnsolitī hominēs around the globe. Grow community resources, express yourself or have something fun to do if you're bored.

1. Software Translations (Launchpad)

Over at launchpad they crowdsource translations for a bunch of open source software. Think of your favorite open source software and chances are it'll be on there and you could help make a Latin version. Applications range from Blender to Chromium to Ubuntu to a Dice Roller or Tetris clone

I have the dream of assembling a team of good Latin translators to complete the translation of Linux Mint and help create the first major operating system entirely in Latin.

2. Victionarium

Love Wiktionary? I know I do. How about Wiktionary in Latin? Create definitions and dictionary entries for Latin words, in Latin. The more it's built up, the better this resource would be for learning new words.

Helping add Latin words or forms to the English Wiktionary is also helpful, sed scīlicet the Latin one needs in more.

3. Vicipaedia

Another Wikimedia project, who could've guessed? The Latin Wikipedia, Vicipaedia, is another great resource and one that could use more contributors. If you are knowledgeable, willing to learn, and good at Latin writing, try it out!

4. LibriVox

Are you one of the few that enjoy and are confident speaking Latin? Even if you're not, practice makes perfect! LibriVox is well known for a host of free audiobooks, and this includes ones in Latin. They could certainly use more volunteers for the language, no matter which pronunciation system or cadence you prefer.

Places with a 'Latin' Post Setting

There are a few places you can write or post where you specifically can mark a post as being in Latin, and filter accordingly. Any I run across will be put below

1. AO3

Not a huge surprise—unlike the 99 currently existing Latin fics.

2. BlueSky

The Twitter clone from a while back has a language search and select with Latin (and some other old languages too)

If anyone has anymore places/projects to add, subtus narrā mihi!

[star-farer]

(a)part — 1

Summary: Lightyears and souls, loved and lost AU: Imperial Taglist: @kybercrystals94, @fionas-frenzy, @padawancat97

Author's note: I'm trying something new out with Tumblr and my fics.

A soft laugh huffs from a warm corner of his heart. There is fast asleep, sprawled across his cross-legged lap, a tiny daughter, worn from the excitement of the day.

“Tired, run’ika?” He runs careful fingers through her little curls, blonde and bright against his tan skin.

She coos something half-hearted in an unconscious reply — perhaps, even in sleep, she recognizes his cadence. Her legs draw up, little knees against a little chest, as she tries to bury herself into his side like a seed into soil.

One could charge him guilty of joy, and he would hold his wrists out to be bound and thrown away for his crime.

With a gentleness he spares for his handful of loves, he slips his hands under her small form and brings her up to nestle against his heart. He is slow, deliberate, careful in the way he handles her, lest she wake up and, Force-forbid, loudly disapprove of his actions. The last thing he needs right now is three exhausted soldier-brothers peering at him from their bunks with bleary and haggard red eyes.

A quiet whine of protest, high and indignant, escapes her despite his efforts. For the movement, for the disturbance, her nose wrinkles after the typical clone fashion, displeasure clear in the mouth that parts open.

So it is with a practiced swiftness that he bows his head to hush her with incoherence, that he runs a thumb along her round cheek, that he presses a kiss into her hair. It’s enough, more than enough, for her to melt against him with a content hum, purring like a loth-kitten. Is that a hint of a smile playing on her pouting little lips?

“Cyare,” he chuckles softly, fondly, “If you were cold, you could’ve just said so.”

The small head nuzzles against his chest, little hands rolled into loose fists and tucked in the slim crevice between. He wishes for a blanket to wrap her in, snug and warm, swaddled like a tubie. But he isn’t inclined to get up, as drowsy as his own eyelids are, so his lanky arms will have to do.

Contentment washes over him as he settles in a slouch, wedging himself in the cool corner of his bunk, shoulders awkwardly perfect where they are forced to bend against the durasteel on either side. He lets his chin dip, ear against the firm muscle of his bony shoulder, knowing full well his neck will catch if he falls asleep like this.

What does he care for cramping muscles when the world around him is slotted together into perfection?

His brothers lie in their bunks, resting after a long day of training and simulations and tests. His daughter lies in his arms, drooling her way into a country of dreams. And for once, Kamino is tranquil without, no storms ravaging the ever-stretching seas to tempest and chaos. Not even a drizzle patters against the dark transparisteel of their encompassing window as soundtrack to their weariness. Only the snores of sleeping clones surrounding him.

Such days, such nights, such moments: they are rarer and more precious than pure, distilled hope. It’s why he clutches them with both hands, savors their grace, tucks them away delicately in a secure corner of his mind. He’ll protect them with his very blood, should it come to it. They are his and his alone.

As are his family. His vode, his ad, his aliit.

And here, with the sigh he releases, heavy with the promise of existence, he liberates himself to a peaceful darkness he knows only in the warmth of home.

keep reading

[missfrieden]

Tech as a father Chapter 65

Tech has his own way of handling the stress of the recent intrusion.

I also had to split it up, or it would hve been way to long.

Masterlist | AO3

Chapter 65: Mittens

As Tech steps out onto the platforms of Tipoca City with Orion cradled against his chest, the gentle patter of the rain hitting the facility surrounds them. The cool, misty air envelops them both, contrasting with the warmth of Orion nestled in his father's arms. The rhythmic sound of rain hitting the metal surfaces creates a calming melody. Which is as familiar to Tech as it has to be for Orion, even if it may not have the same calming effect yet.

Tech takes a leisurely stroll along the bridges, the soft pitter-patter of raindrops echoing in the background. The reflections of the neon lights on the wet surfaces add a surreal glow to the environment. Orion, bundled up in a cosy outfit, gazes curiously at the rain-slicked surroundings with his bright blue eyes. Tech's mind, usually occupied with tactical calculations and technical details, finds a rare moment of solace in the simple act of walking with his son. The familiar scent of the rain-soaked air mingles with the subtle fragrance of Orion's baby shampoo. The sound of distant thunder reverberates, creating a soothing backdrop to their stroll.

Tech, immersed in the tranquillity of the moment, reflects on the challenges they face and the need to protect Orion from the prying eyes of the Kaminoans. Orion, oblivious to the complexities of his surroundings and the depth of his father’s thoughts, responds with innocent babbles and tiny grasps at the raindrops. His tiny fingers, encased in mittens, try to catch the droplets, creating a heart-warming scene. Tech can't help but smile, appreciating the simplicity and purity of these moments with his son. As they continue their walk, the rain serves as a cleansing force, washing away the tensions and uncertainties that lingered in the in their everyday lives.

Tech, finding a sheltered alcove shielded from the rain which intensified, another storm about to rage over Kamino, gently lowers himself to his knees, creating a makeshift haven for Orion. With precise movements, Tech positions Orion, supporting him under the arms, ensuring his tiny boots meet the cool surface of the formed puddle. Orion, snugly dressed and sheltered from the elements, looks down with wide-eyed curiosity at the reflective pool beneath his feet.

Tech, always calculating and vigilant, observes Orion's reactions. The puddle, a miniature world to the little one, captures his attention. His tiny hands, encased in mittens, reach down to touch the water, creating ripples that mirror the raindrops around them. Orion's babbling adds a joyful counterpoint to the ambient sounds of the rain. Tech, momentarily setting aside the complexities of his usual calculations, finds himself engrossed in the shared experience. The cool water beneath Orion's boots and the gentle touch of raindrops become sensory delights for the little one. The reflective surface mirrors their silhouettes, creating a snapshot of this father-son escapade on Kamino.

As the rain continues its dance, Tech relishes in the simplicity of the moment. Orion's laughter mingles with the rain's gentle cadence, creating a precious memory etched against the backdrop of Kamino's sterile metallic structures. In this sheltered alcove, father and son find solace, temporarily shielded from the demands of duty and the scrutinizing eyes of the Kaminoans and other clones.

As the distant rumble of thunder gradually transforms into a resonant roar, Orion's bright eyes widen with a mixture of curiosity and unease. The sound, amplified by the open expanse of Kamino's platforms, reaches him with an intensity he hasn't experienced before. Tech, attuned to Orion's reactions, senses the subtle shift in his demeanour, quickly getting up and holding him close.

Orion, nestled in his father's arms, grips the fabric of Tech's jacket, seeking comfort from the sudden onslaught of sound. His little body tenses, and his gaze searches the skies, trying to comprehend the source of this new auditory experience. The rain now falling more steadily and rapidly, adds its own percussion to the symphony of the storm. Tech, ever the analytical mind, adjusts his stance, ensuring that Orion is shielded from the rain and the unrelenting sound of thunder. He softly speaks to Orion, his voice a soothing undercurrent against the backdrop of the storm. The rhythmic patter of raindrops on the metallic surfaces provides a counterpoint to the deep resonance of thunder.

With a practiced motion, Tech loosens the hood of Orion's protective covering, allowing him to peer out at the rain-soaked surroundings. The distant flashes of lightning illuminate the cloudy canvas above, momentarily transforming Kamino's gloomy atmosphere into a captivating display of nature's power. As the thunderstorm intensifies, Tech continues to comfort Orion, his steady presence and calming words acting as a steadfast anchor. The once-startled expressions on Orion's face gradually yield to a mixture of wonder and acceptance, as if he's beginning to understand that the storm, while formidable, is a natural occurrence. But with each thunder, Orion seems to forget what Tech tried to say.

Tech, mindful of Orion's vulnerability to the storm's sensory assault, swiftly retreats into the facility, seeking refuge from the overwhelming sounds of the storm. As the thunders are now quicker in succession. The metallic echo of rain is replaced by the comforting hum of the facility's climate control as they step through the door. Orion, still cradled in his father's arms, continues to whimper, his bright blue eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and fear.

Finding a more secluded area, Tech gently lowers himself to the ground, supporting Orion with his hands under the tiny arms, leaning him against his legs. Orion, now focused on his father's face, seems to find solace in the connection. Tech, using a soothing tone, begins to explain the phenomena of thunder and lightning to Orion. “Orion, you see, thunder and lightning are like a dance in the sky. When you see that bright flash, that's the lightning. And then, the loud sound that follows, that's the thunder. They happen together because lightning makes the air around it really hot, and that creates the sound we hear as thunder.” And he dives even more into the physics of it, before he decides to head back.

As Tech navigates the sterile corridors of Kamino, not stopping his explanation, Orion's cries finally subsided. The explanation, combined with the return to the familiar, controlled environment, helps ease Orion's distress. Tech reassures him with a soft cadence of words, emphasizing that they are now safe from the elements, shielded by the facility's walls. Continuing his gentle narrative, Tech points out a nearby window, where occasional flashes of lightning paint brief, vivid patterns in the darkened sky. He uses simple words to convey the natural beauty and scientific principles behind the storm. Orion, still cradled in his father's arms, watches the mesmerizing display with wide-eyed wonder.

The storm, once a source of apprehension, becomes an educational moment for Orion, guided by Tech's measured explanations. As the echoes of thunder gradually fade into the background, Tech uses this opportunity to impart not only scientific knowledge but also a sense of security and understanding to his son. The two of them, nestled within Kamino's protective embrace, continue their exploration of the world, one lesson at a time. No matter if Orion is to young to understand, Tech will gladly explain it again… and again.

Tech chuckles, interpreting Orion's playful tugs at his hood as a form of communication. He adjusts the hood, as they walk through the corridors, Tech continues engaging with Orion, savouring these simple yet precious interactions. "Pulling on my hood, are we? Perhaps you're suggesting I need extra protection from the storm, or maybe you're just showing off your budding fashion sense." Orion responds with more enthusiastic babbles, his tiny hands exploring the textures of Tech's jacket. Tech relishes in the joy of sharing these moments with his son. The bond between them deepens with each step, reinforced by the subtle gestures and playful antics that bridge the gap between father and child.

As they approach the squad barracks, the familiar presence of his brothers awaits. Tech, with Orion still comfortably nestled in his arms, enters the shared space. The atmosphere shifts from the controlled environment of the facility to the warm camaraderie of the squad's quarters. Tech, always attuned to Orion's needs, ensures that the transition from the stormy outdoors to the familiar space of the barracks is seamless. Orion, now surrounded by the comforting presence of his family, continues to explore the world through his bright blue eyes, eager for the next adventure, lesson, or playful moment with his father and uncles.

Crosshair, arching a sceptical brow, gazes at Orion's mittens with a hint of amusement. "Mittens? Really?" he quips, his tone carrying a touch of dry humour. "Is Kamino suddenly turning into Hoth, Tech?" Tech, undeterred by Crosshair's scepticism, responds with a calm demeanour. "Crosshair, it's merely a precaution. Kaminoan temperatures tend to be on the cooler side, especially during a storm, and I'd rather not risk Orion catching a cold."

Wrecker, always ready to inject a playful remark, chimes in with a hearty laugh. "Yeah, Crosshair, you never know when Hoth might be next on our mission list. Gotta be prepared!" Crosshair smirks, giving a slight nod in acknowledgment. The banter among the squad members adds a layer of warmth to the otherwise sterile surroundings of Kamino, which seems not to the standard for this barracks. Meanwhile, Orion, oblivious to the banter about mittens and Hoth, babbles contentedly in Tech's arms, occasionally reaching out to explore the world with his tiny gloved hands.

Tech, carefully removing Orion's mittens and then unzipping the warm jacket, lets out a small chuckle as Orion reacts with glee to the raindrops. "Enjoying the rain remnants?" he says with a soft smile, his voice affectionate. The simple joy in Orion's response brings a warmth to the hearts of the squad members. As Tech begins to undress Orion, the baby gazes up at him with bright blue eyes, seemingly fascinated by the process. Tech, ever efficient, selects a breathable onesie for Orion, ensuring the comfort of his son during sleep.

Wrecker, who has been watching the interaction, adds in a boisterous tone, "Looks like we've got a rain-loving little trooper here!" “Unless it involves thunder,” Tech explains in agreement, finishing the dressing routine with practiced ease. He cradles Orion in his arms, now in lighter sleepwear, and begins to softly hum a calming tune. The gentle atmosphere, filled with the sound of raindrops and Tech's soothing melody, creates a serene moment within the squad's quarters.

Crosshair, ever observant, notes the scene with a subtle smile. "Tech, you're turning into quite the dad," he remarks, a hint of approval in his voice, but clearly amused of hearing his brother hum. Tech glances over at Crosshair, a soft expression on his face. "I suppose I am," he replies, his attention returning to Orion.

Wrecker's laughter echoes through the barracks as he claps Tech on the back, with Tech holding Orion just a bit tighter. "Six months, and you're already a pro at this dad stuff!" Echo nods in agreement. "Time does seem to fly, Tech. It feels like just yesterday we were relaxing and you told us you need to try some flying manoeuvre out, and now look at you. A diaper changing soldier."

Tech, holding Orion in his arms, shares a small but proud smile with the squad. "Indeed. It's been quite the journey. And I would do it all over again." Crosshair, ever the sharpshooter, observes, "The kid's growing fast. Ready for a mission on Hoth with those mittens." Tech chuckles, "Maybe not Hoth just yet," as he begins the process of getting a bottle ready for Orion.

Chapter 66

Reblogs are very welcome and I am open for feedback, as english is not my first language, so maybe my sentences may be weird sometimes, or I write a word wrong even with google, or I use a wrong word for an item.

Tag: @spectacular-skywalker @neyswxrld @clonethirstingisreal @sleepycreativewriter @moonwreckd @sskim-milkk @heidnspeak

Got press on nails after not wearing them since my operation last year. Feels strange but familiar, just gotta get used to an even length of all. Typos here I come.

[measlyscrapofseafood]

hello star wars nation

[baalzebufo]

'I don't know what you're-a trying to say…' Peppino sighed, exasperated. He went to turn away, when-

'Pe-Pino.'

The voice… it was his voice, but the cadence was just slightly off. An imperfect mimicry, but close enough that it immediately fired every panic neuron in his brain at once.

---

A little piece of writing to nail down the vibes im going for with my interpretation of Fake Peppino! Having a normal fun day in the kitchen where nothing uncomfortable or weird happens.

---

'Pe- pi- no.'

Peppino tried not to flinch when he felt the heavy wet hand on his shoulder and the voice gurgling in his ear. Deep breaths- okay. He inhaled sharply and grit his teeth, bracing himself before he turned around.

It hadn't been easy, getting used to… that thing. Fake Peppino, as he had been calling it in his head. But he did feel admittedly a little guilty for destroying the tower- its home, really- and it didn't ask to be made like that. Still, he wished it hadn't decided to stick around sometimes. He'd spent an entire week just trying to make sure it didn't attack him on sight! And even then, it STILL chased him from time to time...

But he had reached an uneasy accord with his doppelganger, or at least thought so. He seemed more sedate at any rate, and Peppino had even managed to talk it into helping in the kitchen- which is where he was now, spreading a ball of dough thin with his knuckles, before he was so rudely interrupted.

He turned and forced a smile, trying to cover up his nerves with fake confidence. Ghh- he never got used to seeing him. His fake looked like him, but… uncanny. Stretched. Something wearing the wrong size of his skin. It made a weird bubbling noise- Peppino had come to learn that was its 'excited sound'- and grasped his wrist to tug him to the other side of the kitchen.

'Okay, o-kay! Slow down- whats-a the rush, paisano? What do you want to-a show me?'

Peppino tugged his wrist free and returned his hands to their comfortable position, tugging nervously on his tank top. Fake Peppino had dragged him over to the pizza oven. It was a great brick thing- a traditional piece and easily the most expensive thing in the whole restaurant, but also something he would never sell. After all, what kind of a pizza chef would he be without his pizza oven?

His clone straightened up then, drawing an involuntary shiver out of Peppino. It looked at him. Peppino looked back. He briefly made eye contact, watching as the fake's right eye slowly dribbled down his face- he glanced away before it started to make his heart pound any louder.

'Ah… what? What is it?' He mumbled again, shrivelling a little under the unyielding gaze. He may have been his clone, but they apparently didn't copy the part of him that hated prolonged eye contact, ugh. He chanced another look. His double was looking at him almost expectantly.

Suddenly, he raised an arm- quick enough to make Peppino flinch. But he didn't strike. He simply pointed- one finger poking Peppino in the chest. Then he moved his hand to point at the oven, the heat of which was beginning to make even more sweat bead on his forehead.

'I don't know what you're-a trying to say…' Peppino sighed, exasperated. He went to turn away, when-

'Pe-Pino.'

The voice… it was his voice, but the cadence was just slightly off. An imperfect mimicry, but close enough that it immediately fired every panic neuron in his brain at once.

'Peppinos. Pi- Za.' The fake nodded, looking pleased- then slapped one hand down on Peppino’s head, crushing his chefs hat down and drawing a yelp of surprise out of him.

'Peppino. Pi-zza.' The words sounded smoother as he rolled them around his mouth, smiling wide enough that his teeth looked as if they were about to drip out of his lips. He pushed Peppino a little closer to the oven- his heels dug into the ground instinctively. The heat was oppressive... 'Peppi-no. Pizza.'

Peppino froze. He had learnt not to run- bolting only excited his fake. He stood stock still, even as its face slowly lowered to his. His eyes widened- there wasn't anywhere else to look but into his own distorted visage, the oven's heat only causing it to drip more. Oh, god, it was dripping everywhere…

His hands balled into fists, ready to react, but his body seemed stuck. Damn his freeze instinct-! He held his breath as his fake tilted his head curiously, and then laughed. A bubbling gurgle, face practically split in two.

'Pizza. is. Peppi-no.' He said, happily. Peppino couldn't bring himself to figure out what exactly that meant, because the only idea he had right now- well, the heat wasn't helping, and his vision was blurring, and it wasn't good…

'Peppino. Pizza. Nothing. Compares!'

All of a sudden, he was pushed back. Away from the heat, a cold blast of air hitting him as the doppelganger shoved him. All at once Peppino’s body reacted, scrambling back along the floor and breathing- wheezing, really- trying to get enough air in his lungs so he didn't pass out. All the while he watched as the wax figure of himself dripped like a candle in the heat, spun on its heel happily and giggled.

'Not- yet!' It smiled, face still firmly turned to look at Peppino even as its entire body twisted 180 degrees to stick to the nearest wall- his neck creaked with the strain, more of its doughy flesh sloughing off onto the floor as he moved away from the heat.

'Cook.' It's hand found one of the open vents- it's favorite hiding spots. 'Let him. Cook. Not ready!' It smiled, eyelids squeezing shut happily over misshapen sockets, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth.

'Later? Pizza later. Nothing Compares...' He mumbled, voice softening as Peppino could only watch in wide-eyed terror as it folded itself in half to slide into the narrow vent- he'd seen it many times but he still wasn't used to it. The wet sounds of a body moving in ways it shouldn't, the scrape of the metal... As it pushed itself into the darkness, Peppino saw its face- his face- the last thing to disappear.

'Peppino. Pizza...? Soon...'

And then it was gone.

He didn't move.

Honestly, he stayed on the floor for an uncomfortably long time.

After what felt like hours, his body finally decided to return the feeling to his joints- and all at once he scrambled upright. What- what was that? He thought…

He thought he was reaching… some kind of agreement with that thing. But clearly it was still far, far beyond his understanding. And what it said- no. No, Peppino shook his head violently. He didn't want to think about it. Because if he thought about it, it sounded an awful lot like...

No. No, no, no. That was silly. He just needed to get back to work. He needed to push this out of his mind and forget it ever happened.

He stumbled over towards his pile of pizza dough. Looking down at it, he couldn't help but feel… uneasy, suddenly. A wave of strange nausea rose in his chest.

Maybe… maybe that was enough pizza for one day.

[the-bi-space-ace]

Fire & Smoke

An angsty thing I wrote instead of writing my WIP

Warnings for heavy angst, mentioned death, panic, whump.

(Tagging @floundrickthewayfarer and @saturn-sends-hugs for the Echo and Crosshair angst 🩶)

—

Crosshair is taken aback by the sincerity, the lack of response on Echo’s tongue, the glazed over eyes that barely gave him a second glance before he turned back around to stare at the smoke billowing from below. He’d never quite seen Echo like this, quiet, breath stuttering, movements stiff. There’s something so wrong in the way he’s holding himself as fire starts to burn the tree-line.

Crosshair doesn’t flinch when a sound like an alarm emits from the flames, echoing and gurgling.

Neither does Echo.

But he does take in a gasping breath that sounds too close to destruction for Crosshair to ignore.

“Requesting backup.” Crosshair rattles off their location in a private channel with Hunter, keeping his voice low despite how Echo won’t hear it.

“What’s happening?” Hunter asked, hurried. Crosshair stares at Echo’s back. The helmet lying in the ground next to him. Then at the fire burning the trees and taking Echo’s brothers along with it. He thinks of the last thing he said to Echo before they left the ship. The cruel words that felt like salt in a wound now.

“Just get here as fast as you can. Echo needs you.” Crosshair let the channel go dark but continued to keep an eye on Echo’s shoulders, his neck, the clench of his fist.

Echo needs you.

He let out a steady breath then took a step towards their reg, not shocked by the lack of reaction. Worry sunk in his gut like lead. He made it to stand next to him before Echo’s eyes even moved off of the flames. It was a lazy, lethargic movement, eyes now bloodshot as they briefly studied Crosshair’s face. His expression was devoid of everything that made Echo Echo.

It could’ve been a mistake to find Echo’s hand and clasp it in his own but it was barely acknowledged as the hand hung loosely. Crosshair pressed his thumb to Echo’s racing pulse point and squeezed, not quite knowing what he was doing or if it would work.

He got no verbal confirmation but Echo’s fingers twitched even if they didn’t grip back. The silence stretched until the crunch of footfalls on the ground made him turn his head.

Hunter made it up first, already pulling his helmet off to survey what was in front of him. Confusion bloomed then died, replaced with an understanding Crosshair wasn’t ever sure he could manage. Tech and Wrecker followed behind him, both of them pausing as if not sure how to proceed.

Imagine. A mission Clone Force 99 couldn’t handle on their own.

He saw Hunter run through options. Calling Rex. Having Wrecker scoop him up and carry him back to the ship. Sedating him. All things Crosshair had time to think about as they waited for the batch to get there. Any and all of it would betray Echo’s trust in them, would disrupt the progress they’d made in proving they had him. This was what he needed them for.

He needed them to understand.

Hunter signaled to Tech to move forward. The silence wasn’t necessary but they didn’t know that. Tech took his own helmet off so Echo could see his face then stepped up in his right. He leaned his head towards Echo’s and the smooth consistent cadence he’d grown up so familiar with started speaking slow. He couldn’t hear what Tech was saying but whatever it was had Echo turning towards the constant words being spoken at him.

As time nudged forward Tech’s hand rested on Echo’s back, then traveled to his neck, fingers gently pressing his pulse to feel the speed of his heartbeat.

Tech said something and Echo laughed - short, wet, a bit miserable, but still a laugh - and then his hand finally gripped Crosshair’s back more firmly. Bitterly Crosshair wondered what it was that Tech could do that he couldn’t but he shoved that thought away as quickly as it bit to the forefront of his mind. It didn’t matter. Echo’s body had relaxed, his breath coming more evenly, his eyes no longer vacant. Those were the things that mattered.

Almost out of the blue Echo dipped down to pull his helmet off of the ground and it was on his head before either of them got to ask if he was alright. Echo moved past them like a ghost - silent, worrisome - and began to lead the way down the mountain.

Crosshair let his eyes connect with Hunter’s and spotted the worry. He spotted the concern that they shared, that all of them shared, but Hunter nodded as if this problem was solved and shoved his helmet back on, following their reg down the trail.

Crosshair knew this was only the beginning.

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

Okay, I've finally collected my post-rewatch thoughts on the CX clones, and have two major points. Allow me to state in advance that, while my thoughts are... mixed (to say the least), this is NOT intended to bash the show's creative teams.

First, let's tackle the subject of CX2.

Let's make one thing perfectly clear: there were clear indicators that CX2 could be Tech. I went into season 3 NOT wanting CX2 to be Tech, AT ALL, so the fact that I left "Point of No Return" thinking chances were high that a Tech-X reveal was coming really says something. Even rewatching with the understanding that CX2 was apparently intended to be a shadow of Crosshair (per Jen Corbett), the Tech parallels couldn't be ignored. Others have spelled out exhaustive lists of the parallels; for me personally, the things that stood out and STILL read as Tech-coded to me are: 1) the dude moves like Tech, 2) looks like Tech with all his gadgetry/pouches that also link directly to his ship (Crosshair never had pouches nor is he ever shown to be the primary pilot, of course he has some level of flight training but he even gives the flying reins over to Omega), 3) there are at least four instances where he sounds just like Tech to me (Tech says "Who are you?" twice with the same cadence in season 1, so the fact that CX2 uses the same exact speech pattern... well, let's just say if I had a nickel for every time...), and 4) some of his word choices are precisely what Tech would say (it might be cliche by now but I am telling you, CX2 dropped the word "Domicile" and that was THE moment that I squinted at my screen and literally said out loud "Tech, is that you?" [insert Leonardo DiCaprio pointing meme]).

Thing is, there are also several times where CX2 sounds like Crosshair to me, and most of the time he sounds like a reg under the distortion. In terms of sniping skills, he really is more on par with Crosshair compared to Tech (precise though Tech may be), and all regs seem to have some level of the other physical/weapons skills CX2 possesses.

My point? During my rewatch, all these details ended up coming across even more strongly to me as purposeful misdirection to ramp up speculation and interest. Of course, there is absolutely nothing wrong with using red herrings. It was actually really fun to speculate and even joke over whether CX2 was Cody or Soup Clone or Dogma (back when we were young and naive and thought the CX's might actually be redeemed). What I personally DON'T care for in the slightest is the trick of not only allowing the fate of a fan-favorite character to be left ambiguous all season long (and some would even argue it remains so now) but ALSO including several prominent hints that make said character (who is supposed to be dead) a red herring, especially considering that some of the fanbase (including me) was truly hoping for a comeback for the character for various reasons. And now, part of me is glad that CX2 wasn't specifically revealed to be Tech after Hunter skewered him, but I'm still screaming into the void over the fact that they didn't even bother to make THAT point crystal clear!

(I'm not going to touch on the gaslighting that has occurred within the fandom (cough Reddit cough) over the CX2=Tech evidence. That's on the fans, not the creative team, especially since I know the creatives are very limited in what they can talk about and how they can word things.)

As it stands now, frustrating though it is that Tech was used as a red herring, and much as I think there might have been some odd rewrites regarding this plot point, I'm taking the firm stance that the CX2 we saw skewered was NOT Tech. If Tech comes back, I want him to either have been living with amnesia or been kept in stasis somewhere on Tantiss. Preferably amnesia, with Omega or Echo finding him and bringing him home.

Second, my thoughts on the CXs as a whole.

I... am not sure what the overall point of them was supposed to be, besides being cool-looking baddies (and we already had plenty of those). Prove how awful the Empire is (as if that point hasn't already been made abundantly clear)? Prove how awful Hemlock is? Prove that Hemlock can do even worse to clones than even Palpatine was able to do? But if we're talking about how awful Hemlock's experiments are and the absolute horror the clones go through, why are we ultimately supposed to be glad/relieved that the CXs all die (including via suicide chip and assassination by fellow operative) and the CX-Batch are defeated in a boss fight? And it gets even muddier since the little characterization we have for the CXs is all over the place.

Let's take CX2 as an example again: he is a big meanie, a bigger meanie than CX1 who tried to kill our favorite senators Singh and Chuchi. He disobeys Wolffe. He kills CX1. He gets Nemik and other clones killed. He tries to drown Crosshair. He tortures Cid (mixed feelings on whether that actually makes him a meanie...) He obeys Hemlock's order to get the kid or else... But then he disregards the order to terminate the other Batchers if they get in the way (HE SHOOTS HIS OWN PILOT INSTEAD OF HUNTER), only targets the citizens' "means of escape," is borderline civil to Shep, and actually heeds Omega's plea to leave Pabu alone. So maybe he's not as much of a meanie...? (If he's supposed to be a brainwashed Imperial shadow of Crosshair, may I remind you that Imperial Crosshair murdered civilians and a member of his own team when they proved the slightest bit refractory and/or didn't have the intel he wanted.) But then he chops off Crosshair's hand. And after that - well, doesn't matter much anymore if he's a meanie or not. Apparently everything he did meant he was irredeemable.

Maybe we're just supposed to root for the "regular" CXs. It's the regular CXs Rex talks to when he offers help and a way back to the clones he manages to capture. But we only meet two of these "regular" shadows and hear of others alluded to, and these shadows die before we really get to know them. So maybe we're not supposed to have had enough time to care about these shadows after all. Maybe Rex's line is meant to illustrate how far gone they are (except CX2 kills CX1 before that plot point can really be explored), or to illustrate Rex's stance on wanting to help any and all clones (as if this had to be clarified any further).

And then... Well, there's not much to say about the CX-Batch. They have super cool character designs. The one CX-Batcher getting unhelmeted is admittedly the one and only solid bit of in-show proof I have that CX2 was a regular clone. They are evil and killing people left and right and must be put down. I guess they're meant to be shadows of what the Bad Batch might have been had they joined the Empire, but I can't help but see the message as: if the Empire tortures and experiments on you long and hard enough against your will, you're irredeemable, which is kinda odd in a show which has choice as a main theme (I mean, come on, we start with clones who were born to be soldiers with no choice in the matter, to ending with Omega choosing to be a soldier of her own free will after other clones had the choice to stop being soldiers). Maybe if it was clear that the CXs had volunteered to become CXs, the message would be different.

In conclusion: to say that my thoughts on the CXs are complicated is an understatement. Frankly I would have no trouble overlooking the confusing handling of the CXs if the show had just handled Tech's death better rather than allowing him to become inextricably linked with the CXs (even if only in speculation/theory). Despite this, I still love the show (including season 3) and still applaud the overall brilliance of the creative teams.

[fandom-shitposter]

Tech logic

I appreciate that fandom doesn’t always lend itself well towards logic, emotions run high and get in the way of detached thought, but it’s overdue in this case

When Tech chose to fall he was on Eriadu, but that’s not a location under Hemlock’s control. We know this because Tarkin has a good bitch at him when he turns up late for the meeting there

Hemlock may have had Tech’s goggles in his possession later on, but it wouldn’t have been *his* people who went looking around the site of the monorail collapse, it would have been Tarkin’s

Tarkin makes it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t piss down Hemlock’s throat if his lungs were on fire, so he certainly wouldn’t have handed him anything that he thought he might have been able to gain any sort of advantage from, regardless of the condition it was in

So he gets the smashed up goggles and a ‘that was all we could salvage, such a shame. Anyway’ and gets packed off back to Tantiss

Not only does Tarkin dislike Hemlock but he couldn’t care less for the project he’s working on, he’s solely focused on his own work and considers Hemlock’s an unnecessary drain on the limited funding available

That doesn’t help to clear up where Tech is now, but he was never in Hemlock’s possession

***

But if Hemlock didn’t have Tech how come CX-2 used the same words and cadence when he talked?

For the same reason so many of the Knights of Ren background CX units had so many of Tech’s design features, with goggles, visors, and helmet shaping repeating amongst the crowd

Distraction and fan baiting, for the sadistic joy of stringing people along until the last possible moment and then spitting in your eye. To make you think that Tech is gone with zero hope of ever returning. To try to put off any fans who've shown themselves to be getting close to working it all out

But CX-2 sounded like Tech for the exact same reason Tech sounds like Tech. Because that’s the way he'd been programmed to speak. Which is also the reason Omega speaks with a space NZ accent

Just because all of the focus on reprogramming clones is put on Crosshair, the CX units, and Hunter (briefly) doesn’t mean it doesn’t go back much much further than that, back to before we ever met CF99. Hemlock is using the technology and data the Empire took from Kamino. The progress on his projects only stalls once Nala Se stops assisting him

Experimental Clone Force 99. Emphasis on the Experimental. Just because they give us a few details about one aspect of that work doesn’t mean they told us everything

Just like Hemlock juggling multiple projects on Tantiss, Nala Se was doing the same thing under Kamino, with her own female clone medical assistant by her side. And on Bora Vio before that

***

This show has taken scenes from multiple other franchises all the way back to the Clone Wars arc, but what it uses most of all is The Lord of the Rings & The Hobbit

They keep repeating an overhead circle motif – a ring or a set of concentric rings. Coming back to it more and more often the closer to the end we get. It even appears as a design on the shoulder of a street seller on Pabu in the finale

CF99 dying with Tech is the SW equivalent to the Fellowship of the Ring being broken. They’re no longer together but the quest goes on regardless. Just with a focus on some of the other characters and in a show we won't be supposed to think is related to Tech because it isn’t a clone centric show

Not only is Tech still vital to the resolution of the bigger story, but there’s still so much plot that's been set up and then left hanging, and they continued to set up new things to come back to later on right up to the finale episode so it’s clear that this story is far from over

There may not be any more clone based shows, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be shows with clones in them. Like Rebels. That wasn’t clone centric, but they were still a key part of the overall story