YeeeeeeeHaaaaaaa!!

cheesecake from @juri.hoppe on ig

Fata Morgana

a superior mirage caused by warm air resting on patches of colder air in an atmospheric duct that acts like a refracting lens. Objects on the horizon could appear to be mirrored, distorted, or float. This form of mirage could be the reason for the Flying Dutchman Legend.

I was watching calisthenic tutorials but got distracted and it ended up anatomy practice e_e

And I made it Tech 'cause idk, enjoy

Poor Rex. He needs some tea

Rex: *finally sits down after living through the worst mission of his life on Umbara*

Anakin and Ahsoka appear: “hey so we got you this cute kitty cat outfit and we’re gonna need you go to undercover with us.”

Nooooooo!

i'm not trying to replace you (only hold on to your memory)

@summer-of-bad-batch bonus prompt "Can you braid my hair?"

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Hunter, Omega, Tech (mentioned) Set after the finale when everyone is living happily on Pabu Word Count: ~1950 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: Omega misses the quiet rituals that had been hers and Tech's alone, and turns to Hunter for comfort.

Author's Note:- You all know @kybercrystals94, right? The brilliant mastermind behind the Summer of Bad Batch event? Detail Work is one of Kyber's earliest fics, and one of my favourites. When the hair braiding prompt came up during voting for the event I immediately had an idea for a story that occupies the hollow space of Omega's loss, and leads perfectly into my fic Beach Days & Hair Braiding So go read Detail Work and show Kyber some love, and enjoy this slice of Hunter comforting Omega too! :)

“Hunter!”

The tone of Omega’s cry had Hunter on instant alert, head jerking up from his task stirring the dinner. Omega flew in through the door, running straight at him and into his chest, face buried in his apron.

“Woah,” he soothed, carefully laying the sauce-stained wooden spoon atop the pot and instead cupping one hand to the back of her head, smoothing her hair as he brought his other arm round her shoulders in an awkward embrace. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” came the muffled reply. It was the least-convincing lie he had heard since Wrecker claimed he wasn’t the one who had devoured the entire tray of delicately-prepared dainties Hunter had made specially for one of Echo and Crosshair’s visits.

“Nothing,” he echoed sceptically. He settled her more firmly in his embrace, dropping his head to press a soft kiss to the top of her hair. “Alright then. I guess if nothing is up, I’ll just hold you for no reason… ‘til you’re ready to talk?”

He let his voice lift the sentence into a question, and Omega’s answering nod bobbed against his chest. Hunter squeezed her tightly, pressing reassurance into her with both arms now as they stood in the quiet kitchen and listened to the pots bubble on the stove.

After a while Hunter began to hum a tuneless, absent-minded rhythm, the noise vibrating through his chest and to Omega. Her breathing was evening out now, although he could still feel the pressure of her hands bunched tightly in his shirt-front through the apron.

The apron had been a gift from Omega who had gotten tired of helping him wash the food-splatter stains out of his shirts when he first started learning to cook. Wrecker was much better at cooking than he was, and endlessly teased his brother about being unable to smell when his food was burned or over-seasoned despite his enhanced senses. But Hunter persevered, determined to prove himself capable as more than a weapon of war – to be able to provide for his family in more ways than simply defending them from danger.

“Need to stir this,” he cautioned, nudging the toes of his boots against Omega’s feet. Obediently she lifted them one at a time, standing onto his feet, and let him waddle-shuffle them round so he could face the cooker again, reaching out to retrieve the spoon and attend to the bubbling pot.

Hunter shifted his arm lower across her back, holding her close to him and away from the hot pans.

“Think I made too much,” he said conversationally. “Who shall we invite round for dinner to eat the excess tonight?”

“No-one,” mumbled Omega against his chest. Her hands finally relaxed their death-grip on his shirt, only to go round his middle instead. She turned her face to the side, cheek resting on his chest, and her words became easier to make out. “You can save the leftovers for another day. We should have a quiet night.”

Something was definitely up, but Hunter merely rested his chin on her head as he worked and hummed an agreement.

“Sure, kid. Whatever you want,” he promised.

When everything was cooked – at least, Hunter hoped it was properly cooked – he turned off the heat and carried Omega, still standing on his feet, in the same awkward waddle across the tiny kitchen to retrieve plates.

“Not as easy as when you were small,” he lamented with a smile, and that at last drew a giggle from Omega as she hopped down from his feet to help set the cutlery out.

Hunter’s gaze turned pensive as he watched her, though he quickly smoothed the expression into a smile when Omega glanced his way. She had grown so much in the months since they had settled on Pabu – finally, full-time, no half-commitments, settled down. For good.

She still bore the scars of her trauma from Tantiss, probably always would. Kriff, they all did. But each day that passed with more smiles than pain was a victory, and the longer they went without the shadow of the Empire darkening their lives, the more fully Omega relaxed.

Like she finally believed she might be safe.

Even then, she had the occasional day like this.

Plating up their meal and setting both dishes on the small table, Hunter sat opposite Omega. He cast one of his brief smiles her way, before turning his attention to his food.

“So what have you been up to today?” he asked, tone light and conversational; he wasn’t a sergeant asking for a debrief any more. Not to mention that the open question would let Omega tell him as much – or as little – as she was ready to.

“Me and the boys–” meaning the clones Mox, Stak and Deke, “spent the morning cleaning the bay from last night’s storm,” Omega told him, shovelling food into her mouth. At least she hadn’t lost her appetite. “There was loads of cool stuff washed up there. Oh!”

She paused, laying down her cutlery, and reached into her jacket.

A wan smile lit her face behind the hesitation in her eyes, but she looked straight at Hunter as she said, “I made this for you.”

She pulled forth a length of string, coiled and knotted, and threaded with a spiral shell at the bottom. The twine – old fisher-net rope, if Hunter judged it correctly – was pushed through a natural perforation near the top of the shell, and the whole thing still carried the salt-rich scent of the ocean.

“It’s a necklace,” Omega supplied, as though it needed the explanation.

Hunter reached out and took it from her, carefully turning the shell in his hands and admiring the gentle intricacy of the spiral and the soft iridescence as it caught the light. Then he looped the string over his head, letting the shell hang against his sternum, over his heart.

“I love it,” he told her with a genuine grin, continuing to hold the shell with his left hand as with his right he resumed eating. “Did you find anything else?”

“Some tarpaulin we can probably patch,” she said, “and… I think it’s part of the Marauder’s nav console?” And she produced a dented metal cylinder, the transparisteel cover cracked and broken.

Hunter nodded, inspecting the part. When the Marauder exploded – was destroyed – debris had scored the mountain-face of the island near the docks, and been scattered wide into the ocean. They were still finding pieces all this time later.

“We can probably repurpose it for something,” he said, setting it down to continue his meal. “What did you do with the rest of the day?”

“I was helping Phee rewire her ship–”

Omega’s words choked off and she stuffed a huge forkful of food into her mouth to cover it. Hunter had noticed though. He watched as Omega chewed, gaze downcast and eyes too-bright, and knew they were getting close to what had upset her.

“Something happen with Phee?” he asked carefully, nudging her ankle under the table to show his support.

“Not really,” said Omega with a head-shake, then abruptly, “Can you braid my hair?”

“What?”

Hunter blinked, nonplussed at the sudden turn in conversation and Omega’s demanding tone. She was staring at him with a hard, uncompromising line to her mouth, the corners just downturned, and with her brown eyes shining with near-tears she looked for all the world the same as his brothers had when they were stubborn cadets. Probably looked like he had, too.

“I, uh…” He glanced at her blonde hair, the lengths escaping her pony-tail tucked behind her ears. “I don’t know how,” he admitted, then gestured vaguely. “Why don’t you ask Lyana?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Omega’s expression closed off, her gaze dropping away from his once more.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, then pushed her plate away. “I’m finished. Gonna have an early night–”

“Now hang on a second–” Hunter stood with her, chair scraping on the floor as he stepped quickly to block her path. She wouldn’t look at him but she didn’t shrug him off as he rested a hand on her upper arm, rubbing soothingly. “Omega. Why do you want me to braid your hair?” he asked, making sure to put the gentle emphasis in the right place.

Omega sniffed, and at last those threatened tears beaded on her lashes, starting to track down her tanned cheeks.

“I miss Tech,” she whispered, voice wobbling a little through the tears she fought to swallow. “He used to braid my hair for me. I… I was hoping you would…”

She trailed off hopelessly, and with a sympathetic noise Hunter pulled her back into a hug, holding her close and swaying slightly.

Casting his mind back, he remembered coming back from supply runs to find Omega with a neat pair of braids in her still-short hair, tied carefully at the nape of her neck. He pressed his cheek tightly against her hair now, giving her ponytail a gentle flick.

“Tech did your hair?” he asked with a smile, surprised to find the thickness of grief in his throat as he spoke. “I always thought you did it yourself.”

Omega gave a laugh which was almost a sob. “I found some instructions on the holonet but I couldn’t get it right. Tech was… Tech was so good at detail work.” She was trembling in his arms, but this was good, that she was releasing the pressure of her grief instead of keeping it inside for fear of upsetting her brothers. “I was hoping… You might be able to…”

Hunter angled his head, pressing a fond kiss to her temple and holding her tightly. “Of course,” he murmured, voice holding a promise he didn’t know how to deliver, but Force help him he’d try. “I’d be honoured.”

She relaxed a little into his arms, a shudder of grief passing between them as he willed love into her. Eventually she pulled back, swiping at her tear-stained cheeks with her sleeve, but she was smiling.

“You’ll learn to do it then? Braid my hair?”

Hunter nodded fervently. “I’ll find someone to teach me.”

He reached up, stroking the stray ends of her hair that clung to her damp cheeks and brushing them back so he could see her face, blotchy and pink with crying. He took her cheeks in his hands, holding her face gently cupped as he smiled down at her. Letting a glimpse of his own sorrow leach past his usual mask, he breathed out a sigh.

“Can’t promise I’ll be as good at it as Tech,” he cautioned, playfully flipping the ends of her hair. “Your hair always looked lovely like that, Omega.” He smiled, keeping one hand cupped to her cheek. “He’d be so proud of how you’ve grown.”

Omega sniffed, but now she was smiling even if it was with an ache of sadness.

“I think I’m still going to have that early night,” she said, stepping back at last.

Hunter let his arms drop to his sides, a slow movement that ached with the reticence of releasing her, but that was his role in her life now. Learning to let her go. Still being here when she needed to run home to his arms.

“Sure thing, kid,” he said softly, offering her one last pat to the shoulder. “I’ll clean up out here.”

“Maybe… I could keep my door open?” suggested Omega. “So I can hear you?”

Hunter smiled and gave her a gentle push towards her room.

“Whatever you want,” he promised, and he meant it.

Whatever she wanted. Whatever she needed.

He would be there for her.

Time to learn to braid hair.

Hey Crossy! I asked the rest of your brothers so I’d figure I’d save the grumpiest for last, What’s the most annoying thing each of your brothers do or have done to you?

Would be hard to compete with calling me "Crossy"

Was curious about what else Tech had recorded

those boys really get around

*Echo and Tech devising battle strategies at 2am on Echo’s first night with the batch*

Echo: —and then, that’s when we would use the cannon to launch wrecker straight into the wall—

Tech: —yes, and at the same time, you and Hunter can be on either side rigging the explosives—

Echo: —which Crosshair will shoot from the other side of the battlefield from on top of the Rancor that we kidnapped earlier—

Hunter: *whispers to Crosshair* this might have been a bad idea.

Crosshair: *sips his coffee* I, myself, have always wanted to ride a rancor.

he he he😆

Angy

Родные <3