773

Star Wars • Christian • Writer • Artist • Video-Creator

[redemption773]

Welcome to my Bad Batch blog! I’ll be posting here about my fanfiction, as well as some fanart and OCs. Consider this a directory of sorts :)

My ao3 My Wattpad

~~⌖~~

Fanfiction:

Sparks & Embers (Crosshair x OC)

Embers & Ash (Crosshair x OC) COMING SOON July 2026!

Brothers (no pairings, hurt/comfort, angst)

Bad Batch Fanart:

All of my artwork can be found using the tag: #my art.

Clone x OC Week 2026: Masterlist

OC Bios:

Ranya Vrie

Havoc Seven (tba)

Non nobis Domine, non nobis Domine, sed Nomine, tuo da Gloriam!

[thewayisset]

[redemption773]

EPILOGUE

T | F/M | Canon-Typical Violence

Previous | Chapter Index

Urok Meheved did not lift his head when he heard the rattling of the doors to his chamber as they parted. A fist struck an armored body. A winded grunt was followed by a gruff command. “Move!” 

He listened while two sets of footsteps approached, his calloused thumb tracing the point of his blade, but he could not be shaken from his thoughts.

Why had he been forsaken in this way? Every effort he’d made to restore his honor had been devastated, his plans made futile. His daughter was a disgrace to him, yet she walked free. He’d been so close, only for retribution to be denied him by some filthy outsiders – a pair of clones, nonetheless. It was beyond insulting. 

It was, by his estimation, justification for war. 

Henceforth, my people shall have enmity with your people. I shall never rest from hunting you down. Urok’s teeth ground together as hatred burned within him. 

The footsteps stopped before him. And lingered, waiting. 

“What?” He broke the silence at last, without looking. 

“This outsider filth requested an audience with you,” said the female voice of the Tribulation soldier.

“Who is he that I should care?” 

The stranger spoke, his voice distorted by a helmet with a vocal modulator into a guttural, ragged sound. “I am CX-2, a former operative in service to the Empire.” 

Urok glared at the floor as he processed this information. Thus far the Empire had not been interested in his home planet. A sense of foreboding and dread stirred. 

“If your…Empire wishes to occupy my territory, how does it intend to compensate us?” He growled, “How much blood is it willing to expend?” 

“You mistake my purpose. I am no longer a pawn of that regime. I am here of my own volition. My reasons are my own.” 

“Which are?” 

“I have enemies. I believe they are shared by you.” 

The tip of the blade slipped. Urok stared as the pad of his thumb began to blossom pearls of blood. Hope spawned anew. He chuckled, at last lifting his gaze to scrutinize the stranger who stood at the foot of his throne.

The figure arraigned in armor was tall and slender, wiry muscles beneath the form-fitted attire. He carried himself with a deadly calm; silent and calculating.  

Yes. Here is one who can be useful to me. 

“And,” Urok said quietly, “if I set you upon them, what will you do? When you find them?” 

“My quarrel is with the men who freed your daughter. If I find them, I will eliminate them. But I will bring your daughter to you, with whom you may deal as you see fit,” explained the operative. 

The offer was too enticing to be true. Urok frowned, watching the blood trail down his thumb in contemplative stillness. Should this man fail him, Urok would attend to him as he had done to all others before him. The cost would be little. What had he to lose?

Everything. 

“Remove your helmet. I wish to see your face,” he demanded. 

The stranger before him hesitated only a moment. Then the willowy arms lifted and the helmet was dislodged from his head, revealing sunken cheeks and eyes ringed with scars. Rust-colored hair grew in a receding pattern along the top of his scalp, the sides shaved close. As the operative blinked, the cyber-optics in his eyes adjusted their pupils to the light in a glint of neon green. His sober expression was robotic, unchanging.

This man had killed before, and would do so again. 

Urok gave a solemn nod. “Do as you have said. We shall see what comes of it.” 

CX-2 dipped his head with rigid deference. He said nothing, but turned on his heel and dismissed himself from Urok’s presence. 

Watching the operative leave, Urok smeared his bloody thumb on the leg of his pants and stood, speaking to the lone Tribulation soldier who waited beside him. “Tell the others to make ready. We shall not rest.”

“Yes,” answered the helmeted soldier, her voice sinister, “Father.”

⌖ End Part I ⌖

Previous | Chapter Index

[paperback-rascal]

Comics done for @summer-of-bad-batch's 300 followers celebration bonus prompt - "Light in the darkness".

It features one of my favorite headcanons - Crosshair sees well in dark due to his eyes having layer of tapetum lucidum.

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See more of my fix-it posts here -> [LINK] <-

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STAR WARS: The Clone Wars/The Bad Batch © George Lucas/ Dave Filoni/ LucasFilm/ Disney

[paperback-rascal]

Phee, that's just the tip of the iceberg on how unique Clone Force 99 actually is as a whole.

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My fanart masterlist -> [LINK] <-

===

STAR WARS: The Clone Wars/The Bad Batch © George Lucas/ Dave Filoni/ LucasFilm/ Disney

[summer-of-clones]

This year there will be weekly themes!

Poll, tag, and ask games will match the weekly theme.

You are welcome to create fills that go with the weekly theme, but it’s not required! ✨

(A text copy of the list below the cut!)

Weekly Themes

1. Cadet Week

A week dedicated to clone cadets

2. 212th Week

A week focusing on the whole of the 212th

3. Downtime Week

A week to focus on clones’s downtime

4. Remembrances Week

A week honoring brothers who have been lost

5. 501st Week

A week focusing on the whole of the 501st

6. No Order 66 Week

A week to imagine if Order 66 never happened

7. Deserters Week

A week focusing on the clones that deserted

8. Specialized Clones Week

A week dedicated to specialized clones

9. Bad Batch Week

Week focused on Clone Force 99

10. AU Week

A week to focus on the Alternate Universes in the fandom

11. Underrated Clones Week

A week to honor the clones often forgotten

12. Clones as Dads Week

A week to think about all the clones that took on fatherhood like their greatest mission

13. Squad Week

Week to honor your favorite squads

[redemption773]

I just recently finished watching ATLA again, and this concept was too fun to pass up.

That being said, this composition was an experimental nightmare. Much trial. Very error. Wow.

But I learned a lot! :)

Do not steal my art or feed it to AI.

[eobe]

I loooove ATLA and TBB and you nailed Crosshair and Hunter! The outfits are awesome too! ✨🤩

I had the same thought with that crossover and started with Earthbender Wrecker and left the poor man in the drafts!

Now as I saw your beautiful crossover art I decided to at least give him a doodle finish, so thank you for inspiring me!! 🤩🫶

My beautiful people, do you know ATLA? In cases you're interested, have a Wrecker, who absolutely deserves to have the power of Earth! And look at the beautiful art of OP!

Taglist: @lezz-agna @returnofthepineapple @sunshinesdaydream @vrycurious @chaicilatte @ladylucksrogue @freesia-writes @littlebitofeverything-lass @thecoffeelorian

My Chaos vode💥 @sabaccsniper @lonewolflupe @wings-and-beskargam @eclec-tech

Precious friends 🫶 @foxwithadarkside @tahny-andthe-diamonds @feralferrule @clonethirstingisreal @nocturius-pabu-core @fuzzyenthusiastnelket01

[redemption773]

That’s so cool! I love that we had the same idea! 😆🤍

[redemption773]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Skeletons

T | F/M | Canon-typical Violence

Next | Previous | Chapter Index

“What happened to Fennec?” 

It was not the first question Hunter asked upon fully regaining consciousness, but it was easily among the first to enter his mind. 

He lay in the horizontal tank as the bacta slowly receded around him. The rawness of his lash wounds had faded, and although the scars remained, the skin was freshly pink and soft. Before too long, there would be nothing left to show for Urok’s brutal hospitality. 

His knee, on the other hand, was a different story. A surgical scar ran across its width like a zipper, the skin taut over the bionic replacement within. Echo’s medical connections had provided the needed cybernetics; the same people who’d installed Crosshair’s prosthetic hand and the neuro-node that allowed him to control it. 

Hunter propped himself upright on his elbows, examining the knee which he was still reluctant to bend, much less apply any weight to. Crutches had been his primary form of transportation these last two months. In all that time, his knee still ached, sometimes enough to keep him awake at night. Was such discomfort going to be his new normal going forward? 

Crosshair was reclined against the wall of the bacta-therapy room, long legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded across his chest. He plucked the toothpick from his teeth and gestured with it over his shoulder. 

“Long gone,” he replied, “She stayed on Tevke.” 

The urge to ask if she was all right rose to the back of Hunter’s throat, only to be stifled by a frown as he realized he actually cared. He tried to remind himself that Fennec was a bounty hunter, the same one who’d tried repeatedly to capture Omega.  

Memories drifted, obscure and uncertain, like recalling a dream the day after awakening. Her face looking down at him; hands stroking through his hair; her arm around his body, supporting him as he walked – had he imagined all of that? Something told him it had been real. How else had he managed to survive? Bleeding, feverish, dying. Someone had to have been staying by his side all that time, keeping his temperature down, bringing him water, guarding their shelter. 

Hunter pinched between his eyes and sighed. It was too much for his tired brain to parse through. Why had she come back for him? Why had she bothered to keep him alive? He swore under his breath. 

I owe her my life. 

The ridges of Crosshair’s face deepened into a scowl. In a voice of steel, he expressed a single word: “No.” 

Hunter glanced up, immediately defensive. “She saved my life back there. I can’t just let that go. I owe her. That’s it.”

Even as he spoke, he was aware of the heat flushing his face and the sweat collecting on his brow. Without a doubt, his brother could see it. 

Crosshair looked unconvinced, but did not press the matter further. Pushing off the wall, he reinserted the toothpick in his mouth and said, “The healer told me to tell you that you’re one bacta session away from being ‘as good as you’re going to get’.” 

“Good.” Hunter draped his legs over the edge of the bacta cot. These healing sessions took up too much time out of his day anyway. The only reason he really went was to pacify Omega, who’d been doting on him since his return to Pabu. 

Of course, she had not been allowed to come into the bacta room, for obvious reasons. But she had always been waiting for him when it was over. So he was surprised, after dressing and making his way out to the receiving room, to find that she wasn’t there. 

“She’s down at the fishing docks,” Crosshair explained without needing to be asked. “Shep and Lyana volunteered her to help out with preparations for whatever it is they’re doing tonight.” 

“The festival,” Hunter clarified. He’d nearly forgotten; the annual harvest the islanders celebrated in the latter months of summer, when the air started to turn not quite so hot and the fronds on the trees began to yellow. “According to Shep, it’s an old tradition.” 

Crosshair grunted, pushing through the door into the glaring tropical sunlight. His gaunt face scrunched as he squinted and lowered the sunglasses over his eyes. “These people will find any excuse to celebrate anything, including nothing.” 

“I wouldn’t go either, except Omega’s got her heart set on it.” 

“Hmp.” Crosshair smirked. “She got to you too?” 

The clack of crutches on pavement followed them along the winding street, past houses and shops all in a communal state of easy domestic bliss. People were hanging stringed paper lanterns and decorations for the harvest season. A few amicable greetings were exchanged in passing. 

“We’ll just,” Hunter said, “try to make the most of it. I can’t say I mind it much, after Tevke. The people here might be a little…out of touch, but they’re better company than Urok Meheved.” 

“Hunter…” Crosshair stopped, his expression darkened by a look of self-loathing. The words he could not say were all in plain sight upon his face. 

“It was my own fault.” Hunter gripped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I didn’t check my math. If Tech had been there…”

Two pairs of eyes met, and both understood. There was nothing more to say. No man with a shred of pride would ever openly admit the words ‘you were right’, but the silence seemed to scream it at full volume.

Crosshair gave a nod, and they continued together along the street. 

~~⌖~~

“Congratulations.”

When Crosshair turned his attention away from the noise and the brightly-dressed crowd, he found Omega leaning against the wall beside him. She was mimicking his posture and disapproving scowl. He answered by way of a raised eyebrow. 

“You’re single-handedly bringing the mood down,” Omega elaborated, gesturing toward the colorful throng of islanders. “How do you do it?”

Crosshair surveyed the festival, from the people dancing in a clearing designated for that exact purpose, to the vendors cheerfully selling their wares in the booths that lined the fishing docks. A reed flute played a rollicking solo, complimented by the wooden percussion section. In unison, the majority of dancers clapped and gave a shout. 

He cast his sister a skeptical side-eye. If this was a Pabu Harvest Festival with the mood brought down, what was it like in full vigor? 

“I’m honored,” he droned, plucking the wearied toothpick from his teeth before flicking it away. 

“Crosshair,” Omega said, unusually solemn, “I never did apologize for the way I spoke to you before. When you came back with Hunter.”

“You had a right to be angry,” Crosshair said dismissively. 

“Still, I felt bad about it afterward. So I’m sorry. And also, I’m sorry it took so long to say it.” 

He gave a shrug. Since their return to Pabu, he’d been so preoccupied with taking care of Hunter, he hadn’t given it much thought. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Then…” A slyness infiltrated Omega’s face, the way she looked whenever she played sabaac. “You’ll let me come with you next time?” 

And suffer like they had on Tevke? Not a chance. Crosshair turned to face her, his voice sharp. “Have you been keeping up with your training?” 

The girl’s face fell. “Not exactly the way you told me to, but…” 

“If you want to go with us, you need to be able to practice drills in your sleep.” 

A third voice inserted itself: “Seems a bit intense.” 

Crosshair bristled. “Did I ask?” 

Phee Genoa smiled with a light shrug, turning her attention to Omega. “They’re dancing the Reel next, kid. Thought you’d like to know.” 

Omega’s demeanor transformed from dejection into excitement. “I nearly forgot! I have to find Wrecker! Thanks, Phee!” 

The Reel was Omega’s favorite. From the sidelines, Crosshair watched the dancers assemble into two parallel rows, facing each other. As the music began, the rows alternated, passing each other on the right, looping around, passing on the left. 

Despite how amusing it was to watch Wrecker attempting to be light on his feet, Crosshair quickly found himself bored. Out of the corners of his eyes, he was aware that Phee had not left his side. 

“Ranya’s back,” said the pirate. 

“Didn’t know she was gone.” 

“She’s been trying to forge her father’s name to get that bounty off her head.” 

“Hm.” A fresh toothpick clicked between his teeth. 

Phee’s next words startled him. “She said she wanted to talk to you.” 

What could the rogue pirate possibly need to discuss with him? The job was done, wasn’t it? Urok was dead. The bounty had been removed. Case closed. 

“Did she happen to say why?” He asked, cringing as Wrecker tripped and knocked someone else’s partner off their feet. 

“Just that you were the only person who would understand.” The pirate’s face scrunched. “Whatever that means.” 

Ah. Whatever it was, Crosshair surmised, it had to do with the eldest sister Ranya had killed. Best get this over with. With an impatient sigh, he asked, “She’s here?”

“Don’t know where she is,” Phee said, taking a sip of the vibrant purple island wine. “Last I saw her, she was down at the cavern.”

He wasn’t about to walk all the way over there. These civilian leather shoes pinched his feet; he hadn’t been able to find ones that fit. How Wrecker had managed to do so was not a question he’d bothered to have answered. It didn’t matter. He preferred his armor anyway. 

In a swell of applause, the music reached a conclusion, punctuated by a stab of the flute. The dancers clapped to one another before dispersing. 

Omega’s ponytail lashed as she squirmed through the sea of arms and legs, her face flushed from exertion. “All right. Your turn!”

Over my dead body. 

“Ha,” Crosshair said, deadpan.

“No excuses.” She grasped his hand, trying to lead him. “Everyone says you’re stuck-up. Let’s prove them wrong.” 

“But they’re not wrong,” he muttered, knowing it was futile because he was begrudgingly allowing her to pull him along behind her. 

“Stand here.” Omega pointed at the ground. 

Crosshair found himself standing in one of the rows the dancers had been in before. Directly across from him, Omega positioned herself. He shook his head in a silent plea. 

“I don’t dance,” he insisted. 

“It’s easy!” She glanced aside, someone catching her eye. “Ranya knows the Reel! She’s the one who taught me. Ranya!” 

The kid waved her over. 

Crosshair glanced in the same direction, realizing with a jolt what was happening. Dancing with his kid sister to humor her was one thing. Being set up with an almost complete stranger was something else entirely. 

The pirate approached through the crowd. The long sleeves of her tunic draped like white wings. She looked different somehow. Crosshair squinted, trying to figure out why. 

It’s because her hair is up, he told himself, It’s the bags under her eyes. She looks tired. 

“Omega…” Ranya dipped her head in greeting, matching glances with Crosshair in which nothing was expressed; she was a blank wall. “Good to see you again.”

“You need a partner for the Reel, right?” Omega said stealthily, hands clasped behind her back. “I found one.” 

Another glance was exchanged, interlocking on contact and becoming inextricably tangled. Crosshair felt himself redden. Ranya’s eyes widened. Two people became united by a common horror of awkwardness and the need to extricate themselves from it. 

A flute cut the air above their heads like a giant pair of scissors. 

“It’s starting!” Omega shooed the two of them into their respective rows.

“Omega…” Crosshair tried to catch her eye so that maybe she would see his undisguised panic and extend mercy.

But the kid was devoured by the crowd, with one final piece of advice thrown over her shoulder. “Ranya can show you how! Just follow her lead!” 

Crosshair caught Ranya’s eye and shook his head as the people on either side of them swept together with the first movement of the dance. He and the pirate stood out like two wooden statues, lighthouses in a swirling sea. 

“I had nothing to do with this,” he grumbled, embarrassed, sweating under her scrutiny. 

“I believe you.” 

They remained adjacent one another, motionless. Their face-to-face silence was made all the more conspicuous by the six foot gap between them, and the music which flowed and twisted around them both like a thread. 

Crosshair inclined his head toward the docks. “Do you…want to get out of here?”

The pirate’s answer was a nod. 

He didn’t wait for her, knowing somehow that if he simply turned and stalked off, she would follow. 

She did. 

The silken layers of her tunic lapsed behind her. The fabric was caught by the night wind to coil around his leg before being snatched free again in a moment. How long they walked without speaking, he didn’t know. Any time at all felt like too long of a stretch. One of them ought to say something, but conversation had never been his forte and the pirate was volunteering nothing. 

Crosshair noticed the vendor’s booths as they scrolled past, selling anything from arcade games to ice cones – nothing he had any interest in. 

Impatience pricked him into making the first move. “Phee…mentioned you wanted to talk?” 

Her silence continued until the moment when his head snapped in her direction with an exasperated scowl. 

“Yes,” Ranya blurted, sounding as though she was drowning and that one word was a gasp for air before the darkness pulled her down again. 

They had reached the end of the pier now, where they would need to turn around and go back. But Ranya stopped and seemed intent to remain, so Crosshair waited, his arms folded stiffly. At least it was quieter here, away from the live band and the thickest of the crowds. 

“Well…?” He prodded. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, about learning to forgive myself? You seem like you’d know something about that.” 

Oh, we don’t go there. Crosshair kept his face expressionless, his walls going up immediately to protect the raw wounds within. He said nothing, hoping there was enough foreboding in his silence that the pirate would take a hint and not pursue this any further. 

But she asked, “So…how did you do it?” 

The breeze swelled from the ocean, warm and tasting of salt, sweeping past the two of them in a wave.

I’m not your therapist. Crosshair went on lockdown. His voice was harsh – a blatant warning signal for her to stop. “You’re assuming I’ve managed to figure that out.” 

The pirate’s shoulders fell in a gradual deflation, as she finally seemed to realize she wasn’t going to get any help from him. “Does it ever get easier?” 

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “I’ll be the first to let you know if it does.” 

“Right…” Ranya nodded, backing away like a child that’s just been bitten on the hand. “Thanks.” 

Thanks for nothing, was what it sounded like. 

Crosshair watched her walk away. The white wings of her sleeves floated on the air. Why come to him for help? When there was Phee? When there was Alarah? Her own people? As she had even stated herself before, they were practically strangers. He barely knew her. 

So because they had one thing in common, she thought that gave her a right to just approach him for advice? Just because they both had skeletons in their closets, didn’t mean those skeletons had to mingle.           

Crosshair remained standing like a gargoyle at the farthest edge of the pier. He decided to stay put for a while, hoping he would not encounter anyone else seeking his wisdom for the rest of the night. He stayed until the toothpick had become soft from overuse, and the dew of the night had begun to creep into his bones. Drowsiness weighed on his eyelids as he rose from dangling his legs over the pier’s edge, and began his reluctant sojourn back to the festival center. 

Right away, he knew the atmosphere had shifted. The parents and children from earlier had retired to make way for the nighttime crowd. The music was jauntier, more raucous in nature. 

Omega was nowhere to be seen. Knowing Hunter, he’d already made sure to get her home before midnight. But Wrecker’s towering figure was not hard to find. 

Crosshair flagged him down. “Hunter and Omega left?” 

“Yeah, a while ago. I’m gonna head out too. My feet hurt!” Wrecker grinned. “You comin? Or are you gonna stay?” 

Shaking his head, Crosshair muttered, “I’ve been here too long already.” 

“Ha! I hear ya! I’m surprised you stuck it out this long.” 

Torches led the way along the cobbled path winding away from the fishing docks. Yellow and orange themed banners fluttered on the night air, reminding him of Ranya’s sleeves. She hadn’t left his mind. Something about their conversation from earlier was not leaving him alone. Perhaps it was the way he’d handled it. Or maybe it was the fact that she’d sought him out, of all people. No one ever did that. Not even Omega. 

One broken person could not expect help from another broken person. 

Or could they? 

Crosshair caught a flicker of white in the corner of his eye, like the flash of a hawk’s wing. 

“Hey, you’re not lookin’ so good.” Wrecker’s verbal assessment of Ranya Vrie was accurate. Slumped against the stone wall beside the path, a lazy simper upon her face, the pirate fixed unsteady eyes upon Crosshair and gave a chuckle of recognition. A glass teetering between her fingers still contained a drop or two of vivid purple that sloshed around when she moved. 

“You’re not exactly easy on the eyes yourself, big guy.” Her words slurred like syrup. 

“Is Phee around?” Crosshair asked, looking back down the street toward the festival and seeing no one he recognized.

“Nah...” Strands of Ranya’s hair swung freely as she shook her head. “Phee…went home. Left me all alone. Can you believe that…?” 

Wrecker inclined down to murmur, “I don’t think she’s actin’ normal.” 

No, she was not. Crosshair didn’t have to wonder why. The glass in Ranya’s hand was a good enough indicator. He wondered how many she’d had tonight. 

“Go on ahead,” he told Wrecker, “I’ll handle it.” 

This might be a while. 

When Wrecker had continued on without him, Crosshair turned to study the drunken pirate. He did not approach her, but stayed outside of her reach, trying to work out in his mind how best to deal with this. He didn’t like the idea of leaving her to walk home by herself. Pabu was a decent community, but every place had its criminal element, and this island was no different. 

“It’s getting late,” he said. 

Ranya turned her back on him as if she had not heard him speak. Perhaps, in her state, she had not. She seemed lost in her own thoughts, staring out into the black abyss across the ocean, as if it was the chasm into which her father had vanished. 

“I’ve made mistakes,” she mumbled. 

Those words sounded familiar. Too familiar. Crosshair realized he’d said them himself before, many times, about things he'd done that had been morally questionable. But the pirate wasn’t making this admission sober. In fact, he wondered if tonight might have been the first time she’d ever drank anything spirited, as she was having a difficult time standing upright.

Ranya leaned against the stone wall, squeezing her eyes shut so tightly a wrinkle formed between her eyebrows. 

Crosshair remained where he stood and folded his arms. If the poor idiot hadn’t known how Pabu’s rich wine was going to affect her, why had she consumed so much of it?

“It was an accident,” he replied, wondering why he was persisting with a conversation she likely wouldn’t even remember tomorrow, “It wasn’t as if you meant to.”

She swayed, squinting at him. She might have been trying to figure out which of the three identical figures she was seeing was the real one. “I was angry. I went psycho…There’s no excuse…Murder is murder.”

Aside from his brow creasing, Crosshair didn't allow any emotion to show on his face. Didn’t he have enough of his own problems without being burdened with hers?

“Then stop dwelling on it. It’s not like you can do anything about it now,” he said. 

Ranya looked at him with what he could only assume was contempt, unless she was just grimacing from an oncoming headache. She shook her head in dismissal. Apparently, the motion from doing so had its repercussions, because she pitched toward the wall and retched.

Before he had time to think about what he was doing, Crosshair found himself standing behind her, collecting her hair into his hands, drawing it back from her face. It hadn’t been a conscious decision. He wasn't entirely sure what had driven him to do something so compassionate. He told himself it was bad enough having to escort home a drunk pirate, without also having her reek of vomit.

Ranya glared over her shoulder at him, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. 

“Oh, you care now? I must really be wasted.” Her words slipped and slurred together. 

Crosshair sighed, but his own callousness was starting to fade. Although he tried not to, he saw himself in her place. How many nights had he spent suffering from the consequences of his own decisions? 

“You're drunk. You need to go home”, he said, the words coming out much softer than he'd intended. 

Like a ragdoll, she sagged against his shoulder. 

His arms remained stick-straight at his sides. After some reluctance, he helped her stand upright, and she wavered unsteadily. 

“I can’t go home,” she mumbled.

He pretended not to feel the pang in his chest. If anyone understood what that felt like, it was him. 

“Come on...” Grudgingly, he wrapped an arm around her, draping one of hers across his shoulders. He was grateful her house wasn't far, as they began the painfully slow trip back. Several times, Ranya tripped and might have fallen headlong if he hadn't caught her. A few more instances of this, and he decided it would ultimately be easier to just carry her.

When he scooped her up, she barely acknowledged it. If anything, she seemed to go limp with relief, her head falling against his neck. He tensed at the contact, at how unfamiliar it felt, at how it might have looked to any passersby. But there was no one walking the streets of Pabu this late at night. Everyone who was still awake was down at the festival. 

Just up the hill, the house was nestled between the clay and brick walls of its neighbors. He had to use his knee to open the gate into the courtyard. The terracotta pavers were uneven, but he took his steps carefully to the front door. There, he set Ranya onto her own two feet, but she still leaned on him for support. Her voice droned in his ear without forming any words as he tapped the key code to unlock the door.

It was dark inside – of course it was. The only person who lived here had been out on the town all night. He led her through the open threshold into a meager living room. At any rate, it had a couch. Crosshair had no intentions of hauling the pirate up a flight of stairs, especially not to her bedroom. The couch was as good a place as any for her to sleep it off.

“All right...” He said, tripping over her foot. He guided her into line with the couch and sat her down. “Go to sleep.” 

Without a word, Ranya curled up lengthways of the couch, apparently oblivious to her boots still on her feet and the leather utility belt at her waist. 

“Thanks,” she murmured into her folded arm, tucked under her head in lieu of a pillow.

Time to leave. Crosshair did a cursory sweep of the room to make sure he wasn't overlooking anything. But he doubted the pirate would need much until she woke up, and then she would be sober enough to get it for herself, albeit nursing a massive hangover. He took another glance in her direction, his gaze lingering for a moment as he noticed how her face seemed to have changed. 

Resting, half asleep, she seemed younger. A wisp of hair had fallen across her nose, and he found himself contemplating whether he should brush it out of her face. The ridiculous idea sent his mind reeling. Why would he ever do a thing like that? 

Definitely time to go. He turned for the door. 

Behind him, Ranya mumbled, “Good night, Corsair.”

“Crosshair,” he corrected, despite knowing she would remember none of this.

Ranya chuckled. “What a weird name.”

“Mm-hm.” Crosshair hit the control panel for the door and stepped out into the courtyard. He made sure to lock up after himself, though it took him a second to remember to do so. He gave up trying to process anything that had just happened, dismissing it all with a shake of his head.

Stupid she-pirate. 

Stupid island wine. 

He marched off into the street.

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[clam3d]

Crosshair 🔄️ Ogata

original animation: golden kamuy s2 op

[redemption773]

[redemption773]

We got one panel dedicated to a close-up of Crosshair’s mouth (toothpick included)

That’s it. That’s the post.

[redemption773]

Masterlist

My entries for ClonexOcWeek 2026! All entries feature Crosshair and my oc Ranya Vrie. Feel free to look through and enjoy! :)

Day I: Attraction

Day II: Connection

Day III: Tension

Day IV: Confession

Day V: Conclusion

Day VI: Alternate Universe

Day VII: Free Space

Bottom divider by @saradika | Top divider by @moonstrider9904

[redemption773]

CHAPTER TWELVE: Anaranya Must Die

T | F/M | Canon-Typical Violence

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“It’s your turn.” 

Omega glanced around from the window to find the djarik board sitting where she’d left it. One of Wrecker’s pieces had moved; it sat in a compromised spot where any three of her own pieces could easily take it out. But her heart wasn’t in the game. 

Oblivious as he might have been to the fact that he was about to lose the game, Wrecker seemed to be fully aware that something was wrong with Omega. “You gotta stop worryin’, kid.” 

She gave in with an anxious sigh. “They should have been back by now.” 

“It ain’t been that long.” 

Omega frowned, staring out the window. The sense of foreboding she’d felt before the mission had only worsened since then. Something had gone wrong. It wasn’t as simple as childish worry. It was a fact. She knew it. 

When the distant propulsion engines first reached her ears, she thought it was her imagination, the way it had been the last several times she thought she’d heard their ship returning. But this time, instead of misinterpreted ocean waves or the central air system turning on, the sound only increased in clarity. It was getting louder. Closer. 

Omega sat upright, looking at Wrecker to see if he was hearing it as well. His eyes widened. They both hurtled from the table at the same time. 

The Providence howled past the island as it made its first initial pass before beginning the landing sequence. During that time, Omega ran along the winding streets leading to the colonnade. With her small stature, she easily outpaced Wrecker, leaving him behind to catch up. Batcher loped at her side, the hound seeming to understand where they were going and why the urgency. 

By the time she arrived at the summit, the elongated ship was already settled onto its landing struts. The Providence seemed to sag under the weariness of a long journey. Jets of hydraulic exhaust plumed from beneath the hull in spurts and sighs.

Omega did not slow down even as the ramp descended. She climbed the steps until, breathless and windswept, she came to a sudden halt only because Crosshair now stood in her way. 

At the top of the ramp, one arm folded around a waist that was wrapped in bandages, fresh bruises still vivid upon his face, Crosshair held up a hand. “Wait, before you go in there…”

“Where is Hunter?” Omega blurted, physically shaking with dread at the answer she feared most.

“Omega…”

She pushed past him, into the ship. Hunter had to be here. He would answer when she called for him. He always did. The fact that he wasn’t appearing filled Omega with terror. 

Something told her she would not find him on the bridge. If what she suspected was really true, there was only one place he could be. 

Phee tried to reach out to stop her, but Omega squirmed away and pushed through the open door to the bunk room.

Her heart plunged into her stomach at the multiple horrors that flashed before her eyes: starchy white bandages tainted red and brown; bare skin cut and raw; eyes that were closed and did not open when she screamed his name. 

Omega threw herself at his side, clinging to the cot. She barely noticed the woman tending to his wounds, someone she’d never met before and, at the moment, could not be bothered about. 

“Omega!” Crosshair slipped into the doorway, past Phee and Ranya. 

The anger in her voice was sharp; she couldn’t help it. “I told you this would happen! Why didn’t you listen to me?”

Even as she said it, even as she watched Crosshair bow his head with unmasked exhaustion, Omega felt the guilt of her anger like an instantaneous spark. But it dimmed in comparison to her fear for Hunter. 

“He’s burning up.” She touched his forehead, smoothing back his oily hair and realizing his bandana was gone. That explained why he hadn’t looked quite right at first. As if the awful wounds he bore weren’t altering enough. 

“I’ve given him something for the fever,” the russet, curly-haired woman said, and Omega saw her face for the first time. 

“You’re…Ranya’s sister.” Despite her upset, Omega knew her discernment was correct.

“And you’re theirs.” The girl nodded to Hunter and Crosshair. “I’m sorry we’re not meeting under better circumstances.”

It was the feeble sliver of a sound which caught Omega’s attention and made her head turn back to Hunter. The pale, split lips moved, forming dull shapes that might have been words. 

“Hunter!” She squeezed his hand to let him know she was there, unsure whether the narrow slits of his eyes could see her. 

His feverish gaze was like glass, drifting weakly about him. “Omega…?”

“It’s me. I’m here.” She paid no mind to her tears, warm and fresh, spilling freely. “I’m so sorry, Hunter!”

His hand slipped from hers to rise, trembling, to stroke her hair. A smile strained across his face, a smile of victory, of relief, of completion. 

“It’s…” he whispered, breathing out the assurance as a sigh, “…gonna be okay.”

A sob burst from her chest. She folded her arms around him, never minding the blood, the ointment for his wounds, the unwashed smell of sweat and dirt. She hid her face in his neck.

“I never should’ve let them go!” 

“Omega,” Crosshair spoke, venturing into the room, “there wasn’t anything you could’ve done.” 

She knew he was right, but she did not want to hear it. When Crosshair’s hand made a timid effort to rest upon her shoulder, she repulsed it with a shrug. The guilt didn’t come until much later, after his footsteps had gone away. 

~~⌖~~

Urok lay in darkness. The cold rings of death encircled his mortal form, but it had not yet snatched him down into its embrace. 

His leg was broken; he was certain of it. The hand which had been shot clean through pulsated with a dull throbbing of disturbed bones and scorched flesh. He was broken in other places as well, though he could not tell where specifically. Pain fed off his body like so many ants, consuming his mind until he thought he might go mad.

If only he could’ve struck his head, or perhaps broken his neck, and died instantly. It would’ve been preferable to this slow death, this torture. No one would find him. He did not expect it, nor hold out hope for it. 

Life, he thought, was not without a sense of cruel irony. He thought about the clone he’d left for dead near the shr’e nests. That man was surely deceased by now, his body picked clean by the hawks. And Urok would soon become like him, here in this place of desolation. 

We all give an account for the evil we do under the sun, his father used to say.

It was true. Urok had earned this. 

Worse than the pain in his physical body was the betrayal of his daughter, though he didn’t know why it should have hurt him. Anaranya had been an enemy to him long before this. She had proven herself to be as cunning and resourceful as the bird which was her namesake. 

And what of Alarah? The littlest one had gone the wayward path of her sister. Neither of them could be considered his children anymore. In silence, he disowned them both, squeezing his eyes shut against the moisture that gathered there. 

There was only one daughter left to carry his honor. But her mind was not the same. She was not the person he’d once known, in the early days, before the tragedy. That girl had been stolen from him. The damage was irreversible. But a deranged daughter who swore devotion to him was better than two who defied his name. He could only hope that she had been one of the few members of his cohort who had survived the onslaught. There had been a small number who’d retreated to safety at his command. She had been among them. 

Where was she now? 

Urok did not worry. What did it matter, now that he was going to die here? 

A clatter of stones echoed from above, the glow of a torch flickering like an orange wraith in the dark as it descended toward him. As the torch neared, Urok found himself chuckling. Perhaps all was not lost after all. 

His rescuer wore the dark armor of the Tribulation, serrated sleeves outlined in torchlight like the scales of a dragon. The amber visor of the soldier’s helmet turned in his direction. 

“You survived,” the ragged female voice spoke. She approached him, kneeling at his side. “I am a coward. I should have never run away.” 

Urok reached out his hand for her to take – the one still intact. “You did well.” 

“Let me help you.” The soldier was strong, despite her narrow stature, helping him to sit up, to stand, to take his first painful steps across the chasm floor. 

“We have to find them.” The soldier’s voice was laced with hate. “I will make them suffer for what they have done to you.”

Urok grunted, failing to suppress a wince. “Recover first. Build…our strength. Then…” 

As the rappel cable, fastened under his arms, lifted him out of the chasm, Urok let the cool air passing by his face sweep him into awareness. It awakened him. The pain, the cold, the exhilaration; he could feel it again. 

He would recover. He would bring back his wayward daughter, even if he had to carve the galaxy apart. This time, he would feel no regret. He would not accept any alternatives. He would not hesitate. The clones would not be enough to protect her; he would slaughter anyone who stood in his way. There would be justice. There would be peace.

Anaranya must die.

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[prayforelves]

Hi it’s me I only draw this one character in this one way with this one pose I hope you like a thousand of them 😂

[barissoffee]

Crosshair and Mayday in The Bad Batch | 2.12 The Outpost

[redemption773]

The deadline for Part Two of the Trial by Fire trilogy has moved to July 2026!

Originally, the deadline was set for sometime in November (trying to allow myself a margin for setbacks) But at this point, the first draft is complete and I’ve begun the editing process as of today!

For anyone who’s new to the TBF series, this fic will be the sequel to this story.

[redemption773]

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Stitches

T | F/M | Canon-Typical Violence

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“At least for now, until the heat dies down,” Ranya insisted, staring imploringly at her sister. 

Alarah stood in the patch of daylight before the ramp which descended from the ship. Beyond the ramp, the sounds of a busy evening in the capitol drifted in; voices competing in the marketplace; speeders howling through the hov-lanes above the city streets. 

“If Father is truly dead, as you say, there is nothing left to threaten me.”

“That’s not true,” Ranya said, her throat tightening in desperation. “There are still plenty of Tribulation followers, and there’s no telling what they’ll decide to do once they learn Urok is gone. If they find out you had a hand in it…” She reached out, holding her sister’s shoulders, leaning to meet her eyes. “I just want you to be safe.”

It wasn’t just the surviving Trib left to worry about either. There were the other smaller Tevkish syndicates to consider as well. What would they do now that Urok was dead? Would they try to force Alarah to replace him? 

They might. The custom wasn’t unheard of. The thought of her gentle, delicate sister trying to fill the shoes of a ruthless crimelord made her stomach turn. 

“Come with us to Pabu,” Ranya whispered, “even if it’s just for a while, and then you can come back here. Though why you’d want to, I can’t imagine.” 

Alarah looked up with conviction. “Tevke is my home.” 

A pang of grief made Ranya’s heart ache. She understood where her sister was coming from. This was where their earliest memories had been made. From this dust, their childhoods had taken form. They belonged to this planet as the dust belonged to the desert. 

“It’s your home too,” Alarah murmured, ducking her shoulders from under Ranya’s hands. She walked away, to the ship’s infirmary. 

Ranya wasn’t sure whether to sigh with relief that her sister seemed to be choosing to stay on the ship, or to sink to her knees in the face of a fact she had all but forgotten. No matter how far she ran from it, this place would always be a part of her.

Someone was watching her; she felt their gaze trying to measure her up, to read her as if she were an ancient scroll. When she turned, Ranya found the bounty hunter. 

Leaning against the wall, arms folded, Fennec looked healthier than when she had first boarded. The redness had faded from her cheeks, and a moisturizer stood out in a sheen on her chapped lips. 

The bounty hunter tipped her head up in acknowledgment. “A word of advice? Have somebody withdraw that price on your head in your father’s name. The next bounty hunter that comes for you might not bother bringing you in alive.” 

Ranya folded her arms.

A brittle silence flickered between the two of them. 

Fennec inclined toward the doorway and started to see herself out, but she paused with one foot on the ramp and glanced back. “When he wakes up…” 

In surprise, Ranya realized who the bounty hunter was referring to. Her head turned in the direction of the infirmary midship, where Hunter was being cared for by Crosshair and MEL-2222. Was there some connection between Hunter and this woman? 

But Fennec didn’t finish her statement. Whatever she might have said became a mystery as she departed without another word. The credits rattled in the case with every step of her feet on the ramp. She would likely end up spending some of it on new gear to replace that which she’d lost. 

Ranya watched until the long dark braid was nowhere to be seen, and she prayed to never set eyes on Fennec Shand again. It should have given her a sense of peace, but for reasons she could not explain, she felt as though the quiet answer whispered back: no. 

Escaping from her own thoughts, she wandered to find Phee at the helm, prepping the ship for the return jump to Pabu. 

“She gone yet?” Phee propped an arm on the headrest of the pilot’s seat. 

“Yeah.” 

“Good riddance!” 

Settling into the crook of the co-pilot’s chair with her boots on the dash, Ranya ventured, “Does she…have a history with Hunter or something?” 

Phee grunted as she busied herself with plotting their course on the nav-computer. “From what I’ve been told, Fennec tried to kidnap Omega a couple times. And Hunter’s worked for her on a job once.” 

This assortment of information left Ranya more confused than before. 

Phee shrugged. “We’re not likely to see her again.” 

Ranya stared out of the view-screen at the violet sky. The sun was going down, spelling another night to fall upon Tevke; the first night her father would not see. Tears sprang into her eyes against her own volition. She bit down on her own lip, squeezing her eyes shut to make them stop.

I never wanted it to come to this.

Vaguely, she heard the ramp retract as Phee prepared the final initiation for lift-off. As the Providence began its ascent out of the landing port, the capitol city spread out below like a map.

Ranya felt her heart seize in her chest. She was leaving, possibly for the last time. A part of her thought maybe she should stay on the bridge, to capture one final glimpse of her homeworld before leaving it behind. But instead, she turned her back. 

“I’m going to check on Hunter.” 

“You good?” 

“Yeah,” she lied, “I’m fine.” 

Everything should have been fine. All of her problems were solved. She was essentially free now. But what was freedom at such a cost? 

My father is dead. 

~~⌖~~

Where to even begin? Crosshair skimmed from the exploded remains of Hunter’s knee to the puckered red slashes scored across his brother’s torso. It was overwhelming. Anger billowed up and just as quickly melted away in the futility of his situation. No matter how much he wanted to, Crosshair could not resurrect Urok Meheved to kill him again. There was nowhere for his wrath to go, so it starved and died and gave way to helplessness. 

“Get a tourniquet on that leg,” he told himself, rummaging through the cabinets for a medkit. 

“I’ve got it here,” Alarah spoke. 

He’d almost forgotten she was there. 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” He slumped against the wall as a wave of dizziness caught him sideways. The stitches in his flesh protested the abrupt movement, and he winced, cradling an arm around his waist. 

“I’ve seen worse than this,” the girl explained without bravado. “Leave it to me. You should be resting. There’s an iron-boosting tincture I can whip up for you when I’m done here. Or get Ranya to do it. She knows how…I think.” 

“No. Tell me what I can do.”

“Well…” Alarah said with a disapproving frown, “You can put bacta to his lash wounds. But don’t try to turn him over yet. We’ll just have to attend to his back later.”

As he turned to dig through the open medkit, the ship banked hard to the starboard side. Except, it didn’t. Everything in the rack-room remained perfectly upright and stationary. It was Crosshair himself who had pitched forward in an onset of dizziness. 

He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to shake off the vertigo as he began to apply the bacta swab to Hunter’s wounds. His movements were robotic, all his consciousness pinpointed on this one task. Sounds around him were as underwater, meaning nothing. 

Someone else entered the infirmary; he was aware of their presence without acknowledgment. 

“Hey, did you hear me?” A hand on his arm. Like creating ripples on the surface of still water, the touch awakened him from the fog.

With a grimace, he turned to find Ranya, cognizant only of the concern pinching her features and the fact that he was annoyed by it. 

“I can do that. You need to lie down,” she urged. 

He shrugged her hand off, but the action made his stitches flex enough to take his breath away, enough to make him pause what he was doing. Sweat prickled upon his upper lip. 

“Let me help you,” Ranya said. 

Crosshair moved out of reach, blinking hard to clear the blur from his vision. The words sighed from his chest in broken, stubborn syllables. “I don’t need…help…from you.”      

The ship banked again, this time port-side. Only, as before, the motion had been nothing more than his own unreliable body. As he tipped forward, eyes rolling back under his eyelids, he heard Ranya’s voice cry out. 

“Hey, whoa!”

His chin clacked against her shoulder in a blast of white pain, setting off a dull ringing in his ears which did not stop for hours. 

At some point, the ringing transformed into a static humming sound. Vaguely familiar. It had a negative connotation somehow. At first, Crosshair could not place it. 

A stark, pale glow leered down from a long rectangular light fixture in the ceiling above. The steady rhythm of a heart monitor beeped along to his own pulse, which he could feel like an iron pickaxe in his temples. He was aware of his back against the hard surface of the table beneath him, his skin bare to the cold. The constraining belts chafed against his wrists, his chest, his forehead. 

He couldn’t move. 

Panic consumed his mind. Animal instinct took over in a desperate and violent need to escape.

How am I back on Tantiss? 

No, no! How could this happen? 

“Crosshair, stay calm,” said a voice not quite like Emerie. In fact, not at all. But he was too frightened to care. 

Crosshair lunged upright, breaking through his restraints with such ease that the small detail snapped him awake. There was a droid lurking at his side. He struck it full-force. 

MEL-2222 grunted as the top-heavy droid was sent barreling sideways, legs pumping helplessly. 

“Easy, easy! Calm…” Ranya reached out to him with placating hands. “Breathe. You’re fine.” 

Short, winded gasps still had control of him as he held up his wrists and processed the fact that there were no restraints to be found, and never had been. With overwhelming relief, he realized where he was. Reality came crashing back to soothe his burning mind. 

He sighed, his voice dry and husky as he demanded, “Hunter…is he…?”

Ranya stood the droid back on its feet. “Alarah says his vitals have improved. But he still has a fever.” She flicked her eyes over him, hesitating to ask, “What was that? A nightmare?”

Crosshair shook his head, immediately slamming the door on her curiosity. He avoided the question entirely. “And the bounty hunter?” 

“Gone.” Ranya cast a glance at the door and, supposedly, the exit through which Fennec had disappeared a long time ago. There was a note of disappointment on her face when she turned back to him; she seemed to be thinking about the way he had reacted upon first awakening. But there was no way Crosshair was about to go into all of that. 

Thankfully, she pried no further. 

That was one thing he could say for this pirate. Unlike Phee, who routinely enjoyed pushing people’s buttons and did it for kicks, Ranya seemed to understand what it was like to have things she simply could not -or would not- talk about. 

Takes one to know one. Crosshair wasn’t aware of the wry smirk on his face, nor the slight grunt of appreciation he’d made, until Ranya responded to it. 

“What?” She asked. 

He started to answer and found there was no way he possibly could. The pain on her face caught him off guard, as finding oneself looking into a mirror often does. The emotions he knew like old friends were reflected in the pirate’s eyes: sorrow, grief, self-loathing. All present and accounted for. 

So we have that much in common. Whoopee. 

A caring person might have asked her if she was okay. Crosshair did not consider himself a caring person, so he did not ask. Not in so many words. 

“It’s done.” He’d meant it to sound reassuring. Why had it come out with a question mark? 

Ranya nodded, arms caging around herself. “Yeah.”

“So…” Crosshair ventured, “you’re good?”

She took too long to answer, forcing another nod that fell short of convincing. The same could be said for her cardboard smile. “Thanks to you.”

Her gratitude rested like a crooked halo upon his head. Crosshair shrugged it away with a scoff. “You’re not still blaming yourself, are you?” 

His question had the effect of a meat-hook, burying into her chest where it hurt most and pulling out all the nasty things she didn’t want to face.

Ranya blanched, her eyes widening. 

Crosshair wasn't sure he liked seeing her this way. He tended to avoid people when they were vulnerable, but he couldn't exactly go anywhere. Instead he clenched his jaw and braced himself until he was sitting up with his back to the wall.

He shouldn’t have asked. After the respect she’d given him, he’d just gone and awakened her own personal demons. 

“You're going to say we're similar, right?” Ranya murmured coldly, “Because I did this thing, and you willingly murdered innocent people for the Empire. But we are not the same.” 

Oh, she knew about that? 

Of course she did. Phee talks. 

Crosshair grimaced before he could mask it in time. “All I'm saying is I understand.” 

“But your brothers survived. They're all still alive to forgive you, aren't they?” 

The silence strung like a line between them, an unspoken acknowledgment connecting them together. Neither of them would say his name. But they were thinking it. 

Tech. 

He closed his eyes against a surge of pain and regret. He’d never get to tell his brother that he was sorry. Truly sorry. Before emotion could pinprick his eyes and swell into his throat, he moved on. 

“You’re not irredeemable. Neither am I. You’re just trying to...” He trailed off, noticing the subtle eyebrow raise on her face as she waited for him to continue. He sighed. “...trying to learn to forgive yourself.”

A ripple passed through the fuselage with a descending hum as the ship exited hyperspace. Crosshair tried to accept the fact that he’d just opened up to someone much more than he’d intended – more than he’d ever admitted to anyone. He could feel her gaze burning into him, and he pretended to be occupied with rubbing the goosebumps from his shoulders. 

Ranya broke the heavy silence, steadying herself with the edge of the cot as a wave of turbulence rocked the ship. “We must be entering the atmosphere. You should lie down.” 

Crosshair didn’t argue. He didn’t say a word until after the ship had landed.

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[lornaka]

Danger noodle 🐍🧡

[twinsunstars]

CROSSHAIR WEARING TECH'S ARMOR AND DISGUISED AS HIM IN TBB ROGUE AGENTS #3 SOUND THE ALARMSSSS