#tbb ff

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

Disgrace Chapter 8: I feel... Illustrations (R)

Escalation, as in the rise of a mountain, like the ones that border Estkel City dividing the polarized world of Ga'hah. Buildings climb in an rising pattern as Tah'nyem Ra also finds herself in a pattern of...escalation. As the dance comes to a crescendo she may have to come face to face with the culminations of a decision or two. Will she learn to be careful with what she wishes for?

Read Here or on Ao3!

A Lil' Spice Under Cut

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Tag List:

@feral-ferrule @thecoffeelorian 

[falconfeather23435]

Can we talk about how legendary Wolffe’s entrance was though? Like, the writers knew what they were doing when they had him appear at the end of ep6 like that, with the turn & everything

[the-bi-space-ace]

It has been a little bit since tbb ended and even longer since “Plan 99” aired and I’m still sitting here completely crushed. I miss Tech. I miss him and I’m still so upset and I don’t want to be a complainer but I’m still so gutted by season 3 and *gestures to everything* and I just feel so emotional about it.

[prahacat]

theory on the fluidity of minds and souls

The first three acts of Asajj’s life. A how-to on finding yourself. Experimental prose, 1k words | Read on ao3

How to be a Jedi

(1) Don’t listen to the old man.

(2) Child, he says, don’t cry. Here on Rattatak, we are Jedi the best we can. Here’s how to be a temple to each other: brush the red dust from your face before you go to sleep. Brush the dust from his face too. Share the dirty water without flinching, like trusting him comes natural and easy to you. Teach him what to eat, cook for him stews of insects and herbs and if he won’t eat those, tell him you’re sorry, this is all you have. This is all anyone has. Sit and guard the fire while he sleeps; trust him to guard you while you do the same. When you move up north, don’t light a fire at night so the warlords won’t spot you.

(3) Learn to be kind.

(4) When they kill him

don’t rage

don’t rage

grieve

but don’t rage, don’t let it consume you

How to be a Sith

(1) Don’t listen to the old man.

(2) All men are liars. So are the women, so is everyone, but the men are more dangerous to you, especially the older ones. Never let him know (he knows anyway). Forget. Never look back. Don’t cry when he throws lightning at you; when you’re alone again, press your fingers against your temples to relieve the headache. Make the silence your friend. Ask questions, but don’t ask too many or the wrong ones; his anger will teach you which are the wrong ones. Watch out for his anger, but learn to watch out for his sharp-edged smiles too. If he offers you food or a weapon, take it; if he gives you a name, hunt them down. If he offers you a glass of wine, sit and drink and look for the lesson: which tool is he trying to shape you into? A blade, a shadow, a shield, a smoke bomb? Be grateful for what you have because he is offering you more power than he offered anyone else, because he thinks you can take the lessons and not fail, the way so many others did.

So this is how you will live: be wary of cups you haven’t filled yourself. Hide daggers everywhere: in your boots, under the folded cloak you use as a makeshift pillow, in your dreams. Keep the holoproj next to your bedroll, make sure it’s always charged, make sure it’s never muted. Here’s a list of essential things you need to have at hand at all times: spare energy cores for your saber, medpacs and bactaspray, stimcaf and sleeptabs, protein wafers in an osmosis pack in case you can’t swallow anything. It’s better not to stare at the stars for too long when you’re traveling. Navigation is all they’re good for. Be grateful for what you have. It’s really all you need: a place for the pain to go and a place to come home to. It doesn’t matter if they’re the same place, and if one day you should catch him pressing his fingers against his temples, pretend you didn’t see. Go skewer some boys instead. There’s that Jedi again: flirt, tease, smile at him with your dewberry-colored lips and painted eyes, so he knows you want to be here, you enjoy what you are. And if you suspect or know that he too has a list of essential things, and that his list is the same as yours, the same as everyone’s these days, don’t let on.

(3) Never forget to hate yourself.

(4) Don’t fall for the blade, it’s not your friend; it will take away everything you own. It’s very simple. He won’t protect you. You can’t protect them. Always expect betrayal; always expect loss.

And when that day comes

—it will inevitably come—

remember your grief and how it was a dull, useless knife to you.

How to be a ???

How to figure out what who you are

(1) Stay alone.

(2) Boil the water before you use it for soup. Strain it and collect the pulp, the gritty dark things you don’t know how to name. Everything tastes like ashes and dust, that’s all you know. Buy some soap and scrub your hands. If you wake with a start in the middle of the night, pressure crushing your chest and your breathing quick and ragged in the quiet of your room, remember to inhale, count to four, exhale, count to four. Lie still and watch the darkness shed from the light. In the morning, roam the markets, buy something against the headache, something to hide your face, something to scrub your hands. When you walk through the streets, pull your hood low. Tell the spice dealers to leave you alone, always stop after one glass of whiskey, tell the men at the corner to fuck off. There will be days when you wake in unfamiliar places; at least try not to have two of them in a row if you can help it. Watch the sunrise. Tell no-one about your past (they know anyway; probably). Always expect betrayal, always expect loss. Forget. Never look back.

(3) Learn to be kind again.

(4) Get some credits, buy a saber; any saber you can find, as long as it’s still alive. Hold it in your hand, gently, feel the worn hilt that has passed through other hands. Were they cruel? Were they kind? Maybe. Did they protect, did they kill? Who knows. It doesn’t matter to you.

Here’s what you need to do to make this saber yours:

calibrate the focusing ring, install a strong core, toss away the parts you don’t need, polish the metal often, swing the saber daily, trust your hand again, close your eyes, listen, be patient, feel how your crystal talks to you, feel it resonate, feel it hum, learn a new language.

Yellow is a good color.

It’s going to take a long time.

[chaotic-kitty]

Regarding Techs death.....I think I figured out why I've have difficulties comprehending the idea that he is dead. ((Besides not wanting to let him go / denial))

That's because we literally didn't see a body. We saw his goggles, sure, but that's not actual proof. As far as my brain is concerned, he's still falling (cue loki falling meme). Because that's the last we saw of him. We didn't see him take his last breath, or hit the bottom, or drown, or get crushed, or anything. So because we didn't get to see him actually die, we only saw him fall. My brain just does not understand, doesn't comprehend it. It understood the implications (hence the many many weeks of tears and heartache) but that's about it.

And that's one of the reasons I think I need something more with his story, to prove that he lived or that he did in fact die. Because if not, he'll forever just be falling in my memories 😭

[bbgoffic]

I don't like doing WIP posts too often, but like...look at them.

[gonky-kong]

If you think about that scene in Kamino Lost from Crosshair's perspective he just wakes up and is literally about to fucking drown like I'd be pissed off too lmao

[momojedi]

Across the Stars an ocxoc fanfic - star wars/clone wars/bad batch universe

A/N: My partner and I haven't had the chance to see each other or talk much for a bit over three months now due to several factors like health and school/job reasons. I miss him a lot and do my best to cheer him up by sending him love letters and small gifts/baked goods. I do believe that all tough times come to an end sooner or later and better days will come once this semester is over, but in the mean time, I want to offer him some positivity until things improve for him. I told him once that I'd cross the galaxy in order to find him again, so that's what I'm going to do now here in a literal sense. I love you. I know there's not much I can do, and I know I can never take away any pressure or pain you're feeling, but I still want to be there for you - and if not in person, then at least through my art <3

Summary: A bizarre mandalorian bounty hunter has appeared in Cid's Parlour with a unique offer for her best men.

CW: none for now

WC: 948 words

“Please.

“No means no, kid,” Cid spat, barely glancing up from the marble statuette she’d been polishing with an old rag over and over again for the past ten minutes. “Now scram.”

A beat.

“I’ve got credits.”

The Trandoshan’s eyes lit up like a life day tree upon hearing the soft clinking of a generous pouch filled with credit bars. Like a starving lothwolf at the sight of fresh meat, she lunged herself at the prize before the pouch was quickly pulled away, leaving her to stumble forward and stub her foot against the leg of her desk. “Kriff!” She howled.

“You want the money? Help me out.” Cid scowled as she turned to the commissioner. “Fine.” Her eyes desperately switched between the helmeted head and the pouch of credits before she huffed.

"You're getting better with that bow," Echo remarked, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he patted Omega on the shoulder. "Keep that up, and we'll be cutting through enemies in no time."

Omega's face lit up at the praise, her golden curls bouncing slightly as she nodded eagerly. A rosy flush dusted her freckled cheeks, a mix of pride and excitement glimmering in her wide eyes. Falling into step beside him, her boots clanked softly against the shuttle's ramp as they disembarked.

The moment was short-lived. A familiar voice cut through the quiet as Tech appeared in the Marauder’s hatch, his focus locked onto the datapad in his hands. The faint blue glow of the screen reflected in the lenses of his goggles, casting sharp highlights against his sharp features. "Cid appears to be in need of us," he stated, his tone as matter-of-fact as ever.

Echo let out a sharp scoff, rolling his shoulders back. "When is she not?" he muttered, the edge of annoyance in his voice unmistakable.

Omega hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the metal of her bow before she turned to Tech with curiosity. "Is it another mission?"

"I am not certain," Tech replied, lowering the device just enough to glance at her. "She failed to provide specifics, but given her usual pattern of behaviour, I would say the likelihood is high."

Echo exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face before straightening up. "Fine. Then let's get moving. Wrecker and Hunter will regroup with us there."

Upon arriving at the underground cantina, the atmosphere among the three was comfortable, both from the success of the mission prior and the relief of finally returning to a safe area after such a stressful day. Omega eagerly skipped the steps down to the parlour and took a sharp turn inside, breathing in the peculiar yet familiar smell.

"Good to have you back, kid." Cid greeted her from the bar, to which Omega shot her a bright grin. "Good to be back!"

"Cid," Echo's voice was level but edged with tension as he and Tech lowered themselves onto the worn bar stools, the old wood creaking under their weight. He leaned against the counter, arms folded, his expression unreadable. "What's the mission you're so desperate to rope us into this time?"

Cid frowned, her reptilian eyes flicking up briefly before returning to the stained surface she was wiping with a rag. "It’s a bit more complicated than that," she muttered, her tone evasive. She tossed the rag aside and leaned forward slightly, her sharp gaze now locking onto him. "Where are your other two buddies?"

"Right here!" Wrecker's booming voice erupted from the entryway as he marched in, Hunter following him with a shake of his head. "Did you settle things with the port administrator?" Echo asked when the sergeant finally closed in on him. The latter sighed. "Yeah, but he had us pay extra for, er, secrecy."

Cid let out a dry chuckle, leaning against the counter with an amused smirk. "Yeah, that’s what happens when you deal with those bureaucratic types. They always find a way to squeeze a few extra credits outta ya." Hunter exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. "Didn’t have much of a choice. Either we paid up, or he’d start asking too many questions about where we came from."

Echo shook his head, unimpressed. "Typical." Wrecker huffed, slumping onto a stool beside them. "I still say we coulda just scared him a little. Bet he wouldn’t have charged us a thing."

Hunter shot him a look. "And then we’d have the whole port security on our backs?" Wrecker shrugged. "Hey, I’m just sayin’—"

Cid raised a hand, cutting off the back-and-forth. "Alright, enough whining. You’re here now, so let’s get to business." She drummed her fingers against the counter before leaning in. "This job’s different from the usual. You’re gonna want to hear me out."

"You'll want to hear me out first." The distinct clink-clank of armored boots echoed through the parlor. The air shifted - heavier, more tense - before a deep, modulated voice cut through the conversation like a vibroblade. The squad tensed, shifting to see the stranger the words had come from. In the corner of the parlour, in a dark booth, the mandalorian bounty hunter sat motionlessly, yet with a gaze so heavy not even the white beskar helmet could properly withhold it. Despite his T-shaped visor containing his expression, his presence alone demanded attention.

Cid scoffed. "So much for a discreet entrance," she muttered under her breath. Hunter shot her a glance before turning his focus back to the stranger. "What do you want?"

"I'm looking for someone," the bounty hunter explained, leaning forward, "but I need help. This isn’t a job I can simply do on my own. And that's where you’ll come in."

[magicandmundane]

ME RIGHT NOW

[mcd217]

Why do all of my favorite ships get blown the fuck up???

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

This probably isn't going to go any where, but it was a fun evening, lol.

Okay but if I did:

Premise would be working in the bordello version of 79s... Guess what I called it? Anywho, it would mostly just start out as a brothel simulator with clone smut.

I'd begin by just making some shiny's (various personalities, part of the challenge would be feeling them out and deciding how to act for them) but then slowly add in named clones, romance story lines, special event characters and hell, other OCs if its wanted.

These are the only assets I have for this lol.

-----

Some tastful lil'tags

@feral-ferrule @cloneflo99 @thecoffeelorian

[falconfeather23435]

YALL WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT

YES THIS IS ABOUT THE BAD BATCH

NO TECH AS CLONE X REVEAL? TECH ACTUALLY DIED IN SEASON 2? WE WERE BAITED? HEMLOCK DEAD, NALA SE DEAD, RAMPART DEAD, SCORCH DEAD, ADULT OMEGA FLYING FOR THE REBELLION, OLD MAN HUNTER, CROSSHAIR GETTING HIS SHAKY HAND CHOPPED OFF, I’M ILL

WHERE DID LAMA SU GO? WHAT HAPPENED TO ECHO, WHY WAS HE NOT ON PABU AT THE END? OMEGA ONLY MENTIONED WRECKER & CROSSHAIR, WHY DIDN’T SHE MENTION ECHO? DID THEY ACTUALLY HAVE A CLONE REBELLION? WHEN DID WOLFFE DECIDE TO GO AWOL & WHEN DID REX FINALLY DECIDE ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH & PUT DOWN HIS BLASTER & PULLED UP THE AWNING ON HIS AT-TE?? WHAT HAPPENED TO HOWZER, WHERE DID HE GO? WHERE DID CODY GO? DOES OMEGA VISIT HERA DURING THE REBELLION? DOES HERA REMEMBER HER? DID THE FORCE-SENSITIVE KIDS MAKE IT BACK HOME? DOES PHEE STILL VIBE ON PABU? DOES CID EVER REPENT FOR WHAT SHE DID? DO THEY EVER GET IN TOUCH WITH HER, DO THEY EVER FORGIVE HER? WHERE IS LULA? I AM GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE PLEASE I NEED CLOSURE ON MY BURNING QUESTIONS

I miss them already

[moosethren]

I really wish I could be as excited about S3 as I was about S2 but I can't and it's really annoying. My Fave character is dead and he was the only reason I was still watching the show. And my second fave isn't doing any better.

It sucks having your comfort show become something negative.

And no, I won't be watching it for the obvious reasons above.

[momojedi]

Across the Stars tonvar | pt. 6 an ocxoc fanfic - star wars/clone wars/bad batch universe

A/N: Tonvar's lore is unveiled... and Malakai and Omega have a bonding moment

Summary: The Batch uncovers some important information.

CW: implied subtle injury, cantina fight, mentions of the clone wars

WC: 1,4k

As soon as Malakai had bolted after the bounty hunter, chaos had erupted in the cantina. The blaster bolt that took down Ritol had been the spark - now the whole place was on fire, figuratively and almost literally. Patrons overturned tables for cover, blasters hissed through the smoke-filled air, and fists flew like they'd been waiting for an excuse. "We have to leave!" Echo shouted over the din, narrowly ducking a wild punch from a scarred Twi’lek missing half their teeth. They reared back to retaliate, but Wrecker got there first, his massive fist slamming into the Twi’lek’s jaw with a sickening crunch. They dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Wrecker grinned, brushing his knuckles off on his chestplate. "Got ‘em." "Not the time to enjoy it!" Echo barked, dragging him toward the exit.

Across the room, Omega peeked out from under an overturned table, eyes wide, bow clutched tightly in her hands. Hunter had told her to stay down, and she had, mostly. But she was already crawling toward them when Wrecker spotted her. "Omega, let’s go!" he called, voice booming over the chaos. He reached down with one massive hand, and she scrambled out, catching it without hesitation. "I’m fine!" she shouted up at him, breathless but steady.

"Not for long if we don’t move," Tech muttered, ducking a flying bottle and expertly weaving past two drunken Nikto locked in a headlock. Hunter scanned the mess with narrowed eyes, already calculating the fastest way out without drawing more attention. He still didn’t know what exactly Malakai had gotten them into, but judging by the precision of the kill shot and the sudden barfight storm, this wasn’t a simple intel drop. He tapped his comm. "Malakai, if you can hear this - we’re extracting now. You better be right behind us."

With that, the squad surged toward the back entrance, blasters raised, ducking and weaving as the cantina collapsed into full-blown bedlam behind them.

"Hunter," Tech called, his voice carrying over the low hum of the Marauder's engines as they prepared for takeoff. The two of them stood alone at the bottom of the loading ramp, the rest of the squad already aboard. Sunset cast long shadows across the landing platform, painting everything in a tired orange glow. Hunter turned, jaw tight. "He should’ve been here by now."

Tech didn’t answer right away. Instead, he lifted the datapad in his hand and passed it over. "I dug into the Republic’s archived systems. Cross-referenced some restricted war records, troop deployments, and... well, it didn’t take long once I found the name." Hunter took the device, eyes scanning the entry.

"Hyron Tonvar," Tech went on. "He wasn’t just any rebel or soldier. He was a general. Commanded the 128th Attack Battalion during the war." Hunter’s brow furrowed, but he kept reading, and then, he stopped. His gaze snapped up to Tech. "That means he was a-" Tech nodded grimly. "A Jedi Knight."

The words hung between them for a second. Hunter's mouth flattened into a hard line. He looked back out toward the horizon, where dust still hung in the air over the distant city. "So what the hell does Malakai want with a Jedi?" Tech hesitated, then glanced away. "That’s the part I haven’t figured out yet."

Hunter didn’t respond. But something in his expression had changed, like the pieces of a much larger puzzle had just started to fall into place.

The wind stirred around the platform. Hunter stood at the edge of the ramp, visor of the helmet tucked under his arm reflecting the empty path leading to the docking bay. Every second that ticked by stretched too long. Then, in the distance, a figure emerged from the haze. Malakai.

He walked with purpose, shoulders squared and stride even, though his armor bore new scorch marks. The cape slung over his shoulder fluttered in the breeze, torn along the edge. But he wasn’t limping. Hunter descended the path halfway to meet him. "You’re late," he said. "Had company," Malakai replied coolly, his voice modulator smooth and unreadable. He brushed past, stepping into the light of the ship’s interior without waiting for permission. "They won't follow. Not now."

Hunter glanced at Tech, but the other clone was already frowning down at his datapad again, silent. "You were targeted," Hunter said as he followed Malakai inside. "That wasn’t random. That shot was too clean." Malakai paused at the foot of the cockpit, not turning around. "Welcome to the Outer Rim. Clean shots tend to follow people who dig too deep." Hunter narrowed his eyes. "Who was the hunter?"

Malakai’s helmet tilted slightly, as if weighing his words. "Didn’t recognize the armor. But the aim..." He shook his head, not finishing the thought. "Professional." Hunter folded his arms. "They were after you, not Ritol."

Silence.

Then: "I know."

It wasn’t a confession, but it wasn’t a denial either. Before Hunter could press further, Wrecker’s voice boomed from the cockpit. "Everyone’s strapped in. We ready to get off this rock or what?"

Malakai gave a curt nod and moved forward, disappearing in the cockpit. Tech followed, datapad clipped to his belt. Hunter stood alone for a moment longer.

Hyron Tonvar. A Jedi General.

And somehow, Malakai was in the middle of all this, too close to it. He watched the Mandalorian stand next to Tech, observing as the pilot prepared for takeoff, that calm stride, the way he never seemed surprised by danger. His helmet tilted back to glance at Hunter. Something wasn’t adding up. "Plot a course for Nur," Hunter muttered as he stepped into the cockpit. "Let’s find out what this ghost has to do with anything." Behind him, the ramp hissed shut.

The Marauder lifted off moments later, slicing through the evening sky.

The stars outside the viewport blurred into streaks of light, the steady hum of hyperspace a soft backdrop in the otherwise quiet cargo bay.

Malakai sat cross-legged on the floor near the hull wall, a faint blue projection of Nur hovering in front of him. His armored fingers moved across the holomap with precise intent, zooming in on small heat signatures, scanning encrypted layers, searching for anything the Empire had tried to bury. His helmet remained firmly in place, as always.

Next to him, Omega perched on a supply crate, her legs swinging slightly. In her lap rested Malakai’s pauldron, the smooth, curved shoulder plate of his armour, carefully removed for repair after their last run-in. She had asked if she could paint it, and to her mild surprise, he’d handed it over without a word.

Now, she hummed quietly as she worked, dipping a small brush into the limited paint set she’d scavenged from her satchel. Warm yellows and golden hues were taking shape across the curved surface in delicate arcs. She glanced toward the holomap, curiosity flickering across her features. "Is that Nur?" Malakai didn’t look up. "Yeah."

"It looks cold," she said, studying the jagged outlines of the water-covered moon, "it reminds me of Kamino."

"It does look like Kamino, doesn't it?" He replied with amusement lacing his voice. "But yes, it is cold. Cold. Quiet. Forgotten." A pause. "That’s why the Empire built on it." Her brow furrowed. "What kind of place is it?" His voice lowered. "A facility. Hidden. Off-record. Used for prisoners… ones they didn’t want anyone asking questions about." Omega stopped painting. "That’s where Tonvar is?" "I doubt he’s still there," Malakai said hoarsely. "But if any part of him or his whereabouts still exists - information, records - it’ll be buried in that place."

She looked back at the pauldron in her hands, gently turning it to work on another design near the edge. "We’ll help you find him," she said matter-of-factly. "All of us. You’re not going there alone." Malakai finally turned his helmet toward her. "It’s not your fight." "Doesn’t matter," she replied with a shrug. "You’re part of the crew now." He huffed a soft breath, modulated and subtle. "I don’t even show my face." Omega didn’t look up. "You don’t have to. Some people show who they are without taking off anything."

He was silent at that. The holomap flickered, casting pale blue light over both of them as stars danced silently beyond the glass. After a beat, Omega finished a final brushstroke and held the pauldron up with both hands. "All done," she grinned.

The armour plate now gleamed with soft hues of gold. It was quiet, personal, and unmistakably hers. Malakai took it from her carefully, holding it like it was something far more delicate than armour. "Thank you," he said.

She leaned her shoulder lightly against his armoured one. "You’ll be okay, you know. Whatever we find on Nur… you won’t have to face it alone." Malakai didn’t respond, not directly. But he shifted slightly, not pulling away from her touch. Outside, hyperspace streaked on.

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

"I want you there ..."

Tech Grief Ficlette

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Warnings: Sad, Grief.

Summary: A grown up Omega has some news for an old friend.

WC: 661 Read on Ao3

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Omega’s boots crunched along the gravel of the familiar path. It had been a while since she had trekked back to Pabu, now the sea breeze danced about her, caressing her cheeks like a welcome from an old friend. 

Her portfolio case swung from one hand, the familiar broken goggles from the other. She was almost never seen without them. Today though, she was heading to a special place on Pabu… the place she came to talk while she finished growing up. Talk to him. 

The cliff line finally broke, giving her a gorgeous view of the sunset. Brilliant orange, just like the amber glass in her hand. She sat at the rocks edge, opened her portfolio and with a sigh, slipped on the goggles. 

She hit record. 

“Hey, Tech… it's been a while, I wanted to update you on what I've been up to…”

It had been forever since she talked to him like this, panic and dread had set in one day when she realized the internal data storage was running low. She didn't want it to loop and record over anything but today was worth talking to him… formally. 

She pulled out the first etching, a dark umbra alive with bonfires and crude little drawings of people. 

“I've been doing well with the rebellion, we won an important skirmish a few months ago, Partied after harder than Hunter says you guys did… but I guess he might have down played what you boys got up to…”

She trailed off, stroking the figures around the little fire, just to have her hand come away black with sooty medium. She furrowed her brow, and wiped her fingers on her pants before drawing out another sketch. 

“This… well, I was trying to design a call mark for the hull of the marauder… nothing really worked out,”

There were over a dozen half finished figures with exs through them, and scattered notes. It wasn't what she was really after. She looked more carefully through her etchings, finally pulling out one of a full body figure. Their back was on full display and every detail and shadow had been filled in lovingly. 

…

“I'm getting married soon… it's gonna be here, on Pabu. I met them out there and well, life is short on the battlefield… you know that more than any so…”

A lump was starting to form in her throat but she swallowed the old pain gracefully, continuing. 

“I'm planning on wearing your goggles… so you can come to, I just wanted to give you a heads up before… before you were just, walking me down the aisle… I hope that's okay,”

It was nonsense, but it always felt like putting his goggles on and pressing record… it was like Tech could open his eyes again for a brief moment. 

“I was always gonna wear them anyways… Hunter insists he should be the one to walk me, but Wrecker said it was unfair and I think it upset Crosshair too… they're taking turns now. Hunter starts, Wrecker in the middle and Cross'll finish it… but you'll be with me the whole time… I want you there…”

She stopped the recording and whipped the goggles off, squeezing her eyes as a few hot tears grazed her cheeks. It had been a long time since she last cried for Tech, but the heightened stress of the past few weeks left her vulnerable to the old wounds. 

I'm sorry, I shouldn't have insisted we go, it's my fault…

She caught the thoughts there, releasing them with a shaky sigh as the cycles of grief lit through her for the life that should have been. Thoughts she'd never be rid of even though she knew they weren't true, almost a comfort that she could still feel his absence so greatly… that she never forgot. 

Catching her breath, she checked the remaining storage. Only a few hours left… 

I hope this is okay … I want you there. 

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[falconfeather23435]

WHERE IS THE MAN WHO SAYS DOMICILE BRING HIM HOME