#i had to go in with toothpicks at one point for the details

[skyrayroost]

Finally scanned in another oil painting :]

[wxxpingangxls]

WET

+synopsis; the hottest criminal solicitor is in town and she’s ready to fight tooth and nail to prove her new clients innocence. I wonder how he’ll thank her…

+content/warnings; black reader but little to no explicit detail, taboo relationships, stalking, peeping tom, death threats, begging, mentions of murder, graphic details, angst, cheating, reader smokes, semi public, oil massage, nasty and messy sex, squirting, brief toe sucking, running from him, pussy drunk Toji, mr munch, ass eating, Toji is grown and got stubble, face sitting, 69, mating press, doggy style, overstimulation

+pairings; Felon Toji x Lawyer!Fem Black Reader

+a/n; ending is rushed idk why 😞😞 but i hope you enjoy lovely’s!!!🩷

“So, Mr Fushi… Uh, so what exactly are we here to discuss today?” you stated, papers on the table and pen in your hand ready to note down.

He raised an eyebrow as his eyes wandered down to the bright diamond ring blinking at him on your finger. You were used to this behaviour. Felons and criminals acting cold and calloused as if you weren’t the one thing between them and their freedom.

“Look, I don’t want to be here either. But we have got to work together. There’s no point in you sitting on your arse, acting as if I don’t have better places to be. I could be on a trip to Barbados right now but I’m stuck here saving your arse-“

“You done?” he interrupted slyly.

“No, I’m not done. You’re wasting everybody’s time. It’s not my fault you decided to kill that guy at the bar. The court appointed me as your attorney and so I’m going to try my best to help you win this case but I can only do so much.” you huffed at the end of the long speech watching his eyes close in annoyance.

“Look lady, I’ve got a child to go back home to, I don’t have time for this. Can you get my case dismissed or not?”

“I was getting to that,” you stated with venom laced on your tongue. “We can always claim self defence. Given your history there’s not much else,” The question of whether he had a mental illness crossed your mind but quite frankly, you weren’t in the mood to converse with this fiend any longer.

“That’s a pretty ring ya got there… You married?” he questioned. His cuffed hands were lying in his lap. This man had stressed you so damn much that you hadn’t realised how, handsome, he was. Despite the ugly and completely unflattering appearance of the orange jumpsuit, you could see the tattoos that encapsulated his large biceps, big enough to crush your skull with. The man you were defending - or rather attempting to - had the meanest mug written all over his face. But you were a woman before you were a lawyer, and your heart was with another.

“Not yet, I’m engaged,” you huffed.

Toji scoffed before turning to face the large mirror. “Is that all Mr Fushiguro? If so, I’ll be on my way,” and without another word, you swiftly left the room, closing the door on the way out. The correctional officer walked out towards you. “Did he tell ya what ‘appened? Ya know with the guy?” You eyed the officer down, observing his hands that were stationed on his belt. “Exuse me? I’m not entitled to disclose that information,” you rolled your eyes as the click clacking of your heels echoed across the hallway.

“Hi baby, how was your day?” your fiancé kissed your temple as you looked down at the plate of food in front of you.

“It was okay,” you shrugged indifferently.

Your fiancé was the executive marketer of a large company. “I’m sorry to here that, I’ll be upstairs if you need me,”

You didn’t say a word as he walked away. In spite of the disturbing scene unfolding in front of your eyes on the TV whilst watching “The Perfection”, you couldn’t help but wonder how Mr Fushiguro was going. Sure he had a nasty mouth and the patience of a toothpick but there was something so intriguing about him. Maybe it’s because you were tired of you boring and plain life. You’ve always been like that.

It wasn’t anything new for you to leave something that was perfectly good to something subpar purely out of boredom and this was no exception.

The next few weeks consisted of you mostly signing papers, talking with your client, viewing crime scene photos and talking to detectives on the case.

The old Bailey loomed large and imposing, its grandeur echoing centuries of justice. Inside, the air was thick with anticipation and tension. You were a sharp and tenacious criminal lawyer, and this was no new information as you adjusted your barrister's wig, your eyes scanning the courtroom. Your reputation for winning impossible cases was well-earned, and today, your skills would be put to the test.

Toji Fushiguro, your client, sat at the defendant’s table. His presence was both magnetic and menacing, a dangerous mix that had everyone on edge. Accused of a brutal murder, his piercing green eyes betrayed no emotion as he watched the proceedings unfold.

Your first meeting had been fraught with silent judgments and unspoken words. You had read his file meticulously, aware of the gravity of the crime he was accused of. A single father found dead in at the bar, after a fight had broke out, all evidence pointing towards Toji. Yet, something about the case felt off to you, an instinct you couldn’t ignore.

You spent countless hours pouring over the evidence, every piece scrutinized under your critical gaze. Late nights at the office became routine, the flickering desk lamp being your only companion. Toji's file lay open before you, his eyes in the mugshot staring back with a challenge and scar in menacing smirk.

The interviews were intense. Toji, ever the enigma, offered little help. His answers were curt, often cloaked in sarcasm. But there was something beneath the surface, a flicker of vulnerability that intrigued you.

A ghost of a smile played on Toji’s lips. “You’re different from the others. They’ve all looked at me like I’m already convicted.”

"So? Why would you think I'm different? Let’s not forget why I’m here,” you stated.

Days turned into weeks, and your professional relationship took on a different hue. There was a dangerous allure in Toji’s defiance, a charisma that drew you in despite your better judgment. You guys would often find yourselves locked in heated debates, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day in court, you found yourself in a dimly lit pub, nursing a bourbon. The door creaked open, and Toji walked in, flanked by the ever-present guards. Their eyes met across the room, a silent understanding passing between them.

“What the hell are you doing here, Fushiguro?,” you said as he approached the table, your voice low.

“I needed a drink,” Toji shrugged, sitting opposite you. The guards stood discreetly nearby, giving them a semblance of privacy.

You arched an eyebrow. “Well then, get your damn drink and leave me be?”

Toji leaned forward, his eyes darkening. “I think you’re the only person who sees me as more than just a murderer.”

“Oh please, that’s my job as a defendant. You’re onto nothing,”

Your heart pounded in your chest. The line between right and wrong blurred, your connection undeniable and perilous. you knew you were treading dangerous waters, but something about Toji made it impossible to walk away.

As the trial progressed, your determination to uncover the truth deepened. You successfully discovered inconsistencies in the evidence, hidden motives that pointed towards another suspect. Each revelation brought you closer, your late-night strategy sessions charged with a mix of frustration and undeniable chemistry.

The day of the verdict arrived, tension palpable in the courtroom. You stood tall, closing arguments a masterclass in legal brilliance. You had laid out the evidence meticulously, casting doubt on the prosecution’s case.

As the jury filed back in, the room held its breath. The foreman stood, the verdict hanging in the balance.

“Not guilty.”

The words echoed, a collective sigh of relief from your team. Toji turned to you, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper in his eyes. You couldn’t show your true feelings, not here, not now. But the promise of something more lingered between the energy in the air.

As the two of you continued to stare, a bright blinding bling brought his attention back to the engagement right adorning your right finger.

A few weeks after the trial, life starts to return to normal. Your fiancé working hard to make you happy, however your client still plagued your mind.

Your routine became his script. He knew when you left for work, the route you took, where you got your morning coffee. You would catch glimpses of him sometimes—at least you think you do—a flash of his face in a crowd, the shape of his shoulders disappearing around a corner.

One evening, as you leave your office, you feel it again—that sensation of being watched. You quickened your pace, glancing over your shoulder, but the street is empty. You told yourself it’s just your imagination, but the fear lingers.

Toji followed at a distance, his footsteps silent. He knows how to blend into the shadows, how to remain unseen. Every time you turn around, he steps just out of sight, watching you with a predatory intensity. His mind races with thoughts of you, dark fantasies that he can't shake.

Despite the ever growing suspicion of a potential stalker, you decide to treat yourself to a massage at your favorite spa, hoping to find some peace. The soft music and dim lighting work their magic as you settle onto the table, your mind beginning to unwind. An all too familiar and soft female voice tickles your ear, “Hey honey, just give me five and I’ll be back to give you the massage of your life,”

“Hurry Tina, my back hurts,”

A few moments pass before the masseur enters. You hear the door close softly and the click of bottles being opened. Hands begin to work on your tense muscles, and you let out a sigh of relief. The touch is skilled, firm yet gentle, but there is something vaguely unfamiliar about it.

A whisper brushes against your ear. “Did you miss me?”

Your eyes snap open in shock. Toji’s voice is unmistakable. Your heart races as you realize the hands on your body belong to him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you hiss, trying to keep your voice steady.

Toji’s hands continue their work, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “I needed to see you. To feel you.”

“What the fuck does that even mean, you bastard? I thought you had a kid to go home to. Instead you’re here feeling me up. Have you no shame?” you whisper, torn between fear and a forbidden thrill.

“I know,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your ear. “But I can’t stay away from you. You’re in my blood, Y/N.”

“Bullshit, you bum,” you spit.

His words are intoxicating, and you find yourself caught in a web of desire and danger. Every stroke of his hands ignites a fire within you, a fire you thought you had extinguished.

You know this is wrong, that you should stop him, but your body betrays you, melting under his touch. The line between right and wrong, sanity and madness, blurs once more.

As Toji’s hands explore your body, you realize that you are no longer just in the shadow of doubt. You are in the shadow of obsession, and there is no turning back. Your mean words did nothing but further push him to make you his.

“If you want me to stop, you know the word,” he carefully caresses the skin of your lower back. You weighed out your options. You were going to be married soon, if you were going to live life you’d might as well do it now before it was too late.

You hummed in acknowledgment, before finally agreeing to his lingering touches. It was going to be a one time thing after all. He gently flipped you over so that you were lying on your back. “Just so you know, Toji, this is a one time thing. After all I’m engaged.” he ignored you as he grabbed your thighs so that they were touching your chest.

He watched as your cunt leaked out before he’d even touch you. His hands weren’t even that good. He figured it must’ve been a long while since you’ve been dicked down good.

He wasted no time before sucking on your bud, your moans being loudly ripped from your chest. “Fuck!” you knew it’d been a while since he’d had some pussy, but damn it couldn’t have been that long. He groaned out from your sweet taste. “My God, I didn’t think you’d taste this good…” he whined out.

He spat on your clit making sure his saliva ran down to your puckered hole, ultimately making a mess out of you. “Oh yes!” you moaned out before cupping your mouth. You had momentarily forgotten you were in public, but the shame of being too loud quickly left your soul as Toji continued to suck on your pussy.

His tongue entered your tight hole, expanding the tight rim. “You ever had your ass ate before?”

“Excuse me?” you sat up utterly shocked.

“N…No? What kind of question is that?”

“Huh…No wonder you’re such a tight ass…Literally…” he scoffed.

He continued his ministrations on your sweet cunt. “If we had some privacy I’d eat your ass out so good,”

You couldn’t even keep your legs up anymore, your orgasm was coming closer. Toji knew this well and started sucking and pulling on your clit. Your face scrunched up in pure bliss. Bliss you hadn’t felt in ages. “Mphm! Toji!”

“Yeah, that’s what I like to hear.” he groaned out in the response.

“Right there Toji! M’ so close!”

A harsh knock interrupted his actions as your abruptly sat up. “Y/N? Oh my Goodness? Are you ok?” Tina asked from the other-side of the door. She shook the door handle multiple times before banging on the door again. “Did you lock the door? Open it please!”

“Did you seriously lock the damn door?” you knocked the upside of Toji’s head.

“I wanted us to have some privacy,” he shrugged indifferently.

You rolled your eyes before groaning, “Hello? Who are you talking to because I know it’s not me,” Tina huffed out annoyed.

“No one, give me a minute I’m coming.” You ushered Toji out to hide behind the cupboard door. The plan was when Tina wasn’t looking, you’d have Toji sneak out then back to the front door. From the minute you met your client you count tell he was a fool. Did you think he was that much of a fool? No. No one could’ve predicted this amount of foolishness. You silently scolded the man as he stood behind the door, waiting for the right moment to sneak out.

One night, after a long bath, you slipped into your favorite silk bathrobe, its softness a comforting embrace. The moonlight filtered through the curtains as you stood by your bedroom window, looking out into the night, wine glass in hand. The city lights twinkled in the distance, but your mind was far away, consumed by thoughts of Toji.

Unbeknownst to you, Toji was there, hidden in the shadows outside your window. His eyes were locked on you, a hunger burning within them. He watched the way the silk clings to your body, every movement a tantalizing tease.

You sighed, running a hand through your damp hair, oblivious to his presence. Toji’s heart raced as he imagined what it would be like to touch you again, to feel your warmth against him. The memory of your pussy haunts him, a forbidden pleasure that he craves more than anything.

He knew this was wrong, that he should stay away, but the pull is irresistible. You were in his blood, an obsession that consumed him. His eyes traced the curve of your neck, the way your robe parts slightly, revealing a glimpse of the cleavage beneath.

Inside, you closed your eyes, lost in thought. Your fiancé was a good man, but he didn’t ignite the same fire in you that Toji does. You tried to push the thoughts away, but they keep returning, relentless and unforgiving.

Toji’s breath hitched as you loosened the belt of your robe, letting it fall open slightly. He gripped the windowsill, fighting the urge to break in, to take what he so desperately desires. His mind raced with dark fantasies, each one more intoxicating than the last.

You stepped away from the window, the cool air brushing against your exposed skin. Toji watched every movement, his body tense with longing. He knew he should leave, but he couldn’t tear himself away. You were his obsession, a forbidden fruit that he was determined to possess.

As you disappeared from view, Toji lingered a moment longer, the image of you burned into his mind. He will find a way to have you, to make you his. In the shadow of obsession, he waits, his desire growing stronger with each passing night.

Your ever growing need for Toji’s mysteriousness pulled you further into a dark pit you knew it’ll be hard to get out of. And if your fiancé was to find out, you’d surely be casted away as a harlot. You had to choose between your pussy and your head, and you had to choose wisely. Will you do the right thing and stay true to your fiance, rejecting Toji’s advances and promises to eat you out so good or will you go behind your husband to be’s back and sleep with the same murderer you helped avoid jail time?

For a minute, one might’ve compared your mental turmoil to that of Hamlets distain and hesitation upon hearing that his father was killed and now he was set to avenge him by killing his uncle but these were two very different situations.

But alas, you believed that you could have many men in your head but as long as you had your true love in your heart then you’re a loyal woman.

That’s exactly how you found yourself with your mouth full of his thick and slimy cock whilst smothering his face with your cunt. Sucks and slurps filled the room as the two of you got on with such harshness of enemies. The gargling of his dick filled the room while he moved his head back momentarily to watch as you clenched on his fingers, holes begging to be filled. He smirked as a glimmer of an idea flicked in his eyes, as they peered up to your winking hole.

His tounge slowly lols out before giving the tight hole a small lick. He let out a boisterous laugh as he watched you shudder and mumble to no avail. His deft fingers moved to your clit as he found a rhythm for his tongue to moaned against your puckered hole. You grind your pussy against his face, moans muffled by his thick cock.

Your clit throbbed as his fingers moved faster, never loosing their grip and his tongue keeping its rhythm. You groaned loudly and clearly this time, his dick was now limp and his cum was scattered all over his thighs and your mouth. You squealed out his name and his onslaught on your slick pussy only got more overwhelming for you and you had no where to move.

Your back arched from the overstimulation and your hands clenched at the pleasure he was feeding you. What you had done to deserve such a treat, you had no idea, but you weren’t complaining. Toji’s hands came down on your cheeks, rubbing and massaging the muscle as he did.

Tears welled up in your eyes and your belly tightened and without a word, he knew you were about to cum. He quickly swapped his tongue and hands, sliding a finger into your asshole and placing his lips around your sweet clit. The spiky stubble of his hair added to your stimulation , adding to your pleasure.

There was no holding back with Toji . He was here to show you how to feel good. “Move,” without warning he turned his head to the side, tapping your arse twice. You blinked your confusion away as his hands guided you so that he was looming over you. You couldn’t say a single thing before you felt that familiar burning of his girth stretching you out. Drool seeped from your mouth as he reached deeper.

“Ah ha ha. Feels good, doesn’t it baby?” he boasted.

Nothing but babbles left your mouth as he gently lulled you to silence. With a firm grip on your hand, and his duck fully sheathed into your deep pussy, he began his rough thrust. Fap. Fap. Fap. Fast paced thrusting in and out, knocking the wind from you. He had rendered you completely speechless which was almost impossible given the type of person you were.

“Lights are on but no one’s home…” he chuckled to himself as he continued to slip in and out.

You whined and squealed as you felt his curved dick rub against your g-spot. It was far too much for you, your cheeks were hot and throbbing, lips bitten and bruised and your throat dry and sore. Tears flew from your eyes and his fast thrusting never faulted but instead intensified as he realised where he was hitting.

“I know you didn’t try to fucking run from me,” he comments sternly. For a second you feel yourself go numb. All you needed was a moment to collect yourself. It was far too much is what you tried telling him, begging for a semblance of a break.

“You ever try that shit on me again, I’ll tie you up,” He flips you over with a firm grip on your hip, pushing your legs up your ears. “Toji? Toji!” you whine in estxasy and his dick reach’s deep. “Wait! Toji, Please!”

“Please what, girl?”

You opened your mouth to speak , but before you could, he started moving again, impaling you on the hefty limb. He watched as your expressions contorted from bliss to shock, upon feeling a wet and slimy tongue between your toes. This man was nasty, downright sick, and you loved every second of it.

A fat thumb lingered down to the small bud, before rubbing vigorously, He watched as your moaning became high pitched and your hips bucked. Your stomach sucked itself in as you tried escaping his grasp, squirming in his nearly painful grips. “Oh my- Toji, Wait! I’m going to to-!”

Your loud plea was interrupted by an obscene squelch and a splashing ad a stream of juices left your sore cunt and aimed right for the mans chest. He jeers as he saw your o-face falling inlove even further. It didn’t take a while for him to pump you full of his thick hot cum, and it certainly didn’t take long for your fiance to get the picture Toji sent of him eating your used up and stuffed cunt out.

It also didn’t take long for Toji to send a video of him stuffing you again in full nelson this time, making you hold the phone.

It also didn’t take long for Toji to get in trouble again with the law. You too hadn’t seen each other since that eventful night and he couldn’t help but be grateful, for if you knew just how nasty he was, you would’ve killed him yourself and he wouldn’t blame you.

After the whole debacle was dealt with, he found himself yet again being arrested, and on the other side of the conjugal line was you. Sitting prettily in your work attire, brand new engagement ring sitting on your finger as you discussed his charges. “I miss you Y/N” he’d say. “I wonder what you’re up to these days,” he’d enquire, knowing full well, if he was free he wouldn’t have to.

And whether Toji turned himself in on purpose after everything he’s done just to see your bright face again, or whether it was a pure coincidence that he’d just so happened to be arrested for something he had gotten away with for so long, you had no idea.

All you knew is that you regretted that night.

Well, not entirely.

[wistfulforstars]

Your Medicine, My Medicine

Summary: You know how to deal with Tech’s periods of hyperfixation. He’s yet to deal with yours.

Warnings: Here there be fluff! However, my blog is not for minors - Begone! Some vague allusions to sex, teasing, reader is tired, Tech is a bad influence, the squad is hopeless, reader is afab

Part 1? This one got away from me - it was only supposed to be a quick oneshot. I haven't decided if I'm going to do a spicy follow-up.

“Oh yes, go babysit this special squad of elite clones, it’s going to be so fun!” you muttered angrily to yourself, pouring over a sea of half baked statements, equipment requests, and unpaid expenses. 

A headache began to form behind your eyes as you continued to grumble, “The tall one won’t blow you up, the one with the toothpick definitely doesn’t have an attitude problem, and their sergeant absolutely knows how to fill out a mission report!”

You picked up one of said mission reports, a mostly blank page that just said NAL HUTTA. INFILTRATION. COMPLETE. scribbled across the top in Hunter’s untidy scrawl. You tossed it to the ground and thunked your head on the table, taking a moment to lay there. You needed a drink. You wondered, not for the first time that evening, where Crosshair could possibly be keeping his stash of premium Corellian whiskey.

It had been about a year since you’d joined Clone Force 99 as their Communications Officer, and every end-of-month report analysis had gone pretty much the same way. No matter how many times you’d asked your squad to be more organized, to add more detail, to consult you on expenditures, none of your instructions ever seemed to stick. Usually your superiors let it slide. This was CF99, the Bad Batch. Nobody really expected these troopers to be great at paperwork. 

But the squad had an inspection coming up. The first since you’d joined them. And they’d wracked up twice the expenses they were budgeted for, with all receipts buried in a massive pile or half singed from blaster fire. You were about to have some serious answering to do, and the only explanation you’d come up with so far was sorry sir, excuse my Shyriiwook, but how the fuck am I supposed to control these dipshits?

You had a feeling that wasn’t going to cut it.

Briefly, your mind wandered to Tech. If there was anyone on the ship who could help you sort through this mess, to see the patterns in the chaos, it was your resident genius. But he was unfortunately indisposed.

You would be lying if you didn’t say that Tech, even from the very beginning, had always been your favorite. You had clicked on an intellectual level immediately, way back on your first mission when you’d corrected him about a tradition practiced on that particular planet. Instead of being offended or taken aback by your knowledge, Tech had swiftly asked you for points of reference that he could pour into after the mission. He’d then thanked you for your input, and began deferring to you on matters within the realm of your purview. You didn’t know if you’d ever felt such a quick, simple appreciation for your talents before. It was…invigorating.

Tech listened, really, truly listened when you spoke, and always seemed incredibly flattered when you tried to return the favor. Conversation flowed naturally, often well into the night. He was polite and kind, and you’d almost go so far as to say chivalrous in his way, especially lately. Sure, all the boys usually treated you with an added layer of courtesy. You suspected it was because they didn’t quite know what to do with a woman on board. Wrecker seized heavy things from your grasp almost on instinct. Echo was so respectful it was almost disquieting. Hunter had procured extra blankets for your bunk and always made sure you had plenty to eat. And Crosshair…well, he had offered you a toothpick on occasion, but you weren’t sure if that was an attempt at bonding or if there was just something in your teeth.

Tech though…he’d started standing or sitting up perfectly straight when you entered rooms. He scolded the others for being too loud while you were trying to sleep. He was constantly finding something of yours to “fix” and then give back to you. And just a few days ago, he’d begun this little habit of offering you his hand when leaving or returning to the Marauder. As if you needed help going out the door. You’d practically squeaked in surprise when he looked up at you with earnest brown eyes, daring you to take his offered hand. Crosshair had laughed, but Tech hadn’t cared. He’d just continued to gaze at you patiently, handsome face mostly hidden by goggles and helmet. The air charged with electricity, and when you finally took hold of his hand, you could feel his warmth seeping through his glove. It felt like something between you shifted in that moment, like an invisible string had been spun and tied. You had to admit it was nice to feel cared for. It was sweet. He was sweet.

Too bad he wasn’t here.

The only problem with your… friendship with Tech is that it was sometimes unreliable. He would have these periods where he’d “go dark” as you put it. He’d get his head into a new project or concept and tune out the world for days at a time. Not sleeping, barely eating, and totally fixed on whatever new task had caught his attention. When you inquired about his well being, he would answer in vague, single syllable sentences, or worse, not at all. Being ignored didn’t feel great, but you always knew he’d come out of it tired yet pleased, and ready to show you what he’d been working on. 

However, it would be really nice if this weren’t one of those times. He’d gone under about two days ago, and hadn’t shown any signs of emerging since. You wished he was here to look through this pile with you, tell you how he’d tackle a conundrum like this, or hell, even just keep you company. His ability to focus and problem solve was one of your favorite things about him. It was no wonder he could get so much done by tuning out the world for a few days…

Suddenly, it hit you. Your head flew off the table, and you gazed down hopefully at the sea of papers, a wild look in your eye. Nevermind that you hadn’t slept yet. Nevermind that you were a little dehydrated. Nevermind that Echo still had you on concussion watch after your last mission.

That’s it! you thought. All I have to do is take a page out of Tech’s book, and this will be done in no time!

You lunged for your neglected datapad and got to work.

***********

Tech made his official appearance back into the world around 36 standard hours later, and he was very pleased with himself. He’d developed a prototype for new soundplugs for Hunter, and he couldn’t wait to force them upon his Sergeant. But first, he couldn’t deny his irrepressible urge to show you. You had always appreciated his experiments, and he always appreciated your insights.

Not to mention, he felt you were both… ah… growing closer. Tech had been interested in trying to initiate a more intimate bond with you for a few months now. Only after sufficient research into being a desirable partner and numerous mental exercises for practice did he feel comfortable moving on to the most logical next step: trying to see if you were interested in him in return. His test of trying to hold your hand to help you down from the Marauder had been a definite success. You’d met his attempts with brief shyness, amused puzzlement, and eventually (if he read your body language correctly), anticipation. That was most encouraging indeed. He focused hard for the next few days on getting through the development of his latest prototype, not because it wasn’t a fascinating project, but because he wanted to create more free time for himself. Free time he could use to observe, interact with, and, well, woo you.

His hesitance wasn’t only due to the fact that your affections were hard to read - though you did keep things with the squad painstakingly friendly and professional. Tech was fully aware that he wasn’t the most dynamic or exciting romantic choice amongst his brothers. Echo had a patience about him that he couldn’t hope to emulate, Wrecker was practically built out of fun and carried affection in every bulging muscle, and Hunter and Crosshair had a quality that the holonet had simply called ‘the bad boy thing.’ 

You were bright, achingly beautiful, and more endearing than you had any right to be. It was Tech’s opinion that one person should not be so utterly enthralling - it was simply unfair to the rest of the population. Particularly the occupants of this ship, who all adored you. You could rightly have any one of them you wanted. But yet, surrounded by such obvious choices to warm your bed and your heart, you chose to spend your time at his work table, chatting about nothing and everything. That alone gave him hope. Hope that perhaps, if he paid attention to his research and did not stick his proverbial foot in his proverbial mouth, you would grow to return even a fraction of the affection he felt for you. He could hardly wait so see how you’d been faring the last couple days.

Except every single one of his brothers were currently blocking his way.

“What possible reason would you four have for loitering outside the door?” Tech’s voice came out sharper than he meant it to. 

But none of them even looked back in his direction.

Echo turned to Hunter with a grin, “You lose, sarge. Tech came out of it first.”

Tech frowned, “While I appreciate being completely ignored when I ask a question-”

“The princess has picked up your little habit,” Crosshair tossed back at him through a toothpick. 

“My…habit?”

Wrecker finally spared him a glance, “Shortstuff hasn’t said a word since day before yesterday.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “She didn’t even want to raid the rations with me. I’m gettin’ worried.”

“Wait,” Tech said, alarmed. “You mean she hasn’t eaten?”

“Made her a sandwich yesterday,” Hunter replied, and Tech parsed through the gruff syllables to hear the concern in his voice. “She nibbled at it and kept right on with her paperwork.”

“D’you think she’s mad at us?” Wrecker fretted. “She yelled at us before about receipts.”

“And Hunter’s reports,” Crosshair sneered.

Hunter became defensive in turn, “I’ve told her before, command doesn’t care about reports, they care about results.”

“And that’s clearly made it through her thick skull, good job-”

“Boys, we really need to make sure she drinks something-”

“Should I pick her up, or-”

“How well did that idea work with Tech? He got so scared he tased you-”

“Wasn’t so bad, and I don’t think she has a taser-”

“Maybe if Crosshair hadn’t bought that new attachment-”

“Maybe if Hunter would learn to write the fucking alphabet and not scribble whatever he usually-”

Tech had heard enough. Clearly, something was very wrong with you, and he had missed it carrying on with his own experiments. He tried very hard not to let that thought consume him. You needed assistance, and his brothers were being anything but helpful. 

Using the controls he’d built into his vambrace, Tech commanded the door they were all lurking inside of to whoosh shut, nearly colliding with Hunter’s nose and snapping the end of Crosshair’s toothpick. All four of his brothers turned to glare at him. He stood tall, not bothering to hunch.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he commanded, and he barely recognized the assertive tone in his voice.

Hunter, though, looked at him with a knowing glint in his eye. Echo sobered up. Crosshair smirked, the expression slightly undercut by his frayed stub of a toothpick. Only Wrecker seemed vaguely surprised.

“She said she was gonna go do her reports,” he shrugged. “We got an inspection comin’ up or something. Next thing we know, she’s got her nose stuck in her datapad and she won’t snap out of it.”

“Won’t sleep,” Crosshair grunted. “Tried to give her tea to help. She poured it out.”

“She took my spare soundplugs,” Hunter added.

“And you can only get grunts or single word answers from her, if she answers at all. ” Echo nodded in Tech’s direction. “It’s exactly how you get when you’re trying to focus. Like she’s channeling your methods or something.”

Tech crossed his arm, “She must be very worried about how the inspection will reflect on her. Did anyone tell her that half the time the officer doesn’t even bother to show up? And when they do, we pass on successful mission count alone?”

His brothers glanced at each other, silent. He sighed, “Perhaps, since these are, as you say, ‘my methods’ I can get her to snap out of it.”

Hunter brightened almost immediately, and if Tech weren’t so worried about you - had you really not slept all this time? - he would be a little wary of the snide glance his sergeant sent the rest of the squad.

“You know, Tech, that’s a great idea,” Hunter clapped him on the back. “In fact, since this is a delicate matter that you know so much about, would you mind if we left it to you?”

“That’s right,” Echo added, now also sporting a winning smile. “You’re the best man for the job, Tech. We’ve tried everything, it hasn’t worked. And we were about to go out for supplies anyway.”

Crosshair even joined in, toothpick miraculously replaced, “The town’s some distance away, so we won’t be back till after nightfall. Might have to spend the night out there. You can help miss perfect sort herself out while we’re gone.”

Tech glared at his brothers. How subtle did they think they were being?

Kind Wrecker hesitated, “Will she be alright though? Tech?”

He adjusted his goggles, clicking his teeth together, “I will do everything I can for her Wrecker.”

Crosshair snorted behind him, and Tech whirled on his squad, already heading towards the door, “Laugh all you want, but you and your discourtesy caused this, all of you! That woman has been much more help to us than we’ve ever been to her, and if you come back without copious signed and annotated receipts for everything you buy, you will not be setting foot back on this ship! Do you copy, troopers?”

Crosshair laughed his way out the door, but Hunter nodded sincerely before departing. Echo sent a salute Tech’s way with his scomp, before dragging Wrecker, who looked like he might start crying, out of the ship.

The door shut, and Tech locked it from his vambrace for good measure. Silence.

Finally, he headed down through the doorway to get a glimpse at your exhausted frame, folded nearly in two over your makeshift workstation. You didn’t stir as he approached, but perhaps that was because of the soundplugs in your ears. 

Your eyes, frantically scanning a shoddy piece of paperwork, were red and sunken. You mumbled nonsense to yourself in a voice with a slight tremor, and Tech could have sworn you had lost weight since he saw you last.

His mind ran through different possible reasons you might have ended up like this, and then twice as many tactical and complicated scenarios in which he could try and get you to stop and get some rest. But he found he was becoming too concerned for any of those. The diminished light in your eyes, the lack of luster in your hair, it was all instilling in him a less-than-dignified response akin to panic. Tech was a survivor of countless dangerous encounters, but none of them set him on edge quite in this way. 

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, he reached out carefully and laid a hand on your shoulder. No response. He frowned. 

“Meshla,” he spoke quietly yet firmly. “I am going to remove your soundplugs.”

He reached both hands out and plucked them from your ears, but aside from a waved hand and a mumbled, “I told you to go away, Hunter,” you didn’t react. Your eyes remained glued to the form.

Alright, he’d try not to be too offended by that. He, after all, was sometimes slightly confused when he came out of a hyperfixated state, and he was too knowledgeable of himself to not see how hypocritical he was being.

He leaned forward, and his mouth nearly touched the back of your ear, “It’s not Hunter,” he breathed. “It’s Tech.”

You jumped, startled, and whirled around to face him, “Tech! Oh…hi, Tech! W-when did you get, um, get…?”

“Just a little while ago,” he answered. “And imagine my surprise when I come out only to find you working yourself to death.”

At this, a little fire crept into your dull eyes, “Throwing stones in a glass ship, Tech?”

“Don’t start that,” he warned. “I am genetically engineered for more stamina, to require less nourishment, and with the capacity to-”

“Don’t start that,” you barked. “I can gauge for myself how much stamina I have and how much nourishment I require. Poor little nat-born me has months of paperwork to sort through-”

“Paperwork that does not technically need to get done,” he said, and he saw the way you furiously zeroed in on his raised pointer finger. “We will pass inspection regardless.”

But you weren’t giving up, “This is my job, Tech! It might not be a state-of-the-art invention or a new fucking discovery, but it’s mine, and I don’t appreciate you trivializing my role on this ship!”

With that, you turned back around sharply, and started tapping on your datapad so hard that Tech thought he might have to replace the screen. He stood there for a moment, assessing. Clearly, this required a little more than your usual style of interaction. You were tired, and more prone to anger than he’d ever seen you. He’d been attempting to appeal to your own sense of self preservation, but you might be needing a more emotional approach.

Fine, if you wanted to play hardball, he’d play. He smoothly invaded your space, your hunched shoulders to his front, and leaned over, placing his hands on the desk at either side of your body.

“Wrecker is in near tears with worry,” he began, low in his voice. “And I guarantee you Hunter’s having trouble getting to sleep with you up and moving all night.”

Your head jerked a little, but you didn’t answer. Tech covered the hand tapping at your datapad with his own, curling his fingers around yours. His other hand took the pad away, set it down as far as the desk would allow, and went up to stroke your hair. He could feel the tension in your shoulders loosen ever so slightly. 

He’d never touched you with such familiarity before, never felt such palpable intimacy. His heart sang as you allowed him to gently caress your hair with feather light touches. 

“I don’t think you’ve ever snapped at me like that before,” he said gently. “But then again, you’re usually well rested and well fed.”

“Not funny,” you huffed. You tried to wriggle out of his hold, reaching for your datapad.

Tech felt a surge of protective frustration in his chest. He’d never seen you this stubborn. You were taking your well-being far too lightly and he was officially tired of it, “It was not meant to be funny,” his voice was a little sharper, a little rougher. 

He seized the back of your chair, and pulled it out and around. Then he kneeled before your slumped form, and took both your hands in his own, “I can see now, that you do not understand how seeing you exhausted and neglected affects me. Allow me to correct that.”

“Tech-”

“I care for you,” he declared, words spilling from him recklessly. He had to get you to understand. “Acutely. Intensely. In a way that is often beyond my control. And I will do everything in my power, employ every skill at my disposal to avoid seeing you come to harm. Even if the one doing that harm is you.”

You blinked rapidly, surprise flooding your glazed eyes, “I-”

But he would not hear your excuses, your dismissals of his concern, “This is bad for your health, bad for my mental state, and ultimately, bad for the squad. I implore you to sleep, to-”

“Please listen-”

“No, mesh’la, there is no excuse-”

“I like you too!” you shouted, a shaking hand touching his lips to stop him from talking. 

Tech froze. Oh stars…he’d told you, hadn’t he? Kneeling on the dirty floor, both of you exhausted, in the middle of a disagreement. 

So much for his carefully curated plans to romance you.

You let out a slightly manic giggle, probably at the slack-jawed look of idiocy on his face. Your hand moved to cup his cheek, “Any ploy to win an argument, huh?”

Tech quickly laid his hand over yours, alarm rising in his chest “I assure you, cyar’ika, this was anything but a ploy. I did not intend-”

“I was teasing, Tech,” you laughed again. “Believe it or not, I’ve been thinking something was up for a couple weeks now.”

He cleared his throat, sheepish, “Ah, yes, well…I was trying to ascertain if you were remotely interested in pursuing an amendment to our current relationship.”

“You know, you could have just asked.”

He felt his cheeks heat up, “I was trying to present myself in the best possible light.”

“Oh, honey,” you smiled. “You do that every day. Though I won’t lie, helping me down from the ship was very cute.”

He sighed, relieved, “That is excellent news. The field of romantic attachments is completely foreign to me. I’ve been conducting research for weeks.”

“Oh? What kind of research?” your eyebrows rose.

“Standard romantic practices for humans,” he began listing off. “Romantic gestures in different cultures, sexual acts and techniques, common date ideas-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” the grin on your face grew wide with mischief. “What acts and techniques?”

“Sexual,” he affirmed with a wave of his hand. “And a lot of my research into romantic-”

You laid your fingers against his lips again, “Oh no, mister, you don’t get to just brush over that one. You looked into the best techniques for getting me into bed? Before you even told me you were interested? Overplanning much?”

“Actually,” he mumbled beneath your hand. “It wasn’t about getting you into bed, rather more about what to do with you once you were there.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes, “No matter how smart they are, pretty boys are all the same. Tech, that’s something we figure out together. Something we talk about and learn about as we go.”

Tech felt something very warm and light settle into his chest, “I understand what you’re saying,” he took your hand away from his mouth by the wrist, before examining it closely, reverently. He placed a brief kiss to your knuckles, and nodded to himself when he heard your little gasp. “But a woman like you, spectacular and brilliant as you are...you deserve the best in every regard. I have no experience to draw upon, so I decided to supplement that with knowledge. Carefully stored and memorized, of course”

He gazed up at your face, some of his nervousness from the past few weeks bubbling to the surface again. There was always a possibility that you wouldn’t be interested in a partner with no experience in the bedroom. But your eyes were shining, and that gave him hope.

“Tech,” you shook your head. “Did it ever occur to you that I might want to be the one giving you a memorable, enjoyable first time?”

He inhaled sharply, his heart hammering in his ears, “I will admit, it did not.��

You hummed, leaned forward, and reached for his face, drawing him up to your own, “Is this alright?” Your breath fanned over his lips, his chin. 

Tech found himself nodding, a little too frantically, and the next moment your lips were on his, and oh, this was very different from reading about kissing. His heart rate spiked, his hands twitched of their own accord, yearning to grab hold of you, and he was suddenly all too aware of his own body. His goggles fogged up. His cock tightened in his bodysuit. 

Then you grasped the nape of his neck and moaned into his mouth, and that was all it took to break his hesitancy. He grasped at your hips, and, utilizing a strength he didn’t usually have need for, he stood up with you in his arms. You wrapped your gorgeous legs around his waist and ground against his zipper. He gasped, and you took advantage, tongue darting inside, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. 

Tech sampled your mouth in turn, rubbing your hips with his thumbs, before slowing and gently pulling away. He stared at you, breathing hard. Your pupils were dilated with want, your lips swollen, and your fingers played with the little hairs at the back of his neck. You were completely and utterly perfect…

And you hadn’t slept in two days. 

You leaned in to kiss him again, but Tech rested his forehead against yours, still catching his breath, “This is not going any farther tonight, darling.”

He wished he had his recorder on. The pout you gave him was positively adorable, “Why?”

“Because you are tired beyond your limits, and I would be horribly remiss to have you exhaust yourself further by trying to perform for me in any way.” Not usually one for making himself feel strong or manly, Tech found he did like the weight of you in his arms, of your hands clinging to him. Depending on him. 

“And,” he interrupted before you tried to argue. “Even though you thwarted my long and meticulous plan to confess my feelings, I still reserve the right to woo you.”

You snorted a little, “Woo me?”

“Yes, mesh’la. I would like to spend some time with you in a romantic capacity before we run away with our urges.” He began walking you both back towards the bunks. 

“B-but! The boys are gone!”

“Which means we will not have to put up with Wrecker’s snoring,” he said simply. He plopped you into his bunk, but hesitated before he took off his first piece of armor, “I can take you back to your bed, if you prefer.”

But you just grinned and shook your head, “Don’t you dare. If I don’t get to break my three year dry spell, I better get to cuddle.”

He raised a brow, logging that bit of information away, but began stripping his armor and tossing it on the floor. He crawled into bed and felt his face warm at how you immediately attached yourself to his side, “I would like to take you out tomorrow.”

You yawned, the stress of everything finally catching up, “Yeah? Where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere,” he stroked your arm. “On a walk, to a nearby town if there is one. Maybe just to see the sunset.”

You hummed contentedly, “That sounds nice,” and you leaned up to kiss his cheek.

Tech, well he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to it…he melted, “How does a woman like you have a three year dry spell?”

You chuckled, “Break it for me and I’ll tell you all about the short string of losers, cheaters, and one particularly scary bounty hunter that had me swearing off men.”

“Hmm… I find myself more and more grateful that I decided to research this topic.”

He frowned, still unenthused by the idea of laying back and letting you do all the work. He would much rather be the one performing, excelling at pleasing you. Plans began to form in his head, of romance, seduction. He didn’t read through hundreds of articles for nothing, and he was determined that you would be pleased. 

“Tech,” you insisted, but your eyes were closed and your words were slurred. “I’m serious, we’re gonna… make your first time about you, whenever it happens. We’ll do whatever you want to do.”

He decided to try something small before bed. Just a taste of what he had in store for you. One article he’d read mentioned the best ways of initiating interest, and one of them was… talking to one’s partner. In a very particular way,  “But… what if what I want mesh’la… is to have you under me, limp, pliable, hoarse from screaming my name?”

You shivered at the deep voice he’d employed, and Tech waited, amused, as you struggled find words. This was more fun than he'd expected. He leaned in again, lips grazing your ear, "No more skipping meals. No more going without sleep."

"Tech-"

"Promise me," oh he delighted in the wicked, taut energy between you. He wanted to stoke it higher, hotter. "Promise me, and maybe tomorrow we can discuss all the ways you want to make my first time memorable."

Your breath hitched, and you let out a sweet little squeak, but you kept ahold of yourself enough to give a bit back to him, "Only if you promise too. That you'll start sleeping properly. I'll sleep next to you every night if you just come to bed."

Tech sucked in air through his teeth, heart pounding against his rib cage, "I will...try, mesh'la."

He kissed your ear, satisfied when he felt you quake again, "Then get some rest, darling. We're both going to need it."

"Thank you. So will I."

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part ninety-four: "The Offer"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Karen, Marci, and you go shopping for the upcoming gala.

Or

Karen presents you with an interesting offer.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.] [FFTD Series Masterlist]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut, violence

a/n: So I split this part off of the gala smut installment that will be coming up next because I didn't want the smut to overshadow everything else. But hey, that means more installments! Also, tumblr is messing with my tag lists again so I apologize if they aren't working properly. Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @ninacotte @mattkinsella @stilldreaming666 @murdocksclient @madscamp02 @1988-fiend @linamarr @pinkratts @schneeflocky @acharliecoxedfan @yarrystyleeza @theetherealbloom @danzer8705 @lionalsowrites @harperdoodle @kmc1989 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @pazii @kezibear @sleepysleepymom @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @babygirlmurdock @theoraekenslover @wanda-maxamommy @justanerd1

Picking up a fairly simple shoe from the display shelf that had caught your eye, you warily examined the three inch heel on the back of it. You didn't want to get anything that looked too dangerous for you to walk in at the gala this weekend, afraid you'd only end up embarrassing Matt and yourself if you did. Walking in heels certainly wasn’t your strong suit and you weren’t about to pretend that it was just to look a certain way in order to fit in at the event. But while you stood there studying the shoe in your hands, turning it from side to side inspecting it, a bright gold heel appeared in your line of sight. Your eyes immediately widened at the stiletto heel next to the slightly more sensible shoe in your hand. 

“I hope you're showing me that as an option for yourself, Marc,” you said, glancing up at her beside you. “Because I would absolutely break my neck wearing those.”

Marci scoffed, rolling her eyes at you. “Oh please,” she replied. “You wouldn't break your neck in these.”

You shot her a pointed look, a brow arching up onto your forehead. Slowly you watched as her expression shifted to one of doubt and uncertainty, her eyes dropping back down to the heel in her hand. Eventually she let out a defeated sigh, the heel lowering back to her side.

“Okay, it's likely you might sprain your ankle in them,” she conceded. “But then Matt could just carry you around all night, right? Do you really mean to tell me you wouldn't want that?”

“I'd rather him carry me around under different, less embarrassing circumstances,” you told her. “Not because I bought six inch heels that are the width of a toothpick under the assumption that I could spend an evening walking in them. Because we all know I can’t.”

“Fine,” Marci relented.

She turned, walking away to put the shoe back on the display shelf from where she’d found it. Your attention returned to the black heel in your hands as you once more contemplated your ability to survive in them for an entire evening. They didn’t look too intimidating–especially after the heel Marci had just suggested. 

“What about these?” Karen asked.

Glancing over your shoulder at the sound of her voice, you focused on the deep red heels she was holding up in her hand. They were stunning, you had to admit it. The color wasn't anything too crazy bright so it wouldn't stand out horribly against the black dress you'd already bought earlier today. Plus, they were almost the exact same shade of red as Matt’s Daredevil suit, a detail you figured he'd probably enjoy even if he couldn't see them himself. 

“You don't have to get black shoes just because the dress you bought is black,” Karen pointed out. “And the heels on these don't look too scary do they?”

“No,” you answered slowly, setting down the shoe in your hand and turning towards her. “They don't.”

You stepped over to where she’d been standing, reaching a hand out and accepting the heel from her outstretched one before examining it closer. She was right, they truthfully didn't look all that intimidating in comparison to most of the other heels in this high end store. Certainly more manageable than the gold heel Marci had just suggested. 

“Ohh, I like those,” Marci said, appearing over your shoulder and eyeing the shoe. “Definitely not too plain. I prefer these over those black ones you were just looking at. Nothing wrong with adding a little bit of color.”

“Okay, then. You’ve both convinced me,” you told them. “I’ll see if they have a pair in my size.”

With the shoe in hand, you made your way over towards a rather bored looking sales associate and asked for your size. Briefly they disappeared into a back room, eventually returning a minute later with the nicest shoe box you'd ever seen in your life. Which probably meant the price on them was something absolutely absurd, but so was the budget Matt had more than graciously given you for your day of shopping today. Something you were still confused about him doing since his sole reasoning was just that he wanted you to enjoy your evening with him at the gala.

Thanking the store associate politely, you took the shoe box and headed back over to the row of chairs near where Karen and Marci were still shopping. But as you neared the pair of them you overheard the loud, almost dramatic sigh that Marci had released. Slowly lowering yourself down into one of the chairs, you raised a brow at her curiously.

“What was that about?” you asked her.

“I have been dying for someone to just bring it up all day–just to touch the topic even once –but no one has. So I guess I’m just going to do it myself,” she answered you. “Are we ever going to address the fact that you’re dating Frank?” 

Her eyes pointedly focused on Karen when she’d asked the question. Karen, who had been eyeing a pair of dark green heels, slowly began to set them back down as Marci’s perfect brows shot up onto her forehead questioningly. Without further pause Marci continued on, clearly determined to cover the topic of Karen’s new boyfriend. 

“Because I've been waiting all day for the opportunity to talk about it, especially with hearing Foggy tell me all week about the office arguments your love life has been causing,” Marci explained. “I figured when I took the day off of work and joined you both for this girl's shopping trip that we would be all over this topic today but no one has brought it up. Not even once. But I mean, you're dating that Frank. You don’t think we want the details? Like… why are you dating him?”

Your eyes flew over to Karen, watching as her shoulders dropped as if she'd been expecting this subject to be brought up at some point today. Truthfully you were a bit surprised no one had mentioned anything until now as well, but you figured Karen just didn't want to risk being lectured once again. You could only imagine how much she’d had to deal with that from Matt all week already. 

Silently you watched as Karen blew out a breath, turning on her heel and making her way over to take a seat in one of the cushioned armchairs beside you, her arms crossed over her chest as she moved. Marci hurried over after her and settled down into the chair on the other side of Karen. With rapt attention she rested her elbows on the armrest and leaned in towards her, clearly waiting for the details.

“Alright, we might as well get this over with,” Karen said flatly. “Yes, I am dating that Frank. No, he's not insane. He's actually incredibly sweet, protective, and has a big heart. And I didn't rush into things with him either, despite what Matt might try to tell you,” she continued, looking back at you and rolling her eyes a little. “There's been something there between us for years but Frank never wanted to explore anything more because he thought me being with him would put me in danger. But he also wasn't entirely at a point where he was ready to open up to someone else in that sort of way after…well…everything that had happened with his family.”

“So does he still…do that?” Marci asked carefully. “You know the uh…activities he’s been known for?”

Karen’s gaze dropped to her hands in her lap, her blonde hair curtaining her face a little. “Yeah, but not to that extent. Matt won't exactly let him–which is for the best, don’t get me wrong,” she added quickly. “But he's an ex-marine who'd been taught how to do exactly that from his time when he was in the military. I can’t exactly blame him for defaulting to what the government trained him to do, especially considering that the people who were on the receiving end honestly kind of deserved it for what they did to his family.”

Marci shifted in her seat, peering around Karen and focusing on you. One of her blonde brows arched up onto her forehead again. “And what're your thoughts on this?” she asked.

You shrugged lightly, both women now focused on you. The heels you'd been about to try on were currently forgotten on the floor by your feet with the conversation that had arisen. 

“I mean, we all know how Matt spends some of his evenings,” you answered her. “It’s not like he hasn't done his fair share of similar things to criminals in the name of keeping the city safe. In some ways it would be hypocritical of me to view Frank differently–even if he has, you know, crossed a line that Matt very much refuses to cross.”

“So you just…are indifferent about this?” Marci asked curiously.

“Not exactly, but I don’t really know the guy,” you replied. “I trust Karen’s judgment though. I’d like to think she wouldn’t date someone who truly wasn’t a good person at heart, even if it's difficult for the rest of us to understand. And if this is something that’s been developing slowly over the years, I have no idea what’s happened between the two of them. Plus, I doubt any of us saying anything based on what we know from the media about Frank would actually change her view, because I know that alone wouldn’t make me suddenly walk away from Matt.”

“Exactly,” Karen stated, shooting you a smile. “He’s not the man the media painted him to be. There’s vastly more depth and heart to him. And he’s saved my life multiple times now– and Matt’s recently.”

A bout of nerves unexpectedly broke free in your stomach, a cold fear steadily unfurling in your gut at her words. You knew Matt put himself in danger going out as Daredevil the nights he did, that was nothing new, but hearing that Frank had saved his life recently certainly had an effect on you. Were those two getting involved in something dangerous in the evenings now? Involved in something you knew nothing about? Because you hadn’t heard Matt mention anything specific to you before, though you’d noticed he’d been a little more on edge some nights when he returned home.

“Well,” Marci said, sitting back in her chair, “I guess I’m just glad Fog doesn’t put on some funny little suit and run around at night like your men do. I don’t think I’d be as calm about it if he did.” Her head turned towards Karen as she focused on her again, her eyes narrowing curiously. “Is Frank coming to the gala, by the way? As your date?”

Karen laughed loudly, shaking her head. “No, absolutely not. He wanted nothing to do with it to begin with, and I’m pretty sure Matt would have an aneurysm if he did show his face. He says it’s because of the firm’s image, but I know there’s more to it than that.”

“Guess I’ll have to meet him another time, then,” Marci said in defeat. She looked past Karen, gesturing a hand at the shoebox by your feet. “Are you going to try those on then?”

Remembering the box on the floor, you glanced back down at it, though your mind was truthfully still on the comment Karen had made about Frank having recently saved Matt’s life. That growing fear of yours about Matt finding himself in danger and you being absolutely useless to do anything to help him suddenly hit you hard. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you felt your mood sour as you bent over and removed the lid from off the shoebox. The satin sheen of the dark red heels glistened in the overhead light, but all you could see was Matt in his suit, his body lying motionless somewhere in an alley surrounded by a pool of blood. Your stomach lurched and you bit the inside of your cheek even harder.

Karen leaned over in her chair, gently placing a hand on your forearm. “Hey, are you alright?” she asked softly.

Shifting your attention towards her, you caught the look of concern etched across her features. Behind her, you’d noticed that Marci had already risen to her feet and returned to browsing the selection of heels. 

“Yeah,” you answered, your eyes returning to Karen. “It’s just…you mentioned Frank saving Matt’s life recently and it had me thinking about something again.”

Karen’s blue eyes narrowed back at you. “About what?” she asked curiously.

You sighed, once more ignoring the shoes in front of you before sitting back in the chair and focusing on her. “Do you ever feel like maybe you’re…helpless?” you began carefully. “I mean now that you’re dating Frank? Even though I know things are still new between you both.” Shaking your head, you quickly added, “I mean, I know he doesn’t have the same urge to run around like some sort of superhero that Matt often has, but I can’t help but worry that if he ever actually needed help–or was in trouble or something–that I couldn't do anything. I haven’t been able to shake this fear that I just…wouldn’t be able to help him, you know? Because I'm not like him. I can't do what he does. I can’t really do anything.”

Karen’s head tilted a little to the side, something contemplative reflecting in her eyes as she studied you in silence for a moment. You wondered if she was going to tell you that you were being ridiculous until she finally spoke.

“No, I’ve definitely felt helpless before,” she answered softly. “Even before dating Frank. And I’ve certainly had it cross my mind that being with him could land me in the middle of something dangerous. Unlike Matt, he doesn’t exactly hide who he is when he goes out and does his thing. But that’s actually why I’ve had him training me in some self-defense and–” she paused, her eyes darting over to Marci who was clearly still very ignorant of this entire conversation, “–taking me to a shooting range lately. To practice.”

Surprise washed over you at her words. So Frank had been training her? To fight and shoot guns?

“You know,” she continued slowly, her eyes still carefully studying you, “if you want, I could see if he’d be willing to teach you, too. If it would make you feel a little better, I mean. Make you feel a little safer or more capable or whatever. I’m sure Frank wouldn’t mind.”

A nervous laugh slipped out of your mouth before you immediately cut it off, shaking your head firmly at the mere suggestion. There was no way in hell Matt would ever be okay with you doing that. If anyone was going to teach you self-defense, it would be him. Though, he’d only taught you some very basic things before he’d stopped, saying that you didn’t need to learn anything further. Because he always claimed that he’d be there to keep you safe–a promise you knew he couldn’t realistically keep. And one that completely ignored your fear about keeping him safe.

“Yeah, I really don’t think Matt would like that,” you told her. “He’s afraid of me getting too close to Frank for some reason. Doesn’t want to risk me getting hurt or something, I’m not sure. But I know Frank teaching me how to tie my damn shoe would start a fight. Hell, me breathing the same air in the same room as Frank would probably start a fight between us. One I’m not sure I need to deal with.”

Karen shrugged lightly in response before rising up out of her chair. “He doesn’t exactly have to know,” she pointed out. “At least, not at first. It’s not like Frank and I can’t keep a secret if it would make you feel better. I can’t imagine Matt would be all that mad at you for learning how to take care of yourself a little more after it's already happened. But it’s entirely up to you. I’m just throwing the offer out there.”

Your gaze dropped down to the dark red heels before you. The image of Matt's lifeless and bloody body in his suit laying all alone in an alley returned to your mind. You winced at the mental image. 

“Thanks, Karen,” you replied, eyes still on the heels in the box. “I’ll uh, keep the offer in mind, I guess.”

[ken-dom]

Everything Looks Better When The Sun Goes Down

Driver x afab!reader

3k words

∘₊✧ Summary: Getaways usually come with a strong dose of adrenaline. He can usually deal with it himself, but this time a far more thrilling prospect presents itself.

∘₊✧ Authors notes: I wrote this well over a month ago, and finally decided to dust it off and post, with encouragement from K, with whom the Driver conversation is never-ending and delicious! I would advise caution because he's kinda creepy in this one (compared to how I’ve written him before). Title from Make Me Wanna Die by The Pretty Reckless.

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: NSFW, dubious consent, masturbation, fingering, sex, glove kink, kissing kink, just a dash of sneaky, creepy, stalker-y Driver

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Driver’s leather-covered fingers tightened with a creak of resistance against the steering wheel. He might know the roads like the back of his hand, but being the getaway driver comes with the occupational hazard of not actually being able to control what your chasers will do, no matter how clever and thorough your plan.

Even if you’ve seen every trick in the book. Even if you have something of a sixth sense for predicting their movements.

Surprises can’t always be avoided, and tonight he was doing his best to get out of a surprise.

This had been just a touch more complicated to plot than his usual getaway routine. Locations hadn’t been quite as simple to pin down so timings would be off and he couldn’t have that. The only alternative was to alter his default plan of action only very slightly, yet the risks, apparently, tripled.

Or maybe Driver had just been unlucky.

He had kicked out the two masked men he had been hired to drive, easily getting rid of them en route as part of the plan, sticking to time down to the second, and then embarking on the more unusual part two, which simply required Driver to get himself away and hide the car somewhere different to where he’d hidden them. The route was meticulously added to his map, the hiding spots checked, double and triple checked, ahead of time.

Yet, despite the police radio suggesting they’d lost sight of tonight’s unassuming car of choice, the cops had picked back up, hot on Driver’s trail the moment he pulled back out onto the main streets.

He didn’t bat an eyelid at first. He knew what he was doing, after all; this wasn’t his first car chase by a long stretch. If he wanted to ‘wing it,’ he could. Easily. But he would never. He would simply go about the bulletproof backup plan designed for the event that this unlikely situation would come to fruition. All was fine.

Except that he really couldn’t seem to shake them. Every move he made, it was as though they’d read his mind and were one step ahead. It wouldn’t have been possible, but it was as if they somehow seen his detailed maps. They were only for his eyes though, and if anyone ever did see them… well. He would have to make it so that they remained only for his eyes.

Whatever was going on here, it seemed almost like someone was out to get him personally. His jaw clenched at the thought and his heart began to slam against his chest, breathing fast and ragged.

He tried to refocus. On the road, on the soft interior of his jacket against his arms. On the toothpick almost chewed in two between his teeth.

There were limited options at this point, and he was running out of ideas, running out of streets to slip down before they could predict his next action.

Driver firmly reminded himself to stick to the facts and ignore his physical response. He was still ahead. Just. 

Actually, he was nearing your house. Oh…

No.

He shouldn’t distract himself, but it was hard not to notice that he’d pulled onto your street almost by muscle memory alone and he wondered if you’d see him, followed by that one police car that he was sure would soon be two, then three, sirens blazing.

It was darker down here. Residential, with parked cars dotted up and down the road, canopied with large leafy trees that blocked out the moonlight, too. So he killed his headlights and slowed down to avoid attracting any additional unwanted attention.

His ears pricked up as the discussion on the radio started up again in place of relaying the names of the streets they were chasing him down; they’d lost him again.

Just like last time they lost him. But they had found him as soon as he resurfaced, and he couldn’t sit out here on your street all night in plain view, no matter how unsuspecting the car may look to your neighbours.

A little blue Honda rattled by and he flinched.

Come on. Get a grip, he scolded himself.

His head began to pound.

He needed to find somewhere new to hide the car properly, and hide himself while he was at it. Fast. Somewhere he could stay for long enough that they’d really give up this time.

Another thought struck him and he blinked hard. He had to regain some self control. But your house was approaching on the right.

He couldn’t. Could he? 

His eyes scanned the street. There were no other Hondas. No other moving vehicles. He couldn’t see anyone peering out of their windows into the dark street. 

Then he found the end of your driveway, visible in the near distance. Your garage door was up. No car. You were out. Perfect.

No. He couldn’t.

Fuck. He was going to have to. 

Besides, if anything did come of this, he could keep you safe. He was sure of that. No harm would ever come to you on his watch. Ever.

He slowly pulled onto your driveway and rolled the car to a gentle stop inside the garage, winding down the driver side window to punch the button on the wall that controlled the garage door. With a low hum and a light clicking, it swung down and locked into place with a soft clunk.

Complete darkness. The purr of the engine. And then, the crackle of the police radio.

Driver tensed, every bit of focus honed in on the voices coming through the small device.

With a note of three identifiable items: the car colour, model and number plate (two of which could easily be altered), and a reminder of where it was last seen (the next street along from this one), they’d officially given up the chase.

He relaxed into his seat, slumping down and stretching his long legs as far as they could lengthen in the confinement of the footwell, spreading his knees and dropping his head back against the headrest.

He would need to stay here for now, but that was manageable.

He killed the engine, trying to force his breath even and steady himself before he got out. 

Although it had been tough, now it was over, he couldn’t deny that it had been exciting. There was rarely a time it wasn’t.

He felt a stirring in his core, the familiar thrill that ran through his trembling body every time he got away, high on adrenaline and filled with self satisfaction.

And he did get away. Every time. But this time? It had been a closer call than any he could remember and he was shaking, excitement coursing through his veins, sending all his blood south to throb between his spread thighs.

He chuckled, smirking and dropping his hands to his lap from where they were still bracing, tight storing the steering wheel. His breath caught in his throat as one palm slowly teased higher up his thigh.

It was becoming painful to sit here in these too-tight jeans, the denim rough against his leaking cock, and he hissed as he dragged his palm over the thrumming bulge that had formed inside them the moment he knew he was safe.

He felt a particularly thick drop of precum leak from his tip, gasping at the short lived relief his wandering hand had provided, gloved fingers now flying to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans and free his aching length, all patience out the window. It didn’t matter how long it took. He just needed the release.

But as the first button popped undone, his ears pricked up at the unmistakable sound of tires rolling onto your driveway behind that garage door. He froze, heart racing, cock twitching, every sense heightened almost painfully.

He relaxed when he heard your car door slam shut, the sound of your shoes on the gravel. He’d know those sounds anywhere. He knew all the sounds you made – he’d studied you enough – and had an entire catalogue of them stored away safely in the back of his mind.

Hastily, he reached for the radio and flipped the switch back on. Nothing. Nothing about him, anyway. Nothing about you. You were safe even with him locked away inside your garage.

He heard your keys jingling against the lock of your front door, knowing you were inside once it had clicked shut and the jingle was muffled.

He breathed a long, shaky sigh of relief.

Seconds later, his personal cell buzzed from inside his jacket pocket.

One hand resting still against the denim covering his aching hard on, he fished his phone out and unlocked it, absentmindedly rubbing his fingertips over his length and whimpering when he saw your name on the screen above the message you’d sent.

‘Hey, babe… you up?’

Another thick pearl of precum.

Fuck. He could hide in here all night, sexting with you from just the next room, or…

He didn’t bother fastening up his belt or that one button he’d opened when he swung the car door open and jumped out, biting back a moan at the friction of his jeans settling, slightly looser and more comfortable, against his cock as he stood.

He knew where you kept your spare key, and the combination on the safety box that kept it hidden, so he retrieved it and let himself in through the internal garage door that led to your kitchen.

Driver was silent. Barely a sound as he crept through the house, knowing every floorboard and the placement of every piece of furniture down to the millimetre.

The house was dark, which made it easy for him. You’d only switched on one lamp since you returned; the one in the hallway where you still stood, hanging up your jacket and waiting for him to reply.

Your phone laid unlocked on the sideboard, opened to the message you’d sent him as you slipped off your shoes, eagerly awaiting his reply. 

‘Come on,’ you breathed needily at your screen, ‘start typing!’ — and Driver swallowed hard.

He stuck to the shadows as he watched you, from the kitchen doorway, careful not to let his breathing turn too heavy, and certainly not above stroking himself over his jeans a couple of times just for the thrill of it.

You threw your shoes in the cupboard and picked up your phone again, checking to see if he was typing yet, and upon seeing that he wasn’t even online right now, you heaved a disappointed breath.

He might not have typed a reply, but he was ready to answer you.

‘I’m up,’ he breathed, hot against the back of your neck and you jumped, but his arms wrapped tight around yours, keeping you from fighting back, and he pulled you close as he breathed you in.

The still-gloved fingers of one of his hands hand toyed with the neckline of your shirt, ghosting around your throat as the other thrust unceremoniously into your jeans and dragged through your folds.

Even with his gloves on, he could tell you were already soaked.

It took you a terrifying moment, but your instinctual fear subsided, quickly replaced with burning arousal when you felt his cock pressing into your back, smelled his familiar scent, felt his glove teasing at your throat.

‘You are up,’ you sighed, reaching behind yourself to snake a hand between your flush bodies and drag your palm over his length in time with the fingers so precisely massaging your clit, and you moaned. Loud.

Driver’s knees felt like they might give out.

‘Mmmh-’ he hummed into your ear, ‘s-stop- fuck-’

You grinned, smug as ever about how easy he was to unravel, and at the wet patch you’d felt seeping through his thick jeans.

Despite the heat rapidly pooling at your core, you didn’t think on it for long, because any coherent thought was immediately pushed out of your mind when his hands left your core and throat, instead gripping your shoulders and spinning you to face him, slamming you back against the wall, his lips crashing onto yours with bruising force.

He pushed a thigh between your legs, pressing firmly against your heat and you moaned, muffled by his mouth as his tongue dragged hungrily against yours. Driver was always such a needy kisser, so passionate and intense and it made your head spin. But this was something else. 

You gripped him hard, moaning and writhing against him, and he shuddered at your reaction, whining against your lips before fully pulling away to focus on freeing his cock.

Slightly dizzy, you removed your own trousers as fast as you could, hooking a leg around his waist as he shoved his wet jeans down and pushed forward, lifting you in his strong arms to help you clamp your other leg around his waist.

His eyes slid closed as he felt your slick against his cock, trying with all his might not to spill his release before he’d fucked you. The adrenaline was still so fresh, spurred on by breaking in and sneaking up on you, that he could hear his blood pumping in his ears. He felt almost invincible; but he knew that with just one eager and misguided move he would cum, ending it all too soon.

No. He needed to feel you around him. Feel you clench with need. Hear you scream. Fill you up.

He closed his eyes to refocus.

Now you were pinned between him and the wall, he slipped a hand down to guide himself to your entrance, a simultaneous relieved groan from both of you echoing around your entrance hall as he slid himself inside.

He stilled for a moment, composing himself, forehead pressed to yours because he knew that a kiss, even a soft and tender exchange, would break him.

He also knew that right now, one thrust and it would be over for him, so he moved his fingers up, massaging your clit in slow, precise circles, as though this was all designed purely to give you time to adjust.

Your head dropped back and you squirmed, trying to fuck yourself on him as his fingers sent wave after wave of shuddering bliss through your body. The angle was delicious, but balanced around his waist you couldn’t move enough to get what you needed.

‘Please,’ you begged, ‘fuck me- please-’

Driver growled, low and dark, against your throat. He could never resist giving you exactly what you wanted, and he could feel your walls tightening around him already. A low groan tore from his throat. You were close too. 

Sicko, he thought. Like it when I break in and sneak up behind you? Shove a hand in your pants to try and get you off before you even realise it’s me?

Keeping his fingers against your throbbing bundle of nerves, he fucked you alright. Hard and fast and unrelenting, hips snapping frantically as he whimpered and gasped weakly into the thick air filling the inch between your mouths.

It was too late to stop his orgasm approaching. He’d been simmering for too long, and the way you’d kissed him, the way you’d begged him, the way you got wet just from him acting like a creep… his head was spinning.

The way he was fucking you, unceasing and intense, had you clawing at his jacket, wishing he’d taken it off so you could feel more of him, but there was no time. You pushed your fingers up to slide through his soft, neat hair instead, and he shuddered against you, biting down on his bottom lip. His blood boiled.

Fuck it. He smashed his lips back onto yours, tears pricking his eyes.

He finally spilled inside you, cock pulsing through his release. He squeezed his eyes shut, painfully aware you hadn’t cum yet, but his fingers on your clit hadn’t ceased, and as his cock began to soften, sensitive with aftershocks, he felt you clench tight around him. Your fingertips scraped against his scalp and your legs tightened around his waist and you cried out, loud and strangled, bucking your hips wildly as you chased your release.

Driver’s eyes welled with the tears he couldn’t bite back, dropping onto your shirt.

As you came down from your high, you stroked his hair back into place and slipped down from your position, standing on wobbly legs, head spinning, and Driver propped himself up with an arm against the wall, caging you in.

Your palm grazed his cheek, a tender thumb wiping his tears away.

He leant into your touch, eyes closed and breath slowing all the while.

‘So it was you who closed my garage door?’ you whispered, and he nodded against your palm. ‘Naughty boy,’ you added, teasing.

He looked up at you through the most stunning, sparkling, wet eyes and you knew you’d never stay mad for long – especially not when he fucked you so good and unravelled for you so easily.

‘Been on a job, baby?’ you cooed.

He nodded against your palm again.

‘Gonna jerk off in my garage until I arrived home and ruined the moment?’

Driver stiffened, eyes wide as he considered you, awed at the way you understood how his mind worked. Against his better judgement, he nodded, slowly.

‘Filthy boy,’ you added with a playful smirk. ‘Glad you found me instead, though.’

‘Yeah?’ he managed, weak and quiet, voice cracking.

‘Yeah. I fucking love it when you try so hard not to cum right away.’

His brow furrowed, but you hooked your fingers under his chin and lifted his gaze back to you, softly pressing your lips to his once again.

He whimpered, feeling weak, but he needed this more than anything after the rush. He was crashing, fast and needed comfort. Safety.

‘Wanna get into bed and make out until we fall asleep?’

Driver’s heart skipped, and he nodded again. It wasn’t always a bad thing to feel like someone was reading his mind.

[tmntkiseki]

Big Brawl rewatch, let's goooooo

Part 1

"But we need not fear the past. It is the future we must fear." Gotta love it whenever Splinter is narrating the cold opening.

I feel like Splinter should know at this point in the series that if he tells his sons not to do something, they are going to do it anyway.

Also, I keep forgetting that the Battle Nexus takes place every three years, not four. (Why do I keep thinking it's four?)

"Nice going, Donny. You got any chalk in your magic bag of tricks?" Honestly, it would be hilarious if one of the only things Donny doesn't have in his duffel bag is something practical, like a pen or a pack of tissues.

All of the turtles staring at Michelangelo when he reveals he knows what a nexus. The reason being because he, like Donatello, watches Star Trek. Pfffffft

ATTACK OF THE TOOTHPICKS

Once again, I love it whenever the animation suddenly becomes a lot smoother and more detailed during action/fight scenes like this

I'm not surprised that Leo is so upset over his swords being broken during this quick fight. (I mean they're the same swords he forged with Raph back in "The Monster Hunter.")

There is something I really love about the Gyoji as a character and I do not know what it is. His voice? How calm, composed, chill, and reasonable he is? The fact he literally dies at the end of the arc and yet he's brought back during "Grudge Match" as if nothing happened?

The Gyoji is actually god

Turtles see Splinter being attacked by someone unfamiliar; first instinct is to try and help him. These boys love their dad <3

Raphael instantly admitting he was the one who talked Leonardo into following Splinter when Splinter starts scolding Leo... If I had to pick one thing I love about his character, it is the fact he does take responsibility for his actions.

Tell me again why the Djinn was never brought back after this arc? He seems like a nice guy and I wanna see what his dimension looks like.

I'd say of the Big Brawl Episodes, Part 1 is probably my least favorite? But it's entirely circumstantial seeing as this is basically the exposition episode explaining the Battle Nexus and Splinter's history with the competition.

The first appearance of Usagi... Even as a pre-teen, he is powerful. Though why was he at the Battle Nexus three years ago? Was Katsuichi competing maybe? Gimme the lion sensei, damn it.

Drako is such a piss baby loser jesus

I adore this moment where Splinter agrees to let Leo, Raph, Don, and Mikey compete. He's been very overprotective of his boys for the longest time, but he's starting to realize that they are growing up and becoming more independent.

I still firmly believe that had the Fast Forward reboot never happened, TMNT 2003 would have been the first animated iteration to kill off Splinter. Just saying.

I never realized how much of a giant the Ultimate Ninja is compared to the turtles, holy shit

I recall seeing a theory somewhere that the reason Leonardo didn't get a mystic weapon in Season 5 is because of his katanas getting reforged in the Battle Nexus, where the swordsmith likely used magic to get the job done quickly? I dig it.

TRAXIMUS

Forever kills me how even though the turtles never got a chance to meet Hamato Yoshi, they still revere him as an ancestral figure (especially Leo, since this episode ends with him praying in front of his statue.)

Also you're about to be assassinated, Leo. Leo. LEO.

[archetypal-archivist]

Three Eels, Soup, and a Bad Day

In which Riddle is having A Time and it's all the Leech siblings' faults. This story features Morgan from "the seven habits of highly unfortunate souls: a transmigrator’s guide to the coral sea" by mercen on AO3 and is not canon to the events of that story. I just got brain rot. :)

The story starts with Floyd going about his day, picking at his teeth with a toothpick he'd swiped from the host stand in Mostro, having gotten bored of trying to steal all the picks without Jade noticing. It's getting late in the year, the temperatures are cooling down, and that makes Floyd want to get somewhere indoors for a while, his human body prickling with little bumps in a way that annoys him.

As such, he heads to the library and finds Riddle there, who's also inside to avoid the cold. Their usual banter ensues, Riddle up on a tall ladder trying to put a book away and Floyd wanting to climb up to see what Riddle's looking at. Their fighting knocks Riddle off the ladder and while Floyd catches him, the sudden fall spooks Riddle badly enough that he starts shaking. Floyd panics when Riddle tries to flee, not wanting to drop him, and the sudden squeeze only panics the house warden further. Tired and freaked out, Riddle has a minor breakdown in his arms, so Floyd ends up sprinting to Morgan because Riddle is mid-panic attack and his apologies and head pats aren't helping.

Morgan had been in his room shelving away a few news titles that he'd picked up in town, but the sound of Floyd's momentum slamming him into his door puts an end to that. Upon Floyd scrambling to get the door open and a brief thirty second explanation, Morgan mentally freaks out but starts by having Floyd put Riddle down on the bed, giving him space.

First, he pumps the air full of his magic, a sort of 'intent' that people can feel before someone casts a strong spell. He then layers out a ton of protection spells, listing each one as he goes so Riddle knows what's happening around him.

Morgan slowly approaches Riddle and starts singing in mermish, basically telling Floyd what to do in a sing song voice to both soothe Riddle and also keep the boy from knowing what Morgan and Floyd are doing. Under Morgan's instructions, Floyd creeps low, close to Riddle, and puffs him with little gusts of wind magic to cool him down and distract him. Then he asks outright if he can touch Riddle, yes or no, following exactly what Riddle says. No means no, even if Riddle keens at the loss of Floyd's touch.

Riddle finds it cruel and exposing to have to say outright what he wants from Floyd, what comfort he desires, and that breaks him down further. Morgan's eyes on the matter don't help, it feels voyeuristic and prying for him to be there, even with his good intentions. Still, Riddle is eventually finagled into something like being soothed, with a cold compress on his head and Floyd wrapped around him tightly enough that he can hardly breathe- tight enough that every breath is a reminder he isn't alone.

The whole time Morgan keeps up his stream of singing praises and promises of protection, layering as much positive intent into the air as possible to the point where Riddle can feel it. It causes some cognitive dissonance in Riddle, as his instincts say he is safe and his brain says no, Morgan's a stranger and he's still there, watching.

Floyd, on his part, is half catatonic under the sheer palpable weight of Morgan's magic, knowing full well that he's never been more safe here at NRC. His brother is there, watching, spilling out bloody promises should anything pop up. Eventually Morgan lets his voice trail off and asks Riddle if he'd like to sleep for a bit. Riddle, thoroughly broken down and too tired to fight, even though he's still scared, agrees. Morgan nods and tells Riddle exactly what spell he is using and the details, even as he casts it, giving Riddle plenty of outs.

After a few moments, Riddle and Floyd are both very asleep. Now it's Morgan's chance to panic, his own instincts demanding he keep watch until his brother and his brother's friend(?) are both whole and hale. So he texts Jade, slightly terse in a way that says Morgan is trying to stay polite and Jade knows really means Morgan is having a borderline emergency.

Jade fulfills Morgan's requests with terrifying efficiency, bringing in bottles of water and bowls of thick, warm soup, the recipe scraped together from what Jade knows of Riddle's preferences. He comes in ready to throw down, a first aid kit secretly in his jacket pocket, but instead walks face first into a veritable sauna of positive intent, Morgan's reserves enormous enough to keep pumping out magic. (His dietary preferences for magic-rich food definitely had an effect.)

Jade feels a bit like he's been hit with a brick and he nearly stumbles, Morgan's instincts having him grabbing the tray and bundling Jade up in a blanket too. Jade, confused but too punch-drunk to think straight, goes with it, settling by Morgan's feet. Morgan sticks a hand in Jade's hair, teasing through it in an attempt to further soothe, then informs his brother about what went down with Riddle. Now more amused, Jade laughs a bit at everyone's collective emotional idiocy, especially Morgan's, as he's conscious enough to tease and get a reaction out of. Soon enough, however, that tapers off and Jade falls asleep too, bundled up and lax like he was as a fry in the loop of Morgan's tail.

After a few minutes, Morgan stops filling the air with his magic, instead getting to his feet to start layering up protection and privacy spells. He cools Jade and Floyd's blankets, changes Riddle's compress, starts and stops singing as a fidget and in not knowing what to do, and eventually just ends up sitting at the foot of Floyd's bed, eyeing the door. His pen has accumulated more blot than he'd like but Morgan's perfectly willing to dirty it further, if it proves necessary.

He's being ridiculous, he knows he is, but having people under his direct care who aren't vicious beasties like his brothers has Morgan paranoid.

After another hour, Riddle wakes up, far more coherent and a little alarmed at where he is. Morgan is quick to tell Riddle of exactly what happened, what's gone down in the last two hours, what spells are in effect in the room right now, the time, and so on. Riddle stares at Morgan, a little nonplussed, before commenting that Floyd really didn't know what he was doing, did he.

Morgan, amused, agrees, establishing that Floyd brought Riddle to him and that he understands that this mess may have been a breach of Riddle's privacy. Riddle is shocked as Morgan continues, forcefully saying that there is no debt for this- he'd thump anyone who'd try to enforce one- no one knows about this but him and his brothers, and he's perfectly willing to submit to whatever methods Riddle wants to employ to guarantee his secrecy on the matter.

Riddle blurts out that Morgan is nothing like his brothers and Morgan laughs, telling Riddle that he considers himself the eldest of the trio. Taking care of others is kind of his job; a half-truth but one that takes away implication of debt or discomfort with the situation. He doesn't need Riddle to freak out further, that'd just be... messy.

At this point Riddle takes stock of the sleeping eels and just how potent the spells in the room are, eyes wide at how Morgan has essentially turned the bedroom into a bunker fit to keep an overblot monster out. He's not sure even he could break in if he tried and he really, really doesn't want to think about the fate of anyone who did.

Morgan notices that Riddle is looking at the door, wide-eyed, and thinking Riddle wants out, begins trying to reassure Riddle that he can leave whenever but to please eat first. Riddle agrees on instinct and soon finds himself hunched at Morgan's desk, eating a bowl of delicious soup, more than a little bewildered at how he got into this position. He does start to realize that he truly is safe here, however, as Morgan hefts Jade onto the bed to join Floyd and begins fussing, straightening blankets and soothing down bedhead. Floyd makes a sleepy grab at Morgan but Morgan steps away with an air of long practice, choosing instead to sit at Riddle's feet. Riddle is a tiny bit alarmed that Morgan is tall enough that his eyes come up to his belly button even with him on the chair and Morgan criss cross on the carpet but of everything going on so far, that's low on his priorities.

Morgan tries to ask Riddle as subtly as possible what had happened to make him panic as he did but Riddle bulldozes subtlety, telling Morgan outright in such a candid way that he knows he'll regret it later. Given Floyd's actions, would Morgan even do anything about the situation?

Instead, Morgan listens, offers advice, and promises protection (distraction of the terror known as Floyd) as needed in a way that suddenly reminds Riddle of Trey. He chuckles, startled at the thought and the realization of the many similarities, and Morgan asks, curious. Upon hearing the response Morgan nods, fully understanding, and agrees, stating that they're both big brothers. Riddle settles back in the chair, once again startled, and realizes that if this is big brother behavior, then Trey must act like he's Riddle's big brother. He doesn't know what to do with this information and so he stays silent, eating more soup.

Riddle finds himself oddly hungry and eats through most of another bowl, at which point Morgan begins reheating a third, the smell of which wakes up Jade and Floyd.

The duo emerge from their blanket burritos and Morgan immediately leaps to fuss over them, which makes the two go all pliant and a little huffy, insisting on not needing the fuss but never refusing it. Floyd catches sight of Riddle and immediately starts smiling, genuinely happy with no hint of mockery or fakeness. Just- genuine sunshine joy at seeing Riddle. Riddle's heart thuds in his chest and then Jade bowls Floyd over, squishing him for freaking Morgan out and thus making Jade freak out in turn. Floyd laughs, sighs, and apologizes to Morgan for springing all this on him, Morgan tuts and says it's alright, he doesn't mind.

At this point Riddle thanks Morgan for helping, drawing the threels' attention back to himself. More domestic arguing over who gets the last two bowls of soup (Morgan wants to give up his, Floyd is refusing and wants Morgan to have it, Jade sneaks and grabs the fourth one all for himself). Then even more domestic arguing, with Riddle drawn into it this time, as they all start packing out of Morgan's room.

Is there payment needed for this? Morgan says no, twins say yes, Floyd wants more time with Riddle, Jade wants Floyd to take Morgan's shift at the Mostro. Who's sweater is that? Morgan is fine with Riddle borrowing it as his own jacket is sweaty and he wants Riddle to be warm. Floyd wants Riddle in his jacket, Riddle doesn't want anyone's clothes at all. Does Riddle need walking back? Opinions vary.

The end of it has Riddle and Floyd walking back and Riddle commenting that Morgan is really nice but also freakishly powerful, Floyd laughs and starts detailing all the ways that Morgan is actually the scary one of the three eels, a big looming predator, haha! Just- kinda sleepy too, boring; not gonna bite first, yeah? He then pauses and tells Riddle with all seriousness that since he's fond of Riddle, he's under Jade and Morgan's protection just as much as Floyd's own and to tell any of them if Riddle needs help. Except if like, Morgan is busy. But then Morgan gets all huffy and that's no fun so- Riddle interrupts and says he doesn't need protection and Floyd nods before commenting that he and Jade don't usually need protection either but the nap was nice, right? Not just safe but cared for. Morgan's cool like that.

Riddle hesitates then states that Floyd really loves his brother. Floyd agrees softly, pausing as if to see which way his mood wants to swing, then states again softly that Morgan isn't why he and Jade survived- they could have done it just them two- but he thinks Morgan wouldn't have survived without him and his brother. People aren't built to be alone and Morgan guards what few people he has with everything he has, which is A Lot.

Riddle pauses, considering this and feeling warmed at the thought of being under that aegis, before offering up that he's glad Morgan was willing to help. Was that a big brother thing? Floyd pulls back, levity returned, and jokes that no, that's just a Morgan thing. Scene fades to black with Floyd complaining about all the ways Morgan is too nice and generous sometimes with Riddle arguing back that no, Morgan is just a decent person.

Back to Jade and Morgan, they emerge from the room with the spells removed to return the dishes to the sink in the Mostro only to bumble into Azul. Azul snidely comments with a hint of worry that everyone vanished on him and he got reports of Morgan's bedroom suddenly being coated in so much magic that the other students were worried. Did something happen?

Morgan lies as quick as he can on instinct, blank-faced, that it was a sleepover. Azul turns to Jade, incredulous, but Jade backs Morgan up. Yep, sleepover. In the middle of the day. For three hours. With Riddle. S L E E P O V E R. And everything is fiiiiinnnee.

Morgan grins and tries to bear Azul's scrutiny, Jade is as impassive as always, and soon enough Azul gives up... But not before snidely commenting that if Floyd has decided to get the pair involved in his quest for Riddle's friendship, Azul does not want to know. Morgan and Jade immediately want to die and Morgan internally laments what a good big brother he is, doing this for his siblings. Jade just wants to stab Floyd with a knife.

[she-wolf09231982]

BoB reaction to you when there's something stuck in your teeth/hanging from your nose

Richard 'Dick' Winters

~ He's definitely discreet about it.

~ Something in your nose: Like a gentleman, he'll offer you a handkerchief and when you politely decline, dismissing that you even need one, he'll respectfully insist you use it.

~ Food stuck in your teeth or a lipstick smudge on your front teeth: he'll quietly and politely ask you to follow him out of the room so he can privately tell you.

~ If you overreact, wondering how long you've been walking around looking like that, his signature suppressed smirk will tug at the corners of his mouth.

Lewis Nixon

~ He would address it in front of everyone, but with hand gestures from across the room.

~ If you're standing where he can't just whisper to you, he'll wave you down or bark a quick, "HEY!" to get your attention. (New Yorkers aren't the subtle types)

~ When you finally acknowledge him, he'll mouth to you the ol' "You got a little something..." while gesturing to his own nose or teeth.

~ As you cover your mouth and/or nose from embarrassment, he'll give you a reassuring wink to show you that you're still adorable.

Ronald Speirs

~ The man detects the smallest detail with the precision of a hawk.

~ He can be in the middle of a conversation, but when he scans the room to see where you've gone, he'll 100% see the spinach in your teeth or the booger in your nostril immediately.

~ He will blatantly leave the conversation without explanation, and B line it you.

~ He'll have his handkerchief or toothpick ready by the time he reaches you.

~ He'll only stop when he is centimeters from your face so only you can hear him whisper, "You got something right here, and here" as he points to his nose/teeth.

Carwood Lipton

~ Completely empathetic because he knows you're self-conscious

~ As soon as he catches it, he's gently guiding you by the arm away from everyone.

~ He'll begin with "I didn't want to announce it in front of everyone..." as he removes the handkerchief from his uniform front pocket.

~ He's adoringly grinning at you as you hastily fix your face in a nearby mirror before heading back out to the guys.

Joe Toye

~ Since he's always right next to you when your out with the guys, he sees it right away and is always conveniently close enough to tell you.

~ He knows you're self conscious about this sort of thing, so he usually takes advantage of the situation.

~ He'll guide you closer to him with his hand on the small of your back, giving the false sense that he's going to kiss you.

~ When his mouth is just hovering over yours, he'll say almost as a purr, "You got something in/on your teeth/nose." then pull away snickering diabolically.

~ You cover your mouth/nose with a gasp, then proceed to punch his arm.

~ He laughs harder while handing you a toothpick or his handkerchief.

George Luz

~ By nature, he is more outright obnoxious with it.

~ Like Toye, he'll take advantage of the situation but at your expense for Easy Company's and his own personal entertainment.

~ In his best 'Sobel' voice, he'll randomly announce, "What's this!? A nostril/tooth infraction!? (As he points to your nose/mouth) Pass revoked!"

~ Of course at first you're confused, but as it sinks in, you hide your nose/mouth with your hand, glaring at Luz for being such an asshole about it.

~ He'll still pass you his handkerchief or a tooth pick with a flirty wink.

Bill Guarnere

~ Those Philly boys be loud about everything.

~ He's calling you out as soon as he sees it. "Hey, doll, you gotta bat in the cave!" or "You got some lipstick right here!" as he flashes his teeth at you pointing at them.

~ Pure utter humiliation as you swiftly cover your face with both hands.

~ He'll quickly come to you, handkerchief/toothpick at the ready.

~ Anyone who's still laughing that isn't Easy Company, "You think this is funny?" he'll ask them aggressively, defending your honor even though he's the reason he had to defend it in the first place.

Denver 'Bull' Randleman

~ He's subtle, but affectionately creative.

~ He's a teddy bear for you, and will protect you at all costs.

~ Uses the situation as an excuse to get a little extra PDA as he tries to tell you.

~ He'll scoop you up for a bear hug, and when your ear is close enough to his mouth, he whisper in his Arkansas southern drawl, "You got a little somthin' in your teeth/nose, darlin'."

~ He'll kiss your cheek before setting you down as he hands you his handkerchief or toothpick.

Floyd Talbert

~ Like Bull, he's tactful, but will take this as an opportunity to get extra handsy with you.

~ When he sees it, he'll ask you to dance.

~ Whether it's an upbeat 'cuttin' the rug' song or a slow dance, he's pulling you into him after he twirls you with no wiggle room for you to escape.

~ When he has you pinned against his body, he'll ever so slowly lean in to kiss you, but evades your mouth the very last second to whisper in your ear, "You got something in your teeth/nose."

~ We all know he's the worst repeat offender tease/flirt.

~ Alarmed, you cover your mouth/nose while he still leads the dance.

~ He'll slip a toothpick or his handkerchief into one of your pockets, (preferably a front breast or butt pocket) "Meet me in the restroom, I'll help you out with that." He'll offer with a devilish grin.

Don Malarkey

~ He would absolutely not catch it.

~ Totally oblivious.

~ When one of the other guys brings it to your attention, you're in utter disbelief that he didn't see it first.

~ He'll totally justify himself.

~ "I love your face no matter what's hanging from your nose, or lodged in your teeth!"

~ You can't even be mad at him after that.

Shifty Powers 

~ He's nervous to tell you. 

~ He doesn't want you to feel awkward, even if it's just you and him. 

~ He's internally arguing with himself about how or when he should tell you. 

~ Bless his heart.

~ He decides to wait to say anything until no one's paying attention and quickly tell you. 

~ He may never take the opportune moment to say anything, and might end up just telling you at the end of the day.

~ And you'd be mildly frustrated at first, but how could you stay mad? It's Shifty

~ If he gets the chance to tell you, I imagine he's the "whisper right in your ear with his hands cupped on each side of his mouth" type a guy.  

~ He'll offer his handkerchief, or hunt down a toothpick for you.

Eugene 'Doc' Roe

~ He swoops in for the save when he sees it.

~ He'll think of a convincing excuse to pull you aside.

~ "Can I see you over here for a sec?"

~ Even when he gets you alone, he quietly explains that you got something going on with your face.

~ When your initial response is to be mortified, he'll tenderly take your hand, place his handkerchief in your palm then close your fingers over it.

~ He reassures you that nobody else saw it.

~ In his baritone, honeyed Cajun accent, "Don't worry, nobody else noticed, mon amour."

Joe Liebgott

~ No filter.

~ Will consider this as an opportunity to get close to you.

~ Will absolutely use it as an excuse to pull you away from everyone so he can have you all to himself.

~ I'm willing to bet he'd take his handkerchief and wipe your nose without warning in front of everyone.

~ If it's your teeth, he'll walk right up to you with a toothpick ready and say, "Smile for me."

~ When you do, he'll straight up hold your head steady by the chin with one hand and pick out the food with the toothpick.

~ You just let it happen because he'll keep on you until you let him get it...and he's stronger than he looks so there's no use resisting him.

~ When he's done, there's always a follow up comment.

~"Where would you be without me?"

~"There's my girl." As he admires your face.

[questforgalas]

My thoughts on TBB Season 2 finale

It's a long one so strap in if you enter

First, before I get started, I wanted to say that this has been such a fun season to watch, and the interactions I've had with everyone in this fandom has made my Wednesday and weeks since January so delightful. I know hiatuses see a lull in activity, and some people are going to need to step away for a bit, but I just wanted to say thanks for being such a warm and open environment (at least the little corner I've found myself in). Here's to fingers crossed that the panel at Star Wars celebration in just a couple weeks brings us confirming great news!

Love ya all. Mama Tay is here with blankets and ice cream for the Tech babes if you need it. My man is unconscious on a torture table and my babygirl is a captive so we can all cry into the containers together

I'm able to watch the episodes at 8am EST every week, it's my little weekly routine I look forward to, so I've had a couple hours to process my one watch through of the finale episodes, and, just, wow.

Warning, "The Breaking of the Fellowship" just started playing on my playlist so who knows where this is about to go lol. Let's go to feelings town

The Bad Batch Season 2

I have not been quiet about how much I love season 2. Out of 16 episodes, there are maybe 2 that could be written off, but put them anywhere in season 1 or any TCW season, and they'd be some of the best episodes, which only adds to how well written and well done this season was.

I'm a Crosshair girl, not just in a "heart eyes spindly toothpick" sort of way, in fact that really didn't develop until halfway through season 1 - which my therapist definitely doesn't need to analyze - but his personality and his subtle devotion to his squad sucked me in from the beginning. So even with how little we had of him this season (granted, what we did get was some of the best television I've ever watched), this season is up there for me.

The character development for all batchers but especially Omega, Tech, Echo, and Crosshair was intriguing and dynamic, and that's not to say Hunter and Wrecker didn't have their moments either. They did, they were just much more subtle. We saw a lot more of Hunter's enhanced senses at play and Wrecker's knowledge, not just fascination, of explosives, but that pales in comparison to the other four.

The universe expansion was everything to me. We don't have anything depicting the rise of the Empire. We've never seen it's take over and the effects that rippled across the galaxy. We've only ever seen the afterwards, so to get this eery and terrifying depiction is exactly how I'd expect the galaxy to feel during that time, and I really applaud the creators on being so detailed with it.

The Finale Episodes

Wow. Just, wow. Admittedly, I had two reactions to these episodes.

The first was as the Crosshair fan who's put a lot of my emotional stability on this group of animated misfits, and that reaction hated these episodes. Not because I didn't think they were done well (getting into that in a second) but because I latched onto the Bad Batch's dynamics as a family since TCW and I so deeply in my soul to the point it's almost a wound in my heart want them back together again. I fell in love with the TCW Bad Batch, and I want that dynamic back so I've been rooting for it since "Aftermath", and every time we were given crumbs of a possibility that could happen this season, I devoured them and clutched onto them like they were my lifeline. So yes, from that perspective I hated these episodes.

Now, from the Star Wars fan taking a step back from my fanon - holy freaking shit. I laughed. I cried. I sobbed. I oooo'd. I cheered. When they stopped "The Summit" in the middle of the action, similar to how they broke up "Spoils of War" and "Ruins of War", it hit me that we weren't getting the reunion I desperately hoped for, and I took a minute to grieve that, went into acceptance, and then dove into "Plan 99".

Again, were there points throughout both, especially "Plan 99", that I was going "oh I hope this happens" or "ok annnnnd now!"? Yeah, absolutely (cut to Omega waking up at Cid's and me going "nice this is when they reveal it was all a bad dream and Tech's gonna walk in in 3..2..1..."). Did I have 4 other endings in my head halfway through the episode? 1000%. But it's not my creation, and based off of what we were given all of season 2, it all made sense to me. Even the things that made me have to pause for 4 minutes while I sobbed into my hands.

We are set up for an extremely action packed, spy/political thriller filled, intriguing season 3, and that wouldn't have happened if the season didn't end the way it did. If it was all tied up neatly in a bow, then there would be a lot more doubt, in my mind, about 1. if we'd even get a season 3 and 2. what the heck it was going to be about.

I'm not going to get into individual character analyses, but I thought everyone was in character. There was not a moment in either episode I thought "huh that doesn't really fit does it?" All of them were on brand in my opinion, and I again encourage people to take a step back and separate fanon from canon.

So why the emotional impact?

One of the things I've really had to process and think through is why this finale was staying with me like it is. I mean, I've been a Star Wars fan since 1999. I lived through watching Revenge of the Sith in theaters. I, like many of us, watched "Victory and Death" at the beginning of a very dark time in the world. I gripped the edge of my theatre seat watching Rogue One, praying they made it out like I hadn't known the end of their story for 25 years. But none of those endings stayed with me the way TBB finale is.

Sometimes something stays with me for an hour, maybe more, but I've never had any show have a finale where throughout the day as I thought about it, I burst into tears in varying degrees, and I can feel that being the case for awhile. Honestly, I haven't put my finger fully on it yet, but I think one of the reasons why is because all of those other endings I mentioned above - ROTS, Rogue One, TCW - and really any Star Wars media so far, has not had such a sorrow filled ending in such a dark period of time without us knowing the story after already.

ROTS we knew the outcome of that 20 years before. Rogue One even longer. TCW was filling in the gaps of a story long concluded. The Mandalorian is set in a time when it's supposed to be peaceful and the galaxy is mostly living in the light, so even when Mando and Grogu are separated, it's sad to witness the pair be apart, but there's no umbrella threat that makes the separation dangerous.

We are in the darkest period of time that we as Star Wars fans know in TBB. That is the point of the series - it's not just about these clones and how they cope post war. It's we the fans seeing how terrifying the Empire is beyond just the two sith lords running it. The inner workings and how easily they squash hope within their own government. We as the fans are meant to watch the Batch and love the family but be terrified of what can be waiting for them around every corner.

And that's not to mention we have no idea what the fate of the clones is. First off, the events of A New Hope are 20 years away. Rebels and the Obi-Wan Kenobi show are the only medias we have depicting the time between ROTS and ANH, and they barely scratch the surface. Rex is canonically confirmed to survive to Return of the Jedi, and we have Gregor and Wolffe in Rebels, but where the heck are the rest of them. We don't know. We literally don't know, and we're now left to speculate what that could possibly entail for the clones (especially the Batch) on any given day, let alone when we're left with two of them as captives of the Empire and one "dead". It is, in my opinion, one of the most devastating endings to a Star Wars media because of the terror it can hold.

Tech's Fall

Why yes, this would be the part I had to pause the show for and sob over for 4 minutes.

Tech has been my second favorite member of the Batch since they were introduced in TCW. This unapologetic, enthusiastic nerd who knows what he likes and hyperfixates on it spoke to me on levels, as I know he did for many of you - especially after "The Crossing" (I personally cannot relate to the ND connection, but was really happy to see the community joyous over the moment).

I, like many of you have already said in your thought posts, had the growing pit in my stomach each time they developed his character. The constant-optimist in me latched onto the possibility that just once they wouldn't pull that shit on us, but obviously that wasn't the case.

Tech and Crosshair's sacrifices punch me in the gut. Both of them are to save their family and give their family a chance. To have Wrecker and Tech bicker back and forth even up to the last minute like brothers do, and then the fucking awful shot of Wrecker watching his brother fall knowing he did it so they could have a chance. As a sibling, I couldn't handle it (I've actually started crying again now writing this). If I was Tech and that was my family, I'd do the same thing. If I was Wrecker watching that in front of me, I'd be on my knees screaming.

The scene was shot chaotically to make us, the viewer, feel panic and feel the gravity of the situation the Batch was in while seeing tiny moments when maybe they could pull it off, maybe Tech is moving faster than we think, maybe the car will come online and speed away, all to keep us hanging on while feeling the pressure of the environment they were in to then watch the fall and feel anything but relief, just like the Batch.

Now, onto what's keeping me hanging on

Is Tech Dead?

No, and I'm blaming Echo for this, but I do not think he's dead. And I do not think that takes away from his sacrifice either.

First of all, this is Star Wars. Unless you see the body, they ain't dead. @jealous-sloth77 even made the point of Darth Maul in their thought post. My dude was cut in half and fell down a supposed never ending shaft, but came back with the v-neck of all v-necks and a 200 step revenge plan, then literally became the cockroach of Star Wars.

Let alone the direct parallels to Echo Tech's fate could have.

So stay with me on this for a second, and I may be giving Filoni and Corbett and Rau a little more credit than they deserve, but follow me here.

Echo's blown up at the citadel in Season 3 of TCW. Not season 6 and then reappears a season later. 4 seasons of separation, and given the cancellations and renewal breaks, you're talking literally 10 years in between his death and his revival, which narratively makes no sense to me. And don't get me wrong, I know the Dominos were a fan favorite and Fives and Echo were a fun pairing, but all in all, Echo appeared in five episodes? Maybe six before he's killed off? And only 3 of those was he a "main" character. Compared to many other clones and characters, that's not exactly a recipe for "bring the fan favorite back 10 years later". So that makes me think that Echo coming back, especially the way he did, was setting the ground work for something. Now hang with me here.

In Mando S2E1, Mando kills the Krayt dragon by going inside of it, a monster who's stomach is literally full of acid, and blows it up from the inside out, dramatically coming out pointedly covered in the krayt acid showing that it has no affect on beskar. Then 2 minutes later we get the cameo of Boba Fett in the sunset, a character who last we saw was swallowed by a monster, supposedly digesting in stomach acid. Then in Book of Boba Fett, we see that because of his beskar armor, he survived the sarlacc, etc, etc. My point is, Star Wars has recently developed a habit of setting long-con explanations in various medias. Planting the seed you could say. So it's not far fetched to theorize that they brought Echo back from a ship explosion that we were made to think nothing but his helmet survived so they could set the ground work for other characters to be dramatically saved/scavenged and "brought back to life".

I mean, this is the world of Palpatine clones so, it's not out there.

That's not to mention the scene of Hemlock bringing Tech's goggles to Ord Mantell and making a point of mocking his death in front of them. Hemlock's entire purpose is to unlock the cloning techniques of the Kaminoans, and suddenly the literal genius is separated from them, assumed dead. If I'm an evil-scientist like Hemlock, I'm figuring out anyway to make sure Tech's alive.

So yes that's a long-stretch plan that gives Corbett, Filoni, and Rau a lot of credit for potentially thinking multiple seasons of plot lines through at the beginning, which, honestly, would be a good strategy considering the time period they're navigating around so I don't think it's that crazy to consider.

However, the main fact that I'm latching onto that Tech's not dead is the same fact that I've latched onto ever since "Aftermath" to tell myself Crosshair will be back with the Batch someday, and that's because it narratively makes no sense in context to how the Batch were introduced to us to keep them separated.

Think back to TCW S7, when the Batch are introduced. That was 4 episodes highlighting a tight knit, unique, family unit who all complimented each other to round out an unbeatable unit. Their sibling dynamic was the main focus of that group and is what made me fall in love with them, and it made no sense to me that they separated that dynamic within the first 10 minutes of the first episode and now to further separate it by taking Tech away.

I feel this so strongly in regards to Crosshair and Tech. I was sad when Echo left, and I was confident he was going to be with them again, but his departure didn't hit me the same way as Crosshair's and now Tech's. It just does not make sense to me to have the OG 4 separated permanently given how they were presented to us. It would be one thing if they went all in on the "Crosshair's evil" route and semi bait-and-switched us, but given his evident loyalty to the Batch and clear, long path of him being back with them someday, it really would not make sense to me for them to "swap one out for the other". That, in my opinion, would be lazy writing, and with how much love and care the creators have shown this series, I cannot fathom them throwing in the towel like that.

Unfortunately until the new season, I'll sadly have to accept the fact that he is gone and in our eyes right now, he's dead. And that hurts. It really does, but boy, am I grasping onto this last analysis like it's my tether over Mustafar

Love ya all. Mama Tay is here with blankets and ice cream for the Tech babes if you need it. My man is unconscious on a torture table and my babygirl is a captive so we can all cry into the containers together

[soft--dragon]

Brother From Another Batch

First Bad Batch fic!! I love the show sm :D This features Echo and Crosshair, and I shouldn't have to say this but I will: SHIPPERS DNI THESE GUYS ARE BROTHERS. DONT BE NASTY >:(

This is set before the official Bad Batch series, about a month after Echo joins the team!

Word Count: 2512

Warnings: Semi-detailed self deprecation, past trauma, and panic attack but it gets fluffy pretty quickly :)

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

It was one of those tougher days. 

Echo was sitting on the edge of his rack, elbows pressed into the chilling metal of his legs, one of his heels bouncing against the floor. His hands were intertwined and resting in front of his mouth, thumbs pressed on the underside of his chin. It was a mirror image of what Tech did when he was lost in thought. Due to living with this new batch of clones for about a month and a half now, it made sense that Echo was starting to copy some of the Batch’s behaviours. The first time he did Hunter's signature 'I am too tired for this™' speech to tell off Tech and Crosshair for squabbling, Wrecker laughed so hard he almost cried, and Hunter light-heartedly accused him of being a copy-cat. 

Currently, the others were all out; "A mandatory supply run," they had said before departing. Well, everyone except Crosshair who wasn’t in the mood to deal with anybody at the moment. So that left Echo alone in the sleeping quarters, subjected to his spiralling mental health that had been a swinging pendulum as of late, never remaining stable for longer than a few days. He hated it, and he hated inconveniencing the Batch even more. They had taken him in and given him a place amongst a group of misfits, but he doubted they counted on his mental state being as terrible as it was. 

The chill of his legs was leeching the warmth from his one organic limb, making Echo bring his arms away from his knees, gripping them together against his chest. The metal prosthetics felt too cold against his scarred skin, and his thoughts were spiralling faster than he could control them. 

The Techno Union, the Citadel explosion, his lost batch mates, the regs no longer trusting him, the weird looks, the whispers, the night terrors… 

Echo gripped at his head, wincing at the feeling of the cybernetic tech piece wrapped around his skull. Wrong. It was all wrong. He wanted out. Out of the metal prosthetics, out of this body, out of this suffocating room- 

Something heavy and soft suddenly dropped over his shoulders, wrenching a startled gasp out of him as he jolted to look up. Crosshair was standing at his side with a flat expression.

“Breathe Reg, you’re going to pass out,” he sniped, crouching down beside the rack that Echo was sitting on. “I don’t want to have to catch you if you fall.”

Echo stared at the sniper, his one hand curling into the fabric draped over him, then it clicked; it was a weighted blanket. Hunter’s one specifically for when his senses overwhelmed him and he needed a way to ground himself from the harsh stimulation. His grip tightened on the material immediately and he bowed his head, forcing himself to take in air that sounded horribly wheezy. 

“Breathe in for four seconds.”

The quiet instruction made Echo look at Crosshair who had his lips set in a hard line, eyes studying the ARC trooper in an equitable manner. He huffed out a short breath when Echo still hadn’t listened and pointed his toothpick at the clone.

“Breathe in for four seconds, Reg,” he repeated in an anodyne voice. “You actually will pass out if you don’t.”

Realising how tight his chest had become, Echo choked and took in a trembling breath. Crosshair held up his fingers in time with the seconds passing, and upon reaching four, he spoke again. “Hold for seven seconds.” 

Crosshair counted down with his hands again, keeping them in Echo’s view so he could count with him. Upon reaching zero, Crosshair murmured, “breathe out for eight.” 

Echo followed the instruction, hearing the tremble of his breath as it was released and worriedly glanced at Crosshair. The sniper gave a small nod. “Repeat it.” 

Wordlessly, Echo did so, going through the breathing exercise the best he could. Crosshair kept counting on his fingers, hearing Echo’s breathing to maintain the pattern, though his gaze was on the floor to give Echo some privacy. When Echo’s breaths became smoother and lost the wheeze, Crosshair dropped his hand and lifted his gaze to the cybernetic clone. 

Echo had his eyes squeezed shut, teeth obviously clenched together. “S-Sorry for this, I don’t mean for it to happen… I don’t mean to be a b-burden.”

Crosshair was quiet at his side for a moment, watching with half lidded eyes and a toothpick between his teeth. “You’re fine.” He replied quietly. “It’s expected after what you went through. No one is mad at you for having justified reactions to trauma.” His nasally voice was an anchor for Echo to latch onto, keeping him on the Marauder and not into the pit that was his mental consciousness. “Just keep breathing, Reg, Hunter will kill me if you die.”

A stuttered chuckle left Echo and his eyes fluttered open, tipping his head to give Crosshair a weak smile. “D-Don’t worry, I’ll save you that trouble.” 

“Appreciated,” Crosshair answered back cooly, not drawing attention to the stutter in Echo’s voice. He interlocked his hands together from where they were draped over his knees. “You dizzy at all? Any headaches?”

The ARC trooper gave a small shrug, exhaling slowly and taking a big breath in before he responded. “Not really, just kinda floaty. I’ll be okay.”

Crosshair was quiet for a moment then dipped his head to the side as he next spoke. “What spurred it this time?”

Echo’s wince was obvious. “Just a bad day.” He offered stiffly. 

“Are you going to be alright?”

“Y-Yeah. Should be.”

“...Good.”

Though he hadn’t spent very long with them yet, Echo had started to pick up on the Bad Batch’s mannerisms, and that included speech patterns. He thought he caught a slight touch of relief in the man’s voice. He glanced at the sniper, his lips perking slightly despite the mellowness of his mood. “Are you worried about me or something, Crosshair?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

His expression was as flat as ever, but Echo could see the slight concerned flicker in his eyes. Echo’s smile became more genuine and he exhaled a small laugh, looking at the floor to avoid Crosshair’s gaze that instantly turned to him at the sound. 

“Something funny, Reg?” His eyebrow lifted in question, toothpick shifting to the opposite side of his mouth when he spoke.

Echo shook his head, his grip on the weighted blanket loosening so his knuckles weren’t going white from the pressure.  “No,” he hummed, his gentle grin remaining despite his words. “Just didn’t expect you to be a big softie is all.”

Crosshair’s eyelid twitched marginally, and the toothpick went still. “Pardon?”

Where this big surge of confidence came from, Echo had no idea, but he was gonna ride it out while Crosshair was still in a good mood. “Wrecker said you were a sweetheart, but I didn’t believe him.”

The enhanced clone was silent for a moment, then he answered snidely. “...He’s wrong.” 

Oh, in the name of the Force, Crosshair couldn’t lie for shit. Echo looked him straight in the eyes, his mood taking a surprising turn into ‘chaos lane’, which he definitely preferred instead of ‘depression road’. 

Innocently, Echo inquired, “You sure? Cause I thought you hated Regs.”

“I do.”

“Then why give me Hunter’s weighted blanket and help me out of a panic attack?”

“I’m not a complete asshole I’ll have you know.”

“So I’ve realised, shocking isn’t it?”

Crosshair held his gaze for a long while. He then slipped the tooth pick out of his mouth and flicked it away. “Are you still in heavy discomfort, Reg?”

Echo arched a brow in suspicion. The concern was gone, and there was a new glint in Crosshair’s eyes, he couldn’t place what it was though. “No, not anymore,” he replied warily.

Crosshair smiled, and it sent a chill down Echo’s spine. “Good.” 

And then, without warning, he lunged forwards and tackled Echo down onto the rack. 

Ah. That glint in his eyes was for murder.

Echo immediately went on the defensive, a startled laugh bursting free as Crosshair tussled with him, trying to pin him down. The sudden playfulness was unexpected from the stoic trooper, but it wasn’t unwelcome. It threw Echo back into the old times with Fives, and it was a good distraction from his spiralling from earlier. 

“Crosshair, what the hell are you doing?!” Echo wheezed, his laughter blending with his words and making his movements weaker than they already were with the added weight of the blanket still covering him, and fatigue of his previous anxiety attack. 

“Take back what you said about me being a softie,” Crosshair hissed, a smirk lifting his lips as he tried to not let Echo’s contagious laughter spread to him. 

“I’m not wrong though!”

“Do it, Reg. I am not above using heinous methods.”

Echo grinned, locking hands with the sniper and trying to push him off, while his scomp pressed flat against the man’s chest. ”Give it your best shot, Crossy.”

Crosshair’s whole face screwed up like he’d eaten a lemon and that only made Echo laugh harder, his strength sapped further from the force of his cackles and allowing Crosshair the upper hand. 

“You’re gonna regret that, Reg,” Crosshair growled, and to Echo’s surprise and horror, the sniper’s hand holding the scomp dropped to drill into the clone’s underarm.

The sound that left Echo was downright unearthly, his startled shriek falling into a wild fit of laughter as he tried to curl into a ball and fight Crosshair off at the same time. The reaction was a surprise to the sniper, he’d expected some ticklishness, but this was about enough to rival Hunter or Tech. Echo was reduced to a state of laughter and squirming limbs, a complete mess due to his nervous system being attacked mercilessly. 

“You best hope our enemies don’t find out about this,” Crosshair snarked, his playful smirk unable to be hidden now. “You’ll be Sarlacc food in an instant.”

“P-Pihihiss ohohoff!” Echo retorted through hysteric giggles, trying to push Crosshair back with his hand that was still locked with the sniper’s. 

“Oh? You’re trying to fight back? Trying to get away? Heh, nope.” Crosshair’s hand slipped out of Echo’s and dropped to prod quickly along the ARC trooper’s ribs, tweaking some here and there. Echo yelped loudly at the sudden attack, his free hand now torn between shoving Crosshair’s fingers away and trying to shove at the man himself.

“You’re a strategist right, Reg? This counter attack doesn't seem very tactical.” Crosshair’s dry commentary only served to make Echo more giggly, his chest lighter in a way that it hadn’t been in a long time. 

“Crohohoss! Shuhuhut ihihit!”

“You never learn do you?” 

Crosshair’s hands shifted to test out Echo’s stomach and hips, dragging up his civilian shirt to show the pale skin just before where the prosthetics started. Echo was too busy giggling to realise the fate about to befall him, which caused Crosshair to smirk wickedly before he lightly dragged his nails across the soft, exposed flesh. Instantly, Echo’s legs kicked out and he threw his head back, bright, youthful laughter bursting free. 

“Hmm. Bad spot then?”

“YEHEHES!” Echo wheezed, smacking at Crosshair’s fingers desperately to try and get rid of the horribly tingly sensations crawling all over his waistline. 

“You do have a way out of this, remember?” Crosshair reminded, scratching quickly at Echo’s hip and snickering when the ARC trooper gave a screech, bending in a way that did not seem possible to try and avoid the sniper’s nails. “You’re only trapped for long as you choose to be.”

Echo managed to get in a smack to Crosshair’s forearm, just to be a little shit. He didn’t want to admit it, but this kind of messing around, it made him feel… human. He thought the Techno Union had robbed him of his humanity and everything that came along with it. Being able to process things, feel things, the ability to exist, they had all been altered in some way or another. But this? This felt normal. It felt just like it used to with his old squad, and Echo couldn’t be happier about it. 

Although… he was reaching his limits because Crosshair wouldn’t leave his goddamn soft spot alone. He finally cracked. 

“Mercy! Mehehehercy! Cross plehehease!” He gasped out, his stamina lacking from what it used to be after all that time with the Techno Union.

Crosshair’s hummed in contemplation, though he did lighten his touch to simple tracing and pokes. “You gonna take it back?”

Echo wheezed and nodded, grinning up at the sniper through watery eyes. “Ihihi wihihill! Juhust stohop!”

Crosshair chuckled and eased up entirely, getting off of the ARC trooper and pulling the weighted blanket back so it wasn’t keeping the clone down. Though Echo remained flat on his back, trying to pull in great gulps of stolen air while giggles intertwined with his efforts.

The enhanced clone huffed another chuckle in amusement. “You’re still laughing, Echo?”

There was a gentle kick to his leg from one of Echo’s metal prosthetics. “Shut uhuhup.”

Rolling his eyes, Crosshair settled against the wall of the ship, waiting patiently for Echo to get himself under control again, though he could tell it might take the clone a while. Out of pure curiosity, he asked, “Did this kind of thing happen a lot with your old batch?”

Echo huffed a small laugh, rubbing at his eyes that had gathered moisture from the laugh attack. “All the time,” he admitted, smiling at the rack above his own with bittersweet nostalgia. “The boys would gang up on me constantly, it was completely unfair.”

Crosshair smiled. “Oh don’t worry, the others and I will make it a habit again.”

Echo slung his arm over his eyes with a protesting groan, but Crosshair saw how his smile was still there. He leaned over and prodded Echo’s side again, taking satisfaction in the high pitched yelp that burst from the clone. 

“You still haven’t said it, you know.” He didn’t really care about being called a softie if he was being honest, he knew his actions spoke more than words, but he wanted to drag this out.

Echo glared at him, and then lifted his scomp up horizontally to point at Crosshair. 

The sniper looked at it in contemplative bemusement. “What are you doing?” He asked.

“I’m flipping you off.”

That startled an incredulous laugh out of the sniper, his eyes playfully narrowing once more. “Okay you motherkriffer, apparently you need a round two.”

“Wait- wait, it was a joke- CrosshAHAHAIR! Nohohot agahahain!” 

Crosshair, who had slung an arm around Echo’s neck and yanked him against his chest, clawed at Echo’s sides and stomach again, smirking at the peals of bright laughter that spilled free of the trooper. 

‘You’re gonna be just fine with us, Echo,’ he thought, fondness bleeding through no matter how much he tried to ignore it. ‘You’ll never have to be afraid again.’

[stars-n-spice]

Chapter Two: Sentimientos

Summary: Crosshair would never admit to all the things he loved about his boyfriend. His patience. His stupid smile. His warm hands. His confidence. His long, soft hair. And he especially was not going to admit that Tay’s habit of serenading him like a damn Mariachi singer whenever he felt like it was something Crosshair found to be incredibly endearing and romantic. No, that was cheesy as hell. Crosshair definitely did not enjoy it one bit. Totally.   Word Count: 5k

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From that point on, Crosshair heard a little more Spanish around the house and was subjugated to new pet names–which he adamantly denied liking–but also more serenading from Tay. 

Granted, Tay would sing and serenade him with songs in English from time to time, but Crosshair found those moments where Tay would do so in Spanish all the more special. 

Not only was Tay’s accent alluring, especially when singing, but Crosshair found that he weirdly enjoyed hearing Tay translate the lyrics for him. Of course, Crosshair had no way of telling whether or not Tay was messing with him and making up shit, but that whole process of Tay singing the song again to Crosshair with the translations was surprisingly intimate in a way Crosshair hadn’t expected. 

It was a good kind of unexpected though. One that Crosshair adamantly denied against at first, especially around others, because he wasn’t sure what to do with the feelings each serenade gave him. 

However, over time–like with Tay’s reassuring words and sweet touches–Crosshair was slowly learning to get used to it. 

Though, he’d rather eat a salad of glass and toothpicks before admitting he was starting to like all the singing. 

“Oh, don’t start-” 

Crosshair groaned, shaking his head as he shot Tay a look as the man reached over and raised the volume on the radio. As he did so, Crosshair attempted to smack Tay’s hand away, but he had already turned the volume up and would probably continue to do so if Crosshair turned it back down. 

“C’mon, it’s a good song!” Tay insisted with a grin while Crosshair grumbled and turned his attention back onto the road as the two of them headed back from a date at the shooting range. 

Crosshair rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something when Tay began to sing along to the song on the radio. 

“Ah, sentimientos!” Tay exclaimed alongside the radio, “Una mirada es el reflego de tu aaaaalma, ahhhh, sentimientooos. Son los momentos, los detalles-”

With a huff, Crosshair shook his head, trying to ignore Tay’s voice and the way the man was now swaying his hips in his seat. 

“Que enloquecen nuestras vidas–sentimiiieentos~” Tay turned to face Crosshair and grinned only to get a glare as Crosshair told him not to distract them or else if they crashed and died it was his fault. 

Regardless of the threat, Tay just laughed and continued to sing. 

“Cada vez más dentro de mi corazón. Te llevo yo, te llevo yo. Cuando con ternura me abrazas tú~ Tienes ganada mi voluntad, somos igual, tal para cual. Se me va la vida si tú no estás. Ahh~”

“I don’t even know what you’re saying,” Crosshair grumbled, his grip tightening on the wheel a bit as he shifted in the driver’s seat. 

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he hated being out of the loop or being left out. So not knowing what Tay was saying exactly was driving him a bit crazy, but he wasn’t going to outwardly ask for a translation. No way.

Luckily for him, he never had to ask Tay for things because the man had an uncanny ability to read him like a damn book because the next thing Crosshair knew, Tay was singing the translations along to the woman singing on the radio. 

“Aaaah, feelings. A look is the reflection of your soul. They are moments, the details, that drive our lives crazy-” Tay translated along with the song. 

Crosshair huffed, shooting Tay another glare. 

“You’re driving me crazy.” 

Tay just laughed and rolled his eyes playfully. “No, I think you’re the one driving, mi cielo,” he joked, reaching over to nudge Crosshair’s shoulder. 

Crosshair made a noise between a laugh and a scoff as he narrowed his eyes even more at Tay. 

“Smartass, don’t even. I’ll make you walk back to your place,” he threatened.

“Ah…” Tay exhaled, quickly withdrawing his hand and closing his mouth as he nodded in understanding, “Right, right…” 

And just like that, Crosshair was saved from any more serenades. Just for that car ride. 

Read the rest on Ao3!

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[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 24

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: E Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** One last chance to take a break and spend a few pleasant nights before a big fight. Also one more chance for Raphael to be a complete idiot but what else is new. ***

“Inform his erinyes - is that exactly what Bel said?”

“Yes. He said he can help us infiltrate the Flying Fortress - covertly, that is. You can use the horn to call them now, little duke. We have not used it today. By the way, I did some target practice, did you notice--”

“I don’t think we should do it. You can’t trust a fiend,” Lulu spoke up, throwing a glare in Haarlep’s direction. Doubly rude, with how she'd cut them off. “Not them, and not Bel.”

Her objection was met with a scoff by Raphael. “To redeem Zariel is to get her out of the way, and Bel is free to reclaim his old throne once that happens. Our interests align.”

“A devil will go against their own interests as long as it’s to cause pain!”

“I suspect you’re getting us mixed up with demons,” Raphael replied, his voice dry, and the hollyphant paused in obvious confusion.

“Us? But you’re human. I can tell.”

“Oh, a temporary inconvenience,” Haarlep muttered, putting an arm around Raphael’s shoulders with a grin. He scoffed, but he did not pull away. On the contrary, he seemed to lean into the touch a bit more than necessary. An interesting little detail Haarlep was rather happy to note. “He’s half-fiend, you see, and an unfortunate incident saw his soul torn in two. This is the human half, on his way to reclaim the rest.”

That seemed to confuse the hollyphant even more. “Reclaim it? Why? You’ve been cured--”

“I have been mutilated,” Raphael cut her off. “That’s half of my soul, and I never willingly surrendered it. I fully intend to take it back.”

“Aren’t you better off without--”

“No, he is not,” Halsin spoke, not unkindly. He seemed to have more patience for the little celestial nuisance than most of them combined. “It is not right, for two halves of the same being to be torn apart. Neither is complete, and both suffer - no matter what kind of being it is. He wants to be whole again, and we intend to help him.”

The hollyphant didn't seem convinced, but at least she didn't argue the point further. She did not, however, drop her argument against turning to Bel. “What if he steals the Sword?”

“To do what, use it as a toothpick?” Astarion muttered. The dragonborn had rushed to him the moment they'd returned, and had yet to let go of his hand - a detail the vampire spawn did not seem to mind. Raphael, too, had gone straight to Haarlep… although he did not take their hand, or indeed touch them at all. “From what you've told us, there's no way he can actually attune to that sword. It's virtually useless to him. And we're going to need help.”

“But-- a devil!”

“Look, you don't have to like the guy,” Karlach muttered. “But you'll find there's a shortage of non-fiends to turn to for help in the Hells. Sometimes you gotta take the leap and trust someone wants what you can give them more than they want to stab you in the back.”

The hollyphant looked back, hesitating. For all her hostility, Haarlep couldn't really blame her. They wouldn't be much happier to rely on the advice and goodwill of a celestial, either.

“... And what if you judge it wrong?” she finally asked. Karlach glanced over at Raphael before she sighed and crossed her arms. 

“If Raphael thinks we should hear him out, then we should hear him out,” she finally said, and that was about the end of the argument. Haarlep held the horn out to Raphael, who blew in it to call for Bel’s personal guard. Granted, Haarlep would think later, the introductions with the hollyphant could have gone just a touch better. However, it could have also gone worse.

Erinyes were fallen celestials just like Zariel, after all, and Lulu probably needed to believe there was some good in them too, however delusional that may be. At the very least, she didn't try to blast them to pieces. Once the glares and insults died down, the erinyes turned their attention to the one thing which truly mattered - the fact that they finally had the Sword.

 “Lord Bel will be happy to grant you an audience,” Oreasha said. Her gaze ran over each of them, but ultimately paused on Raphael. For the briefest moment, her lips seemed to quirk upwards. “He’s particularly keen to see his old steward again.”

Raphael gave a brief bow. “And I am keen to discuss our next move with Lord Bel.”

“Oh gods, tell me we're not to trek all the way back to that volcano!” Astarion groaned, only for Oreasha to shake her head. 

“We shall bring you there right away. It will only take a few instants.”

“... You could have spared us this entire journey or almost, is what I'm hearing.”

“You're hearing wrong. That was not what we were charged to do.”

“We'll gratefully take your offer now,” Raphael spoke quickly before Astarion could say anything else or, worse, before the obviously unhappy hollyphant could have second thoughts. He turned back to the dragonborn, saying nothing, but his message was plain enough: trust me.

Trusting a devil was never wise, but Raphael was technically no devil anymore and they were obviously not very wise, so trust him they did. They nodded, just once, and that was that. Haarlep felt one of the erinyes put a hand on their shoulder, felt a pull not unlike that of blinking into the Ethereal Plane - and then the dank darkness of the scab was replaced by the glow of glowing magma as they stood in the volcano Bel had turned into his home, on roughly carved stone steps.

“Lord Bel - Raphael has the Sword,” Oreasha spoke.

There was a deep, throaty chuckle that Haarlep recognized immediately. “Ah, I knew he could pull it off. The hollyphant is a surprise, though.” 

Sitting on his stone throne carved out of the volcano’s own wall, Lord Bel leaned forward. His bestial face opened in a grin, baring sharp fangs. It made him look vicious and dangerous but, within the limits of a pit fiend’s definition, not unfriendly. 

“Lord Bel,” Raphael greeted him, and sank to one knee. “It has been some time.”

Bel wasn’t lord of anything anymore, but did not correct him. “So it has. You look well enough, Raphael, for someone who was supposedly digested by Lord Mephistopheles long ago.” 

“You know as well as I do, my lord, that my father could never quite stomach me,” Raphael replied, and the laugh that followed boomed through the chamber - not quite as loud as the one Haarlep had gotten out of him, but almost.

“Hah! A too delicate constitution, I'd say - a common affliction among wizards, no matter who they are.” A chortle, and he gestured for Raphael to stand. “It is good to see you, truly. I see your allies forgot to kneel, but it's a transgression I'm willing to ignore. The lot of you must be impressive indeed, to foil a scheme by the Dead Three. And you barely had need of my erinyes while traversing Avernus, too.”

Probably realizing that standing there and staring wordlessly at an archdevil - or at the slow-flowing magma coming down the walls into the pools on both sides of the throne room - was making them look rather stupid, Durge cleared their throat and bowed their head.

“That is kind of you to say, Lord Bel, but we succeeded partly thanks to the help we received from our allies. We’d be glad to count you as one, if you’re inclined to help.”

“Be careful, be careful, be careful,” the hollyphant muttered, obviously distressed.

Bel chuckled again. “Under most other circumstances your warning would be warranted, celestial, but not now. I want your old mistress off my throne; if giving her a halo back is what it takes, so be it.” 

Raphael tilted back his head. “A most brazen plan, I have to say. It would not only free your throne, but remove her from the picture entirely. Does the Lord Below will it?”

“Whether or not he wills it, I am not at liberty to tell you.”

It was as close to a yes as he could go, and they all knew it. “Surely, he is aware.”

“You are too clever not to know that nothing goes on in the Hells which the Lord Below does not know or imagine. But he has ways to make his displeasure known, and he has not thus far. We all must take risks, after all, the same you did when you revealed and thwarted your own father’s deal with a vampire lord. Seven thousand souls, it cost him. I wouldn’t be surprised to know that was his true gripe with you, rather than a scheme to get your hands on a crown no devil worth their salt wouldn’t want to obtain,” Bel added. 

Raphael paused, and gave Haarlep a decidedly annoyed look. “I see that my incubus has been loose of tongue,” he seethed. Haarlep grinned. 

“You can hardly blame me, lordling. You boasted about yanking those souls out of his grasp so loudly, how could I not think you’d want Lord Bel to know of the accomplishment?”

With a look that promised a punishment Raphael had frankly disappointingly never delivered, he clearly decided to drop the matter. “... Yes, we do all take our risks, and I have never known you to be rash, Lord Bel. My question was not meant as an impertinence.”

A chuckle, a vague gesture of his hand. “No offense taken,” he said. Then his eyes paused on Karlach, and he smiled. “Ah, I know you. I’ve seen you fight, if from afar. Impressive, truly.”

Karlach nodded, stiffly. “I never wanted to fight in the Blood War for Zariel,” she spoke, obviously wary. It was no surprise: last time a devil had appreciated her resilience and fighting skills, Haarlep was told, she had found herself with an infernal engine in her chest.

“Ah, so I have been told. No chance, then, that you may be inclined to remain and fight among my host once your engine has been fixed up?”

She pressed her lips together. “Not a single one.”

A sigh. “Had to ask, you understand. But I also understand you were promised something in exchange for your help - the freedom to leave Avernus. I have no intention to change that.” A gesture to the magma around them. “This place is not called Bel’s Forge for nothing. Bring here the schematics for your new heart once Zariel is no more, and it will be built.”

“With a full warranty, I imagine,” Raphael spoke, and Bel laughed again.

“Of course, but it won't be needed. Anything made here is made to last well beyond a mortal lifetime. Now, you must be tired. We will have time to discuss the finer details - a tenday.”

“A tenday?” Durge repeated, more than a little wary. “Why a tenday?”

“That is when the Flying Fortress will next dock, to refill its engines with souls from the Styx so that it may remain airborne. It will be your best chance to infiltrate it, with inside help.”

“That's true,” Karlach conceded with a nod. “The Flying Fortress moves all the damn time. If we're ever going to get a chance to get in, it will be while it's docked for a soul refill.”

“And this inside help would include my patron, I suppose? She gave me the mission to ensure the archdevil Zariel would be no more,” Wyll spoke, gaining himself a smile from Bel. 

“I see no reason to name names. But you will have help, once you're inside. How precisely you'll bypass the guards is something we'll have to discuss. Until then,” Bel added, “you'll be my esteemed guests. Oreasha, see that they're shown their rooms, so they may rest. You may roam this place at will, as long as you're mindful not to fall in magma. I'm told it's unpleasant, for mortals. My forgemaster too is at your disposal.”

Raphael bowed his head one more time. “It seems I owe you once again, Lord Bel.”

“That you do, but not for long. You always had a way of repaying your debts.”

“That has not changed, let me assure you,” he replied, to another flash of those sharp fangs. 

“Then I hope that once you're whole again, we'll have more chances to talk. Mephisto won't be able to get his claws on you here, once I am Lord of the First again. Do keep it in mind.”

One last bow. “I will,” Raphael said, and as they retired to rest, he seemed to be breathing a little more easily.

***

“You know, love, I should make you fear for my life a little more often, if this is the result.”

Laying with their head on Halsin’s stomach and Astarion resting across their own chest, Durge let out a noise that was sort of a scoff, sort of a groan, sort of a laugh. “You shouldn’t say it even as a joke. I thought my heart was going to stop.”

“Beats perfectly fine, from what I can hear. Besides, you have to admit that sex has a different flavor after a near death experience.”

“That it does, but I’d hesitate to say it’s worth it,” Halsin muttered, his voice a pleasant rumble beneath Durge’s head. “I do not need to be terrified to enjoy the bodies nature has gifted us.”

Astarion’s subsequent groan was not too far away from a laugh. “You’re never not going to bring up nature, are you?”

Another low, pleasant rumble of a chuckle. “Ah, my apologies. I’ve felt so disconnected from nature lately, it was… nice, to be reminded.”

“Oooh, I see. Heard that, love? I’m a reminder of nature.”

Durge chuckled, tangling their fingers through Astarion’s hair, and for a time they enjoyed a peaceful silence. As much as they’d missed making camp with their companions in the half year which had followed the fall of the Netherbrain, there was something to be said for the ability to enjoy a good romp without the risk of being interrupted and making things… well, rather awkward. Now, in a room they shared with only Halsin and Astarion, basking in the afterglow, Durge was starting to think that a tenday there wasn’t too long a wait. 

There would need time to plan and prepare, after all. 

They had barely glimpsed the rooms given to their other companions - two other rooms aside from their own, each of them opening up in a common space. Raphael and Haarlep had settled in one, and the third… well…

“Do you think Wyll and Karlach are finally going to get down to business?” Astarion asked, as though reading their mind, and Durge laughed. 

“I’m doubtful.”

“Oh, come now. He may be the pure and polite boy every girl wants to introduce to her parents, but I’m sure that now that they’ve got their own--”

“The hollyphant is there with them.”

“Ah, that. Yes, I can see how it would kill the mood, unless Karlach kills it first.”

“Surely she wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know. If the celestial little menace doesn’t take a break from singing Zariel’s praises, she may get an axe through the head before we’re even halfway through our stay here.”

They shared another chuckle before falling quiet again. In the end, it was Halsin to speak again. “Do you think she will be all right? If we succeed and Zariel is a celestial once more?”

Durge sighed. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

“She’ll be fine,” Astarion spoke, and shrugged, not turning to look at either of them. He was staring at a wall, cheek still resting on Durge’s chest. “Or fine as she can be. The alternative is worse. Wyll would be too steep a price to pay for some revenge.”

“... I truly hope you’re right.”

“Oh, but I am. Take it from your local vengeful bastard, she won’t regret it. If Cazador was somehow back and alive, and I was told I could kill him for good by sacrificing either of you, then I’d have to let the bastard walk. I wouldn’t like it, but the choice would be too obvious. I’d sooner live with that and-- agh! My spine! Warn me before you squeeze me like that-- Halsin, not you too! Ugh, I take it all back! The hells can have you both!”

There was laughter and some more cursing, but none of it was any more real than Astarion’s half-hearted attempts at pulling away. 

For all his grumling he remained where he was, holding onto them just as tight.

***

“Oh, come now, my little brat. If I didn't know better, I'd start to suspect you're angry at me.”

“You never know better. As a matter of fact, my current state of mind is best described as livid. ” 

Haarlep sighed, rolling their eyes. “Ah, there is no need to be dramatic. I answered a few of lord Bel’s questions, that is all.” They made a vague gesture with their hand, splashing hot water. The tub looked ridiculously inviting, particularly with Haarlep in it, but Raphael made an effort to ignore it. He retained some resistance to heat, but he suspected his mortal body would not handle the near-boiling water particularly that well. 

The volcano was not luxurious, particularly compared to the House of Hope, but after weeks on end spent sleeping in tents or caves, it would certainly do. Raphael scoffed, but didn’t retort. He looked over more closely instead, searching for any marks left by the near miss with the holy light. He found none, but he couldn’t get the vision out of his mind - the burned skin and seared flesh. And the screams. Not the worst screams he’d heard in the Hells by far, yet they had sent him into a near senseless state of panic when they’d rang out.

And now they seemed to keep echoing into his mind. He had never heard Haarleep scream in such a way before, and he rather hoped he never would again. Unaware of his thoughts, Haarlep grinned. “Enjoy what you see?” they asked, spreading their arms and leaning back against the side of the tub. “Oh, of course you do. You always enjoy looking into the mirror.”

His own face, if younger, burned by-- hellfire --holy light. His own voice screaming, his own features twisting in pain. Through the mirror darkly, the picture of his own demise.

I didn’t know, he’d said, and it was true, but it was not all he’d meant to say. More words had remained unsaid, stuck painfully in his throat. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“... Raphael?” Haarlep called out, the smug tone giving way to mild confusion. 

Raphael cleared his throat, and shook his head. “No,” he found himself saying. “I don’t enjoy what I’m seeing.”

A perfect copy, Haarlep had boasted the first time they’d taken his form, and it had been true then, but not anymore. He had aged, while Haarlep’s mimicry of him never did. A glamor of himself frozen in time, a man grown by mortal standards but still so very young by hellish ones. Young and foolish and destined to fail.

Haarlep blinked, and looked down at their chest. “What is it? Did it leave scars?” they asked, somewhat alarmed. “Is it unsightly? Where--”

“... No scarring that I can see.”

“Huh. Then what--”

“Change form.”

“Oh.” A pause, then the perplexed expression faded in a grin. “Oooh, I see. A little change, then? That’s very welcomed indeed. Whose form? I’m afraid I did promise not to use the dragonborn’s, in case you changed your mind about that. And I have not had the chance to try adding lord Bel to my glamors - don’t tell me you haven’t at least thought about it, who wouldn’t? But, I have collected a few--”

Any form, I don’t care, Raphael thought, but that was not what left his mouth. “Yours.”

The grin on Haarlep’s - his - face seemed to freeze, then faded into yet more confusion. “Mine?” they repeated, tilting their head. “Why? You never once asked for my true form, not since I took yours.”

He hadn’t, had he? Haarlep had bedded him while wearing their own form once, on their first night, and then never again. Raphael had never asked to see any face above him but his own; he could not recall, he realized now, what Haarlep’s own form even looked like. 

“I am asking now,” he found himself replying, not quite knowing why he was asking in the first place. Another long look, their expression uncharacteristically serious, before Haarlep spoke. 

“You don’t own me anymore.”

“I am aware.”

“You can’t demand any form of me.”

“... I won’t. It is a request.”

Another pause, and Haarlep rose from the tub. Their every movement was always effortlessly sensual, but this time there was a sense of purpose as they strode to the bed where Raphael sat, as they crouched to meet his eyes. Water ran down their body in rivulets, and their-- his -- face was so close, their lips almost touched. Raphael did not close that space between them, and neither did Haarlep. Instead, they spoke in a whisper. 

“Say please,” they demanded, and even though they had no reason to keep their voices down Raphael found himself whispering his response as well. 

“Please.”

This was not precisely how they usually made him plead, but getting that word out of him never failed to get a wide, satisfied grin out of the incubus. This time, they did not grin: they just closed their eyes, leaned back, and shed Raphael’s glamor with a long breath. Within moments the crimson skin had turned cinnamon, their frame shorter and leaner. The horns were smaller, the hair long and wine-red. When they opened their eyes, their pupils were red. Their mouth was smaller, more delicate than Raphael's. Haarlep’s lips curled, just barely, before they stood and took a couple of steps back. 

“Well then,” they said, spreading their arms and wings. “Enjoy what you see?”

The smugness was there once again, but it felt uncharacteristically forced, as though Haarlep was not certain of the response they’d get. As though they were not stunning, with delicate features and a lithe body, hair catching the light like threads of red silk. 

Raphael found himself staring, mouth dry. The first and only time he’d seen them like that he’d been angry over the perceived slight from a father he’d yet hoped to impress, unable to think of anything but his wounded pride. Now, he was thinking two things: that he could have been having this all along, and that he was an idiot.

“Yes.” Raphael’s voice was still only a whisper, and something about it made Haarlep’s grin waver, if only for a moment. Then they leaned back against the tub, and licked their lips. 

“Then you should show your appreciation, shouldn’t you, my little brat?”

That was familiar, an invitation they’d uttered more times than could be counted. Getting on his knees, too, was familiar - but the hand in his hair was smaller, the thighs he held onto not as muscled. Between those thighs Haarlep’s cock was still soft, nestled in curly red hair. Beneath it was the pink opening of a cunt - that, too, he’d forgotten about.

Raphael swallowed, and looked up. Haarlep met his gaze with a hungry look, and their hand clenched in his hair. “And I haven’t even kissed you,” they muttered, the half-smile playing on their lips again. They pressed a bare foot on his groin, on the erection straining against the trousers, and laughed at the resulting groan. “This is all you. How very naughty. What should I do with you, I wonder?”

Anything you want, Raphael would usually say at that point, staring at his own sneering face. Archduke, he’d call them. But he had no time to say either thing before Haarlep pulled him closer by the hair, to press his face against their groin. Their voice - their voice entirely, not a version of his own - was a little hoarse when they spoke again.

“You’ll make me come first, pet, if it takes you all night. Make me come and then I’ll fuck you.” 

A shiver, and Raphael pulled back enough to take their cock in his mouth, eyes slipping shut--

“No.” The pull on his hair was sharp, merciless. Raphael let out a pained yelp around them, and looked up. Haarlep's eyes caught his; they seemed to burn. “You wanted my true form, so now you'll look at it. Look at me. You won't stop looking for a single moment, my little brat. That's an order.”

Raphael whined deep in his throat, nodding as much as he could manage without letting them slip out of his mouth. His eyes watered by the time he'd taken most of it down his throat, by the time he reached up between Haarlep's thighs blindly to push his fingers in the tight heat of their cunt, but he did not look away. 

It was far from the first time he pleasured them with his mouth, but this was the first time the sensation did not extend to him. He was painfully hard, but the fact he was not feeling both ends of the action, taking and being taken, allowed him to last… longer than he otherwise would have. There was less to feel, but more time to feel it.

He was vaguely aware of his own rushing blood in his ears, the heat in his groin, the uncomfortable tightness of trousers he was almost certainly going to soil soon enough. But all he could truly focus on was Haarlep's face, the way their features softened in pleasure, the way they parted their lips - and the grip in his hair, the growing hardness against his tongue, the slick wetness around his fingers. Haarlep groaned and arched their back, pushing their hips forward to go as deep down his throat as they could get.

He choked for a moment, the cock not as thick as his own but longer; he did not protest, though, did not pull away. When his vision blurred he blinked away tears and still looked up, lips stretched at the base. Haarlep stared a few instants before they laughed, delighted. 

“Good boy,” they crooned, and it undid him just like that, the orgasm sudden and harsh, tearing a near sob out of his lungs. Raphael shuddered, but did not pull back. His fingers slipped a moment out of Haarlep before his thumb found their clit, and pressed against it.

It was not enough to undo Haarlep in turn - incubi had a degree of control over their body no other devil, and certainly no mortal, could hope to match. But it got a moan out of them, and the laugh that followed was just a touch more breathless than before as they pulled back, leaving Raphael feeling empty and trembling.

“Ah, look at you, trying so hard.” Haarlep crouched in front of him, cupping his jaw. Their eyes were half-lidded, red as rubies. “And already finished? That won't do at all,” they chuckled, and finally - finally - leaned in to kiss him, their saliva sending a shudder down Raphael's spine. He groaned and clutched them without thinking, kissing back deeply, sucking on their tongue. By the time they pulled back he was hard again, his loins on fire. “There,” Haarlep crooned. “Much better. Maybe I won't make you wait to fuck you, after all, to reward a good attemp--”

Raphael kissed them again, without warning. Their true form was not much larger than his human one and they lost their balance, falling back on the floor with a noise of surprise, Raphael on top of them. When he pulled back to catch his breath, they laughed.

“Oh, I really don't mind this angle,” they purred, and lifted their head to nibble at his throat. Their hands reached down to unlace his trousers, pushing them down his thighs. Raphael bit back a groan when a hand closed around his cock, giving it a couple of firm strokes. “I might be starting to think you should have asked for this form a long time ago…”

Raphael may have agreed, if he'd been able to form words. Instead he shuddered and pulled back just enough to look down at Haarlep's erection, at the glistening wetness between their things. He almost voiced his question, but Haarlep got there first. They gripped his chin and turned his face so that he'd look them in the eyes.

“I'll have you inside, this time,” Haarlep spoke, in a clear order. 

Raphael swallowed. “I don't know if I--”

“If you don't last, you'll clean your mess with your tongue. And then you'll ride me until I'm done. Is that clear?”

The thought alone was nearly enough to undo him a second time. Raphael let out a long, shaky breath. “Yes.”

“And you won't look away, my little brat.” The grip on his face tightened. “Not one moment.”  

He didn't.

***

“I’m going to kill her.”

“We probably shouldn’t murder a celestial.”

“I’d kill her just a little. I mean, if she dies she goes back to the Citadel. No harm done.”

“We’ll probably need her to convince Zariel to attune to the sword instead of destroying it.”

“Ah, yeah. Guess that would kind of suck, dealing with a pissed off Zariel without the sword.”

To say it would kind of suck was the understatement of the decade as far as Wyll was concerned, but Karlach muttered those words with the same distant, tired tone of someone who just returned from a long trip to the nearest market only to realize she forgot to pick up the milk. In the middle of the room some distance away, Lulu was fluttering back and forth, muttering under her breath something that Wyll suspected was a small speech she was practicing for the moment she faced Zariel again. 

Good to be prepared, he supposed, but it made trying to sleep really, really difficult. 

In the end, Wyll opted to make another attempt at being convincing before he resorted to casting Silence on her, which Lulu would probably not appreciate. “Lulu? I was wondering if this could wait until tomorrow. I’m sure it’s very important, but we’re really very--”

Sleepy, he almost said, but Karlach chose that moment to yawn loudly and drop her head on his shoulder. She was clearly well beyond just sleepy, and the hollyphant caught that at last. 

“Oh-- oh! Right! You need to sleep and I’m keeping you up! I’m so sorry! There are just so many things I want to tell Zariel, if she’ll listen-- I mean, of course she’ll listen! She almost listened last time, I told you, didn’t I? When I was in the dungeons and I almost got through to her, and then that devil showed up with the dagger--”

“Please shut up,” Karlach groaned, another yawn making her words almost unintelligible. Wyll gave Lulu a smile. 

“I’m sure you’ll think of the right things to say, but we really do need some rest now. You could keep practicing outside, perhaps?”

“Oh! Of course, I’ll do that. And I’ll hold guard, too - I’ll blast real loud if some devil tries to sneak into any of your rooms!”

Wyll had no reason to think Bel would try anything underhanded, with their interests so clearly aligned, but then again it never hurt to have someone keeping an eye out for everyone else while in a devil’s den. So he nodded, the smile widening. 

“That would be excellent, actually.”

"Right! I’ll be just outside!” Lulu exclaimed, and fluttered out without another word. Wyll chuckled. 

“Well, that wasn’t too--”

“Srnnk…” 

As Karlach’s snoring rang out, only an inch from his right ear, Wyll held back a laugh - it wouldn’t do to awaken her now that she’d just settled - and leaned back more comfortably against the wall, resting his head against hers before he closed his eyes.

His last thought before he fell asleep was that he really, really hoped they wouldn’t wake up to hopelessly tangled horns.

***

The very first thing Haarlep saw when they opened their eyes was their own hand, resting against the side of Raphael’s sleeping face. It took them a moment to recognize it as their own, unused as they were to their form; as a matter of fact, they recognized the ring at their finger first. The gold band, the light blue stones.

It helps ward off death for a time, if you’re downed. It should give us more time to heal you, Raphael had said after pressing it against their palm, and Haarlep wondered if he’d had any idea just how close to death they would come less than a day later. 

Would they have survived the ordeal, if not for that ring? They may never know, but they had a distinct suspicion that they wouldn’t have. The pain had been excruciating as it had been unexpected; they remembered screaming for help, for Raphael’s help. And he did rush to them, pale-faced and even crying. An odd sight, that, surprising but not unwelcome.

They had made him weep many times in bed - that night included, truth he told - but that had been different. It had been fear and guilt, threatening to spill into grief. All from a being who was not meant to feel any, towards a creature who was not meant to elicit any either.

A human heart, with only half a soul to keep it in check. No wonder he's different. It will be gone, whatever this is, once he's whole again. Part human, mostly fiend, one complete bastard. 

But until that happened, Haarlep would do what they'd always done best: indulge. Raphael had not turned into a great lover overnight, but he did last longer than he ever did when feeling both ends at once… and most of all, he had wanted to pleasure them. Haarlep could appreciate the attempt, from someone who'd seemed to only ever want to fuck a mirror.

But he looked at me. Never stopped looking at me.

It was not something Haarlep could say they'd ever imagined happening, nor something they'd wished for. But then it happened, Raphael's eyes fixed on their face - theirs! - and suddenly they'd wanted him to keep looking, they'd wanted it like breathing. Such pretty eyes he had, and now they wanted to see them again. So they leaned in, stroked his cheek with their thumb, and kissed him on the bridge of his nose.

“Mmh…” Raphael frowned a moment, causing his nose to scrunch up in that delightful way it always did. When his eyes opened and he blinked a couple of times to put them into focus, Haarlep waited for the inevitable order-- request he can give me orders no more --to change back to his likeness again.

Instead, he groaned and dropped his forehead against their chest. “Everything hurts everywhere,” he muttered.

And a good morning to you too, brat.

Haarlep laughed perhaps a touch louder than it was warranted, a little lightheaded for reasons they should probably not wonder about too hard.  “Of course it does. You rode me for hours, you poor thing.” Their hand brushed back his hair, ran down his back. They pressed their fingers against sore muscles and Raphael arched into it with a groan. “But you have done so well.”

“You were holding back on purpose, weren't you?” he grumbled against their skin, only to hiss when Haarlep's hand slid further down, over his still sore hole, over the dried semen which had dripped out of him.

“Ah, can you blame me for wanting it to last?” Haarlep purred, and nibbled at his ear. “You were delightful, truly.”

“Mph.” Raphael grumbled, and pulled back just enough to look at them - truly look, again. His eyes were half-lidded, and he reached to take some of Haarlep's hair, running his fingers through it. He seemed about to say something, then he hesitated, and remained quiet. Unusual, that. Raphael was not one to keep silent when he had a chance to talk and listen to his own voice for hours on end.

“Shall I change form, my little lord?”

“It would be wise, before we step outside. An incubus’ true form ought to remain a private matter, I know.” 

“I don't think we need to step outside just yet.”

“We don't.”

Haarlep went to smooth back his hair, and Raphael took their hand before they could pull it back. His fingers found the ring and he looked at it, running his thumb over it. He knew, as well as Haarlep did, how that little trinket had likely played a part in keeping them alive. Without it… well. A devil slain in Baator is gone for good. 

Most of the time at least. Their little brat was always the exception to many rules, but Haarlep was a full devil; their own death would have been permanent.

“... A useful artifact,” Raphael spoke, still thumbing at it. “Make sure not to lose it.”

“I'll treasure it, my pet. Like you treasure your mother’s gift, I see,” they added, running their fingertips over Raphael’s ring finger, over the now useless ring on it. It caused Raphael to pause and stare at it for a few moments before he sat up-- well. Tried to sit up, winced, and leaned against the wall, still focused on the ring. Haarlep blinked. “... Raphael?”

He didn’t reply right away: just stared at the ring for a few more moments, turning it on his finger, before he smiled. “I need to see Bel now. I have an idea.”

“What you have is a sore backside and semen all over your thighs. I’ll draw you a bath first, little duke. Not too hot, so that it doesn’t redden that delicate skin,” Haarlep added, as though Raphael’s skin wasn’t already reddened from the previous night’s activities. It made him crinkle his nose in annoyance again. 

“Insolent as always,” he muttered, but all his crankiness seemed to vanish the moment he realized Haarlep was going to be in the tub, too. The simplest trick in the book, but it always worked.

Haarlep may have laughed at how easy that had been, had their mouth not been otherwise occupied as soon as Raphael joined them in the water.

***

The tenday as Bel's guests - well, actually nine days - flew by faster than Karlach had expected them to. And it wasn't all that bad, really: there was enough time to finally get all of their weapons and armor upgraded, for one. If their attempt with the Sword failed and it came to having to fight Zariel, they would definitely need it.

Dammon would have probably lost his entire mind in that forge; she'd have to tell him about it next time she stopped by at the Gate, to ask how it measured up to the one he'd visited.

And of course, as well as the weapons, the forgemaster and a mage had worked tirelessly to forge something else - rings.

“A teleposition spell? Ah, so that is how they got you out of Mephisto’s maw in the nick of time,” Bel had commented with Raphael’s ring in the palm of their hand, the day he'd explained his plan to infiltrate the Fortress. “Ingenious, I must admit, however little I trust magic. It is a sound enough plan, if we can get enough rings forged on time.”

They could, and they did. The day before the Flying Fortress was due to dock at the Styx, one of Bel’s envoys took off to meet it, carrying reports on the movement of troops on the ground… as well as seven rings. 

The other seven stayed with them, near exact copies of the one Raphael had been wearing. Well, except for the one that needed to be large enough to fit around a hollyphant's tusk.

“All right, let me see if I got this right,” Astarion was saying, toying with his ring. “Tomorrow we cast an illusion spell to make us look ugly, and get taken to the Styx. Once the Fortress docks close enough, we put these on.” He held up the ring. “And if Bel’s agents inside didn't fuck it up, we'll be in there in seconds without anyone noticing.”

“That's the gist of it,” Raphael replied. “Does it meet your approval?”

“Ah, I'm not a plans kind of guy,” Astarion replied with a shrug, pocketing the ring. “This sounds perfectly decent to me. Once we're in, we'll just wing it.”

“I am not certain I'm comfortable with the concept of winging it when fighting a devil in her own fortress.”

“Worked well enough against you,” Karlach pointed out, gaining herself a rather tired sigh.

“Fair enough.” Raphael pocketed his own ring. “Very well. That is all. We ought to rest and--”

“Where's mine?”

Haarlep's voice caused him to trail off, and everyone to pause and glance over. That was true, Karlach realized - with Lulu included, they needed eight pairs of rings. Why had Raphael only asked for seven?

“You don't have one,” Raphael replied, his voice dry. “You're going to remain here.”

A scoff. “Oh, come now. I always wondered what the Flying Fortress looks like.”

“I’ll make sure to tell you all when we return,” Raphael snapped, causing Haarlep to trail off and blink. It seemed to dawn in on them, quite suddenly, that Raphael was serious. And they didn't seem much like that, if the scowl on the face they were wearing was anything to go by. 

“I’m coming with you, my little brat.”

Raphael scoffed as though they had just said something so absurd, it hardly warranted acknowledgment. “You most certainly are not. You’ll wait for my-- for our return here, where it's safe.”

“Safe? I didn't come here to be safe!” Haarlep snapped, their voice harsh enough to catch Karlach by surprise. And everyone else, it seemed. “I was given a mission to make sure you had the best chance--”

“Well then, consider the mission fulfilled,” Raphael cut them off. He was scowling, but wasn't looking at them, or even in their general direction. Behind him, Durge and Astarion were exchanging a quick look. “I have as good a chance as I am ever going to get. I no longer have need--”

“You no longer own me, and you may no longer give me orders. I most certainly am coming,” Haarlep cut him off in turn. “Someone has to look after you--”

“I can look after myself well enough. If I did need anybody else to look after me, I’d pick someone capable of fighting.”

“I infiltrated the scab, didn't I?”

“And you almost died screaming.”

“There won't be any holy light where we're going. I can have a look around the Fortress and--”

“Fooling a few demons doesn't make you a master spy, you imbecile! If you're caught--”

“I won't be. If I can be an asset--”

“All you are is a distraction!”

For a few moments, Raphael's snarl was met with stunned silence. Karlach was faintly aware of Astarion's sharp intake of breath, of Halsin’s stunned expression, of Wyll stiffening by her side. Durge said nothing, either, but they did bring a hand up to their head as they always did when a headache began. 

Overall, the only reaction Karlach found surprising was Haarlep's. They had been called worse before; a toy, even, by one of Bel's guards, and they'd seemed entirely unbothered - even surprised by Astarion’s reaction to it. Now, however, their borrowed features shifted from annoyance to disbelief, before quickly settling into a stony, unsettling anger. 

“... Very well, then,” they spoke. “Far it be from me to distract you, master. I'll take my leave.”

Wyll stepped forward, lifting his hands as though to call for calm. “Let's not be rash--” he began, to absolutely no avail. Haarlep was out of the door before he could add another word, and the door slammed shut before he'd even lowered his hands. Several pairs of eyes turned to Raphael, and he looked back at none of them. 

“If it's all the same to you,” he ground out, picking up a crude map of the Flying Fortress Karlach had drawn at the best of her scarce artistic abilities, “I shall inform Bel--”

There was a noise halfway between a scoff and a trumpet before Lulu fluttered right up to Raphael's face, scowling. “I know why you did that,” she informed him.

Raphael glared back. “I highly doubt you do,” he muttered. “But pray tell, what is your point?”

“My point,” Lulu declared, pointing right at his face with her trunk, “is that it was really, really mean.”

A scoff. “I've been accused of worse things,” he muttered, and left the room before anyone could say a word, his lips pressed together in a thin line, meeting none of their gazes.

***

By the time Raphael returned to their quarters, after going over the plan with Bel one last time, the others had all retired to their rooms to rest for the day ahead. To be entirely honest, it was a relief: he'd rarely been less inclined to talk in his life.

There was little to talk about either way. Even the idiotic hollyphant could tell precisely what had happened and why. He’d let his control slip, as he had several times over the journey through Avernus - letting himself be reduced to a sniveling mess one night, waking up screaming one morning, all but begging the bhaalspawn to let him go to so he could heal Haarlep outside the Citadel. He’d heard those screams-- “Master! Help me! Please!” -- and rational thought had entirely left him. 

Running on half a soul had more than halved both his powers and self-control. He’d grown stronger since and he’d thought he could regain control too over time, but it had not been so. 

It only kept getting worse, and he shuddered to think of what may happen if Haarlep - the imbecile was no fighter, what did they think they could do in the first place? - came to harm during their mission. No, they had to stay behind, or else they would be a liability. A distraction indeed, precisely what Mephistopheles had intended them to be from the start. 

There would be no room for mistakes in the Flying Fortress; it was as simple as that. Looking back he should have led the explanation with that, instead of-- well, losing control. But then again, did he truly want to tell everybody - to say aloud - that those screams had replaced even Mephistopheles’ maw in his nightmares? Did he want to tell them why? 

No, he did not. He could not. It was foolishness which would be over once he was whole again, himself again - and that, love, was that.

The room he'd shared with Haarlep was empty, which did not surprise him: Oreasha had told him that the incubus had left Bel's Forge, saying that their mission was done and that Raphael was now their problem. What did surprise him was seeing something glinting on the pillow, a band of gold with light blue stones and the faint hum of magic about it. And it stung, like a sudden blow to the stomach… but it made sense, really, that they would leave it behind.

They had no more need for it, after all. No reason left to get into any sort of fight. They were back in Mephistar, most likely, back to the safety of a boudoir. Perhaps they would feel some vindication when selling his body out once again at his father's court, where he was loathed and desired in equal measures. The esteemed Justiciar Bele would be first in line, surely. 

If he did, he'd feel it soon enough. At the moment, he felt nothing.

Raphael sat on the edge of the bed, picked up the ring, and stared at it in silence for a long, long time.

***

[Back to Chapter 23]

[On to Chapter 25]

[Back to Start]

[iolaussharpe-24]

I was not prepared.

Let's talk.

I was expecting Addams Family 2019 to be bad. I really was. My expectations were on the floor. I'd seen clips and I knew the cast. I knew the general breakdown of the plot. I wasn't expecting there to be so many parts that I would actually like.

Don't get me wrong, the thing is terrible. One of the worst Addams Family movies I've ever seen. (It's above Addams Family Reunion because that one put me to sleep five minutes in three different times over the years and I have yet to watch it all the way through. Also, I haven't seen Addams Family 2.)

The thing is, there were a lot of moments, jokes, and even plot points that I actually really liked, but the execution for most of them was 💩. I think a good half of it or so could potentially work on paper if not in an animated (or even live action) movie.

My favorite joke (that is to say, "the one that made me laugh the hardest") was the cotton candy bit.

Then you have the "lime in the coconut" nonsense.

The spider bridge followed by "surfing the web".

WTF.

Also, I'm saying this as an Addams Family fan and not a crazy fan of any of the cast specifically, even though I love so many of them, these guys were WASTED on this thing. Oscar Isaac was probably the best part (cause he's the only one who consistently sounded like he either gave a shit or was just trying to have some fun with terrible material) and I hate that he was in THIS version. I think that Oscar Isaac, Charlize Theron, Chloë Grace Moretz, and Bette Midler would be really good in live action as the same characters they voiced. Also, Finn Wolfhard was pretty good as Pugsley, but I can't see him trying to do it in front of a camera.

As an Oscar Isaac fan I'm gonna say that my boy got done DIRTY.

Before I wrap this up, I just want to talk about the character designs.

I can get behind using the original comic designs for an animated movie. It's been done before. I think that's a pretty neat idea. HOWEVER, that works a lot better with 2D animation than 3D.

The arms and legs on the kids are so pencil thin that there were times I couldn't see their limbs as they moved. They just blended into the background.

Like so much else, the idea was good, the execution was not. Everyone is too thin, too smooth, and too weirdly simple despite clearly being complex at the exact same time. They look like clay balanced on pencils and toothpicks. Basically, give these guys some carbs, and add more details like Wednesday's noose braids. As is, they make Vivziepop characters look heavy and healthy by comparison.

Like I said earlier, it's not the worst Addams Family movie I've seen, but it's right next to the bottom. If Addams Family 2 is anything like this first one, it might get bumped up a notch though. I can't say. Have to see it first.

Going from worst to best (movies only):

Addams Family Reunion (1998)

The Addams Family (2019)

The Addams Family (1991)

Addams Family Values (1993)

ONE OTHER THING!

If I had a nickel for every time an actor I thought could be a good Gomez Addams ended up in a terrible version, I'd have two nickels. It's not a lot, but I think it's funny that we've failed both Tim Curry and Oscar Isaac.

[judgeanon]

Plastic Skies - Model 5: Su-37 Berkut

After that last, highly-demanding build, I made a conscious decision that my next kit would be something simple. No hyper complex camo schemes, no funky weird tools, just a cheap little palate cleanser. At first I thought about getting another of those baby models, but I was lucky enough to find something that not only checked all the boxes, but was also one of my all-time favorite weirdo planes. This, at last, was going to be just fun, dammit.

For those who haven’t had the pleasure, the Berkut is an experimental plane built around the idea of forward-swept wings and other technologies like thrust vectoring. The project was started in the 80s, but the plane itself first took flight in 1997, and while its test results were pretty impressive, it was eventually scrapped for more conventional airplanes. Still, the sole working prototype remained in use as a test bed for further technologies, and along the way, it gained a pretty strong following. Japan in particular seems to adore the Berkut, and it has appeared in pretty much every Ace Combat game since 3. In fact, an amusingly sizeable bunch of online articles about it just straight-up use game renders of the Berkut, even if they feature markings from Ace Combat’s various fictional countries.

But anyway! Beloved weirdo plane. 95% black fuselage. No missiles because it never saw actual combat. And according to online resources, the model had the simplest landing gear doors I’d seen yet. It was fate. Especially at the price the online reseller I bought it from was asking: less than half the price of the last model. Sure, I could tell it was an old kit, but how bad could it be?

The Berkut’s construction was every bit as easy as I imagined it to be. So easy, in fact, that I built it in literally a single day. Although I did make a few ugly mistakes along the way. The biggest one, which is hard to notice unless you see it very up close and/or with the light right over it, was the paint. Thinking I’d need a lot of black, I went overboard on the paint and ended up with some really ugly brush strokes covering most of the model. The glossy varnish I picked for the finish hid some of it, but it was a lesson I’m trying to keep at the forefront of my mind for next time: chill with the paint.

I did, for once, enjoy doing the landing gears. Not just because they were hilariously easy compared to pretty much every other one I’d built, but because it (and the thrusters) gave me a chance to break out the metallic paint. Seriously, I fucking love that stuff. I’m thinking about building another MiG-21 or a Sabre or even another P-51 Mustang just so I can give them the shiniest coat of metallic paint I can find.

The white details were a bit of a problem, but that’s because white paint in general kinda vexes me. For some reason I end up needing at least twice as many coats as any other paints. Maybe it’s a matter of priming, another thing I’ve yet to try with models. But in any case, before I knew it, the Berkut was complete, moving canards and all. It was time to get my decalling on.

I dunked one of the red stars that are supposed to go on the wings on warm water, took it out, removed the excess water, put it on the fuselage and gently poked at it with a toothpick like I’d done with dozens of other decals before. And then it happened. The star shattered completely inside the paper, its points snapping off like twigs. Grimacing, I tried to hold it together, but that just obliterated it further. Before I could do anything else, the star was just a mangle of red decal on a damp piece of paper.

So that sucked, but I knew I had five more stars to use. At worst, I could just not use one of the bottom ones. But I needed to do some testing. I wanted to check if this was a freak accident or if there was something worse going on. I picked a different decal and tried again. It disintegrated even faster than the star. And I gave up on the decals.

A quick online search confirmed my fear: this model kit was released in 2000. It is old enough to drink. Surely, the protective plastic coat around the decals was a hundred times weaker than the toothpicks I used. And while I did find a few ways to solve it, they all require products that I’m not entirely sure what their local equivalents would be. So while I’m definitely gonna be doing some more research about this to try and find a solution, for now, this poor Berkut is gonna remain un-decalled.

Also, one of its tailfins is a bit curved, but ehhhhh. I got what I paid for. It’s still a nice model, and it’ll probably get a little better once I find some gray panel line/wash to really bring the fuselage out, but as it stands, I’m just happy that a couple of sellers have more modern and bigger kits of this plane available.

Like in real life, this Berkut deserved better.

[silverwings22]

Caught in the Crosshairs: Chapter 50: I Can Still Feel You- Collin Raye

Series warnings: Smut, mind control, canon typical violence, childhood trauma, language, chronic illness

Chapter warnings: fight between family, teenage angst, PTSD, chronic pain/phantom pains, mentions of torture

Translations: Cyare: beloved darasuum: eternity/forever cyar'ika: sweetheart

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Cyare,

You've been at the Temple a long time. I can't keep track of the days I've spent going between the mid-levels and this damn hotel room. I keep hoping you'll be there when I come back, but you're not. 

You overdid it on Skako. Of course you did, there was someone in trouble. This Echo guy. 

This isn't about him, though. This is about you. On that mission, you called me the best man in the galaxy. I can't explain what that feels like, to hear from your pretty mouth. But I can show you, because I've always been better at action than words. 

I've been hunting for the perfect ring to put on your hand. I finally found this silversmith, she's pretty damn talented. She's finishing up the details today, and I'm going to pick it up. When you get out of the Temple, I'm going to finally ask you to marry me. 

Fuck, I'm nervous. I shouldn't be, you suggested it first. I know what you're going to say. I know you want this as much as I do. But still… I keep thinking about those holo movies you like. The big proposal, the one every sappy romantic dreams about going off without a hitch. You're the kind of girl that dreams about that kind of thing. 

How do I go about it? I don't have a last name to give you. I don't have much of shit except a Firepuncher and a smart mouth. You deserve the galaxy. I have a toothpick. 

Miria Halcyon, will you marry me? That feels too simple. 

Will you make me the happiest man in the galaxy? That sounds like you don't already. 

Will you be mine? Fuck, that sounds selfish and I promised you I'd do better. I'd be better. 

I'll try to think of what to say, now that the moment's almost here. But if I fumble it, I hope you'll understand. I want to do this right for you. 

Darasuum, 

Crosshair 

It was the kind of planet one almost expected a tumbleweed to roll across. Arid, covered in steep plateaus, and with a constantly brewing storm on the horizon, Miria felt a little prickle of discontent in her chest as she gathered up her things for the mission. 

Perhaps it was just the air aboard the Havoc Marauder. Things had been different since Echo left them, and it stung. The guys were shorter tempered with each other, and even Omega was starting to lash out in small ways. Miria wanted to comfort her, but what could she really say? She'd encouraged Echo to leave, and she wasn't sure Omega would forgive her that sin readily. So she held her tongue and busied herself with her bag, packing her saber and weapons before touching the sheaf of letters in her footlocker. 

It was silly to carry them all, wasn't it? She usually only took one, her favorite that she'd read to Aram and Irene on their trip to Thule. But loneliness and loss had a way of burrowing up her spine, and it took her a long time to talk herself out of wrapping them in duraplast to protect them. Instead, she tucked them back in her footlocker, next to Crosshair’s beside her bunk. If she just looked this direction and didn’t turn to where Echo’s hammock was missing, she could fool herself into believing they were both still on the ship somewhere. If she closed her eyes, maybe she’d hear Echo scolding someone for a broken regulation, and Crosshair’s sarcastic snicker that he was missing the point of Clone Force 99. 

She missed Crosshair, somehow even more now that Echo was gone. The loss of a second brother amplified the first. 

Her hands twitched, a sharp ache passing through them under the thick scarring. Argais had said it was the nerves reconnecting, a privilege and payment in one to feel again. It would eventually pass, the twinges getting fewer and further between as the Force did its work. For the time being, every change in atmospheric pressure or humidity was accompanied by a flash of agony as quick as the lightsaber that caused it. 

Idly, as she rubbed the offending hands against the fabric covering her thighs, she thought of Roland Durand touching his severed horn on Ord Mantell so many months ago. A small price to pay. 

"We're touching down." Omega said quietly from the bunkroom door. 

Miria nodded and stood, settling the rifle on her back. "Are you ready, little love?"

"I guess so." Omega let her pass and followed her out as the ramp opened, the three brothers ahead of them into the dry air. "What are we even doing?"

"Mining." Miria slowed her steps to let Omega catch up, sensing the heavy weight in the girl's Force signature. "I assume Cid purchased this mine with the plan to diversify her income, should the Empire come too close to Ord Mantell. And ipsuim is quite valuable when refined."

"And extremely volatile when raw." Tech interjected. "We must be cautious, or be caught in an explosion. It is much like a primed thermal detonator."

They made it to a mining tunnel door, and Miria examined the mechanism thoughtfully, while Hunter looked out at the storm in the distance and crouched to the ground briefly. “Is is moving towards us?”

“No. It’s moving away.” Hunter looked at Wrecker. "You and Omega keep lookout. We'll do the mining."

"We will need Wrecker in the mines." Tech adjusted his helmet. “Without Echo, we are a man down.”

"I can keep lookout." Omega offered.

"Not alone. Cid warned us about poachers in the area." Hunter shook his head. "And we need Miri's Force abilities in case of a cave-in."

Miria patted Omega's shoulder gently. "We'll be quick."

Omega sighed and nodded. "Okay…"

Miria followed Tech and Hunter into the tunnel. Once they were a good distance down and out of earshot of the door, the sergeant looked at her. "Has she said anything to you?"

"She doesn't need to, Hunter. I know what she's feeling." Miria shook her head. "She misses Echo. A part of her family is missing… a part of her heart. That is a wound that never truly heals." She would know, after all.

"Soldiers must adapt to change." Tech said stiffly. Hunter’s helmet jerked to him in what was probably a withering look. 

"She isn't a soldier, Tech. Try to show her some compassion." Miria sighed. "Are you picking anything up on the scanner?"

She loved Tech dearly, but sometimes she wanted to shake him by the shoulders. He missed Echo too, she knew he did. They'd been close since Skako. Tech was just very good at compartmentalizing and logically talking himself into shoving his emotional reaction into a box. Much like Crosshair, if she was honest. He'd hate the comparison. 

"I am not picking up a large deposit of ipsuim. It would seem Cid was deceived into purchasing an already depleted mine."

"We'll get what we can." Hunter grumbled, hoisting a canister. They had to transport the volatile mineral carefully, so Tech had designed it to be secure and mostly shock resistant. 

"There is a small reading coming from this direction." Tech led the way with his scanner beeping. "Up there."

Hunter looked up at the faintly glowing outcrop in the cavern wall, way above their heads. "Tech and I are too big to get up there and drill without falling. Miri?"

She reached for the drill, but winced the minute her fingers wrapped around the handle. They couldn't see her face, but the faint hiss of breath through her modulator caught Hunter’s attention. "What's wrong?"

Miria tucked the drill under her arm and rubbed her hands together. "I'm sorry. They… ache. In the climate." She muttered unhappily. "It's damp in here. Give me a moment, it'll pass. I can-"

"It is too risky to have you handle the ipsuim if your hands are compromised." Tech shook his head. "I did not know you were still experiencing side effects of your…" He paused, trying to think of a somewhat appropriate way to phrase this thought. 

"Torture?" Miria smiled faintly. "It's alright, Tech. I should be grateful to feel anything at all."

Hunter sighed. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"There were more important things to demand your attention. Like Omega."

Tech's index finger went into the air as he had an idea. "She would be ideal to reach the mineral deposit."

Hunter didn't like it, but he had little choice and hit his comm. "Omega, can you come down here? We need you."

Omega joined them only a few minutes later, a faintly sullen look in her eyes that Miria couldn’t help but wince at. The unfair situation and the onset of puberty were a combination more volatile than the ipsium… “Would you mind getting up there and drilling into the ipsium deposit?” Mira asked quietly. “Hunter or I can boost you up, but I’m afraid my hands just aren’t steady enough for the task.”

Omega nodded. “I can climb it. Just pass me the drill when I get up there.” 

Miria nodded and Hunter offered Omega a boost to get to the glowing mineral. Tech was scanning the area around it. “You must be extremely cautious when drilling into the fossilized quartz around the ipsium. The slightest friction could cause the mineral to become unstable.” He cautioned. 

“I know.” Omega grumbled, reaching down as she got into position. Miria passed the precision drill to Hunter, who handed it up to Omega. 

“Be careful.” The sergeant said softly. Miria hoped Omega recognized his words were out of concern for her safety and not him harping on her like she was incapable. Whatever she thought, Omega didn’t voice. Instead she just got carefully through the quartz like Tech had told her, and extracted a vial of the yellow ipsium into a rod. She disconnected it from the drill and handed it down to Hunter, who passed it to Miria with both hands. She carefully walked it to Tech, who put it in the canister with steady hands and passed her another empty vial. She dutifully handed it up the chain, watching Omega. 

The poor girl looked so silently angry as she worked. Nose scrunched in unspoken disgust, golden-brown eyes narrowed, lips pursed. 

That’s the same face Crosshair makes when he’s angry.

How curious, that her sunshine and sugar little Omega could remind her of the stubborn sniper. Then again,she knew no one in the galaxy as well as she’d once known Crosshair… and Omega was his little sister. The resemblance had to show itself eventually.

Once Omega had drained the deposit of its ipsium and Tech had packed it safely away, Miria held out her arms to give the girl a hand down. “Good work, sweetheart.” She said mildly. 

Usually, praise from her General made Omega beam. Today she just nodded silently. 

They headed back out of the mine, meeting up with Wrecker as he stood guard. “Good thing you finished up when you did. That storm looks like it’s changing direction.” The big clone nodded towards the roiling clouds and distant lightning.

Tech nodded. “The weather on this planet is highly irregular.”

Miria shook her head. “The last thing we need is to have that lightning hit the ipsium. Let’s-” She started to turn towards the Marauder when Hunter stiffened beside her. 

“The engine just came online.” He jumped ahead, running for where they’d parked the ship. 

Miria paled and raced after him, rounding the corner just as the Havoc Marauder took to the air just out of reach and rocketed into the distance. “No…” 

Hunter rounded on Wrecker. “You were supposed to be lookout! You let our ship get stolen!” 

“There wasn’t anybody there, I swear!” Wrecker yelped. 

“Clearly, there was.” Tech huffed, arms crossed. 

“You’re the one who parked the ship out of sight of the mine!” Wrecker was on the defensive, automatically worrying about catching hell for a mistake as if the GAR’s command still had the power to come down on him.

“There was no other suitable landing zone, Wrecker.”

“Enough.” Miria said sharply. “Bickering amongst ourselves doesn’t recover the Havoc Marauder.” 

“There’s got to be a way to get it back.” Omega swallowed hard, edging a little closer to Miria. 

The woman looked up as the wind started to pick up around them. “We need shelter from the storm first… then we can consider trying to find it.”

“There’s got to be a town or settlement nearby.” Hunter nodded. “Tech? Anything on the scanner?” 

Tech fiddled with his device for a moment. “I am picking up a spaceport. It is approximately forty klicks from the entrance of the mine.”

Hunter sighed. “Then we’d better start walking.” He nodded for tech to lead the way, following just behind. Wrecker trudged after him with the ipsium case, shoulders slumped as it became progressively more evident that they were all stuck in the situation because of him. 

When Hunter glanced back at the two girls, he was somewhat surprised to see Miria with her head down and one arm wrapped around herself as she walked next to Omega. His blonde little sister still looked frustrated and unhappy, but he didn’t know what was going on in his General’s head. That wasn’t happy body language, though. 

It felt like they’d been walking for hours when they got a respite from the sun and dry heat in the form of shade from the walls of the canyon they were passing through. “How much further?” Wrecker grumbled. 

“You will not like the answer.” Tech just said without looking back at him. 

“Havoc 4, this is Havoc 5. Do you copy?” Omega was working at her comm next to Miria, trying her damndest to call Echo. It wasn’t a terrible idea, if they’d had long-range comms available without the ship’s transmitter. 

Hunter sighed. “Omega… he’s too far away to pick up the signal.” 

Tech shrugged. “Even if he was not, he has disabled his communication device for the time being.”

Omega looked crushed. “Why would he disable his comm?”

“It is likely that whatever mission he is currently on is of a sensitive nature, and therefore he needed absolute radio silence.” 

Omega looked at Miria, who just shook her head. “I’m sorry, Omega. I don’t…” She paused, turning her head the direction they’d come. There was a powerful wave of emotion in the Force barrelling towards them. Primal fear and panic. “... Run. All of you, run!”

Hunter felt it too, a stampede of blue herbivorous creatures not unlike antelope barrelling right towards them. They were faster than the little group of humans, and the pushing and shoving creatures nearly knocked them under the thunderous hooves more than once. Miria had completely forgotten about the ipsium in her blind concern for her team, especially when Omega let out a squeak of pain as a hoof clipped her shoulder. Then she was airborn, Miria having scooped her up and taken a Force-jump up into a tangle of overhanging roots. Omega clung to her middle, eyes wide. “Hunter! The grappling hooks!” 

A split second later, a hook hit the root next to Miria’s arm. Hunter quickly hauled himself up the line, Tech right behind him. “You two okay?” Hunter looked over at Omega. 

“Where’s Wrecker?” Miria didn’t look away from the dust cloud and running animals, but breathing a sigh of relief when another hook landed next to her. She pulled herself up with Omega, sitting on the root now instead of dangling. “Oh thank goodness, you-” She started just as Wrecker reached them. 

Tech cut her off. “Where is the ipsium? You must protect the case!”

“What about protecting the me?!” Wrecker groaned. 

“We will all be killed if that explodes!” Tech insisted, and before Miria could stop him Wrecker groaned and threw himself back into the stampede and over the case. 

“Tech!” Miria hissed sharply. “Have you lost your mind?!” 

Tech just looked at her curiously as the herd below them passed, and he and Hunter descended the ropes. Miria jumped down and landed lightly, setting Omega on her feet. “Try not to drop it next time.” Tech was telling Wrecker. 

“Why don’t you carry it, if you’re such an expert?” Wrecker huffed. 

“Very well.” Tech shrugged and picked the canister up.

Miria walked over and checked over Wrecker quietly. “Are you hurt, dear?”

“Nah. I’m okay, Miri.” He patted her head gently. 

“The storm is getting closer.” Hunter looked up as the sun dimmed, clouds and dust whipped up by the heavy winds. 

“That would explain the stampede.” Tech said dryly. 

“We cannot be caught in a lightning storm with that ipsium.” Miria pulled Omega closer, trying to shield the girl’s face. “Is there anything on the scanners?”

Tech squinted in the darkness. “There should be a mining tunnel ahead somewhere."

"I see it!" Omega pointed. Hunter pulled her towards the door, and he and Wrecker got it open. Miria climbed up after them, helping Omega and reaching back for Tech when the genius tripped and the canister came off his back. All five of them watched in open horror as the wind caught it and dragged it into the roiling mass of dust and lightning.

It's going to explode. 

There was no saving it, but she could save Tech. The poor clone was lifted bodily off the ground and thrown into the tunnel with his siblings, Miria darting in behind them as the storm smashed the canister into the mountainside and the ipsium blew. The tunnel mouth caved in, trapping them inside. 

Miria was thrown flat on her face, everyone else groaning. "S-sound off…" She managed to grit out, sitting up on her elbows.

"We're all okay, Miri." Hunter assured her after a quick head count.

"Except that we are now trapped, and have lost the ipsium." Tech huffed, pulling off his helmet. 

"I guess that's my fault too?" Wrecker leaned over on a rock, reaching out to help Miria to her feet. 

"If you had been alert, our ship would not have been stolen and we would be on our way back to Ord Mantell with the mineral." Tech sniped back. 

"Knock it off, you two. The only way we're getting out of here is to dig." Hunter, ever pragmatic, got between them. 

Miria sighed and set her helmet on the ground, wiping her forehead with her sleeve. "Right. It'll take hours, even with the Force. Let's get started."

Hunter didn't like the downcast look in her eyes, but he wasn't sure what had her so upset. Usually she was pretty calm as long as they were all unharmed… 

She didn't say anything else, moving to start shifting rocks with him and the guys. Omega was working on something with her datapad, and they left her to it.

Hunter clocked the little crack in her breathing first and turned around. Omega was distraught looking. "The Marauder's transponder is offline…"

"It was likely disabled by the thief." Tech shrugged, looking around when everyone else stopped working.

"But how will we find it?!"

"First we need to get out of here. Then we'll worry about it." Hunter coaxed. He was hoping Tech would pick up his tone and drop it, but Tech was… well, Tech. Analytical, intelligent, and somewhat oblivious to emotionally fragile little girls who needed reassurance from her big brothers. 

"It is highly unlikely that the Marauder will be recovered, Omega."

"We can't just give up on it!" Omega squawked. "Miri, tell him!"

"We can acquire another ship. It is merely a mode of transportation." Tech adjusted his goggles. 

Omega's eyes watered up and she stomped her little foot in a near tantrum. "No! The Marauder is our home! It's bad enough we lost Echo, we can't lose our home too!"

Hunter held up his hands, trying to do damage control. "We didn't lose Echo. He's just… on another mission."

"He's not here! He's not with us, and we're supposed to be a squad!" Omega's voice echoed in the cavern.

Tech sighed. "This squad existed before Echo, and it will exist after. What is your issue?"

Omega hurled her datapad at him and picked up her gear bag. Miria reached out for her, eyes wide. "Sweetheart…"

"I want to be alone." Omega said quietly and slunk down the tunnel. 

Miria's hand fell back to her side and she sat down on a rock, head in her hands. Hunter gave Tech a dirty look. 

"What? I merely stated the truth."

"She knows the truth. That's why she's upset." The sergeant growled. 

Wrecker sat down by Miria. "... Miri? You okay?"

"... she's right, Wrecker." The woman whispered painfully. "It's our home… how is Crosshair supposed to ever come home if we haven't got one anymore?"

Hunter stiffened. "Miri…"

"Crosshair is even less likely to be recovered than the Marauder." Tech frowned. "Surely you're aware of that-"

"Just stop!" Miria looked up at him, tears in her eyes. The genius froze in his tracks. "I know what he said. I know what he did, Tech! I can't calculate the odds mathematically, but I know. Just let me have a little hope… please." She swallowed hard and forced her clenched fists open. "... I think I need to be alone as well."

She got up and beat a hasty retreat down the tunnel before she lost her temper with her friend. 

Hunter sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck."

Omega had found herself a small alcove in the tunnel and laid down, turning off her lantern to sit with her thoughts in the dark. She was just starting to think of mediating, like Gungi and Miria had shown her, when she heard something land heavily nearby in the shadows. Before she could turn on the light, she heard a soft sob.

"Miri?" She blinked, fumbling the lantern on. 

Miria was huddled across the tunnel from her, head on her knees and crying quietly. The striped head popped up at her voice, red rimmed eyes wincing in the sudden light. "Oh… Omega. I'm s-sorry, dear. You wanted to be alone… I'll go farther down…"

"Why are you crying?" Omega crawled over to her, eyes wide. She'd seen Miria cry before, of course. Especially right after Kaller, when the poor woman had been little more than a Force-sensitive wet noodle haunting the ship between bouts of coughing up blood. But that had seemed a long time ago, and Miria had tried to be so strong lately…

Miria looked away. "... I shouted at Tech. I shouldn't have… he doesn't think the way I do. It wasn't fair to him…" She whispered. "To him, it's just a ship. He doesn't attach the same value to the irreplaceable things I do…"

"Irreplaceable things?" Omega slid up beside her.

"The memorial, Crosshair’s footlocker…" Miria wiped her eyes. "His dress uniform was still in it… he hated wearing the bloody thing, but he looked so handsome. I wish you could have seen it. He was wearing it the first time he ever kissed me… he'd probably have worn it on our wedding day too, you know. And… his letters. They were still on the ship. I thought about bringing them along today, but I told myself it was s-silly, and they'd get damaged…" She couldn't stop her eyes from overflowing again. "I know it's just sheets of flimsi and ink. But it was… the last pieces I had. The proof that those three years he was mine weren't all a dream. That he really did love me…"

Omega cuddled up close. "That's important, Miri. Tech's just… ugh. He acts like he doesn't even care!"

Miria put an arm around her, closing her eyes. "He cares, Omega. I know he does. He just… doesn't speak the same love language, I suppose…"

"Love language?" Omega peeped up. 

Miria nodded with a sad smile. "The way love reaches you best, and how you show it."

"I don't get it." Omega scrunched her nose, and Miria couldn't help but see Crosshair in her face again. And Mayrin, too.

"Well… for example, Hunter always makes sure you get a little extra Mantell mix. And he keeps every drawing you've ever made him in his footlocker." Miria finally calmed herself. "His language is gifts. And… Wrecker’s is touch. That's why he loves hugs. Echo’s is words of affirmation, when he cares about someone he always has something kind to say. And when you tell him what you think of him, it means a lot to him."

"Does Tech even have a love language? He doesn't like hugs, he makes whatever he needs before anyone can get him things, and he doesn't seem impressed when I talk…" Omega wilted. 

Miria put a hand on her head. "Have you ever noticed that he likes to spend time with you? Teaching you, or just letting you hang out while he's working? His is quality time. Tech just… he feels it. It's just a difference of expression… I usually try to understand those differences, but today was a little more than I could take, between how upset you are and my own feelings. I owe him an apology, once I'm equipped to give it…"

Omega sighed. "I guess…" She looked up at Miria again. "... did Crosshair have one?"

The woman nodded. "Crosshair and I spoke the same language… acts of service. He was terrible at saying what he felt… but he could show me. And maybe it was how the Temple raised me, but that was what I did too. It's why I always get up first to make caf, even though I don't drink it. To show my love. It's not just romantic love these languages are for."

Omega frowned quietly, leaning her head on Miria's shoulder. "You think that's why he saved us and AZI on Kamino?"

"I do." Miria smiled faintly. 

Omega nodded and sat up, looking across the tunnel. "Something is glowing…"

Miria followed her over, and they found a crack in the rock face. Omega retrieved the drill and started breaking it open, finally making a big enough hole to get through. Omega wiggled through first. "What do you see, Omega?" Miria called from outside. 

"There's a bunch of the mineral deposits in here!"

Miria stuck her head in the hole curiously. "Oh my… we could use some of this to blast out of the cave in… could you reach it to extract any?"

"I think so. Can you come hold me up?"

Miria nodded and clambered through, sitting on a ledge and letting Omega climb on her shoulders to start drilling. "This is oddly familiar." She smiled. 

"Yeah?"

"During the war, we were under bombardment over Ansion. We had a hull breach, and we couldn't land as long as the turrets below were firing. I was on the bridge and I heard Crosshair say "Wrecker, hold my legs. I feel the urge to shoot someone." Then when I looked over, Wrecker was dangling him upside down out of the hole in the hull to shoot the droids manning the turrets."

Omega smiled. "Scare you?"

"At first. But he did clear out the turrets for us to land to repair the ship." Miria held still as Omega started drilling. It was a fond memory despite the danger they'd been in. Crosshair had laughed at the look on her face when Wrecker pulled him back in. 

"Keep standing there with your mouth open, cyar'ika, and you'll end up with something in it." The sniper’s smirk was audible even under his helmet, putting his rifle back on his back.

"Cross, you could have fallen!"

"Nah. Wrecker wouldn't drop me." His arm looped around her waist as they came down for a bumpy landing, keeping her secure. "I'm fine."

"You're so reckless sometimes."

"And that's why you like me. Isn't it?" 

"I quite a bit more than like you, darling."

His voice dropped low, barely audible through the blaster fire and sounds of his brothers moving to start repairs as quickly as possible. "Then when we're back in hyperspace, you won't mind taking me up on the offer to fill that pretty little mouth."

She glanced up at movement above her and Omega, spotting Tech leaning in. "Are you two aware that you are surrounded by a significant vein of ipsium? The slightest miscalculation could end both of your lives."

"Then you'd better not distract us." Omega grumbled, still not quite forgiving him for earlier. Miria held tightly to the girl's ankles on her own shoulders and nodded minutely. 

Tech frowned, tapping at his datapad. "This vein appears to be significantly more pure than what we discovered in Cid's mine. It would be practical to extract as much as possible."

"Do you trust me to do it?" Omega paused to look at him. 

"I know you are perfectly capable of the task." Tech cocked his head to the side, as if he didn't understand why she thought he'd doubt her. Then again, he might not have. 

"Then get the vials from my sachel." Omega nodded, carefully filling the one currently in the drill. "We'll have enough to get out of here and still take some to Cid."

"Clever girl." Miria smiled. 

Tech nodded and collected the vials, passing them one by one to Omega as she worked and trying to secure the full ones in the bag without jostling them. 

"This is the last vial, Omega." He finally reported. 

The girl nodded, adjusting her weight on Miria to lean out for a slightly out of the way outcropping. Miria braced as best she could, shoulders straining. Her hands were aching again from holding Omega so tightly. "A little further, dear?"

"A little to the right. My right. Almost got it-" Omega mumbled. 

"Careful, your foot is on my paldron." Miria cautioned. The metal was under her cowl, a misstep would make her slip. 

Before she could correct herself, the fabric slipped on the metal. Omega lurched backwards, dragging Miria over the edge of the ledge she was sitting on. 

"Omega!" Tech scrambled onto the narrow ledge, trying to grab his sister's hand as she clung to the rock face with Miria now hanging from her foot. 

Omega tried to reach him, but her arms couldn't hold both her and Miria, and they went plummeting into the dark with twin screams. 

"Omega! Miria!"

Miria pulled Omega down to get chest and curled around her, both of them cannonballing into the frigid water of an aqueduct. A half second later, Tech plunged in beside them and all three were swept up in the current. 

I doubt this was the kind of quality time Tech would have in mind. Miria's mind was whirling as they were battered left and right, locking limbs to stay together. 

Beside her, Tech spotted bubbles being dragged under. "Hold your breath!"

They all sucked in a desperate gasp before the rapids dragged them down, through progressively narrow passageways that nearly brained them on the rocks at either side. Then they were airborne, spat out by a waterfall and falling again into a deep pool. Miria glanced down at the glowing mineral deposit below before Omega tugged her arm and they surfaced, wheezing. 

"Th-there's a shore…" Miria coughed. "Swim that way…."

She, Omega, and Tech dragged themselves to a pebbled beach and collapsed in the shallows on their backs. "... are either of you hurt…?" Miria finally sputtered. 

"No…" Omega groaned. 

"N-negative…" Tech looked about as unhappy as his sister. 

Miria rolled her head to look at Omega. "... for the record, near drowning is not my language. Despite how often it seems to happen to you and I."

Omega sat up, rubbing her head. Tech followed suit, his comm hissing until he cleared the water from the mic. "Fffffsst- ech? Tech, do you copy?" Hunter sounded about ready to rip the mine apart with his bare hands. 

Tech coughed another mouthful of water. "Affirmative. I am with Omega and Miri. We took… an underwater detour."

"Where are you?"

"That is a good question. Stand by."

Miria got to her feet and wrang her hair out, wandering towards the cave wall. Omega and Tech followed, spreading out to look for a route out of an otherwise damp tomb.

"There's light over here." Omega called.

Miria and Tech joined her, leaning down to examine the credit-sized hole she'd discovered. "Well spotted, Omega." Miria patted her back. 

"I will instruct Hunter and Wrecker to retrieve our gear and meet us down here." Tech offered, backing up to speak into his comm. 

Omega shot a grumpy look at his back. Miria patted her hair. "I know you're frustrated with him, dear. But try to find a common language." She whispered. 

"You could just order him to not be a jerk…"

"That's not how family works, sweetheart. And we are a family before we're anything else." 

Tech rejoined them and they sat at the water's edge to wait for the others. "Once they join us, we will have a way out of the mine." He said firmly.

"We still have no ship, no way off the planet, and we can't even call Echo for help…" Omega pulled her knees up. 

"We do not need help. We will think of a solution, as we always do." 

Omega scrunched up a little tighter, glancing at Miria. The general only gave her an encouraging nod. Omega needed to say what she was feeling if she and Tech were ever going to reach common ground. 

"... everything is changing. First Echo, now the ship." Omega finally whispered. "I hate it."

"Soldiers often deal with change. It is a fundamental part of life… I do not understand your aversion to it." Tech frowned. 

"She's not a soldier, Tech." Miria murmured. 

"And we're a family, aren't we?" Omega piped up, looking at him. 

"... of course we are." Tech blinked, looking a little flustered.

"Then why don't you act like it?!" The girl's demanding question filled the cavern. Miria sat with the weight of the words. She heard the desperation in them, one she'd felt so many times since Kaller. 

Can't you show me that you love me in a way I can understand? 

Tech seemed to reflect for a long moment before choosing his words carefully. "Echo… chose another path. As did Crosshair. I have to respect those decisions, even if they can be difficult to understand… I admit I may process thoughts differently than you do… but it does not mean I feel any less than you."

Omega frowned, thinking over his words for a while. "So you do miss Echo?"

"Yes. I miss them both." Tech glanced at Miria. "If I could have made the choices for them, they would both be here now… and if they chose to return, I would be happy to have them back. I am sorry that was… not apparent. I thought it was obvious."

Miria smiled sadly. "What did you tell me? We can't help with what you don't say."

He nodded. "You are correct. It was never my intention to upset either of you."

"I'm sorry that I snapped at you." Miria said kindly. "It was… a lot to process, as you said." 

Omega scooted over in between her and Tech, reaching out her arms. Both adults leaned in, Tech a little more hesitant than Miria, but eventually accepted a loose hug from Omega. He wasn't much of a cuddler, per se, but this wasn't so bad. They had almost died, after all. 

Miria giggled quietly. Oh, Tech had his moments where the resemblance to Crosshair was obvious to everyone but him. 

They sat in silence until the waterfall spat out a displeased Hunter and Wrecker. "Have a nice swim, boys?"

"Your helmets are full of water." Hunter huffed.

"So are my socks." Omega grinned. 

They clambered out of the water and passed the three original aqueduct explorers their gear. Tech carefully set an ipsium vial on a rock near the hole Omega had found. "Get clear."

Everyone crouched behind a rock and Wrecker made an unhappy noise. "How come Tech gets to blow it up?!"

"If the shot is not precise, it could cause another cave in." Tech huffed. 

Omega giggled a little and tucked herself between Hunter and Miria. 

Tech took the shot with care, and it paid off in a blown out cave wall and no exploded Bad Batchers. Once the aftershocks stopped, they stepped out into the sun. 

"The spaceport is just down the cliffside." Tech looked through his binocs.

"Hopefully there'll be some food." Wrecker grinned. 

"There's only one way to find out." Miria shrugged. 

They started towards the settlement, Hunter walking even to Miria near the back of the pack. "Those two make up?"

"They've come to an understanding, I think." She nodded. "I'm sorry about that outburst earlier."

"You had a lot on your mind."

"I shouldn't have taken it out on Tech… it's not his fault. It's no one's fault, really. There's just… things aboard the Marauder I can't replace."

Hunter nodded. "The letters."

"And the memories… Omega's right. It is our home." She shook her head quietly. "When I decided I'd leave the Jedi… it didn't feel like leaving home. It felt like coming back, because I was going to stay with you all. And when the Temple fell… I still had that ship, and the people in it."

He patted her arm. "I know. We'll figure something out."

She nodded. "We always do."

The spaceport was abandoned, and as Hunter examined the equipment left behind it seemed like it had been that way for a while. 

"So we came all this way for nothing?" Wrecker groaned.

"I can craft a long range transmitter with this." Tech gestured to the communications array that had been left behind. 

Miria nodded. "Let's get to work then. We'll see if anything here is worth scavenging while Tech does that… after I dump the water from my boots."

Omega sat beside her on the ground and they both wrang out their socks. "The swim wasn't so bad."

"It certainly woke me up." Miria smiled. "I'm glad to see your optimistic attitude has returned."

"Well, it was pretty cool to learn five new languages." Omega grinned. 

Miria chuckled. "Which do you think is your own?"

"I dunno. They all make pretty good sense to me… maybe it just matters depending on who I'm talking to." She took Miria's helmet and started squeezing water from the padding helpfully. An act of service for her favorite big sister. 

"I have gotten the communication array functional." Tech called.

"Let's hope Cid has the inclination to be helpful today." Miria shook her head. 

The trandoshan, it seemed, did not when they got her on the holo. "I've got a lot going on over here. You guys are going to have to figure it out on your own."

"Wait a minute, Cid. You sent us here." Hunter grumbled. 

"And you had a ship when I did."

"Cid! You have to help us." Omega protested, tiny hands on her hips. 

"We did assist you getting your parlor back from Roland Durand, and with Mellegi-" Tech started. 

Miria just narrowed her eyes, and crossed tightly over her chest. "Reconsider, dear." Her voice wasn't exactly threatening, but it sounded a lot more like a Mandalorian than a Jedi at the moment. Even with the Coruscanti accent.

"Alright, alright. I'll see what I can do. Gimme a few days."

Hunter practically growled. "We don't have the supplies for-"

Cid hung up. 

Wrecker groaned. "Now what do we do?"

"We figure it out, like we always do." Omega looked at Tech, and he couldn't help but smile a little.

[mystacoceti]

3, 8, 12?

3. What were your top five books of the year?

brutal, demanding question cos I read some good books this year

number 5, Cabbages and Kings by O. Henry. something about the humor in this book which goes from typical slapstick to black humor about the citizens and the government of the US's interest in South American Countries, and the irony that makes the plot go. this book was a minor personal revelation

number 4, Triton by Samuel R Delany. this book is so packed with detail about a society that doesn't exist. there are paragraphs and paragraphs about the fashion mores of male prostitutes on Mars, about an immensely complex fantasy tbs board game or about the political consequences of war in the 24th century. I think this also might be the only 20th century novel by a gay man about a trans woman that doesn't use the trans woman as an empty vehicle for the real guy's half baked theories on sex and gender

number 3, In the Penal Colony by Franz Kafka. you guys heard of this Kafka guy? he had fucking abilities. powers

number 2, On Writing by Samuel R Delany. for a collection of essays, interviews and letters this a strikingly coherent book, much more so than many authors' collections of essays. there are sections describing the actual psychology of inspiration/begeisterung or the social mechanics of canon formation that are so so comprehensive; he's drawing on everything from minute grammatical analysis to all encompassing theories about sexuality and race. and he illustrates broader points with concrete examples of personal anecdotes or literary analysis so it's a very easy book to follow even if you're unfamiliar with the theories he's referencing. fucking excellent book

number 1, The Man Without Qualities vol 1 by Robert Musil. I lived in this book for half a year. there are some incredible things a person can do with prose

honorable mentions Toothpick House by Lee Lynch, Dreamsnake by Vonda McIntyre, the poetry of Mirza Ghalib, and Dirty Snow by Georges Simenon

8. Did you meet any of your reading goals? Which ones?

I told myself I was going to read more in Spanish and Japanese and not that I haven't done that, but I haven't done either of those as much as I would have liked.

12. Any books that disappointed you?

山田金鉄のあせとせっけん was getting talked up by some tumblr users as "not your mom's heterosexual romcom manga!!" and then it opened — first chapter — with one of the most heterosexual and cliched tropes in all of romance.

Fake Accounts by Lauren Oyler was like, fine. coup de grace of contemporary literature was to make a "wan autofictional husk" that showed what's wrong with that kind of thing isn't the wan, the auto or the husk

Lote by Shola von Reinhold. man... some really good shit in this book right up until the end when it became clear the author had no idea what to do with any of the characters or any of the stylistic threads and the whole thing fell to pieces