#welcome to clone club

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

This week’s episode brought me more joy than you can possibly imagine

[corneille-moisie]

lmao ok so im retro tagging stuff on my blog, right

im in 2015 now, and judging by the gif sets, i was watching orphan black at the time.

a few months ago (or last year or something), my partner and i were looking for something to watch, and i was like "well i'd still like to watch orphan black with you" so we started that, as i had the first 2 seasons on dvd.

we managed to find season 3 and 4 in store, but season 5 wasnt available anywhere, so we never finished it.

last week, my partner ordered something from amazon (which we usually dont do cause i dont think jeff bizoune need our money) and said there was a surprise in it.

we're finally gonna finish it !!!!!!!!!!!!

[chongoblog]

Things That Happen In Gravity Falls Without Context

It's implied that rich people control their children with a bell

A single episode is shockingly reminiscent of both Five Night's at Freddy's and Doki Doki Literature Club. This episode came out 3 years before DDLC and one month after FNAF

Mabel kisses Strong Bad

There are two clones of the main character that are still alive and living in the woods

Larry King confirms that llamas are nature's greatest warriors

An old couple is killed by rap music

One of the scariest monsters in the show is eaten alive and loves every second of it

Neil Cicierega wrote a song for it that was unfortunately never used (yes, seriously)

Everyone in the town is a tad strange, except, ironically, Cecil from Welcome to Night Vale

Boy bands are kept as pets

A character proves she is pure of heart by performing a drug bust on gnomes (this does not work)

Zombies are defeated by Ke$ha

The most discourse-generating part of the show is a 12 year old giving a time traveler a snowglobe

And old man almost fucks a spider

When someone tells you they don't have a tattoo, believe them.

Fucking up a science fair will inevitably lead to your brother being stuck in another dimension

If you stick your head in a portal, you speak in code for a little bit before you turn into a hillbilly

Get your son to pay attention to you by creating a mech beast

We are all blanchin', unless we find a cool gun.

By the end of the show, the mayor's last name is "Cutebiker"

The president gives Dipper a negative 12 dollar bill

Bill Cipher

[bet-on-me-13]

Dani bonding with Roy and Kon about being Clones.

Dani: Thank you for coming today.

Roy: Why are we here?

Dani: Welcome to the "Evil Person Cloned us but we decided to be Heroes club!"

Kon: ...you're a Clone?!

Dani: Did I not mention that?

[izzystizzys]

When the 212th collaborates with the 501st, chaos is sure to follow in their footsteps. This has been largely true of every engagement since the start of the war, in Cody’s experience. Had he even an ounce more of a rebellious streak, he might question why and whether the success rate is worth the feral instinct for mayhem his battalion and Rex’ awaken in each other - as it is, he simply fills out the after action reports and then screams into his pillow, which is hard as durasteel and doesn’t warrant the name.

Or, on some days, he steps into the training rooms to work off some nervous jitters only for his foot to catch on someone’s armoured shoulder and faceplant straight into what looks like the entirety of both battalions piled together in a massive cuddle pile.

“What”, he manages between gritted teeth, heaving himself up with one hand supported on Crys’ arm and the other planted in places that make Boil jackknife up with a strangled yelp, “the kriff is this?!”

“We’re watching the Corrie Reality Special, sir”, his own voice calls from somewhere across the room. “The 91st is passing by, so we have satellite access to the Coruscant Broadcast network for a few hours, and we couldn’t settle on a specific show -“

“- so we decided to watch them all”, Rex finishes, sheepishly, where he’s fought his way through wiggling piles, hoots and badly imitated monkey lizard noises. The thought that he shares DNA with these degenerates is enough to drive Cody to the brink of a nervous breakdown some days. “Spopcorn?”

Ah. The Corrie Reality Circuit. When Cody first heard of it, he’d thought it was a prank. Then, they were deployed to the middle of bumkriff nowhere on the edges of Midrim space edging on Outer Rim, with a connection so spotty even classified military intel only got through about half the time, and the whole idea got shelved in favour of clankers and keeping his General’s lightsaber in his General’s hand where it belonged.

Now, a gaudy, glittery monstrosity of a logo announcing a Coruscant Rotational special appears on a rigged up screen, which means one of two things: either Fox is pulling the Galaxy’s greatest long con on all of them, or he’s been murdered and replaced with an evil clone (ha!), because there are no circumstances in which he would agree to star on Coruscant Reality TV.

Cody tilts his head consideringly. Rex smiles at him sheepishly. Tilts the spopcorn bowl at him, invitingly.

“Oh, dank farrik, sit your shebs down!”, someone (Fives, probably) yells out, fed-up…ly.

Cody sits his shebs down.

“Good morning and welcome all of Coruscant to the Great Coruscant Rotational Special: Our Boys in Red Edition!”, a bright red Twi’leki man announces on the screen amidst cheerful jizz music and loud hooting from the training room. “My name is Braham Horton, and I will be your exalted host for this fine, fine late night cycle!”

“And now, gentlebeings of the metropolis, I present to you the images that have driven us all to laughter, joy, and even tears at times over these past few weeks - whodathunkit, that the CSF media project would enthrall a whole Galaxy of viewers and cause the largest recorded peaceful civil protest of all time?!”

“The sorry what now”, says Cody, suddenly thinking back to the urgent meeting General Kenobi was currently in with Generals Windu and Yoda - passing by on the Venator in orbit. “Uhm”, says Rex. Braham Horton, unfazed by the commotion he’s causing lightyears away, chatters on.

“- many hours, so we’ve compiled an introductory little best-of for you, exalted viewers! And what better best of to start off on than the hottest entry of the most explosive bombshell into the villa - please give it up for Commander Thorn and how he stole all of our hearts on Love Island!”

A garish, club-tech jingle Cody has so far only heard buzz through the walls of establishments that generally didn’t allow clones thrums through the training room, followed by what can only be described as the sort of noises spiced up banthas might make. Thorn appears on screen, more oiled up and half-naked than Cody remembers, though just as bleach-blond, hair slightly longer than regulation and smile blindingly perfect.

“I’m Commander Thorn, baseline twenty-four years humanoid - during daytime I might be the scourge of Coruscant’s criminal underworld, but at night I don’t mind playing good cop for you!” He punctuates it woth a sleazy wink and fingerblasters that have Rex honest-to-god gagging, and Cody seeing his life flash before his eyes. If Alpha-17 finds out about this…

Suddenly, Thorn’s smile drops in favour of what might almost be called a scowl on even his handsome face, and the music cuts out. “There, got your soundbyte. Can I go back now? I’m supposed to be on shift.” Indistinct, off-screen chatter and a captioned oopsie… appear in a shower of glitter. Thorn’s face does something complicated. “For HOW MANY MONTHS?!”

Cut to a montage of what Cody can only describe as beaches, oil and abs galore, Braham Horton narrates and extremely close-up shot of what Cody tries very hard not to identify as Thorn’s crotch. His own crotch, in a way. Oh no, that’s weird, stop that train of thought immediately-

“Although our favourite bombshell’s entry into the villa wasn’t without its hitches and hurdles-“, emphasized by a zoom-in on Thorn’s form in a speedo huddled away from a partying crowd of softcore-kriffing contestants on a yacht, “- as well as all know, he would soon find his place in the villa - or places, rather!”

Two crying humanoid women appear on screen, with eyeliner smudges down to their knees. A hoot goes through the room. Cody watches with a sense of impeding doom. “You slept with her after I chose to match up with you instead of Chad?! How could you!”

Thorn, still oiled up with both blasters out for the world to see, winces. “I didn’t me-“

A hysterical gasp, a camera swerve. Three more people stand by the doorway, all clutching their chests with wide eyes. A broad, green Twi’leki man raises a finger to point accusingly. “You were sleeping with them too?! I thought I was the only one!”

“Dear Force”, Cody murmurs, unable to look away from the building speeder wreck on screen. Braham Horton laughs good-naturedly at his misery. “Ah, good times! And who could forget the all-out brawl of the following matching night, where a record number of every single other contestant attempted to physically fight the others for the right to match up with Commander Thorn! Including a somehow returned Chad, who nearly won thanks to the element of surprise. I wish we could show the footage, but then we’d have to slap several warnings on it and probably still get taken off the air.”

“I didn’t know Corries kriffed like that!”, someone (Fives, let’s be honest, it was definitely Fives) calls out into the room, receiving snickers and a well-aimed pillow to the throat for his trouble. He goes down with a choking scream.

“Someone who was less impressed by the hot’n bothered beach weather was Commander Thire, who found himself Less than Impressed by his co-contestants inability to keep it in their pants on Too Hot To Handle!”

Thire’s face, identical to Thorn’s in every way except the ones that matter, appears on screen. His black hair is cut in a cropped mohawk, arms folded over a button-up he’s carefully pieced together with… safety pins? Where are the buttons on it?

“These people are pathological and pathetic and I will spend not a second longer on this farce of an attempt at ‘entertainment show’”, says Thire, air-quotes so sharp they could cut stone. His scowl might be permanently etched into his face, Cody can’t tell. “Unlike literally everyone else, I have an actual job to do. Now move.”

A brief pause, in which cheerful jizz music plays over what is obviously a producer begging off-camera, followed by an eyeroll so hard it hurts Cody’s brain to watch. Thire throws his hands into the air in defeat, marching off into the sea behind him still fully clothed.

“When they didn’t find him until the last episode, I’ll admit, I thought he’d died too!”, Braham Horton cuts in cheerfully. “But would you look at his little lonely island lair - now that’s a fulfilled man, and too many coconuts for my taste! We’ve had to blur his hands out as he discovered the cameras just moments before these holos were taken, unfortunately. And, dear viewer, who could forget this exit-interview for the ages!”

A considerably more clothed Thire appears on screen, eyeing a microphone like he’s about to use it to stab out his own eyes. The reporter clears their throat in audible anxiety. “C-commander, how would you describe your reality experience in one word?”

“Demeaning”, says Thire, blandly.

Silence.

“Um, o-okay”, squeaks the reporter.

“Would you like some more words?”, asks a dead-eyed Thire.

“No, um, I think - I think we’re alright.”

“Because I have many words. Mostly for whoever the *bleep* thought this was a *bleep* good idea, and *bleeeeeeee-*”

“We’ve had to censor most of the Commander’s on-screen appearance, dear viewer, for your sensibilities”, says Braham Horton, eternally and painfully cheerful. “And speaking of sensibilities, who could forget Commander Stone honouring his name in several challenges on ‘I’m A Holostar - Get Me Out Of Here!’”

Soulful violin music fills the gym, overlaid with images of a bald vod Cody surmises must be Stone. Stone stares stonily into the void, glass of bright green something raised to his lips and already half-empty.

“Memorably, he downed a pint of acklay urine within seconds-“

Horrified screams are followed by an image of Stone chewing, yet another thousand-klick stare.

“- or when he ate Tauntaun anus -“

Rex doubles over gagging, and Cody slowly puts his handful of Spopcorn back down.

“- of course the ten minute worm-bath challenge cannot go unmentioned -“

“FORCE PLEASE NO!”, screams someone (Echo) tearfully. Commander Stone, buried to the chin in wiggling orange worms, looks less impressed.

“ - and who could forget his encounter with a horde of ginntho spiders and nests of vexis snakes!”

A remote goes sailing past the screen, missing by a mile, as images of Stone with his whole arm stuck in various boxes fly past. Someone is retching. It might be Cody.

“We would show the infamous butchery challenge wherein the Commander found himself drenched in nexu guts and sandworm brains, but once again, this is family friendly programming and we are not allowed. Nevertheless, a win well-deserved. And now, please welcome the one, the only, the awe-inspiring, the unbelievable: Marshall Commander Fox!”

Another Force-awful jingle, big, blocky letters, and Cody chokes on his own spit when Fox’s scowling face appears on screen. He’s thinner, greyer and angrier than the last time they saw eachother in person. Only the last one is really a surprise.

“I am neither naked nor afraid”, says Fox, arms crossed firmly, foot tapping impatiently on the ground. “I am, however, quickly losing my patience. Explain to me again the point of spending my valuable time undressing in the middle of bum-*bleep* nowhere on the Midrim instead of doing my job as the head of planetary security in the middle of a Galaxy-wide war?”

Several beats of silence follow. Fox grows less impressed with each. Cody knows that look well. Usually, it precedes handcuffs and a cold sonic blast to the face.

“Um… you signed a contract?”, says a producer’s voice uncertainly off-screen. Fox barks out a harsh laugh. “I’m legally classified as military property, my signature holds less weight than if I’d had one of the Guard’s massiffs shit on that contract for me.”

“Ouch!”, calls Crys.

“Gettim!”, adds Longshot.

“But… don’t you sign off military documents all the time for the Senate?”, sputters the producer.

Fox smiles with far to many teeth. It’s also a look Cody knows far too well, and even lightyears away it has a shudder going down his spine.

“Really makes you think about the technicalities of that definitely-not-slave-army, doesn’t it?”, he says, dryly.

“Although considerably less naked and afraid than all other contestants, Commander Fox left us with many memorable moments - such as when he saved the entire crew from an angry Acklay!”

Most of the next holovid is blurred out, though Cody can (unfortunately) guess at the why and how. So can most everyone else, judging by the collective groan.

“Down, boy”, says Fox, flatly, to a hissing Acklay twice his size. It rears its fanged head, and a shudder goes through the room. Fox simply crosses his arms and nails the beast with an unimpressed look. “You are making a fool of both of us. Cut it out.”

Chastised, the Acklay blinks at him, slowly lowering itself back down with a confused hiss.

“No kriffing wonder all the Corrie shinies are such hardasses”, mutters Rex, whom Cody is hard pressed to agree with. “I came from a tube and that look gave me daddy issues.”

“Yes, dear viewer, who could forget these heart-warming moments of good, quality television!”, sighs Braham Horton, dreamily. “Not Coruscant anytime soon, that’s for sure! We are now entering the twentieth rotation of the sit-in protest of a petition to allow the Commanders of the Coruscant Guard to compete on Dancing With The Planets, Coruscant Rotational’s epic dance competition!”

“Dear bum-kriffing Force”, whispers Rex, wide-eyed and awe-struck. “Does Fox know about this?!”

Cody, who’s already dialing the kriffer’s comm-code, wipes a singular tear from his eye. “Not a clue, but kriff, am I going to enjoy telling him.”

[mazzystar24]

Hi guys and welcome to Addie’s research spiral into the gay moustache:

Moustaches have always been a symbol of masculinity, sexuality and social standing

Like legit dating back to the 1800s we had the whisker and beard movement which started pushing the idea that facial hair can be masculine and sophisticated and not just a sign of lacking in morality and uncleanliness like the victorians used to think and you can actually draw a direct line to men feeling threatened to the patriarchy in those times and the prevalence of facial hair- this assertion of dominance and masculinity being seen similarly in ww1 soldiers, where facial hair became the accepted norm then post ww1 it went out of style again then this cycle repeats again with most wars.

There is also within the later 1800s and early 1900s links to sexuality and rebellion because younger men not having a full beard and instead having clean shaven faces or moustaches was seen as a sign of rebellion against older generations , also the need for maintenance of this style made it viewed as effeminate

Someone put it as the moustache has always been tied with the three fs: fops, foreigners and fiends meaning it was perceived that men would need to be well groomed or gay, foreign (particularly from Latin countries) or lacking in morals and evil to have a moustache

Okay so the origin of the gay moustache aside from the connection to the well groomed element

So post stonewall riots the gay moustache became a real thing like one qoute I found that was funny was arnie kantrowitz saying it was a requirement in the gay community, you needed a a flannel shirt, mustache or beard, bomber jacket, jeans and boots. We were dressing like the blue-collar men that turned us on." And a lot of it stemmed from what was dubbed the Castro clone look

Okay so Freddie was not in fact the originator of the Castro clone look

The castro clone look basically took all the really masculine and macho staples and made it extremely gay

The look originally being inspired by the men of the Castro neighbourhood in San Francisco in the early 60s and THAT actually comes from the “greaser”/hood look inspired by the 50s Italian American men and Latinos who also their subculture was born from their stereotypes

The Castro clone look doesn’t have one distinct origin but its popularity was fuelled by gay artists like Tom of Finland, and musicians like the village people and Freddie and gay pornstars like al Parker

And Parker was one of the big names in the Castro clone look this in particular not only explains the reason for his look well but also peep the “pouring beers over eachother” line and let me take you back to bachelor party buddie

And now I hear the republican man and Gerrard mentions and to that I say that’s the whole point of it

Like the hypermasculinised look was meant to not only play the macho aesthetic and be a form of queer signaling but it was also meant to subvert gay men stereotypes by instead doing this like extreme portrayal of masculinity

It’s drawing from straight men but making it’s undeniably queer

Like wife beaters, moustaches, denims and flannels were so tied to het males that they took that and still found a way to make it so undeniably queer that it became a form of queer signaling

Thus taking the power away from the macho hets and forming a new subculture

The gay moustache only started seeing its end around the 80s AIDS epidemic because the moustache aimed to make a person look older but as queer communities became more sick or perceived as unclean or sick the need to look clean and young grew and clean shaved faces became the trend again

So Eddie having the moustache isn’t some tie to Gerrard or straight people it’s actually so queer coded and a form of rebellion

And btw this isn’t even a niche thing it’s like a widely known queer thing to the point that one show got slammed for having a gay club scene set in that time and not having any Castro clones in it

[reality-detective]

𝙏𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙤𝙧 𝙎𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙩: 𝘼 𝙎𝙣𝙖𝙠𝙚'𝙨 𝙏𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙏𝙖𝙡𝙚

• Tranny • Trafficking • Satanism • Murder • Bohemian Club

Taylor Swift isn't just a pop star—she's the clone of Zeena LaVey, daughter of Anton LaVey, founder of the Church of Satan. Think about it: how do you get millions to worship Satan without them even knowing? You make her the most famous pop star on the planet.

First Indictment will trigger a mass POP awakening—Taylor Swift will be the first domino to fall.

Taylor Street in San Francisco connects directly to the Church of Satan and is tied to the Bohemian Club, a hub for the Freemasons, Satanists, and Bohemian Grove. This isn't some random street—it’s part of the satanic grid. The Golden Gate Bridge, located nearby, has seen over 1,500 deaths in 30 years. Suicides, or sacrifices? The fake news covered it up, but the truth is bubbling to the surface.

The Bohemian Club, sitting on Taylor St, hides the darkest secrets. It’s not just a club, it’s a gathering of elites who sacrifice behind closed doors. Grace Cathedral on the same street has tunnels linking it to David Bowie, the Bush family, and more. It’s their secret satanic cathedral!

What's more, Taylor St turns into 6th St, crossing Folsom Prison. Ever wonder why Johnny Cash sang about the Ring of Fire? He was trying to warn us! It's all connected to Operation Mockingbird, the CIA’s secret plot to control your mind through movies and music.

Follow the Yellow Brick Road—from Alcatraz through San Francisco to the Bohemian Club. Kids are trafficked underground, following the same path that Dorothy took. This isn't fantasy; it's the hidden reality of the elite’s trafficking ring. The Golden Gate Bridge will fall, and when it does, the bodies and tunnels beneath will be exposed. The elite won't be able to walk freely ever again.

Nuremberg Trials 2.0 start November 20—popcorn ready? 🍿

The fall of the Golden Gate Bridge signals the rise of Bridge Currency. Taylor Swift dies, and the financial system upgrades to XRP, backed by gold.

Time to wake up, Alice.

Follow the rabbit hole—Charles Manson, the Zodiac killer, all lived in San Francisco. The elites' playground is about to crumble.

Welcome to the Great Awakening! 🤔

- Julian Assange

[crosshairlovebot]

i've got you / hunter x gn!reader

pairing: hunter x gn!reader (no y/n). reader has endearments.

description: hunter finds you unwell, so he tries his best to take care of you.

word count: 1,779

warnings: references to illness (fever, headache, coughing, sneezing, lethargy). but otherwise, it's soft hunter at his softest.

been writing much hunter lately! i'm not complaining! (but i will try and get some crosshair out next week) i wrote this super quick for a twitter mutual <3 but i hope this brings comfort to anyone who's reading and sick. you deserve an attentive hunter looking after you.

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated.

Hunter knew something wasn’t right as soon as he walked into the Marauder. He’d come back after leaving the rest of the squad at 79’s, deciding he wasn’t in the mood to go out, especially when you’d decided to stay back on the ship, citing a headache. He’d initially offered to stay back with you, but you’d waved him off, insisting he go out with his brothers since they rarely got time off and you’d hate it if he used that time to sit around with you on the ship.

“I’m just going to lay in bed and maybe fall asleep early. I’m feeling a little tired anyway. Very boring stuff. Go have fun, Hunter. You need it,” you had told him as you came out of the fresher, face washed and in the comfiest clothes you had – baggy pants and short-sleeved shirt that you’d stolen from one of Wrecker’s old civvie disguises.

He’d been apprehensive but had left with his brothers anyway, telling you to comm him if you needed anything.

It had barely been an hour when he’d told Crosshair he was leaving, and to keep an eye on the others. Not only was the club loud and overcrowded, but he also just wanted to be with you.

But when he stepped onto the Marauder, something felt off. He could feel it in the air, and the sound of uneven breaths made the hair on his arms prickle under his blacks. He walked further into the ship, calling your name softly when he heard sniffles and a cough.

“Cyare? Hey,” he said when he saw you lying in his bunk, covered in a blanket and looking much worse than when he left you. You were unwell; the headache had been a precursor to something more serious. You squinted up at him as his shadow covered your eyes. He crouched down next to you immediately and ran a hand over your hair gently. “Why didn’t you call me?”

You groaned but leaned into his touch. “You’re supposed to be out.”

“I’m glad I came back.” Hunter pressed the back of his gloved hand to your forehead. Even through the skin-tight fabric, he could feel you burning up. “You should’ve called me,” he chided, a frown etched into his brow.

“Didn’t want to bother you,” you muttered, pulling the blanket tighter under your chin, and coughing lightly again. Hunter grazed the back of his fingers against your cheek.

“You’re never a bother. Why would you think that?” he asked, shaking his head.

You just shrugged, then sneezed under the blanket. When you re-emerged, moaning in discomfort, Hunter gave your cheek another caress before he put his hands on his knees and stood up. “I’m getting you a cold towel for your head.”

“No, don’t go,” you weakly protested as he walked off to the fresher.

“I’ll just be a minute, love,” he said and went to rifle under the fresher sink for a small clean towel, cursing that he and his brothers weren’t tidier. Once he found one, he quickly wet it in cold water and wrung out the excess before walking back to the bunk. You cracked open your eyes when you heard his footsteps and twisted on your back as he crouched down again.

“Here,” he said softly as he placed the cold towel on your forehead, smoothing it down. You hummed before a shiver went through your body.

“Have you taken anything?” Hunter asked.

“A couple of pills when you guys left,” you told him, eyes drifting shut again. Hunter frowned. He wasn’t used to treating sick people. Clones rarely ever got sick, their immune systems engineered to withstand any illnesses. Any time he was treated for anything, it was for injuries, and Tech usually handled it.

But Hunter was your partner, in every sense of the word. He wanted to be there for you in any way he could. Not just as the leader of the squad, but as someone who loved you more than he thought he could ever love anyone.

He always took care of the people he loved.

So, he tried to remember what they’d learnt from their training modules as cadets, the ones that detailed nat-born illnesses and how to treat them if they ever encountered sick civilians.

Fever, sneezing, coughing, headache. Sounded like a flu-type sickness. Maybe you had picked it up on Felucia during their mission there a few days ago.

You’d already taken some medication, so he knew you wouldn’t be able to for the next few hours. He just had to try and make you comfortable and ease the symptoms of the fever as much as he could while the medication worked.

Hunter gently flipped the cool towel to the other side as he looked down at the blanket. “You need to keep cool, cyare. We don’t want the fever to get too high,” he hooked his fingers over the edge of the blanket. You made a sound of protest but ultimately let him remove the blanket, pushing it down to the end of the bunk. You shivered, but you looked up at him, eyes blinking at him. He’d never seen you look so helpless before, and he hated it. He cupped your jaw, skin still hot, thumb moving over your cheekbone.

“Where’s your water canteen?” he asked.

You nodded to the cockpit, and he went to go get it, filling it up on the way. He crouched beside you. “Can you sit up?”

You nodded and tried to move. Hunter grabbed the towel from your forehead before he placed a hand under your shoulder blades and held your arm to support the change in position, fixing the pillow behind you. You groaned, complaining about the heaviness in your body as you sat there. He looked at you, shoulders slumped forward, peaky expression on your face as you rubbed your eyes. Being sick looked miserable, and he wished he could take it from you and suffer with it himself, just so you didn’t have to. He unscrewed the canteen.

“Small sips, okay?” He held the lip of the canteen to your lips and the back of your head as you tilted back and took three small sips before Hunter pulled the canteen away. Some water dribbled down your lip and chin and he gently wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. You looked over at him, brows slanted down. You looked upset, which surprised him a little.

“What is it?” He asked, screwing the canteen shut again.

You made a noncommittal noise and slowly moved to lie down again. Hunter cradled your head as you guided it down to the pillow, removing his hand once you were fully down. He ran his hand over your hair again. He watched your eyes close slowly at the movement. He repeated it a few times, soothing you the only way he really knew how. He tried not to worry too much, but it was hard when you barely had the energy to look at him. He knew nat-borns slowly got better from illnesses such as these in a matter of days, and he would have Tech check you over once they all got back, but he didn’t like seeing you like this; eyes dull, skin clammy, body curled up. He just wanted you to get better sooner rather than later.

After a few moments, he picked up the now half-dry towel and said, “Gonna wet this again.”

He stood up and walked to the fresher, and when he came back, he placed the damp towel back on your forehead. As he pulled away, you grabbed his hand and cradled it to your chest, interlocking your fingers together and sighing. He smiled softly.

“Oh, ner cyare,” he whispered gently.

“I’m sorry, Hunter,” you croaked.

Hunter shook his head. “It’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re sick. It happens.”

“Not to you,” you scowled at his hand like it was to blame for his immunity to illness.

“Well, I can’t help that.” His mouth tilted up at the corner.

You fiddled with his fingers and traced lines down to his palms. “I just feel so helpless like this.”

“Lucky for you, I’m here now. I’ve got you,” he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on your temple. He lingered there for a second before he pulled away, his other hand coming to your cheek.

You looked up at him, pout on your lips. “I didn’t want to ruin your night out.”

Hunter caressed your cheek. “There was nothing to ruin. You’re my priority.”

“Still. I’m sorry,” you said before kissing his fingers.

Hunter shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He adjusted the towel and then fixed the pillow underneath your head, so it was better supporting your neck. “Do you feel like some food?” he asked. He wanted to feel useful to you, but he didn’t know what else he could offer right now.

You shook your head. “Just wanna sleep.”

“Then sleep, love,” he said, pulling his hand from yours and sitting on the floor next to the bunk, his back against the wall opposite, legs stretched out and the soles of his feet resting against the bunk frame. “I’ll be here.”

You watched him, mouth pressing into a line before you reached out to him and your voice said quietly, “Closer?”

Hunter smiled. “Hang on.”

He stood up and began to remove his armour. Piece by piece, he placed it in a pile on one of the chairs in the centre of the ship. Now only in his blacks, he made his way back to you. You opened your eyes again and smiled when you saw him in his underarmour. He crouched down.

“Shuffle over,” he whispered, and you obliged, moving slowly so your back was almost up against the wall. Hunter climbed in next to you, sitting up in case he needed to move out if you got too hot. Once he was situated, you shuffled closer, head resting against his thigh, eyes closed. You’d curled yourself in a ball, and Hunter looked down as he repositioned the cool towel on your head, making sure it was in the right place.

“Rest, cyare. I’m right here.” He stroked your head, then moved his hand down to your shoulder, rubbing his thumb there. You snuggled into the side of his leg, letting out a sigh.

“Love you,” you mumbled as you began to drift off to sleep.

He smiled down at you, his hand stilling as he rested his palm, so it cupped the curve of your shoulder and kept you close to him. “Love you.”

banner art by @vimse thank you reading!

🏷️ @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @moodymisty @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @bobaprint @crosshairsnose @jesseeka @thegalaxys-edge @chopper-base @shredderwest @leavingkamino @r2d2staser @beckbucket @pb-jellybeans @mylifeisactuallyamess @padawancat97 @littlecrowtime @jedipoodoo @ezras-left-thumb @lovelycurls @fruitsaladtree @literallydontlook @burningfieldof-clover @queencousland101 @clonethirstingisreal @skellymom

TAGLIST FORM

[libby-for-life]

Alright, so I just set up an ask box. You are more than welcome to ask questions about my book, Adam Dies, or even One-Shot suggestions for my new and very obsessed ship Adamsapple. I will try my best to answer all questions, even if it's something I wouldn't normally answer. If I like the One-Shot suggestion, I will write it and post it!

This is definitely 18+!!!

While I don't condone anyone super young reading my content, I also have no control over what they read. I'm not their mother. The most I can do is put a warning.

Anyway, have fun reading my book! Love you guys!

Here is a MasterList of all my original one-shots

Adam is sick part 1

Adam is sick part 2

Lilith hurts Adam

Adamsapple (rough sex/master pet)

Adamsapple (Lilith returns part 1)

Adamsapple (Lilith returns part 2)

Adamsapple (fluffy)

AngelicRadio (part 1)

AngelicRadio ( part 2)

StaticRadio ( a gift)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer)

Adamsapple (Date Night)

Adamsapple ( clubbing)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer part 2)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer part 3)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer part 4)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer part 5)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer part 6)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer part 7)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer part 8)

Adamsapple (Greek Mythology au)

Adamsapple (Greek Mythology au part 2)

Adamsapple (Greek Mythology au part 3)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer part 9)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer part 10)

Adamsapple (yandere Adamsapple)

Adamsapple (Nesting Little Bird)

Adamsapple (Nesting Little Bird Part 2)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer part 11)

AngelicRadio (What You Could Have Had)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer part 12)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer part 13

Adamsapple (Alpha Lucifer and Omega Adam)

Adamsapple (yandere Lucifer part 14)

Their Little Lamb (Yandere Hazbin Hotel)

Just A Peak (Adamsapple)

Adam Dies (yandere au)

Theirs (Yandere! Lucifer/Adam/Yandere! Lilith)

Theirs part 2 (Yandere!Lucifer/Adam/Yandere!Lilith)

Theirs part 3 (Yandere!Lucifer/Adam/Yandere!Lilith)

Theirs part 4 (Yandere!Lucifer/Adam/Yandere!Lilith)

Theirs part 5 (Yandere!Lucifer/Adam/Yandere!Lilith)

Theirs part 6 (Yandere!Lucifer/Adam/Yandere!Lilith)

How Dare He? (Jealous Lucifer/Adam/Michael)

Reincarnation au

Reincarnation au part 2

Reincarnation au part 3

A Deal (Lucifer/Adam/Lilith)

A Deal part 2 (Lucifer/Adam/Lilith)

A Deal part 3( Lucifer/Adam/Lilith)

The Angel of Death (Azreal/Adam)

The Lust Potion/200 sub special! (Adamsapple)

Shrunk Down (Adamsapple)

Just Desserts au

Just Desserts au part 2

Just Desserts au part 3

Ticklish Kissing (Adamsapple)

An Experiment (Lucifer/Adam/Lilith)

An Experiment part 2 (Lucifer/Adam/Lilith)

Clone Fucking (Lucifer Clones/Adam)

Milking (Lucifer/Adam/Lilith)

A Little Too Late (Michael/Adam)

Alone in Eden (Michael/Adam)

Alone in Eden part 2 (Michael/Adam)

Alone in Eden part 3 (Michael/Adam)

Alone in Eden part 4 (Michael/Adam)

Sharing is Caring (Lucifer/Adam/Pilot!Luci)

Birds of a Feather (Angel!Lucifer/Adam)

Stuck in a Wall (Adamsapple)

Through Sickness and Health (Adamsapple)

Through Sickness and Health part 2 (Adamsapple)

The Waiting Game au (not my au, unrequited Adamsapple)

Does Size Make A Difference? (Adamsapple)

Adam and Steve

Adamsapple (Yandere Adam)

A Dragon's Tale (Adamsapple)

A Dragon's Tale part 2 (Adamsapple)

A Dragon's Tale part 3 (Adamsapple)

Swap au (Adamsapple)

Swap au part 2 (Adamsapple)

XXX

Writing Commissions:

[deadqueerboys]

Evil Morty: Finally the smartest man in the world..

Rick: OH, you again..?

Evil Morty: I ain't talking with you, M/n..

Rick: He's the smartest?! What about me?

Evil Morty: He didn't cloned or bothered another versions of him so..

Rick: My husband?! He's not a corporation bot!

M/n: They're not even talking with me anymore...

Morty: Welcome to the club, grandpa.

[vodika-vibes]

Hi, it's Carol (@clonethirstingisreal)...

I was wondering if you would be willing to try one of the fluffy prompts with Hunter or Howzer, your choice: "finding someone flirting with your crush, but all they have is eyes for you, and on you" (with Hunter/Howzer being flirted with by someone other than the reader who is his crush.)

Or really any of those prompts with Hunter or Howzer would be fantastic! Or another clone if you aren't comfortable with Hunter or Howzer.

Thanks for offering!

Only You

Summary: You're a bartender, and Hunter is a regular who you also happen to call a friend. But things are a little different this visit.

Pairing: Hunter x Reader

Word Count: 1084

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023

A/N: I'm more than happy to write for any clone, though I admit that my knowledge of Hunter's personality isn't the most absolute. But I tried my best. I hope this is close to what you wanted. And thank you so much for your request!

Divider by Saradika

The bar is busy. Busier than it normally is at this time of day, and you know it’s because of the concert happening just down the road. Of course, the concert isn’t for another week, which means all of those people needed something to do.

And that something, apparently, is drinking away their sense at the bar.

You roll your eyes as yet another drunken idiot leans across your table and slurs out a pick up line that wouldn’t have worked if he was sober, let alone now. You flick a finger towards the bouncer, indicating to him that this particular guest is being cut off, and then you move back to the bar.

You flicker your gaze around the bar, most people are ignoring you. But you notice, near the back, Hunter has his gaze locked on you. You grin at him, and he flashes the smallest smile in return. And your grin widens when you see the woman at the table across from him. 

Good for Hunter. He needs to get out more.

Sure, you kind of hoped…well, it doesn’t matter. Handsome, charming guy like Hunter can do better than a bartender in a rundown bar in the middle of nowhere, after all.

You prep his drink, after all he’s a regular here and you know his drink by heart at this point, and you cross the bar to set his drink in front of him. “Here you go, Hunter.” You say cheerfully.

“You’re an angel.” Hunter replies with a small quirk to his lips as he wraps his hand around the drink.

“That’s me. I’m the Booze Angel,” You joke easily.

He keeps his gaze locked on you, even as the woman sitting across from him huffs, “The most important person in this bar, by far.”

“Ooh, clever.” You laugh, “You still have to pay.”

“Damn.” Hunter says with a laugh.

You shake your head with a fond smile, and favor the woman with a welcoming grin, “Can I get you a refill on your…club soda?” You ask, as you glance at the mostly empty drink.

The woman sniffs in disdain, and somehow manages to look down her nose at you, “No thanks. I’m done, I think. And so is he.”

Hunter doesn’t even spare her a glance as he lifts his drink and takes a sip, “No, I’m really not.”

The woman flushes red, and stands quickly, “You’re a pig, Hunter.” she snaps, and then she stalks away from the table.

You lightly pick up her glass to bring it back to the bar, “You know, Hunter, most women don’t like being ignored in favor of the bartender.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” He says with a sigh, “Honestly, angel, I didn’t even want to come here with her.”

“Then why did you?”

“Omega.”

“What, your 13 year old sister bullied you into going on a date with a woman you aren’t interested in?” You ask, highly amused.

“You try saying no to her!” Hunter defends hastily.

“I do say no to her. All the time. It’s really easy.” You say with a laugh, “She’s going to be so disappointed that you snubbed your date, though. What are you going to do?”

He grumbles, “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Eh.” You shrug, “There are six other bartenders here, and my shift was supposed to end an hour ago.”

“Then you can join me.” He offers slyly.

“I could.” You agree easily, and then you shake your head, “Hunter, that lady was flirting with you hard.”

“Yes. I’m aware.” He grumbles, “Like I said, I’m not interested. I have my eyes on someone else.”

“Then maybe you should go ask them to drink with you.” You tease.

“Well, I’m trying but you seem to be resistant to the idea of sitting down.” He replies easily.

“I…wait.” You drop into the booth across from him, “Are you serious? Because if you’re just fucking with me-”

“I’m not fucking with you, angel.��

You squint at him suspiciously, “You bring a different date here every week, Hunter.” You point out.

“All of those dates were shoved on me by one of my nosey siblings,” Hunter points out, “And all of them have ditched me as soon as we got here.”

“Yeah, because you see me and you seem to be unable to stop…staring-” Your sentence trails off, and you groan and press your face into your hands.

“I do stare at you, constantly. And flirt with you constantly. And I’ve even asked you on a date before-” Hunter lists with a grin. 

You groan again and press your burning face into your arms, “I’m oblivious.” You whine.

“Just a little bit, but you got there eventually.”

“Don’t be nice about this!” You say as your head pops up, “Are you telling me that I could have been making out with you for months now, rather than just fantasizing about it?” You ask.

A wide grin breaks across his face, “You fantasize about me?”

Your jaw drops and your face burns even hotter, “Wait…no…I didn’t…”

“No, no. Tell me more about these fantasies. I’m sure I can make all of them come true tonight.”

“You’re drunk, that’s definitely not going to happen.” You scoff, your face still burning hot, “I don’t sleep with drunk men.”

“Who says I’m drunk, Angel?”

“You-”

“Are totally sober.” He leans across the table, “So…tell me about these fantasies of yours.”

You press your hands over your face, “Absolutely not.”

“I’ll tell you mine.” You peek at him from between your fingers, “Ooh, tempting, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re just picking on me.”

“Oh, absolutely. But I also mean it.” Hunter smoothly moves from his side of the table to yours, crowding into your space. Not that you mind, you’ve never minded being close to Hunter. 

Your breath hitches when he leans in and presses his nose against your neck, and you release an actual squeak when you feel his tongue against your skin. “Wait, Hunter-”

He pauses and tilts his head to look at you patiently.

“I…not here?” You ask weakly.

He chuckles against your neck, but pulls away. Hunter tosses some credits on the table, and then he kisses you, so quickly that you think you imagined it for a moment, and then he pulls you out of the booth. “Come on, Angel. Let’s go somewhere else.”

“Okay,” You agree, excitement building in you as he threads his fingers with yours and tugs you tightly against his side.

[666writingcafe]

RAD TV

Ran by the Newspaper Club and aired on Friday mornings

Mephistopheles: Good morning, everyone, and welcome to RAD TV. Our top story involves the first round of predictions for the bloody moon contest.

Rogmen: As you all know, this year Lord Diavolo has decided to allow our exchange students to participate. Some welcome the change, while others wonder why he would do such a thing.

Mephistopheles: However, we are not here to debate Lord Diavolo's decision, but rather to report the current standings of the contest.

A List of Standings Pops Up On the Screen

Rogmen: As usual, Lord Diavolo has the top spot with Lucifer and Barbatos following closely behind.

Mephistopheles: I've always wondered how Barbatos places so high on these things, considering he usually keeps to himself.

Rogmen: He's quite popular among royalty and fellow servants.

Mephistopheles: I see. Anyway, our number four spot is occupied by...MC?

Rogmen: I'm not surprised. A lot of people have been talking about them. Their honesty draws them in.

Mephistopheles: I understand that, but they're still rather new to the Devildom, while someone like Solomon has been coming in and out for years.

Rogmen: And yet Solomon wasn't the one who turned you into a stuttering mess after a certain speechcraft exam, now was he?

Mephistopheles: *blushes* That is not pertinent to this conversation.

Rogmen: *smirks* Anyway, Asmodeus and Leviathan are tied for fifth, Simeon is sitting at seventh, Satan's eighth, Beelzebub's ninth, and my fellow news anchor rounds out the top ten.

Mephistopheles: Only because Mammon isn't allowed to participate this year.

Rogmen: But he is this year's official bookie.

Mephistopheles: Why am I not surprised? Does Lucifer know about this?

Rogmen: Well, if he didn't, he does now.

Mephistopheles: See you up amongst the rafters, Mammon.

Rogmen: Speaking of Solomon, he's only a couple spots above last place. Guess people are growing tired of his antics.

Mephistopheles: I really don't know what goes through his brain sometimes. I mean, he thinks his cooking is a work of art.

Rogmen: I feel bad for the angels.

Mephistopheles: And that does it for our current bloody moon standings. Our next story--*puts his hand on his earpiece*

Rogmen: Everything alright, Mephisto?

Mephistopheles: I just received breaking news.

Rogmen: About...?

Mephistopheles: Asmodeus has just announced on social media that he's dropping out of the bloody moon competition.

Rogmen: What? He's usually all over these popularity contests.

Mephistopheles: He's uploaded a video on his story explaining why. Play the clip.

Asmodeus: Hi, my lovely people! I'm currently watching this week's RAD TV, and after seeing the first round of preliminary results, I have decided to no longer participate in the bloody moon contest. Before anyone spreads rumors that I'm upset about tying with Levi for fifth place, I want everyone to know that I am doing this because I believe that this year there is someone more worthy than I am of winning. So, instead of competing, I will be actively supporting MC and encourage you all to do the same. As always, I hope everyone has a fantastic day!

Rogmen: Did someone kidnap Asmo and replace him with a clone? Or is he just messing with everyone?

Mephistopheles: I think he's being serious.

Rogmen: If that's the case, then MC's about to see a huge increase in their numbers. Asmo has millions of followers across all of his social media platforms, and quite a number of them will do whatever he says.

Mephistopheles: I just hope that he told MC his plan before making that announcement, although knowing him, he didn't and instead acted impulsively.

Rogmen: Only one way to find out.

Mephistopheles: That does it for this installment of RAD TV. Make sure to be on the lookout for an exclusive interview with MC in our daily newspaper.

[octuscle]

Oh thank goodness! Just made it to baggage claim at DEL to grab my bag… hope none of the leather is damaged.

Good news, everything is in perfect condition. You even feel like everything is freshly polished when you open the case. It smells even more intensely of leather than when you packed the case. The bellboy who helps you unpack the suitcase is amazed. You can be sure that in fifteen minutes the entire hotel will know about your special luggage. But you don't care about that. You've already sat at the hotel bar in a full leather outfit in completely different hotels.

Whereby I must show you my respect. To go outside in this humidity and at over 30 degrees Celsius in a full outfit already proves that you are serious about leather, mate! Unfortunately, Delhi has now not so the gay nightlife. And a leather scene is also not necessarily there. But you don't need long to find like-mates in the relevant social networks. There are enough expats in the city. And private parties are obviously the place to be. A pretty horny looking fellow invites you to his boss's party. He sends you a limousine tonight to take you to the party. It all sounds pretty exclusive.

After a few days in the hotel, hardly anyone reacts to your appearance in shiny creaky leather in the lobby. The doorman holds the door open for you and opens the door to the back of the impressive limousine. The driver lowers the divider to you and tells you that you can help yourself to the bar. You may also help yourself to the cigars. According to his knowledge, it should be your favorite brand. And the window whirs back up. That the chauffeur has presented his muscular tits naked, you are no longer surprised. You light a cigar and start to massage your cock in anticipation of a horny party.

It becomes more and more bizarre. The car passes a guarded gate and drives through an illuminated park for what feels like a quarter of an hour. Then the car stops and a completely naked bodybuilder opens the car door for you. Everywhere, people who look like clones of the bodybuilder stand around and hand out drinks and snacks. Or walk around with a tray full of poppers. And in between there are horny fellows. In suits, in latex, in all kinds of gear. Only leather is actually quite rare. Finally you see the guy with whom you had an appointment. He asks you if you want to dance. Not really your thing. But you do him the favor. Mate, it's really hot. You feel like you're sweating through the leather. And you're actually sweating through the leather. The leather gets thinner and thinner. And mischievous with your skin getting darker. The only thing left on your chest is a harness of chain links and leather. No idea where it came from. But it feels better. Nevertheless, beads of sweat glisten on your chest hair. Fuck, you had shaved your chest especially for the party. And why is your dance partner suddenly as tall as you? A moment ago you were a good head taller… No matter, the music gets into your head, the poppers too, you just let yourself go…

The next morning you wake up. This is not your hotel room. It looks more like a darkroom. With a bed covered with leather. And a bathroom next to it, the one with the black light illumination and the pee trough also in a leather club. There's a knock at the door. Your dancing partner from yesterday enters. Your host or rather your new master would like to meet you now. Welcome to Delhi!

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes.

DC

A Brief Interview by Miss_Lazy_Tuesday

When Damian finds a small child with an expensive camera on a rooftop in the middle of Gotham, he decides to follow in his father’s footsteps and take the boy home. After all, why should Bruce be the only one who gets to add to the family?

Damian and Tim age swap fluff.

Percy Jackson

the annabeth project by pjoseries (divineauthor)

Time kneels to no one, but Percy will take his chances.

—•—

Annabeth is lost in time. Percy finds his way to her, but not without a few familiar faces helping him along the way

Clone Wars

if you’re on a mission, you’ve got my permission by allowaykirk

"And you don’t mind being asked to…” Cody tries to find a tactful way to say dangle yourself in front of this courier like a tantalizing piece of bantha meat on a stick and comes up lacking.

“Your concern is admirable, Cody,” Kenobi says, the hint of a laugh in his voice. “But I assure you, between this and heavy artillery fire, I’ll take the mission where no unnecessary blood has to be shed.”

A very Jedi answer. But then a corner of Kenobi’s mouth twitches up, his eyes glittering in the club’s low, sultry lighting. “Besides, there’s a reason the Council has a tendency to assign me these sorts of missions.”

-

5 times Obi-Wan Kenobi was a slut in the name of the Republic, and the 1 time romance swept him off his feet.

Welcome to Demon School, Iruma-Kun!

In Initia Res by vi_o

It's been quite a while since the last time a human summoned Sullivan. But, hey, Sullivan's been kind of bored lately, so he's not complaining!

At least, he's not complaining until the idiots who summoned him explain what they actually want.

What kind of sentient pond scum tries to sell their entire CHILD for 10,000,000 yen?

BNHA

passing through the dark by delectum

After many years of teaching upcoming heroes in training, Aizawa has a way of knowing when his students are in trouble and first year student Keigo Takami is practically screaming for help.

(phone) call for help by RejectsCanon

Touya clutches at the phone in his hands like the lifeline it is. If Touya played his cards right, this could be their chance to escape. No more hurt and pain and tears and fear. If Touya did this right they could be safe.

This was do or die.

It rings once. Then twice. Then a click.

“Hellooo, listener! You’re on air! What’s on your mind tonight?”

Or, Touya wants nothing more than to get him and his siblings out of their house and away from their father. To do this, he makes a last-ditch attempt and calls into Present Mic's radio station.

[moodymisty]

hellloooo luv >.< could I maybe request a crosshair/shortfem!reader where crosshair has a size difference kink and is obsessed with his small gf? <33 just the sight of you hugging him by the waist and looking up at him with your pretty little eyes as he towers over you would make him lose his mind. thinking about how he would love reminding you how small you are compared to him. he would love how easy it is for him to pick you up and lift you onto him without even trying and just manhandling you and using you anyway he wants. he would love how his big hands look holding onto your small waist (or anywhere on you for that matter), the tummy bulge he gives you, him having to take his time to fit inside of you bc of how big he is and talking you through it. “shhh cyare..you’re doing so good for me..almost there..”. you’re his little princess and he absolutely adores and loves to praise you for how well you take him while he uses you as his own personal cumdump until you’re cock dumb and ruined by him. I need to be manhandled by him in the most disgusting, loving, and sweetest way possible.

Author's Note: This request made me bonk around the room like a fire extinguisher that's been shot

Summary: Crosshair has always noticed how much more delicate you were than him. But when one night he actually, really notices; He can't stop the way he wants you.

Relationships: Crosshair/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Reader is 'short coded' but everything else is pretty ambiguous as usual, Creampies, my badboy Crosshair with Goodgirl Reader cliché obsession because my mind cannot know peace, Size Kink, Unprotected sex,

Crosshair doesn't normally use the word 'cute'.

Not much in his life warrants the adjective; and the few things that do, he normally has less than a stellar disposition towards. He almost always says it with venom, meant to insult whatever or whoever it is rather than compliment.

You are a noted exception however, as Crosshair has yet to find an adjective that fits you quite as well as 'cute' does.

His brothers can't even help but agree, as no matter how many times he bites at them to back off with it, they always ruffle your hair or joke about how short you are. He doesn't mind in actuality, they are just being brotherly, but sometimes Crosshair isn't a fan of others pointing out things that only he should be noticing.

Even not that long ago when you'd boarded the Marauder, Wrecker had made yet another comment at how small you were, with a pitch in his voice and an arm around your shoulders. He only stopped when he could feel Crosshair's eyes burning holes into him, but you just waved him off.

Right now his arm is light around your shoulders, as the thumping of club music hums in your ears. The dive bar reeks of greasy food and hard liquor, but you don't mind the change in pace. The weather has been awful lately and with your life busy, coming out and enjoying time in public has been a welcome change. Whether or not you're used to this sort of scene.

Crosshair seems less so, as he looks around the bar seeing the other groups of clones spattered across the scenery. They're all minding their own business, drinking for many of the same reasons you're all out tonight.

"That would involve actually having to try, Wrecker."

You smile and laugh at the largest brother across the table, right shoulder brushing against his ribcage. He has to look down in order to watch your face, as you stay firmly tucked against his side. He hasn't the slightest idea what you're talking about at this point, so he doesn't bother joining the conversation and risk making a fool out of himself.

Wrecker responds, but it doesn't give Crosshair any context as to what the two of you are jokingly fighting about. He's too busy watching the way your head tilts slightly towards him and leans against his body for just a moment.

"Oh, bold words coming from the short stack!" You roll your eyes at Wrecker, one of your hands fiddling with the various scuffs and dents on the Crosshair's thigh armor. He can't feel it other than the light pressure, though sometimes you move enough so that you brush against the black flightsuit between the seams; And that, he can feel.

Wrecker isn't wrong in his comment- you're significantly shorter than all of them, not just him. It's a fact that often lingers in Crosshair's mind, and in a way that nearly always appealing. You always tuck perfectly against his side, a perfect little piece of peace.

It's more than a bit distracting to him, who's found himself more interested in watching your small hands wrap around your glass, more so than his own drink. Everyone's been getting sloshed tonight, but Crosshair's no longer interested in the scene.

He's much more interested in you; As you look down to see his hand fiddling with the soft fabric of your dress.

As he leans in his hot breath fans over the shell of your ear, his lips just barely grazing your skin. He's had one or two drinks, as have you, but no where near enough to get more than the tiniest buzz.

"Let's go."

You can't disagree with him. Hunter is too sloshed to really notice the way the air around you two has been getting hotter and hotter for an hour now, and that Crosshair's hand has been steadily climbing up your thigh. You don't open your legs to let him in, but you still feel the weight of his fingers as you suddenly raise your head to speak up.

"Hey, guys- I think I'm gonna head out for tonight."

Wrecker whines, and Tech bemoans the idea of the two least drunk of everyone besides himself leaving. He was hoping not to be relegated to chauffeur as he is almost every time the Batch goes out, not that he would even drink if he wasn't.

"It's been fun but, I'm getting pretty tired. I'll see you guys later." When Crosshair gets up with you and Tech glances between the two of you confused, you quickly speak up. His hand is on the small of your back, tense with the silent plea of 'hurry it up'.

"Cross is gonna take me home. I'll send him back in one piece, don't worry." It's not as if they can complain about it, as you're always turning around and leaving before they'd theoretically have a chance.

"Slow down," You joke, as the cold air outside hits you. Crosshair just looks down at you from the corner of his eyes, the music still quite loud even from all the way out here.

When you hail a taxi and step in he follows, sliding in right beside you until you're both shoulder to shoulder.

And the whole way there, Crosshair looms. His eyes linger over your form like he's hungry, a stare that's almost physically heavy on you body. You glance up at him once, raising your eyebrows.

But he remains silent; You swear you can hear his heartbeat as the taxi pulls to a stop in front of your building. You've recently moved and you almost don't recognize the place, but it's easy enough to find your way inside once you remember.

Your fingers shake as you punch in the code, feeling his chest brush against your shoulder right blade.

He's so close...

The moment that door closes and locks he is on you, and you reciprocate tenfold. Your arms wrap around his neck tight enough to almost make him need for air, just as desperate for him as he is for you as your lips press against his.

Even for as lithe as he is he still towers over you, pushing your body blindly towards your bed. He knows where it is by heart now, having stayed in your home close to as many times he's slept in the Marauder.

The blankets wrinkle around your form, legs dangling off the edge as he roughly pushes you down only to follow right behind, body looming over yours. Everything here is so soft; Your blankets, your bed, your skin. Crosshair sometimes feels like he doesn't belong, but in the end, he doesn't care.

"You wore this on purpose, didn't you."

He's mentioned this outfit before; It was one that for some reason managed to rev his engine more than anything else you've worn. Maybe it's the red and black, maybe it's the way it lays on your body. Either way, you'd almost totally forgotten he had that reaction to it until right now, as he's busy trying to tear it off you. In a frantic effort you assist, kicking off your shoes and anything else that attempts to get in the way.

"It's not my fault you can't control yourself," You say, feeling his body lay against yours as he unclothes himself.

"Tch," You feel the heat of his cock against your thigh. "Watch your mouth."

Funny how it doesn't sound nearly as mean as that usually would've. You feel the way his cock grinds against you, slick as he slips along your folds.

He pulls away enough so that he can sit on the bed, pulling you towards him the moment he's able.

Your bottom sits the in the dip between his legs, wrapping around his hips. It's almost hard to see his face at this angle, having to lean back just a bit in order to. You also have to as you lift yourself just far enough away to slip a hand between your bodies, guiding his cock as you slowly but surely sink onto him. You can hear him grit his teeth and hiss through them, hands tight on the soft meat of your thighs.

The noise you let out is soft, almost like a breathless sigh as he fully sinks inside of you. Crosshair feels his neck tighten at the sound of it, how cute it is.

But then again you always look cute; The way you get surrounded by his shadow and look up at him, face squished and feeling hot as you bounce on his cock.

Your chest brushes against his, arms wrapping around his neck.

Even sitting in his lap he's taller than you, feeling his hands tightly grip the soft flesh of your waist. Your legs are tight around his hips, and he can feel your hot breath against his skin.

You grip him, nails digging into his shoulders like he's your only weight to this world, cunt tightening around him. Your skin feels like it's on fire, heart pounding in your chest.

When you finally come down from your high you feel Crosshair's hands on your waist, that had for awhile now been partly helping you keep upright. He's so quite sometimes that you can barely tell how he's feeling, that he's finished inside of you but manage to swallow his own moans enough so that you barely even heard it. He liked the sounds of yours more anyways.

Feeling the heat of your cheek as you brush your palm over it, you're glad you left one window open. The chilled breeze is quickly cooling your skin, and the fresh air is keeping your mind from completely fogging over.

"Can you stay the night?"

It's less so an invitation for another round- though you'd absolutely not complain if that turned out to be the case- and more so wondering if you'll be able to steal a rare moment with him. It's not often you get to fall asleep with him, let alone wake up.

Tech is his brothers sober guide as always; He can deal with his brothers while he steals a rare moment for himself.

"Not like they can't reach me if they need me." You'll take that as a positive response, feeling your body slowly lift off of him.

Crosshair often sleeps on his stomach, and as he turns to do so you can see the red, burning lines your nails left on his shoulders and back; And while he's never complained and if anything, seems to enjoy it, you still feel bad for hurting him.

This time you don't comment on them however, instead moving closer enough that he wraps an arm around your waist. Whatever way you sleep the two of you always find a way to tangle together, feeling his warm body against yours in the now cool air of your bedroom.

You think you hear him say something, but you're too close to sleep and it's too quiet for you to hear, as you finally drift off.

[toomanybandstocare]

{Candy Cane Cupid}

Program: Holidays come around every year with mixed emotion. Excitement buzzes as clones celebrate their first Life Day with their partners after the war. Disappointment is pushed to the back of your mind as you keep yourself busy at work while your riduur is away. Mischief is in the air when Cupid finally reveals his holiday surprise for you.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Bartender, GN! Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Length: 2017w

Warnings: Mention of candy cane, alcohol + club scene, bittersweet emotions around the holidays, barely edited bc my brain is v smooth from work, probs slight out of character Wolffe (see counselor note below), barely edited as usual oops

Camp Resolute Masterlist

ClonexReader Masterlist

For the lovely @sinfulsalutations - Happy fic exhange and holiday season! I hope you enjoy. ^_^ I tried to make it a lil Hallmark moment. Part of the Life Day Exchange for @cloneficgiftexchange hosted by Ghost.

Prompt: 79s For @clonexreaderbingo event hosted by Ghost.

Counselor Note: I apologize if it's not that festive or good. Been in a funk as of recently, but I had fun writing this and trying to explore Wolffe as a character more. I know he's more stoic and serious in canon, but I wanted to explore how he would balance happiness, relaxation, and the familiarity of pulling rank during post war.

It seems like all of Coruscant has decided to spend the evening out amongst the city levels for holiday celebrations. Still only a year since the Clone Wars were won, everyone carries a warm happiness and joyfulness as they weave through club lines with their friends. Former troopers gather in boisterous groups outside of clubs, eagerly waiting for their first Life Day celebration. The usual clubbers are surrounded by new faces who easily share their nervousness and excitement for what the night may bring.

79s, normally vibrant with yellow and orange neon lights, now welcome tonight’s guests with more festive colored lighting and music. Even the tired club staff seem to be able to find one last bit of energy to push through the night with the holiday cheer.

The tips of your fingers sting from gripping the chilled shaker as your gaze flits across the crowd of dancers and party goers. The small semblance of hope that you kept tucked away deep in your heart slowly sizzles when you can’t find a gray battalion ribbon in the crowd of troopers. Red ribbons pack tightly into a booth as they play a game of Sabbac and try to teach their partners. Blue ribbons spread across the dance floor as they find dates for the evening. Orange ribbons stick close to the end of the bar as they share a flight of beer and stories. Not a single gray ribbon in the crowd to be found tonight. Your chest constricts, squeezing all the air out of your lungs in disappointment. The last flicker of hope fizzles and stings your heart. Hitting the shaker against the bartop harder than intended, you pour a bright blue cocktail into its glass and slide it over to a giggling patron. You watch with yearning as she’s pulled into the side of her partner, who sports a green ribbon, before they maneuver through the growing mass of people to join their friends.

“Still no sign of Wolffe?” Kiva carefully asks. Walking past you from the side entrance of the bar with a crate of seasonal beer, he squats down to the small fridge at the base of the bar shelves. He looks up at you with a concerned expression as he slides the fridge door open.

“He said he wasn’t even sure if he was going to be in the system even after Life Day,” you casually explain. Darting your tongue over your bottom lip, you shrug and turn to grab a new drink slip. Unable to meet Kiva’s all too familiar sympathetic gaze, you grab the mixers and spirits for the next order. Your heart races out of rhythm to the upbeat songs pulsing through the club. As the liquids spill into your new shaker, your stomach knots and twists leaving agony to swim through your body.

“I don’t even know why I’m bothering to look for him. The last we spoke, he and Plo Koon were just summoned to attend the peace accords on Soreno,” you breathlessly ramble. Once the final words tumbles past your lip, your throat tightens and you slam the top of the shaker shut before Kiva can reassure you.

Guilt stings the back of your neck as you shake the drink above your shoulder. The day that Wolffe shared that he was reinstated as a Marshall Commander, you immediately called for celebration. All his closest brothers and your friend group filled into a bar just down the street from your shared home. It wasn’t until the two of you fell into bed and silence separated you from Wolffe’s bliss that you realized the two of you wouldn’t have a different life after the war. Wolffe would still be systems away from you a majority of the time. The realization sank in further when he couldn’t wish you a happy birthday in person with the rest of your loved ones. A solemn understanding was made when he missed your two year anniversary to help with an aid mission. The mundane moments and memories you had hoped to create with Wolffe were nothing like the ones that your friends share of their partners' first year away from the GAR.

Not even realizing that you had slowed your actions, a gentle hand takes the shaker from yours and pours it into the glass in front of you. With a sigh, you face Kiva’s kind, understanding expression after he slides the drink over to a trooper with a yellow ribbon.

“Give him a call. Maybe you’d be surprised by the answer?” he softly encourages. Hope and mischief dance across his face while he grabs your hand to pull you away from the order line.

“Why would I do that when I already know the answer?” you tiredly push back. Fatigue and numbness wrap around your bones, and you can only stumble after Kiva out of the bar. “It’s not even my break yet for the second half. Not to sound too pessimistic, but I’d rather just work the doubles if I can’t spend the holidays with my partner”.

“Well,” Kiva exclaims, “Call me your candy cane cupid, because I have a surprise for you.” He winks and pulls you through the group of women with glittering dresses and warm sweaters.

Your heart hammers against your eardrums at Kiva’s words. “What do you mean?” you hastily ask. Kiva’s laughter mixes with the music while the two of you weave through the clusters of clones towards the CO table, a now long standing tradition at 79s even after the war. When you break through the last wall of party goers, the entire club blurs around you.

Kiva steps to your side, and the booth is empty with all but one person sitting behind the table with two glasses of Corellian whiskey. Ambient lighting dances across Wolffe’s tired expression, and you can just make out the small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. One that only makes a fleeting appearance when you’re nearby or mentioned in conversation.

“Happy Life Day,” Kiva expresses with a beaming smile, “Now go celebrate and enjoy the holiday festivities”.Before you can even thank him, Kiva shoots you a wink and disappears into the crowd once more. 

You watch in disbelief as that rare smile grows across Wolffe’s face while he moves out of the booth.Without a second thought, you stumble through the last few troopers wearing gray ribbons to throw yourself into Wolffe’s arms. “I thought you said you weren’t going to be home until after the holiday,” you choke out into his chest. Warm amber and musk mix to create Wolffe’s signature cologne, and you press yourself further into his embrace. His calloused hands roam across your back leaving sparks in their wake even when separated by your clothing.

“Your friend cupid has his ways,” Wolffe chuckles. His heart hammers as he reacquaints himself with your touch. How it feels to have his riduur in his arms once more. How the sound of your voice eases every worry from his mind. How being with you feels like home. Sliding his hands to your waist, he carefully pulls you from his body to fully be able to see you. Wolffe admires the small changes in your appearance as hues of blue, gold, and purple dance across your face. For just a moment, everything feels at peace. The anxiety of moving to another system in a few cycles disappears. None of the teasing remarks from his younger brothers get under his skin. Only you matter, and all the tension from his body dissipates. “Sorry, I got distracted. How are your eyes so pretty?” he murmurs almost to himself.

“Didn’t know you could be such a sap,” you sniffle with a light laugh. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Wolffe’s smile softens with remorse. “I know I haven’t been around as much as either of us had hoped. And I know I’ve let you down when I’ve missed important milestones for us this year. I wanted to make sure we could spend our first Life Day together,” he explains.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’ve done anything wrong,” you rush to assure him. Tears sting your lasline from the overwhelming storm of emotion raging inside you. When you move to wipe the stray tears escaping, Wolffe tenderly cups your cheek with his hand. His calloused fingertip carefully traces the planes of your face and wipes away the tear from your cheek.

“I don’t,” Wolffe reassures you. “I know that this isn’t what we had imagined for either of our lives after the war, and I don’t want us to drift apart because of that. I’m here because I need you to understand that nothing is going to stop me from coming home to you. Nothing was going to stop me from spending Life Day with you this year or any year in the future, alright?”

All the loneliness and yearning from the cycles spent alone crash down onto you. Tears freely fall down your cheeks as you tuck yourself into the crook of Wolffe’s neck. “I’ve missed you so much,” you admit. “I didn’t want to say anything, because I know how much Plo and the GAR means to you, but I’ve missed you so much.” Your voice breaks at the end of your confession, and you pull away from his body to wipe your tears from your face.

“I’ve missed you, cyar’ika. More than you could imagine,” Wolffe mumbles into the top of your head. His heart stings at your cries, and he wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. “I’m home now. It’s going to be okay, yeah? We’re going to figure this out”.

You let Wolffe guide you into the booth, and the two of you settle into the far corner. Draping your legs over his lap, you tuck yourself into his side and look at him in adoration. “We’re both a mess without each other, huh? Have absolutely no idea what to do without the other,” you tease. Wolffe chuckles and nods after taking a sip of his whisky. He ducks his head to press his lips to the shell of your ear and whispers: “Tell anyone and we may just have to leave early.” His warm breath tickles across your neck, and he squeezes your thigh as the rest of the Wolfpack join you with their partners.

For the first time during the holiday season, you’re able to sink into Wolffe’s arms and enjoy the company around you. Not a single member of the pack or their partners neglect to see how you’ve been. Plans begin to easily come into creation to squeeze in a few more holiday outings for you and Wolffe to join. A glimpse of the life that you hoped to create with Wolffe after the war finally playing out. Yet, it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t where you were currently at in life.

During a bout of laughter, you look over to Wolffe and find him already gazing at you with that all too familiar smile tugging at his lips. You cup his jaw and press a fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth. Pulling away, the two of you share a look of adoration before sharing a soft kiss in the privacy of your own world. The two of you fall into rhythm with each other as if no time had passed. Lost in the moment, it’s not until his brothers start to howl and their partners tell them to leave you and Wolffe alone that the two of you break from the kiss.

“Mind your damn business,” Wolffe barks back to his snickering brothers. “How many times did I turn a blind eye to when you brought back your cy’are to the barracks?” Instantly the snickers silence as the older brothers laugh at the young clones.

Rolling his eyes as the conversation redirects to tomorrow’s outing, Wolffe pulls you closer into his side. Pressing a tender kiss to your temple, he rests his forehead against yours. “Happy Life Day, riduur”.