#let him info dump in piece

[everythingcriminalminds]

Excuse the rant…

Yes, the BAU is his family/circle of friends in some ways for Spencer but they’re always making jokes whenever he info dumps. And fine, tease him a bit, but it’s difficult to live in a society where you just want to be able to talk about this thing for so long and everyone just goes “shut up”. And I understand that some peopl don’t want to hear about the history of Halloween. For some people they’re like, oh it’s so cute. And then suddenly it isn’t.

I just need Spencer to have someone in his life who will sit with him and not only listen, but happily sit and enjoy his info dumps for hours, and maybe asks questions. Then the friend can info dp and Spence will happily listen and throw in his anecdotes. Someone who will never tire of it. I want that for all the people out there who feel misunderstood or forgotten or left behind because they JUST WANNA SHARE SOME INFORMATION ABOUT SOMETHING THEY KNOW ABOUT OR HAVE A SPECIAL INTEREST IN!!!

[purplealmonds]

This is my tribute to the late Technoblade. I'm well over a week late to the anniversary of his passing, but I think it was worth the wait. I wanted to get this right.

The story I want to tell is of time's passage after his passing, and the set dressing of this space is a symbolic amalgamation of various aspects of his life depicting that concept.

I have a lot more to say about this painting - three pages just for the symbolism alone. If you're interested, please let me know and I'll share my analysis on a separate post! Edit: I caved. Aight, prepare for a massive info dump below the cut!

DISCLAIMERS:

Although I put a lot of research into this piece, my knowledge is likely flawed and incomplete. If I missed or misinterpreted a reference, it’s because I’m new to the Technoblade community. If I got a symbolism thing wrong, it’s because I relied on Google search for answers. I fact checked where I could. And with this analysis, I hope I can clear up any misinterpretations! 

—

OVERVIEW:

There’s lots of imagery to unpack so I’ll try parsing it in a structured manner. Let’s first examine it holistically. 

The story I want to tell here is of time’s passage after Technoblade’s passing. As such,the set dressing of this space is a symbolic amalgamation of that concept.

Prominently featured are the various medical equipments - a nod to the grim reality of his cancer. But let’s not linger upon that aspect of his story.

Of equal importance are the more mundane objects - his gaming setup, the couch and pillow which Floof sat upon in that one photo, the plethora of paraphernalia of branded merchandise, and references to his exploits in Minecraft. These are relics and mementos of his legacy.

All of these elements intermingle in flooded, lushly overgrown room looking out to a rose-tinted exterior. Is it dawn? Dusk? I’ll leave that interpretation up to the viewers.  

The third and final component is the plant life representing his community -us. We beautify this metaphorical space with where it was once laden with tragedy. Yet, despite these riotous blooms, we never quite encroach on the bed - the empty space left behind by him.

—

SET DRESSING:

Much care was taken in selecting the blossoms and placing them in symbolically significant locations.  And this neatly transitions us into the analysis individual details.

Foreground: 

In the foreground, ivy crawls through a lamp and white clovers thrive atop a pile of pillboxes. The lamp base, once a shining bronze-like finish, is heavily tarnished. The lampshade is overgrown with moss and ivy. Even if the greenery has yet to damage the electric wiring, the damp surely has finished the job. Even if the bulb is replaced, the body is too far gone. The light’s never coming on again. 

I was initially put out that my painstakingly 3D modeled pillboxes became entirely obscured, but I think it works in favor of the piece’s overarching theme: the beautiful wilds overtaking a space that once reeked of the desperate fight to prolong life. 

White clover blossoms meaning “thinking of you” is paired with the ivy meaning “everlasting devotion”.  It’s an apt combination. It has been over a year since his passing, and we still remember and carry on his legacy. 

Nestled amongst the foliage is Techno’s compass. It was once used to hunt him down in the Dream SMP. But now, it’s an odd comfort. Even though he’s no longer with us, he’s still somewhere far, far away– or is he? The original idea was for the needle to point heavenwards, but it is currently pointing…sideways?  I’ll get to the reasoning a bit later. 

The Flood:

Moving deeper into the space, we hit the floodwaters. These once turbulent currents are now tranquil enough to nourish this verdant place. The thriving plant life hides much of this darkness. It is beautiful, hopeful, even. But always bittersweet, because everything that grows here is laced with an old sorrow.

White lotus rise from the murky depths. That is us, overcoming our grief. Breaching the surface, we gain a new vantage point to contemplate this loss. Perhaps we can also find a more comforting perspective of it.

Submerged amongst the blossoms is a rusted oxygen machine. I wanted to decorate the machine with stickers, much like one would personalize a plaster cast for a broken limb. It is deliberate that the “Technoblade Never Dies” sticker is in shadow, while the “So Long, Nerds" is in light. 

Immediately to the right was meant to be a box of assorted Technoblade apparel.  But then I flooded the space for narrative reasons, rendering that idea unusable. I eventually converted it into a Welch’s Fruit Snacks box, because apparently Technoblade liked them? It’s one of the shallower references here but it is what it is.

And finally, there is a little cameo floating somewhere in the waters. An Easter egg, if you will. I wonder if you can find it? 

Furnishings from Home:

I found the couch and Technoblade’s gaming setup during my trawl through the Technoblade Reddit page for reference photos. Balancing this space full of impersonal medical equipment with more personalized belongings is grounding. These areas insert familiarity in this strange environment.

Gaming Setup:

The gaming setup is bare bones - just the monitor, keyboard, and mouse. There was no space to add more iconic elements like his Blue Yeti microphone or the steering wheel from that Minecraft challenge. Hanging above but heavily obscured by overgrowth are two framed pictures of Technoblade’s cabin and a potato minion. It is a blink-and-you-miss-it detail, placed in a dim space and requiring close examining to notice. Without the context of the rest of this environment, it is easily mistaken as generic set dressing. 

That’s the point, though. This was a space where he streamed and created videos much beloved by his community. This space was the means of creation, not the creations themselves. Without the creator at the helm, this setup becomes insignificant. Does one dote over the easel on which paintings were created, or the paintings themselves? So now it sits in darkness, a footnote of Technoblade’s legacy. 

Nostalgia Corner:

On the other end, we have the sold out Youtooz plushies and the Agro Pig plush from the recent merch drop sat atop the couch.  If you look closely, you’ll see a Skeppy coin leaning against one of the plushies. Behind the couch is a shelf. A generic shelf, but the important bits here are the sellout bell, Youtube plaque, and vinyl figurines. 

This corner of the room is nostalgic and soft. Everything is bathed in rosy pink light, and it is filled with things that are comfortingly familiar. All across the world, people in his community have these pieces of merch to remember him by. 

The red poppies that also grow here have multiple meanings. It represents the battle - one against sarcoma - which was fought here. It symbolizes death, but also resilience in the face of grueling conditions. It is said that they grow in former battlefields where of fallen warriors. I believe of all the flowers here, this one best represents Technoblade.

The Hanging Mobile:

Strung up above it is a rather last minute addition to the environment - a hanging mobile fabricated from totems representing each member of the Sleepy Bois Inc. friend group. First and foremost is Technoblade’s iconic MCC crown, aptly placed at the top. Although it is untouched by the greenery, the gold and jewelry are somewhat muted and tarnished by time.

This is not the case for the objects below. TommyInnit’s music disc shines iridiscent green and purple - Cat and Mellohi merged into one. To is right is a sky-blue guitar pick with the LoveJoy logo engraved onto it for Wilbur Soot. And finally, below it all is Philza’s Friendship Emerald - sparkling and refracting light - with Elytra feathers fastened at the bottom. They, suspended and isolated from everything, maintain a pristine vibrancy which strongly contrasts against everything else in this space. 

IV Stand:

Next to the computer setup is the IV stand. It sustains life which is incapable of continuing on without intervention. The butterfly milkweed growing on it, in contrast, says “let me go.” The latter, overtaking the tangle of tubes and powered off patient monitor, is victorious. The hooks stand rusted, and the IV bag empty from disuse.

Sat atop the patient monitor but almost blending into the walls is a pig figurine featured in Dream’s latest music video. It stands on a high perch, yet is unassuming as to direct focus on Technoblade, or rather, his absence. 

Hanging from the wired basket is an air freshener tag. If you look on the official website, this is one of the only products which has what I can only call interesting flavor text. Most are merely descriptions and specs of the product. To quote it verbatim:

“Yes, this is a real product. And no, this ‘air freshener’ has no discernible fragrance. ‘Why’ you ask? Because Mr. Technodad and our team agreed this was exactly the sort of air freshener Alex would have found hilarious.”

As morbid as it sounds, I feel like this air freshener tag would not have existed before Technoblade’s passing. It is so unlike any other merchandise I’ve seen in any other branded merchandise store. It’s like an inside joke, secretly shared within the descriptions for the world to eventually discover. 

Window:

Unlit candles line the window sill - the aftermath of a candlelight vigil. It is a versatile symbol. It raises awareness of a disease or illness. It pays tribute the dead. Judging from the melted wax dribbling down the candle shafts and the wall below (the opacity was reduced so it looks less like bloodstains), this has been done many times over. But there is so much more candle to burn, representing the people still continuing this ceremony, albeit in the privacy of their own homes.

Above the candles are some broken blinds. When grieving, it would have been so easy for Mr. Technodad to hide away from the world in his grief. It’s understandable, to give into that primal urge to flee from prying eyes when he’s at his most vulnerable. He had the difficult task of reading out his son’s final farewell to us. This barrier between him and us dismantled by this gesture so we can remember Technoblade together. 

Coincidentally, the window frame itself somewhat resembles the kitchen window featured in Technoblade and Technodad's cooking videos. Completely unintentional on my end, but fitting in a way since in both those videos they're pulling back the metaphorical curtains for the audience to peer into a small aspect of their private lives.

To the right of the window is a nondescript clock, forever stopped at the 6:30 as a nod to the date when the "So Long, Nerds" video was published. The minute hand is accidentally left out removed to signify that time will no longer move forward for Technoblade. In contrast, the rest of the world - represented by this space - continues to grow and change around his absence.

A wind chime hangs just outside the window. It is said that the soothing sounds produced by them is a healing balm during tumultuous times. Where there is wind there is stirred up emotions, but it is motionless on this calm, breezeless day. A rare respite, where remembrance overrides grief. 

On a more amusing note, there is an interesting looking moth perched on the window glass. Upon closer inspection, the wing pattern may look somewhat familiar. In Chinese culture, when a huge moth visiting your home is the embodiment of your recently deceased loved one checking on you. Remember the compass in the foreground? Well, here’s why it is pointed sideways instead of upwards. This idea came up rather organically during a VC session in the R/Technoblade Discord server. My handful of viewers and myself affectionately dubbed this doofy looking moth TechnoMoff!

Venturing further beyond the windows, ferns grow with wild abandon. They represent eternal youth, and from a certain point of view, he will remain youthful forever at the age of 23. He lives on through us carrying on his legacy and spreading his story. 

Everything outside is tinged with pink. After someone dies, we start seeing them less as a person and more as a legacy. It is the natural course of things to start seeing the deceased through rose-tinted lenses - hence the artificially pink hue of the outside contrasting with the more grounded color palette of the inside. 

Bed:

And now we circle back to the centerpiece of this entire composition: the bed and the things that surround it. 

In front of the bed is an over-bed table with a single object: an incense bowl filled to the brim with burnt sticks of incense. A simple shrine for Technoblade. In Chinese culture, we light incense at the altar to honor our loved ones. We may live separate lives and not cross paths often, but we all come together to leave our marks through this ritual. It is proof that he is still very much loved and missed by us all.

The bariatric bed frame is typically seen in hospitals. It allows the patient to comfortably sit up or recline without expending valuable energy. Encased in this frame is something more personal - the mattress and cushions which Technoblade laid upon in his photo with the Youtube plaque. Their unique patterning is a foil for the impersonal receptacle it is caged in. It is spotlit by the window light, emphasizing its emptiness. Not a single blossom dares to encroach upon this space, because to do so would be to erase the space where Technoblade last resided. Like I mentioned before, this is story is about the space around him as much as it is about him. 

Cradling this bed frame are several flowers. Rosemary and forget-me-not’s for remembrance. Appropriate, given its proximity to the bed. Morning glories, for resilience. That’s us, again. For a while, we meander and spread in the upper walls of this space, avoiding the floodwaters which symbolize grief. But eventually, we gather the strength to meander down to the bed, where grief was the strongest.

—

CONCLUSION:

There is that cheesy quote from that one Marvel TV show – “What is grief, but love persevering?” While this reframes our perception of dealing with loss, grief is not some thing that should linger. The absence of grief does not equate to the lack of love. Instead, I would like you to consider this: remembrance is love persevering. And with our combined perseverance, Technoblade will never truly die. 

[pomefioredove]

You know what would be sad? If you/Yuu breaks up with Vil (or vice versa) and then runs to Rook afterwards. I wonder if Vil is going to feel betrayed again? If you could do a little scenario for this, that’d be great!

this is such a good prompt, I love rebound scenarios omg. needed this today. and here comes rook with the steel chair!!!

summary: getting dumped by vil schoenheit type of post: long fic characters: rook additional info: romantic, established relationship, vil breaks up with reader, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, kinda angsty, hahhhh, my god

"It's not personal. I just don't think it's fair to you," Vil says.

He doesn't fidget. Maintains perfect eye contact. He doesn't even try to act sorry, which, perhaps, is what stings the most.

He's supposed to be an actor, after all.

That's what this is all about.

"You must have always known this was a possibility," he says. "My schedule is getting busier, I simply don't... want to push you away."

Each word is spoken with a honeyed softness, as if he's trying to cushion the blows. It doesn't help.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your eyes burn. This is the worst thing you've ever experienced. You would take a thousand overblots over this. Any day.

What a bitter sentiment.

"You don't mean to push me away. What is this, then?"

A look of guilt finally crosses Vil's face, cracking the mask of professionalism he'd been hiding behind. It offers little comfort.

His brow furrows, and he sighs. "A preventative measure. It would hurt more if I'd waited,"

A million questions fly through your mind, faster than you can catch them. You want to shout, to tell him exactly how he's making you feel, to ask him who he thinks he is- but all you can manage is a stare.

He frowns, extending a hand as if to caress your face, but you turn on your heels and leave before he has the chance.

You wouldn't sit there and let him make a fool of you any longer.

You had become comfortable with the Pomefiore dorm in the past few months, but today, its elegance feels suffocating. The white and gold decor seems to mock you, every vase of perfect flowers laughing at your imperfection as you pass them by.

It hurts.

Stings, burns, makes you feel like you're drowning in a sea of perfume, choking on lilac and rose. Has the air here always been so sickeningly sweet?

There's still a lingering part of you that wants to run back to him, to beg, to negotiate, but you know he's right. You hate that he's right.

This... whatever it was... wouldn't last.

And you'd always known it.

---

How does one recover from being dumped by Vil Schoenheit?

Short answer: you can't.

You can wallow all you want, drowning yourself in the unhealthy foods he forbade you from eating, skipping the classes he'd so encouraged you to excel in, and using cheap tissues on your formerly-perfect skin, but that doesn't change a thing.

Perhaps if it hadn't been so public, you might have pulled yourself together sooner. But the very second all of your pictures were gone from his profile, everyone knew.

On some nights, you'd torture yourself by reading the thirsty comments from desperate fans under his latest posts, all of them pointing out his recent singleness. You would wonder to yourself if you had sounded that pathetic when you were dating Vil.

Just another hopeless, desperate fan, hoping for a piece of him.

People on campus avoided you. Not out of fear, but pity, a lack of knowing what to say. How do you even comfort someone after this?

It was like having an open wound on full display. No matter how you tried to bandage it, it kept bleeding through.

Even Grim was keeping his distance.

What little comfort came in the form of an anonymous knight in shining armor. Roses left at your doorstep, letters of love and encouragement on your assigned seats, little baskets full of your favorite foods and trinkets on your kitchen table...

You would have questioned it if you were not so consumed by your grief. At least the mystery offered a distraction.

"Another one," Ace comments, pulling a letter off your chair before you can sit on it. "Whoever this guy is, he's slick."

He hands you the letter, which you gracefully accept.

Deuce watches cautiously. "And you're sure it's not just... some kinda of prank, right? I've known my fair share of nasty types, this could be a trick."

"Too much effort," you shake your head. "I mean, whoever this is is spending a lot of time and money cheering me up. Not to mention... I've tried looking up some of these poems, and no matches. They're originals."

You wave around the letter in hand, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Though, I'm sure whoever's doing it is just being nice,"

"Nice. Right," Ace rolls his eyes. "Cause I know like, a million teenage boys who are just dying to write poetry for their friends."

Even Deuce snickers at that. You roll your eyes.

"Point taken. I guess I just can't believe that anyone would want me after..." you pause. There's no pleasant way to put it, so you let Ace and Deuce fill in the blanks.

"Hey, Vil is a jerk. He doesn't deserve you," Deuce says. "And trust me, if I ever catch him disrespecting you again-"

Ace scoffs. "Woah, there, tiger. Calm down. Vil could kick your ass and we all know it,"

"He really was something, wasn't he?" you sigh, slumping in your seat. Ace and Deuce give each other a panicked look.

"We didn't mean-"

"No, I get it," you say, reaching down to the floor in an attempt to touch your toes. Vil had told you that little exercises help calm the nerves. You hate how you still need his advice.

"Oh, hey, look," you sit back up, another pink envelope in hand. "Another one."

---

There's something about these gifts that doesn't sit right with you.

Each one is arranged to perfection, obviously crafted by a very thoughtful individual, just personal enough to suit your tastes but distant all the same.

It's almost as if the sender is holding something back.

But, not today.

You're greeted by a trail of rose petals leading up to Ramshackle's front door, which itself is ajar. Not uncommon, considering Grim's inability to take care of the makeshift dorm, but with the scent of roses and the candlelight inside, you know it's something more.

You walk in, setting your things aside, and continue following the path of petals into the kitchen, where a rickety wooden table has been set for two.

You, however, are the only one in the room.

"Hello?" you ask, turning in circles. The space is empty, save for a small letter on one of the chairs.

Beautiful,

A little bird told me you doubt the intentions of my admiration. I must amend that immediately, and I see no better way than to say it myself.

Yours truly.

"Trickster," a familiar voice comes from the doorway behind you, and you whirl around to face your admirer.

"Rook!" you gasp, clutching the letter to your chest.

He beams in response. "Oui, c'est moi. Though I was so enjoying the mystery, I feel it's time I made my intentions clear. Sit, please,"

You don't hesitate to follow his suggestion (the surprise left your knees feeling weak, anyway), and he joins you in the adjacent seat.

"But what-"

"Please," he says, holding a finger to your lips to shush you. "Let me start. I first want to say that I have meant every single word, in song and ink, that I have given to you. My heart is true."

Your mind is overflowing with questions, none of which he seems keen on answering in full just yet.

"I have spent the past several months allowing our Beautiful Vil to woo you. I have so enjoyed watching your love blossom from afar, despite my own feelings towards you. But things have changed," Rook says.

"For as much as I love him, this was his own doing. He has made a fatal mistake, one which cannot be undone- he has wounded you, mon amour, in a most vulnerable fashion. Months ago, when we both realized our feelings for you, I willingly stepped aside," he says. "I thought Vil would be the best option for you. I thought I was not ready to commit myself. Now I see what a mistake that was, and I hope you might find it within yourself to forgive me..."

You can only stare back. "Rook..."

"I cannot resent our Roi du Poison for his choice, for it's his to make. But he hurt you dearly, and in the process, he has relinquished his claim on you. I know your wound is still fresh. But, please, Mon Trickster, mon véritable amour, be mine?"

You're silent for a moment, processing every detail of what he said, what he's offering...

He's right. The wound Vil created is still open, and despite the weeks of "recovery", had yet to improve.

If you kept waiting for it to heal, perhaps it never would.

You nod. "Okay. Okay! But-! Let's take it slow, okay?"

Rook just barely manages to stop himself from leaping across the table to take your hands into his, and he reaffirms your request with a nod.

"Of course, mon cœur. What is a hunter if not patient?"

---

Pomefiore is beautiful again.

There are still times where you swear you can see Vil staring at the two of you, a look of discontent on his face, from across the room.

He doesn't utter a word about the way Rook has his arm over your shoulder, or the many terms of endearment he uses on you, though he doesn't have to. The lingering guilt and regret has made a home for itself in Vil Schoenheit.

You're sure Rook has noticed by now, too, although this isn't the first time he's pulled something like this on the housewarden without a second thought, and it likely won't be the last.

Perhaps it's for the better.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Only Choice

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: You and Tim go undercover to catch a serial killer because you're the only choice.

Warnings: angst?, fluff, r wears a two-piece bathing suit and like halfway wears Tim's shirt, Tim and r makeout on the job (again)

Word Count: 2.4k+ words

Inspired by T-Shirt by Thomas Rhett.

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Hey, gorgeous,” Angela greets as she enters the bullpen. “We need to talk.”

Tim sighs as he squeezes his eyes closed. “Lopez, I’m not in the mood today.”

“Who says I was talking to you?”

Tim looks up, his brows pinched. When he sees Angela smiling at something to his right, he turns his head to follow her eyeline.

“Me?” you ask, pointing to yourself as your eyes widen.

“Yep,” Angela answers. “Wade and I need to see you in his office. You, too, Tim.”

“You said you weren’t talking to me,” Tim argues as he stands.

“I wasn’t. Now I am. So, Tim…” She looks at you and enunciates, “Gorgeous, you’re both with me.”

“Okay,” you agree slowly. “But Lucy owes me $50. Don’t let me forget that.”

“For what?” Tim inquires.

“I bet her 50 that Lopez doesn’t know my name. The gorgeous thing feels like conformation.”

Tim grunts under his breath, but inside, he’s not entirely convinced that’s the reason. Angela is incredibly kind and funny, but she doesn’t usually say stuff like that just because she forgot someone’s name. Officer, sure, but gorgeous has to have more behind it.

“I thought you were friends,” Tim points out as he opens the door to Grey’s office for you.

You shake your head and murmur, “Not yet.”

“What do you know?” Wade asks as the door closes behind Tim.

“Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” you joke.

Tim sighs, lays his hands on his belt, and counters, “Know about what?”

“The serial killer,” Angela answers. “Targeting attractive couples in LA county.”

Tim shakes his head, so Angela turns toward you.

“Uh, just that he’s killing couples who are supposed to be traveling and then dumping them in Angeles Forest. Right?”

“Precisely. He’s nearly impossible to find, though.”

“Meaning we have no idea where to look,” Grey fills in. “Without knowing when or how he works, we’re steps behind him.”

“So, you want to set a trap,” Tim guesses. “Use UCs to lure him in for another kill.”

“You’re so smart, Timothy,” Angela applauds sarcastically.

“Lopez.”

“You in?” Wade interjects.

“Wait, what?” you reply. “You want to send us in as the UCs?”

Tim shakes his head as you point between the two of you. Angela nods, and you purse your lips to consider it.

“Why not?” you decide with a smile. “I’m in.”

“Does it have to be us?” Tim inquires.

“Uh…” Wade pauses to look out of his office and around the station before he says, “Yeah.”

“Only choice,” Angela agrees.

“Gorgeous,” you whisper.

“And smart,” Angela applauds. “He’s got a type. Pretty couples. And… you fit.”

“Tim, she called you pretty, say thank you,” Grey teases.

“I didn’t say yes,” Tim argues.

“Is Aaron still here?” you ask.

“I didn’t say no either,” Tim interrupts, raising a hand to stop you.

You press your lips together and lift your hands in apology. Angela is trying to contain a laugh at Tim’s offended reaction to you asking about another man who could pretend to be your significant other. You’re not a couple, but Angela was right when she said you’re the only choice. If the killer is planning to kill again, he won’t be able to resist you and Tim together.

“Where are we going?” Tim asks with a dramatic sigh.

“Santa Monica,” Angela answers with a smile. “Pack your swimsuit.”

“Is it going to be this awkward the whole time?” you ask as Tim drives to the luxury hotel.

“No,” he answers shortly. “Just…”

“You’d rather be anywhere else?”

“Tell me your cover story,” Tim instructs, changing the subject. “Stop talking like a cop.”

You sit back in your seat and look out the window, catching glimpses of the ocean between the beachfront buildings as you recite the information Angela created for you.

“And we’ve been together for just over a year,” you continue. “I even got my nails done because I think you’re proposing this weekend, but I’m not supposed to tell you that.”

“Good,” Tim murmurs.

“Tim,” you begin again, your tone more serious as you look at his profile. “I’m sorry for pushing. I know this is weird.”

Tim shrugs. “Anticipated my next proposal would look a little different.”

“Ow,” you hiss, playfully rubbing your chest over your heart. “Oh well, at least Angela thinks I’m gorgeous.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but I like messing with you.”

Tim rolls his eyes, but you see the tiny smile he tries to hide. You’re here for work, but at least the view is nice. Oh, yeah, the ocean’s pretty too.

After adjusting the straps over your shoulders, you step out of the bathroom and back into your oversized luxury suite (courtesy of the LAPD and a need to get a serial killer behind bars).

“You’re in a bathing suit,” Tim says as he enters the bedroom, slowing as he looks at you.

“Great observation, Bradford,” you reply. “Did you forget why we’re here?”

Tim shakes his head and turns away from you. “I’m just saying… you could’ve worn a one piece,” he murmurs.

“Spoken like a man,” you tease as you pull a coverup over your head. “Try using the bathroom in one of those and then tell me that again, Tim.”

“Guy at the bar has been staring at us since we walked in,” you inform Tim over the rim of your glass.

“Us or you?” he asks, discreetly glancing over your shoulder.

“What’s the difference?”

“It’s a simple question. Men stare at beautiful women, especially at the beach. If he’s interested in you, just because, he’s not our guy.”

You try to ignore how your heart rate speeds when Tim calls you beautiful, but it affects you.

By the end of the day, you’ve noticed two men who checked in after you seem to be hanging around wherever you and Tim are. It could be a lead, or it could be a coincidence. You can only hope you learn which before it’s too late.

“I’m surprised you’re making progress so quickly,” Angela says over the phone the following morning.

“I told you,” Wade says in the background.

“Anyway,” Angela begins again. “How’s Tim? Tolerable?”

Tim is looking directly at you, and though he can’t hear Angela, you still feel like he’s caught you talking about him.

“The usual,” you answer.

“Remember why you’re there, okay? Keep us updated. We’ve got officers everywhere.”

“Thanks, Angela.”

You end the call and sit down on the couch beside Tim. It’s more exhausting than you thought, the hustle and bustle of pretending to be an in-love couple that does everything together. You’ve already been to the pool, the beach, three restaurants, and the hotel lounge and cruised down the PCH.

Leaning your head against Tim’s shoulder, you look over the balcony railing and to the water, reflecting the first rays of sunlight peeking over the beachfront high-rises.

“Are they running the men from yesterday?” Tim inquires, making no move to create space between you.

“One of them checked out this morning. The other came back clean and his reservation was booked weeks ago,” you respond. “Back to square one.”

“You sound surprised that catching a serial killer in a place this big didn’t happen overnight.”

“Because it’s us!” you point out. “I thought we’d break some sort of record and have the cuffs on him, be back in our own beds already.”

Tim smiles and stretches his arm out behind your head. Another full day awaits you, but you’d be content to spend it here.

“Don’t turn around,” Tim instructs as you prepare to leave the upscale diner he found for breakfast.

You nod, complying as he leans forward to wave for the check. He looks across the restaurant as he sits back in the booth.

“I saw a guy by the pool last night. He looked over a few times, but that didn’t stand out then. He was still at the pool when we left the lounge,” Tim explains.

“And now he’s here?”

Tim nods. “He fits the profile. White, mid-30s, completely unimposing.”

“What do you want to do?”

Tim smiles and takes your hand as he answers, “I want to catch him.”

You both know that two sightings aren’t enough to arrest him, so take a good look at him as you walk to the bathroom and then leave to continue your plans for the day. Everywhere you go, you and Tim are on high alert, noting where he is or isn’t, what he’s doing, what he’s wearing, and anything else you may need to know if this is the killer you’re searching for.

“Wait, Tim,” you call, pulling him to a stop in the hotel lobby. “He’s never been in the hotel. He wasn’t inside last night, and we’ve been back three times. I don’t think he’s staying here.”

“Or he just thinks we’re coming right back out. He can’t lose us if he doesn’t leave the door,” Tim points out.

“Maybe,” you murmur.

“We should test it, though. He watched us from the pool last night. If he was staying here, why didn’t he just come in where he could see better, hear us?”

“How do you want to do this?”

“We could try to lure him in.”

You smile as another idea strikes. “Or we ask Angela to get us a room at a crappy motel.”

“Why?”

“Because no one thinks twice about who’s walking around. The rooms are practically public, he could follow us straight to the door.”

Tim smiles as he pulls you closer, playing the part of the perfect boyfriend. He makes it seem effortless.

“Let’s get out of here, baby,” he murmurs against your ear.

“He’s following us,” you whisper as you walk down the beach, nearing your new, faded-aqua motel.

“Metro’s waiting in the employee parking lot. Your call,” Tim replies, pulling you closer.

You stop, keeping Tim close before you loop your arms over his shoulders. Leaning up, you brush your lips over Tim’s jawline.

“We’re gonna have to put on a show,” you murmur against his skin.

Tim drops his head toward your shoulder and whispers, “Then let’s make it memorable.”

“Keep it down!” someone calls from a doorway.

You laugh against Tim’s mouth as he lifts you onto the next step. He holds you against his chest while he steers you backward toward the door. When you reach your room, you lean against the door, and Tim drops his head to kiss you.

“We really need to stop doing this,” you whisper.

“Absolutely,” Tim agrees, leaning in for another kiss.

He scrapes the key across the door, trying to unlock it while keeping his attention on you. You reach down, steadying his wrist as you kiss down to his jaw. The lock clicks and Tim bends to hook his arm under your hips before he pushes the door open. Kicking it closed behind him, Tim takes you inside and leaves the door unlocked.

“Take your shirt off,” you instruct as you pull your coverup over your head.

“Why?” Tim asks, already unbuttoning the linen button-down as you wait in your bathing suit.

You shake your head and turn on the outdated TV set before you walk to Tim’s side. Once his shirt is off, you slide it onto your shoulders and haphazardly button it.

“Lopez, get ready,” you say into your wire, still attached to the inside seam of your coverup.

Flipping your hair, you mess it up before raking your fingers through Tim’s. He watches you, unable to decide what he wants to see more: your hair messed up, how you move in front of the TV light, or how you look in his shirt. Before he can decide, someone knocks on the door.

You pull your gun from under the bed and ready it on the door as Tim stands against the wall, prepared to cut the shooter off before he gets all the way into the room.

“LAPD!” the Metro team outside yells. “Put your hands up!”

Three minutes and one gunshot later, the motel is quiet. The door opens, and Wade follows Angela inside, their eyes drifting between you, Tim and the suspicious outfit changes that have occurred.

“Ready to go?” Angela asks.

Tim looks at you, hesitating, before you answer, “Yeah.”

Standing behind a police car, still clad in your bathing suit and Tim’s shirt, you wait for Angela to join you.

“Anything you want to tell me?” she asks. “Friend to friend?”

“Do you even know my name?” you argue.

She says your name in answer, then leans against the back of the shop.

You exhale as you prepare to ask, “Why me and Tim? You could’ve picked anyone.”

“The truth? You were the obvious choice. We needed an attractive couple. But… you were also making the rest of us tired.”

“Tired?”

“The constant pining. The longing looks. It got kind of sickening. So, when the case popped up, I thought maybe it would give you a reason to deal with those feelings, however you wanted to do that.”

“It was a good plan,” you admit softly. “Except now I’m even more confused than before.”

“You want a ride?” Tim asks you, approaching the side of the shop you’re behind.

You look at Angela, and she nods enthusiastically. After you agree, you follow Tim to a car and wonder if this is the best or worst night of your life.

“I thought you said we needed to stop doing this,” you say against Tim’s lips.

He chuckles as he pulls back. “Then why are you leaning in for one more?”

You roll your eyes and hit the light switch beside you. At least he waited until we got inside this time.

“It really was the only choice, you know.”

“I do,” Tim agrees. “But I will make Lopez pay for meddling.”

“Sure. I for one am just glad we’re finally acknowledging that we have feelings for each other.”

Tim smiles as he takes your hand. “Maybe I can forgive her for tonight.”

“Maybe you can also cook dinner tonight.” You lead Tim to your kitchen, release his hand, and walk down your hall to change.

Not that an outfit change will erase the vision of you wearing Tim’s shirt from his head anytime soon. No matter what, you’re both thankful for Angela’s meddling, because it took you exactly where you wanted to be.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Twelve: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink (Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, spitting, cumplay, nude vids/pics, masturbation, domesticity kink, oral, PIV, dick piercing, forced orgasm, semi-public, bondage, blindfolds, biting/slapping/spanking, squirting, cumming untouched, NONCON/DUBCON/CNC, Somno, murder/blood/gore/drugs(referenced), knife, GEN. SMUT[Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is so full of himself that he’s somehow tricked himself into a bit of emotional maturity, Anakin has blooming bromance, post murder sex spree [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

Date

August 27th continued.

Anakin climbed through his living room window and shut it behind him, happily humming to himself as he shut and locked it behind him. He spread out two trash bags on the floor after rolling up the rug to get it out of his way.

Armed with a pair of scissors and a few gallon ziploc bags he went to work on the clothes he’d been wearing. Thankfully, he had enough sense to buy jeans and a hoodie from the Goodwill. He can’t fuck you in the clothes he killed a man in, that’s just gross. So he chopped up the fabric in little squares while watching an episode of Narcos for the irony of it.

He planned to drive around the city tomorrow and dump the remnants of his clothes down every sewer grate he could. He already said goodbye to his third favorite butterfly knife, having shoved it into a culvert on his way home. As well as his throwaway sneakers which he chucked into the murky water of the deep river that flowed beneath the bridge he trekked across to get home- the long way.

Anakin was a good citizen, he knew he couldn’t flush the drugs. He couldn’t dispose of them in the trash, he definitely couldn’t keep them, so he did what every responsible person would do: dumped them in the medical wastes slot at the CVS.

The cash on the other hand… over $2,000. That- that he could definitely keep.

With his mind cleared, soiled clothes squared away, and plan in place; he hit the shower and reveled in the faint metallic scent of blood that trickled down the drain. Mentally adding ‘new loofah’ to his to-do list, he scrubbed away at his skin with dawn dishsoap until he felt like his skin was screaming for him to stop. Then he used his favorite smell-good cedar soap, enjoying the steam of the scalding water pelting his back as he rinsed himself clean.

Diary Entry: August 28th

I feel GOOD. I feel better, I feel fresh.

My worries went down the drain along with every scrap of evidence I created. Have you ever felt such a clear and palpable mental reset? I haven’t.

I haven’t had a single negative thought since my visit with Joel. It’s all been rainbows and shittin’ unicorns, I know what it’s like to live completely carefree now. I could go the rest of my life and suffer through whatever disaster life throws our way and do it with a fucking smile.

Gods I just love you. I love you so much.

You’re perfect. I don’t know how the hell you do it princess but you’ve found every possible way to improve my life and you don’t even know you’re doing it half the time! It’s like you know exactly what I need without ever speaking it aloud. You just let the pieces fall into place.

It was your idea to DoorDash the pizza, your choice to wear that slutty pajama set I love so much, your sunshiny predisposition that drew his attention and the bangin’ body that held it. Without that, all of it, I’d still be wallowing in the throes of despair at my untimely death via withering away.

But here I am, having a damn good day!

The only thing that would make it better is me fucking you like a jackrabbit on his third 5hr Energy. However, I love you and as much as I’d like to fuck you within an inch of your life, I will not. I have a hand that works perfectly fine and a plethora of porn starring you that I can drool over until I’ve sated myself enough to act like a semi-normal human.

How will I broach the subject of my unrequited love today? I don’t know. Am I worried about it? Hell no. I have faith in my goddess to deliver what I’m worthy of.

How will I look you in the eye after my late night escapade? With a fucking smile.

Date

August 28th

You traded texts back and forth with Anakin all morning. Something had crawled under his skin and bit him with venomous lust, he’d sent you pretty pictures of his weeping cock, cum dribbling out and down the back of his hand. He’d texted, described in delicate detail what he’d like to do to you with the most vile and disgusting words to caress that sick little minx that lived inside your stomach.

He had you clenching around nothing, gushing slick behind the counter at the diner. Blushing deep, dusty rose petal red across your cheeks and creeping up under your shirt collar. You felt hot, your hands sweaty and mind flustered beyond belief. You hadn’t felt this sexually frustrated since Ghost had stopped torturing you in your sleep.

You were nervous and bashful around customers as if they could see straight through your polite voice and put together appearance. Underneath the confidence that you reserved for waiting tables was a deprived and thoroughly soaked cunt that controlled your every waking thought.

“Princess?” Anakin’s deep gravelly bedroom voice floated over the Formica countertop and wrapped you up in a warm embrace.

You looked up and saw the face of a desperate man. His pretty blue eyes had been completely swallowed up by his lust… love blown pupils. His normally calming cloud of energy was replaced by a jittery, buzzing storm of bottled up euphoria. He couldn’t wait to pop the cork and share it with you.

“Vigo?” Anakin’s voice cracked, his smile only growing bigger when your coworker popped his head around the kitchen door frame. “I’m stealing her.”

“Hey, you gotta clock out!” He shouted after you as Anakin gripped your wrist and whisked you out to his car. Vigo was already on his way to the time cards, punching it in for you to save himself the worry of you forgetting.

“Anakin what’s gotten into you?” You panted, trying to catch your breath while Anakin licked into your mouth and sucked the tip of your tongue. Kissing you as messily as he could short of drowning you via spit swap.

“Woke up missing you.” He groaned, nuzzling your breasts. His nose nudging the valley while he rubbed his cheeks against the swell, pushing them together with his splayed hands.

“Can’t help it.” He breathed out, biting your sensitive flesh through the fabric of your shirt.

“Ani.” You moaned, tugging his head away gently. “You already gave me a massive hickey.” He chuckled as you reminded him of the purplish bruise you’d attempted to cover with makeup.

“True.” He nodded, nipping you again anyway. “You could stand to have a few more though.”

“Shit, not now.” You shook your head and bucked up your hips, wiggling out of your jeans.

“Damn, that’s what I like to see sweetheart.” Anakin growled, smacking your ass lightly as he laid down in the back seat. “C’mere baby let me see my pussy.”

You giggled, complying and gingerly hovering over his mouth only to earn a frustrated groan from him.

“Goddamnit. I-I’ve never seen you this wet.” His eyebrows furrowed together as he looked up at you, his enlarged pupils snapping a mental picture of how beautiful you were from your position above him where you belonged.

Both hands suddenly gripped your hips and pulled you down on top of his face. He held on tightly, keeping you in place despite your concerns of suffocating him.

“Don’t care.” He moaned, thrusting his tongue up and swirling it around inside your entrance, the bridge of his nose rubbing your clit as he guided your hips to ride his face. “I’d be dying the happiest man on earth.”

“Oh my god.” You sucked in a sharp inhale, your palm smacking the headrest while your fingers hurt from the force of your grip on it.

“Mhmmmm.” You could feel his smug grin beneath you, even in this position he was able to establish dominance with just that crooked smirk and hard look to his eyes.

“Anakin…” moaning, you reached down to play with his hair, his mouth pulling your clit between his teeth to suck harshly, flicking his tongue at a fast pace in hopes to bring you to orgasm quickly. “Anakin please… s-slow.”

“Uh uh.” He shook his head with a chuckle, digging his fingertips into the fat of your ass.

“My pussy… my rules.” He mumbled, the words muffled and nearly incoherent.

He slurped and sucked, dragging his tongue in long stripes up your center, dipping the tip into your hole each time it passed over. He’d never eaten you so desperately, never had he sent you spiraling into orgasm this quickly. Heat traveled from your chest all the way to the tips of your ears, your hole quivering around his tongue darting in to lick up your cum.

“Ani- Anakin enough.” You whined, trying to get up but he just brought you back down and laved at you with just as much fervor.

“Please no… hurts.” You hiccuped, sensitive beyond belief and not ready for more in the slightest.

“Shhhh.” Anakin laughed, nibbling on your clit carefully, he slipped one hand beneath you, palm side up.

He tapped your hip and let you raise up for a moment to catch your breath, lasting less than a few seconds before he was one-armed manhandling you back over his face.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers while I watch baby.” He whispered, stroking your folds gently before prodding at your entrance.

“Oh sweet lord-“ he moaned loudly, watching your greedy pussy sink down on his fingers from below, your hole fluttering around the two digits.

“You’re so wet.” He whimpered, gazing up at you like you’d hung the moon just for him.

“All this for me?” He asked softly, as if he weren’t really sure what your answer would be.

“All for you Ani.” You nodded, brushing your knuckles across his cheek while he started pumping his finger inside slowly, stretching you out to take a third.

“Jesus, I don’t know what I wanna do.” He groaned, “I wish I could touch you all over all at once.”

He removed his fingers and brought them up for you to see the fruits of his labor, the creamy slick coated his fingers, stringing them together when he pulled them apart. He barely grazed your bottom lip with it before sucking it hungrily from his fingers.

“Goddamnit.” He moaned, pulling you back down with such force that you lost your balance and accidentally unlocked the car door, you giggled and quickly corrected your mistake, Anakin chiding you from below.

“Clumsy little brat.” He grinned, kneading your ass cheeks roughly.

His tone might’ve been playful but the look in his eyes was nothing short of predatory. He lapped at your glistening folds with the enthusiasm of a wildcat on a fresh kill, by the end of it he’d be sucking the bones dry.

Anakin hummed at the taste of you, groaning, babbling nonsense more to your cunt than to you:

“Tastes so good.”

“So pink and pretty for me.”

“Poor pussy just missed me so much huh? Is that why she’s crying?”

He switched up suddenly and had you frozen in place, your jaw dropped open as you let out a choked sob, tilting your head back to look at the car’s ceiling. He’d bit down on your raw and sore clit, peeling back the hood to tortuously bully it with kitten licks all while sucking as hard as he possibly could. It was too much, so much, all at once.

You were already so sensitive, you had already begged him to stop, now you had no words left, just pitiful whimpers as you bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Your legs quivered uncontrollably as goosebumps pricked your flesh, every hair standing on end as Anakin literally sucked you dry as you’d jokingly predicted.

He drew out a long and reedy noise from the depths of your chest, clawing it’s way through the fire in your lungs and past the torn skin on your lip. Creamy cum gushed from your core, coating his chin and neck.

The main course, what he was really after, was the hot juices that dribbled down the back of his throat as he sucked the nectar straight from the source. You would’ve worried you might drown him if you couldn’t visibly see his heavy breathing, feel and hear each desperate swallow and whimper. You could feel his stomach tensing along with his arms, his hands followed and closed into fists.

Turning his head to the side he bit down on your inner thigh, causing you to jolt and yelp, almost missing the way one of his hands flew to his crotch and squeezed his thick cock through his jeans, running his thumb over the fat, swollen tip as a small and sticky dark patch bloomed on his upper thigh.

“N-no no.” He whined, bringing you back down to his face, he carefully avoided your abused clit in favor of cleaning up your thighs and messy cunt, digging out every last drop of slick with his tongue.

“You… you are so fucking hot.” He panted, whimpering in pain when he sat up repositioned his cock.

“Did you-“

“Cum? Yeah.” He nodded sheepishly, stroking himself in his jeans for a moment before removing his hand and showing you the mess he’d made in his jeans.

“No way.” You whispered, a triumphant grin spreading across your lips.

“Yes.” He growled, shoving his hand between your thighs to wipe his cum off onto your spent pussy. “I don’t think you understand what you do to me sweetheart.”

“I’d pay good money to find a way to live inside your skin with you. Just to be close as I could get.” He said quietly, helping you back into your panties and jeans, wiping the excess cum onto the inside of his tshirt.

“I’d sell my soul just to breathe the same air as you if that’s what it took.” He said, pulling you into his lap and crushing you in a hug.

“You are like a Ghost that haunts every corner of my mind.” He whispered, licking the makeup off of your poorly hidden hickey.

Anakin didn’t miss the way you breathed in a sharp breath at his words it took a lot of willpower not to smile against your neck when he heard you audibly swallow with nervousness.

“I wake up and I think of you. I go to sleep and I dream of you.” His rough palms caressing the soft skin of your stomach. “Everything I see, everything I do, it all reminds me of you.”

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.” He said softly. “You’d never doubt yourself again.” His lips grazing your earlobe as he twirled a lock of hair around his finger, breaking the heavy tension by cracking a smile and tickling the tip of your nose with your hair.

He gently cupped your cheeks and brushed the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks and under your eyes. Staring at you with those unwavering black saucers in his eyes. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he’d done drugs. It’s unnatural for a human’s eyes to stay dilated for this long. But you knew Anakin, he was just high on you.

Diary Entry: August 28th continued

I have so much energy and I don’t know what to do with it all. I might try bench pressing a school bus, I could probably make it move alittle. If I didn’t give myself a hernia first.

What I really need is more of you. I thought a little sweet treat might tithe me over but I was WRONG. I’m feeling a new kind of insatiable.

It’s time for Ghost to get back to his old tricks with a new accessory: my rarely worn tongue stud.

Man I love it though, it clacks against my teeth so good. I can hear it in my brain for like, minutes after I’ve done it. Such a satisfying sound. Its crisp.

Which is unfortunately the reason why I can’t wear it often anymore.

I click clacked it around my bottom row of teeth too much and the dentist made me promise not to do it anymore. Turns out abstinence is actually the best method when it comes to prevention. If it’s not in my mouth I can’t fuck up my teeth, but I can play with my lip piercings. Yeehaw I love a loophole.

Anywho. I feasted on my favorite meal today and I desperately need more before I actually go insane. I need to taste you. I need to feel you. I need to fuck you til I lose consciousness.

I want you to be awake though because as hot as it is to watch you cum in your sleep, it’s even hotter to see you reacting to the things I say. Deny it all you want baby but you’re my whore.

Ghost, Anakin, both. You’re willing to do anything for my cock.

Date

August 28th continued.

Anakin can’t keep his hands to himself. It’s like he’s been corrupted by an incubus, he’s turned into an insatiable beast that just can’t stop. You’ve seriously considered the possibility that he may have somehow gotten his hands on some ecstasy and a suped up gas station boner pill.

Though logically you know exactly what is happening. He’s just giddy and feeling a weight lifted from his chest after confessing to you. It makes perfect sense. Carrying a secret like that is a burden, you know that very well by now.

Anakin is purely running off adrenaline fumes and endorphins. He’s burning it off the best way possible, by touching you in every direction, position, time, space and dimension that he can put you in.

He’s fucked you twice after taking you home from work today. Kitchen counter? From the back with your legs dangling helplessly, your sweaty skin sticking to the countertop. Coffee table? He pushed you down on it, swiping off the scattered items on it, including the freshly made sandwich and chips you’d brought him. He had said ’F-fuck… you’re just so sexy when you’re domestic.’

Right now on your third go around, he had finally, finally agreed to take you to the bed after you’d formed a triangle shaped bruise from the corner on the kitchen counter.

“M’sorry baby,” He whispered, licking away the dull pain on your hip from between your legs. “didn’t mean to.”

“I know Ani,” you breathed out, “it’s not your fault.”

“It is.” He nodded, pulling you toward the edge of the bed and gently helping you onto you hands and knees. “My poor girl.”

“You’re just so pretty. You’re so perfect. You’re so… you.” He sighed, standing behind and to the side of you to caress your injured hip.

His rough palm glided over the hot, sticky skin of your spine to brush your hair away. His free hand slowly tracing a delicate pattern across the plumped flesh of your ass, all five digits teasing the skin with tingling trails of warmth.

His lips caressed your tender skin up and down your side while he lovingly slipped a finger between your pussy lips. He groaned and made a fist between your shoulder blades to keep control of himself, your wetness feeding his need to be sheathed inside your warm and welcoming cunt.

“Pretty, pretty baby.” He whispered, his voice cracking while he brought his burning hot cheek down to rest against the swell of your ass, toying with his lip piercings to stifle a moan at the sloppy noises his pointer finger made on its descent into your depths.

“You’ve been so good for me.” He praised you, massaging your shoulder with one hand, kissing your ass cheek as he turned his head and rested the other side of his blushed face there, switching sides to watch your expressions change with each plunge of his finger.

“My little girl…” he growled, low and deep in his throat, “letting me take what I need.”

“Just wanted you to feel good Ani.” You sighed, gratefully accepting a second finger from him, feeling him twist his wrist back and forth with each slow thrust.

“Mmm, I did sweetheart.” He chuckled, “trust me, it’s hard to feel anything but heavenly when I’ve got my hands on you.”

“You’ve been so needy.” You whined, letting him guide your hand to your clit so you could rub yourself at your own pace along with his languid fingers.

“I know.” He clicked his tongue. “Are you okay sweetheart?”

“Course I’m okay.” You moaned, leaning back against his hand while his fingertips pressed and massaged your inner core.

“I put your poor little body through a lot today huh?” He cooed, switching his free hand over to your other shoulder to massage it the same as the other.

He smiled widely as he watched your face relax and felt your breathing slow into a steady rhythm. He felt proud. Proud of you, of himself, of his self control.

“Felt good Ani.” You whispered, your fingers tightening around the sheets in your fist while you rocked back onto his hand, fucking yourself on his fingers. “I needed it too.”

“That’s my girl.” He smiled, hearing the content sigh escape your lips. “You think you can cum for me again baby?” He asked softly, kissing the small of your back.

“N-no.” You whimpered, shying away from his gentle probing fingers.

“You sure sweetheart?” He asked, slowing his movements even further. “It’s okay baby, I just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.”

“M’sure.” You shook your head rapidly, “I can’t.”

“Okay baby.” He chuckled, “ready for me to stop then?” He asked.

“No… not yet.” You said quietly. “Lay with me?”

“Oh sure thing princess.” He grinned, removing his fingers just long enough for him to turn off your lamp and help you slide under the blankets, his nakedness pressed firmly against yours.

“Mm, you’re so warm,” you giggled, Anakin’s arms wrapping around you tightly while he kissed the nape of your neck, spooning you from behind.

“Cozy?” He asked with a gruff tone, slipping his fingers back into your messy pussy from behind to continue the slow and gentle caresses.

“So cozy.” You nodded. “I’m gettin’ sleepy.” You said tiredly.

“I figured so.” He nodded, his voice a soft whisper. “I’ll lay with you until it’s time for me to leave for work okay?”

“I’ll make sure everything is all locked up when I leave, I’ll kiss you bye.” He spoke low and soothingly as he gently rubbed your neck, removing his fingers from your folds when he heard your breathing slightly change.

“I’ll text you,” he whispered, sucking your slick from his fingers between words, not hiding his hard-on as it pressed against your ass. “when I get there and when I get back home. I’ll miss you so much until I see you again tomorrow.”

Soon enough you were deep in sleep and Anakin was glad he’d made you take your pills at dinner time, he’d thought ahead and considered the very real possibility that you’d end up being fucked to sleep.

He was right of course.

——————————————————————————

“Anakin what the hell man?” Trevor chortled shoving a handful of ice down the back of Anakin’s shirt in retaliation to the towel-whip he’d dealt Trevor.

“What? Can’t a guy be happy?” Anakin laughed.

“Happy? Nah you’re fucking hyper.” Trevor grinned. “What’d you do that’s got you feeling so good? Gimme some.” He teased.

“Shut up, the hardest thing I do is pot you know that.” Anakin snorted.

“Then what’s the deal?” Trevor splayed his own hand a few inches from his face.

“I’m love drunk baby.” Anakin waggled his eyebrows and shimmied his shoulders.

“Jesus I don’t even know you! Who are you and what have you done with my jackass?” Trevor grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him with a laugh, turning to pour a beer on tap for a patron.

“I ate him.” Anakin shrugged and giggled.

“I’m calling your girlfriend. I don’t know if I can be around you anymore.” April said, walking past the two of them with a serving tray.

“She needs a break from me, she’s very tired.” Anakin said with a proud grin.

“Oh my god!” April cackled and made a quick exit from behind the bar to serve drinks at a corner table.

“Fucking freak.” Trevor snickered.

“That’s what she said.” Anakin stuck out his tongue and flicked it with an impish grin.

After an hour or so the bar traffic grew stagnant and Anakin stepped out back for a cigarette, flicking his zippo out to light the flame and swinging in shut. Letting a curl of smoke leave his lips to breathe in through his nose. He leaned back against the brick wall with his legs crossed at the ankles, raising his arms above his head to rest his fists on his forehead.

He was looking up at the hazy city-light polluted night sky, searching for stars, when the back door swung open and Trevor stepped out with a bottle of beer for himself and one for Anakin.

“Trade me.” He grunted, sitting down on an old wood crate and holding out the beer bottle, two fingers extended for Anakin to sit a cigarette between.

“Yessir,” Anakin nodded, going so far as to light it for his friend.

“Anakin.” Trevor said thoughtfully. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” Anakin said, tipping up the beer bottle and watching the amber liquid bubble as he took a gulp.

“Did you hate me?” Trevor asked. “When you first started here?”

“What? Pfft, no what are you talking about?” Anakin asked, pushing off the wall with his black leather boot.

“I don’t know, you’re just different.” Trevor said with a shrug. “You just seemed so… excuse my critique; cold and distant.”

“Criticism accepted.” Anakin nodded. “It’s true I guess.”

“Yeah? So what changed?” Trevor asked in curiosity, a rare moment of vulnerability shared between two male friends wasn’t to be wasted.

“Met a girl. Got my shit together.” Anakin said, flicking cigarette ash to the pavement. “I love her you know?”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.” Anakin nodded. “I told her. She hasn’t said it back yet.”

“Well damn I’m sorry man-“

“No don’t be. She’ll say it.” Anakin held up his hand to stop him. “She just ain’t ready to admit it that’s all.”

“How are you not all depressed and shit?”

“I was, but I realized… I don’t care.” Anakin said simply. “I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care if I have to wait until I’m dead in the ground. I know she’ll tell me when she’s ready.”

“I had myself a bit of a freak out.” Anakin admitted, “but after I cooled off I’ve been… happier than I’ve ever been.”

“That why you’re all…” Trevor gestured to him with both hands.

“Yessir.” Anakin grinned.

“So you’re acting like you’ve won the fuckin’ lotto because your girl didn’t say she loved you?” Trevor raised his eyebrows.

“She doesn’t have to.” Anakin said, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms, placing the cigarette between his lips, inhaling slowly. Grabbing it between his forefinger and thumb he brought it back down to his side and made an O with his lips, hollowing his cheeks and flicking the dip in his cheek to let a ring of smoke out.

“I know she does.” Anakin said, tilting his head back against the brick and letting it loll to the side to look over at Trevor. “She didn’t run off, she didn’t tell me to get lost, she laid there with me… pretty little head on my chest.” Anakin said, making a motion with his hand above his heart.

“Then today.” Anakin said, clicking his tongue with a smirk. “She sat on my face in the parking lot of the Bluebird during her break n’ let me fuck her all over the house when I got her home.”

“Jesus, here I was thinkin’ you were being sweet.” Trevor snorted, flicking his bottle cap so the it bounced off the toe of Anakin’s boot.

“If that doesn’t scream love I don’t know what does.” Anakin sighed contentedly, stubbing out his cigarette and dropping it into the designated rusty coffee can for cigarette butt.

——————————————————————————

“Hey, look Trev isn’t that the guy uh… the one who did that thing junior year of highschool?” April shouted over the din of the bar from the other end of the counter, pointing up to the smaller tv playing the news rather than the basketball game.

“Uh… hold on I can’t- I don’t have my glasses.” he said walking over and squinting, Anakin walking up behind him to look over his shoulder.

“Mm yeah that’s the guy they called- uh,” he thought for a second before snapping his right hand fingers and bringing his palm down on top of his fist, pointing up at the screen. “Duck! Didn’t they?”

“Yeah! Yeah, him.” April nodded, sucking on a lemon slice she’d dipped in sugar.

She turned back around and shook up the tumbler she was mixing a drink in, pouring it over two glasses and sliding it across the table to their owners.

“Why’d they call him that?” Anakin asked, wiping down the bar, before washing up some shot glasses.

“He’d duck his head up under the bleachers to look up girls skirts at the pep rallies.” Trevor said with a huff, “real shit guy.”

“Tried to sell my brother herbs instead of herb.” April turned around with an amused look on her face.

“Huh.” Anakin said, tonguing the inside of his cheek to hide a smirk. “Real shit guy indeed.”

“Surprised it didn’t happen sooner.” Trevor said with a chuckle.

“Why’s that?” Anakin asked, tossing his towel over his shoulder, rubbing his palms together while he sucked on the ball of one of his snake bites.

“Like I said, real shit guy.” Trevor scoffed. “Doubt they’re even looking too hard for the guys who did it.”

“Guys?” Anakin asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Yeah-“ he looked over his shoulder, “what’d it say April? Four of ‘em?”

“Yep.” She said, tossing her lemon rind in the trash.

“Damn.” Anakin shook his head.

“Yeah, the guy who ‘found’ him graduated with us too.” Trevor said, glancing back up at the tv and seeing it had switched over to the weather. “Supposedly it was a real mess, shit everywhere. Stole a bunch of stuff, some kind of drug related thing.”

“Well shit, poor guy.” Anakin shook his head, “that’d be a real nice thing to walk in on.”

“Well hell yeah it would, looking like the Red Seas in there.” Trevor snorted.

“How do you know?” Anakin asked with a smile.

“The dick posted it on his private Snapchat story before he called the cops.” Trevor said, “I didn’t see it, but my buddy did and he said it looked barf worthy, could smell it through the screen.”

“Goddamn that’s nasty.” Anakin winced, “thanks for that mental image.”

“I had to imagine it, so you did too.” Trevor said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Share the wealth or whatever.”

“Trev, I don’t think that applies to murder.” April said, walking past the boys.

“It does now, baby.” He said, tapping her ass as she walked past.

“Hey!” She shot him a dirty look but blushed and smiled anyway. “Told you not to do that at work.”

“Can’t help it.” Trevor shrugged. “Stress reliever.”

“Oh whatever.” She snorted.

“Anyway yeah- apparently the dude, Kyle Spencer, is suspect number one. He was high as a kite when he called Duck’s dad.”

“He called his dad?” Anakin asked confusedly, “not the cops?”

“His dad is the cops.” Trevor said, popping a piece of gum in his mouth before tossing a stick to Anakin.

“Oh shit.” Anakin scoffed, “so what, he called the guys dad to figure it out?”

“Mhm.” Trevor nodded. “At least that’s what everyone thinks. Cause Duck’s dad arrested the guy himself and seemed real ticked off about getting the call. He was at his other son’s house for the grandkids birthday.”

“Well, well, well.” Anakin snorted, covering his mouth to hide a grin as he poured a whiskey. “Isn’t that some good luck?”

——————————————————————————

“I’ve missed this.” Anakin sighed, cradling Boogie in his arms like a furry orange baby while he stood at the foot of your bed and watched you sleep.

“It’s the simple things you know?” He whispered, his filtered voice tapering in and out. He smiled beneath his mask, watching you stir slightly, kicking the covers off your feet.

He turned on his heel and walked out of the bedroom, setting your cat down on the kitchen counter and pouring her a third of a bowl of food. He took off his left hand glove to give her some chin scratches, then from the white patch between her eyes all the way to the end of her fluffy tail.

“You know, I used to really despise cats.” He said, leaning over on the counter and propping himself up on his gloved fist, watching her eat.

“The therapist I had as a kid said it was cause cats don’t automatically take to a person like dogs do.” He picked up her back foot and gently squish her paw pad to spread out her toe beans just to see her claws flex out.

“Cause they don’t listen. You can’t make ‘em listen, you can’t make ‘em do anything they don’t want.”

“I’m glad I met you.” He nodded. “You’re sweet, makes me… hmm, I wouldn’t say regretful. Just dissatisfied about before.”

“That’s okay though.” He sighed, “personal growth and whatnot.”

“I hope your momma won’t be too upset. I promised I’d start telling her before I visited, but you know tonight wasn’t really planned ahead and I got side tracked, and then sidetracked again, cause I’m here talking to you!” He chuckled, giving her a head pat.

“So hang out in here, okay kitty? I’ve got things to do.” He chuckled, unlacing his boots and setting them beside the front door, he made sure his socks were pulled up beneath his jeans and his gloves and sleeves were as they should be.

He crept back into your room, shutting the door behind him, thankful that you’d stayed naked after your evening escapade. You’d sprawled out, one leg bent and your arm above your head, the other hidden beneath the blanket along with your chest, middle and other leg. Anakin walked to the window and opened the curtain just the tiniest bit, allowing a sliver of moonlight to cast a pearly sheen across your exposed skin.

He stood and stared for a long while, having missed the scene before him. So many times he’d slunk in the shadows of your room, clinging to the wall to avoid disrupting that very beam of moonlight. He would scowl and chide you in his mind for leaving the curtains open, but he’d always, always, stop and observe the way you breathed under the pale periwinkle tinted light.

Once he’d had his fill of your nighttime innocence, he closed the curtain and returned you to the black of slumber, preparing to drag you with him on his path to midnight madness.

He lifted the blanket and folded it over out of his way, using the pretty patterned top sheet to cover his head after taking off his mask and placed it on the bed beside him.

Just for the extra security he tugged up his hood as well and hoped that he wouldn’t sweat to death before he could make you finish.

Slowly pushing your legs apart, he smiled at the soft breath you took in when he gently held your hip so that you wouldn’t shift out of position. Anakin pulled off his right hand glove and shoved it in his back pocket so it wouldn’t get lost beneath the sheets.

He kissed along your outer lips, pressing his nose against the crease at the apex of your thighs, inhaling the scent of you and dragging his tongue along behind as his nose traveled up that crease until he reached your hip, where the waist band of your panties should be. He took a moment to nuzzle into the softness of your lower belly, showering your satin skin with kisses before returning to your slit.

His mouth hovered over your folds as if he were mentally preparing himself to savor you slowly, compared to the fast-paced feasts he’d had on you earlier in the day.

With his tongue laid out flat he licked up the remnants of his cum and yours, introducing you to the warm ball centered toward the front of his tongue, purposely letting it catch against your clit. He breathed through his nose, leaving his tongue flat to circle and flick the metal ball over your clit, smiling in triumph when you jolted at the first movement.

He circled your entrance with the calloused pad of his thumb, slurping up your creamy slick from your folds. He flexed his tongue to swipe it side to side the bottom ball of the metal bar scraped along his bottom row of teeth, making a dull metallic sound that seemed much louder to Anakin than it was in reality so he halted his movements to listen for a change in your breathing.

After ensuring you wouldn’t ruin his fun too early he continued his gentle licks and prods of his tongue to your leaking hole. He pulled his mask closer to him, he needed to feel your heat around his fingers and he knew it wouldn’t take too long before you realized what was happening. After all, you didn’t drink your tea.

Inserting one finger slowly his curved it upward and flicked his tongue side to side at the same pace of his finger. He felt you stir beneath him, so he placed a sloppy kiss to your clit. Lazily licking across you rather than giving you calculated movements. He pushed in a second finger, groaning loudly at the squelch when your cunt hungrily sucked in the extra digit.

Your hands came down to push him away, trying to close your legs in your half-awake state.

“Ani?” You asked, trying to cover your drenched pussy with your hand when you felt an unfamiliar sensation slide over your clit, smooth and warm.

Anakin’s ego skyrocketed, but his penchant for deviant behavior told him that statement should be punished by Ghost. Although he’d have to make that decision later because you were getting whiny and impatient.

“Anakin, please.” You mumbled. “What’s that?”

Anakin halted his movements and slipped on his mask and quickly shoved his hand in his glove.

“I’ll give you one more guess little doe.” The modified voice cut through the fog of your sleep and you bolted upright.

“Ghost?” You gasped in surprise, pulling the blankets back over you. “You didn’t- why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Don’t be embarrassed baby,” he cooed, tugging the blankets away and running his leather hands up your stomach, stopping just beneath your tits. “This is an emergency visit and-“

“What?” You asked in confusion, your eyebrows furrowed. “What happened? What did you do?”

“Um… ow. Hurtful.” He said in a disappointed tone. “I didn’t do anything except develop a raging hard-on.”

“You ass!” You shouted, smacking at his arm. “You scared me!”

“Hey.” He barked. “Maybe next time let me finish talking yeah? Jumping to conclusions like that’ll strain a muscle.”

You stared at him in a state of… not shock or fear, but a bewildered sort of amusement. Once again: the audacity of this man is astounding.

“What?” He asked, sounding irritated.

“I don’t- I don’t know.” You snorted, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh.

“W-wha… hey?” He stammered, confused by your laughter. “Are you laughing? What’s funny?”

“You.” Another laughed bubbled up from your chest.

“Wait- what? You… you’re...” His mouth gaping beneath his mask. “Are you for real?”

“Oh- I’m sorry no… no don’t be mad.” You said reaching out but snatching your hand back quickly after remembering what happened last time you touched him like that without permission.

“Mad?” His voice crackled, the modified voice hinting at hurt in his tone. “Why- why would you think I’m mad?”

“Doe, I’m… that makes me happy.” He said quietly. “This is the first time I’ve made you laugh.”

“What?” You scoffed, “no it’s not.”

“It is.” He said solemnly. “Trust me I keep track of things like that.”

“But-“

“No, no. Trust me.” He said, straddling your legs but not putting any weight on you. “You’ve done that dorky anxious laugh a few times. But I mean… that was a real one.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, your face falling when you realized he was probably right.

“Doe, I’m sure about everything when it comes to you.” He said low and serious, inching closer.

“I’m sorry.” You said, feeling horrible. “That- I’m sorry, that makes me feel bad.”

“Don’t.” He said sternly. “Don’t feel bad.”

“I just had the most fitting conversation earlier today.” He said slowly. “Talking about things and waiting till they’re ready. You laughed cause you were ready.” He said with a defining nod, cupping your cheeks with both hands and carefully caressing your under eyes.

“I’ve always been in favor of positive reinforcement.” Anakin said, smiling to himself. “Do you think you deserve a reward?”

“What is it?” You asked suspiciously, looking him over.

“Something new.” Anakin said simply.

“But,” he said, tilting his head toward you. “You have to promise that you’ll listen to me.”

“Okay…” you nodded cautiously.

“Good girl.” He gave you a curt nod in return, breathing deeply. “Now, I’m gonna give you some very simple instructions. If you do not listen, if you don’t follow them with precision, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” You nodded, frowning slightly.

Anakin very tenderly rested his leathered thumbs over your eyes, gingerly closing them and so, so, so carefully making sure they stayed closed.

“Listen closely.” His voice low and dangerous. “When I tell you it’s okay, I want you to take my mask off.”

“What?” You jolted in shock, this was not what you expected at all, you assumed it would be something much more… raunchy.

“Shut up.” He said sharply. “Quiet, listen to me.”

“Sorry.” You whispered, biting down on your lip and fidgeting with your fingers.

“When I tell you it’s okay, you are going to take off my mask. You’re going to be quiet. You’re not going to talk. You’re not going to hear me talk. You will not move. You will keep the mask in your hands, in your lap, and you will not touch me.” Anakin’s voice was clearly conveying a seriousness that couldn’t be ignored.

“Yes sir.” You nodded.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?” He dropped his hands immediately and squeaked out the most pitiful unfiltered noise a man could make.

He didn’t hide it when he palmed his cock, he didn’t seem surprised when you moaned after he grabbed your face. He did lean down, eye level to you and lace his free hand’s long fingers with yours.

“Say it again f’me doe.” He groaned, shifting uncomfortably from his throbbing length.

“Yes sir.” You repeated in a smaller, less confident voice. You hadn’t expected a reaction like this, you’d meant for it to come out snarky…

“New plan.” He grunted, fisting your hair at the top of your head to pull you into sitting position.

He got down off the bed and grabbed his bag from the floor, pulling out a pretty, pink, silk handkerchief and tossing it at you. Along with a pair of padded pink fabric handcuffs, Velcro, not metal clasps.

“What are you… what’s this?” You asked in surprise, an amused smirk on your lips.

“Well, you know the tape ah- just… oh fuck off.” He huffed folding the handkerchief to make a blindfold and carefully tying it tightly around your head, guiding your arms behind your back.

You heard the loud *skrrrriiip* of the Velcro coming apart, then felt the soft liner enveloping each wrist.

“No gag this time?” You huffed, annoyed that he hadn’t finished his sentence, his explanation.

His belt buckle clanked around and he undid his zipper, guiding you to your knees in front of him. He pried your mouth open and pinched the tip of your tongue between his fingers, pulling it slightly before roughly pushing your head down, forcing his girthy length into your mouth.

“Gag on this.” He grunted, holding your head still while you choked around his fat cockhead, your eyes already beginning to water.

He thrust himself in shallow strokes but made sure to hit the back of your mouth every time as punishment, drool dripping down your bottom lip and onto his weighty balls each time they smacked the underside of your chin.

“I w-was gonna kiss you.” He gritted out, causing you to pull back in an effort to say something, but he forced you back down, fucking into your throat alittle deeper.

“Jesus, just listen damnit.” He barked out at you, tugging your hair. “I was trying to… fuck that feels good- mmph.” A puff of air left his nose and he inhaled through his mouth in a shaky gasp.

“Tryin’ to kiss you, m-make it special and soft.” He grunted. “Tried to get you something alittle nicer than some tape from the junk drawer and an old bandana.”

“Should’ve known better.” He groaned, gritting his teeth while he listened to your labored breathing.

“Bitchy little ungrateful brat.” He spat, thrusting harder after he’d said it just to drive his point home.

“Y-you would’ve still gotten your kiss if you hadn’t of smart mouthed me.” He panted. “Now you’re just gonna get a belly full of cum.”

“When are you going to learn?” He chuckled, looking down at you and red tinted face. He pulled out his phone, turning on the flash and hitting record.

“You were being such a good girl.” He moaned, low and gravely. “Callin’ me sir? Good manners. That was a good job, little doe.”

“Then you you went and screwed it up didn’t you? Hmm?” His condescending tone sent a zap of lighting to your core. “Smart mouthing me like I’d let you get away with it.” He scoffed.

“Apologize to me sweetheart.” He demanded, grabbing you by the neck just beneath your jaw and squeezing when you didn’t answer. “C’mon you know you were bad.”

You breathed out through flared nostrils and blinked away your tears, you spoke as best you could but of course it was hardly more than a few choppy sounds.

“Don’t you know you shouldn’t talk with a full mouth?” He laughed, smacking your cheek gently.

“Oh don’t do that baby.” He cooed, his hips slowing as you tried to wriggle free from your restraints.

“Tell you what…” He pulled up your blind fold and tossed it aside. “let’s play a game.” He grunted. “Just be still for a second okay? Then we’ll talk.” He carded his fingers through your hair and nearly keeled over on the spot when your eyelids fluttered, showing just the whites of your eyes.

He doubled over, accidentally shoving his length farther than he meant to, shooting salty ropes down your throat, a choked moan left his lips as his knees buckled slightly.

“Holy shit- oh fuck…” He panted, doing his best to pull back slowly so as not to hurt you. “Sorry baby.” He mumbled sheepishly, quickly tucking himself back in his boxers.

“You okay?” He breathed out, crouching down and getting on your level after stopping the recording.

“Mhm.” Your lungs felt heavy, coughing from your sore throat. “M’fine.”

“Stand up.” He said firmly, but not in a commanding way, more of a ‘I know what’s best for you please just do it’ way.

You nodded and stood up to face him, waiting for further details but you got none. Anakin spun you around and removed your cuffs, grunting in approval when he saw he’d managed not to mar up your pretty skin on accident with these new bindings.

Then, gentle hands on your shoulders turned you back around. He just stood there and stared at you. You hated when he did that, it was so hard to judge his mood already. But when he was quiet and still? Impossible.

“Do you know what a safe word is?” He asked.

“Yes…” you said, looking off to the side.

“Good. Yours is purple, got it?” He asked, gripping your chin.

“Okay. Safe word is purple.” You nodded, gauging his unmoving form cautiously.

“Put on some pjs.” He said plainly, flipping out his knife, one you hadn’t seen before, just to play with while he waited.

“Is that new?” You asked quietly, trying to make some kind of semi-normal conversation.

“What? This?” He asked, flipping it closed and holding it out to you.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Is it?”

“You noticed.” He said simply, swinging his hand side to side in a gesture for you to take it.

“I’m smarter than I look.” You snorted, taking it from him and carefully opening it.

“We’ll see.” He said in a flat tone, his mood changed slightly now.

“Roses?” You asked, closing the handles back to look at the carved design in black metal with red backing.

“I bought that one just for you. I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind it as much if it were pretty.” He said softly, reaching his hand up behind his head to scratch his neck as though he were anxious.

“I- well.” You sighed, stunned by him for the thousandth time. “That’s actually very sweet Ghost.”

You awkwardly handed it back to him, unsure how to navigate this calmer water with him. You gave him a crooked smile and finished getting dressed.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not that. I like that one.” He said, crossing his arms.

“Fine.” You slipped back out of the matching set you had chosen, and tossed it in the drawer without folding it.

“Move.” He grunted, pulling out your bottom drawer and grabbed an old tshirt of Anakin’s and a pair of his loose boxers that you sometimes wore as shorts. “Put them on.”

You scowled, but tried to bite back your words. In some strange way of his own he was being nicer. He was trying. He obviously felt terribly about how he’d scared you into a panic attack, he cared enough to check up on you. You may as well play along.

After getting dressed you put your hands on your hips and faced him squarely.

“Run.”

“What?” You asked in confusion.

“Run.” He barked, his voice gritty and dangerous, he stood up to his full height and flicked open his knife again. “Get movin’, go!”

PART THIRTEEN

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the venomous nip

the wistful wyvern, chapter seven

a/n: i have no clue how this is my first time playing with something reminiscent of the sex pollen trope. anyways. bon appétit, bitch! ৎ୭

summary: “snow, they, uh, their bite, it–… well, to say it bluntly, it makes you go blind with paralysing lust.” 

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, smut, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, forced proximity, allusion to oral, violence, injuries, kissing, kinda sex pollen (except it’s not pollen, it’s a venomous bite), crying, fingering (both vaginal and anal), squirting, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, size kink, manhandling, penetrative sex, protected sex (a fantasy birth control tea commonly used by men), double penetration, creampie, references to knotting

word count: 3427

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After making it back to Erasild and The Sapphire Chateau in one piece, the rare opportunity of staying in a soft bed became even more tempting after the injuries especially your partner had received after the ball. Though you only let it be one night before hopping on the back of Echo and riding off to The Asadånie Mountains. One night spent soaking in the tub together till all of the iridescent bubbles on the surface had popped, licking one another’s wounds till you both writhed beneath the pecks, as well as sleeping in each other’s embrace till the sun streamed in through the windows and shined in your eyes till they squinted open. 

The journey back towards the mountainscape stretched on for long enough that Bucky’s shoulder got the chance to heal enough to let him feel less stir-crazy. 

Curtained beneath the wispy branches of a majestic weeping willow, you sat on your bedroll, unfurled and pushed together with Bucky’s, and peeled off the last of your armour.

“This place is safe and you know it,” your gaze followed Bucky as his visage slowly came back into view, curving around the tree for the fourth time on his methodical check of the perimeter of your campground for the night, “you don’t need to stay up on watch.”

“I’m not gonna stay up on watch,” he breathed out a smile, though didn’t offer you a glance yet, “I’m just being thorough.” 

Only a few seconds passed before you playfully poked, “…are you almost done?” as the thought of falling asleep in his arms was too tempting to keep your mouth shut. But when only the soft rumble of a chuckle sounded from Bucky and he threw you a fleeting look, you grinned once more, “how about now? Are you done now?” 

With a soft shake of his head, he finally neared you. 

“Would you quit rushing me?” he smiled and swiftly kneeled down to tickle your sides. 

“No! No!” you giggled, wiggling away from his determined torture, “stop, please! I surrender!” 

His laughter kept billowing out long after he stopped, dipping down to steal a quick kiss from you before he shed his armour and dumped it down atop of where yours was piled up. 

“Goodnight,” he chuckled in your ear when he settled behind you and drew your frame close to his. 

As you curved back into him, you found his hand as it swept over your waist and weaved your fingers in with his, “goodnight,” you briefly raised it up to your lips and pressed a peck to the inked back of his palm, “I love you.” 

You weren’t sure just how many hours you managed to sleep, but at one point during the night, you felt something on your leg. 

Slowly, a tickling sensation crawled up your calf. At first, you thought nothing of it, assuming it was just Bucky beside you, but then the slithering began at your neck as well, sneaking down the collar of your tunic and when a sharp sting pierced your shoulder, your eyes shot open. 

The shriek that rumbled out of you roused the warden, whose limbs were still entangled with your own. As you bolted up to a sitting position, you discovered the three large, dark purple worms that were crawling over your slumbering form. 

Swiftly, you both reached for your weapons and dealt with the creatures quickly. They weren’t in any way difficult to slay, but still very much not the wake-up call either of you desired. 

“Are you alright?” Bucky asked as your blade fell back down into the grass. 

The ground beneath you suddenly started to spin a bit, but you still offered him a reassuring nod, “mhm,” and one of your palms floated out to his mass for support, “I’m–,” a quiet groan broke up your words, “I’m okay, I–…” 

“Snow?” as his hands grasped your shoulders, his voice washed over you as if you were underwater. 

“I–…” you glanced down at your hands to discover how violently they were suddenly shaking, “I–…” 

Even though you were still seated on your bedroll, the world still fell out from under you. 

Catching you in his arms, the alarm in the soldier’s tone shined through your fog, “hey, Y/n,” he plucked up your face, “look at me,” and his eyes fleetingly captured your teary ones before they washed over the rest of your features. He studied every inch of you, from the sweat that glistened on your brow, to the way your bottom lip trembled. But when he pulled back your neckline and glanced down on your shoulder, a low curse escaped him, “fuck… okay, it’s okay, you got bit just a little, but it doesn’t look too bad.”

With uncontrollable tears streaming down your face, you blubbered, “I-I feel kinda weird…” as you felt your body begin to clench up and an aching throb settled over you, “actually, i-it–, fuck… Buck,” your fingers weakly found his chest and clawed against it, “it h-hurts.”

Shifting slightly, Bucky rolled over one of the carcasses on the ground with the end of his weapon. His features then paled as recognition washed over him, “oh, shit…” 

“What?” you breathed thinly. 

“Uh…” his stare stayed on the creature a moment longer in horror before he told you, “it’s a futuō worm.”

“A futu-what?” you tried to push yourself back up, but your limbs gave up in an instant. 

Catching you once more, he huffed, “alright, it’s gonna be okay, snow.” 

“B-Bucky, what’s going on?” your pulse thumped in your ears like a drum, “what are those things?”

A long exhale flowed from his lips before he explained, “they are supposedly created by pixies as some twisted joke,” his arms held you tight as you trembled against him, “or at least that’s how the fables go…” dipping his head, he tried to catch your hazy gaze, “snow, they, uh, their bite, it–… well, to say it bluntly, it makes you go blind with paralysing lust.” 

Your eyes widened, “what?” as you felt the effects begin to grow.

“Allegedly, it varies in what symptoms you experience,” he held your head steady as he checked your dilated pupils, watching how they nearly eclipsed all of the colour in your eyes, “even differs for everyone how long it lasts till the venom is out of their system,” he uttered, “I've heard some accounts of it taking a few days.”

“Days?” you sobbed, “I can’t feel like this for days!” 

The pain was numbing, yet you equally felt as if a feather might knock you over. 

“…snow?” he carefully spoke as he then tilted his head to catch your eye, “do you trust me?”

“Always,” you breathed, as if it was a given. 

“I don’t know if this will work, but, fuck, I can’t believe I'm leaning into fucking superstition,” he mumbled and his whole face momentarily crumbled up before unfurling with a sigh, “I’m gonna try and help you, okay?” 

“O-okay,” you trembled, though still had no clue what he was on about. 

The next thing you knew, Bucky had leaned in a pressed his lips to yours. At first, tinges of confusion and shock washed over you before a thimble of relief trickled throughout your veins and a moan seeped from your lungs and vibrated against his lips. 

Carefully, he scooped you into his lap, cradling you close so that both of your legs hung over the right side of his hip. Nimble fingers found the buttons of your trousers and undid them in the blink of an eye. Gently, he burrowed a hand down your pants and brushed his touch through your already soaked folds.

“Oh g-gods!” you whimpered and your lips fell from his at not only the discovery of how immensely sensitive you were, but also just how wet you’d become in only the few short moments since you’d been bitten. It didn’t just cause a sinful symphony to sloppily slosh at every ghostly graze he offered you, but you could feel it leaking down your thighs. 

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed, the sounds of your arousal soaking straight into his bones, “is that okay? Are you alright?” he gently found your already swollen clit and began to caress it, but only for a moment as his fingers froze when you didn’t soothe his worry and grant him an answer, simply continued to incoherently moan instead, “Y/n,” his hand slipped out from between your thighs and soared up to tilt your face for his gaze to catch yours, “am I hurting you?”

“Don’t stop!” the pain began to crawl back as his touch retreated, “p-please!” 

Blinking down at you with a line clear between his furrowed brows, he slid his hand back down to your core, “okay,” he uttered, worry tainting his features, “alright.” 

“Thank you–,” you exhaled, though gasped as soon as his digits returned to your puffy pearl, “fuck!” your eyes rolled in your skull. 

“Is it helping?”

“Mhm,” you dizzily nodded, “I can’t believe this of all things is reliving the pain.” 

You couldn’t even imagine how you would have managed if you’d been on your own. You felt like you could barely raise your pinkie, so how would you have been able to touch yourself? 

After his fingertips circled your weeping entrance, two of his digits then effortlessly slipped in and you mewled, your face swiftly smooshing against his chest. As your drool stained his tunic, you felt Bucky shift slightly as he dropped back and let his spine rest against the thick tree trunk just behind him. 

His pinkie and forefinger flexed against either side of your centre as the ones in between lavishly pumped in and out of you, caressing your overly sensitive walls. 

Beneath you, the sensation of his growing erection poked you fiercely, the thought of feeling it split you apart haunted your poisoned state. 

Reassuring whispers flowed from your beloved’s lips and seeped into your soul as he carried you over the threshold, rocking his fingers within you till a gentle drizzle of squirt seeped out, small enough for your foggy senses to miss entirely. 

Pressing his lips to your forehead in a soft and slow peck, he then slid his fingers back out of your pants. 

“More,” you murmured as your weak attempt at fumbling for his covered cock failed, “B-Bucky, I need more,” but when he stuffed his hand back down your trousers, a desperate protest then left your lips, “no, could you please fuck me? I just–… please?” you trembled, your cheek pressed against his pec as you blinked up at him with teary eyes, “I–… I need to feel your dick inside of me.”

As his gaze searched yours, the sorrow didn’t lift from his features as he empathetically cursed, “oh, fuck, snow…” 

“Please,” you wept. 

Your crying almost worsened when he fulfilled your wish, swiftly yanking your trousers down before freeing his cock from his own pants. He then shifted you effortlessly in his hold, still cradling you in the same tender manner as he slowly eased you down on his length. 

“Shit,” he moaned almost as loud as you when he slowly sank you down on his dick. The clasp he had behind your bent knees shifted slightly as his palm slid up your thigh to grasp your ass and move your slack frame for you, “oh–, is that alright? Does that feel better?”

“Y-yeah,” your head rested against his chest as your eyes fluttered up at him, “it feels like–, oh!” a shrill cry escaped you as he gently began to find a pattern, lifting you up, nearly entirely off his cock, till he slowly plunged you back down, “it feels like you’re making love to every molecule in my body,” you slurred as you struggled to return his unwavering stare, “I can feel you everywhere.” 

When you finally felt him begin to relax a bit beneath you, his rhythm roughened as he rocked you in his embrace like a ragdoll. Moans flowed out of you like a broken dam as each time he dropped your form, every little detail of his fat girth euphorically dragged against your abnormally sensitive walls. 

“I’ve got you,” he curled closer as he fucked you, his bearded cheek pressing against the crown of your head, “I’ve got you, baby,” webs of your cream clung to your skin and kept your cores connected even as he raised you off his cock, “it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

When you tumbled over the edge again, trembling in his hold, the squirt that then gushed out didn’t go unnoticed by you as the previous display had. 

“Oh, there you go, snow,” he groaned in your ear, “fuck…”

Quivering and twitching in his embrace, your pussy had clenched down around Bucky’s girth so hard that it was forced out as you drenched his lap. 

His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath your head as a low growl rumbled deep within him. His fingers dented your tender flesh as a breathless question fell from his lips, “you want more?” precum leaked from his bulbous tip and stained your messy cunt as the length throbbed against your puffy petals. 

“Y-yes,” you panted, the heated fortitude that finally shined through in his tone conjured a smile to tug at your lips. Gently, he laid you down on the bedrolls, your position didn’t change that drastically from when you were in his arms as you laid there on your side with your knee curled up to your chest. Leaning back a bit, Bucky cast his glance down to the mess between your thighs as his grasp enclosed around himself and his other palm came down to spread you apart for him. After he’d given your swollen clit a few nudges with his tip and successfully caused your frame to jolt at every one of them, he then buried himself back into you and pushed the last bit of oxygen out of your lungs as he swiftly bottomed out and his tip kissed the deepest parts of you, “oh fuck–”

Your boneless body rippled at every one of his silky thrusts, “you’re doing so good, baby,” his gaze lingered on the sloppy strings of slick that connected your frames, “so fucking good,” before his eyes flickered back up to find your blissed-out features. 

Leaning down over you, he kept up a lavish pace, snapping his hips against yours, as he rested his forearms on either side of your head. Hovering above you, he shifted his weight and his fingers sweetly found your heated cheeks to wipe the drool and tears away, even though they’d be stained again in a second. 

As his thumb lingered over your jaw, he then bent further down to seal his lips against yours, swallowing your moans that gushed out to the rhythm of his efforts. 

After the tender peck had faded and he’d curved back up, your fingers curled up to your lips and instinctively, like scratching an itch, your dove two of your digits into your mouth and sucked on them, a hum swiftly vibrated around them as you filled another one of your holes up. 

Reaching down, Bucky dreamily traced your lips locked around your own fingers, staring intently as the vision caused him to fuck you even harder. Slyly, he sneaked one of his digits in to join your own, teasingly pumping it in and out a few times, groaning sinfully as the softness of your tongue caressed him. 

A string of spit followed his finger as he pulled it out of your mouth and let it wander back down south. Raking over your curves, he bunched up your tunic enough for your boobs to spill out and let him pinch your pebbly nipples without the barrier. 

Soon his touch scooped down to your ass as it rippled against every toe-curling thrust of his hips. Palming it roughly, his grasp reached far enough to graze against your other hole and the whine you let out at the exploratory caress caused him to delve even further. Teasingly, he rubbed your little rosebud, your excessive slickness that had dripped to it made his lavish caress effortless. 

“You like that?” he noticed how your brows knit together in ecstasy “is it making you feel better?”

When your head bobbled in a wobbly nod, he didn’t play with you for much longer before slowly working a finger inside. 

Your heavy lids struggled to let you hold his gaze and enjoy his silhouette above you as he filled up the last of your holes.

“Fucking hell, you’re tight back here…” your muffled moan seeped out of you as his digit plugged up your ass, “you want more, huh?” he tilted his chin as he asked you, and when you hazily offered him a nod, “yeah? Feeling too empty, huh, snow?” he slid another finger inside, “how’s that? Is that good?” he slowly worked up the pace of his digits to match the one set by his hips as he fucked your poor pussy, “was that what you needed? Just for you to be all stuffed to the fucking brim?” he panted and let his gaze drop back down, “gods… you gotta let me put my cock in here one day…” he tried to press a third finger inside, though didn’t succeed, “please…”

Even though you wished for nothing but to answer him, to affirm just how much you dreamed of that as well, your stomach started to twist and knot once more as another orgasm rolled over you and rocked your body like nothing ever had before. It was almost too much to take as your pussy gushed fiercely around his cock. 

However, when Bucky no longer could hold back and began to pump you full of his cum, the result it had on you shocked you to your very core. It was as if the whole world finally snapped back into focus and the sweetest relief washed over you as the worst of the ache faded away.  

Melting down atop of you, his cock still throbbed in your sensitive cunt as he caught his breath. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, peeling his cheek off of the swell of your tit to catch sight of your exhausted expression, eyes still shut tightly. 

“Mhm…” you hummed and a faint smile twitched at your lip as you noted how you felt. Though still woozy, you felt a lot better as you attempted your range of motion and finally managed to curl an arm up around his broad shoulder. 

“Do you feel a bit better? 

“Yeah, I do,” you blinked your eyes back open and gazed up at the wispy branches of the willow tree and the stars twinkling in the night sky above, “fuck… that was insane…” you breathed before you glanced down to meet his stare and a thought fluttered in your mind as the fog began to clear, “hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?” his thumbs slowly swept across your ribs as he held you. 

“What would have happened if you’d gotten bit?”

“Well,” he let out a low exhale, “it’d probably be pretty similar to what you just went through,” his head briefly dipped as he pressed a peck between your boobs, “except, I’m pretty sure my cock would also swell up a lot,” you half hoped he didn’t notice how your pussy squeezed his dick as he continued to talk, “I met a guy once who got bit and he said that it was like there formed this knot at the base, and all he could think about was slamming it inside someone and emptying himself till it went away…”   

Though terror nearly froze you again right before you entered the great Farrowghol lair, a tender kiss from Bucky helped thaw it enough for your feet to begin to shift as he tugged your hand, safe in his, and took you with him inside. 

The dragon somehow already recognised the scent of its kin long before the warden by your side had set down the chest and cracked it open. 

With the eggs now safely returned, the winged behemoth vowed to seize any further attack, and to never strike again on Eflorrian soil unless provoked.

And as the pair of you rode away, your adventure finally changing its course back towards the familiar eastern coastline, a vengeful shadow soared over your heads and disappeared down south, past all of the mountain peaks. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[phoenixcatch7]

Honestly I'd really like to see a mxtx3 story where wwx and xl work with Sqq to reveal sqq's true backstory and the system to lbh.

I mean, think about it!! One of the biggest problems with scum villain is how even though they get together, unlike the other couples bingqiu is still left with all these huge secrets that massively affect them both. Lbh is left believing he married his mercurial abuser, that his suffering passed some sort of indefinable test that proved him worthy of basic rights. That Sqq threw him in the abyss of his own volition. That Sqq was really sacrificing his life and not faking his death with intent to survive.

Sqq is left knowing all these things but unable to act on them, unable to tell his husband about his own past, unable to explain his actions, never able to fully let his guard down because he's supposed to be shen qingqiu. He can't even tell his own husband his original name!! If he could have, he would have, even if only in the extras!

But can you imagine???

A meeting of bingqiu, wangxian, Hualian, for whatever reason, and as the three (actual) protagonists chat and gossip and get to know each other, as they talk, Sqq is at ease enough to slip up and finds out he can talk about the system to anyone from outside pidw! Not just sqh!! Maybe not completely, but he can mention some, and the other two, concerned for their new friend, are clever enough to tease the rest out. They're horrified. Sqq is resigned but freshly hopeful.

And so begins Mission: Save Sqq's Marriage!

(Sqq would very much like to contend the title but he is out voted.)

I'd just love to see the three of them (with unquestioning aid from their husbands) get up to hijinks and face existential horrors on a quest to help bingqiu get the closure they need. And moshang too, I guess XD.

It'd also be very, very funny to have them all in the middle of the latest traumatic and/or mortifying scene look around at the other two like 'hey, aren't you supposed to be freaking out now? This is normally the part people start screaming' and the other two are like 'I mean I guess?? We've got things to do though' like kings of unflappable repression right there.

(and lbh and lwj having vinegar-offs while hc is sighing dreamily watching his husband make semi decent friends for once)

Like there's a bunch of crossovers but none really scratch that itch, you know? The main characters of all 3 mxtx?? There's so much potential for Truly Unhinged Shenanigans!! Wangxian visiting pidws wife plot filled world and disappearing into the wilderness for a full week, coming back with every single piece of clothing they brought ruined. Hualian go visit mdzs and and no one believes xl is a diety and hc chomping at the bit to kill them for the injustice. Bingqiu going to tgcf and lbh getting mistaken for a calamity, or Sqq falling into the one wife plot kidnapping or something intended for a diety.

But seriously imagine Sqq complaining about something and wwx and xl immediately going 'that's not right! You deserve better!!' and Sqq is like 'no it's fine I'm used to it' and the other two slam their fists on the table like 'no!!! If [husband] was forced to keep that kind of secret I'd hate it!! You two deserve to be properly happy!! Let us help! We can fix this!' and start working with zeal and vigor while Sqq trails along embarrassed half heartedly muttering 'it's not that bad >:/'.

And when it works (presumably some clever loophole they stumbled on) and bingqiu are tearfully kissing they share a low five without looking. Or that one meme where the person getting kissed holds their hand back and their wingman enthusiastically high fives it but there's two wingmen XD!

I don't knowww but it'd be such a good premise! Ripe for character interactions!! Fluff! Crack! Angst! Daytrips and pouring their hearts out to people who'd really understand! Xl wwx and Sqq bestie team up! Meeting moshang! Wwx info dumping about his monster index categorisation to an enthralled Sqq! Xl and Sqq bemoaning etiquette while wwx laughs at them! Xl and wwx having intense discussions about morality and righteousness! All three of them laughing at how oblivious they were about their husbands, each trying to one the other two for Dumb Moments They Should Have Realised (Sqq wins by horrifying the other two)!

Forget cross country kidnappings and being locked in a room! Where is my protagonist trio getting into trouble on a self imposed mission to help their friend! Let their magnetism for insanity shine!!

[crezz-star]

So… I finally made a One piece OC.

All due to the idea I've been imagining today. A what if Luffy and the crew met someone who, very uncanny, looks and sounds like Ace.

Thus… Jean was made. ✏️✏️✏️

Info at read more ( it is a messy ramble format so beware. )

He was born as a slave to the celestial dragons, after his parents was caught while his mother was pregnant to him.

He grew up with an isolated understanding that he really was just that. A slave, until he died. his parents would die just a few years in from the torture done to them. While Jean still lives on. He would meet Boa and the others who was like him telling him that there was more to the world than their servitude. But he was way too unmovable with his mentality that he will die like that, that he thinks they're just being dumb he would get depressed as time passed, so when the freeing of slaves at Mary Geoise by fisher tiger came, he was too weak to even move and being mistaken as already dead, he was left there.

but he is still alive and would later then be dumped on auction houses by his current owner. where he would, surprisingly be given better treatment by his fellow slaves as well as taken care of.

he would meet different kinds of people in the auction houses. where he would learn about the world and eventually wanting to be free.

Jean is at the auction house at sabaody, the place where luffy destroyed and punched a celestial dragon. he's in his cat form. and thats the moment he finally achieved freedom.

he hears about the man who freed them and made it his missiong to thank him. maybe even join the adventures of his savior if allowed the two years he spent wandering around, would be the time he would stumble upon the graphite graphite fruit, which what would also help him get stronger, learning to fight on his own as well.

once he deems himself strong enough, he would seek out luffy and his crew to finally and hopefully thank him and ask to join him. hoping to be able to create drawings of the landscape in the places they would visit.

how he met the crew:

after punk hazard. on the way to dressrosa ( they arrived at a small island where Jean is currently in, to restock ). Jean saw their ship, transformed into his cat/tiger form and went into the ship.

once the crew left the island. he's already there. and when everyone saw him. they just though he was some cat.

chopper was the first who was talking to him and chopper thought he was a stray and Jean just went with it for a while.

everyone treated him like some pet. until one morning where he poofed back to his human form.

everyone was in panic. but when he showed that he was their pet. ( he was VERY PROUD to be called the pet of the strawhats ) everyone was a bit freaked not because of that but he looks and sounds like ace.

everyone is very shaken especially luffy and thught he was some evil guy using ace's face

jean explained that they saved him at sabaody, that he was one of the slaves at the auction house.

he would always use his cat form after seeing how shaken luffy is with him. not minding being in cat from one bit. so long as he lets him join them.

luffy does eventually let him join. at first only referring to him as 'pet cat' to finally calling him by name 'jean'

Jean is part of the mature group of the crew.

he does have similar personality as Ace but he likes to tease the younger ones a lot. especially making Zoro feel jelly by being too close to Luffy

yes this is ZoLuccentric

Jean is pushing Zoro and Luffy to realize their 'feelings' for one another.

JEAN BITS

Jean is 28

Jean loves hot chocolate as it reminds him of his mother. the only thing that his mother ever made him.

Jean's weapon of choice is his foot. making his battle style a bit similar to Sanji ( careful not to harm his hands anymore, wanting to paint )

but he does still use his hands when he uses his devil fruit. he fighs like a martial artist'

Jean's devil fruit is a good conductor of fire so he always have a lighter with him. he sets fire to his graphite which creates the illusion that he uses fire. ( another thing that makes him unsettling for Luffy and the crew.

his devil fruit is logia type. his graphite can be sand like crocodile and or liquid ish like candle and or can be solid as well.

Jean would most likely always be found at high places in places they visit, to paint / draw

jean is 6'5"

he and usopp get along well because of their artistic side.

he can do recon missions well because of his ability to transform to a cat

[warping-realities]

Rich People Problems

This was my tribute to the works of the incredible @callmecallmecrazy (seriously, what are you doing that you haven't read the legend yet?) and the no less amazing dumb-and-jocked, if you're reading this bro know that we all miss you immensely!

Repost with new images and minimal changes to the story.

.....

Cris sighed for what felt like an eternity before stepping into the luxurious and refined ballroom of the Country Club. This was going to be a painful experience. An engagement party, out of the blue. His mother, Carol, had been widowed a few years back and since then had thrown herself into her work as a lawyer. She was a staunch defender of human rights, fighting hard in court for the less fortunate. Cris greatly admired his mom's work and never judged her for her absences; what she did changed lives, and from an early age, he understood the importance of her work. Even so, because of that, he had always been a lonely kid—absent father, distant mother, and a social awkwardness that kept him from making lasting friendships. Books were his greatest companions, ranging from children's classics to true masterpieces, and it was through reading complex political works that he decided to become a journalist to fight against the ills and injustices of the world, just like his mom.

So, you can imagine Cris's enormous surprise when he found out that his mother had decided to marry the notorious multimillionaire Archibald Sutterland III, a guy with a rep for being a hard-ass boss and totally averse to workers' rights. “The Third,” muttered Cris with disdain. Rich people and their pretentious names, he thought, rolling his eyes as he stepped into the room.

He walked through the place, crawling with pretentious people, all dressed to the nines, casting judgmental looks his way. But he didn’t let it get to him; this was, after all, his mom’s engagement, and he’d wear whatever the hell he wanted. Not that he had time to find “appropriate” clothes for the occasion. Having been snatched by a couple of giant security guards from his college dorm earlier that day, bundled into a private jet, and taken to a stately mansion, where a pompous outfit awaited him on the bed of a room bigger than his former home, he decided to ignore the getup despite the protests of his “guardians,” who, finally defeated, dumped him in a freaking limousine and dropped him off in a place that felt totally alien and hostile to him.

“How does crap like this even happen?” he muttered to himself as he searched for his mother, determined to confront her about this madness. Speaking of madness… he finally spotted her, standing by the bar, wearing a dress he could never have imagined, a goofy smile plastered on her face. Just one more piece of info for the list of absurdities of the day.

“Mom? What the hell is going on?” he asked irritably.

“Cristhian, my dear, I'm glad you made it in time! But what are you wearing? Archibald made it clear to the staff that you should be handled properly!”

“Handled? What the hell, Mom! I'm not some puppy to be 'led' around. And what the fuck is going on anyway? What ridiculous idea of marriage is this?”

“Just be quiet, please, Cristhian. Don't embarrass me in front of the society.”

“And since when do you care about ‘society?’” he said, emphasizing the word with obvious disdain. Forcing a smile in hopes no one noticed the altercation, his mother pulled him aside as she spoke.

“Calm down, let’s talk…”

….

Watching the scene from afar was Archibald Sutterland III, accompanied by his longtime partner and friend, Forrest Gordon-Lenox IV.

“You have to admit, the boy’s got some flair, Archie.” Forrest was one of the few allowed to use that nickname since they’d known each other since childhood, but only when they were alone.

“I should’ve seen it coming that the boy inherited some of his mother’s fire, but if I’ve molded her into an impeccable example of a woman, believe me, I’ll get the brat out of the way. In fact, I think this might be the perfect opportunity to test my own heir,” he said as he saw a handsome young man approaching.

“Good evening, Father. Good evening, Mr. Gordon-Lenox. Looks like Carol is having some issues with her son,” said the handsome muscular blond young man with a mischievous smile on his face.

“Good evening, Chadwick. Your father and I were just talking about your future brother’s peculiar ways.”

“Chadwick, the time has come. I could do it myself, but soon you’ll graduate, and you'll need to step up. I don’t care much for society gossip, but something like this could have negative repercussions on business. So I need you to take care of the kid.”

“Yes, Father, with the greatest pleasure,” replied the young man with a sneaky smile.

….

“Mom, it feels like I’ve walked into a bad adaptation of Stepford Wives! This makes no sense. How can you drop everything, years of career, to marry an old man and become a housewife?”

“If I were you, I’d be very careful with words spoken in such an environment, my friend,” said a sassy voice. Turning around, startled, Cris came face to face with a handsome young man in a light blue suit, matching his eyes, which were currently assessing him with a predatory look.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Chadwick Sutterland.”

“So what…?”

“So what, friend, if we’re going to be brothers, we might as well agree on some things.”

“Brothers???”

“Chadwick is Archibald’s son, Cristhian, so after the wedding, he’ll be your brother.”

“How wonderful,” replied Cris, exasperated.

“Indeed, I think we’re going to get along just fine, Cristhian.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it!”

“Cristhian! Enough of that!” Carol whispered, anguished.

“Let me handle this, Carol. Your son and I just got off on the wrong foot, but let’s fix this together. Cristhian, can’t you at least try this for your mom?” Chadwick concluded in an accusatory tone. Seeing the anguish on the face of the most important woman in his life, Cris relented.

“Okay, since it looks like this craziness is going to happen anyway… but I’m not wearing that pompous crap.” He responded, disdainfully eyeing his future “brother’s” attire, not caring if it offended him.

“Apparently, someone always has to be on top. I think I’ll call you Topper, brother, and since we’re among bros, you can call me Chad.”

“You can call me whatever you want; this ‘brotherly’ relationship won’t last long. So come on, I need a drink.”

“Excellent, follow me, please. Carol, if you’ll excuse us!” Chadwick finished, dragging Cris with him across the hall.

….

“Drink this, bro,” said Chad, handing Cris a glass of bourbon. He had pulled him into a locker room near the Club’s gym. The pompous and polite demeanor faded, replaced by a relaxed attitude and carefree vocabulary, which made Cris’s initial dislike for the guy diminish considerably.

“What you need to understand, now that you’re joining our circle, is that appearances are everything—the way you talk, the way you carry yourself, the way you dress… so this behavior won't help you Topper!” He continued, using that stupid nickname, apparently a bond between brothers or something, and no matter how much Cris protested, Chadwick was Chad, and Cristhian was Topper. After some failed attempts, Cris finally stopped objecting; after all, he intended to have as little contact as possible with Chad after that night.

“I don’t give a crap about that, Chad. My mom can commit this madness if that’s what she wants, which I still have a hard time believing. But once tonight’s circus is over, I’m going back to college without looking back.”

“I understand your indignation; I was also blindsided by my dad’s decision. My mom passed away less than a year ago. So understand, you’re not the only one upset here, bro. But my father is used to getting what he wants, and he wants your mother. He met her a few months back in court, oddly enough. She argued her case against one of our companies with such ferocity that it warmed something in the old man’s icy heart. Since then, he’s been courting her relentlessly until she accepted the proposal last week. It might’ve seemed sudden, but as I told you, my dad gets what he wants, when he wants,” concluded the boy, bitterness creeping into his voice. This earned him a few more points with Cristhian. Maybe not everyone there was that awful. But still full of indignation he continued to complain.

“I don’t understand why my mom didn’t tell me anything; it’s not like her.”

“Bro, you know how women are; no one can predict their crap.”

To avoid an unwanted discussion with someone he was trying to create some kind of sympathy with, Cris let the sexist comment slide.

“Still, I don’t understand why I need to wear this!” he said, looking at a suit identical to his future “brother’s.”

“Appearances, brother. Coming here poorly dressed not only tarnishes you, but also your mom, my dad, and our family name. Come on, try it; I bet you’ll feel a lot better.”

With one last sigh, Cris began to undress. As he prepared to put on the pompous outfit he suddenly found himself very close to a grinning Chad, holding a bright red gem in his hand.

“Not yet, Topper; first, we need to make some changes.”

The stone began to emit an intense glow. Afraid of what he was seeing, Cristhian tried to escape. But suddenly, his legs went rigid and immobile, as if glued to the ground.

“What the hell is going on? What are you doing?”

“Silence, now is your time to listen. You will only speak when I say so.” Cris felt his lips tighten, not painfully, but still totally unable to form a sentence; his vocal cords incapacitated from producing any sound.

“I like you, Topper, really, you’ve got some guts. I think we could still be real brothers. But the way things are, it won't work. Do you know why? Because of what you are. Or what the people who matter think you are. And do you know what they think, Topper? I’m sure many in that hall looked at you and thought: a nobody. But what they haven’t thought of is what you really are—an opportunity.” Chad continued, grinning with a disturbing glint in his eyes, reflecting the gem strange glow.

“Have a seat,” he said, pointing to a bench. And Cris felt compelled to sit down, the movement returning to his legs. But when he tried to turn and run, he ended up sitting right where Chad instructed him.

“Such a good boy,” sneered Chad, the red gem held in his hand.

“You know what that is, Topper? That’s why your fierce mother became a trophy wife-to-be. And that’s also the key to the future—mine and yours, bro. So I guess I owe this version of you an explanation.

“This stone has been in my family for generations, passed down from father to son, ensuring our lineage, our money, and our name continue to live on. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the reason old Dorrance Sutterland, the founder of our line, got his passage on the Mayflower. But I confess, for some generations, the Sutterland men have used it for more… mundane purposes. When you have everything money can buy, it’s hard to find something that really needs the use of this little beauty.”

“I didn’t lie to you when I said my dad met your mom in court a few months ago; that’s the absolute truth. And I wasn’t lying when I said he tried to woo her either; he did… but was rebuffed, which only ignited the fury inside him even more. And the more the fire inside my father grew, the more the desire to dominate and extinguish his mother’s flame consumed him.”

“You see, this stone has power over reality itself; there’s nothing it can’t do, with few limitations. The curious thing is that my dad doesn’t know this; my grandfather never told him all its potential. To him, it’s only capable of influencing people’s minds, shaping their wills, and even redefining their personalities. But he never suspected it could do so much more.”

“It’s all because my dad has always been a huge jerk. With his stupid rules, his obsession with control, his insufferable rigidity—and the biggest problem of all, his boredom. My grandfather would’ve loved to use the stone on him, but that wasn’t possible; that’s one of the limitations of the stone’s power—it doesn’t work on men of our lineage. We’re the only ones who can use it, but never on ourselves, although there are some interesting ways to at least partially circumvent these rules. Furthermore, each Sutterland man can use it only once in his lifetime.”

“So, my grandfather was forced to live with his boring son, who, despite having a great knack for finances, always showed a total inability to enjoy the pleasures of our way of life. So, as a small form of revenge, he withheld essential info from my father but told me everything, as I was a much better heir to our legacy.”

“My father used his chance with the stone to turn your mother into his trophy wife, Topper. After all the speeches, all the scolding, all the talk of responsibility, he used the stone to win over a woman, just a few months after my mother died! How undignified is that? And when he refused to hand me the stone, he even had the audacity to repeat the usual litany.”

“The same litany that isolated me my whole life, that prevented me from having a true friendship, from living the life I’m entitled to. For my dad, everything I wanted was frivolous; everything was a waste. And everyone looked at me with pity, pity for the poor rich boy. Of course, my peers accepted me and never had the heart to do anything to me; I’m a Sutherland, and that name means a lot. But not even that name can create a real bond. Maybe if my dad had put me in a boarding school, things would’ve been different; maybe some real friendship could’ve been established. But no, I needed to be under his constant surveillance.”

“While my buddies are enjoying their holidays in Ibiza or the Alps, I’m stuck sitting next to him in a dusty office! Even my frat brothers, as much as they talk about the unbreakable bond that unites us, don’t really see me as one of the guys; they respect my name and my position, but it’s clear I’m among them because I’m a legacy. Can you imagine how it feels to see all your ‘brothers’ getting ready for Spring Break, knowing you won’t be able to make it? My dad denied me not only my grandfather’s name but also the opportunity to live my life the way it should be lived by our people—with respect for traditions, sure, but above all, with fun. Yes, with fun! What’s the point of having mountains of money if you can’t enjoy yourself? That’s all I want, Topper—fun!

“You don’t have the slightest idea how much I wanted to get my hands on the stone, but the old man took precautions to keep it away from me, as if I didn’t have my own means. And today, thanks to this outrageous engagement dinner, I finally managed to get my hands on it. And thanks to you, Topper, I’m finally going to find a way to enjoy my life the way I deserve!”

So, put a metaphorical smile on that face because you’ll be enjoying everything with me, bro!” he sighed, concluding his long villainous monologue with a maniacal grin.

Christian, motionless, lips sealed, listened to all that madness, unable to believe it. That was impossible. But so was his current situation. And the story, as absurd as it was, provided an explanation for his mother’s altered behavior. Still, that was all impossible, wasn’t it?

“My grandfather informed my father of specific rules and ways of speaking and ordering the stone, instilling a fear of what might happen if those safeguards were not used, in addition to the obvious omission of its full power. My grandfather was diligent in his revenge, Topper. Thanks to him, my dad lost his chance to achieve something truly extraordinary, but I won’t lose mine. The stone doesn’t need specific and detailed orders; those things only limit its functioning. It’s intimately connected to the deepest desires of its bearer, so just ask, and it will provide. Goodbye, Cristhian; welcome, Topper, bro!” he concluded.

The stone began to emit an intense red glow in great waves, which, in Cristhian’s vision, seemed to distort everything around him, with Chad’s hand becoming a blur.

“That shit was real,” was his last coherent thought before being enveloped by the red light.

…..

Memories came in waves—totally alien to his identity but intrusive, forcing their way in. Two blonde toddlers, so alike you’d think they were twins, in an elegant living room, arguing animatedly about whose father owned the bigger yacht, eliciting giggles from two pretty blonde women, their mothers.

“Yes, he and Chad knew each other from the cradle. No, no, what the hell was that?”

“Their mothers were best friends, college roommates, and in the same sorority, and their fathers had common business interests, so it was natural that the friendship extended to their kids.”

“No, his father had been a college professor, not a businessman, and his mother had never been in a sorority. And for God’s sake, what kind of spoiled brat talks like that?”

Seemingly the same kind of kid who spends their afternoons on the tennis courts at the Country Club while their parents excitedly discuss business. Occasionally pausing to flash an approving smile in his direction, in Cris’s… Topper’s case. Or a stern look in Chad’s.

“Uncle Archibald was always a pain in the ass, but spending time with Chad and Dad was awesome.” It was the thought that popped into Cris’s head while that memory solidified.

Thinking about his father brought up an old and painful memory of Cris, which was quickly overridden by the overwhelming power of the stone. The memory of a thin, brown-haired boy, on a cold winter afternoon, feeling lost and alone was replaced by that of a blonde boy, physically active but with the same feelings of sadness marking his face. But that gradually faded when he felt his best friend’s hand on his shoulder, a warm feeling spreading through his body, knowing he had someone with him.

Although that feeling was interrupted by a flash of irritation when he saw his “Uncle” Archibald whisper something in his mother’s ear. His father had just died, and there was ambitious old Archie harassing his widow, no doubt imagining a way to cash in.

Cris struggled with the conflicting and confused feelings inside him; he knew that none of that was real—not the anger at a man he didn’t know, not that great friendship, not that warmth. But at the same time, it would’ve been nice to have a friend by his side when his father passed away… it had been so nice…

After his father’s death, Cris became responsible, at least in name, for the family’s legacy. His mother, contrary to what one might think, was a true lioness; she took over her late husband’s business with great interest, expanding the family fortune and ensuring every wish of the heir was granted. But at the expense of the son’s loneliness. Christopher Lauder Hawthorne IV, Prince Topper, fourth of his name, heir to a fortune, surrounded by everything he could want... and alone. The exception was his friend Chadwick Sutherland, but even if the two wanted to spend all their time together, that wouldn’t be possible. But his mom made it happen! He didn’t know what kind of deal she made with Archibald, but sometime after his dad died, Christopher, along with Chadwick, was sent to a boarding school.

What would have been torment for other boys was liberating for both of them. Away from his father’s stern gaze, Chadwick enjoyed life for the first time, while Christopher found in his friend a true brother. There was nothing Topper wouldn’t do for him. The two formed a beautiful pair—handsome and charming—soon surrounded by a growing group of friends. Topper, with his outgoing ways and the certainties in life that only the very rich or the very foolish possess, and Chad, with a more cunning way of thinking, but still eager to have as much fun as possible. Leaders among their own.

But anyone who thought those boys were stupid was dead wrong; Chadwick could never let his grades slip, under penalty of losing the ironic freedom the school had granted him. As for Topper, well… he had Chad to help him with the complex stuff and a mom willing to overlook her precious son’s academic incompetence. Even more so when it became clear that the boy had a natural talent for sports when they joined the school’s lacrosse team, which soon morphed into a passion for all sports they could participate in. Topper’s tactical ability on the field and court demonstrated something his poor academic record failed to do: he was incredibly intelligent and capable when he wanted to be. The truth is, most of the time he just didn’t care. The exception was sports, which became a true obsession, which Chad shared to a slightly lesser extent.

As a result, the two muscular men who finished school barely resembled the two boys they once were. Topper cherished the photograph taken with his friend after their team winned the intramurals.

No, no, no! I’ve always been a good student; I have no idea what the rules of lacrosse are. I’ve never been to boarding school, and I’m certainly not some pretentious mountain of muscle who thinks he has the world at his feet," Cris thought.

"But I am," Topper replied, making Cris freak out, not knowing where the strange voice inside his head came from, while new memories flowed.

With the end of school and before college, which both boys would attend together, Archibald decided he wanted Chad by his side to instruct him in the truths of life or some such nonsense. As if Topper would let his brother be stuck in an office all summer. Negative. The two of them would have fun, even if he had to kidnap Chad to do so. Which wasn’t necessary, because once again, Carol Lauder Hawthorne used her magnificent powers of persuasion to ensure her beloved son had his best friend with him during those vacations, where they explored the Old Continent together, taking yacht trips through exclusive islands across the Mediterranean, a brief pause to ski in the Swiss Alps, and the cherry on top: the craziest sexual experiences in Eastern Europe.

“Ah man, the flexibility of that girl in Prague,” Topper reminisced fondly about that particular night.

“I’ve never been to Prague, or on a yacht, or in the Mediterranean, and I’d certainly break my legs if I tried skiing,” Cris argued.

“Nonsense, I’m a natural athlete,” Topper replied.

“But I’m not you,” Cris shot back, finally losing the ability to perceive the strangeness of the situation.

“Of course you are, you idiot. Who else would you be if not me? I’m such a dumbass!” Topper laughed inside Cris’s head, echoing:

“A dumbass, he he he.”

And suddenly, he also burst out laughing, their laughter mingling as if they were one.

After an unforgettable summer, college time finally arrived. Continuing the established partnership, the boys rented a luxurious apartment near the campus. Archibald had the nerve to try to send Chad to a shared dorm, as if Topper would allow it. He’d never agree to live in a dorm; he deserved the best, and the best was having Chad by his side. This time, Carol’s intervention wasn’t necessary; Archibald simply wasn’t informed of the arrangement, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t bother him. Of course, such an arrangement would be temporary. Both boys were legacies and would soon be inducted into their parents’ old fraternity.

Chad had no option but to choose business-oriented subjects to study, knowing ahead of time that his major would be in business. Topper briefly considered studying sports sciences due to his love of sports, but it wasn’t like he needed it, so why bother? He then decided to enroll in the same subjects as his friend without worrying much about it. After all, college was much more than listening to half a dozen stilted old-timers; it was about making contacts, having new experiences, and above all, having fun!

“But I’m a great student, and business? I’m going to be a writer, aren’t I?”

“Ha, I couldn’t even write the grocery list if I didn’t have someone to do the list and the shopping for me… and great student? I’m always great, even if the grades say otherwise. If I tried a little harder, I know they’d be a lot better, but it doesn’t make any difference in my life.”

“No, education is important!”

“Of course it is; that’s why I studied at the best schools and went to college. But those things only get you so far. When you want to go further, your name and your contacts do more for you than any major.”

Speaking of contacts, Chad and Topper were perfect fraternity material. The two made it through Hell Week unscathed, quickly rising within the organization.

Now, nearing the end of their junior year, the two held positions on the chapter’s board, strong competitors to assume the presidency.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Topper knew that one day he’d have to take responsibility for the family business, but he had no interest in taking on any real responsibility before it was necessary, and he wouldn’t let his best bro do it. Archibald would certainly put pressure on his son, having been president in his day, even if the sour old man never understood anything about what fraternal life really was. No, it was Topper’s duty to make sure his friend had some kind of fun. Helping organize the parties, managing the house, and guiding the newcomers, showing them the path to follow, was more than enough. Man, how he loved to see the terrified looks on the pledges when the blindfolds were taken off, and it was his face they saw first, not knowing they were looking at the guy who would make them men—the right kind of men. They were a family, after all, and he took great pride in being the cool big brother role model.

“It would’ve been nice to have so many friends, to feel part of something.”

“Yeah, man, I love this.”

However, not everything had been perfect; unexpectedly, the angel of death struck the pair of friends again. Sybil, Chad’s mother, died of a sudden illness. And suddenly, Topper found himself in the opposite position from so many years ago. Chad was a grown man and not a boy, yet Topper saw his long-ago image reflected in his friend’s sad eyes on the day of the funeral.

The funeral forced Chad to present himself in a way that his father found appropriate, making him say goodbye to the long hair and stubble he had developed in his time away from him. Topper, as a good friend, supported him, even though he didn't care in the slightest about the grumpy Archie's opinion. Knowing the power of a helping hand, he stayed by Chad’s side the entire time. This was a pain that could only be eased with time, so Topper decided to numb it the best way he knew how. That night, he took Chad to a bar with the intention of drinking him into a stupor.

“Thanks, bro. I don’t know what I’d do without you by my side… Oh god, I’m sounding like a crybaby.”

“Chad, your mom just passed away; today you have the right to look like a crybaby, dude. Which doesn’t justify you being one for all the years we’ve known each other, bro,” Topper replied with a smile.

“Asshole…” replied Chad with a sad smile.

“Speaking of assholes, how’s Uncle Archie doing?”

“Being himself, if you know what I mean? You’d think his wife’s death would soften the old man, but no, he didn’t even give me a hug…”

“I’d hug you, brother, if it put a real smile on your face. But I think I have a better solution.” Topper pointed to a pair of beautiful girls standing on the other side of the bar.

“Oh man, I don’t know…”

“They’re hot, bro. Look, your mom would want you to get on with your life, and right now you need a distraction, soooo… blond or brunette?”

“Both!” Chad replied with his first real smile in a while.

That was a wild night. To avoid unwanted attention from the parents, they took the two women to one of Topper’s apartments in the city, and there, washed down with a lot of alcohol and weed, the four of them ended up in bed in a foursome.

“That was freaking awesome.” Said Topper.

“Yeah, dude, freaking awesome.” Agreed Cris.

Chad spent the next few months in a mood that ranged from depressed to euphoric, usually with a little help from Topper, but gradually improving. Until a new blow hit the duo. On a sunny afternoon less than a week ago, during a college break, as the boys rode through the huge Hawthorne property, they were called by Carol for a chat.

“Boys, an announcement is coming soon, but both Archibald and I would like you to know in advance. This summer, he and I are getting married.”

“What the hell is this, Mom? Are you kidding?”

“Language, Christopher. And no, I’m not kidding. I’d like you to think of it as a… business arrangement—a very beneficial arrangement for both parties.”

“A beneficial arrangement? Mom, we have more than enough money.”

“Christopher, my dear, I raised you better than that; there’s no such thing as enough money.”

“And Aunt Sybil? Your best friend’s body has barely cooled down, and you’re ready to swoop in on her husband. Sorry, bro!” Topper concluded when he remembered who he was sitting next to. But the friend didn’t respond, preferring to direct his attention toward Carol.

“How long? How long have you two been planning this… arrangement, Carol?” The “aunt” was unceremoniously dismissed.

“Archibald and I have been discussing this for some time, and it’s going to be very profitable.”

“Profitable and convenient, isn’t it? You’re still a young woman—not even forty yet. And I must say you hid it wonderfully well, but now looking closely, I can’t help but notice the signs. When can Topper and I expect our brother or sister to be born?”

“Chadwick! How can you say…”

“Drop the act; only something like this would make sense!”

“Okay, I really am pregnant; I never imagined this could happen. Boys, you must understand, nothing happened between me and Archibald while Sybil was alive. Chad, his parents were my biggest source of support after Topper’s dad passed away. Sybil was truly my best friend, and when she left, I felt… empty. Imagine how you would feel without each other? Archibald may seem cold, but he also felt her loss, and in our grief, we ended up supporting each other. One thing led to another, and one night after a few glasses of wine, we ended up…”

“Fucking,” interrupted Topper!

“Christopher, that’s enough; I’m your mother, and I deserve respect.”

“Respect? How can you talk about respect after telling us this?”

“Topper, it’s okay; she’s right; there’s nothing more to be done. Getting rid of the baby isn’t an option; the scandal if this story leaks… I imagine the wedding will be soon, to allay suspicions, although it’ll probably still raise some eyebrows…”

“Yes, it’s the best arrangement we could come up with. Christopher, my dear, I’m really sorry, but it’s for the best. Besides, you always wanted a brother.”

“I already have a brother,” he replied, looking towards his friend.

“Yes, Christopher, and now you will indeed be brothers for real. Think about it. And you, Chad, Topper told me all about how you feel about Archibald, and I’m no idiot despite what anyone might think; I see the way he treats you. I can be a very powerful ally; never underestimate my powers of persuasion, especially when I’m carrying Archibald’s son. You may not believe it, but all his behavior comes from the hopes and expectations he has. It will be very good for you to have someone to share that weight with.”

“Just think about it, brother. We will be real brothers, on paper and in life, and with one more of us on the way. Doesn’t look so bad. Even more so if that way you can get your dad off your back,” Topper said, letting himself be carried away by his mother’s notorious power of persuasion without realizing it.

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be so bad, not really, brother,” Chad concluded, smiling back at his friend.

And so the two ended up at that event at the Country Club, where they had spent most of their lives, commemorating the future union of their parents, which would formalize their status as brothers. Topper arrived late, and accompanied by his friend, went to the locker room to put on appropriate clothes before heading to the ballroom. And now the two of them were there, face to face. Topper looking down at his friend’s distorted hand, the glowing red stone emanating constant waves.

“Quite a… quite a story… but… it’s not real… none of it is… real.” Cris reappeared, gathering what was left of his energy.

“Dude, of course, it’s real. If you want it, it’s real; I want it, and I’m you, so it’s real!”

“No… I’m not you… you’re an… invention, you’re nothing but… a rich asshole… who thinks he owns the world… who thinks… has… the world at his feet… your life is all about money… and… parties and…”

“And fun, and not worrying about tomorrow, and friends, real friends, and a mother who does whatever I want, and a brother—a real brother who was always there for me… how could that be something bad?”

“No… no… no… it wasn’t real… no… it couldn’t… be real…” Still, new memories rushed toward him, like a giant wave of red, flooding every inch of his consciousness until there was no empty space left.

Chad studied the face of the young man with glazed eyes and an empty expression sitting in front of him.

His hand burned with heat as he gripped the stone, and he couldn't help but think that maybe it was too much, that maybe he had messed up beautifully.

“It has to work, it has to work…” he muttered. Then the stone emitted its most wave, momentarily blinding him. Upon regaining his sight, he found himself in front of a completely different man. Sitting naked before him was an example of male perfection. A face that looked like it was carved from marble, golden hair in beautiful curls, with the broad, defined musculature of someone who could easily be a fitness model. For a moment terror dominated him, as it seemed that Christopher tried to resist the process with greater intensity, however it did not last more than an instant as another waves come and soon the gargantuan figure that replaced Cristian began to feel and test his gigantic muscles almost automatically with a distant and unfocused look, gradually being replaced by one of extreme confidence and arrogance. If Marvel ever decided to reboot Captain America, the man in front of him wouldn’t be a bad choice—except for the fact that he’d never put himself in that position… unless he thought he’d have fun with it.

And how did Chad know that? He knew this because he suddenly remembered a whole new life, which made his previous life look pale and gray—all thanks to the man in front of him, Topper, his best friend, his brother! And with a smile on his face, he woke him up to reality:

“Hey bro, you okay?”

“What? Chad, bro, sorry I kind of zoned out; damn jet lag. But it was worth it; you should’ve gone with me; Brazil is everything we were told.”

“Not everyone can afford to fly all the way to Rio and hook up with a supermodel whenever they want, bro.”

“True, but we can.”

“Speak, for you, brother.”

“I speak for both of us. If there's one good thing to come out of this whole situation, it's that my mom will get Archie off your back, and we'll finally be able to enjoy life the right way,” Topper concluded while opening a closet and pulling out some clothes. Putting on pristine white boxer briefs, more immaculate than a virgin's soul, but which ironically would make many virgins fall into sin just by looking at the man wearing them. Before putting the other garments he flexed both arms and admired himself in the mirror. “I’m so swole, man.”

“Something had to make up for the lack of brains, brother!”

“You only say that because you're jealous of me, tiny boy.”

"I wouldn't call anything about me tiny.”

“True, but nothing compares to my size, little brother!”

“Some of us prefer classic beauty, Topper.”

“And some of us decided to be real men, Chad.”

That was Topper's mocking response as he walked past his “brother" and gave him a playful pat in the groin.

“Dude, leave the gems alone!”

"Stop being a whiner, I wouldn't do anything to hurt my future nephews," Topper said as he admired himself... again. “Dude, I’m fucking hot!”

“I didn't know jt lag caused brain damage, bro. I thought we'd already been through this whole discussion about your ridiculous handsomeness. Be careful; you don’t have much brain in that head of yours to waste.”

"Asshole, your envy doesn't faze me, try as you might," he replied, finally putting on his suit, the same shade of blue as Chad's.

“So how are the lovebirds doing? I imagine the news about him having another boy to torment has given Archie a break from his usual boredom.”

“Incredibly, yes. Your mother really has a hold on my father; he pestered me a lot less than usual. Although I don't think he's very happy about your delay."

“I couldn't miss the chance to see Archie's eyes pop, especially since he knows he has no power over me. Soon, he won't have any power over you, and I promise you, he won't have any power over that baby either. When he’s born, you and I together are going to show the little one how to live. Now come here, brother; you may not be as handsome as I am, but we still make a great pair.”

….

The two returned to the hall together, always attracting attention from everyone around, but they were used to being the center of attention, and frankly, they deserved it!

They found their parents sitting together at a table, and to both their surprise, Archibald looked more relaxed than they had ever seen him, while Carol turned to both of them with a Cheshire smile.

“Hey boys, we have news. But since Christopher took up so much time, maybe we should save it for another moment…”

“Carol, boys will be boys, so let them be.” Archibald intervened, making the two boys look at each other in disbelief. His expression seemed softer and less predatory than usual.

“Anyway, what Carol was trying to say is we've decided to have the wedding in early summer in Malta, and the good news is you're going a few weeks in advance to get everything ready. We count on you—don’t hold back on effort or money,” Archibald concluded, not seeing the sly smile that Carol gave behind his back, which made the boys' jaws drop—metaphorically, of course, since neither of them would commit such an indignity in public.

….

And so it was that in early July, Chadwick Sutterland found himself enjoying the best that life had to offer on an exclusive Mediterranean island alongside his lifelong best friend, Christopher Hawthorne IV. Thinking about a red gem and gray fading memories of a reality that, for the world, had never existed. He had done really well, in his own opinion. His father was dominated, so much so that he didn't even bother with his son's behaviour in the last months. He had a fierce ally ahead of his family business, even more so now that she was expecting a Sutherland boy, who, when the moment came, he would deliver that stone to be used in a time of need. An unforeseen but very favorable outcome, the stone indeed acted in the best interest of the wielder if its power was allowed to act freely. And the greatest proof of that was his best friend, the brother he had gained, who was at his side talking to him at that very moment.

“Hey bro, what’s with the serious face? You should be enjoying your first real vacation paid for with your dad's money, dumbass,” Topper said with a smile.

“Fine, you asshole,” Chad replied, assuring himself the stone was safe and looking at his brother. “Let’s have some fun!

[bunchesofoats]

Proximity.

Feat — Tyler Galpin x Nevermore!Reader

Contains — Slow Build, Playful Flirting, No Established Relationship, etc ALSO SOME VERY LIGHT WEDNESDAY SPOILERS!! (Set before show in canon)

Length — ~1.8k Words

Notes — Reader’s powers/species not specified (just considered an Outcast). This isn’t proofread, moves a little fast, and was written at like 2 am so proceed with caution I guess. ALSO, I ACTUALLY WORK IN A CAFE SO I WILL INFO DUMP GRRRRBARK BARK WOOF WOOF Also, if you have any input just drop it to my inbox !

“Welcome to the Weathervane staff.”

Your new manager welcomed you with a smile, to which you replied with a nod as she left you to do paperwork. You made your way out of her office, remembering her instructions to be training with Tyler. Your feet shuffling up the stairs slowly, paying no mind to the creaks that came with it. You knew Tyler Galpin, not well, but you knew of him enough to know he was the son of the sheriff. The sheriff who didn’t seem keen on Nevermore students. Though you were pretty sure they only hired you for Outcast Diversity, you were at least happy to had gotten a job that wasn’t Pilgrim’s World.

“Medium Iced Chai Latte with a Chocolate Croissant.” A voice pulled you from your thoughts.

Trailing the voice to the source was easy considering he was the only person behind the counter before you came along. There he was, Tyler Galpin, with the usual mop of brown curls that stopped just above his eyes and the crease of concentration upon his forehead as he moved to fiddle with the espresso machine. You’d been dragged here enough by Enid to know the details, especially considering she kept tabs on everyone.

“You’re looking at the wrong end of the machine, Galpin.” You called out, causing him to jump. A smile crawled its way onto your face at his expression. It didn’t take long for him to register who you were outside of the Nevermore uniform, he had seen you enough and he knew there was a new applicant coming in.

“Do you make a habit of scaring the hell out of people?” He gave you a pointed look.

“More of a hobby,” You shrugged before making your way behind the counter. Taking a closer look at the machine, you had been right. The source of the never ending steam was a valve issue. “I’m gonna need a tri-wing screwdriver and 4 millimeter Allen wrench.”

Tyler handed you the screwdriver with no hesitation, he couldn’t understand the Italian instructions anyway and he wasn’t about to resort to Google Translate.

“You have a valve issue,” You began screwing the bits back into place, careful not to direct any steam towards you or your new coworker.

“You have one of these temperamental beasts with a mind of its own?” He quirked a brow at you, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Not exactly.” Thankfully, Nevermore had quite the class in engineering and you had fairly decent grades. The steam stopped spewing, and the machine was fixed to the best of your ability. Tyler began gathering the pieces of the pipes, filters, and other parts back into place resounding in a satisfying click.

“Thanks…” He stopped for a moment.

“Y/N.”

“No, yes! No, I mean, yes I know! You come in here a lot, and I recognize your name from your application.” He mumbled on and on.

“You’re supposed to be training me and yet you can’t remember my name?” It was your turn to point questions now. It wasn’t like you couldn’t work a register or understand the difference between a cortado or a cafe au lait, but you needed to know your way around Weathervane at least. Plus, it was fun to tease him.

“I just mean, you’re unforgettable.”

What.

“What?”

“You know what, why don’t we start off with a tour? You know the main area, but let me show you the back room.” Tyler abruptly turned away, leaving with tinted cheeks. He lead you to the small storage room on the opposite adjacent end of the bar counter. The length of it was long, but the width of it could just barely fit one person with the shelves so close on either end. He allowed you in first before following in after, showing everything from the closest to the farthest at the back wall.

With Tyler explaining everything in broad detail, it was easy enough to understand considering everything was ordered neatly from the coffee beans and food products being separated from cleaning chemicals. What was hard, on the other hand, was trying not to pay attention to the way the dim lighting reflected in his eyes. Something about it seemed familiar, almost supernaturally captivating. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he was a Vampire or Siren or even something else entirely luring you in.

“…And if you have any questions then just ask me.” Tyler finally turned back to you, catching your gaze. He hadn’t realize how close in proximity you were, you awkwardly pressed against the wall as he had just been reaching over to point out which coffee beans were which. You hadn’t been paying attention, not with him so close. You weren’t usually the nervous type, not with Vampires and Telekinetics and Werewolves etc constantly being around you. But this newfound flip of your heart was concerning considering he was 1) a normie you hadn’t actually fully conversed with before and 2) you were still unsure of his standing with you as an Outcast.

“Yeah, I’ll call for your help when I need to fix the espresso machine.” You snort. He huffed with a lingering smile you managed to catch. Maybe his stance wasn’t as bad as his fathers.

“I’m definitely sure you don’t need to call me just for help with that, you can call me for other stuff.” Tyler shrugged.

“So you want me to call you?” Your gaze met his again, forgetting the close distance between you both. This was a different start to your new job than you were expecting. Flirting with your coworker in the back of the cafe was probably against all types of normal work ethic and morals. But when was Jericho ever normal?

“Tyler?” A voice called out from the front, breaking the tension between you two. You both recognized that voice, Tyler knowing it more than you did. You both tried to scramble out of the storage closet in an orderly manner. Tyler emerging first, Sheriff Galpin perking up to see his son from the other side of the counter. You followed suit not a second after, barely halfway out of the closet before you could see Sheriff Gallon’s face drop. Suddenly realizing how incriminating the situation seemed, you quickly grabbed a random can from the shelf within arms reach before fully exiting.

“Hey, uh, dad.” Tyler coughed out, clearing his throat from the situation you two were in. “Just showing the new hire around and restocking.” To which you maneuvered the can to one hand to give the man a small wave.

“Condensed milk? I swear you stocked and dated that one when I came by yesterday.” His dad raised a brow. Shit.

“This one’s long expired, found it on the back shelf with a manufacturing issue puncture in it.” You laughed dryly, moving the can to your side hiding it away. Tyler glanced wide eyed as his father’s expression creased.

“You want your usual?” Tyler moved towards the bar, moving his father’s attention with it. You managed to slip the can back on the shelf before closing the door and following the boy.

“Large Americano. Two shots. Hot.” The sheriff’s gaze never left, studying you closely as you followed Tyler to input the order on the register. You knew how to work a register, but you didn’t want to stay within his dad’s eye sight for long. The setup was as easy as the storage closet, everything labeled from Hot Drinks, Iced Drinks, Specials, and more. Clicking onto the hot drinks, you found everything quickly.

“Did you want to add anything in there like milk or cream?” You asked, knowing already what his answer would be.

“Black.” Like your soul, you thought. The order went through and Tyler thankfully already had it done. Reaching past you on the register to hand it to him, the sheriff gave his son a nod and you an unreadable look before leaving.

“Don’t worry about him,” You heard Tyler assure. “He’s too ‘wrapped up in work’ to care about me being in some closet with someone. Nice save, though.”

You turned to make eye contact with him, his arm resting upon the register counter by your waist and yours almost hitting his chest at the movement. Again finding yourself in close proximity.

“Does that mean you’re often caught doing who knows what in closets with people?” You raised a brow. His face flushed at the question, glancing aside and for once probably happy the cafe was emptier than usual.

“Calm down, lover boy. We’ve skipped a few steps, I still don’t even have your number to call you when I need help.” You flicked his forehead away with a smirk. He let out a small lopsided smile as he fell away from you. You were sure his number would be lying around somewhere on file or you could contact him through the employee app, but where was the fun (and consent) in that? You had no time to think about that as customers had come in.

“Ms. Thornhill, what a surprise to see you!” You couldn’t say you were shocked, Jericho’s a small town and being the only cafe around this would’ve happened eventually. You were surprised you hadn’t seen Enid out and about “blogging” despite it being a weekend.

“Y/N, lovely to see you. Why didn’t you tell me you got a job at the best cafe in town?” She gasped.

“It’s the only cafe in town, Ms. Thornhill.”

“I kid, I kid. Now what should I get? I usually get a double-cap, no foam, with two pumps of sugar free vanilla. But now that you’re my new favorite employee, I’d like your recommendation!” Favorite? Had Tyler been her favorite before? You weren’t sure what she had meant by that.

“You know me, miss, I love a good London Fog.” She knew full well of that too, you bring one into her class every other day.

“Alright, get me one of those!” You rung her up For Here and handed the item receipt to Tyler who was already steaming the milk. The next customer just wanted a warmed up Pain au Chocolat which you got out of the way quick enough.

“Here,” You heard Tyler call to you. Facing him, you noticed him holding a to go cup for you and Ms. Thornhill’s mug on the counter. Had he made two whilst you were busy?

“London Fog with an extra pump of vanilla syrup, that’s how you usually order yours.” He sheepishly scratched the back of his head.

“Now what’s this then?” You grabbed the cup.

“Just think of it as a welcome to Weathervane.” Tyler left with Ms. Thornhill’s order before you could question any further. You note a black smear on your hand, confusion riddled— you turn the cup.

— “(xxx) xxx - xxx

Call me outside of work?

- Tyler”

[cozage]

Helloooo! First things first, I gotta say, I LOVE your writing! Anything you post I eat it up, even if the characters aren't my cup of tea you somehow make me a complete simp. Congratulations on your absolutely AMAZING work <3

Okok onto the real ask, tho! I was thinking gender neutral reader, with Sanji and Zoro? (Maybe Usopp if it tickles your fancy :)) Reader is like, very badass at first glance kicks ass easily and does it looking very cool. Leather jacket, maybe some cool tattoos and piercings, stuff like that.

But when they start getting to know them better they're like... A total dork??? A complete nerd??? They like roleplaying games like DnD, they know a bunch of animal and science facts for absolute no reason other then "it's fun to know about stuff :D" (also, fun fact, did you know there's a species of penguin that is like- 12 inches tall?? And they're blue???? They're called fairy penguins and I LOVE THEM-)

It could be a short fic or headcannons, whatever works best for you <3 thanks for reading this! And writing! Have a wonderful day!

A/N: Eeeeek this was so cute and soft to think about!! As a fellow d&d nerd and just nerd in general this was really cute to write (I however, am not an intimidating badass, but I admire those who can pull it off)

Characters: gn reader x Sanji, Zoro, Usopp

Total word count: 700

Intimidating Nerd

Sanji

He finds your intimidating nature so hot. SOOOOO hot.

He’s always fawning over you and desperate to give you attention. You hardly pay him any mind, but that just fuels him even more. 

Sanji discovers pretty quickly that you’re not as intimidating as you appear (because he’s literally always watching you), but at first he doesn’t let on.

He does learn all about the topic you’re totally obsessed with, and uses that to win you over. 

Not the type to call you out or gloat that he knows, he just drops random hints about it at first. Little facts, and when he sees you perk up he knows he hit the jackpot.

After a few mentions of it, you finally cave, and just totally info dump on him while he’s baking. 

He just stirs the batter and hums along, only half understanding all of the things you say (he only learned enough to impress you) while you get louder and louder from excitement. 

But your excitement doesn’t phase him, in fact it makes him giddy. He’s thrilled to see such a vulnerable and different side of you that not many get to see. 

Zoro

Zoro is concerned at first that you’re all talk, but once you prove yourself in battle, he becomes pretty impressed with you. 

Impressed becomes adoration, due to the look you have and the flirtatious words exchanged between you all. 

He hears you occasionally speak about your special interest(s), and on island days he can usually find you in one of those weird stores he usually tries to avoid. 

After you leave one, he sneaks in and asks the guy what you were in there for. He explains that he’s a crewmate of yours and is trying to find you something nice, but has no idea where to start. 

He ends up picking out a cool piece of jewelry that has some hint towards whatever you love. That kind of merch that still looks cool, but fans know where it’s from. 

Luckily, the guy is super helpful, and even explains a little bit about the backstory of the item he picked out (all of which goes right over Zoro’s head).

He leaves it on your bed in the bunkhouse. He doesn’t really know what to say or how else to give it, and when you see it, you know it's from him immediately. He’s the only one who knows that you like that thing, and you instantly put it on. 

When he sees you again, he compliments the jewelry, to which you smirk and roll your eyes. “Thanks,” you say. “Some nerd got it for me.”

Usopp

He is so scared of you. Literally tenses when you walk in the room at first.

Yeah, you’re hot. But you could also definitely kill him in 5 seconds with your pinky. He’s seen you do it to stronger enemies in less time. 

He doesn’t even try that boasting thing with you. He tried it once and you just raised an eyebrow at him. He got so flustered that he immediately shut up. 

And then he brings up an old game he used to play, an old TV show he used to watch, an old comic book he used to read. And your entire demeanor changes. 

At first he thought you were making fun of him or trying to scare him, but he can see real enthusiasm about it in you. And you like…know your stuff. 

Suddenly you all are BEST. FRIENDS. You’re inseparable. You teach Luffy and anyone else who will listen about the lore. Most of it goes over Luffy’s head, but Robin, Franky, and even Sanji get a hold of the concept and become slightly interested. 

Every time you stop at an island, the two of you saunter off together trying to find new merch or new updates about it. 

Usopp loves having you around because he knows that you will always protect him and you can fight enough for two in battle, and you’re cool enough to always keep a conversation going with him.

[megamindsecretlair]

Midnight Sin - Chapter 7

Chapter 6 Chapter 8

Pairing: Vampire!Tyrone x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Info dump. World building. Mentions of violence, use of n-word.

Summary: A chance meeting at a club introduced you to the enigmatic Tyrone. He was interesting in ways that you weren't expecting. Tyrone has an long overdue talk with his brother Fontaine.

Word Count: 4,033k

Midnight Sin Masterlist

A/N: I hope the wait was worth it. I know we get a lot out of this, but it's necessary I promise!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @sageispunk @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @umber-cinders @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @iv0rysoap @amethyst09 @ciaqui @harmshake @00aijia00 @ms-angiealsina @satoruya

Tyrone

Tyrone stared down at you as you slept. Despite your earlier words, he did feel somewhat guilty about how he treated you. Like you were just some piece of meat. Just a hole for him to fill and find his pleasure. When that was the furthest from the truth.

Every moment with you felt like he was in the longest battle of his life. He constantly fought his nature, working overtime to resist draining you dry whenever he fed. He’d be joking and laughing with you, and then he’d catch a whiff of your scent. His eyes would zero in on that juicy vein in your neck and you’d be none the wiser. 

His mouth would genuinely salivate, already tasting your blood. He’d have to force himself to calm down. Force himself to remember that if he ripped you apart, you’d no longer look at him. Smile at him. Laugh with him. Be alive. He couldn’t have that, he simply couldn’t.

He gently caressed the side of your face. You moaned in your sleep. He smiled at you. You were a starfish on the bed, legs spread out and taking up all the room. Tyrone sat on the edge, content with any moment he spent with you. 

The night was not over, however. He had duties to attend to. He clenched his fist and looked at it. It had long since healed after punching Fontaine. It felt good in the moment, but that was still his damn brother and it was time they really got shit off of their chest. They used to be so close. 

Tyrone got out of the bed. You shifted, eyes furrowing, before you settled back into sleep. Did you feel like he did? Did you feel like you were destined to be his? Like all these years of living were putting you into his path and now you were settled? He couldn’t be sure. He was honestly afraid to ask. 

Tyrone put his briefs back on, padding out of the room as quietly as possible. He gently closed the door and then placed his hand on top. Outside of the room, he pulled on that ruthless armor he was famous for.

He pulled his shoulders back, lifted his chin, and let that scowl cross his face. The further he walked from his side of the house, the more the sounds of fucking reached his ears. He hunted through the sounds until he could locate his brother’s heartbeat. After all these years, it remained the same. Beating a little too fast as if Fontaine never slowed down for anything. 

Tyrone headed towards one of the private play rooms on the first floor. He passed various states of undress from people. Everyone was getting poked or doing the poking. He paid no attention. None of it mattered. The closer he got to Fontaine, the more his anger returned. Thundering in his chest. 

He just saw Fontaine close to you, touching you, and he saw fucking red. Down one of the hallways, screams reached his ears and he winced from the shrill sound of it. He entered the room without knocking to see his brother at the foot of the bed, fucking a human donor while he fed on her. 

After many centuries of living, seeing his brother naked wasn’t new to him. They’d shared many women, many conquests, sometimes fucking their way through a city. Tyrone merely leaned against the doorframe until Fontaine came up for air. Fontaine turned a bloody smile to Tyrone before licking excess blood from his lips. 

Fontaine slapped the donor’s ass and it jiggled. “Hurry up, shit, I need to nut,” he said. The girl beneath Fontaine continued crying, moaning, and shaking before she screamed again in ecstasy. Fontaine grunted, reaching his own climax.

He withdrew from the donor and then used a nearby towel to clean himself up. The donor stretched like a cat onto the bed, brown skin gleaming with sweat in the dim lighting. “You can use me any time, ‘Taine,” she purred. 

Fontaine only chuckled and Tyrone knew that Fontaine had no plans to ever see her again. If all these years hadn’t changed his brother, then Tyrone knew that the girl was too pliant. Too loud. 

Fontaine quickly dressed and approached the door, smiling at Tyrone, before walking out. They exchanged no words, not wanting any prying ears to listen in to this particular conversation. They walked in silence upstairs, heading towards Tyrone’s soundproof office. 

Fontaine kicked the door closed and put his hands in his pockets. “Get that shit out yo’ system?” Fontaine asked. 

Tyrone rolled his neck and then sat on the edge of the desk. “What the fuck, ‘Taine? Seriously. What the fuck? Stop the mysterious bullshit, stop the smug asshole routine. Why are you really fucking here?” Tyrone asked. His brother changed his answer every time. And Tyrone was getting sick of it. 

Fontaine pursed his lips and looked down at the carpet. His face healed from Tyrone’s punches. And it only made Tyrone want to punch him again. 

“‘Taine,” Tyrone urged when it seemed like Fontaine wouldn’t say anything else. 

“I keep telling yo’ ass but you ain’t trynna listen,” Fontaine said, voice going gruff. 

“This shit with Father? You can do that from London, or Chiang Mai, or wherever the fuck you were. Why are you here?” Tyrone asked. “Because all I see is that you’re running around, leaving bodies, trying to expose us again, and showing up like a fucked up version of Santa Claus, man.” 

“I already said that wasn’t me, nigga,” Fontaine said. 

Tyrone rolled his neck. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with Fontaine like this. Defensive. Closed down. Threatened. Tyrone sighed and looked at his brother. Really looked at him. 

“What’s going on, Fontaine? This…this shit ain’t working,” he said.

Fontaine looked everywhere but at Tyrone. He looked at the way the office was decorated. The random pieces of expensive art that survived centuries just to end up in this office where Tyrone issued horrific horrors. 

“I’m tired of being punished for some shit I didn’t do. I wanna fuckin’ come home. I wanna…hang with my brothers again,” he said. 

Tyrone’s head snapped back. “You weren’t playing when you said you missed us?” One of the most consistent things that Fontaine maintained was that he missed Tyrone. He always thought that Fontaine was joking or being an asshole like usual. Did Tyrone misread all of the interactions since Fontaine been back? 

“I ain’t stutter, nigga,” Fontaine said. 

Tyrone smirked. “You ain’t foolin’ no one, lil’ nigga,” Tyrone said. “If you told the truth more often, I might start believing you,” Tyrone said. 

Fontaine waved Tyrone off. He scratched at his locs, right behind his ear. Fontaine’s little tell. Fontaine was secretly the most sensitive of the bunch. He’d sit and stew over something if it genuinely affected him, turning into an outright bear if anyone commented on it. So Tyrone and his brothers left it alone. 

“I shouldn’t have been banished anyway,” Fontaine said. 

Tyrone reeled back. “You mean, after all the shit you pulled? Feeding on humans? Leaving them in the street like trash? Getting those reporters all on our backs? Nigga, you nearly sent us back a hundred years where we still had to hide,” Tyrone said. His temper flared, coiling through him like a mean ass snake. “I won’t even get started on what you did to me.”

Fontaine’s shoulders had drooped at his confession, but now he was back to a defensive stance against the door. “Fuck you think I did to you?” Fontaine asked.

Tyrone cursed. There was so much life lived, so many memories lost, that Tyrone shouldn’t be mad that Fontaine didn’t remember. However, it had been a thorn in his paw ever since Fontaine climbed onto the plane in the early 90s, never to be heard from again. 

“You gonna sit there like you ain’t know what the fuck you did? In the 90s? My big plan?” Tyrone asked. With each question flung at Fontaine, he tensed up until Fontaine looked as still as a statue. His questioning look only infuriated Tyrone. All this time, he couldn’t think about Fontaine without getting mad all over again and for this nigga, it was just another Tuesday night. 

Fontaine scowled. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. One minute I was helping secure yo’ ungrateful ass a ride, and next thing I know, Father handing me a plane ticket ‘talm ‘bout don’t bring yo ass back.” 

Tyrone stood up from the desk and paced in a small line. “Father told me how fuckin’ smug you were, telling him everything,” Tyrone said.

Fontaine sucked his teeth. “And you believed that nigga over me?!” 

Tyrone waved his hands. “Fuck that, fuck that. The night that I was supposed to leave, I met up with Talia. I know that wasn’t the plan, but she was having nerves about leaving everyone and everything behind. You had left to get our ride. ‘Cause when I came back to the spot, you weren’t there. When you didn’t show up at 9 like you were supposed to, I went looking for you,” Tyrone explained. 

He remembered that night vividly. He used to torture himself with those last few hours. What if he hadn’t met up with Talia? What if he had gotten the ride himself? What if he had planned to leave sooner, instead of waiting for Talia to say goodbye to her family? 

This part still fucking sucked. He didn’t know how he’d ever begin to tell you about Talia. Tyrone’s breath turned choppy as he fought the feelings that still drummed up. It no longer felt like needles were punching into his heart. But more like someone had his heart in their meaty fist. 

“I got a call from you, saying that you had to change the meet up spot ‘cause you thought Father was on to us. But when I got to the church…”Tyrone’s throat constricted. Considering that he didn’t need to actually breathe, this sensation was trippy and he had to swallow around the painful lump in his throat. 

“Talia was strung up like dinner. Drained dry. Father said you did it and he banished you overseas for it,” Tyrone finished and looked back at Fontaine. 

Fontaine looked disgusted. His lips were curled back, showing his golden incisors. “I’m gonna kill that nigga,” Fontaine promised, low and rough in the quiet room. 

“That’s not what fuckin’ happened. I was securing the ride like I said. On the way back, I got a call from you saying that you made a mistake and you didn’t want to leave with Talia anymore. I thought that shit was weird. I was asking you all kinds of questions when someone snuck up behind me and knocked me out.” 

Snuck up behind Fontaine? Who the fuck could do that? Had to be another vampire. Had to be another vampire that knew Fontaine. 

“When I woke up, Father had my shit already packed and a plane waiting for me. ‘Talm ‘bout I’ve disgraced the family enough. He said that you copped to everything and needed his help getting out of it. He said you hated me and wished I’d never been turned,” Fontaine said. 

Tyrone’s head was spinning. So many lies. So easily believed from their trifling ass Father. 

“I didn’t tell him shit. Talia’s family was gonna expose us for sure, but they had no real proof. Nothing besides the bodies that were drained and we already had a plan to explain that shit.” 

“I know! That’s why I thought that shit was weird! We already handled her family, so there was nothing to really cop to. Nothing about what we did. And nothing about us getting the fuck outta there,” Fontaine said. 

Tyrone rubbed his face as he thought back to that night. Talia descended from a line of vampire servants. Human companions, like the shit Slick Charles did, tending to their daytime needs when they were busy sleeping. Except, her family had turned traitorous many centuries ago. They were religious fanatics, upset that the Dark Gift was denied them, so they believed no one should be immortal. 

Talia didn’t believe like her family did. She wanted to become a vampire. Spend the rest of her life with Tyrone. They fell madly, deeply in love, bonding over the many books they read trying to escape the reality of their lives. It was Talia’s idea to leave. Talia’s idea to disappear and live how they wanted to. 

Tyrone had made enough money from his deals to never have to worry about getting caught. The plan was to sneak in the middle of the night, when her family was too busy following the false lead Fontaine spread about the vampires’ resting places. Tyrone spread his own rumor, about who was dropping the bodies, to keep Father off his back long enough to dip. 

But when he got that call…when he found Talia’s body…he collapsed. Weak and pathetic. His Father sneered at him while he gleefully told Tyrone about Fontaine’s betrayal. Fontaine never spread those rumors. Fontaine told Talia’s family that she was fucking a vampire and even worse, planned to join the undead. They handed Talia over to Fontaine to do as he pleased. Seeing an opportunity to hurt Tyrone, Fontaine drained her and trussed her up like a turkey. 

If that wasn’t true, then what the fuck really happened? 

“What the fuck?” Tyrone asked to no one in particular. This whole time he hated his brother…for nothing? 

“Father said you knew Talia was a traitor and fucked her anyway. Conspired to have her family take Father down while he slept. Planned to take over the Council from him. He told me that he was going to bring you to heel but I couldn’t be there anymore. That someone had to take the heat for what happened to Talia’s whole family.” 

The days after Talia’s murder were hazy to say the least. Tyrone buried himself in drink and fucking, losing himself, and his reason for living. He did have a fuzzy memory about a news story, stating that Talia’s whole family had perished in a giant fire. 

“This is fucked. So if I didn’t call you, and you didn’t call me…?” Tyrone asked. 

The realization dawned on them both, twin looks of horror. “Chester.” 

“Fucking Chester,” Fontaine spat. 

Their oldest brother was Father’s little lap dog. If Father said to jump, Chester was already five feet in the air. 

“You think he killed Talia? Her whole family?” Tyrone asked. 

It wouldn’t be a surprise, actually. If Father somehow caught wind of their plan to leave, Chester would be the one he’d call to clean everything up. Make it neat and pretty. Keep the Council circle jerking each other off. 

Fontaine rubbed his face, something Tyrone often caught himself doing. Fontaine moved to the chair in front of Tyrone’s desk, falling into it with a weary sigh.

“We both got fuckin’ played. And we didn’t see it,” Fontaine said. 

Tyrone didn’t want to think about how stupid they’d been. How easily they believed Father’s lies. “I thought you hated me for wanting to leave with Talia. You were getting out too, but I thought…I thought you resented me for finding her,” Tyrone confessed. 

“I noticed you pulling away over the years. Not into ripping and running through the streets like before. Not since the nightclub,” he said.

One of the last times they slept with someone together. Before he met Talia. “I just felt empty. Like…doing this shit for the next hundred years was gon’ kill me,” Tyrone said. 

“I thought you were starting to hate me. You didn’t want to hang out anymore. When you found Talia, I hoped that you’d perk back up. But when Father said you changed your mind, I wondered if you managed to get out anyway without me. I thought you went to him to try to get rid of me once and for all.” 

Tyrone stared at his brother, at his best friend, at the only one who had his back against Father. There was so much history between them. So much pain and sorrow. “We were both played by Father. But why? Why did he want to split us up?” 

“I don’t know. I kept up with the news. After I was gone, all the killings stopped.”

Tyrone nodded. “I thought it was you,” he said.

“It’s starting up again. Before I got back,” he said. 

Tyrone didn’t know what any of that fucking meant. Was Father fucking with them still? Was Chester? Or was it someone else, playing on their painful past, and still trying to drive a wedge between Fontaine and Tyrone? 

Tyrone rubbed his face. “Fuck man. I’m sorry. If I even thought…” 

Fontaine nodded. “If I’d known, I would’ve questioned it more. I knew his bitch ass was shoveling shit but I couldn’t see from where.” 

Tyrone felt lighter in a lot of ways. Like the weight of the world was finally lifted from his shoulders. The anger and guilt from being away from his brother but not able to forget what happened. 

“You said you came here because Father started poking into your business,” Tyrone said. Might as well get all of it out. 

“A few months ago, I noticed that my accounts weren't adding up. After some persuasion, my nerds found that someone was hacking my bank accounts, moving just enough to not get noticed. Went back at least a year. We traced it back to Father’s bank. Can’t prove it was him, but my nerds are still working on it.”

“He can’t possibly be broke,” Tyrone said. 

Fontaine shrugged. “That’s why I been running around town trynna figure out what he’s up to. The money he funneled from me is hiding behind shell corporations, offshore accounts, and creative accounting. All so he can block yo’ ass from bidding for that property,” Fontaine said.

Tyrone cursed. “He’s paying Isaac to fuck me over?” Tyrone asked. He was boiling with rage. Overflowed by it. His chest ached from how angry he was. His fangs ached to rip and tear and gouge someone’s throat out. 

“Why the fuck is he doing this?” Tyrone asked.

“I’m still working on that. In the meantime, you need to figure out a way to hide that fine–” Fontaine stopped when Tyrone leveled him with a glare.

“Respectable young lady you whisked away,” Fontaine finished and smirked. 

Tyrone rolled his eyes. “I’m working on it,” he said. He would do anything to protect you. Anything. He hadn’t heard from Yo-Yo and it was about time for her to check in. 

Tyrone stood and walked around his desk, pulling the phone to him. He dialed Yo-Yo’s number and put it on speaker. He wasn’t sure if he fully believed his brother or if he could forget all those years of hate. But this was the first step. 

“”You know what time it is?” Yo-Yo snapped into the phone. 

“You’ve been too quiet,” Tyrone said. 

Yo-Yo sighed and there were sounds of shuffling. By the sound of it, she was getting out of bed. There was a soft click of a lamp turning on and then an irritated huff as she sat down. 

“You almost got me in trouble with this shit, nigga. No one wants to bring this shit up,” she said. 

“I’ll double what I gave you, damn.” Tyrone rolled his eyes. Fontaine smirked at him and Tyrone flipped him off. 

“Now you speaking my language,” Yo-Yo said, changing her entire attitude. “Bloodsingers are real. I had to find one of the blacklisted old G’s in the community willing to talk about it. The Old Ones got together to create a type of creature with irresistible blood. I’m talking like the world’s best jungle juice, y’know? Like shit will get you fucked up, slipping on your ass, and singing on the voicemail to your ex type shit.

“They were designed to stir vamps into a feeding frenzy, distracting ya’ll, so that you wouldn’t see the stakes coming. And it worked for a few decades of our war. Until the Council ordered the deaths of all those people. A mass genocide. We were fucked up for creating them as bait but ya’ll was extra fucked up for that.”

“Not all of them could be gone, though. We ran across one in Versaille,” Fontaine spoke up. 

“You gotta tell me when we got company, nigga,” Yo-Yo said. 

“Are all of them gone, Yo?” Tyrone asked.

Yo-Yo sighed loudly. He could practically see her smacking her lips and pinching her face. “No. They obviously went into hiding and learned to hide from ya’ll. Their numbers have completely dwindled. We didn’t exactly experiment with them. We have no way of knowing how it’s passed down, if it can be passed down, or any of that. Making more is strictly forbidden. Like, put to death kind of forbidden,” Yo-Yo said. 

Tyrone sank into his chair. “Why is it that a Bloodsinger can walk among vampires and no one seems to be affected. But me and my brother act like a dinner bell’s been rung.” He remembered being obsessed with the woman in Versaille but he couldn’t place the face. 

“Shit, I don’t know. I told you, they were designed for one purpose. Being more enticing to one vampire and not another is unheard of,” she said.

Tyrone hit his desk, hard enough to sting his hand but not hard enough to break the desk. Too much. It was too much he’d learned tonight and he still had a thousand questions. 

“Keep looking, Yo. Find me a way to protect one,” he said.

“Fuck you think I am? Mary Poppins or some shit?” Yo-Yo asked.

Tyrone hung up in her face. He didn’t want or need her tirade. She was all hot air for the most part. There was no doubt that a Weaver could make him walk off the Empire State building if she wanted. It was why he kept her well-paid for her services and didn’t breathe a word about the work she did for him. 

Fontaine looked at him and blew air out of his mouth. “Heavy ass shit,” he said. He lounged back into the chair and stared up at the ceiling. 

“Tell me about it,” Tyrone said. He mimicked Fontaine’s pose and looked up at the smooth ceiling. What the hell was he going to do? Why was his Father after him? How did the Bloodsingers survive? How was he going to protect you?

“She’s the one, isn’t she?” Fontaine asked.

“Yeah, she is,” Tyrone admitted. Tyrone’s thoughts drifted to you, safe and sound in his room, unaware of all the figurative and literal daggers pointed in your direction. He should have left you alone. He should have let you leave the club without his interference. 

Even that thought grated against his nerves. You were the very reason he got up at night. You were the first thing he wanted to see and the last thought he wanted to have. He wanted to know your every idea. Your every worry. He wanted to know what made you tick. What made you laugh. What made you cry. He wanted you with every fiber of his being even while he hungered for every last ounce of your blood. 

For the first time in his life, he knew what it was like to be scared shitless. To have his heart outside of his body, beating within your chest. He couldn’t breathe unless he knew you were safe. So how the hell was he going to protect you from your nature? 

“I can’t lose her, ‘Taine,” Tyrone admitted.

“Don’t worry, little brother. You won’t.” Fontaine promised.

He was probably full of shit but Tyrone appreciated the sentiment. If he needed to raze this world to the dust it came from then he would if it meant that you were safe and by his side. He only hoped you wouldn’t hate him for everything he kept from you.

Midnight Sin Masterlist | Chapter 6 | Chapter 8

[quitealotofsodapop]

Holy crap! I can only imagine how the Stalwarts are dealing with all this.

You mentioned that they have been keeping an eye on Wukong all these years. Did they know about the mysterious Stone Egg their King took in before his disappearance, or did Wukong keep it secret?

Did they know about the fight that cost their King his memories, or did they find him after the fact once they were informed that he disappeared?

If so then why haven’t they come forward? Why haven’t they said anything? Why are they only here when Peaches already has a new life and family? Why are they only here when he’s having a full blown existential crisis? This is what’s going through Peaches’ head as he’s essentially being info dumped to by these strangers who claim to know him.

No doubt Peaches is feeling so overwhelmed by all of this. So, Dadsy puts his foot down and shoos everyone away because he can see that his eldest is seconds away from a breakdown.

I feel like, despite his grumpy exterior, Pigsy is the more emotionally sensitive parent. He’s not and did not start out perfect, but he has learned read his boys like the back of his hand. Peaches, particularly, he found quite easy to read and understand his quirks and habits. He doesn’t know how, or why they sometimes made his feel strangely nostalgic. Oh, well 🤷

+ bonus anon ask;

The Stalwarts were def panicking when they checked in on their King and found evidence of a scuffle. They knew he had been tending to an odd rock for a while, but they had assumed at first it was a case of him brooding like a hen over a regular stone.

An alarm is sounded off across the Realms when the King fails to return that morning.

Eventually it's Nezha who finds a patch of destroyed woodland just outside of Megapolis, along with scraps of the King's nightclothes and pieces of shell-like rock...

The Stalwarts had debated for a while over whether or not to walk in and claim "Peaches" as their missing brother, but after seeing him with a newborn Stone Monkey and a pair of his Pilgrim brothers reborn, they decided it was better for him to heal where he couldn't be harassed by Heaven or Diyu.

They also made sure to keep the *Amnesia-thing* to themselves. The Celestial Realm nor Wukong's enemies need to know about that. They had found the smell of a suspicious-smelling liquid on the King's clothing scraps.

The Stalwarts take care of the island with it's King away, driving out villains and humans alike to preserve the Monkey King's home.

The four also keep a close eye on their King and future Prince. A gym teacher here, a kind granny there, a grumpy regular here, a market stall owner etc... just to make sure they stay out of world-ending trouble.

Their little brother deserves a happy childhood after all he's been through.

They do reveal themselves however, after the chaos of New Years throws Peaches/Sun Wukong's condition into the limelight. He's not just some kid claiming to be Sun Wukong's successor - he IS Sun Wukong with his memories stolen!

They help his adoptive family with the cleanup around the city, and formally introduce themselves as Peaches' *first* found family. There's a minor panic that they've come to "take him away", but the older monkeys quickly calm that fear - they've been around for a while, and have no interest in ripping their brother from his present troop. They explain their side of the story, and how they felt it would be a kindness to let their little brother live happily and for his little miracle to have a normal childhood. Had they come forward, he would have been immediately recognised and targeted for his condition.

Peaches does get a little overwhelmed by all this lore though, and the Stalwarts take the cue to leave from a concerned Pigsy, promising to continue protecting him and his family from harm. Pigsy appreciates their ability to read the room (unlike Tang, who's been interviewing them for the past hour or so).

They do however joke that Pigsy is now their Dadsy too since he's adopted their baby brother! And MK is now the "baby-est" brother of their little family to spoil! Pigsy grumbles a little at that, but doesn't object. XD

[rustyelias]

Alright dropping my tma Christmas headcanons this is as festive that I will get

Jonathan:

- only puts up with Christmas for Martin.

- Steals martins Christmas jumpers

- Terrible at buying gifts

- Hates getting gifts

- Never celebrated growing up when he lived with his grandma

- This man will info dump about a Christmas carol

- He is 100% a big fan of hot chocolate

- Hates mince pies (so real of him)

Martin Khrismas Blackwood:

- Knits his own Christmas jumper for himself and loved once

- Takes Jon on tree shopping dates

- Along with being able to make the perfect cup of tea he can also make a pretty wicked cup of hot chocolate

- He makes his own tree decorations

- Will always have Christmas scented candles burning to the point that Jon is scared the flat will set on fire

- He buys special fairy light that are dim so they don’t overstimulate Jon (URRGDHD GAY PEOPLE)

- Not a big fan of modern Christmas music refuse to let anyone play it

Tim:

- Always wears matching jumpers with Sasha

- [Makes everyone do secret Santa but rigs it so Jon never gets him

- Mother fucker walks around with mistletoe and waits for Martin or Sasha to walk past

- Always ends up drunk. It just happens

- “Come on Elias!? It’s Christmas! Lighten up double boss”

- “Oh come on don’t be a Scrooge” - Jon then proceeded to infodump about acc

- [ ecorates his flat fully but no tree. He forgot one year and it’s become a joke

Sasha:

- Makes her own mulled wine and bakes her own Christmas cookies

- Hosts a Christmas party every year and has every one round for Christmas dinner (she knows her friends are lifeless losers with no family)

- She really loves ear Muffes

- Every year she gets everyone super personal gifts even Elias and every year makes Martin cry

- She uses the holiday to show off the fact she can play Piano

Elias sexy pipe murder… wait what who said that 👀 :

- Shockes everyone every year by showing up one day in a Christmas jumper instead of his perfectly tailored three pieces suit

- This man just spawns in when ever Sasha brings in her Christmas baked goods

- He wears peters scarf (he stole it and yes Peter wants it back)

- “Yes Peter I know it’s Christmas darling but I still want another divorce”

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Of Honeysuckle and Haiku [Tech x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: This is my submission for an event hosted by the wonderful @cloneficgiftexchange, written for @apocalyp-tech-a. I hope you enjoy my first Tech x Reader! 2nd Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader who works as an analyst/researcher for the GAR. Minor AU changes (no missing and/or dead Clones here (but Echo is still part of CF99)!). Prompt sentence/s will be orange to keep in line with the color scheme of the graphics. Tech has a “secret” crush on Reader that she knows about. Flirting is stored in the info-dumping/poetry. Star Wars and real-world swearing is as naughty as it gets. Some Mando’a. Brief references and allusions to injury and other canon-typical violence, and a small flashback where Reader’s senior colleagues are (implied to be) behaving like jerks to Tech, but nothing explicit. Use of stylistic and narrative italics. Fictional flowers. 

Prompt: Can't we ever go to a nice place? | Oh, that's what that button does.

Word-count: 8,270

Another Primeday, another pile of notes in your locker. 

That's how the weeks always started. 

You worked closely with the Grand Army of the Republic as something of an analyst and unofficial bookkeeper, going on for two years now. Colleagues and work-friends would slip scraps of flimsiplast in the ventilation grooves of your locker as a way of non-electronic communication.

The old fashioned way, older department heads joked. 

The flimsi stacks contained a mishmash of written comms. Inside jokes. Recipe trades. Reminders to get CT-6922’s helmet serviced for the video feed you needed for Jais in the Reverse-Engineering Department if they're ever going to find out how that new Separatist spider droid worked. 

And a poem, written in spidery Aurebesh lettering from your “secret admirer”. Always the top of the pile that collected at the bottom of your locker. 

You knew full well who it was after a while, piecing together all the clues he'd strung along for you. Game recognizes game, as they say. It took cracking a complicated cipher in order to- 

Nah, who are you kidding? 

You got impatient and asked Jais in R.E.D. to help you with scrubbing the security footage for the last person to stop by your locker one morning, finding a haiku waiting for you. A haiku regarding subject matter you had just been discussing with a colleague the other day who had a grueling day of carefully dissecting a Flame Beetle from Kashyyyk ahead of them, and you were slated to assist them. 

The shimmering shell  That conceals a beetle’s wing Is called elytra  - I wish I was a beetle 

Mild alarm that someone was messing with you turned to curiosity soon after; it had been Tech of Clone Force 99 who dropped the poem into your locker some weeks ago. 

He'd been helping the analysts while he got his leg in working order, having broken both the tibia and fibula of his left leg in a skirmish. (That's about as much as you knew at the time.) Tech would be returning to fieldwork sooner than later; between check-ups and some physical therapy work, the genius and navigator of CF99 kept himself busy here, so he would still feel useful to the GAR while recovering. 

Of all the analysts Tech assisted, you seemed to be his favorite given that you actually liked letting him help you, and didn't saddle him with a dull day of deskwork like some of the senior analysts who wanted him out of their hair. 

You felt it was incredibly unfair to Tech, but there was nothing you could say to change their minds. You'd tried. 

Instead of reading this week's new stack of flimsi notes from your weekend off at your locker, you decide you'll read them at your desk for a change. The smell of Tech’s typical caf blend is particularly inviting this morning. It’s been raining since last week, this morning the hardest yet. Thank the Maker you had a rain repeller in proper working order for the walk to the research center from the speeder cabs. 

“Good morning, Tech.” 

Sitting down, from around the other side of the desk, you can see he's in a walking boot now. An improvement from when you last saw him just two short days ago. 

“Hey, that's a good sign! Think you'll be back with the rest of the Bad Batch soon?” 

You take no offense when his eyes do not lift from the screen of his datapad. “Good morning. I suppose, yes…” He doesn't sound entirely enthusiastic like one might've expected, but you have enough of a grasp on his mannerisms by now to know that Tech is eager to return to his brothers in due time. 

You've met the rest of his squad on a handful of occasions as they've come to check on him, making sure he's not missing all the action by keeping him up to speed on their exploits. 

Smiling, you slide a cup of caf you believe to be Tech’s closer to him as you leaf through the notes from your locker. 

“Don't let your caf get cold.” 

The datapad drops away. “That is for you,” he explains, “if you desire to try it, that is. I recalled you expressing interest in the last blend of caf I brought in, saying that it smelled good last Taungsday.” 

You blink, surprised he remembered those details. Well, not that surprised; you understood Tech had a remarkable memory that allowed him to recall obscure details. It’s saved you from a few headaches, like that same Taungsday when a visiting representative from Glee Anslem insisted upon having the innocuous bouquet of Nabooian Honeysuckles sent off for allergen testing. Whatever it was that provoked the Nautolan’s (thankfully minor) allergic reaction, it was not the flowers, though they were refused return. 

Shame… the delicate white, orange and cream blossoms were such a thoughtful gift from Senator Amidala to the visiting representative and now they look so out of place on your desk, still in the elaborate ceramic vase they came in. You’re going to need to find a way to return it to Ms. Amidala once the flowers have shriveled and lost all their silky petals. 

Thanking Tech for the thoughtfulness behind brewing you a cup of caf, you give it a careful taste and find the flavor far more robust than the instant mix the breakroom keeps on hand while you read the first of the notes. (Looked to be a heads-up that a commando had some grisly footage to be analyzed because Trandoshan pirates were involved and the credits were on Delta Squad being responsible.)

“Mmm… That’s nice. Thank you again, Tech.” 

“You are welcome.” he replies, half-ducking his head back down into the datapad, though his eyes remain on you. 

Framed by the yellow lenses of the black-strapped goggles he wears, there is an observative nature to those brown eyes. The phenotypic eye color for all Clones is brown, he explained to you once. Though yes, there were a few aberrations in physical traits among his brothers in the GAR, just not quite to the same scale as the experimental squadron that Echo from the 501st Legion (once thought to be dead) joined not long ago. Echo still keeps in contact with the 501st, Captain Rex and a brother named Fives the closest of all. You figure what he must have been reading off his tablet before he came in this morning were more messages from his brothers. 

Setting aside notes as you read them, you’re careful to keep the scrap of poetry for last as always. Wonder what it’ll be today. A sonnet? Free-verse? Acrostic or maybe a limerick? Another haiku? Tech seemed to love leaving you haikus most of all. 

Still finding his eyes upon you, you lay aside the last note about keeping an eye out for a missing label-maker and delicately clear your throat. “Yes, Tech?” You’re careful to offer him a friendly smile, a quiet measure of assurance that you’re not annoyed or disturbed by his watchfulness. 

“Senator Amidala sent a letter of apology to the center regarding the honeysuckles and vase,” he begins, explaining the letter was forwarded to everyone who worked in the analysis department, “and since she feels terrible about the situation inadvertently caused for both her guest and the center, she suggested someone is welcome to keep both, if they wish.” 

“Well that’s very kind of the senator.” you reply, giving the flowers on your desk a look of consideration, one that prompts a strange expression out of the genius you generously share your desk with. 

You ask what the matter is with another swig of caf. 

“I hope you don’t mind too terribly that I… accepted on your behalf.” Tech confesses, aware he’s more than likely crossed a line by doing so. You and Tech do not know each other all that well, but he’s strung together enough clues to have some idea of what you like. He’s noticed what you give the most attention to, and you had secretly been admiring the Nabooian bouquet for some time on Taungsday… 

Cautiously, Tech adds, “You could always give them to a friend.” 

Casting a third glance over the tri-colored flowers, Tech is assured that won’t be necessary, and he’d been correct in his assessment all along. “I don’t mind at all; thanks for saving me the trouble. I was secretly hoping to take these home, I’ve been obsessed with Naboo for a while now…” you admit, dropping your voice into a near-conspiratorial whisper. 

There was an often sunny windowsill back home with plenty of space for the vase and flowers that would make for the perfect spot to show both off. Maybe it’d inspire you to finally take that trip to Naboo you always wanted. Naboo sounded like a nice place, nestled in the Chrommell system of the Outer Rim Territories. 

Idyllic, picturesque, it was often described. 

All this analyst-work had you in a position to see the glorious, the gory, and everything in-between in the adventures of the Grand Army day in and day out. Compiling reports near and far was beginning to instill a sense of longing for adventure in you; nothing grand was necessary, just something different. Something beyond the walls of the GAR research center here among the Core Worlds. 

I’ll be satisfied with a taste of adventure. Just one bite. Just one, I promise. 

The yellow-lensed goggles are adjusted. “What fascinates you so much about Naboo?” Tech asks, curiosity burning at him. 

“Oh… I dunno,” you say with a shrug, smiling, “it’s hard to put it all into words.” And you wouldn’t exactly have the time, either, with your shift due to start soon. While you’ve still got the time, you should finish as much of the caf as you can before it grows cold, and finally get around to this new poem Tech’s left for you. Maybe he can already guess that you know these are from him, but a part of you finds it fun in some way to pretend you don’t. 

Fixing an errant strand of hair back in place, you unfold the note and read. Another haiku, today, lamenting the dreary weather. 

To simpler splendors  Like summer's gentle breezes and honey most sweet - When will the rain stop?

You find it curious and strange - this possible complaint - given you know Clones come from the storm-cloaked world of Kamino. Surely this weather feels just like home for him; familiar, maybe even comforting. But maybe it’s not his complaint, it could have been your own off-handed remark from some time ago that he’s echoing back to you now. 

Tech’s level of observation was truly incredible, sometimes. You already felt yourself missing his knowledgeable presence once he was healed up and returned to the Bad Batch. That wouldn’t happen until he was rid of the walking boot and cleared for active duty, which was mildly comforting to you, selfishly speaking. Logically you know this arrangement is temporary, and you will not always have your willing assistant. 

A willing assistant who has given his attention to closing off communications with Wrecker, from the sound of things as CF99’s genius reads the messages under his breath. Tech is trying very hard to appear like he’s not taken notice that you’ve read his latest haiku. 

You set the poetry aside along with the other locker notes, and pick up your clipboard full of the day’s tasks. “Take your time, Tech.” you promise, chuckling warmly as he flashes the famous pointer finger in your direction, requesting just an extra moment. “I know Wrecker misses having his big brother around.”

Tech says nothing in response to your teasing quip, only offering an appreciative if distracted smile before he’s ready to help you with your tasks for the day. 

On Primedays, the first item of business on the list is often the most nerve-wracking of all your assignments, today no exception.

“Dammit, I grabbed the wrong screwdriver… Would you mind handing me the… the, uh…?” Tech takes the incorrect screwdriver from your fingers and replaces it with what you need while you struggle to think of the name for the correct type, much to your relief. “Oh, thank you Tech. Will you need this back when I’m done?” 

Tech nods, a silent promise it was no trouble. “I will not. I’m finished with what I needed it for. Feel free to use it as long as you need.” He does not need to remind you to go slowly. 

Your first research assignment of the morning involves dismantled bombs, and the additional Clone tucked in one corner of the room clad in the bright orange of ordnance specialists serves as an eye-catching distraction rather than a precautionary measure. Nicknamed Reddy, this Clone trooper is only doing his job, of course; he’s supposed to be here as part of the protocol. This facility has gone one thousand and twenty-seven days without an explosive incident, which is a comforting number, but there is no room for complacency. In the unlikely event a bomb somehow reactivates, Red Wire is here to snuff it out for good. 

(Or tell everyone to evacuate and seek shelter if he somehow can’t.)

Helmet clipped to his utility belt, Reddy is reading the printed report, bobbing his head in time to some jaunty tune he’s got stuck in his head. “Disarmed and partially dismantled by… CT-9903. That’s your squadmate Wrecker, right?” 

“Correct.” Tech replies tersely, hoping not to prove himself distracting to you. He’s only standing as close as he is to give or take tools as you need them. 

Reddy nods his head in approval of the work scattered over the examination table. “He did a good job. Definitely has the gentle touch needed for bomb disposal.” Yes… Wrecker certainly had steadier nerves than yourself right now. You would prefer not to have shaking hands, no matter how incapable this bomb is… should be… of going off. 

“Reddy…”

He catches the warning. “Sorry, ma’am.” 

You just need to pull off a particular durasteel plate, and take detailed pictures of a unique section of wiring to enter it into the GAR database of known bomb constructs and find close or exact matches. Then Reddy has the pleasure of disposing of the remnants for you. Fewer distractions while you remove notoriously fiddly screws, the better. 

So why are your hands still shaking now that you should be able to focus again? 

“... dammit…” You’ve worked yourself up about the unsteady nature of your hands now. Stress will only worsen it, prolonging the tremble. Setting the screwdriver aside is the best course of action until you can find your nerve. 

Rational thoughts, you remind yourself, everyone has had this happen to them at one time or another. 

“May I?” Tech offers, voice softer than you ever remember it being before now. 

He is careful in offering to help without immediately trying to take over your work. Tech recognizes you are capable in all the various aspects of your job, and he does not wish to undermine or blow off your expertise. He understands from experience how that can be frustrating, even disrespectful.

And Tech aims to be very respectful of you. He's been very careful in how he's hinted his interest in you thus far. (Maybe too careful.) The haikus in your locker had been because he heard you liked poetry, and he proactively accepted the honeysuckles Senator Amidala offered for the trouble because he thought you might like them. Sharing his favorite blend of caf was a decision more premeditated than the other two.

You step to the side, accepting the offer. 

“Thank you, Tech...” you say, gesturing to the tools in an unspoken measure of please, by all means. Tech takes position where you previously stood, and begins to work on the dismantled explosive. Long, dexterous fingers make the process of loosening and extracting the remaining screws look deceptively easy. 

“You’ll want your datapad soon,” Tech suggests helpfully, soon down to just two more corner screws to remove. 

“Oh, yes…!” 

Scooping the tablet off of the examination table, you habitually skip your fingers across the reactive transparisteel and pull up the camera function, priming everything to capture the colorful chaos of wiring and circuitry inside once Tech has removed the panel. Once it is lifted out of the way, Tech side-steps to allow you in front of the bomb once more so that you can capture records for the GAR database. 

However, the camera will not focus.

“Strange…” You tap the center of the screen, hoping perhaps the datapad will behave like your modern comlink and auto-focus, but it does not give you the result you hoped for. You chuckle somewhat bashfully. “Sorry, it’s… been a while since I’ve used this old datapad for taking pictures.” 

“Press the red, center button on the top row twice.” 

Taking the advice of the bespectacled Clone beside you, the image on the screen comes into crisp focus, not a detail lost. “Oh, that’s what that button does.” This tablet is an older generation, but the facility keeps it because it's sturdy and reliable. No sense in replacing perfectly good technology so long as it continues to work. 

“Been using these tablets for ages and I never knew that. How'd you know that?” Reddy asks from the corner, safely voicing his curiosity now that the hard part is behind you. “Just real tech-savvy, I take it. That how you get your name?” 

Tech smiles knowingly. “Learning the ins and outs of each machine I use is crucial to my effectiveness in service of the Republic. Much in the same way you're here to assist the researchers, analysts and reverse engineers in bomb identification, in some cases.” The second question goes unanswered, you notice, but Reddy seems to let it go. 

“Hah, can't argue with that comparison!” he says agreeably, his smile sunny. You’ve always liked that about this particular member of the bomb squad; Red Wire has an optimistic disposition and general attitude despite the nerve-rattling nature of his job. He’s not terribly jaded or gruff like some of the other Clones on rotation at this facility. 

Once you've collected all your necessary pictures, you are promised that he'll take it from here. “Good work as ever ma'am. I'll clean up while you get started on the search.” 

“Thank you, I appreciate the help as always from both you and Tech.” you say, patting him on the shoulder before you follow after Tech, who’s already making his way back to your desk, neck craned over his datapad. Stepping past the blast doors to catch up to Tech, you breathe a sigh of relief while Red Wire begins the disposal process, the hardest task of the morning behind you. 

“Glad that’s over,” you say, finally feeling your quickened pulse slowing at last, “Thank you for the help once again, Tech.” You’re certain he heard the first thank you, but extra gratitude never killed anyone. 

Tech’s deliberate stride slows to match with yours. “It was no trouble. I thought you might want the help.” A polite smile breaks the veneer of the usual expression of thoughtfulness and concentration you’ve become accustomed to in the time Tech’s been here. 

You’re very familiar with how he appears when he’s concentrated: the furrowed brow, his shoulders rolled forward, the subconscious setting and unsetting of his jaw as he mulls over a million thoughts. Wowing your colleagues with how he could extrapolate info from separate, complex datasets within multiple windows on the screen of his datapad without error. 

The way his brown eyes, deep and dark, looked like honey when framed behind his goggles…

Sitting down at your desk where you fire up the database you’ll be working with, already you see the slight furrow of his brow as Tech takes his seat on the other side, trading messages with his squadmates while he elevates his leg to alleviate the pressure of the walking boot. Tech misses being out there in the field more and more with every passing day. 

“Tell ‘em I said hi.” you request with a soft chuckle before allowing him to concentrate on keeping himself in the loop. You just have to hope his handsome face painted in deep concentration doesn’t prove too distracting for you as you cross-reference your wire samples. The squad leader of the Bad Batch, Sergeant Hunter, had teased Tech once a few weeks ago, when he dropped by with Echo, on the depths of Tech’s concentration. That’s when you’d truly taken notice of it for the first time.

Tech, utterly embroiled in some “little” project he’d created for himself here at the research center, was staying long after your scheduled hours, repeatedly promising that you really don’t have to stay here. 

You turn another page in your holomag. “I’ll be fine staying here a little longer. I want to make sure none of the senior analysts bother you. Again.” It was a slow Zhellday afternoon you had no other plans for, and a couple of people a little further up the chain of command really had a bug up their ass about Tech’s presence here today in particular, continually complaining about an incident with his crutches.

Someone hadn’t been looking where they were going and bumped into the mobility aids propped against a wall, knocking them over this morning. Unfortunately, there had been a tray of glass instruments set aside nearby that did not survive the crutches’ sudden descent. The senior analysts, most of them much older than you, wanted him thrown out of the facility and have the agreement with the GAR that Tech would be here until his broken leg healed nullified. 

“He’s got a broken leg! Is he supposed to just hobble around the lab without his crutches? It was an accident, but I’m starting to suspect you’re looking for excuses to get rid of him because you’re feeling threatened by his intellect!”

Clone Force 99’s second-in-command hums shortly in delayed response, a frown marring his otherwise concentrated expression. Tech adjusts his goggles as he pours over some reference. The man with partial skull iconography inked across his similarly tanned face next to Tech carefully nudges him with his elbow. 

“Tech, this is when you’re supposed to tell the nice lady thank you.” Hunter warns him, teasingly of course. He’s gotten back from a long deployment, and rather than going to the nearest mess hall with Wrecker and Crosshair, he’s come to check up on Tech, finding that he’s still at the GAR research center. He’s too tired to give any kind of reprimand just for the sake of appearances. 

“Especially after this morning… Don’t make me do the nat-born thing, vod.”

Tech sort of scoffs, the threat of referring to him by his CT number, like a misbehaving natural-born child hearing the use of their middle name, by his brother having little effect. 

“No thanks necessary, honestly.” You turn the page to your holomag, skimming the article to see if it’s worth an in-depth read, then meet Hunter’s eye. “It was honestly a bit cathartic to have a go at those jerks.” Decrying them as jerks to the squad leader of the Bad Batch was putting it real mildly given your true thoughts of them right about now. 

Echo gives you a knowing nod. The sergeant smirks, and this is what gets Tech to break his silence. 

“Don’t, Hunter.”

“Glad you made a friend, Tech.” Hunter says it with complete sincerity, so far as you can tell. Leaning back in the borrowed lab chair, Hunter kicks his feet up for a moment on a corner of the desk to adjust some parts of his armor. “Wrecker might get jealous.”

“I think we all would.” Echo says with a kind chuckle.

“Plenty of me to go around,” you promised the three of them, “I love making friends with the GAR.”

A few hours later, now four items deep into your checklist for the day with the wire cross-referencing behind you, you lean back in your chair and stretch your arms above your head, feeling something pop with great satisfaction. “Mmm! That felt good. Hey, Tech?” He nods to show he hears you, at which point you continue. “I’m thinking of running home real quick during lunch to take the honeysuckles home so I’m not wrestling with those on top of everything else I’ll have to take with me tonight. You gonna be okay on your own for a bit?” 

“I will be fine.” he assures you, sliding the clipboard from “your” side of the desk over to his. “I may need the password to your desk-mounted computer terminal, however.”

“It’s ‘naboofields’. All one word, no capitals, special characters or letters.” 

You root around your desk for one of the seemingly innumerable sticky-flim pads you possess, scribbling down the password - just in case - as neatly as you can before removing the top flimsi-note and hand it over to him. Honeyed eyes blink once in mild surprise after he inspects your handwriting. 

“Not very secure, I know.” you laugh bashfully, straightening a few sheafs of flimsiplast before gathering up the stack of locker notes to tuck them in your pocket. Busywork to avoid any kind of lecturing look. But when you meet his eyes for the moment before wondering how best to pick up the ceramic vase full of beautiful tri-colored honeysuckle, you find no disappointment. Only more curiosity. 

“Have you ever been to Naboo?” Tech asks. He’s noticed this particular topic has been cropping up a lot between the idle doodles on flimsi scraps of the bulbous Shaak grazing through lush emerald fields and little reminders you’ve written to yourself scattered across your desk lately. Ticket prices. Best time of year to go. Popular festivals. Fashion. You were weaving a curious pattern.  

Tech doesn’t do this very often, but he hazards a guess. Could you perhaps be… homesick?

“Were you born there?”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t born there, and I’ve never visited before. Naboo’s just some… silly dream of mine lately.” 

“Why do you say ‘silly’?” The question is earnest and sincere, and Tech sits forward off the backrest of the lab chair, posture straightening out. “Has someone said something unkind about your desire to see Naboo?” He couldn’t imagine why someone would disparage this; many galactic citizens express some level of desire to visit this planet in the Chrommell sector at least once in their lifespan. 

He’s assured there’s no one being unkind to you when you wave him off, sliding the vase across your desk carefully. “No one other than me, I guess. I dunno when I’d ever have a chance to go visit between the work I do for the GAR, plus being in the middle of the Clone Wars for stars’ sake…” You’re considering if it would be worth telling him about your developing case of wanderlust, your craving for a taste of adventure. (Just a taste… just a taste!)

What Tech was supposed to do with that revelation, you weren’t sure. Did you want his help planning this whimsical trip? Or did you just need to confide in him with this harmless little secret? 

“Would it be impolite to presume you don’t have many vacation days accrued in order to enjoy a short holiday?” Tech assumes you’re well aware of labor laws the GAR has to comply with for civilian staffing, like yourself, but he has no means of knowing how much PTO you have stored up without rooting into the system.

“Karabast, I- I hadn’t even thought of…” Your thoughts trail off as you look out one of the rain-spattered panes of transparisteel and determine you need to stop by your locker to gather your weather wear and rain repeller. When was the last time you had some extended leave from work that wasn’t a sick day, anyways? “I have some PTO I’m owed, but I try to be smart and save it for emergencies… I, uh, think I have more than two week’s worth.” Truthfully it’s been some time you looked at the amount of PTO you’ve accrued. It very well could be less than you remember, or more than you imagine. 

Tech makes a quiet murmur of agreement that saving the time off for emergencies is rather smart, shrugging after a stretch of clearly contemplative silence. “I was merely curious.” The statement makes it tempting to tease him in return, say something like aren’t you always? but he has something more to say before you work up the nerve, gesturing to the clipboard. “May I watch the helmet footage for you while you take the Nabooian Honeysuckles home?”

“I was warned it was grisly.” you caution him out of kindness, thinking back to one of the locker notes. “So, as long as you don’t mind or won’t be bothered, I suppose you can look at the footage for me… Credits are on it being sent from Delta Squad.” 

Scrutinizing the datadisc, Tech finds RC-1207 etched into it. Commando Sev, he tells you, went missing on Kashyyyk for a month early in the war… (Thank the Maker, his pod brothers had been fortunate in finding him.) Sev has never spoken of the experience. 

“This should prove to be fascinating, in some regard.” Tech speculates, slotting the disc into an external inspection device to set everything up to complete this in your absence. Goggles are adjusted every so slightly, changing the way they are seated on his face. “I’ll leave the notes for you on your desk by the time you return.” he promises. 

You make sure you’ve gathered the last of your things, saying that you better get going now that everything’s agreed upon. Carefully cradling the vase in the crook of your arm, you arrange the bouquet slightly with your free hand to avoid bruising any of the velveteen petals as you carry it. 

Turning on your heel, you head for your locker to collect your rain repeller. “Appreciate it, Tech, thank you. I’ll catch you later.” 

“Watch out for the deeper puddles, don’t slip.” Tech calls after you. 

He’s overheard many of your colleagues using this phrase the last couple of days to warn one another; the longer the rain’s gone on, the deeper the areas of rain retention have become since the water table is oversaturated. There has been no break in the weather, but the end is in sight. 

‘When will the rain stop?’ Soon. Maybe even tomorrow.

Habitually, you call back that you’ll be careful and another farewell, flashing him a sunny smile as you head out the door for the speeder cabs, the honeysuckles in one hand, repeller in the other. You don’t expect to be gone long.

Taking the vase full of honeysuckle home is your highest priority, right along with making sure the flimsiplast scraps in your pocket remain dry. Flimsi, while conveniently reusable, was hair-thin, had a slight transparency to it, and dissolved in water. (Why some disposable gowns for med centers were made out of the acrylic material when it was kriffing semi-transparent you had yet to figure out.) If you were careful of the shifting winds before you got to a speeder cab, Tech’s poems would stay safe and dry in your pockets, joining the others in a box of precious keepsakes at home. 

Maybe you could put them all in a scrapbook one day, able to read and admire them all at leisure, or whenever you miss having new haikus show up in your locker once Tech’s broken leg is fully healed and he rejoins his brothers. Tech’s been careful not to voice how much he’s come to miss his brothers - else he risks sounding ungrateful for the research center agreeing to let him assist there after much back and forth - but you know he’s getting somewhat impatient. 

“If I had known a second BX droid was around the boulder, I wouldn’t have tried to kick the first over the precipice…”

“That’s how you broke your leg?”

“Had it broken for me when the commando droid grabbed me, more accurately. Better me than Echo…” 

He’d return to his brothers in time with the whole of hyperspace at his fingertips. Hunter would get his second-in-command back. The Havoc Marauder will have both of her pilots and it won’t be Echo spending time alone in the cockpit. Wrecker and Crosshair will once again have their brother to parse through factitious scenarios and the complicated mathematics necessary to pull it off relating to their enhancements to help one another in staving off hyperspace hypnosis. 

And you’d go back to dreading Primedays and dreaming of clover covered plains on Naboo between every string of data you analyze for the GAR once Tech left. You’d miss the extra pair of capable hands and his talented, dare you say exceptional, mind. You’d miss the presence of yellow-lensed goggles and the steady, red light of the cylindrical camera attached to them that sometimes followed you around the analyst lab, that were as much a part of Tech’s face as the rest of his features. 

You’d miss him and the harmless little crush Jais teases you over since helping you find out who your secret admirer was. 

“Swing by your locker lately?”

“You have better eyesight than a Mynock but all the subtlety of a Reek, Jais. Yes I saw he left me another haiku.”

“What do they say?”

So much by using so little. 

Tech has just seventeen syllables to work with, but boy does he make them work. 

They will last far longer than any tender blossom, tucked carefully on the windowsill and lovingly arranged to fill in the gaps in the bouquet during transport. Home only for a short time, you settle for tucking the new haikus and other notes on the low table in the living room to sort through later tonight while eating dinner. 

Come to think of it, maybe you should invite Tech over for dinner sometime, while he’s still here. (While there’s still time to leave things behind in order to remember him by.) He’s been staying in temporary accommodations in the unofficial research district since the nearest GAR barracks are an hour away, and the district isn’t too far from your place. You’re not sure what the protocol on this is (or if there’s any), and he’s more than welcome to turn you down, but-

This harmless crush has gone beyond only going one way. 

You’re going to miss Tech when he leaves, not just because it means you'll lose an eager assistant who shares what he learns while you work. You've grown to like him in ways you haven't devoted proper time to exploring why with the nature of your work, but you like Tech too. And you don’t want just a vase full of honeysuckle that will one day wither and a smattering of haikus to remember him by. 

You want something more. Something meaningful before he goes back to making mayhem for the Separatists. 

And maybe it can start today, if you're clever enough. 

It's time to stop daydreaming.

When you return to the research center, you first put your rain repeller away in your locker and collect the few notes that appeared while you were out. No new poems, only warnings that one of the senior analysts had a bug up their ass the size of a mynock (scratch that, a bantha) again over something minor, and it's best to stay out of their way until they cooled off. 

“Hey, Tech, I'm back.” You announce your return from the lockers to avoid potentially startling him, finding him fiddling with a part of his vambrace. “Got some cryptic notes in my locker. Feel like I missed some excitement while I was away.” 

“Yes… You certainly did.” One of the analysts lost their temper with the ‘newfangled’ caf-pot in the break room, Tech explains. Nothing newfangled about it in truth, it just wasn't working because it had been unplugged for cleaning and someone just forgot to leave a note. 

“Speaking of notes,” he says as an aside, procuring a printed message from Lieutenant Waxer of Ghost Company in the 212th, “This came in just before you arrived while I was at the copier.” 

Giving the lieutenant’s request a once-over, you find a general greeting after the Grand Army of the Republic’s letterhead, asking if someone would mind helping him locate the origin of a particular word in the language of the Twi’leks. Printed requests are deemed non-urgent, but it’s simple enough that you don’t mind adding his query to the bottom of your daily checklist, on which you find only the helmet footage crossed off. 

“Thought you’d have gotten more done than this.” you say, chuckling as you take a seat at your desk. 

Tech adjusts his goggles and meets your eye. “Felt it would be impolite to take your work from you when we had an agreement for just the footage.” He returns to fiddling around with his vambrace and his datapad, perhaps trying to sync something up. 

His concern of taking further work from you without asking is very kind, and rather touching. You feel warmth in your face disproportionate to the heating system warming the labs on this rainy day. “Oh. Well, I wouldn’t have minded too much, but thank you. What’d you do instead until I got back?” You figure it didn’t take all too long to study the commando’s footage, finding the notes Tech’s took for you pinned underneath the datadisc the feed was stored on. Lifting the high-tech paperweight, you give the notes a glance. 

It’s the same thin lettering as the haikus. 

Tech tuts in thought while snapping a part of his vambrace back where it belongs. “General research. Nothing important.” He does not immediately elaborate on what he had researched, thinking you may want to take a moment to mentally prep yourself for returning to work and start on the next task at hand. 

They were not concerns he (often) had to keep in mind with Hunter, Echo, Wrecker and Crosshair because he knew them so well compared to other people, compared to you. They spent the most time together and could give him a playful ribbing for overstepping boundaries, or starting detailed explanations when it wasn’t the best time. No one cares! was often said in-the-moment, and apologized for in ways that did not involve the words I’m sorry - and that was normal with his brothers. 

So when you break into a big, friendly smile and draw out the word “Liiiike…?” while you continue to settle in, Tech knows it’s okay to elaborate. That you seem interested in what he has to say. 

“It was the origin of halliksets. I became distracted when I learned they were quite popular on Naboo, and spent some time looking into that instead.” As he expected, you perk up with the mention of Naboo, interest piqued. “They’re made with seven strings, and the ore commonly used to make them comes from Kreeling, a mining planet also within the Chrommell sector.” The ore seems to be used to decorate the rounded body of the instrument, from what he had been reading. Ornamentation rather than function. 

“Huh,” you say politely with a smile to match, “I had no idea. That’s really neat.” 

You thank him for sharing before agreeing that perhaps you should get started on some of your work when he warns you that he can hear someone from another department coming, and it may be wise to appear busy. 

For the next fifteen or so minutes, you and Tech are careful to appear focused on tasks from the clipboard. Something about figuring out why a standard caustic compound utilized by the GAR didn’t work. Tech casts a subtle glance over his shoulder while you muse over the specs, wondering just like you why someone from another department is taking their sweet time to leaf through all the disposable pipettes in the storage cabinet of all things. Trying to eavesdrop? Just really particular about their lab supplies? Who karking knows. 

While looking into the humidity record on Felucia the day of the recorded equipment failure, you take a moment to open the system you submit your time-off requests to and look at the amount of paid time off accrued. Two and a half weeks. That’s not bad. 

“Good to know….”

“What is it?” Tech asks.

“Oh, just poking into weather records,” you hum, hiding the portal, “Seems the caustic compound failed because of higher than average humidity that day. It was under six months old, so I don’t think it was a product age failure.” From the flashpoint of the Clone Wars on Geonosis, much of the equipment utilized barely sits on a shelf any longer than six standard months after its production and purchase for the Grand Army. 

Clones were clever. Well trained. They knew how to account for things like planetary climate, weather conditions and equipment age out in the field, but you’ll always have the occasional fluke. Things beyond your control, beyond what you trained for. (Some things you could never train for.) But the Grand Army of the Republic could be trusted to give it their all, no matter the occasion, no matter the challenge. 

You trusted men like Red Wire with your life here in the labs when you had to work with disarmed bombs, never doubting his ordnance training for a second. The same goes for the man sitting on the other side of your desk from you now, the injured leg in the walking boot propped up in a spare chair. You trust Tech too. 

When the personnel from another department finally leaves, they’re grumbling something venomously about the missing label-maker under their breath, the word “di’kut!” loudest of all. 

You recognize the Mando’a. Pronunciation DEE-koot. Multiple meanings. Idiot. Useless. Waste of space. (More accurately a waste of their time… Pretty sure someone already said the label-maker wasn’t in there.) You wonder where they know the word from. 

Speaking for yourself, you’ve picked up a smidgen of the language from working as a researcher and analyst, and you’ve added a few more words to your repertoire from Tech’s uninterrupted correspondence with the Bad Batch that he’s allowed you to see some of. 

And speaking of them… Now that you and Tech are alone, this might be a good time to try putting your plan in motion knowing how much PTO you have to work with now. You want to go to Naboo, and you want to see if there’s any way you can convince Tech to go with you. Maybe even meet you there with the rest of Clone Force 99. Make bumping into them look like a coincidence. 

“Hey Tech, when you return to your brothers, any plans or ideas on where you’ll go first?” 

A pad of sticky flimsi-notes is pulled from one of the many drawers of your desk, and you root around for a working pen while you wait on an answer. Calling upon courage from the very heart of the cosmos, you hope you can pull this off. 

Tech answers the break in relative silence with a quirk of his eyebrow. “None that I’m aware of, but I suspect we’ll be going wherever we are needed.” There is a long contemplative pause, eyes flicking to his trusty tablet more than once as a few new messages from Wrecker come in. 

“Is there some reason you’re asking?” He pushes the datapad aside now, giving you more of his attention, which is appreciated. 

Shoulders bounce. “What if I said I was just curious?” You don’t expect him to buy that, he’s too clever. But you need a moment of quiet contemplation on his part to count out the syllables without messing up. Once you’re certain you have five, then seven syllables, you flash him an easygoing smile. “Being curious isn’t a crime, is it?”

“On some planets it is. Some rather… ridgid, often self-isolated cultures across the galaxy view curiosity as a sign of an idle mind and fear it will inspire mischief. Free thinking. Rebellion.” 

The question had been rhetorical, and you don’t mind that he answered, but you find the fact quite sad. You also don’t want to begin to imagine how that sort of “crime” is punished. Curiosity is a natural part of life to all, to criminalize it is… frankly ridiculous.

“Well good thing we’re not in one of those isolated cultures.” you say, now thinking how you’ll finish penning this poem. Should you add your reasoning for why you wrote this at the bottom? (Would you even have room?) Maybe you should just tell him after he’s read your poem instead. 

“Agreed.” Another message comes in from Echo this time, but Tech ignores it, continuing to hold eye contact with you; almost like he’s performing an inspection. “So I hope it does not feel like an accusation when I say I don’t believe you are ‘just curious’.” 

“I did have an idea…” you admit, fiddling with the pen in your hand for the moment, “Since I heard Clone Force 99 isn’t keen on following every little order…” This is when you choose to slide the haiku you were working on over to “his” side of the desk, waiting in nervous silence as brown eyes scrutinize every Aurebesh letter laid bare before them. 

Can't we ever go  to a nice place, verdant fields  of spring eternal? - Feel like breaking a few rules?

Tech’s eyes lift from the flimsiplast note, looking surprised. He didn’t take you for the sort of person who’d encourage breaking certain GAR protocols, let alone… Your name falls from his lips, asking what this is about in the same tender tone. 

“I thought about what you asked regarding how much time off I have, and I found out I have two and a half weeks…” You explain, fiddling with the pen some more to occupy your nervous hands while he continues to monitor you. “I thought… Maybe once your leg heals up, and you’re cleared to return to active duty, you could find an excuse to spend some time on Naboo. Get to know each other better, perhaps?” He clearly has some kind of feelings for you that are in the earlier stages of reciprocation, and if you’re away from the lab, and he finds the time or the excuse to nip down to the Chrommell sector and meet up with you on Naboo, then neither one of you have to worry about behaving quite so professionally. 

Looking down at the haiku once again, Tech takes in your explanation, your invitation, and offers a mild chuckle at long last.

“You know what my brothers will say if I tell them about this?”

You swallow nervously. “W-what?”

“That it almost sounds like you’re asking me on a date.” 

You do what you can to keep your jaw from dropping, but there’s little to be done about the fiery feeling building in the apple of your cheeks that suggests there may be color blooming there. If you’re blushing, Tech certainly does a splendid job of politely pretending he sees no such thing while he gives your poem another look. 

You do the same in kind when additional color builds in his own face and crawls up his neck from under the top of the body suit. “I take it you figured out who was secretly leaving you the haikus.” His smile is timid, but not quite as nervous as your own. 

“I did. A while ago, actually.” you confess, confirming his suspicions. “I had help checking the cameras to see where the first one came from. I didn’t see a reason to say anything, or stop you.” You add that you’ve kept every single one, too, to some surprise of the computer and weapons specialist sitting across from you. 

He sits forward now, carefully easing the walking boot to the floor. “You really want to spend time with me on Naboo?” Your earnest nod surprises him further. You do. Out of millions of Clones in the galaxy, you’re asking Tech (and his brothers by proxy) to join you in visiting the idyllic planet. 

You carefully carve out a little portion of your PTO and submit the request as the very first step in the planning process, and while you await approval you and Tech will continue to work together as normal. You still have to behave professionally in the meantime. 

Well, as professionally as possible when Tech decides he can now confess he has a backlog of haikus for you, enough so you could have one waiting for you in your locker every day until he’s cleared to return to fieldwork in a few weeks, in theory. 

“Poetry every Primeday, honeysuckles today, and now you’re offering daily haikus? Maybe I will be asking you out on a date if you continue to spoil me like that.” you warn him, chuckling. Of course now you get the feeling Tech will make sure the weeks leading up to your time-off would consist of honeysuckle and haiku to ensure that you would. 

And those were going to become some of your best weeks working as a researcher and analyst for the GAR, whether you got that time off or not, because it would be spent making precious memories with Tech. 

That was what mattered most.

First time I've ever participated in one of these events, and I don't think I did too badly, considering I completely restarted this at one point! (Apologies for how long this ended up being, too, haha.) I hope you liked it, Tech-a! 🩷

Fic taglist: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit

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[secondhandsorrows]

3 Quick Tips on Writing Dialogue

Okay… so one of the biggest writing hurdles I often face is writing dialogue. Good dialogue. I know such a statement can be pretty subjective, but there’s something to dialogue that demands attention. There’s things involved like subtext, purpose, characterization, and sense of realism. On the other hand, there’s also character voice, expression, body language, and dialogue tags (sparingly, if you can)… all of which can be important, too. Sometimes it’s tricky for me to get a handle on writing dialogue that sounds natural, less stilted, and more as though the characters are real and conversing like we humans would (not to say dialogue should include unnecessary filler-words and repetitions we tend to overuse in our day-to-day conversations). 

Today, I’m going to share three quick tips I’ve accumulated from research and from my own experiences in creative fiction workshops on improving your dialogue. 

1. Avoid needless filler-words and phrases.

Let’s just get this one out of the way. I know this was already mentioned a few sentences ago, but it needs to be further cemented. This is the kind of fluff that we use in day-to-day chatter, like misused grammar, useless small talk, and talking in circles that, more often than not, comes across as boring and trivial. We may think this is a good way to create realistic dialogue, but alas, there is such thing as too-realistic dialogue. Focus instead on crafting dialogue that sounds as natural as possible. At least, try to get rid of the fluff, or use it with caution, as it may bog down your pacing and slow down your readers. 

This doesn’t mean you can’t utilize some small talk, repetitions, filler words, or speech patterns like stammering. Rules are sometimes meant to be bent, just a little. It can be used to create distinctions between unique character voices, lighten the mood, express an emotion that is being felt, if you know where to put them. Dialogue can — and should — be personalized to each character. 

This brings me to the next point:

2. Refrain from revealing too much information at once. 

Not only is this considered info-dumping, but giving away a ton of detail in a piece of dialogue can come across as stiff and out-of-place.  Though it may seem convenient to utilize dialogue as a way to pass information to the reader without getting all repetitive or boring within the narrative, it tends to break away from what the character (or a real person) might actually say. Especially when it’s given to a character that has no reason or incentive to recite drawn-out exposition to give the reader some background. This can be attributed to being uncharacteristic. 

Try tweaking it as to fit your character’s voice: their mood, how they communicate their values, which aspects they find more important to discuss, which topics they actively avoid or tend to overlook. Also keep in mind who they’re speaking to, and whether or not they need to hear the information, as well. 

3. Think about what is being left un-said.

Now, I’ve mentioned subtext quite a bit, already. Subtext, as the definition goes from Literaryterms.net, is “the unspoken or less obvious meaning or message in a literary composition, drama, speech, or conversation.” Knowing this, we can implicitly communicate to the reader covertly a truer meaning or mood within a conversation or interaction between characters: that a character is smiling through a grimace trying to look as if he’s enjoying what his friend had cooked for him when in reality he’s forcing it to spare their feelings. Or, when a woman says “she’s fine” when actually she’s not fine (real). Her answer is forced, her tone clipped, her arms are firmly crossed and she’s angling herself away. How about when a character is pining for another? They might stammer over their words and are prone to blushing whenever they’re around. 

There’s a lot of different ways you can go about using subtext. I probably could’ve added a lot more, but all I want to say for now is that the beauty of subtext allows to stir interest and to further character examination, especially in dialogue. There is more that can be said, but the characters may choose not to. It could also be used to hint at the reader, to foreshadow, facilitate themes, make contradictions, to build tension and emotion… there’s internal conflict that can be explored here. Let your characters tell their own stories in their own, unique ways.  

That’s all, for now. Hope this helped!