Sometimes I Really Like Human Creativity And Like, Solidarity.

God Give Me Courage to Show You... (Angel of Music, Harry Hook x Fem!OCReader) - Chapter Three

Hi guys! I hope you guys this chapter, it’s a bit slow had to do some catch up and story building! Nonetheless I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you want to be put on the taglist!

Summary: Azalea reflects on the night she first saw Harry in the market as well as the night on the cliff after Harry’s memories are returned. All while, Azalea and Harry begin to become friends again, growing closer. The scales are tipping though, bound to fall one way or another.

Warning(s): Language, angst(?), Sexual Tension (?)

Word Count: 3423

A week and five days ago

Azalea ran through the shadows of the Isle away from the Market, away from him. She could not believe it, after all this time, after her couple harmless trips down to the Market and Barrier Plaza, there he stood. It had been 11 years, a month, and 8 days since she had last seen him, standing in her meadow, but she recognized him right away. His ocean blue eyes, with the slightest hint of green hidden in them, were all it took. She knew those eyes like the back of her hand, they have plagued her dreams all these years. The dark red jacket and gleaming silver hook were only additional facts that confirmed her thoughts. It was Harry…. Her Harry. The boy from her field, her only friend, the one who still owned a piece of her heart. The one who did not know she existed, or at least did not remember. She slowed down her stride, stopping in front of the rusted black iron gate that led into the cemetery. Checking her surroundings she found the coast to be clear, her father always warned her to be certain she was not being followed. Looking over shoulder needed to become second nature, if she were to continue being allowed out. After years of begging, becoming skilled in sword fighting, and learning how to harness her voice to perfection, did her father finally grant Azalea to take nightly trips down to the center of the Isle. They were only trial runs of course, her father giving her a strict 30 minute window. After 18 years of solitude, she took 30 minutes in a heartbeat. Meandering through the multitude of tombstones, Azalea reached the second iron gate, the lock and chains still in place. Azalea knelt down, sticking her black gloved hand down the side of her left black leather boot, retrieving the brass key, the head shaped like a skull. A literal skeleton key… Placing her roses down as she stuck her arms through the gate bars, she picked up the black lock on the other side. Unlocking the gate, Azalea unraveled the chains just enough for her to maneuver her wide hips through. Once through the gate she rechained and locked it, turning to march through the crunchy grass to the small house. Azalea’s eyes roamed over the meadow, Harry’s frozen figure replaying in her mind. Her fingers began to itch, the desire to commit her memory of the pirate to a piece of paper arising within. Opening the front door to the house Azalea looked around at the dusty bare room, not a sign of life in sight besides the lonely broken wooden chair in the far corner straight ahead and the rusting white refrigerator on the wall to her left. Her boots clicked against the dirt covered concrete floor as she approached the fridge. Azalea placed the dead roses on top of the fridge before placing her hands on the left side of the dated appliance. Planting both of her feet firmly on the ground as she pushed the fridge to the side, revealing a set of stone stairs underneath. Letting out of a huff of air, Azalea grabbed the roses and descended down the steps. At the bottom of the staircase, a large red button awaited her, pushing the button Azalea waited until she heard the sound of the metal fridge moving back into place overtop the hidden stairs. She then headed down the candle lit hallway, exiting out into the great stone cavern she called home. Massive candelabras were placed all around the cavern, hundreds of candles lit. A soft warm glow welcomed Azalea home as did the empty living room.

Looking up she saw two distinct figures perched in the music room on the upper level, she turned to the side and trudged up the small hand carved stone steps. Passing her father’s desk and her parents bedroom she neared the soft sound of keys played on the organ. Her father sat at his organ, perfecting a piece of his music, no doubt, and her mother lounged over the black chaise, a small crisp green colored book cradled in her thin hands. Azalea smiled softly, she knew her parents were trying to play busy but she knew for the past half an hour they had been fretting and worrying about her. The Opera Ghost and his bride were still warming up to the idea of their child wandering about the heinous Isle, alone and at night. They simply wished to protect her and her gift, but as their daughter so promptly pointed out they were not going to be around forever unfortunately, and if they were doomed to an eternity on this Isle then she needed to learn how to protect and fend for herself. “Hi Papa” Azalea leaned down to kiss her father’s unmasked face, a normal occurrence in their home, it had been a rule her mother had enforced since the beginning of their marriage, no masks at home. Azalea grew up seeing her father’s deformity and it never frightened her, she found the solid white emotionless mask to hold more terror within it. Her father smiled in return, trying to mask his undeniable worry, the sight of his child unharmed was helping. “Any incidents?” Erik questioned, pretending to fret over his sheets of music. Pausing for a moment, Harry’s matured face popping into her mind, his strong jaw, pink lips, and half crazed eyes that had stared back at her intensely. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of her hugging him, but they soon faded, her eyes watering in the process. She could never be his friend, be a part of his world, not on the Isle. Azalea cleared her throat, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, before noticing both of her parents expecting eyes on her. “Oh sorry, no incidents Papa…” she trailed off looking down to her gloved hands, “I did bring home the best roses I could find though, let me go find a vase for them.” Azalea quickly left for the next room over on the upper level, the kitchen. Upon entering, Azalea let out a sigh, her chest heavy with grief. Christine’s knowing eyes followed her daughter as she left for the kitchen, she knew there was something her daughter was emitting from her night trip, she just hoped it was nothing bad.

Moments later Azalea retired to room, on the lower level on the other side of the living room. She finally felt some sort of relief once the large wooden door was closed and her white mask and gloves were removed, now sitting on her small white desk. She hung up her black jacket back in her wardrobe and removed the small black pins holding her inherited wild curls back. Azalea could barely focus on anything as she changed into her faded ivory nightgown, Harry’s face circling on endless loops in her mind. Of course over the years, she had thought of him everyday, dreamt of him continuously, always wondering how he was, if he was okay, what he looked like. She had gone even as far as begging her father a couple times a year to check on him, her father reluctantly agreed with his own agenda in mind. Her father was a man of pristine caution, examining every detail, hence why he always thought it was a good idea to make sure no signs of Harry’s memory resurfacing ever presented themselves. When her father would get back from his “check ups”, Azalea hounded him endlessly but his reports were always rather dull, “He’s fine”, “Part of a pirate crew now with the daughter of Ursula and son of Gaston”, “Carries an unnecessary hook around with him, rumor is he tried to have a crocodile bit his hand off. I told you that boy was bad news Christine”. Christine only ever rolled her eyes at her husband's antics, along with Azalea. Christine too, loved the updates on the boy, now pirate. She wanted to make sure the Isle had not swallowed him whole. Azalea pulled out her worn black chair, sitting down in front of her desk. Her fingers tingled as she pulled out her small set of charcoal pencils and the stack of paper her father brought her home one evening, whenever he could find the scarce materials. It had been so long since she had drawn anything, inspiration only ever hit after a particular vivid dream of a boy in a meadow. Azalea knew the spark of inspiration she found within could only have been caused by her muse, the pirate who seemed to have captured the ocean within his eyes.

A knock came at her door a little later in the night, before Christine’s head of curls popped through the opening crack of the door. “Mom, why are you still up?” Azalea quickly piled up her collection of drawings and hid them under a book. Her mother swiftly entered the room closing the door behind her layered white frame. Christine dismissed her daughter’s question, eyeing the charcoal pencil in her hand and the easily transferable charcoal coating her daughter’s hands a dark grey. “You’re drawing?” “Inspiration hit” Azalea let out an uneasy laugh, her mother only nodded, her right eyebrow lifting slightly as she moved to sit on Azalea’s circular red bed. “What really happened tonight?” the question struck Azalea cold and still. She looked over to her left at her mother, a “don’t even try to lie” clearly embedded on her face. Exhaling deeply Azalea admitted her defeat, “I saw him”. A small relieved sigh escaped Christine’s mouth, she had automatically assumed the worst possible scenario, but her eyes soon widened at the realization of her daughter’s words. Azalea continued, “hence the inspiration” she uncovered the multiple pages of sketches she had done, all parts of Harry etched on them. Christine leaned over to see the desk and the pages of sketches scattered across it. Christine was used to her daughter drawing Harry, her creative outlet stemming from her husband, but he had always been a boy in the illustrations. These sketches were different though, this was no boy. “He’s quite good looking now” Christine noted examining a sketch of Harry’s matured face, eliciting a quiet laugh from her daughter. Her heart ached for Azalea, the only friend she ever had and quite possibly her daughter’s true love, a part Christine chose to emit from her and her daughter’s conversations about Harry, was never within her grasp. “I’m doing him no justice…” Azalea turned in her chair eyeing her mother questioningly. Christine nodded knowing what she insinuated, “I’m all ears.” Azalea’s nose scrunched up at her mother’s remark before she opened her mouth, hypnotic “Ahhh’s” falling from her lips. Fog whirled before Christine’s eyes before she saw looked to what could only be the rundown Market her husband and daughter talked about. A murky layer seemed to hang over the image before it cleared around a single statue. The statue moved closer and became clearer, proving to be an unnaturally still person. Christine smirked slightly, knowing the person was under her daughter’s all too familiar hypnotic spell. She could now see the person, the teenager who was practically a man. He was tall and lean with layers of muscle bulking him up. He had a sharp jawline and bright blue eyes only being accented even more by the thick black eyeliner smudged over his eyelids. The blackened red leather jacket contrasted boldly against his peachy skin and the infamous shining silver hook in his left hand completed the ensemble. The teenager was clearly the son of Hook, but he had his own personal flair thrown in the mix. Christine examined the boy once over, noting the crazy edge in his eyes and the overall way he held himself, the image feeling familiar. Christine remembered the first time she saw her husband in the hallway hidden behind the dressing room mirror at the Opera House, the same crazed look in his eyes and overall glorious demeanor… The image began to blur and then slip away, returning Christine to her daughter’s bed in her stone cavern hideaway. “So, what do you think?” Azalea questioned, biting her lip anxiously. Christine smiled, a laugh bubbling in her throat. “My dear, I think we are more alike than you know”.

Present Day

Leaning against the rough tree bark, Azalea overlooked the dark ocean, a happy smile on her face as she awaited for her friend to show. For the past five days, Azalea and Harry had met at the cliff, spending half an hour each night trying to cram the last 11 years into it. The night of their reunion, Azalea had sat with Harry and explained how everything he had remembered was true, the conversation had started out shy and hesitant, and a hint of an accusatory tone.

“And why did you have to erase my memory?” Harry had not meant for his tone to be harsh, but Azalea seemed to pay no attention to it as she traced the black lace trim on the edge of her cloak. “Harry I was seven years old, my father told me that people would harm you, I’m sorry but of course I listened.” Harry sighed watching the apologetic girl, her reasoning was valid, but that did not mean he had to like it. The silence that followed was stiff and awkward, neither of them knowing how to further the conversation. They always knew what to say to each other as children, but they were no longer the same children from the meadow. Azalea knew they had only reunited moments before and if they were going to possibly be friends again, they would have to work at it. She focused intensely on Harry next to her, the idea of telling her parents of this recent development did not even enter her head. “So you have a pirate crew?” Azalea chirped up suddenly looking over at Harry excitedly. As children Harry had always talked about becoming Captain of his own crew, Azalea would be his first mate and as soon as they figured out a way off this Isle they would head straight for Neverland. “Aye I’m the first mate” Harry smirked in return. “Not the captain?” she pondered, eyebrows furrowing together. “Nay Uma is, she’s-” Azalea cut him off, “the girl from the Cotillion fiasco? Have to say the whole tentacle thing was pretty cool!” Azalea laughed pushing her plethora of curls back, only for them to fall back in her face. She let out a huff of frustration, causing a strand of curls to blow upwards. Harry watched intently, the innocent action somehow captivating his attention. Wait a minute! “Lassie you didn’t strike as one to agree with the overthrowing of the monarchy” Harry knocked his shoulder with hers jokingly. Azalea turned to her right side, issuing Harry a glare. “I’m not”, Harry groaned throwing his head back, “BUT I have my own issues with Auradon’s previous rulers.” Harry’s head chirped up at her statement, this had to be interesting… “Oh don’t leave me hangin’ on that Lass, spill!” Azalea bit back a giggle at Harry’s dramatic enunciation, before turning in the dirt to face Harry. She cleared her throat, a somber expression fell onto her features. “My father is no Prince Charming trust me, he nearly burned down half of Paris, he was a villain. But after mom came back, breaking off her engagement with the Vicounte, he was on a path to becoming better. Better wasn’t good enough though…” Azalea gritted her teeth. “The Beast, the king granted a second chance after a woman’s love saved him, banished a man finally getting his second chance because a woman’s love saved him. It’s a bit hypocritical.” Azalea’s words struck a nerve with Harry. The Beast and the Phantom were very similar, in some regards, and yet the Phantom had been sent to the Isle as the Beast was fitted for his crown. Harry understood Azalea’s frustration… Harry placed his hand on top of hers, a crackle of electricity sparking between their hands. The two of them shared a soft uncertain smile, transitioning back to their game of catch up.

“Yoohoo Lassie” Azalea sprang up from her spot on the tree, unsheathing her sword and turning to point it at the intruder of her thoughts. Harry stood behind her, arms up surrendering, a look of amusement on his face. “Put that thing back before you poke my eye out” Harry laughed. “Oh it’s you” Azalea breathed out, sheathing her sword back on her left hip. “Were you expecting someone else? Another Scottish suitor? Don’t tell me, you were friends with me older sister too.” Azalea rolled her eyes at Harry, the back of her mind hanging on the phrase “Another Scottish suitor”. “Hi” She greeted, an uncontrollable grin spreading across her face, she simply could not help it, having Harry back, even for just five days was a gift. She had dreamed of this moment for 11 years and it has finally come true. She simply felt euphoric around him as if she was flying… Harry and Azalea’s innocent childhood friendship seemed to grow and intensify as they did, an underlying magnetic and forceful attraction hidden in their recent encounters and meetings. The Pirate and the Siren were tipping on the scale already, bound to feed into their repressed feelings. “Hiya” Harry snapped back back, a chaotic grin spreading across his face. Oh, her the pirate was slightly unhinged… Azalea giggled untying her mask and retying it carefully around her dark red belt, so the mask hung around her waist. Harry had still not grown accustomed to the beauty that was hidden underneath the mask, her personality and body were of course beautiful too, but something about every time she unmasked herself left him breathless. “Did you bring what I asked for?” she questioned stepping forward to Harry. Harry smirked removing his black tricorn hat, blue fabric still tied around his forehead, and pulled out a long strip of faded black fabric from inside. “Not sure why you are sending me clothes shopping lass?” Azalea snatched the black fabric from Harry’s outstretched hand, snickering lightly. “If we want my father to believe I’m still going down to the Market, I need to bring things home.” Azalea informed waving the faded fabric in front of Harry. She tucked the fabric into the pocket of her leather jacket before returning her attention back to Harry. Her eyes were filled with excitement, her hair wild and free in the breezy night air, a soft glow painted on her face, a wide toothy grin on her face, Hades she never stopped smiling at him, Harry really liked it. Harry smirked at the girl moving to circle behind her, his heavy boots crunching against the dried leaves and dead twigs. “Lying looks good on you Lassie”. Harry stood behind her still figure, his hook reaching forward to tugback a large section of her curls exposing her pale neck, left ear, and a small white pearl earring. “And you know what they say”, Harry paused leaning down to her ear, his top lip ghostly touching her ear, “bad girls have all the fun”. His warm breath fanned across Azalea’s exposed cold skin, goosebumps erupting in a trail down her body. Blood rushed to Azalea’s cheeks, turning them warm and red instantly. Tugging her bottom lip in between her teeth, Azalea spun around carefully, Harry still leaning in dangerously close. Standing on her tippy toes, Azalea brought her self closer, their noses touching lightly. Harry’s breath quietly hitched as he tried to regain his flirtatious composure, blue eyes watching her brown ones strongly. “I’ll keep that in mind” Azalea whispered, her sweet breath making Harry’s jaw clench slightly. Azalea held her position for a moment longer, driving Harry mad with her stillness, before she dropped back down onto the heels of her feet, stepping back a foot. Harry stared at her cheekily smiling face, his mouth opening a gap. Harry the insufferable flirt was flustered… She stuck her tongue out at him a giggle escaping her lips. A smirk worked its way back onto Harry’s face, as he watched the mocking Siren in front of him. “Fuckin’ Tease”Harry muttered before chuckling as Azalea’s head fell back in laughter. “Well someone has to put you in your place, Pirate.”

Taglist:

@ietss

@stevenrogerscarter

the best part of Far From Home was when Ned says Europeans love Americans and every single one of us Europeans in the theater laughed way harder than for any of the other more advanced jokes in the entire mcu

a puppy with a puppy

Ya'll ever wanna cry because the sky is so gorgeous?

I wanna see Hunter just going absolutely feral.

Bad batch spoilers, rated M

Imagine he gets to the planet Omega and Crosshair are on. He manages to get into the base somehow, and he doesn’t even wait for Echo and Wrecker. He doesn’t use the stun feature. The entire landing pad is gone by the time the other two join him.

He’s pushing on, through hallways. He shoots down storm troopers as he goes, paying attention to which ones are just troopers and which ones look like higher ups.

“Um, Hunter?” Echo asks, his blaster raised but still cold from disuse.

Hunter finally finds an officer. Grabs him by the throat, slams him into the wall. “Where’s Hemlock?” He growls, teeth bared.

Echo and Wrecker pause behind him, blasters raised at the ready for any back up this officer may call.

“I don’t know,” the officer chokes, hands uselessly clawing at Hunter’s arms. “But if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“I believe you,” Hunter spits, and the blast in the officer’s stomach forces the man limp.

“Hunter?” Wrecker asks, eyes looking on worriedly.

Hunter doesn’t answer. He goes through a door. Another. Dead bodies pile up, never even had a chance to shoot back. Hunter doesn’t pause, doesn’t stop moving. He shoots as he goes.

Through another door. Down a flight of stairs. Another officer. He shoots everyone else, aims his blaster at the officer’s face. “Hemlock,” is all he says.

“I know where he is!” The officer says, hands raised in surrender. “I can take you to him!”

“Where is he?” Hunter growls.

“Floor -70. He’ll have heard the alarms by now. He’ll be in his bunker.”

Hunter shoves the man into Wrecker’s chest, who grabs him by the scruff of the neck and starts walking him to follow Hunter.

Elevators. Hunter fucking hates elevators. They’re slow, they force him to stand still. The officer won’t stop whimpering, face forced to look at the floor.

“Hunter,” Echo tries again.

Hunter works his jaw. Tilts his head just slightly to show he’s listening.

“What’s the plan?”

Hunter rolls his jaw again, looking back at the elevator doors. “Find Hemlock. Make him take us to Omega. Get out.”

“Are there any…in between steps?”

Hunter doesn’t answer. The door opens. He shoots down everyone running at him. Echo stuns the ones running away. Wrecker punches a few people in white coats standing in doorways.

“Take a left up here,” their captive whimpers out, refusing to look at the fallen teammates. “It’s a long hallway. His bunker will be at the very end.”

Hunter does. It’s only lab coats now. Hunter shoots them down, uncaring.

They reach the door, and Hunter kicks it in easily. It’s not a bunker. It’s an office. Hemlock isn’t there. He turns to their captive, fury turning his vision red.

“He’s supposed to be here!” The man cries, wincing as Wrecker’s hold tightens on his neck. “He said he would be here if there was ever an invasion.”

Hunter walks over to him, grabbing his chin. Wrecker lets go. The man whimpers, the words to beg for his life dying on his tongue. “I believe you,” Hunter says. For a second, a flicker of hope lights up the man’s eyes. But then those eyes go dull as Hunter quickly snaps his neck.

“Hunter!” Echo hisses, disapproval painting his voice.

Hunter ignores him. He pushes past them both, forcing his way back down the long corridor. He takes a right where he before took a left.

“Clones!” Wrecker yells, looking at the cells upon cells of locked up clones.

“I’ll let them out,” Echo says, something raw in his voice. “This must be where they’re taking the decommissioned clones. Rex was telling me about a mission to save-“

Hunter holds up a hand, indicating silence. Echo’s voice falters, stops.

Hunter listens. The prisoners are yelling, begging for release. Distractions. “Silence!” Hunter yells, after shooting three rounds into the ceiling.

Quiet. Good. He closes his eyes, focusing. “Wrecker, with me. Echo-go ahead.”

He feels more than sees Echo nod his affirmative, and he sets to work on unlocking the doors.

Hunter leads Wrecker down the hall. Left. Right. Another right. Through a door. Another left. Pauses, has to shoot a guard. Through a door.

Hunter raises the gun, aiming it at the woman in a white coat. “She looks important,” Wrecker says softly.

“My name is Emerie Karr,” she stutters out. “I’m the lead scientist.”

“And I care because?” Hunter growls, stepping forward and getting the blaster closer to her chest.

“I’m the one working on Omega and Crosshair.”

Hunter’s blood goes cold. He stops breathing. His hand shakes. “Where. Is. She?” He spits through gritted teeth.

“This way,” she says, but doesn’t indicate or move. She only stares at the blaster.

“Move!” Hunter yells, frightening her. She starts to back up, but realizes that’s not fast enough quickly. More rooms. Moor hallways. More doors. It takes no time at all and an eternity.

“She’s in this room,” Emerie says softly. “Hemlock is in there.”

“Open. The. Door.”

Wrecker moves closer, blaster trained on her. “I’ve got her, Hunter. You check it out.”

Hunter can barely hear over the blood pounding in his ears. The door opens. His blaster aims inward, no target yet. He looks around, his own breathing deafening him.

“Hunter!”

He almost breaks.

The high pitched voice is scared. Hunter momentarily worries he’s covered in blood. If he’s scaring her. But no; it’s not him. It’s Hemlock.

“Take one more step and I shoot her,” Hemlock’s low, soft voice lilts. As if he’s the one in control.

Hunter aims his blaster, teeth bared in aggression. “I won’t ask you twice,” Hunter spits.

Hemlock presses the gun more firmly into Omega’s temple, and the girl cries out in pain or fear. “You aren’t the one making demands here, Hunter.” His voice annoys Hunter, and the growl which rips through his throat is involuntary.

Hunter’s entire body is shaking with the desire to rip Hemlock apart. “Omega is too close,” Emerie whispers unhelpfully.

“Put the gun down, Hunter. It’s over. Put the gun down and let my scientist in the room. My guards will be here shortly.”

Hunter grins, too much teeth to be anything other than threatening. Any guards will be meeting the fury of countless decommissioned clones right about now.

Hemlock seems undeterred. “I’m only keeping her alive to control Nala Se. I don’t care if she lives or dies. Now that Nala Se has seen her, I can convince her Omega is safe and held in a cell. You’re the one who wants her alive.”

Hunter laughs, and it sounds so unlike anything he’s ever made before. “If you kill her, I will tear you apart, piece by piece, until you beg for mercy that won’t come.”

Hemlock has the sense to at least hesitate now. He looks between Hunter and Wrecker, whose gun is still aimed at Emerie.

Omega cries softly, not looking at Hunter anymore. “I’m scared,” she whispers.

Hunter fights back the urge to growl again. He works his jaw instead, eyes flicking from her to Hemlock. He sees movement behind the pair as he does; it takes everything inside of him to not focus on the body slowly inching towards them.

“You hear that?” Hemlock asks, voice somehow still calm and soft. Taunting. Hunter bares his teeth in rage, allowing Hemlock to think he took the bait. “She’s scared. Do you think she’s scared of me, or of you?”

Wrecker shifts behind him, and Hunter can practically see the excitement he’s trying to conceal. Hunter ignores them both. “Omega,” Hunter pleads, lowering his gun. “I’d never hurt you,” he promises.

Omega looks up, eyes full of tears. “Hunter,” she whines.

Hemlock pretends to coo, mockingly. “Hunter,” he copies, but a wicked smile distorts his face into something inhuman. Emerie’s breath catches as she notices, but Wrecker presses the blaster more firmly into the back of her neck. “Go ahead and put the gun down, Hunter. I win.”

Hunter holds his gun tighter, still lowered to point at the floor. He grits his teeth, pretending to fight himself on what to do. “It’s okay, Omega,” Hunter says softly. “Just look at me.”

Omega stares into Hunter’s eyes, her own full of tears. “I want to go home,” she says.

Hunter takes one hand off the gun, pretending to raise it in surrender. “I’m here, Omega. I’m here.”

Hemlock laughs in victory, aiming the gun instead at Hunter. Stupid, arrogant mistake. “That’s right. Put that gun down. Nice and slow.”

The blow is sudden, and hard. Hemlock loses consciousness immediately, and Omega sprints for Hunter’s arms. Hunter catches her easily, arms wrapping around her and holding her as tightly as he can.

“You lose,” Crosshair spits, swaying on his feet. He leans heavily on the bench Hemlock is now slouched over.

Wrecker hits Emerie over the back of the head with the handle of his blaster, and is pushing past Hunter and Omega before her body hits the floor. He throws Crosshair’s arm over his shoulder, using one arm to help support his weight. “I knew you were still in there somewhere,” Wrecker says lowly.

Hunter pets Omega’s hair, holding her to his chest. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’m here now.”

“Hunter,” Omega cries, tiny fists clenching at his hair to keep him close.

“Hunter,” Echo calls from behind them. “Rex is on his way to get the decommissioned clones. Or…” his voice turns sad for a moment. “The ones who are left. There were a lot of guards here.”

Hunter raises himself from his kneeling position, bringing Omega with him. Her legs wrap around his waist, and he half rests her on his hip. “Good. Help Crosshair. Wrecker, grab Hemlock.” All three of his brothers hesitate, questions on the tip of their tongues. “Now,” Hunter growls.

Wrecker gently passes Crosshair to Echo, and then throws Hemlock over his shoulder. Omega buries her face in Hunter’s neck, quiet sobs breaking his heart.

They make their way to the elevator, and Hunter glares at the escapees so they won’t join them. There isn’t much room left anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Crosshair says after several minutes of silence.

Hunter looks to him, and for the first time since Ord Mantell, his face softens. He raises the hand not holding Omega to cup his shoulder, squeezing. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t need to. The sigh of relief Crosshair tries to hide is indicative of message received.

There’s a lot of questions which will be asked later. Later. Once they’re free from this hell planet. Once Omega is safe on their ship. Once he has time.

Something interesting I’ve learned - although I don’t know if this has a name in any other language, but in Korean this position is called “manner legs”. It refers to people stretching their legs to sink down to a smaller height so people working or filming with them could either work on their hair and makeup or appear to be their same height.

quick question what the fuck is this song