Singingwhilebaking - Enjoy!

😳 that's an honorable man🫡

Since there are a lot of things that Tech does and says that remind me of my grandfather, and I often will take things my grandfather does or some of his quirks and give them to Tech in my writings or headcanons, I must propose this:

Tech, although yes he does snark and sass and complain about things, is really rather calm and mild-mannered, but all of that chill goes out the window the SECOND someone disrespects or is rude to his wife Phee.

baking because killing the people who inconvenience me is wrong and im just a girl 🎀

What is this? 👀 It looks interesting!

New game:

Show me a song that fits the last chapter of your story, as if it was a movie coming to a close and rolling into the end credits, making the story feel cinematic to the writer/reader. Put the title of the story before the song, and then tag 4 people (or more if you choose) to play along (Bonus points if the chapter is still in your WIPs and not posted yet, giving your readers a 'hint" at what the ending my be like)

Story: Shadows of the Force *part 1* (ending in WIPs)

Tagging: @lila-rose @cellythefloshie @mp0625 @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @cyarbika @kybercrystals94 @sunshinesdaydream @hugmekenobi

Was curious about what else Tech had recorded

those boys really get around

Fics rec of the week, and especially if you like well-written Wrecker, is the entire work of @electrikworm on AO3 In order:

The Batch have a terrible day

Human Shield

A peaceful moment

(But go read the others too)

I just know that Echos 501st ARC ass would have sat himself down on a rock and kicked his feet up the second that Hunter, Wrecker and Crosshair decided they want to fight Ventress.

He's like been there, done that. have fun getting your ass wooped.

He needs more hugs!

Might

Read here on Ao3!

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 2 | Prompt: Injured

Rated: G | Words: 511

“Caf?” Hunter asks one morning, holding out a thick mug.

With a hum, Crosshair reaches for it, the dregs of sleep still fogging his mind.

Hunter pulls the mug back, wincing, as he says, “Uh, sorry. Uhm…other hand, Cross.”

Crosshair looks down at his outstretched hand and sees that it is missing, phantom fingers reaching and flexing. He drops his arm. “I don’t want caf,” he mutters, turning away, the flame of embarrassment burning across his face.

“I’ll just leave it on the counter if you change your mind,” Hunter says.

But Crosshair won’t change his mind. He’s already tugging on his boots and walking out the door.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, but the cool, damp air almost instantly soothes the scorching humiliation of his absentmindedness. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so intensely, why it feels like an abrasive lapse of memory. He’d seen Echo deal with the same, exact issue as he acclimated to the loss of his own limbs after his rescue from Skako Minor. He’d never thought Echo ridiculous or idiotic for it. In fact, he’d admired the reg’s tenacity, how quickly he corrected and adapted.

And yet, here is Crosshair, refusing a cup of caf because he used the wrong hand to claim it.

“Crosshair, wait up!” Omega’s voice floats behind him. He stops, but doesn’t turn, listening as her running steps get closer, tangled with the sound of Batcher’s thundering gallop. Omega trots to a stop at his left side and slips her hand into his. “Can we walk with you?”

“I’m not going anywhere…just walking,” he says.

Omega smiles up at him. “Perfect.”

He shoves his right wrist in his jacket pocket as they walk, and he can almost pretend his hand is still there, hidden from sight.

Batcher lumbers ahead, leading them down to the beach. The hound stops every little while to look back at them, making sure her shadows are still nearby. Omega swings their arms playfully, singing a soft, hummed tune that Crosshair recognizes from the docks. A melody sung by the fishermen.

“Can I help with the specs for your prosthetic?” Omega asks suddenly.

Crosshair frowns. “My what?”

“Your prosthetic,” Omega says again, patiently. “Can I help design it?”

“I’m not getting a prosthetic,” Crosshair says icily.

Omega is looking up at him, he can see her expression crumble out the corner of his eye, but he won’t look at her. He swallows, glancing away, and hiding his face entirely.

“That’s okay if you don’t want one,” Omega says after a moment, “I just thought you might.”

Omega doesn’t hum or swing his arm the rest of the way to the beach. As soon as their boots touch the sand, she chases after Batcher, laughing as the hound crashes into the surf.

Crosshair finds a piece of driftwood log to sit on and watches them play. He takes his right wrist out of his pocket and tries to imagine it with an artificial hand. He doesn’t know if he wants that.

But he might.

END

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Little froggies😊

cake from @laloli.pop on ig

Родные <3

😎 swag

As someone who is very light-sensitive and has bright light as one of their migraine triggers, I strongly headcanon that a big part of why Crosshair is scowling all the time is because most light bothers him. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.