a whole bunch of gazan mutual aid projects and nonprofits. if the decision of which individual fundraiser to give to feels too daunting, or if you just want to help as many people as possible in one go, these are great initiatives to support.
care for gaza - focuses on providing food and essential supplies. donate here or here.
connecting humanity - securing internet access via donations of virtual sim cards (esims). if you can't afford a whole plan yourself, crips for esims is a communal pool that will use your donation to purchase and maintain esims
gaza soup kitchen - provides food, medical care, and classes for children. also has a gofundme
glia gaza medical support initiative - provides medical care through field clinics and tents at hospitals. donations can also be sent through their website.
ele elna elak - provides clean water, food, clothing, and shelter. they also have a gofundme
life for gaza - raising money for the gaza municipality to repair water and waste management infrastructure
taawon - partners with local civil organizations to provide food, water, medical care, shelter, and basic supplies
the sameer project - running various initiatives providing tents, medical care, and necessities. they have their own encampment project focused on sheltering families with children, sick and disabled members, or members in need of perinatal care
islamic relief worldwide's gaza emergency appeal - provides food, water, hygiene kits, medical supplies, and psychological support
baitulmaal - provides a variety of necessities, including food, water, shelter, and medical supplies
gaza mutual aid fund - distributes food, hygiene products, water, and other essential supplies, including financial support. run by @/el-shab-hussein's amazing friend Mona. updates can be found on her instagram.
hygiene kits for gaza - provides hygiene supplies including menstrual products, wipes, and toothbrushes/toothpaste
anera - provides a variety of necessities, including food, water, hygiene supplies, medicine, blankets and mattresses, and psychological care
palestine children's relief fund - provides supplies and support with a focus on children. also has an initiative for lebanon
dahnoun mutual aid - provides water, food, tents, baby supplies, financial support, and other necessities. updates can be found through their instagram
certainly this is not an exhaustive list, so please feel free to add on other projects or organizations that i didn't include. and as always, please take the time to donate if you can and share. it truly makes all the difference.
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the usual suspects (hunter, tech, echo, wrecker, omega, & crosshair) ft. rex and cody!! tw//: mentions of alcohol consumption, being in a nightclub or bar setting (although im imagining my college towns all ages/family friendly dance hall tbh). I hope they're not too OOC, and I consulted my brother on some of the characterization. It's meant to be fun/silly, so don't get too mad okay.
I tried to include examples of people doing the dances, but I have realized that not everyone does them the same as we do in my state sooooo. Also, Spyoutube = Space Youtube.
Hunter: He is more likely to be sat at the bar keeping an eye out for his siblings than to be on the dance floor. Heâs watching the door, gaze drifting to different exits, past where each of his brothers is doing their own thing, and finally back to the younger female clone watching him expectantly. Eventually, heâll start to loosen up and may get out on the floor some, but he is content to sit on the sidelines and watch his family have fun. HOWEVER, Omega can get him on the floor for âCotton Eyed Joeâ. She insists that they need to do it as a family. Really, it ends up being him and his brothers walking, with Omega trying to get them to skip with her. Hunter and Echo both end up hunched over trying to keep their arms linked with hers, and at some point Crosshair and Tech have disappeared off the dancefloor, with Wrecker skipping two groups ahead of them, a girl flanking each of his arms. Hunter (while exhausted) is happy to spend any carefree/empire free moment with his family.Â
Tech: Knows every line dance. In true tech fashion, he had set out with the intention of expanding his knowledge on the various cultures of species from throughout the galaxy. And most human cultures have some variation of the steps for each song. It's fascinating really, because let's face it, getting dressed up and dancing in a group is no different from the peacocking of non-human species. Now is he good at executing them? Not without looking like a rusty droid. If anyone can make dancing look like a science experiment, it's tech. If I had to pick a line dance I think heâd like/be good at, it would be the âThe Biker Shuffleâ. It has the instructions in the lyrics, itâs repetitive so even if he's on his datapad, his body is on autopilot. All in all, itâs more an opportunity for him to study other people, people watching is fascinating in this setting. (sidenote: phee is making him two step with her, and he knows better than to argue)Â
Echo: Echo is an amazing dancer. period. Echo is the kind of person who when he does something, he gives it his all or doesn't do it at all. I like to think he likes a more challenging line dance. So if âFake IDâ or âChurch (rude dude)â comes on? move out of his way. Additionally, Echo would not shy away from a line dance contest and has won at least two. In fact, on one of those occasions, Echo had won almost $500 credits. It makes Echo proud, knowing that one of his favorite pastimes can provide for his family. How echo knows so many dances is a wonder (researching with tech obviously), and most canât help but look on in awe. The dance floor is one place where echo can let his guard down and feel free.Â
Wrecker: Wrecker loves line dancing. For echo, itâs about showing off and challenging himself to learn a newer, harder dance. Wrecker likes it because it impresses the ladies. You would think heâd have two left feet and no coordination, but itâs the one thing he can do somewhat effortlessly. Mind you wrecker does not put much thought into the steps to begin with, and it usually ends up with him kind of doing his own thing. Sure, heâll start off following the steps, but heâs gonna add his wrecker flair to it. For example, âMr.Weatherallâ. It's fun and the girls love when Wrecker joins them on the floor. Being a ladies man aside, Wrecker loves spending time with his family. He enjoys seeing Hunter relax, Echo let loose, and of course making Omega laugh the whole time with his antics.Â
Omega: Who do you think teaches them? I think she has (some) unmonitored access to the holonet and learned line dances on Spyoutube. She loves teaching lyana, and the two of them do shows to convince hunter to let them have a sleepover. Omega likes to put on the songs, especially while they're in hyperspace, if nothing to see her brothers laugh and goad each other into dancing. It's one of the few instances where she sees them really let loose. Omega loves all the dances, but her favorites are âChurch Clapâ and âFootlooseâ. Omega loves to jump around and feel free, and sheâs thankful that her brothers even take the time to take her.Â
Crosshair: Crosshair is not dancing. It takes a lot to convince him to go out in the first place, let alone get him on the dance floor. HOWEVER, I think homie can be convinced with a promise to leave him to his Pool tables, and a few drinks AFTER he dances. It also helps if omega uses her big brown eyes to convince him. Of course crossy the softy can't tell his litleBigsister no. If he is convinced to do ANY line dance in public, it's the âK-Wangâ. He doesn't have to move much. He will also (like his brothers) begrudgingly participate in âCotton Eyed Joeâ per Omegaâs request, but heâs ditching for the pool tables after their first turn around the dance floor.Â
Cody: Oh him and Echo together? Unstoppable. If this was taking place in the modern day setting, theyâre the two guys who get posted on the Bar/Dancehalls social media slaying a line dance. Solo though, Cody is killing âFuegoâ. I like to imagine the Clones would take to dancing like Footballers take to Ballet. Sure, it's odd within the context of what they do, BUT they say dancing improves agility, flexibility, coordination, balance, and even strength. At first, in true Cody fashion, heâs gonna be awkward. But I think once heâs comfortable, heâs bouncing between playing pool with Crosshair, and dancing with Echo.Â
Rex: âFlexâ is his song, trust. I think of all the line dances, this one is his favorite. I think itâs mostly due to the fact that its quite easy, and he doesnât have to do much. He seems the type to only dance if his brothers are joining him, otherwise heâs sitting and observing the whole time. Flex is one of the those dances they can all do, and do well together. I think he would rather stick to playing pool with Crosshair and Cody, but Echo will get him on the floor just this once. The less moves or tricks he has to do, the better.
thanks for taking the time to read!! I'm a new Star Wars fic blog, so any suggestions, shares, or requests would be appreciated!! Lmk if you want a more in-depth fic for each of them, or even a two-step version (aka more tech/phee time :3). See y'all later!! - roach
I know this request might be triggering, so feel free to ignore it!
TW: kidnapping, torture, injury, blood
Is it possible to request a hurt/comfort platonic fic with the bad batch and reader? The reader is normal citizen and close to the bad batch, so a sadistic enemy of theirs decides to kidnap her as an act of revenge. It takes them several days to find the readerâs location, but once they do the batch immediately comes to rescue. By the time they get there, the reader has been beaten/tortured pretty badly and has already made an attempt to escape herself and was caught by the enemy. The walk in on the reader finally snapping after everything she has endured and stabbing her kidnapper . . . But sheâs still stabbing and screaming even when the enemy has stopped moving. Sheâs so out of it that she doesnât even recognize the batch. They need to help her come back to her senses and make her realize sheâs safe now. This can either be pre-O66, post-O66, or some other magical alternative universe where all the brothers are together and raising Omega together on Pabu.
As triggering as this may be, I ainât âgon lie and say that this is my absolute favorite trope. Bless your heart like seriously thank you for giving me a free pass to write this. Fair warning: Itâs pretty br00tal. Like, I took it pretty far lol but not like with SA or r*pe or anything hell nah. Just brutal torture and self-mutilation⌠PLEASE ENJOYYYYYY!!! Also, HAPPY BAD BATCH FINALE!!!Â
Better is the End than the Beginning
Pairing: TBB x F!Reader(platonic)
Warnings: angst, whump, hurt-comfort, abduction, torture, injury, blood, harsh language, loss of a limb(self-amputation), death, gore, killing in self-defense, graphic depictions of violence.
Summary: Youâre a new part of the Batchâs crew, plucked from the impoverished streets of Coruscant where they crossed paths with you amidst one of their less-than-explosive domestic missions when you were caught by Tech who spotted you trying to steal their speeder. With nowhere to go and no one to turn to, they take you in as a prohibited piece of contraband due to the rule that civilians are not allowed into their militaristic environment without proper authorization. All hell breaks loose when they return to their barracks on Kamino expecting to see you, but all theyâre greeted with is an empty room and a folded note written in blood.
đ¨THIS FIC DOES NOT CONTAIN SPOILERSđ¨
 Read on ao3 - 8k words
Writing Masterlist  -   My kofiâ¨
[You took something valuable of mine, now Iâve taken something of yours. Itâs only fair that I destroy it, but not until Iâve had my fun first.]
âHow could this have happened? Who would take her? Where would they go?â Wrecker is in hysterics, pacing the floor of the barracks, clenching his fists on both sides of his head, a look of worry and desperation painted on his face at the sight of your blood soaking the flimsiplast.
âPanicking isnât going to help, Wrecker.â Echo tells him, walking towards his brother and pulling his hands back down to his sides. He can sympathize with his worry, wondering if anyone suffered even a fraction of this emotional turmoil when he was taken from his brothers. âJust stop and breathe, okay?â
Echo and Wrecker sit together on the cluttered benches in the center of the room. Crosshair is bouncing his knee compulsively and grinding his teeth against a toothpick in his mouth from where he rests on his bunk, racking his brain along with Hunter and Tech who are leaning against the wall, deep in thought for how and who to pursue.
âDo you remember the spice mine we collapsed last month on Kessel?â Tech chimes into the conversation, looking at Hunter as he perks up from the wall.Â
âI was just thinking the same thing.â Hunter confirms his mental math is going in the right direction when he reaches the same conclusion as Tech.
âWhat about it?â Wrecker asks, not making the connection just yet.
âDoes anything about that Zygerrian creep show who was running the place ring a bell?â Hunter adds to the conversation and a mention such as that puts a sour taste in their collective mouths.Â
âWhat was that guyâs name? Slec something?â Crosshair finally speaks after a long stint in concentrating silence.
âSlec Sirrot.â Tech is quick with his data pad and pulls up the criminal records of this likely suspect. âHe has charges illustrating crimes ranging anywhere from slavery, trafficking of persons and drugs to conspiracies of terrorism and mass pillaging of planets not under the jurisdiction of the Republic.â
âWell, that narrows things down.â Hunter confirms. âThe Zygerrians openly revived their slave trade when they allied with the Separatists, so we at least know of a place to start.â
âHunter⌠Do you think sheâs okay?â Wrecker asks, and his words describe what everyone is thinking. Judging by the excess of blood not only on the note but collected on the floor from where it was dripping down the wall it was fastened to, it required a significant amount to write it. Everyoneâs concern for you reaches a sense of urgency fueled by righteous need for your rescue.
âWe ought to hurry and make sure she is.â Hunter nods at Wrecker, glancing at the rest of his squad to communicate a sense of uniting motive before folding the note and sliding it just beneath his chest plate and over his heart as he leads everyone to The Marauder.Â
Your captor is someone that the group had been commissioned to uncover an illegal mining operation utilizing slave labor. Itâs one thing for soldiers of the Republic to clear hotspots of corruption and human exploitation. Itâs a different beast altogether for them to go the extra mile and detonate the entire vein, rendering the resources inaccessible, even with ethical means. Unbeknownst to them, they had no idea this fateful decision would come back to haunt them.
As an act of vengeance, it would be too impossible of a task to try and topple the coordinators that delivered the order. Persons of power are guarded by security and many different measures of surveillance. A sinister loophole opens up at the realization that the clones are the security and meant to be their own safeguards.
â â âÂ
With ringing ears and a pounding headache, you awake to pitch black surroundings, a capsule no more than an armâs length in all directions. Itâs disgustingly humid. Your eyes and nose ignite with the stink of filth hanging in the air, or maybe itâs death, you canât tell. You just know itâs sickeningly putrid and strong. You try to breathe through your mouth, but it burns your throat even worse, suffocating you in this foreign stench you cannot escape from.Â
Youâre coughing repeatedly, every breath you take in is caught on its way to your lungs and you can never fully expand your chest, fearing for your life in drowning without a drop of water in sight.Â
The sound of doors opening and slamming in the distance gain your attention. In an attempt to filter the air, you lift your shirt to your nose and mouth and begin taking in shallow breaths. Between the opening and closing of the doors, you can make out the familiar sloshing sound being strewn within the enclosures, followed by a violent scream promptly interrupted by the doorâs closing. The thunderous vibrations are getting closer and closer. Door slams. Water sloshes. Screams resound. Repeat.
Youâre blinded by the sudden white light flooding your space no larger than a broom closet. The floor is bare and swept clean, one small fortune as you realize that the stench is coming from the other captives on either side of you and you have no evidence of this stall having been soiled recently.Â
A recognizable robotic silhouette adjusts his posture at the retrieval of a freezing bucket of ice water. Thatâs it, you remember seeing this same model droid come into the barracks you were staying in on Kamino when it harshly struck you. Unfamiliar with the personnel of the cloning facility, you had no reason to believe it was a threat until it was too late. The absence of awareness teleports you to where you are now, trapped and forsaken. The ringing in your ears and crusted blood in your hair unveil more than you thought at first.
 Before you can prepare for the impact, youâre drenched and screaming, joining the chorus of cries that surround you. The sudden cold intake is perceived as a threat by your body and begins redirecting warm blood from your extremities to your vital organs, causing them to become dysregulated in temperature. Now, you know exactly why everyone else is joining in the cacophony. Another small fortune is granted upon you when your vision fades to black, soon forgetting why your throat was hurting in the first place. This horrendous cycle continues only to be repeated every time you pass out, being woken up with bucket after bucket of unforgiving ice water.
You donât know how long you were kept in the enclosure. It could have been a few hours, or a few days. Time is an illusion in this manufactured hell, this mill of misery. The door to your cell swiftly slides open and you flinch, expecting another wave of water but instead, the droidâs clamp-style clutches take you by the wrist and pulls you to your feet. The baking sun makes the sand beneath your feet burn hot against your bare skin, increasing the pace in which you walk so as not to suffer a sear with every step. You have been stripped of every aspect of your identity, noticing the same tattered smock-like uniform youâre wearing along with many other unfortunate souls pinned beneath the Zygerrians oppressive thumb. Theyâre walking in single file lines, some carrying stones and boulders that look like they could weigh three times their scrawny weight, getting whipped and beaten by other droids to move faster.Â
For a moment, you contemplate the thought of overpowering one of these nameless, emotionless service droids turned drones of destruction and control. The thought lingers far too long, and youâre shoved to the ground by an electrified baton colliding with your back followed by an aggressive string of binary you canât understand. Your knees scrape against the rough and rocky ground, and it makes rising to your feet increasingly difficult. Another baton strike falls upon your back, effectively shoving all thoughts of rebellion from your mind when you crumble further. You finally rise, shakily regaining your balance and brushing off the fine dust caked to your bloodied knees before walking forward.
Youâre ordered to keep walking until you feel a metal clamp tug on your smock, halting you where you stand. Not wanting to suffer another high voltage beating, you follow its lead and obey its request for you to stop. It slaps a monitor cuff on your left wrist, fastens and activates it. An electrical whirring can be heard linking with the droid and you are shoved into a massive boulder yard where the population of other prisoners have been rounded up and put to work. All the faceless screams now have an identity, gaunt and emaciated complexions gazing at you in pity, knowing full well that youâre the new arrival.Â
You get right to work, wrapping your blistered fingers around a large rock amidst a pile of others. Nudging it back and forth, you manage to influence it to roll in your direction. Although, itâs far heavier than you expected and it immediately crashes to the ground, clipping a nearby prisonerâs foot. They let out a loud yelp and youâre conflicted in being the cause of more unnecessary torment for these people to go through.
âOh my! Iâm so sorry! Are you okay?â Before you could help them up, they angrily stand tall, landing a firm punch across your jaw and limping away. The impact sends you to the ground and the droid thatâs taken you under its charge emits a series of chirps that you could only describe as its binary-style chittering laughter.
The levels of depravity theyâve been through make them not only avoid newcomers but despise them. Any amount of sympathy for each otherâs suffering is swiftly beaten out of them. By the looks of this rubble, it would take far longer for everyone to tend to clear the veinâs entrance individually as opposed to if everyone worked together. Perhaps a formula such as this is perfectly crafted to ensure maximum anguish for the prisoners while also turning them against each other. You learn quickly to keep your head down and mind your own pursuits, desensitizing yourself to the trials and tribulations of others, forcing you to learn how to be cold and indifferent in order to survive.
From well before the time the sun rises until well after it goes down, youâre trapped in this field of rubble clearing stone after stone, boulder after boulder without so much as a water break. People drop like flies from exhaustion and are beaten back into consciousness just to squeeze as much energy out of them before theyâre completely spent, unable to even lift their arms in self-defense. At which point, theyâre dragged to their cells to âsleep it offâ only to wake up to the same itinerary the next day. The ones that fall before the sun do not return to their cells with a meal at the end of the day, having not earned it. These people in particular have a tendency of passing in the night, but the chances of being just another corpse in a closet drops when youâre ushered into the line where meals are being served.
A few heads down from getting your bowl filled, you notice a stringy, foaming substance being ladled into everyoneâs trays. It smells no better than the cells youâre kept in and looks even worse. Your turn arrives and you hold your tray up just the same as the last person did, but the uncalibrated droid misses the bowl and spills mystery slop all over your tray and hardly gets any into the bowl. The only thing relatively edible was a piece of bread that was as stale as a brick, but when you softened it in the cup of water, it wasnât that bad.
The mystery soup on the other hand, you dared not to touch it in fear of soiling your cell were it to not agree with your gut. You could detect rotten vegetables floating in it, moldy parts still fuzzy even when drenched in whatever they tried to pass as âbrothâ.
Many days like this passed and after a while, you spent every modicum of your mental energy trying to manifest an avalanche that would kill you instantly, but it never came. Death is far more preferable to this. If you wander outside the established perimeter of the rubble field, the cuff around your arm shocks you violently. Itâs not happened to you yet, but youâve witnessed the abrupt seizing of your fellow captives when they wander a little too far out of bounds. The thrashing is enough to bring a person to deathâs door, so youâre careful to navigate the safe zones as best as you can.
Though, itâs as if something shifted within you. Youâve lost all hope for rescue, and you would rather die trying to escape than submit for the rest of your life, what little may be left of it. An opportunity reveals itself when you notice a window of vacancy in the droid security rounds. This window puts you directly in the path of the landing bay where various ships are stationed. There is bound to be one that you can take control of and flee with. The only issue is the cuff around your left wrist.Â
A couple more days pass and you mentally record the cycle of droid rotations, timing the opening perfectly to ensure you have enough of a window to work with. You sneak to a blind spot in the rubble yard where you rip a portion of your smock off and wrap it around your arm just above the elbow. A steel rod from the remains of the scaffolding is on the ground at your feet and you use it to tighten the scrap of your cloth, effectively making yourself a tourniquet. âThereâs no other way⌠This is how.â You begin muttering repeatedly, psyching yourself up to do the unthinkable.Â
Itâs a few minutes from the moment that your escape window begins. A surge of adrenaline courses through your veins, starting with a roaring wave pulsing from your stomach. âThereâs no other way.â
You tighten the tourniquet and wait until your limb begins to tingle and go numb. Looking around to ensure no one is watching, you lie with your back flat on the ground next to a rather large boulder. Itâs resting perfectly on top of a few smaller rocks that can easily be shifted under its weight, knocking the boulder off its kilter. âThis is how it has to be.â
You use another longer, thicker piece of scaffolding to smack the little rock. It doesnât take the first few smacks and you get frustrated, having worked yourself up to this only for fate to stall your pain. But just as you begin to have second thoughts about what youâre doing, the rock dislodges the boulder, and its full force comes crashing down on your arm. The steel cuff cuts and stabs into your flesh but is no match for the boulderâs force. The shock of your arm being caught in this lethal vice causes you to panic a bit when you only have so long to free yourself.
Biting your lip with tears in your eyes, you steady your breathing to avoid crying out in agony as much as possible. The bones in your forearm snap like twigs and your flesh rips apart at the elbow the harder you twist and turn your limb in order to pinch it off and set yourself free.Â
You gasp, gulping for breaths at the realization you did it. Your jaw trembles with the horrifying distress youâve just put yourself in. Blood is rapidly pouring from the place where your hand used to be, soaking you in its iron-scented warmth. âOhh.. Oh no... Oh-okay⌠Ohhh fuck ...âÂ
There is a small power cell emitting a faint source of light. With dusk on the rise, you remove the protective cover keeping the heat core contained. Raw power is exposed to the elements now and you feel the warmth radiating heavily from the cell. Looking at your severed limb, you do the only logical action to stop the bleeding, cauterizing it with the power cell.
The crisp burn of the artificial yet extremely potent source of light cooks your flesh in an instant and youâre shameful to admit that your stomach gurgles in appetite at the scent of your singed meat.
The time has come for your window of opportunity to be acted upon. The guards are being cycled from their towers and you make a run for the landing bay, having reached far past the bounds that the bracer limited you to.Â
You begin to shed tears of happiness as you reach the home stretch. Your feet come in contact with the feeling of stable steel platforms as opposed to uneven sandy and rocky terrain. You make it to the first ship within sight, climb aboard and execute take off sequences. The engines prime in a timely manner and youâre in the atmosphere within seconds. âYes!â
Though, before you could celebrate your liberation, the proximity sensors pick up a couple of shuttles tailing behind you, ready to inflict their own countermeasures. âNo! No no no !â
Shields have been disabled on this shuttle you tried to make off with, bringing you to believe that this was done intentionally for anyone who had the gall to go to lengths such as yours. Your engines are taken out with a couple precise shots, and you brace for impact after falling from the sky.
Smoke fills the hull, and you stumble out of the wreckage, blood and sweat seeping into your right eye as you try to see where and in what direction you landed so that you have a general idea of where to run. Clutching your severed arm, you shuffle as fast as you can to nowhere in particular. Kessel is a vast wasteland of nothing, and the patrol droids catch up to you rather quickly. However, you happen to look upon the first sight of a person of power that wasnât a bucket of bolts. He is a tall and slender Zygerrian, dressed in a long duster coat with a gas mask concealing his mouth and snout. He bears a scar across his forehead that looks to be a part of a larger wound leading to a chunk missing from his right ear. His apparel beneath the coat is simple yet elegant, pretentious as he still clings to the damaged relics that hold mere vestiges of what his power used to represent.Â
Amidst your shuffles, a stun bolt is shot from the Zygerrianâs blaster, and you fall limply to the ground. The sight of freedom fades out as your eyelids threaten to close. A voice cuts through your psyche as you struggle to deny the empty blackness.Â
âThey fall for it every time, donât they?â He remarks about you to one of his accompanying droids. âTake this one to my personal quarters. Iâll deal with her later.â
The droid steps towards you, roughly yanking you up from where you lie on the ground and the Zygerrian stops it for a moment. âWait!â
He examines your missing arm and the tourniquet that is still fastened there. âNow, you didnât do a little stunt like this just to get out of working, did you?â He grabs you by the chin but youâre nowhere near as aware of your surroundings as you should be, unable to resist or even feel the bruising hold he has on you, squeezing your face until your features are warped and contorted.Â
âYouâve got guts, kid. Iâll give you that.â Shoving your face to the side like a piece of refuse, he waves to the droid to carry out his initial order. âIâm going to enjoy playing with this one.â
Here you are, back where you started. You tried your best to eliminate the pain, but only inflicted more upon yourself. Would it have been so bad to keep moving rocks for the rest of your sorry life? You wouldnât know as you lay dying in the droidâs firm and inanimate arms. Your wounded soul yearns for the grave, a level of deliverance that would appear to be too much to ask for.
Just like he would have the droids wake you and the other prisoners up, he treats you in the same fashion, drenching you in freezing ice water and circling you as you thrash and gasp for breath while secured to a stable stretcher that has you strapped in upright. The bucked he used clatters to the ground, and he walks around it. You have sores from where the restraints have been digging into your skin, and the room is illuminated by a very low cast and faint glow from a power cell. A power cell that is missing its protective cover and your stomach plummets.
âWell, well. Look whoâs tough.â He glances between the power cell, the table of frightening utensils and your petrified face. âYou owe me a new power cell, you know. This ainât ever gonna work right again.â
âWho are you?â You manage to speak, a civil exchange of words for the first time with someone who is definitely not civilized.
âIâm someone your little clone friends shouldnât have messed with.â He leans in close, his whiskers nearly brushing your face. âBut you can call me Slec Sirrot, and I think youâre going to like it here.â
âWhat do I have to do with any of that? I only met them a week ago!â Youâre frustrated with the path of logic this Slec has taken to reach his conclusion, wondering why heâs wasting his time with the likes of you.
âPeople like them canât stand when innocents are in danger. So, what better way to lure them to me than with a little bait .â
âItâs not going to workâŚâ
âOh really? And why not?â Slec questions your judgment, wondering what flaws in his plans you see but he doesnât.
âThey wouldnât waste resources on me. Itâs not in their training.â You mutter, defeatedly.
âWell, keeping pets isnât protocol either, and they deviated from that now, didnât they?â Slecâs eyes move between yours and the lazily bandaged stump where your hand used to be. He steps into your space, inches from where youâre secured to the stretcher and flexes his hand to expose his claws. Their razor sharpness is lightly dragged from your forehead to your jugular. Slec pauses tracing your anatomy to watch you whimper and flinch, knowing one wrong move and he could fatally slice you open. âWhen my pets run away, I have no choice but to discipline them.â
You scream at the top of your lungs as he chooses to dig every one of his claws into the blood-soaked gauze secured to your stump thatâs doing a sorry job of keeping your blood contained. With every scratch and laceration, heâs exposing your raw burns and inflamed muscle fibers. Your voice fades to nothing as you lose the ability to enunciate your agony and it is only then that Slec releases his hold on your arm. âYouâll thank me for this. A struggle of this degree unveils the strength you had inside all along.â
You cry, taking in hissed breaths when you are offered a reprieve from his animalistic torture. Contrary to what youâve been conditioned to believe at this point, the torture hadnât even begun when you were working the boulder field. Apparently, you let out one too many whimpers and you were met with a backhanded slap across your face. âThatâs enough.â
You couldnât believe the power he holds over you. You no longer felt the urge to sob, but the apathy transitioned to rage. He takes your silence as submission, but youâre only waiting for the perfect time to try and kill him yourself. If heâs not commanding the operation, everyone else is free. Youâre willing to risk everything even if it seals your fate in the process.Â
âI think the least I could do is properly bandage this, hm? Maybe sew it up a bit better than it was done before? Can never trust droids to do anything rightâŚâ Slec walks to the little table of utensils and rolls it over beside you. Upon getting a closer look at it, you see that there is far moore than the average tools of torture atop it. In addition to the morbid arrangement, there are sterile syringes with vials of stimulants as well as numbing agents and pain relievers. However, Slec completely ignores the option to apply anesthetic and begins manually sewing your leaky limb closed. Your stoic front fades fast when the sting shoots waves of excruciating pain through your body. Your convulsions test the slack of the restraints, revealing that this stretcher is not as secure as Slec would like. He punches you in the nose, causing a stream of blood to emit from it and flood your teeth with its crimson drippage. Your mouth is painted red as you spit the excess out and adjacent to Slec. âStop. Moving. Urgh! I canât do this if youâre freaking out like that!â
Slec continues to sew you up without any form of numbing or anesthetics and you nearly bite your tongue off trying to maintain your composure to no avail, suffering yet another blow to your face.Â
âYou know, youâre the one whoâs asking for this. I made my conditions clear and you keep disobeying me.â He scolds you bitterly. He pushes your lips out, forcing them to work as a spout for your blood to pour from. You shake your head free of his grasp and he doesnât like the defiance in you, hoping to snuff it out with another collision of his fist with your battered face. One of your eyes is nearly swollen shut and you can barely see out of the other, only able to make out fuzzy silhouettes. âNow stay still.âÂ
He leans in one last time, not knowing that this would be his fatal mistake. His neck is tilted in your direction and youâre staring at it, a familiar surge of adrenaline possessing you just the same as when you made the decision to put that tourniquet around your bicep. His pulse is running strong and prominently through that main carotid artery and you disassociate, unaware of the next few moments, where you went or what you did. Instead, your psyche saves you the suffering and displaces you from the present, allowing you to run completely on primal instinct; the instinct to survive.
It looks like a dream. A nightmare. Youâre beside yourself, performing acts you never would have assumed that you had the strength to do. In a way, Slec was right. He made you stronger than anything possible, but at such a grave cost to your humanity.
When Slec leaned in to administer his cruelly prolonged surgery, you pushed the slack you gained in the stretcher to its absolute limits, lunging forward and latching onto his neck with your teeth. You donât let go, no matter how many times he impulsively stabs you with the little needle he was using in a primitive attempt at first aid when things such as bacta patches have long been invented.Â
In a favorable twist of fate, you sink your bite down deep enough into him that your teeth touch themselves and he rips away from you. You hyperventilate as the nauseating flavor of iron and salt overwhelms your senses. His fur-coated flesh rests in your mouth and puts a foul flavor on your tongue. You repulsively spit out the chunk of neck muscle and begin to vomit what little contents you had in your stomach all over his boots.Â
He staggers away from you, a palm to his neck in an effort to stop the bleeding, but he falls to his knees and gurgles through the stages of blood loss, choking on every pint as it gushes out of him in synchrony with his heartbeat. The immediate horror subsides, and you work quickly to unfasten the restraints keeping you pinned to the stretcher, carefully operating with your only hand and unlatching them one by one until you collapse to your knees. Your pants are soaked with Slecâs blood upon impact with the floor and you hug your freshly amputated arm close to your chest. Slecâs face has grown pallid, frozen with a ghastly expression, but heâs not dead just yet.
He canât enunciate a single word through the gurgling, but he does manage to look you dead in the eyes as his chest heaves, fighting with his involuntary agonal breaths to release sputtering bouts of laughter at your brave display of resistance. While smiling through his fading consciousness, he watches you pull the tiny needle he left out of your chest. Groaning as you remove it, you flick it in his direction and he scoffs at you, spitting up more foamy blood. Your eyes scan over the utensils atop the table that he only sparsely got to play with before you chewed out his throat.
Among the many tools and utensils were the classic pliers, scalpels, various knives of different sharpness grades and textures, but your sights have been set on a hand-held brick hammer, no doubt taken from a minerâs utility belt to be kept with this nefarious collection. You donât recognize the person youâve become, the person heâs turned you into. He still lies there, laughing at the impending brutality youâre sure to inflict upon him, as if pleased with himself in accomplishing the mission to inherently alter your nature to be that much closer to his.Â
In this moment, you might as well be no different, no better than him. Except, you could care less when you feel just how satisfying it is to drive the sharpened steel of the hammer into his skull. You underestimate the fortitude of his feline cranium as it bounces back with a turbulent vibration. The sudden instability threatens your muscles with increased fatigue, and you nearly drop the weapon, shaking out the discomfort before rearing your arm back and delivering another blow. This time, you feel no resistance as you successfully shatter his cranium. Brain matter splatters across the wall, warm mist coats your face as his blood mixes with yours and itâs not enough.Â
You keep hitting him until his face is beyond deformed and pulverized. Clumps of fur are clotted about the space as the puddle drenching your pants from the knees down grows significantly in size. You begin to deliver blows to other parts of his corpse, shattering his collar bones, a few ribs and crushing both hands. The continuous strain youâre putting your singular arm through nearly cripples you with drudgery, but something overrides the want to put the hammer down and stop. Maybe it was all those times you were woken up with freezing water and forced to report for hard labor in the mines, or maybe you had one too many bowls of rotten vegetable soup. Maybe it was the stun batons.
Having disassociated through the whole ordeal, you had no idea that your cries of rage and fury could be heard through the whole lair, allowing you to be located by your trusted clone associates. You couldnât hear yourself, youâve lost complete awareness of your surroundings, and thatâs probably for the best. Your screams were guttural and hoarse, an audible representation of the chaos youâve lived through.
You have climbed atop Slecâs battered body, straddling and continuously beating him until the hammer collides with the hard floor due to the lack of flesh having enough structure to take each blow. Your vision is stained in crimson. The metallic scent is too much to bear, and yet, not even a shred of your own humanity brings you to deviate from your morbid task at hand.
Itâs only when a muffled series of voices brings you back to reality, followed by an abrupt shift in your posture off its center caused by an outside force. Someone has wrapped their arms around you roughly, slightly brushing against your bloodied stump and the electrifying currents of discomfort force you to try and dish out the same anger on this new and unknown foe.
They resist every attempt and disarm you even faster. One arm blocks you from attacking them with the hammer and the other is careful to restrain your severed limb without hurting it. Then the voices become clear, and you identify the first one you recognize. Through all the gore and viscera, a pair of brown eyes peering through yellow lenses cuts through your demented episode. âLook at me! Heâs gone! Heâs long gone!â
Despite the very clear image in front of you, it takes a few seconds more for this reality to actually register, and your volatile reaction is to be expected, lashing out with a single clenched fist and continuing to scream until it feels as though youâve swallowed shards of glass. âNo! Get the fuck off me! NO!â
âWeâre here!â He yells, jostling you from the hold of this demonic possession and finally helps you establish the truth.Â
âWeâre here.â He repeats himself, telling you the words a second time with a more tranquilizing inflection. One of his gloved hands raises and he caresses your face, using his thumb to gently swipe over your eyes to soak up a bit of the scarlet mess dripping from your features, making sure not to hurt the swelling shiner. âWe are here, and he is gone.â
The surrounding silhouettes in the dark are hard to see with your vision obstructed, and you shrink into yourself at the sight of the tall figures encircling you.Â
âGive her space.â He warns and the shadows back up obediently. âSheâs not⌠well.â
âTech?â You ask with a voice no louder than a whisper.Â
âYes. Thatâs right!â He brightly encourages you. âDo you recognize anyone else?â
The shadows step forward and the scary silhouettes turn into the very clones that rescued you from a life of turmoil on Cosuscant. âThatâs Echo⌠Crosshair... uhm... Wrecker and Hunter.â
âVery good. Youâre doing a great job.â Tech continues to pet you, aiding further in grounding you to your surroundings. âDo you know where you are right now?â
âIâm inâŚâ You canât continue after those words, trying once more with no better result. âIâmâŚâ
To no avail, you are unable to bring yourself to even say it despite knowing the answer, every last shred of your strength falls apart when you glance between Techâs eyes and the burning nub where your arm used to be. You are a product of Slecâs institution, and you never thought the guilt and shame would riddle you in this way. Before being brought here, you always believed you were an individual of decency, but your reflection has faded away into a soul you no longer are familiar with. Time has a way of changing things and hardening even the kindest of souls. Every bridge burned here has led you directly back home where traversing the path to your healing, physical and mental, begins with acceptance that you are not alone. You never were.
âItâs okay. You donât have to say it.â Echo steps in, rests a hand on your shoulder while Tech tries his best to keep you whole.Â
âWe need to get her out of here.â Echo adds, taken aback by just how much blood is flooding this little interrogation room you were kept in.
âCan you stand?â Hunter asks, chastising himself for putting a burden like that on you in your state, but Wrecker chimes in at the perfect moment.
âDoesnât matter.â Wrecker pushes himself into the forefront, proudly volunteering to offer you his assistance. âLet me carry her.â
Tech acts quickly and pulls a canister of bacta spray from his pack along with a sterile med-patch. âWe need to get this missing limb under control first.â
âDonât!â When Tech leans in to administer proper first aid, you instinctively push away from him, your mind being thrown right back into when Slec was primitively sewing up your frayed flesh; exposed nerve endings and shards of bone cutting deep into your senses. âPlease just⌠Donât touch me.â
âWhat did he do to her?â Crosshair wonders aloud, but only the brothers can hear. Heâs broken by the sight of someoneâs bright light being all but snuffed out. He now knows this much blood is legitimately warranted after what you went through.
Echo takes a knee, hoping to reason with you in the necessity that in order to save and protect you, you have to let them get close. âYou know we arenât going to hurt you with that stuff, right?â
You refuse to speak, not knowing what the correct answer to that question is. âThat looks like it really hurts.â
âIt doesâŚâ You sniffle, stifling another cry.
âDid he do that?â
You shake your head, closing your eyes and letting the tears fall down your cheeks, causing interrupting streaks in the blood splatter.Â
âDid⌠Did you do that?â
A single nod confirms the worst to be true. The group in entirety ponders on just how far you were pushed in order to commit to something so gruesome upon yourself. Echo sighs deeply, taking the medical supplies from Techâs grasp. âI know you probably donât think it right now, but youâre so incredibly strong. As a matter of fact, Iâll tell you exactly how strong you are.â
Echo removes the seal on the canister of analgesic spray, shaking it to create a foamy chemical reaction within the confines of the steel aerosol can. You flinch at the sudden movement, and he reads your body language and slows his actions. âPeople can do miraculous things under extreme pressure, so that basically makes you a superhero, right?â
Echo doesnât reach for your arm. He doesnât even let himself into your space without your approval. Instead, he keeps the canister of analgesic in one hand and gestures with his scomp hand for you to close the distance. This kinship in missing your limbs together makes it easier to receive medical care, and your tears are no longer sorrowful, but slowly transitioning to some semblance of acceptance. You grimace, giving him your arm so that he can saturate it in a fine, soothing mist. The pain relief is instantaneous, and you feel like you can finally breathe. Echo smiles when he sees that the medicine is fast acting and already easing your afflictions. âAnd superheroes can do anything. They defy all odds. Just like you did.â
Echo and Tech conclude the procedure by working together to apply the patch, securing it to your arm with a few layers of sterile gauze until you canât feel a thing but the pillowy buffer. âDoing an amputation like this by oneself would be taxing even to the bravest of soldiers. And Iâd say you went above and beyond the lengths a common clone or even the Jedi generals have been pushed to.â
âHas a Jedi ever killed a man with their teeth?â You ask, wanting to know the moral stance on that from his point of view. Though, heâs stumped and struggles to answer.Â
âErm⌠Well, they have many methods of execution so would venture to sayâŚâ Tech begins, making eye contact with Echo who is shaking his head so as to nonverbally communicate to him that he needs to stow the facts and say whatever he can to not make you question your actions. âThereâs definitely a chance itâs been done before. You saw no other way.â
His words of endearment spell your suffering out in a different perspective. Your will to live was so much stronger than your will to die. So much so that you would have found peace in your demise if it were in the pursuit of freedom. âWait! What about everyo-
âThe prisoners have already been released.â Crosshair cuts you off, answering the question you were about to ask. He commends you for thinking proactively as it proves that you have retained your humanity. Slec didnât take that away from you as much as his laughter made you believe he did. âYou know, it says a lot to be in your state while still worrying about them.â
âCan you believe the entire op was run by droids? One EMP ânade and there was no one left to enforce!â Wrecker lets out a boisterous laugh and you feel yourself smile, a foreign feeling you never thought youâd get to experience again that actually strains the muscles in your face and jaw.
âWhen we couldnât find anyone who looked like they were coordinating the facility, we knew we had to locate his personal quarters.â Tech adds, shaken with the reminder of the sight he saw upon entry when he pulled you off Slecâs corpse. âIt is rather fortunate that we found you when we did.â
Hunter removes his bandana and unfurls the fabric so that it can be widened to fashion as a sling. Tech assists him in placing it on you, holding your stringy and saturated hair up so that Hunter can tie a knot at the base of your neck. Tech lets your hair fall back down about your shoulders and stretches the banana to its limits so that you can put your arm through it without too much pain or difficulty. âThere. Howâs that?â
âMuch better.â You confirm, grateful for everyoneâs thoughtful kindness. âThanks for everything, you guys.â
âNow can I carry her?â Wrecker begs, eagerly wanting to join in to help comfort you.
âSheâs all yours, big guy.â Hunter says, shuffling with the other boys to step aside so that Wrecker has enough room to lift you into his arms.Â
âAlright, sweetheart.â His large grip wraps around your torso, and he pulls you into his sturdy frame, cradling you tenderly so that your head rests perfectly on his chest. âWeâll be out of here soon.â
Tech was the one who brought you to your senses and snapped you out of your murderous frenzy. Crosshair assured you that all threats have been neutralized and that the prisoners have been freed. Echo administered first aid and spelled out your own perseverance in a powerful way that he holds in high regard. Wrecker is quite literally shouldering your burdens by not letting you pull your own weight while also giving you a safe place to lay your head, and Hunter showed you that you are worthy of sacrifice when he led his brothers here to save you in the first place.
â â âÂ
You donât remember leaving the facility. You donât even remember getting back to Kamino. From the moment your head touched Wreckerâs chest plate, it would seem that your body recognized that it was finally in good hands and allowed you to catch up on all the rest you were deprived of during your stint in that hellhole. The entire way back, Tech and Echo take turns monitoring your vitals to ensure youâre remaining stable. Once theyâve returned, you are immediately admitted to the med bay for surgery where they do what they can to salvage whatâs left of your arm. A medically induced coma keeps you in stasis within a restoration tank and all the surface wounds heal perfectly. All those stab markings Slec made with the needle, the lash marks and contusions from his fists against your face or when the droids would beat you with their batons, scraped knees and ulcers around your mouth from malnutrition have all disappeared. The journey of healing the wounds to your soul has only just begun.
The boys receive a comm transmission from AZI notifying them of your recovery. Youâve not woken up yet, so he suggests that they hurry in order to greet you.
âCome on, Tech! Hurry! She could wake up any second!â Wrecker is anxious to sprint down the boarding steps in a hurried pursuit to the med bay.
âYelling at me isnât going to help us land any faster, Wrecker.â Tech rolls his eyes, concluding his procedures and powering down the ship.Â
âDo you think sheâll remember us?â Wrecker asks, concerned with the state of disarray you were in the last time he saw you.
âOnly time will tell.â Tech responds, contemplating it himself. âSheâs endured an awful lot.â
âShe wasnât hooked up to a mind flayer or anything, was she?â Wrecker argues, privy to the brainwashing tactics of the Separatists.
âShe didnât have to be.â Crosshair joins in the conversation. âHe starved her. Brutalized her. Stripped her of her autonomy.â
âWe need to be mindful of how we approach.â Hunter orders his brothers. âShe could still be in shock. Especially if she sees⌠her missing hand.â
âAbout that.â Echo inputs proudly. âI had Rex put in a good word to General Skywalker and got this made for her.â
Echo unveils a mechanical prosthetic limb made of bright and shiny chromium components. Itâs modeled after an actual hand and not a scomp or clamp, conscious of the learning curve you would have to go through in order to make use of all ten fingers again.Â
âThatâs perfect, Echo.â Hunter smiles, nodding in approval at the kind lengths his brothers are going for you. âSheâs going to love it.â
â â âÂ
The blinding radiance of overhead lights make opening your eyes a near impossibility. The strain in trying to make out anything at all is nauseating. Panic washes over you in heated flashes and cold sweats. You begin to salivate profusely, and an involuntary urge begins shoving your tongue out from where it rests in your mouth. Lifting yourself off the cot, you slump over and spill your guts into the steel bin on the floor.
You cough and gasp for breath, reaching to clean your mouth with your left hand that⌠doesnât seem to be there anymore. The coughs and gasps morph into choked up sobs when youâre reminded of what happened. What you did. Who you killed.
You readjust back on the bed using your only arm, pulling your knees to your chest as you clean your mouth with a couple tissues from the bedside table, tossing them into the bin as well. You rest your face on your knees and look down at your left arm, letting your sorrows soak the sheet draped over your legs.
Suddenly, the blast door across the room slides open and your stomach drops, a familiar response that challenges the degree of your safety. Although, no freezing ice water punctuates the sliding of metal panels against each other. Youâre instead greeted by your trusted saviors.
âKnock knock!â Wrecker announces their arrival, and you hastily wipe your tears. âAZI told us you were finally stable enough to visit!â
âAZI?â You ask, not knowing who or what that is.
âAZI is a medical droid stationed here on Kamino.â Tech clarifies. âWe told him to keep a watchful eye on you.â
âHow are you feeling?â Hunter asks, leaning on the foot of the cot.
âI think that much is obvious.â Crosshair mentions, concerned by the presence of vomit in the bin on the floor, using his foot to push it away so as to not make you any more queasy. âIf you need to, we can call AZI back and he can run a quick diagnostic-
âDonât.â You cut him off and the others pause, listening to what it is you want. âI donât⌠I donât know what I want right now.â
âWell, howâs this for starters?â Echo walks forward with a beautiful prosthetic in his grasp. He sets it on the bed directly in place of where your left limb would be, effectively completing your missing piece. âItâs not fancy, but it should do the job.â
Your jaw trembles, eyes burn and nose stings. The only difference is that this pain is accompanied with a release of wonderful emotions. It is their hands that held you, carried you. It is their voices that spoke of a compassion you were never familiar with. It is their grace that fills you to the brim with a stronger, more eternal sense of hope. You cry. Again, and again. And they all do their part in holding you together.Â
No additional words are needed to quantify the reasons you felt incomplete. Your inherent wisdom overrides the demons that strive to trip you up, just as your self-perceived but false weakness has strengthened the skin on your knees, allowing you to get back up and dust yourself off to be even stronger than before.
Springing a trap in a Separatist lab shouldnât be a problem. Your squad is the most prestigious in the GAR, even if they are a bit extreme in their methods, and fighting their way out of a corner is what they do best.
Itâs fortunate their tactics are so unconventional; as the heavy, potent gas pours into the lab, you soon learn thereâs only one way out. And you wonât be fighting.
(Explicit, 18+ only, The Bad Batch x Cathar Jedi!Reader)
The Cottage at the Edge of the Woods: Series Masterlist
Pairing: Geralt x reader (no Y/N)
Reader: Female, shorter than Geralt, written with a plus size reader in mind but generally nondescript
Summary: When monsters are cruel and the Continent is crueller, Geralt knows he can always find a few days of peace with you, the gentle healer who lives in the cottage at the edge of the woods.
Updated: 18/12/22
This series is non-chronological and is made up of blurbs and one-shots about a pair of pining idiots and their friends. Youâre always welcome to request blurbs set in this universe, share your headcanons, and ask questions!
Search #the cottage vibes on my blog for posts thatâŚwell, that have The Cottage vibes!
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Pairing: Jack âWhiskeyâ Daniels x female!OC (written in second person)
Rating:NC-17
Warnings: lots of sexual tension, use of a knife, slight violence, sexy times at the end, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), Jack being himself cause that comes with a warning, I think thatâs all
Word Count: 2,606
Authorâs Note: Welp I am still alive and do remember how to write! Its been so long and I am so sorry about that! I hope to get back to posting more regularly and catching up on request and doing a few new things soon. Cross your fingers, manifest, pray, whatever you do I need all the help I can get! I hope you all enjoy this little fic with the cowboy! Feedback is always always welcome and encouraged! Happy Valentineâs Day yâall!! As always a big thank you to @clint-aww-no-bartonâ and my Jateâkara clan both for emotional support and putting up with my ass and my meltdownsÂ
 âGinger I donât know about this.â
  Your voice held a slight tremble which made you curse yourself mentally. You looked over yourself in the mirror before letting your gaze fall on the woman behind you.Â
 âHenley you look absolutely incredible. Jack wonât know what hit him. Plus this is honestly a very calm mission for it to be your first,â she gave you a smirk as she finished the last of the lace up on the back of the dress.Â
 It was a breath-taking dress. It was a deep red and it had a beautiful skirt with a slit up to about your mid thigh just enough not to show off too much and a corset top that had a heart shaped neckline which was super fitting for the occasion.Â
 Statesman, a secret agency you worked for had learned of a couple selling Top Secret government information. They were using art of all things as a front to do so and tonight they were holding a large gala at the capital as a celebration of the day. Valentineâs Day and the art was all to be focused around love. Statesman finest senior agent, Agent Whiskey, or Jack was set to take the couple down but him showing up alone to an event such as this one was far too risky so here you were. You worked tech along with Ginger and one of the two women who held jobs at Statesman. You never minded a dress and heels, something Ginger curled her nose up at, plus you had all the proper training so you accepted the offer to hang off Jackâs arm.Â
 That thought alone was what made you tremble. Not the mission in itself. Not the knife that sat cool against your thigh. No it was pretending to be Jackâs girlfriend for the night. You wanted so badly for it not to be pretend.Â
 âHenley?! You ready?âÂ
 Gingerâs voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned to her and gave her a nod.Â
 âIâm ready as Iâll ever be.âÂ
 âHey you never know this may lead to something,â Ginger finished the sentence in a sing song voice and you felt the small hope blossom in your gut.Â
 You had already promised yourself you wouldnât get your hopes too high but with every single step you took down the hall to the conference room it seems to grow. You pushed the door open and walked into the room. Champ, Tequila and Jack all stood around, their heads turning your way and all of them wore a look of pure shock. Tequila let out a whistle before smirking and glancing at Jack. He stood there his eyes raking over you several times before they met yours. The two of you shared a look that could only be sexual tension.Â
 âWhat? The senior agent doesnât have a line for once?â You smirked as you walked closer to Jack.Â
 A crooked smirk spread across his face and he took your hand, kissed it and then twirled you around.Â
 âI have to say darlinâ you are the first woman to ever render me speechless,â you couldnât help the blush that rose on your face.Â
 âYou two better get going,â Ginger spoke as she glanced from her tablet to the tv in the room.Â
 âWe will follow you and be at the rendezvous point just in case you need backup. Get them in custody and get them back here,â Champ gave you both a nod which you returned.Â
 âWe got this boss. You ready darlinâ?â Jack held his arm out for you and you took it.Â
 âReady as Iâll ever be,â you gave him a nervous smile and the two of you headed out of headquarters.Â
 Your nerves had built up to an almost shaking manner by the time Jack and yourself walked into the building. There were more people than you thought there would be, couples bustling about and Jackâs cologne was starting to make you dizzy. You had to focus. There was a job to do and you had to push your feelings for the man on your arm aside.Â
 âI think with all these people itâs going to make this a lot easier on us,â Jack whispered in your ear.
 âI sure hope you are right.â
 The two of you wondered around glancing at the art that scattered the walls. People talked about details on the artist and their work, champagne in their hands. You glanced around catching the sight of the best dressed couple in the whole place and something in your gut knew. You gave Jack a small nudge and nodded your head over in their direction.
 âThat has to be them,â you whispered as you looked up meeting his eyes for the first time that night.Â
 âYou ready to do this darlinâ?â
 You gave Jack a simple nod and a smirk to lift your confidence. As you walked away you felt Jackâs hand on your wrist stopping you in your tracks before pulling you to him and wrapping his hand around the back of your neck. His lips crashed against yours and your shock only lasted seconds before you kissed him back. The entire world around you fell away and so did your trembling nerves. When he pulled apart the two of you seemed to share the same tension filled look as you did earlier in the conference room before you broke off and went your separate ways. You glided now, with your head held high as you stepped up the stairs. You knew that the room they were secretly meeting clients in was mere steps from the stairs and you knew it would draw the womanâs attention to follow you. You sent your senses into overdrive feeling another presence behind you and hearing the sound of heels trying to be quiet.
 âWhat are you doing up here?â Her voice was sticky sweet with an edge to it.
 You spun around with a smile to match. The next few moments seemed to move in slow motion but all so fast.Â
 âOh just looking for that room there,â you pointed with a smirk as the both of you seemed to break into action.
 She was too slow for you and the second she charged at you, you dodged before slamming her against the nearest wall your knife just inches from your throat and her body pinning her to wall.
 âSelling Top Secret government information will get all the right peoples attention honey. You only thought yaâll were being slick, hate to break it to you but you ainât,â you spun her around spitting the words as you took at the handcuffs that had been rested by your knife and slamming them shut around her wrist.
 You walked her down the stairs and saw that the room was a bit of a mess and her partner was lassoed on the ground seething in anger. Jack walked to you with a smirk of pride on his face. He jerked the man up and the two of you started to walk out of the place. Jack tipped his hat at a few people in the room with apologies.
 âWell done darlinâ.â
 âThank you Jack. I had such a rush I didnât even hear all that happening. I wouldnât expect any less from you though,â you smirked throwing him a wink.
 You loaded up the couple, blind folding them and then heading back to Statesman headquarters. The debriefing was short and simple. You could finally breathe again or so you thought.
 âI donât think we should let such a dress go to waste. Let me take you somewhere,â Jack spoke as he leaned on the table looking down at you.
 âWell then letâs go cowboy,â you reached out your hand and he took it with a smile.
 The restaurant was probably the nicest you had ever been in. Even in the dress you still felt like you didnât belong. A piano player skillfully played on a small stage not far from your table but it was low enough that Jack and yourself could carry on a decent conversation. The two of you discussed your side of things during the mission, laughing in all the right places and took bites of food in between. Jack took the last bite of his food and he gave you this look for a moment that you caught. You raised your eyebrows at him which soon gathered together in confusion when he stood up.
 âMay I have this dance darlinâ?â
 âJack people will stare.â
 âAs they should you are the most beautiful woman in the room, hell in the world,â a smirk crossed his features and you blushed.
 You took his hand and he pulled you to the empty place next to the stage. He pulled you close and began to sway with you. Your eyes met with his and the two of you shared that look once again.
 âWhat was that all about?â You suddenly asked.
 âMight need to refresh my memory darlinâ. I ainât got a clue what you are talking about,â the smirk on his face told you differently but you rolled your eyes and blushed a deep red again.
 âThe kiss back at the gala. What was that?â
 âDarlinâ I think we both know the answer to that,â he pulled you closer his forehead touching yours.
 âI need to know for sure Jack. Iâve wanted this for far too long and I-.â
 His lips were on your suddenly but this kiss was different. It held a different hunger but it was softer, more gentle. When he pulled away you couldnât help but let out a whimper you wondered if he could hear.
 âIâve wanted this for far too long too darlinâ and if youâll have me I would want nothing more.â
 The smile that spread across your face could have lit the entire world up.
 âOf course Iâll have you Jack.â
 The two fo you shared another quick kiss full of laughter and smiles as the song finished up.
 âWhy donât we get out of here and head back to my place,â Jack whispered in your ear and you simply gave him a nod.
 You stopped by the table, Jack leaving a large enough amount of money to cover both the bill and the tip and the two of you practically ran out of the building.Â
 Hands were everywhere as you both struggled into the door of Jackâs home. You couldnât even make yourself stop long enough to look around. All that mattered in this moment was the man whoâs lips were attached to yours. Jack suddenly reached down and picked you up from under your knees and you let out a giggle as he did before reattaching your lips to his. You threw his cowboy hat off and discarded it somewhere along the way to the bedroom before lacing your fingers into his hair. It earned a grunt from him before he deepened the kiss. You felt soft sheets suddenly as Jack laid you down across his bed. He hovered over you finally detaching himself from you. Both of you panted with swollen lips for only a few seconds before Jackâs lips began to pepper across your skin. He left a trail of them across every last bit of visible skin before he dropped to his knees over the edge of the bed. You sat up, sitting back on your hands to watch him. He removed your heels slowly as he kissed along your legs you pulling you bottom lip in between your teeth at the sight. His lips made their way up your legs alternating between the two and moving your dress when need be until he came upon where your knife still sat strapped to your thigh. He threw you a smirk before his fingers brushed across your skin to unfasten it and remove it carefully. Then his lips followed causing you to let out the first moan of the night. He eyed your clothed center before moving your panties aside and without much more of a warning dove in. You jumped and let out a gasp that feel into a moan before grasping at his brown locks and pulling at them. His hand snaked up and pushed lightly on your stomach to make you lie down before his arms wrapped around your thighs. You were a mess at this mans mercy and my god had you dreamed about this too many times to count. For a few seconds you almost thought thatâs all this was, a dream. That was until your first orgasm rocked through you and you were thankful for Jackâs arms or you might had suffocated him between them. He came up smiling and licking his lips. You pulled him up and kissed him again moaning when you tasted yourself.Â
 âJack I want you now,â you almost whimpered in desperation.
 âOh darlinâ I know. I want you too. First gotta get you out of this dress,â you couldnât help the laugh as he pulled you up.
 You spun around for him and he gently started to unlace your dress, his lips falling along your shoulder and what was exposed of your back and neck as he went. You let your eyes flutter closed and took in the moment you were in and how real it finally felt. This was happening and you couldnât believe it but it was. Finally the dress pooled at your feet and you turned to help Jack out of his clothes letting them join yours on the floor. The two of you fell back into bed finally burning skin on burning skin.
 âJack please,â you whined again giving him a begging look.
 âI got you darlinâ,â he kissed you on the nose before he lined himself up with you.
 He buried himself inside of you and it was the most wonderful feeling you had ever felt. The two of you seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces so perfect and carved out just for one another. He moved first at a slow pace before you were begging for more. Your nails making soft scratches along his back as he rocked into you. His lips left marks in places only the two fo you would know about.
 âFaster Jack please,â you moaned out loudly.
 He obliged moving his hips quicker and harder. You were so close again and you grasped at him like a lifesaver. Your head flew back and without warning you let go. Your pussy squeezed around him and your entire body shook. Jack was soon behind you burying his head into your neck as he moaned and whimpered. He kept a slow pace until the both of you came down. He pulled out of you and rolled over pulling you with him. He held you there, both of you panting before it seemed the two of you let out a smile and looked at each other.Â
 âThat wasâŚâ
 âAmazing,â you finished his sentence in hopes you were correct.
 âIt was better than that. Everything I have always thought it would be and more.â
 âWait you have thought about us together?â You sat up and looked down at him.
 âWell hell yeah darlinâ of course I have.â
 The smile that spread across your face almost hurt but you couldnât seem to care. He pulled you back to him the two of you becoming intertwined in each other. He laid a kiss sweetly on your forehead and you closed your eyes. In that moment you finally felt safe and loved and you never wanted that feeling to end.
Pairing: Jack âWhiskeyâ Daniels x Reader (no y/n)
Rating: PG (probably honestly G but my lowest rating will be PG just in case)
Warnings: cute fluffy domestic life with Jack and cute animalsÂ
Word Count: 719 (just a little drabble)
Authorâs Notes: It has been a minute and I am very sorry for that! Itâs still going to be a minute before my next full length fic and I am also sorry for that. If you donât already know my whole family wound up with Covid and currently we are doing a lot better and waiting for Monday to go get retested and praying it is negative. I hope you guys enjoy this cute little drabble me and my constant inspiration for Jack content aka @clint-aww-no-bartonâ have come up! I hope to be getting longer fics out soon! I hope you are all well! Feedback is always appreciated pretty please! I love you guys!
 âDonât we need a new brush for Thunder?â Jackâs voice echoed down the aisle of the pet store.Â
   âYes and we need to stop on the way home at the farmers market and get him some more carrots and apples,â you glance down the aisle before making your way down it to meet your husband.Â
 Jack and yourself had just recently married and were in the process of building up a whole farm of animals. You had lit up the day you came home and there was a gray and black speckled horse grazing in the field behind your ranch house. Today was shopping day for your newest member and you both were flying by the seat of your pants on supplies. You slowly made your way down isle after isle glancing at everything to be sure you didnât need any of the items resting on the shelves. Jack pushed the buggy slowly behind you and would pipe up asking about this or that every now and then.Â
 You came out of an isle and happened to glance up toward the front of the store that you two had gotten closer to. There was a massive banner up and several different barks coming from set up kennels. The banner wore the letters for âadoptionâ bright and big definitely grabbing anyoneâs attention. You glanced down at the different dogs that barked or played and your eyes landed right on a Golden Retriever puppy. You didnât even say a thing as you started to walk to the kennel where it played with several different toys.Â
 âHey should we get this thing for the hose to make it easier toâŚâ Jack cut off his words when he went to glance at you and you were gone.Â
 His eyebrows knitted together and he pushed the buggy fully from the isle to see you bent down by the kennel, your fingers inside the holes and a puppy wiggling all over at your attention. Jack couldnât help the smile that spread over his face watching you.Â
 âWould you like to hold him?â A volunteer spoke pulling you out the puppy trance you had found yourself in.Â
 âOh please,â you spoke as you stood up and all too giddy walked to the front of the kennel.Â
 The volunteer reached for the small fluffy puppy before handing him off to you. He was so perfect and sweet. His fur was soft and golden and you wanted him so badly. You turned to find Jack there a lot closer than you expected him just watching you. He was smiling from ear to ear and walked up closer to let his fingers brush across the soft fur.Â
 âJack I want him,â you threw on your best puppy dog eyes as you looked up at him.Â
 Jackâs eyes met yours and he shook his head before letting out a chuckle.Â
 âWell we canât have a farm without a good dog,â your face broke into a splitting grin and your turned to the volunteer to let her know you would be taking him.Â
 âOh thank you Jack!â You reaches up and kissed him softly the puppy tagging along with a lick to his cheek.Â
 âAnything for my girl. Now we need puppy supplies,â Jack declared before he turned his buggy around and headed off to the dog section.Â
 You two scanned isle and Jack got carried away with different treats, toys and so many other things that you were almost positive he was more excited that you were about the new member. You two discussed names and discussed names until finally you came to the conclusion of âDuke.â You had laughed slightly at Jackâs reasoning behind this name.Â
 âJohn Wayne was known as The Duke so itâs perfect!â He spoke excitingly when the little guyâs head popped up at the name.Â
 You laughed and shook your head as the two of you finally headed for checkout. When you got home you took Duke with you to help with Thunder, getting him use to his surroundings. You and Jack spent most of the evening outside with him playing and running around. As the night settled in you both feel into bed exhausted but content and right in the middle of you laid little Duke fast asleep, you and Jack soon following him.
Star Wars Cheat Sheet! Useful terms and references for fanfiction with picture aides. Need help finding that material you need to describe? Donât understand space travel? Timeline got you confused? Or maybe you need inspiration for your OC? Check this list out and see if it helps! A list a basic information in the GFFA universe. This is for those who donât want to sift through a million pages just to write a one-shot.Â
Also keep in mind Star Wars has Canon Lore and Legends Lore. Legends if unofficial but a wealth of fun ideas for story telling.Â
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When Qui-Gon hires a new pastry chef for his dessert menu, Obi-Wan feels a slight sense of competition. Who do you think you are, just waltzing into his kitchen? Heâs been running it for years, it doesnât need to change. But, as time progresses, he realizes the sour beginning the two of you had is starting to turn into something sweet.
I once received a DM comprised of just that sentence. Nothing else. No constructive criticism or any reason as to why this person clearly agreed with my own view of myself.
For someone who has never told anyone in their real life that they write anything, reading something like this from an anonymous user only solidified in my mind the fact that this person was right.
Iâm not a good writer.
After an embarrassing amount of minutes passed, in which I thought about deleting every story I ever posted, I decided to delete the message instead. Unfortunately, that didnât mean I could delete the feelings it caused or change the fact that Iâm not a good writer.
Two weeks went by and I didnât write anything, let alone post. Then I received a comment on a story I had posted three years prior, one Iâd written after a death in our family. The comment read, âThank you for sharing this heartfelt story. I really needed this. I just lost my mom and this really got me today.â
I stopped thinking about being a good writer after that. I thought instead, âwhat if I had deleted my stories and that one person three years later hadnât read it that day?â
Hereâs what I realized: no one is a good writer.
Good means to be approved of, but stories arenât created from approval. Theyâre built from life experiences, feelings, and emotions Therefore, the impact of anyoneâs story isnât good or bad. Itâs a million other things.
Heartfelt.
Sad.
Funny.
Inspiring.
Romantic.
So to all the story writers out there, hold your head up, write what is in your heart, and never doubt that there isnât at least one person out there that needs to read your story.
So, no.
Weâre not good writers, but why would we want to be?
@djdangerlove Iâm sorry you got a horrid, pointless message like that, and I want to thank you for this great take. Itâs a good way to look at it â¤ď¸â¤ď¸
Someone once told me they made a huge mistake reading my ff. It was the first time I had ever posted anything. I stopped writing for a little while after that. It really hurt me.
But, Iâm blessed with an amazing friend. @wowjeena, thank you. Thank you for taking the time listen to me when this happened. Thank you for reading my work for me, even though itâs not a part of your current fandom. I will always appreciate that. đđ
âWeâre not good writers, but why would we want to be?â
Man this really gets to me. I just started posting my poems on tumblr and Iâve realized that the majority of people on here only really favor a certain type of poem. But I believe in writing my poetry from my life experiences and my views of the world. Itâs really disheartening to see poems that I wrote that reflect me at a certain point in my life barely getting any recognition, but the poems that I bullshitted and fakes are being loved. I kinda just wanted to stop even though Iâve just begun.
But then I remember why itâs important for me to post poetry I like: itâs my fucking blog and itâs my fucking poetry! I should be posting what I want and like. I shouldnât be focused of the notes. Plus I had someone tell me that one of my poems really wowed them because they have felt that way before, but they just couldnât put it into words. Thatâs why I gotta keep doing it. Not to please people, but to share bits of my life and have people relate to it.
And @is-it-madness, of course girl! Youâre an amazing writer and that person was just rude and pretentious. We do this for fun, as an outlet, or to help ourselves get through a tough time; nobody should be putting others down because our writing doesnât fit their standards.
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(a/n: here is chapter 2 of the one thing im super frickin proud of. thank you @pomelloe-meâ for bullying me in our shared google doc to make sure i get things done. ily <3)
âCan you leave the window down? My car smells like fucking fried chicken, and while it may be your fave food it's not mine.â Alicia said, shutting her car engine off. Pom chuckled, obliging her friendâs request. Both women stretched, their joints popping, as they clambered out of the small car and started their walk up the small driveway.Â
The Agents had opted to live as far away from the brewery as they could, wanting to make a safe and work free environment for them to escape to. It was a pale green 3 story victorian house with white accents, and a small front porch. Two white rocking chairs moved slightly in the wind, and a white porch swing on the far right end swayed with them. A black and white rip n dip doormat sat under a black double front door, the words "go away" floated next to a white cat flipping any visitors off. A purchase Pom had made while online shopping in the wee early hours of the night. One that Alicia and Dena had found rather hilarious and Carey had simply shaken her head.Â
âIâm gonna murder your boyfriend, heâs as dumb as a fucking rock, I swear it!â Alicia exclaimed, walking towards the front door of the shared home, twisting her head this way and that in a vain attempt to pop her still stiff neck. She could hear Pom curse at her under her breath. âWhat was that? Use your words miss maâamâ Alicia teased, knowing Tequila was a nuisance for Pom. He had been Alicia's friend first, and one-day on a whim she had invited them to a carnival accompanying the rodeo that was in town. Soon, the three of them were inseparable. Tequila however soon developed feelings for Pom, his endless pining no secret to anyone. The ex-rodeo clown meant well, and when he wasn't trying to convince the southern beauty to go two-stepping with him, the two got along very well.Â
âI said he ainât my fuckinâ boyfriend,â Pom responded, she was frustrated but smiled all the same. She reciprocated the crush but put her job as a Statesman agent first. She refused to let anyone or anything jeopardize her career. The brunette removed the brown cowboy hat sitting on her head, using it to fan herself in the heat, waiting for Alicia to unlock the front door.Â
âWhatever you say!â Alicia sang, throwing the door open. Pom followed the woman into the entryway, shutting and locking the door behind her. The smell of delicious food wafted towards where the two girls stood, as they began dispensing the arsenal of personal weapons they had into their designated shelves in the entryway. Pom hung her hat on the hook on the wall next to the door. Alicia groaned, taking her box braids out of the ponytail she had forced them into, massaging her scalp.Â
"I don't know how you can stand having those things pulled back like that!" Pom said, emptying her pistols before placing them back in their holsters.Â
"Trust me, one I'm gonna shave my head, and I only kept them in because I spent so much on them for that one assignment. Why waste money? Carey Ann, is that your cooking I smell?" Alicia called, making her way further into the house. She paused a moment, kicking her shoes off in the mudroom off to the left.Â
âYup! Iâm in the kitchen, yâall! Make sure you leave your shoes in that mudroom, I just swept!ââ Carey called out to them from the direction of the kitchen.Â
Whatever she had been making since she had come home had made the house warm and cozy, the warmth of the oven lightly combating the aircon. Carey was the oldest of the four women living in that house. She had recently moved to New York, assisting Agent Whiskey in running the New York office. Occasionally, she would return to their humble abode in Kentucky. Most household responsibilities fell on her, their other roommate Dena had been away for almost a year on assignment in Europe seeking out an alleged brother agency. Usually, Pom and Alicia were left to their own devices, sticking to take-out orders, or the occasional soup and grilled cheese combo Alicia cooked up. It wasn't often Alicia or Pom cooked, let alone cleaned. It was nice to have their Agent Mom back in town. Â
Pom hastily unzipped the sides of her boots, sliding them off to reveal her cute space patterned socks, âThe best feeling ever is taking your shoes off after a fuckinâ long day of work.â she thought to herself. Pomâs hair stuck up in odd angles, no secret the hat that had been resting on her head all day. She combed her fingers through it, the brown tresses fell to her shoulders in thick, uncontrollable waves.Â
âItâs good to see you here, and not on a fucking screen, maâam.â Alicia snooped through the pots on the stove, hungrily eyeing Careyâs homemade fried pork chops, mashed potatoes, and mac & cheese warming idly on the stove. Alicia only two kinds of southern cooking, her Grandma Beaulah's, and Carey's (a close second). Â
"Yeah, bitch. I thought you might have forgotten about us.â Pom called out from the living room, where she had placed herself comfortably down on the couch, flicking through something on her phone. She sighed, still no response from Whiskey. Had she upset him without realizing it? âFuckinâ Whiskey, I wish he couldâve told me instead of ignoring me like a dumbass.â she thought, shutting off her phone and tossing it to the other end of the couch.
âWell, if yâall acted 24 and 25 years old and not little children, you wouldnât need me to come home to cook and clean for yâall. Dena hasnât even been here and she still keeps her room clean!â Carey teased, swatting Aliciaâs hands away from the food. Even if she had been present, Dena and Carey were definitely the neatest of the four. Carey had tried in vain to get the other two younger women to help, even going so far as to leave everything to pile up. It had taken a roach crawling across Alicia's face one night in her sleep to finally get them to step up. Now they kept a chore list on a dry erase board in the laundry room, and the katsaridaphobic agent no longer left dirty dishes in her room.Â
âGirl, theyâre clean. And for the record, Pom and I do take care of ourselves! For example, I did all the laundry in the house and Pom got rid of that possum that was living in the roof. Perfectly responsible.â Alicia said smugly, giggling as Pom chimed in quietly from her spot on the couch about the âCunt ass possum that tried to eat her fucking face even though she had given him a slice of ham as a fucking peace offering headassâ.Â
âPom, why donât you come join us instead of mumbling with your colorful vocabulary from the couch; the food is ready.â Carey laughed, shaking her head at her roommate's antics. She grabbed the rolls out the oven, before removing her apron and oven mitts. She moved to pull a pitcher of sweet tea out of the fridge, and then stood back proudly to admire her work. Dinner was served.Â
âYou sound like my fuckinâ mom,â Pom uttered as she hoisted herself up from the couch, making her way into the kitchen to wash her hands.Â
âI may as well be. But enough bickering, I missed y'all two!â Carey said, carrying her plate of food to the table where Alicia already sat eating.Â
âIâm not really hankerinâ for anything, but thanks, Carey. I love youâŚfuck head.â Pom told Carey with her unique version of affection, leaning against the island in the kitchen and removing her rusty-colored jacket from her body. Pom's jokes and colorful nicknames were her own brand of love, and while it was offputting the first time she called you something like "hoe bag", you learned to acknowledge the underlying "I love you". Â
âWell at least stay and sit with us, Iâve got something to tell yâall,â Carey said, patting the chair next to her. She needed to tell somebody about how she and Jack had recently started seeing each other. She figured he had already told Tequila, and felt justified in telling the girls. Pom sat down in the chair with a grunt after placing her jacket on the table.Â
âOh do tell, this wouldnât happen to do with a certain mustached cowboy would it?â Alicia batted her eyelids, and suggestively wiggled her eyebrows. Pom knew exactly what this conversation was going to lead to. She wasnât a fucking idiot; she noticed every small exchange between Carey and Whiskey, it was just something she had an eye for. The two had known each other for over two years and had recently started to go out with each other seriously. It was a wonder they hadn't started fooling around sooner.
âW-well...about thatâ Carey giggled nervously, maybe she wouldnât tell them after all.Â
âDonât give me that bullshit, Carey Ann! Are you fucking Ole Jack Daniels?!â Alicia exclaimed, pointing her fork accusingly at the shorter Agent. Pom couldnât help herself from letting out a loud chuckle, moving her long legs to sit cross-legged on the chair.Â
âAlright, fine. Whiskey and I may or may not have been seeing each other exclusively for the past year while Iâve been back and forth from New York.â Carey said, casually taking a sip from her glass of tea, the clinking ice cubes being the only sound for a brief moment.Â
âI fuckinâ knew it!â Agent Rum pronounced with great amusement, looking over at Carey with a menacing smile.Â
âYAS BITCH, OH MY GOD! Tell us everything, and I do mean everything!â Alicia said, standing up and playfully pulling Carey into a noogie.Â
The girls laughed, Carey pushed Alicia back into her chair before smoothing out her blonde curly hair. Carey was glad that the girls hadnât reacted negatively like she thought they would. She had missed this comradery with the girls while staying in New York; she leaned forward fully retelling everything that had been happening. It was nice to finally be home.Â
* * * * *Â
Pom Graham was awake earlier than the rest of her housemates, as usual. Most nights she would stay up until midnight listening to her favorite kinds of music and trying to gain motivation to do her beloved hobby of painting. But she never slept for long as her natural body clock woke her up just a few short hours after she fell asleep. Still, she was always filled with so much energy.Â
Pom tip-toed out of her room and down the flight of stairs in hopes of not waking her friends. She was already dressed in her usual outfit that the others rarely saw her out of. The living space downstairs was decorated with rustic, but comfortable furniture and pots of greenery scattered around. Photographs and posters could be found on the walls.Â
She threw herself on to the couch in front of the large, technologically advanced television. With a press of a button on the remote, the screen came to life with the morning news channel. âBoring.â Pom thought, âCarey must have been watching it last.â
âThe daughter of beloved Kentucky senator, Xavier Dobios, is still missing and itâs sending everybody into quite the state of distressâŚ..â Said the monotone voice of the news reporter on the TV. Pom scoffed at his words.Â
âFuck off, âbeloved my assââ Pom returned in a sharp whisper, smiling with amusement. She clicked another button and the kidâs channel started to play. Pom never really liked to watch television, but when she did, she would always turn on the channel that entertained her most.
âGood morning, Pomegranate.â Came Careyâs sweet but groggy voice from the doorway leading into the kitchen. Carey was dressed in cute, pink pajamas and her hair was quite the mess. She let out a big yawn.Â
âMorninâ, youâre up early,â Pom responded, turning her head to give Carey a nice smile. Carey walked back into the kitchen to start preparing coffee and breakfast for herself and her housemates.Â
âWhat do you want for breakfast? And I know you donât like coffee, so what do you want to drink?â Carey asked from the kitchen to Pom. She sat there thinking for a moment before answering.Â
âPeanut butter toast. And some water. Bless your heart, Carey.â Pom returned gently. Carey was surprised to see how calm she was. She was used to seeing the hot-tempered, mischievous, and swearing version of Pom. But she appreciated seeing this side to her too because Carey knew thatâs who she really is. Pom never failed to make her laugh and smile.Â
Carey made food and coffee with the sound of Pom watching the kidâs channel playing in the background. Alicia probably wasnât going to be awake for a few more hours but Carey poured her a cup of warm coffee just in case.Â
âI donât know how you have so much energy all the time, Pom,â Carey said as she sat on the couch next to Pom, handing her the plate of peanut butter toast and a glass of water. She sipped on her own cup of coffee just the way she liked it.Â
âIâve consumed so much fuckinâ sugar in my life that Iâm constantly on a sugar high.â Pom joked to her friend, smiling. Carey laughed, the sound mixing the soft sounds of the old Victorian settling over them. It wasnât often they got a morning to themselves, and they knew theyâd have to head to work soon, but for now, HQ could wait.
âGOOD MORNING VIETNAM!â Alicia yelled, bounding in the kitchen shattering the quiet moment the girls had settled into with their breakfast. Carey and Pom sighed, watching as she effortlessly leaped onto the island in the middle of the kitchen. Her gray sweatpants slung low on her hips, her lilac sleep shirt wrinkled, and her braids still wrapped up in the bonnet on her head; she looked crazy.
âWhat in Sam Hill are you doing?!â Carey said, standing up and rushing to try and push the taller woman off.Â
âI have some good news, bitches! Denaâs coming home sooner than we thought!â Alicia was elated, it had been almost two months since Agent Sangria had been in contact with Statesman, and more importantly her roommates. She had been advised to keep all communications, few and far in between. Should there be a brother agency, it would be in Statesman's best interest to not alert them of their presence in their territory; what if they were a rogue organization? The return of the lively Latina was definitely a cause for celebration.Â
âWait, how do you know?â Carey asked, realizing that Alicia wasnât budging off her pedestal. She looked over at Pom who looked just as puzzled as she was, no one had any recent contact with Dena. Everything had been dark. Pom got off the couch to get closer to them. Â
âWell, as yâall know, I spend most of my free time in the lab with Ginger. And I was able to create a concealable communication device!â Alicia said proudly, taking what looked like a normal bottle of concealer. But the girls knew better, Alicia was a crazy tech wiz and inventor. Her and Ginger both could put Tony Stark to shame.
âHow does that shit even work⌠itâs fuckinâ makeup.â Pom questioned. She couldnât remember the last time she had set foot in the lab, or the last time she wore makeup. Pom would rather be training and being troublesome with the male agents than behind a vanity or in a lab coat.Â
âListen, I know it looks a little out of sorts but I promise it works! And the cosmetic part of the contraption is fully functional.â Alicia opened the packaging and did a swatch of the makeup on her arm. A perfect match.
âSay we canât take any phones or even our glasses with us? Whoâs gonna suspect a woman with a compact mirror and bottle of concealer? The idea is we use the idea of the fragile female that men have created against them. But my feminist spiel aside, I talked to Dena and she should be here by the end of next week!â Alicia got down from the counter, slipping her âconcealerâ into the front pocket of her black backpack.Â
Pom leaned against the counter as she smiled, "Youâre a genius.â She said to Alicia softly.
âIâm no Ginger Ale, but I try! Also, Iâve been making a bat prototype for you in the lab! I meant to surprise you for your birthday but I canât wait any longer.â Pom smiled at this. Alicia started to continue but paused. The Statesman designated ringtone grew louder from where it was playing on their tv. Well, duty calls.
The three agents made their way into the living room, Carey grabbing the remote from its spot on the ottoman. Once they had all settled themselves on the comfy couch, she pressed the answer button.Â
âGood morning, Angels!â Champagne greeted; the great window behind his head visible on the tv screen. It wasnât uncommon for Champ to contact them while they were at home; saving more discreet missions for the four of them to take care of. It saved time, resources, and quite frankly more lives than if they were to send Whiskey, Tequila, or any of the other male agents instead. Hence the moniker, âAngelsâ.
âGood morning, Champ!â Alicia crowed, shifting to sling her legs across Pom and Careyâs laps making herself comfortable. Pom hastily grabbed Aliciaâs feet from her lap and started to tickle them with no remorse, and her loud and mischievous laughs filled the room.Â
âWould yâall stop? Jesus Christ.â Carey said, pushing Aliciaâs legs off the couch and inserting herself between her and Pom. âSorry, Champ, continue please!â Carey said, turning her attention back to the man on the screen. Pom was holding back her laughter as best as she could.Â
âWell, when yâall are done horsing around, I have something for yâall to take care of. As you know, the senator is hiding his daughter trying to make it seem like sheâs been kidnapped. Tonight, he is hosting a gala to impress some of the big wigs in the country and gain more support. I need yâall to infiltrate the gala and expose this sunâ a bitch before he can carry this tomfoolery on any longer.âÂ
âDo I gotta dress all fancy and shit?â Pom asked, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. She had makeup, she hated dresses, and if she didn't hate her unruly hair getting in her face, she'd hate doing it too.Â
âI would prefer it if you did. The senator is very conservative, and has a strict dress code for this event.â Champagne said. Pom sighed angrily at this.Â
âAwe, câmon, Pomegranate. I thought you liked playing dress up.â the screen expanded to show that none other than Agent Whiskey sat next to Champagne at the grand mahogany meeting room table.Â
âWhiskey!â Pom exclaimed with joy. A big grin was on her face now. She tucked her messy waves of hair behind her ears. Pom could feel her heart racing with pure happiness. Whiskey was the closest thing she had to a father, and she practically glowed in his attention.Â
âHowdy darlinâ, you ready to join your old man on the dance floor?â Whiskey tipped his hat, grinning at the young agent.Â
The adopted father and daughter duo were the best partnership to come out of Statesman; Whiskey having taken Pom under his wing, saying that he saw himself in her. A troubled girl who needed a little guidance and TLC, and had unfathomable potential. Whiskey had promised Pomâs mother that he would ensure that the young woman would be taken care of while she was in the states. A promise that had been well kept.Â
âWhile Iâm all for sappy reunions, I need you, girls, to get gussied up and make your way to that gala ASAP! Iâm sending Whiskey to pick yâall up at 0800, We got a party to crash.â Champagne said, ending the video call.Â
Alicia stood and looked at her phone, an invitation addressed to a Penelope Vontrapp, and associates lit up her screen. âWell Miss Pom, or should I say Miss Penelope; it looks like you get to play the part of the daughter of some rich oil tycoon.âÂ
âFuck you, Iâm not wearing any fuckinâ makeup!!â Pom said while jumping off the couch to sprint up to her room before the others could stop her.Â
âYOUâRE LUCKY THEYâRE MAKING A BIG DONATION IN YOUR HONOR! OTHERWISE, IâD BE FORCING YOU INTO A DRESS AND PUTTING SOME BLUSH ON THOSE CHEEKS!â Alicia shouted up the stairs, knowing that Pom was going to put on the same suede pantsuit she wore to all Statesman functions. It would be a cold day in hell before anyone forced her into a dress, and Alicia knew better than to even try and wrestle her into one. Â
âWill you curl my hair, please? May as well get some joy out of tonight.â Carey remarked, making her way up the stairs. Alicia noticed the sad air around her friend, she stopped reaching out to grab her friend's arm.Â
âWhatâs wrong? You were all chipper early, now youâre allâŚ.â Alicia made a fart noise with her mouth, hoping it would bring a small smile to her Careyâs face.Â
âItâs nothing, I promise. Just forget it, okay?â Carey pulled her arm away, continuing up the stairs. But it wasnât really anything. Was it right for her to feel a little envious that Whiskey hadnât acknowledged her? Had Champ told him something? Or was she just overthinking? Either way, they had a mission to focus on, and this worrying and pining could wait.Â
(a/n: thank you all for reading and standing by while i get in the swing of things. i now have a masterlist, and post with who and what yall can request will be coming soon. <3 roach)