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sapphire-writes · 2 years ago

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Teacher's Pet (modern!HOTD)

read the second installment Lessons

pairing: professor!Aemond x student!Reader

summary: A night out during the spring semester of your senior year of university leads to a run-in with your former professor.

warnings: NSFW 18+ (explicit sex, unprotected, fingering, oral fem-receiving, overstimulation, titty sucking, praise, degrading language) mature themes, power imbalance

word count: 4.5k

note: I got a saucy little anon saying y'all needed a student x teacher fic from me, and to celebrate 3,000 besties I had to deliver!! thanks for all the love and support, you all mean the absolute world to me! Excited to keep creating for you all, ilysm 😘

You and your best friend Sara Snow grew up together, and spent nearly every waking moment attached at the hip. You know those friends you have that are more like siblings than friends? Sara was more like your twin. So when she stayed in your hometown going to Winterfell State, and you traveled to Citadel University, it was like you’d lost a limb.

Which meant you had to visit each other as frequently as possible. Sometimes you’d travel back home and visit Sara, and other times she’d come to you. Sara preferred visiting you, she loved the wine bars and clubs of Oldtown.

“The vibe is just different here,” she says, sipping her wine, “I love it. Very chic.”

You’d chosen a new wine bar to explore this time around. It’s a super cute place, with low lighting and a chalkboard bar and tables, with chalk for drawing laid out on all the tables. Sara, being mentally 12 years old, had already drawn a veiny cock in front of you. You swipe it away with your hand.

“Rudeness!” she says, pouting as you destroy her artwork.

“Stop drawing dicks,” you tell her and she narrows her eyes.

“You’ll have to kill me,” she teases, eyes flickering toward a blonde girl who passes on her way to the bathroom.

“You’re staring,” you tell her and she sticks her tongue out at you.

“She’s been staring at me for a while,” Sara tells you, grinning, “I for one, plan to get laid tonight.”

“I love that for you,” you tell her, smiling.

“This guy at the bar, totally checking you out right now,” Sara says, sipping on her wine.

Your face flushes and you turn your head slightly to look. Sara makes a noise of disapproval, setting her glass down.

“Don’t look,” she whispers, pushing some dark hair over her shoulders.

“I’m not,” you hiss, tilting your head.

“You totally are,” Sara accuses.

“What’s he look like?” you ask.

Sara’s dark eyes scan the man, you watch them move seemingly over his form.

“Tall, platinum blonde, like seriously, must have an extensive hair care routine,” she says, nodding, “We love that, love a man with good hygiene.”

You snicker, living for her analysis.

“He’s lean, but like you can tell he’s muscular,” she glances at you, “I know you’re a hand whore, and I can tell he’s got nice hands.”

“You’re so rude,” you accuse, blushing because she’s right.

Sara scoots off of her seat.

“C’mon, we’re going over there,” she tells you.

“Okay,” you agree and she links your arm pulling you from your seat.

You finally get a look at the guy and your stomach drops.

It’s your professor.

Not this semester, but last semester. Westerosis Literature taught by Professor Aemond Targaryen. A great class, hard as hell. He worked you fucking hard for that A. You mean to tell Sara but you’re still in shock as you come face to face.

“Hey there,” Sara says, smiling sweetly, “I couldn’t help but notice you checking out my friend, thought you’d like to buy her a drink? Maybe keep her company while I visit the loo?”

Aemond’s eyes rake over you, clearly recognizing you. You blush furiously, mouth gaping.

“She likes Sauvignon Blanc,” Sara tells him, motioning to the bartender, “I’ll be back, take care of my girl.”

And with that, she flounces off toward the restroom.

“I’m sorry professor,” you tell him, nervously playing with your fingers, “If I had known it was you I wouldn’t have let her drag me over here.”

“Something tells me your friend would be hard to deny,” he tells you as the bartender comes over, “A glass of Sauvignon Blanc please, and I’ll take another gin and tonic.”

You flush as the bartender nods, getting your drinks.

“She’s very persistent,” you tell him, nodding in agreement and casting your eyes to the floor.

Aemond cannot keep his eyes off your glowing cheeks, the way your lashes flutter against them as you avert your gaze.

“I can just take this back to the table,” you say, grabbing the glass of Sauvignon Blanc he paid for.

Aemond shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t drink alone,” he tells you, patting the empty chair next to him, “Indulge me for a bit, will you?”

You look back towards the table you shared with Sara, though she has yet to return to it. She’s probably chatting up that girl she had her eyes on. You bring your gaze back to Aemond.

“Okay, if you’re sure you’re comfortable with that,” you tell him, slipping onto the stool.

“Because that paper was cruel and unusual punishment, even for you,” you tell Aemond through a laugh.

You’re on your third glass of wine, the hours ticking away as you converse with your former professor. Sara has made herself scarce, though she’s been texting you.

“You did rather well if I recall correctly,” he says, with a sly smile on his face.

You roll your eyes, taking another sip. You’ve always been a good student.

“Only because I dedicated a week of sleepless nights to that assignment. Seriously, you should be paying for my therapy after that,” you tease, leaning your cheek against your hand.

You’ve gotten closer to him during the night, your knees brushing against his thigh, heel clad foot mindlessly rubbing against his calf. You’re not sure if it’s the wine or the ease of the conversation that has you feeling so comfortable around him.

“Send me the bill,” he jokes back, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“I’ll put it in your mailbox tomorrow,” you giggle, taking another sip, “You know, I was really disappointed when your Essosi Literature class was full this semester.”

“Is that so?” he asks, sipping his gin and tonic, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Now I’ll never have the chance to take it,” you continue, “Unless you teach a summer course, otherwise your popularity has thrown off my entire plan of study.”

“My apologies,” he insists, grinning at you, “My popularity, you say? I thought I was a hard ass.”

“Oh you are,” you assure him, “But that doesn’t mean you’re not popular.”

“How so?” he pushes, a long finger dancing around the rim of his empty glass.

Your eyes follow the circle he traces, up the veins on the back of his hands. How have you never noticed how sexy his hands are? You’ve never been this close to him, his lectures always held in one of the large lecture halls on campus rather than the more intimate classroom settings. You wet your lips, desire pooling in your belly before you meet his eyes once more.

“You know,” you tell him, unable to keep the secretive smile off of your face, “I mean, you must know.”

“Know what?” he murmurs, staring at you with such intensity it makes your thighs tremble.

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear, chewing on your lower lip. This will be your last glass of wine, you feel too giddy, too at ease in the presence of your professor. You’re going to regret this little flirtation in the morning, you can feel it in your bones. But the alcohol is liquid courage, and you’re a senior after all. Once this semester is over, you’re out in the real world, done with Citadel University.

“You’re popular with the ladies of campus,” you tell him, “and the men, and everyone else.”

Aemond quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Oh really?” he asks.

“Of course, I mean you’re the youngest tenured professor, you are a hard ass grader but your lectures are so enticing, and it helps you’re easy on the eyes-”

You choke as soon as the sentence escapes you. A freudian slip if you’ve ever had one. Aemond’s mouth quirks up into a wolfish grin.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him, covering your mouth.

“It’s alright,” he assures you, but you’re off on a nervous ramble.

“That was seriously so shallow of me and inappropriate to say-”

“Y/N,” he says, resting a hand on your knee, “It’s alright, really.”

You laugh nervously, enjoying the feeling of his hand on your leg. You can feel the heat it emits through your tights. His hand is huge, and you lose yourself in the moment wondering how it might feel against the bare flesh of your thighs, you neck-

“I should see if Sara texted,” you tell him, reaching for your phone.

You’re greeted by a dropped pinned location and a text from Sara saying she went home with the blonde from earlier. Lucky bitch.

“And she’s left me,” you say aloud.

“Everything alright?” Aemond asks.

“Yeah, yeah. This has been great,” you tell him, “Thank you for keeping me company, but I should probably get home, call an Uber.”

“Let me drive you,” Aemond insists, “It’s no problem.”

You bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this right? He’s your professor, your teacher.

“Are you sure?” you ask and he nods.

That’s how you end up in the passenger seat of his mercedes, the dark leather seats warm and inviting. You know you’re staring as you watch him drive, long fingers gripping the wheel, the other hand resting on his knee.

As you pull up to your apartment, you swallow the lump that has formed in your throat. You almost want to invite him up. He watches you closely, as though sensing the words swimming around your head. No, you're not doing this.

“Thank you, professor, I appreciate it,” you tell him, leaving it at that.

“I think I embarrassed myself big time Sara,” you tell her groaning on the phone.

There wasn’t much time to debrief the night before Sara had to head back to Winterfell. You brought yourself to the campus coffee shop, settling in to complete some homework while you had some free time.

You’d been staring at your laptop screen, and the empty word doc that was pulled up, for the better part of an hour before deciding to call Sara.

“You did not,” she insists, “I don’t care if he is your professor, he was totally into you.”

“He was just being polite.”

“I know polite, and I know eye fucking. Professor Big Dick was the latter,” Sara insists.

“Sara!”

“You know I’m right,” she tells you.

“Fuck,” you tell her, placing a hand against your forehead.

“Look, if you’re that worried about it, go talk to him,” Sara says, “Drop by his office or something, bring him a coffee and tell him you’re sorry.”

“You don’t think that’s weird?” you ask, nervously chewing your thumb.

“I think it's weird you didn’t suck his dick when he drove you home,” she answers honestly.

“Bye Sara,” you tell her.

“Love you too bitch,” she says, making a kissing noise into the receiver.

You decide to take Sara’s advice, bringing Aemond a coffee as an apology for your behavior. You walk through the building; it’s quiet with no classes, not many people pass you on your way to the faculty offices. Most doors are closed, but you see Professor Targaryen’s door is ajar, signaling his presence.

You’d been to his office one time before, dropping in for office hours the previous semester when working on your midterm. He grilled you hard, and you left feeling frustrated but with a strong desire to please him. You always did crave academic validation.

You knock on the door, greeted by Aemond’s gentle timbre telling you to enter. He’s seated behind his desk, a book open on his lap. He’s wearing gray slacks, a simple button down shirt and his silver hair is pulled away from his face in a loose, low bun. His violet eye lights up as you enter, blue sapphire prosthetic winking in the afternoon light that filters through his window.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” you tell him, closing the door behind you.

You walk further into the room and place the coffee cup on his desk.

“What’s this?” he asks, closing his book and placing it on the desk.

“An apology from a tremendously bright student?” you tell him, smiling nervously.

“What do you need to be apologizing for?” he asks, picking up the coffee, inspecting the order on the side.

You chose black to be safe, not knowing this is how he preferred his coffee. Aemond takes a sip, humming appreciatively.

“I just really didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I know I was a little tipsy, and I hope I didn’t cross a line or anything,” you tell him.

Aemond stands, picking up his book and walking over to his bookshelf. It’s stacked with books, classics and other contemporary novels.

“You’re very thoughtful, Ms. Y/L/N,” he comments, sliding the book back where it belongs.

“Thank you, professor,” you tell him.

“If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me,” he tells you, walking in front of his desk.

He leans his back against it, resting his palms on the edge.

“Why would you apologize?” you ask, tilting your head with curiosity.

“Well, if anyone’s responsible for making our interaction inappropriate it's me,” he tells you, jutting out his sharp chin, “I’m your professor, you’re my student.”

You flick an eyebrow up at him.

“You were my professor,” you tell him, “I’m not in your class anymore.”

“Still, that power imbalance doesn’t just go away,” he insists, eyes meeting yours.

There it is again, that look. The one with such intensity it makes your knees weak. You can see his tongue poking his cheek as though he’s contemplating something. Your breath catches in your throat and you nervously wet your lips.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” you tell him, “No more flirting with strangers at wine bars for me.”

“I’m not a stranger,” he says.

“You know what I mean,” you tell him.

The air between you is warm and inviting. It’s like the bar all over again, you can feel some invisible force pulling you closer to him with every word you exchange. It’s so effortless, this playful banter, you fall into it easily with him. You have to stop, have to stop before you cross another line.

“Anyway, take the coffee,” you tell him, “and let me know if you decide to run that summer class, cause I’ll totally take it.”

“You’re graduating,” he teases.

“They’ll let me hang around, I can be very persuasive,” you insist, kicking yourself for the insinuation.

Aemond lets out a breathless laugh.

“I’m sure,” he says smirking.

You stare a moment longer, appreciating how his tall, lean frame looks resting against his desk. Your gaze drops to his hands again. His hands. You blink, steadying yourself, but he’s definitely noticed the mental lag you had.

“Goodbye, Professor,” you tell him, “Have a good rest of your day.”

You turn walking toward the door. You reach for the handle, pulling it open slightly before a hand reaches above your head, pushing it shut. He keeps his hand on the door as you turn around to face him.

“Don’t leave,” he murmurs, bringing his opposite hand to trace a line down the side of your face, before cupping your cheek.

Your breathing turns ragged as his thumb strokes your cheekbone. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your lips, and smell his cologne. His hand strokes the doorframe, following into down until he reaches the handle, flicking the lock into place.

“I thought we weren’t doing this,” you whisper, hands clenched into fists at your sides.

“Then why’d you come here?” he purrs.

“I was being nice,” you tell him, as he brings his other hand to your waist, pulling you against him.

“Such a good girl you are,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours.

Your hands fly to his neck instinctively, pulling him as close to you as possible. His mouth feels so perfect against yours, the mingled taste of spearmint and coffee sharp on your tongue as you greedily drink him in. Your hands fist the back of his shirt.

You’re practically gasping against his mouth as his hands move to cup your ass, before he bends his knees to lift you up by your thighs. You wrap your legs around his slender waist, continuing to kiss him all the while, moaning as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

He turns, walking you away from the door and placing you on the corner of his desk, hastily brushing his arm to move loose papers and knick knacks out of the way, sending them crashing towards the floor. Not that either of you care. Your hands work quickly, tearing at the buttons on his shirt, revealing his chest. Your nails rake down his abs, reaching for his belt. You’re desperate and you don’t care, you need to feel him inside you.

Aemond removes his lips from yours, laughing breathlessly at your eagerness before swatting your hands away.

“Let me,” he murmurs, sinking to his knees in front of you.

His hands travel up your thighs and you squirm against his touch as they disappear beneath your skirt. You feel his dexterous fingers loop through your underwear pulling it off of you. You assist him, bunching your skirt in your hands revealing your dripping cunt to him.

“So wet for me,” he purrs, “Are you always like this?”

“Fuck,” you mewl as his tongue flicks out, tasting the wetness between your folds.

He hums with appreciation, as though tasting a fine wine. Aemond pressing his face into you, nose nuzzling against your clit, sending spark waves of pleasure dancing upwards toward your navel. His tongue swirls around your center, dipping into your tight heat.

“Did you sit through my lectures with your pussy dripping like this?” he asks, voice rough with desire.

You squirm against his mouth as he wraps his lips around your needy clit, suckling gently and flicking his tongue around the sensitive nub. Your hand flies to the back of his head, foot digging into his shoulder blade.

His hand squeezes your inner thigh roughly, before slapping the tender flesh causing you to cry out.

“Oh gods,” you moan, head tilting back in the throes of pleasure.

“I bet you did,” he answers his own question, smirking at you.

He moves his attention away from your clit momentarily, dragging a finger through your folds. You can’t see his hands but you can picture them, his long, skilled fingers as you feel him sink one into your tight heat.

Your spine curves, pushing your pussy closer toward his face as his finger searches for that special spot inside of you.

“Oh fuck, fuck!” you cry as the pad of his finger pressing against the spot inside of you that paints stars behind your eyelids.

Aemond glances up at you, watches as your brow creases with pleasure, and your mouth forms a perfect O shape.

“There we go,” Aemond purrs, wasting no time and slipping another finger inside of you.

Every crook of his fingers has you trembling against him, his pace relentless as pressing against your g-spot. He brings his attention back to your throbbing clit, increasing the pleasure building in your abdomen, tingling up your spine. His tongue laps away, little kitten licks against the sensitive button drawing you closer and closer to orgasm with each flick.

Tears well in the corners of your eyes and your nails dig harshly into his scalp, not that he seems to mind. Aemond simply groans against you, the vibrations only adding to your pleasure.

“I’m gonna come,” you pathetically whine, shaking against the desk.

“That’s a good girl, c’mon,” Aemond insists, slipping a third finger inside you.

The wet slurping of your soaked cunt echoes in the room as he never relents the stokes of his fingers, the flicking of his tongue. It’s all too much and the tightly wound coil of pleasure inside you snaps with a strangled sob. As your high washes over you, all the tension in your body releases.

Only Aemond doesn’t stop.

“Professor,” you moan, feeling the wave cresting inside of you again.

His fingers are soaked, easily sliding in and out of your greedy cunt.

“Please, please, it’s too much,” you beg, slumping against the desk.

“But you’re such a good girl,” he insists, “You deserve one more, give me one more.”

“I can’t- holy shit!” you squeak, as his lips suck your clit.

You’ve never been treated like this before. One orgasm-if you’re lucky-has been your experience with your past lovers. But you can’t deny him as his fingers work their magic, his tongue swirls around your puffy clit.

“Yes you can,” he purrs, and of course he’s right as you feel yourself thrown over the edge of pleasure once more.

“One more,” Aemond insists and you feel tears leaking down your cheeks.

“Professor I can’t-” you tell him, and he shushes you.

“One more, on my cock, huh?” he asks, unbuckling his belt, “Yeah, you like that idea baby?”

Your eyes light up, and you push yourself on your elbows to watch as he reveals his impressive length. Sara’s always told you guys who are lean are usually well endowed. Boy was she right. Your eyes widen taking in his length, as he grips it in his hand, pumping it. You bite your lip, watching precum leak from the reddened tip.

“I changed my mind,” he says roughly, dragging you toward him like a wolf with its prey, “Two more, you’ll give me two more.”

Your eyes are round as he drags his cock through your folds. You wiggles as he drags the tip over your clit, up and down, using your arousal as lubricant.

“You’ll cum just like this,” he says, continuing the movement against your sensitive clit.

You’re squeaking and moaning embarrassingly, wriggling like a trapped kitten as he holds your thigh tightly with one hand, while the other continues to rub the head of his cock against your clit. Your third orgasm builds quickly and crashes over you just as powerful as the first two, leaving you gasping for air.

“So pretty like this,” Aemond murmurs, bringing a hand to the back of your neck to kiss you.

You whimper against his mouth and his hands move to your shirt, breaking the kiss only to pull the material off of your head. You reach around to unclip your bra, leaving your breasts free and hanging heavy with need. Aemond brings his attention to them immediately, his erection pressing against your thigh as he circlies your nipple with his hot mouth, sucking on your breast.

You’re babbling uncontrollably at this point as he switches, suckling at your neglected other breast before aligning his cock with your soaked entrance.

“You sure?” he asks, hesitating for a moment.

“I’m on birth control,” you manage to gasp, “I’m sure, please, please.”

Aemond grins wolfishly before sinking into your wet heat. His jaw slacks as your pussy greedily accepts him, warm walls holding him firmly inside as he stretches you out.

“So fucking tight,” he murmurs, slowly dragging out only to thrust back in, balls slapping against your ass.

Your head is full of cotton at this point, unable to form coherent thoughts as he plows into you. His hands rest securely on your lower ribs, as your own hands grip the back of your thighs, allowing your legs to bend at the knee. Your back is arched off of the desk, head thrown back and mouth hanging open in pleasure.

“You like that?” he asks.

You can’t find it in you to reply, answering only in a breathy moan. Aemond merely chuckles.

“Awww did I fuck you stupid, baby?” he teases, causing you to whimper.

He feels so fucking good, sliding easily in and out of your tight walls, the sounds of lewd, wet slapping filling his office. It’s filthy, it’s erotic, and it’s so so bad of you but you can’t help but love the position you’ve found yourself in.

“I think I did,” he continues, “Poor, silly, baby thought she could handle it her professor fucking her.”

Desire and humiliation tingle up your spine, spreading across your body like wildfire at his taunts. The pitch of your moans increase as he brings his fingers to play with your clit.

“She’s all cockdumb now,” Aemond croons, squeezing your breast.

He releases your breast to bring a hand to grab at your chin.

“Look at me,” he demands, and you do so with tears in your eyes.

The head of his cock bullies against your sweet spot, rubbing the tender spot with precise devotion.

“You’re going to cum all over my cock,” he tells you, “Soak my cock like the good little girl you are.”

He keeps his hand on your face, forcing you to look at him as he plows into you and your fourth orgasm rolls over you. It’s intense, almost painful with the pleasure it brings you as your walls clamp down against his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans as you tighten around him and he chases his own release.

“I’m going to fill this pretty pussy up,” he tells you, and you feel him spill inside of you, warmth flooding through you.

You stay connected for a moment, relishing the feeling of him inside of you. You’re incredibly sensitive from the overstimulation as he begins to pull out, moaning slightly with the loss of contact.

Aemond grabs some tissues, gently wiping down your inner thighs and beginning to clean you up. He glances up at you as you attempt to find your bearings.

“Holy. Hell.” you tell him, breathing heavily.

Aemond smirks.

“Was that too much?” he asks, a note of concern in his voice.

You shake your head.

“That was amazing,” you tell him, shyly looking away.

You grab your bra, putting it on and reaching for your shirt as he stands. You clip your bra, pulling your shirt over your head as he hands you your discarded panties.

“Thanks,” you tell him, standing on shaky legs.

You nearly fall over putting your panties back on, Aemond’s arms catch you, helping you stand.

You chuckle nervously.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asks, his arms still holding you.

“Yeah,” you assure him, “I should go though.”

“Of course,” he tells you.

You move toward the door but pause, turning to look at him. He’s just finishing buttoning up his shirt.

“Was this…was this a one time thing?” you ask.

Aemond looks up at you.

“It should be,” he tells you.

Your heart flutters in your chest, and a smirk tugs at your lips.

“That’s not an answer,” you tell him.

He smirks at you.

“No, it isn’t,” he agrees.

You hold his gaze a moment more.

“I’ll see you around, professor,” you tell him, unlocking the door and leaving his office.

You walk quickly, heat pounding, desperate to get back to your apartment and call Sara. You hop on the campus bus, holding tightly to the railing, trying to ignore the dull ache between your legs, and the warmth of Aemond’s cum that is still trickling down your thighs.

Boy are you fucked.

note: I hope you liked it my loves! Again, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!! For all your support and love. I'm truly so lucky to have such amazing support on this site and a place to post my silly little stories. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!! until next time besties 😘

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reginyani · 2 months ago

Text

College Lecture | s.reid x reader

summary: the behavioral analysis unit are guest speakers for your college class, but one particular agent catches your eye

cw: season4!spencer, reader is flirtatious, year of 2009, possibly use of inaccurate technology for the year, college reader, usage of Y/N

wc: 864

authors note: the only way to promote fics on tumblr is to reblog, so please do so if you enjoyed! once again very short, but once again i'm very tired..

It was a cold winter morning, with snow falling on the college campus when Professor Coleman made a surprise announcement. The Behavioral Analysis Unit was going to visit the class that day. It would be a special lecture, with an example case that the students could interact with. You never expected to be in the same room with the highest unit in the FBI, let alone receive a lecture from them. With your interest in serial killers and forensic psychology, this lecture was a dream come true.

The hall buzzed with anticipation, and all the students were eager to finally have interesting guest speakers. As the lecture began, the team of agents introduced themselves. The unit chief, SSA Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi, Penelope Garcia, and Dr. Spencer Reid...

You were drawn to him. The way he spoke was shy and awkward, but his intelligence more than made up for it. Every time words left his mouth, you were captivated, almost as if he was hypnotizing you. Although the attractive agent was a distraction, you tried focusing on taking notes and listening to everyone speak.

You had many questions about the subjects and the example case, but you sat back and listened, observing the dynamics of the special guests. No matter how hard you tried to focus on the lesson, your mind and eyes kept wandering back to Spencer Reid.

The class ended in a blur. Everyone crowded around, hoping to catch a moment with the highly skilled profilers, which they did, but you stayed seated. When the students finally cleared out, you stood up, your plan now set in motion.

As Spencer tried to follow his team out the door, you stopped him. "Dr. Reid," you called, your voice light but loud enough for him to hear from a distance.

He quickly stopped walking and turned around, offering an awkward smile. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Yes?"

"I was hoping to get a moment with you. My names Y/N, and I have some follow-up questions about the lecture. May I?" You tilted your head slightly as you asked for his time, smiling. His cheeks flushed a little in nervousness, and his body stiffened slightly.

He opened his mouth, taking a moment to respond. "Yeah—of course," he said, still a bit caught off guard. His voice was barely above a whisper, as if he were scared to say the wrong thing.

You both moved aside, and you began asking your questions. You started off with some technical questions about profiling, making sure to keep things professional. He answered with his usual ease, but you could tell he was focused on you more than anything else. His eyes occasionally dropped to the ground, and his lips still wore that awkward, yet charming, smile.

"Doesn't your job take a psychological toll on you or your team? I mean, how do you deal with being around all that... darkness?" The question was sincere, and it seemed to catch him off guard. He furrowed his brows, studying you for a while before responding.

"Well, you're not wrong. It does, sometimes. But with a team, it’s a bit easier to handle. We sort of all look after each other. But honestly, books help me more than they do," he joked, chuckling a little. "I also like to play chess sometimes. It helps me relax and think."

You nodded, taking in his words. This was your opportunity. "Chess, huh? I've always wanted to learn how to play. Maybe you could teach me sometime?"

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw the hesitation. "I... uh... sure, yeah, I could teach you. I can't say I'm totally pro though."

You smiled, knowing your plan had worked. "Maybe we can exchange numbers? That way, we could set up a time to meet," you paused for a moment, taking out your phone and smirking. "and practice."

Spencer's mouth hung open, unsure whether to accept the offer. He blinked rapidly as he thought, noticing the shift in your energy. "Okay. Yeah, that... that sounds good. You can... put your number in here." He handed you his phone, and you type in your number and quickly save it.

"Thanks! Text me so we can set up a time," you said as you started walking away. "Bye, Dr. Reid."

You exited the room, and a few seconds later, Spencer did as well. He was then met by Emily and Derek, who raised their eyebrows at him. "Mind if you teach me some lessons?" Derek teased, and Emily laughed.

"Shut up!" was all Spencer could say as the team started walking out of the building together.

Later that night, Spencer sat on his bed, contemplating whether to text you. It’s not very professional, he thought. But his fingers didn’t follow that approach. He typed in your name and quickly wrote a message.

"Hey Y/N, what time would you be available for us to meet?"

He quickly sent the message, putting his phone away completely waiting for the vibration that you had responded. He didn't have to wait long though, as he felt one almost exactly a minute later.

"I'm free this Saturday, you?"

tags:

#criminal minds #spencer reid #mgg #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #i need me a spencer reid #fanfiction #reblog #spencer reid criminal minds

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sunderingstars · 4 months ago

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simulated universe addendum: ace trash digger

— i can’t believe i came across this occurrence literally the day after i posted my simulated universe analysis (talk about timing), so here’s me yapping about it!

— written during 2.6

— word count: short, list format

not only is this occurrence in every single simulated universe update (wow!) but it seems to be a more belobog-connected piece of potential sampo material!

— “he” pronouns. matches with sampo koski as we know him.

— he’s carrying a trashcan and the name of the occurence is “ace trash digger.” this is a pretty easy link to belobog since that’s the planet that has the most trashcan-related shenanigans. also, since he’s carrying it i can almost see the trashcan as symbolic of belobog itself — i.e. sampo and his little garbage planet he cares about and likes to carry around.

— “treasured trashcan.” once again, i can pretty easily see the trashcan as belobog, so the occurrence might actually be referencing sampo and his “treasured jarilo-vi.”

— he has a collection of “pitiful love poems.” this could connect to sampo’s theme of love, particularly broken hearts, as seen in things like his e4 and heart-bomb burst. these love poems may be written to aha as part of some lingering attachment, or may also be written towards belobog itself since he seems to care about the place so much.

— “put your waste in it, and the items will evolve into an advanced awareness, then come running out energetically on their own!” if the trashcan is symbolic of belobog and the person is supposed to be sampo, i would take a doll theory reading on this. with how much doll theory relies on the “betrayal” of a creator towards its creation, i almost see this as meta commentary on how aha may have betrayed or “discarded” sampo.

— it makes sense, after all, that aha would get bored with their creations quite easily (at least given the whole worm debacle), and what else to do than to discard it? it may be that sampo was not always like this, but evolved to become more “aware” after being abandoned on jarilo-vi, which aha may have seen as just some backwater junkyard snow planet.

— (honestly, the idea of jarilo-vi being seen as a cosmic junkyard is so funny to me. like, aha basically did the equivalent of driving their pickup truck to the scrap heap at the edge of town and tossing everything in. very mundane to them, totally traumatizing to sampo.)

— from there, i would interpret this occurrence as saying sampo slowly rejoined the wider universe — i.e. “running out energetically” on his own. this likely included becoming part of the masked fools or trying to re-contact aha. (alternatively, this could be what is going on currently in canon, with belobog and, by extension, sampo, becoming more present on the galactic stage.) this may have actually surprised the aeon themself (if they even cared anymore), as it would essentially be the equivalent of throwing out a stuffed animal halfway across town, only for it to get up, walk, and find its way back to your house weeks later talking like “why have you forsaken me, father?”. this may even be how sampo became an emanator — aha may have found the whole situation so hilarious they decided to promote sampo on the spot.

— overall, if the trashcan is meant to be belobog and sampo is meant to be the waste (like “hazardous waste” in the friendship is magic event), then this occurrence may be hinting at sampo’s backstory of being discarded by aha on jarilo-vi.

— hunt option (swarm disaster). mean, why are we being so mean?! i would never steal from sampo, i’m simply built different.

— remembrance option (swarm disaster). “you recall the past lives of these discarded objects” implies a sort of sentience and agency. even though the objects may not be at “advanced awareness” yet, they clearly still have past experiences and lives. comparatively, i would say this may mean that sampo, although only recently evolving into a unique kind of sentience, has always been “alive.” for me, i see this as gaining personhood, or perhaps new perspectives on life. he may have started as a toy with no real agency of his own, but he’s been able to find some sort of autonomy for himself on belobog, even being able to reach beyond the love and find the “hate” for a creator who treated him cruelly.

— erudition option (gold and gears). erudition once again! man, erudition and elation love going hand-in-hand. “even trash has its unique ‘value’” seems to send a deeper, general message. not only is it the erudition doing what the erudition tends to do when confronted with something new — find its value, either through experimentation or dismantling — but it communicates the idea that even though something may be seen as worthless or forgotten, it still holds purpose. even though sampo may be seen in the eyes of his creator as a “discarded doll,” he still has value. he’s still a person. he still has his own hopes, thoughts, and dreams. although the erudition likely means this phrase in a more troublesome “let’s take him apart to see what he’s made of” way, a nice message can still be gleaned.

— normal option. as with all other options, there’s a big theme of “transaction,” or exchanging items for more. i don’t have a lot to say about it, other than it fits right in with sampo’s con-man trade and propensity for bargaining.

— i found it a bit surprising at first that there was no elation option, given how that would’ve been a more solid link to sampo, but perhaps there isn’t supposed to be. perhaps, aha stuffed toy having an elation option is meant to be symbolic of a time aha cared enough to turn their gaze of sampo, but here the occurrence is dealing with the period of and after his abandonment. in this case, there may be no elation option because aha quite simply does not care enough for there to be one. he’s all alone. sad :((

overall, i can’t believe this one almost slipped under my nose while doing my simulated universe analysis! the irony is not lost on me that i almost passed over it in a similar way to others in-universe; i guess the “cosmic junkyard” planet really did its job !! i think this has some nice little tidbits for the potential timeline of doll theory, and gives some insight into what sampo’s “betrayal” might have been! (also, of course aha would do something like this. of course lol)

thanks for reading!

#⌞ ✎ sunder.writes ⌝#⌞ 🎭 ⌝#hsr #honkai star rail #honkai: star rail #sampo #sampo koski #sampo hsr #hsr sampo #sampo honkai star rail #analysis #hsr analysis #honkai star rail analysis #hsr theory

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orangez3st · 18 hours ago

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Coruscant's Hottest Gossip

Entry to @clonexocweek - 02.10.25: Introduction | Event Masterlist

Part 1 of 5 | Next to Part 2 ↦

Summary: Meeting the galaxy's most famous actress is now labeled as ‘most inconvenient and useless interaction’ in Wolffe's book. Not to mention the predicament against her toxic ex boyfriend that eventually leads him to stick with a fake dating agenda at her behest. He can endure a tenday campaign easily, but gossip and neverending media spotlight? Not so much. Tags & Warnings: fake dating, the return of artist!wolffe, crack treated seriously treated as crack, same universe with author’s other pairing (rex/sho’cye), swearing, clone shenanigans, suggestive themes, angry kissing, wolffe boutta explode, clone shenanigans, celebrity life Pairing: Wolffe × Nic Erlonna (OFC Muse Actress) Word Count: 13.5k A/N: Soo with that word count, my clone x oc pairings in this event are plot-heavy, but they're all fresh fics you can read starting here! (I absolutely did not make them on the spot since the event's announcement) And! If you're the one who couldn't wait for this pairing, here's your treat at last. Enjoy!

𝑴𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏

— False Idols - The Weeknd, Lil Baby, Suzanna Son [X]

Wolffe left 79s earlier, leaving his fellow squad members who initially registered for the weekly karaoke night. Partly because he's got other errands, and partly is… well, he's not really into singing.

Their brothers from the 212th happen to be planetside today as well – both battalions with both shore leaves lined up. Wolffe didn’t catch Cody at the bar though, leaving him to easily speculate either it's about overloaded reports or something else involving his prim and proper Jedi General who Wolffe isn't interested enough to keep up on hearing about.

It's okay, they could always meet some other time.

Speaking about reports, Sinker joked earlier about piling stuff Wolffe must have hadn't tended to – jokes on the sergeant because he had, just moments before getting dragged to the bar for a couple pints of beer, actually.

The prickly warmth of Coruscanti night air spells nothing like peace. It’s got some gritty quality Wolffe can't relay out loud, eventually leaving it with just the kriffing pollution.

That's what one gets for living on a planet with 7 trillion people in it with artificially controlled excuse of a climate, anyway. But at least they've got winter at the end of the year and the first two months of the next. Wolffe always likes snow. He likes the cold. He prefers his drinks and shower and bed sheets cold. Winter provides him an excuse to put on some warmer and thicker civvies while chilling in his own quarters all by himself.

Shame it's summer night air smacking him in the face now instead, as he strolls down the street to that little art supplies shop he frequents.

With his basic allowance on subsistence – BAS – isn't directed to top shelf drinks at 79s, they go to more flimsi sheets and various styluses. Funny how the given credits, that are totally for daily sustenance like getting better food in the commercial districts or for entertainment indulgence, goes to his hobby.

Wolffe picked up sketching when he was a cadet. Their trainers in Kamino urged most of them to pick something between poetry, painting, sketching, and literature analysis to divert the battle-hardened focus to something relaxing and to relieve the restlessness within their system. And, oh well, it works well for him.

His collection grows over the years. There are thick piles of folders and binders on the side table in his quarters, all filled with his stylus sketch pieces. An artsy endeavor involves hours of tracing and shading on the flimsi while sitting down with whatever reference he could find in the holonet. He's done some with colored styluses, too. And even some watercolors, when a break is lengthier than usual. Everything turned out great. Always satisfies him and grants him relaxation after every mission or writing reports late at night.

Mostly it's for his own indulgence, to quench that curiosity if he'd draw this in another angle, draw that in different pose. Rex’ika is always rooting him on – always been, since they were but cadets – that when they're both planetside the blond would ask how much has been added to his ever piling sketchbooks, a shy question to hang out in his bunk just like old times while catching up and admiring more drawings.

Wolffe ducks into the small humble art supplies store, acquiring whatever is on his mental checklist, exchanging small pleasantries with the nice elderly Nikto who owns it, and leaves with a paper bag in hand. With the night getting later, the eagerness to try out new styluses in different hardness on the fresh sketchbook, and an obvious home destination in mind, Wolffe trudges through the bustling sidewalk.

On one or two occasions people nudge his shoulders in passing, roughly brushing against his grey leave uniform and making him scowl in annoyance. He's not one to wear patience on his sleeves, alright. Though he understands these people's hastiness, he'd hope they'd understand physical boundaries as well. Unanticipated touches just irk him, okay?

So when suddenly a woman sidles up next to him and grasps his bicep close, Wolffe stiffens.

“Just keep walking.”

Yeah no.

Keeping his strides strong, Wolffe makes a move to yank his arm away, but she holds on tight, fingers clutching onto the fabric-covered crook of his elbow and into his skin.

The woman keeps up with his speed. “Will you help me?”

“Too late to pop the question, lady,” he scowls underneath his hat, “What the hell are you doing?”

Beneath various neon lights and a wisp of blond hair underneath the hood, within a glance, Wolffe finally takes in her anxiousness, almost fear, latching onto the olive green fractals of her eyes.

As if afraid that they're about to get caught, her gaze frantically flicks to the street across and behind them in wariness. Glaring at him now with urgency, she presses on, “Will you help me? Yes or no?”

Wolffe makes a discreet move to pull away again while putting forward the littlest bit of courtesy that hopefully conveys how uncomfortable and offensive it is to his personal space only to fail again. The harsh sigh coming out of him is totally capable of making Mace Windu himself squirm in his seat. “Lady, I'm not gonna–”

“You're not gonna help me?” she asks in disbelief, her features twisting into bafflement.

As if she's surprised a stranger's gonna help her–

Alright, okay, when she puts it that way, that ain't right, okay? That makes him, on the spot – tight spot – trying so hard to channel whatever peace of mind and all that Jedi osik his General tells him about once in a while.

“Depends on what kind of help,” he eventually answers with seriousness, a bit gentler but leaves the sharp bite somewhere in that sentence to, y'know, convey how disturbed he is ‘cause he loves his me-time especially during hard-earned leaves like this, thank you very much.

She scoffs, “That how you act when people ask for help?”

Stars, and he's been trying to be polite. Something tangible within an arm's reach is definitely about to kriffing snap if in five seconds she's offers no explana–

“Nico, hey!”

The woman stops walking, making Wolffe stop walking as well. Curiously, warily, he sees her visibly cringing, shoulders going up to her ears. Then she looks up to the sky and sighs heavily as if tossing why me? to whatever divinity that exists in the cosmos, before quickly striking a totally fake smile that Wolffe suddenly finds the talent quite impressive.

“Shon!” She had turned around and curiosity took over Wolffe even more. Despite her cheery tone, her grasp onto his uniform tightens and is wrinkling the fabric. “What are you doing here?”

A Pantoran male, silver hair and golden facial markings shimmering in neon lights, grins up at her between pants catching his breath, evidence of having to run to catch up. “Caught you from the other side of the street,” he says, jabbing a thumb backwards in general direction, “Couldn't resist to at least say hi.”

The woman lets out a flat laugh. “Okay.”

Another awkward pause of staring in silence with the Pantoran looking at her hopefully like a wet massiff in front of one's door. Wolffe makes no move.

“Now that you've said your hi, goodbye!”

Spinning on her heels, she tugs Wolffe along.

“That’s it?”

Wolffe clicks his tongue in annoyance as they stop again. Look, man, he just wants to go back to HQ and sketch late into the night…

“Yeah why?” The woman sharply turns around, a long stream of blond tress escapes her hood and sits over her shoulder. “You've done your business, which is saying hi to me, so it's time for me to be going about my own business, right?”

Wolffe can practically feel her tense body since she's stuck to him, sensing frustration bleeding off her shoulders.

“I don't just wanna say hi, Nic,” the Pantoran shakes his head sadly. He takes a step closer, hands in front of his chest aiming for a peaceful resolve. “Look, for everything that we had–”

“I don't wanna hear it, Shon.”

And with that, it clicks with Wolffe. The running into ex and latching onto strangers pretending to be the new guy to get out of the situation situation. The woman, Nic or Nico, makes it crystal clear she doesn't wanna see this Pantoran guy Shon. Quietly sighing, and ultimately deciding to play along just in case he needs to meddle in when someone's about to get hurt, Wolffe reluctantly dismisses his personal frustration for the time being.

“I said it,” the woman – Nico – continues, now seething, “I put my foot on it. It's done. For good, Shon. You get me?”

Shon groans. “C'mon, you're just playing me being like this.”

She recoils in mock shock. “Who says I'm playing?”

“Maker, I just miss you alright? Just quit playing this game, please?”

“Who says I'm quitting on playing?” Her tone rises angrily, stomping forward to make her point clear, “We're over, Shon! Fuck off! I don't wanna see you again!”

Shon, now positively fuming, clenches his fists and nears their guarded vicinity. “You know you don't mean that!”

At another step from the Pantoran, Wolffe shoves himself forward. “If the lady says she doesn't want to see you again, that means you should leave now.”

Shon stares at him aghast, as if just noticing that the sidewalk never belongs to the bickering not-couple after all. Onyx eyes bulge in shock, as if the cruel world betrayed him of many credits, and flicking back and forth between the clone and the woman behind his shoulder.

“Who's this?” Blue hand pointing slowly. Golden facial markings twist in evident disgust. “New boy toy? So fast after throwing me away?”

“Great!” Nico quips cheerily. As if accepting the assuming scenario wholeheartedly, her hand is now grabbing Wolffe's, the notion apparently is too much to his reflexes that he twitches. “Now that you're aware we're already over, go home and fuck yourself. Goodbye!”

“A clone, Nico?!” Shon yells in disbelief just as they turn around. Several passersby turn in their direction at the raise of tone. “Wow.” Fists clenching, the Pantoran scoffs and shakes his head offended. “Your standard's been free falling, huh?”

Wolffe is half-expecting Nico to march forward and smack the blue son of a droid across the face, but her blasé expression betrays his confident assumption, as if already used to this sort of altercation every single day.

“You know what,” Nico snarls, “I've been kind enough not to shove a kriffing restraining order in your face!”

“I just want you to wake up!” Shon protests, emotion blaring behind onyx eyes, “We were so good together, we were perfect! How'd you end up with a clone, out of all people?!”

Wolffe rolls his eyes. That restraining order sounds like a good idea just about now, actually. The whole ordeal is just fucking disgusting. And oh, right, the piece of kriff said something as if they're objects lacking relationship standards. Just another Taungsday.

“Well maybe because I like him! Maybe because of the fact that we're already over! You hear that?! What we were is a far cry from what you see as perfect.” Nico pants over frustration, every word spat as if toxic. “Go home, Shon. Don't make me call the police!”

Wolffe bites the inside of his lip to hold his smirk in. No he’s not humoring himself with the absurdity of the scenario, but it's just amusing to watch the former couple bickering in the middle of the sidewalk. So much fighting over disagreement, and then there's him, a war front-liner himself, fighting over another kind of disagreement.

So using that persona, Wolffe joins in on the fun and puffs out his chest, putting on his most disgusting scowl, and takes a menacing step forward to the already cowering Pantoran.

“I'm gonna ask you to leave now.”

Just this once. Then he can go back to being disgusted by the entire predicament as he's supposed to be, like usual, like how his vode describe him. Civilians are weirdos anyway.

One of few things Nico is grateful for today, next to sneaking out to her favorite Corellian buckwheat noodle joint in the lower levels without being noticed, is the clone who she randomly chose to be her escape and savior of the day is finally picking up on what's going on.

He’d been stiff and even tried to yank his arm away earlier, a quick glance to his sharp features showed he was actually ticked off that she threw herself onto him… in her defense, she needed it. Anything to avoid Shon. That blasted son of a gundark just can't suck it even after breaking up a year ago.

Now the clone stands tall, shoulders and back rigid and fists clenched loosely by his sides, an easy scare to anyone as scaredy as Shon.

“You're gonna regret this, Nic.” Shon’s onyx eyes flit in her direction, nostrils flaring. “You and your clone boyfriend.”

Nico huffs boredly. “Yeah?” She decides to call the whole thing done, so she reaches out to the clone and tugs on his sleeve. “Can't wait to see what you're gonna do, Shon.”

“I'm going to fucking destroy you!” the Pantoran shouts as they're already two buildings away.

“Yep, looking forward, bye!”

Nico counts to ten just in case Shon's still standing there gaping in all his toxic obsession, before she removes her grip on the clone and slides in front of him.

“I’m really sorry for all that,” she immediately says with a small smile that she hopes is apologetic enough, guilt overcoming her for dragging a stranger into her mess. “Can I, uh, treat you to something to make up for it?”

The clone shakes his head. “No need. Just doing what anyone would've done.”

“C'mon, I insist!” Nico urges, readily jostling her shoulder bag in instinct to brandish a payment card. “That was a jerk ex with an obsession, and you handled him like a hero.”

“Sorry, but I have to refuse,” he says firmly. Nico catches some kind of an authority inflection in his deep voice. “And I should be going back to the barracks by now.” His feet shuffle a little as if ready to ditch her on the spot and scurry back to HQ.

“Oh well.” Nico shrugs. To be honest she almost forgets that he's also a war soldier. She’s just used to seeing Corries stationed on-world. “At least, if you'd like, walk me back to my apartment? S’not so far away from here.”

He's conflicted, that Nico can see. She never gives much care towards clones, let alone see one so close without their buckets. Amber brown eyes that seem to glow golden when light hits from a certain angle, sharp facial features under the hat that comes with the leave attire, and battle experience carved onto their features in soft facial lines. This one however, got a cybernetic fit into his right eye, an accompanying vertical scar tells the misfortune of losing the real one in a close combat.

Weird thing is, he acts like he doesn't recognize her. He'd been tense when she practically hugged his side but she brushed it off assuming he was just stunned to call her out. But now, where there's no more running into ex disturbance and the likes, he's clearly annoyed by her presence, meddling in his downtime and screwing his relaxed walk in the city, but can't really bring it up and throw the harsh facts into her face without all due respect.

Curious. He doesn't know her? She's just as famous as Jabba the Hutt! Butting heads in the ranks of fame, yeah, but she wins in the entertainment section by a landslide.

Nic Erlonna the actress, galaxy's sweetheart and most famous.

And this one clone doesn't even know her, though she's sure there's a lot of pin-ups of her somewhere in the army barracks.

A big sigh comes out of him before, “Alright.”

Nico claps her hands startling him. She holds back a snort. “But, uh, one quick stop, is that okay?”

“Only if I can make the whole trip plus the trek back to headquarters before 2200.”

She promptly ignores his flat dismissing tone. “Should be enough.” As they continue down the street with her in the lead, she then asks, “Can I at least get your name?”

“Best not.” His answer is abrupt, followed by a quiet but certain, “Sorry.”

Nico chuckles awkwardly. “Ah well. Stiff rules in the army, huh?” She's met with silence. He's not even looking at her, just at the path straight ahead. But she's not known to be silent either. “To be honest I don't really know what's been going out there. Just about there's a big galactic war and that's all.”

The clone shrugs subtly. “Don't really expect people to know so much.”

Nico hums. Makes sense. Like herself, case in point. “You fight in the front lines, trooper?” she asks again, earning a curt nod and nothing else that follows. Absentmindedly reading the neon signages as they pass, she decides to let it drop and leave him be to privacy. The least she can do for dragging him out of that very privacy not ten minutes ago, anyway.

They stop at a shop absent of any colorful neon signages. Tinted windows and an ornate decoration on its entry door, the amber neon sign only displaying a name of its owner, leaving passersby curious of what may be offered inside.

Nico’s gaze flicks momentarily to her involuntary companion. “Okay, here we are. Wait out here for a bit, if you don't mind.”

He wordlessly tells her he doesn't, and dutifully so near the store windows with one hand behind his back almost in parade rest, the other clutching his own paper bag. Then, she enters the shop with the knowledge that it may or may not be a newly purchased sketchbook in the paper bag he keeps close guard of. Heh. Clones with artsy hobbies.

An art supplies store, the top shelf kind. She's seen this often during her discreet commute, especially on her way back to her apartment. Pricey equipment and high quality paints worth of credits and more incoming credits if the artist that makes art stuff with these sells it to the highest bidder.

So when Nick walks out with a bigger paper bag in hand with nearly a tooka-like grin, she pretends the clone isn't looking at her suspiciously at all.

“Okay, all good. Let's go.”

The walk ain't long, much to Wolffe's surprise.

When they marched down the sidewalk in what he realized as the most high-end residential area in the heart of Coruscant, a looming apartment building kept jutting out amongst many others, the most lavish looking out of them all. And the longer they walked, the closer that particular apartment got. It took him another moment to realize that they really were walking in that direction.

“How’s your commute back?” Nico casually asks him as they approach the lobby, warm amber light illuminating their figures.

“Walking,” mutters Wolffe.

“Wait. Seriously?” Nico exclaims, peeking into the lobby through the glass doors to see the chronometer on the wall. “Why not get a cab?”

Credits spent on that aren't worthy when a five minute walk to the nearest shuttle headed to HQ.

“I prefer walking.”

An unamused scoff escapes her lips. “I hope you're joking. We’re not having that. I'm not having that.” Suddenly she takes off running to enter the building. “I'll call a cab for you! Hang in there, alright?”

His protests fall deaf on… well, nothing. Nico is already inside leaning over the receptionist counter, vigorous movements of hands and head nods and hasty smiles to make quick of the endeavor… calling a cab home for a clone.

And Wolffe just really hates it where he's got to be polite from now on that somebody is paying for his convenience. Like he's owing them. And he can't pay back since he's got nothing on him. Indebted. It's as if the floor and the ceiling are pinning down on him. Why the hell did he even agree to walk her back if it's gonna come to him owing someone? Owing her?

“All good!” Nico runs back outside to meet him. “Cab headed to GAR will be here in another minute.”

Wolffe sighs, guilt swallowing him even deeper. “Ma'am, really, I–”

“No, no, my words are final. Don't worry about anything,” Nico interrupts him, “You get in a cab to your HQ, and with this.”

The bigger laminated paper bag he’d forgotten about is suddenly thrust into his hands, the size and the texture of the carrier itself looking comically different to the humble one he acquired from his usual art supply store. Never being so generously gifted, he can only gape, mouth slightly parting and the insides of his stomach whipping up emotions alien to him.

Kark she bought this… for me?

“Please just take it as my gratitude for standing up against Shon,” Nico says abruptly, her tone almost commanding, before words of refusal leave his tongue. “But if it's against your rules and stuff then I dare you to chuck it down the lobby.”

Judging by the look of the bag and how weighty it is, it makes him wonder what could be inside… Yeah no.

“...Thank you.”

No regulations explicitly stating on owning personal belongings anyway. The least he can do then is to accept it… and not be a dick. Those are possibly hundreds of credits in his hands. It could've been bottles of alcohol. So yeah, no chucking it down the lobby.

The cab arrives. Wolffe has never been so desperate to be home after a night out before.

“Get home safe, trooper,” Nico says after he climbs into the seats, ducking to the cab's window level so she can bid him bye.

Wolffe stares long at her, noting how the hood of her poncho had come off and spilling blond hair everywhere about her shoulders. He gives a curt nod. “You too, ma'am.”

She smirks. “Well I'm already here.”

His ride ascends to the skylane zipping along the traffic. Wolffe leans back, neck rested against the padded cushion as he mulls over what the heck just happened to him tonight… A week long extraction mission to the Mid Rim, returned, and… whatever this is.

He reaches for the paper bag. The lux one.

“Kriff,” he mutters under his breath, gaping wholly to the contents inside.

Five high-grade non-smudge flimsi sketchbooks (the label says it's imported from Kashyyyk). A portable sketching kit. A dozen fine liner styluses of various widths. Three dozen high-quality graphite styluses of various hardness. A sizable organizer clutch that could definitely hold every single tool that's left cluttered inside a single shelf under his desk. A watercolor paint set of 108 shades. And all those are of high-end brands he'd only get to hear so much about, but never been able to buy.

As a humble and barely-hanging-on artist, all those are just… dreams come true.

Reaching further, Wolffe peels off a sticky flimsi note and, under the low light of the cab, examines it.

Saw your sketchbook(?) Hope you're into drawing or this is gonna be a really awkward gift –Nic

As if it's entirely made out of glass, Wolffe gently put the bag next to him on the seat. All that was definitely worth hundreds of credits… and knowing her just tossing money for someone as unworthy and insignificant as him…

Let's rewind then. He went to buy more supplies, Nico sidled up to him, Shon happened, walking her back, and that's when it got worse.

She spent hundreds of credits after apparently catching a glimpse of his little shopping endeavor and called him a cab home, all in her tab. She's stupid stinking rich.

Now here he wishes it was liquor instead so he can sober up from the overwhelming and unnecessary kindness. But to be honest, it'd be blatantly thankless and stupid of him to reject gifts…

He's a clone. He'd never been gifted abundantly by anyone ever, anyway.

“WOLFFE YOU SLICK SON OF A DROID!”

Wolffe slurps on his pureed soup. “Mornin’, Boost.”

“MUST BE A GOOD MORNING TO YOU, SIR.”

He sighs. “Look, if you don't stop screaming, m’gonna pull rank and make you run ‘round the shipyard, get it?”

Boost snickers. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He plops down on the bench across the commander. “But with all due respect, respectfully sir, would you kindly tell me all the good juice about your date last night?”

Wolffe stops halfway slurping. He swallows.

“Date?”

“Don't play dumb, sir,” Sinker guffaws next to Comet. He brings up a datapad. “Here, take a look. Should help you. It's all over the holo–”

“WHERE IS HE?!”

Heavy, stomping steps boom throughout the bustling mess hall. It's not even 0800 yet, and Wolffe sighs at that particular voice pitch, at the slight hoarse quality of it. Within a slight turn of the head in the direction of the door, is a sight of his brother in all his 212th white and orange glory, fuming as if he's been foul-played and is now begging for justice. And of kriffing course, being in possession of most excellent eyesight out of the command bunch, Cody picks the slight movement out of the crowd, definitely catching Wolffe's permascowl too, and he's grinning maniacally that his temple scar creases as he immediately makes his way over.

“WOLFFE YOU BIG UGLY SON OF A DROID!”

At that very moment, Wolffe is certain his sanity is depleting as quick as the cheap beer in 79s during collective clone trooper leaves.

“Can everybody stop yelling and just tell me?!” he snarls, making sure it reaches neighboring tables. He sharply turns to Cody and half-exclaims impatiently, “What d’ya want?”

Cody pauses a few steps away, his armored shoulders heave in deep determined breaths, expression hurt and utterly betrayed.

“YOU WENT OUT WITH NIC ERLONNA?!”

Wolffe recoils, his frustration simmering to the brim. “Who the hell is Nic Erlonna?”

“You don't know?” Comet voices his shock, sharing a baffled look with the other two. “That's the girl you went out with last night!”

“I didn't go out with anyone!” It may look like a weak ass response but whatever, as long as it's the truth. There was Nico but… can't be the same person, right? He eyes his squad members. “And what's it got to do with me? How the hell did you even find out?”

“It’s all over the holonet.” Sinker finally nudges the datapad in his Commander's direction, having been held by Cody's imposing presence. “Here,” he says, biting down on his lip to not laugh. Wolffe glares at him but he doesn't waver, amber eyes under dyed pale hair twinkling with mirth. “Seems you made headlines and hot news and everything gossip, sir.”

Wolffe's cold glare remains two seconds longer before he observes the presented article.

⚝── ⓗⓞⓣ ⓖⓐⓛ ⓒⓞⓡⓤⓢⓒⓐⓝ-ⓣⓔⓐ ──⚝

𝐍𝐢𝐜 𝐄𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚: 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐢𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲?!

Surely a surprise to the whole galaxy, but a welcome one! Reported just last night in Triple Zero, Nic Erlonna was seen walking down the streets in one of the commercial districts arm in arm with– wait for it… a clone trooper! Honestly, that grey uniform is trademark downtime clone fashion already – it means they're on leave after an off-world campaign! Aside from that it could've been a romantic-patriotic motive (to which maybe some of us wouldn't complain because we understand that these boys really do have charms, okay?), is Nic making a bold move onto politics with our boys in white? Diplomatic much, Nic? But maybe MAYBE she just fancies them the way some of us do? Our zine is absolutely not pro-Shonic, and hasn't been, long before they broke up last year (good riddance!), so we're already flocking to this unexpected pairing! #clonic

Cody now definitely and intentionally is doing things to irk him further, peering over his shoulder to catch the article on the datapad making Wolffe half tempted to drive his elbow back and hit the di’kut in the crotch. Swear to kriff he can feel Cody's glare burning hot plasma holes into the back of his head.

“Can't believe I’m betrayed as kark,” Cody says, his voice trembling with childish resentment. “And I call you my brother.”

Wolffe exaggeratedly rolls his eyes as he returns the datapad. “I don't owe you anything, Cody.”

“Wrong, vod. You owe me everything.” Both of Cody's hands clap onto Wolffe's shoulders, startling the Living Force out of him. The gloved fingers slip between his armor plates and start massaging. “How’d you meet her? You two been goin’ a long time? You two kriffin’ yet?”

Wolffe roughly shrugs him off and without looking, he actually drives his elbow to hit Cody in the crotch, only to meet air, as Cody jumps out of the way and casually pops up on the other side.

“We just met,” he grumbles, turning back to his pureed soup, “Nothing more and nothing less about it.”

Boost humors him by chuckling. “Yeah, you met the dick ex Shon, right?”

He wishes it wasn't just a ‘met’. He wishes it was more than ‘met’. Like, decking the Pantoran toxic crybaby across the face, maybe. It would've been a funny story to tell at the moment.

Then of course he gets reminded by the lavish art supply gifts, still untouched on his desk and everytime he looks at it he still feels kinda guilty.

Wolffe sighs and goes to rub his eyes. Look at him. Not even 0800 yet and he's exhausted as kark, especially with Cody's irking presence. He suddenly understands Fox's rare yet loud sleep-deprived complaints when they get on holo. Though the Corrie definitely doesn't share Wolffe's current further exhaustion and frustration catalyst, but damn is the feeling similar.

“Look,” he grumbles into his hands, “Now that I'm apparently the talk of the rotation, I'm gonna clarify that there's nothing going on.” Then he turns to Cody and emphasizes every single word; “I. Don't. Even. Know. Her.”

Cody's loud dramatic gasp startles even the neighboring tables. Not even one of them knew the Marshal Commander of the 7th Sky Corps is capable of dramatics. No matter how unbelievable that is, anyway, must’ve gotten it from the general, and emphasized by the other general and Togrutan padawan.

“YOU DON'T KNOW NIC ERLONNA?!”

“Fuck’s sake–!” Wolffe swats him in the stomach. Cody is not even dodging. “Stop yelling!”

“YOU DON'T KNOW 14 TIMES OSK’ARR NOMINATED AND 5 TIMES BEST ACTRESS WINNER NIC ERLONNA?!”

Patience running thin, Wolffe swiftly turns around and starts swinging his arms.

“Get the kriff out Cod–! oof–” Cody’s knee suddenly slams into his vulnerable stomach, and Wolffe stiff-arms him again, trying his best not to hit the table behind him and spill this morning’s bowl of pureed soup onto the table. “Fuckin’ hell–”

He manages to stretch, swinging his other leg over the bench, and in a split second triumphantly thrusts his leg out into Cody's knees, all while sitting down and sending Cody reeling backwards in surrender. A victorious smirk slides into Wolffe's face, only not to last long as Cody suddenly aims for his head in blinding speed, the sudden assault he manages to block with both of his arms save for Cody's other hand that quickly slips through the defenses and successfully smacks Wolffe across the head.

Laughing while finally walking away like the little shit he is, Cody turns, going backwards in his path. “M’gonna holo Rex and scoop up more juice from the 501st,” he announces, then he cups his hands around his mouth, “Letting vod'ika know that his ori’vod is dating galaxy's famous!”

Wolffe swallows as waves of realization storm him at that moment.

Nic Erlonna… Nico… Nic… that little sticky note…

Kriff does that mean…

Hood over her head. Lavish apartment. Lavish gift. People talking.

Fuck me. That was a real kriffing celebrity.

“You look… unhappy about all this, sir.”

“It’s paps,” Boost says to Comet, “Paps are never fun. Invading your privacy and all.”

“And the fact that the whole thing wasn't going in my favor at all.” Wolffe turns and sits properly again at his firstmeal tray. The protein cubes suddenly look unappetizing. He sighs, eyes sweeping across his three squad members. “It was just a small altercation and I had to step in. Bet you know why.”

“Shon Vatore is her co-star in various holos,” Sinker resourcefully chimes in again, “His obsession with her eventually became too much and she broke up with him for good just last year, but he hadn't been taking it well, as you could see.”

“Crazy ex,” Comet shakes his head, “Couldn't leave her alone. I mean they broke up last year. Someone should've admitted him to a psych hospital or som’n.”

Sinker swallows his food. “Not issuing a restraining order against him is what I don't understand.”

Kark me they're just as bad as Cody. Just how invested are they in Nic Erlonna?

“Yeah you gotta admit the ex was creepy as kark, Wolffe.” The commander looks up from his carbs at the call of his name. Boost looks at him expectantly. “You met him. Thoughts?”

There's a royal string of curses and disrespectful names lined up already.

“Delusional. Intrusive,” Wolffe answers instead (because he's still got dignity and exemplary traits in him that he needs to exhibit to his men). He huffs. “Stupid.”

“Most of the galaxy agrees with you, don't worry,” Sinker laughs. He then nods at Wolffe with respect, and a teasing glint in his eyes. “Very heroic of you, Commander.”

“Believe me, I didn't even speak more than two lines to the di'kut when it happened.”

“No, no, that may be true, but you and your scary-looking presence are helping the media to cook exaggerated stories to gush over in the morning after,” Boost unhelpfully offers.

“It's just news,” Wolffe shakes his head dismissively, “Something that people are going to forget after four-five days. Or maybe even three.”

The trio shares a look, already knowing just how wrong their commander's statement would be. But for now, they spare him a quiet firstmeal, before more people would definitely flock to him and throw teasing questions about the alleged relationship in approximately… two hours, minimum.

Or maybe in fifteen minutes the moment they stroll down the corridor.

“How did you even end up with a clone, Nico?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Mummy, that's the tenth time people's been saying to my ears today and it's not even 0900,” she sighs, “I was in need of a way out. He walked past, then I thought a clone was a good idea.”

“Alright I understand then, honey,” Mummy speaks softly. Nico imagines her mother pouting, arms on the railing of her parent’s bedroom's balcony. “Those paps weren't going easy on you, were they?”

“Like they ever did,” Nico huffs, picking on her breakfast, “I wasn't even aware of them just across the street. According to that still’s angle in Ecumenopolitan.”

A straight amateur shot towards the altercation, but it was clear enough to catch her face even underneath her hood and his underneath his hat, with Shon was fuming as kriff. Must've been during the last moments where the clone positioned himself in front of her.

“They've got a clear shot on this clone too,” Mummy mulls again, “That huge scar over his eye, ugh.”

“Cybernetic,“ Nico supplies, “How many clones do you think in the army fitted with cybernetic eye?”

Mummy hums. “Not much, I think. What cut him so bad he lost an eye?”

Nico stands, having cleaned her plate, and heads to the kitchen. “Beats me, Mummy, but I've got Veeli to go look for this clone.”

“Okay then,” Mummy sighs dramatically, “Gotta go, honey. Your father's waiting. Remember what I taught you; people who help you when you're in trouble–”

“–are the ones we should pay back with kindness. Talk later, Mummy.”

This morning so far has been filled with her overthinking and brooding about the circulating rumors, and specifically feeling bad for the clone. The unwanted attention must be most undesirable for him. For a clone, called ‘property of the Republic’... Yeah that's definitely gonna cause more problems that haven't risen, demanding her management's attention to act in urgency. Like, summoned by the head of the government for meddling with what's theirs…

“Your ingenious move now puts you in all these delicious rumors.”

Her manager Titus strides in through the elevator, Veeli in tow. Veeli is a Mikkian, always in her hand is a datapad, being Nico's personal assistant and all, scarlet skin painted with neutral and all-business facial expression. The accompanying yellow-skinned Zabrak, however, sports an enthusiastic grin across his tattooed face as he rubs his hands together.

“Right?” Nico calls out from the couch, watching them marching in. Her tone changes to actual concern, voicing her inner turmoil. “Though I really didn't mean to. I think I'm putting the clone in too much trouble already. His identity hasn't leaked yet, right?”

Titus shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “If those clones have social media they haven't ratted him out yet.”

Veeli butts in, datapads clutched close to her chest, “Well, to answer Nic's question; no, but it's gonna be any second now if anyone would interview a single clone trooper.”

Nico holds her scoff in. “How could anyone possibly identify a single clone trooper anyway? Even within their ranks? What are the chances?”

Veeli looks hesitant for a second. She trades a look with Titus who had taken his liberty to sit on the couch across Nico. He shrugs. Veeli lets out a breath. “For starters,” she begins, “The guy last night was a Clone Commander in the army.”

In a second Nico hunches forward, elbows on knees.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I'm not,” Veeli answers seriously, now tapping in her datapad, “I had a friend in the GAR medwing who was willing to look through the medical archives. Turns out not everyone lost an eye due to lightsaber wound, so the archive search was unnecessary. His number is CC-3636.”

“Um… Number?”

“Identification number. Serial number. Whatever you wanna call it.”

Nico lets out a noise at the knowledge. Right, they're dubbed as products, anyway. Born with serial numbers makes sense.

“He got a name?”

Veeli is scrolling now. “Hang on… uh, yeah. Army Clone Commander Wolffe of the 104th Battalion.”

“Either way the whole kriffing galaxy now thinks you're dating a clone,” Titus asserts, arms now splaying over the top of the couch. He subtly points at Nico. “That sends political impressions to the public, so I think you need to prepare for shit thrown at you.”

Nico rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, that's the classic Centaxday for me, Titus.”

“Nic, this is huge, okay?” the manager leans forward ardently, “Who knows someone up in the Chancellor office requests you for attendance? You were interacting with their property and now everyone's eyes are on that clone and you!”

“Yeah, and we can't forget Shon either,” Veeli butts in again.

A groan escapes Nico. Both hands scrub down her face as if able to just wipe her quiet frustration away all together. Feeling bad for the elusive clone commander by drawing attention to him, in addition to her auditions and modelling being scrammed together with daily workout sessions, and now, the audacity her ex seems to have yet again to approach her last night and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

“I think this is an opportunity.”

Titus is found grinning wickedly at her once she peeks through her fingers. Nico loves her manager alright, everything is in perfect control thanks to his excellent time management, but sometimes his ideas can be just too creative and daring to execute. See, that kind of smile, among his tattooed face and horns around copper hair smugly slicked back with a concerning amount of hair gel, is the face that manifests such ideas just exactly. But Nico always indulges him anyway.

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, hear me out.” Titus scoots to the edge of his seat enthusiastically. “You want Shon to be ridiculed for his treatment and obsession with you. You want the galaxy to hate him. And you're ‘dating’ this clone.”

Nico blinks. “Okay?”

“So show the media you're in a happy relationship with the clone.” Titus spreads his arms triumphantly as if having just pitched the most brilliant idea in the galaxy. “Drive every single love and attention to both of you, leave them gushing all over you, and Shon will be out of the picture soon enough because how good and happy you both are.”

Veeli is facepalming.

Nico shares the sentiment as she looks at the Zabrak in disbelief. “You can't be serious.”

Titus holds her gaze. “I’m as serious as I could ever be.”

“You want me to fake date a clone commander in the galactic army?”

“I want you to use the given gossip to your advantage. You can do anything, Nico. At a given opportunity. And this is it. Plainly handed to you.”

Titus may be great with time management and multitasking solely for her personal branding and public image and all, but sometimes his ideas and encouragement are just…

Nico is actually thinking about it. She can, can't she?

“Besides I think the clones don't look too bad,” Titus shrugs, “And he's a commander. He's the best one can get. We can schedule an appointment to talk to the Chancellor about this, or I don't know, wait for an attendance request from his office, whichever’s faster. Farfetched, not to mention ridiculous, but as far as I know, he's a fan, so we'll see if he could go around the rules for a bit?” He laughs gushingly into his hands. “Maker, new power couple smacking everyone in the face.”

“I can't believe you're shipping her already,” Veeli grumbles, her floating tendrils flicking the air almost in disappointment.

“Hey, not gonna lie, they look great! I dunno how friendly this guy is, but there's certainly chemistry going on already!” Titus laughs, “And that Hot Gal Coruscan-tea ship tag is genius. I know I've always liked them. They came up with hashtag ‘clonic’ for clone and Nic, but now that we know the commander's name, the fanbase better be prepared for-” he makes a whooshing noise while wiggling his fingers around “–Nicolffe.”

Collective groans from both ladies. Utter disappointment from Veeli. Flustered woozy feelings from Nico.

Oh yeah that's right. She's falling for it already. Look at her, she's blushing. Seeing how pinkish Nico's face is, Titus is feeling absolutely victorious right now. Proud of his own (very serious and strategically pitched) joke remains an understatement.

Not gonna lie. Physically speaking, they are oh so excellent. Fit physique – she's almost as tall by a few inches. Killer cheekbones that she could cut herself slapping that face. Jawline game running strong. Those wide shoulders. Exotic bronze shade of skin. Deep, rugged voice, tinged with steadiness and military harshness and wartime experience. Brown eyes that shine when light hits them in a certain angle as if the doors to the heavens above open during the golden hours.

She clears her throat. Blame it to stupid infatuations happening in under 24 hours.

“Okay I admit these copy paste faces aren't that bad,” she mutters sheepishly, voice muffled as her hands still pressed against her face.

Titus barks a laugh. “So you admit it's a good idea! And it's not like we can hire a bounty hunter to off your ex.”

“We can. She just doesn't wanna,” Veeli pitches in.

“And so social resentment is the only way,” Titus says matter-of-factly. “And you've got a galaxywide fanbase! Use it, Nico!”

Before allowing herself to think thrice about it, determination whirrs to life inside her, and Nico finds herself smirking.

“Think I could put up a smug face in the Chancellor's office?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I would!”

“REALLY?!”

“Sure! It's gonna feel like autographing holoposters, I guess. These gunships wouldn't be any different. I'd do anything to make the 104th famous and glorious as I am.”

“Ugh, I love you so much, Nic.”

“I know babes, I love you too.”

“Alright, lines done. Gonna have a hard time choosing your dress… or maybe swimsuits? Oh, uh… sorry.”

“Babes, choose whatever item of clothing you want! Just don't paint me stark naked. As much as I want the Republic to win the war I don't want the Seps to write off the cause of death in their casualty reports with ‘inappropriate body exposure.”

“HAHA! Oh stars you're so funny. Think I'll do swimsuits later.”

“As long as you get my boob size right! I'll be offended otherwise!”

“Any favorites from your Nedd Gala red carpet?”

“Hmm… Oh, that's gotta be that royal blue one with the cape and silver headpiece.”

“The off-shoulder one with a lot of tiny silver stars and thigh slit?!”

“That's the one!”

“YES! MY FAVE TOO! Stars you were an absolute goddess in that one…”

Wolffe expects every single thing to happen this morning (fellow 104th troopers flocking to him, Cody's occasional hazing, Rex's bland and sheepish holo messages, Fox's sleep deprived rants, Bly’s lovesick rants, General Koon’s paternal check-ins with the boys) but never, ever, the sole source of his week-long misery as mentioned above casually merry-making in the 104th hangar with his men as early as 1000.

Especially not about autographed gunship nose art.

Of her stupid famed holomovie gloriousness.

Nor about how his general is standing nearby, hands on hips, looking so terribly proud of the boys’ art endeavors.

As he approaches closer, helmet clipped to his belt, he spots multiple empty drink carriers stacked on top of a crate, and– Force’s sake, Warthog is slurping on a stupid pink drink with a spark of spoiled childish excitement in his eyes. Comet is munching on some snack with orange powder on top of it that makes Wolffe do a double take thinking it's a royal sprinkle of goddamn spice.

Nic Erlonna, reeking pure feminine charm and expensive perfume, is gracing the hangar with her presence; blond hair loose and done in soft curls, sunglasses perched on top of her head as if expecting a royal star fighter ride out under the sun, and some iced drink in her hand (who drinks iced drinks at 1000?). Her statuesque figure, wrapped with some monochromatic smart casual getup. Wolffe registers a certain shade of grey in her attire that looks too familiar…

Oh.

Stupid rich people and their tailored making-a-statement clothes.

Of kriffing course the grey matches his battalion’s markings with incredible accuracy.

And to be honest it goes well with her hair and her eyes–

“Hey, darling!”

Before he can register who-where-what, ohshit happens. That reeked perfume suddenly gets too close to his nostrils than moments ago as he realizes the devil lunges herself into him, affectionately touching his chestplate and pecking him in the cheek.

It all happened in under four seconds.

Then his fight or flight instinct kicks in.

“Geroff–!” He shoves her away from his beloved personal space by her shoulders, only earning a nonchalant toothy grin acting as if the hostile gesture didn't happen. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“An impromptu meet and greet with your brothers. I didn't know you clones could be this fun!” Hopping up and down on her feet (those are Force-forsaken damned heels) she excitedly gestures behind her, his own men waving back at him with elated expressions on each and every one of their faces as if winning a million credits in the lottery. Wolffe scowls back (in greeting too). Kark, he's never felt this betrayed before.

“And before that, a quick meeting with your general.”

Wait, what?

Plo Koon suddenly appears next to her.

Wolffe blinks. “Ah. Uh… General, sir.” He half-assed straightens, still completely thrown off by the whole thing.

The General looks at him in utter amusement. “I’m afraid I have other business to attend to, Commander,” he says, “I trust you to accompany Miss Erlonna until she sees it fit to leave the establishment?”

Kark me.

Resisting to roll his eyes, Wolffe clears his throat. “Yes, sir,” he grits out with all due respect, “Until she leaves.”

She kriffing giggles at that part.

The General turns to the woman. “Wolffe is my confidant. You’re already in good hands, Miss Erlonna.”

“Don’t I know it, sir. If something happens, it wouldn't be the first time for him to be the hero of the day.”

Nico’s smile seems genuine as it reaches her eyes, or maybe it's the acting skills to sweeten her behavior around government (or Jedi, whatever) figures.

They bid goodbye; Nico opts for the go-to have a nice day and Wolffe with a curt nod to the Jedi, and the Kel Dor himself with a friendly wave of the hand to them before marching away.

He wonders just how much time Plo Koon has wasted surfing on the holonet.

And then Nico slurps on her drink noisily next to him, making him slowly turn to her in disbelief.

Olive green eyes lazily blinking up at him. Then, she sighs, that confident and gleeful upbringing crumbling apart as Wolffe isn't backing down from glaring at her.

“Okay.” Her shoulders slump even further. “I understa–”

“Respectfully, you don't,” Wolffe sharply interrupts. He folds his arms across his chest. “Start explaining. Now.”

“I was just about to get to it before you interrupted, darling,” Nico smirks impishly. “Now, how about you take me on a walk so I can start explaining?”

Wolffe grimaces at the idea of walking around the premises with the gossip still running hot among the clones. “No. I want it here and now. What were you doing with General Plo Koon?”

“Talk,” Nico shrugs, swirling the ice in her drink. “Something about a mandate from the Supreme Chancellor himself upon my request.”

He snorts. “The Chancellor abide by your request?”

“I suppose because of my talent and charms!”

Kark me. Stupid famous rich peop–

“–so it's not surprising he's a massive fan of my holomovies and that he keeps up with the gossip.”

Okay look, he's been living the past week like a kriffing celebrity himself. It's a whole load of nightmare. Walking down every single corridor, heck even attending a session in the war room, grants him teasing glances from his brothers. It's driving him crazy. His only escape is no longer gunning away the targets in the shooting range, but locking himself inside his quarters doing certain things with stylus and flimsi.

Wolffe really hates when unanticipated things get thrown his way. Not a single briefing and they expect him to freestyle himself out of the situation. Sure he can do that with the CC programming and all, but if the news isn't as fun as the words request and Chancellor and gossip weaved into a single sentence with the source of his weeklong misery saying all that to his face, he'd be far more grateful. At least it'll spare him another grey hair. Looking back at himself, Fox is probably having the best month of his entire life right now.

And so as he registers it, processing it again and again, he just knows the entire world hates him right now.

“What did you do?”

Nico sips on her drink again. The straw comes off her lips with a pop. “This is going to be a really lengthy and serious discussion but with me in these heels, I'd really hate it if we're not sitting down. So, you have somewhere in mind?”

Sighing heavily and resolutely groaning, Wolffe turns around and storms out of her vicinity. The click-clack of her heels resound through the durasteel flooring of the hangar as she catches up to him half running. Wolffe scoffs. In four inches? It's impressive. It's a wonder she hasn't tripped yet. He quietly hopes she'll stagger or something.

She doesn't. She follows him in stride, hurried pace matching his own albeit a few steps behind. A few passing clones gasp and call out to her in adoration, to which she answers in passing.

“Sure, hand me a permanent stylus, I'll sign your armor!

“I’ll catch up to you later babes!

“A still? In a minute, okay, babes? He's walking too fast, haha…

“Oh yeah, with this getup I do support the 104th fully. And the entire Grand Army of the Republic!

“Where am I going? Oh y'know, somewhere private.”

Holy kriff. She did not just say that.

Wolffe slams his fist into a panel to one of the assembly rooms, the door swooshing open at his proximity. Both then enter, the click-clack of her heels now is a false and horrendous symphony to his ears, tickling the big bad resentful beast down in the bottom of his gut. The noise stops, followed by a soft grunt and another noise of plopping down a cushioned seat. When Wolffe turns around, Nico is already situated, one leg over the other, eyes on him in serious anticipation.

Frustration still comes out of him in heaving breaths as he bores down to her. “You have exactly three minutes.”

“Very commanding, but I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that.” Nico clicks her tongue dismissively. “I believe you've heard what's been circulating around the holonet?”

At that, Wolffe scowls. His arms cross over his chest. “S’not been going in my favor.”

Her grin grows even wider. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She subtly points her drink cup at him. “So the word is, the galaxy's most famous actress is dating a clone trooper of the army. How did they meet? How could she set her bar that far too low? Well, it's simple. I fell in love and swooned over your patriotism and heroism, and now the whole Grand Army of the Republic is under my patronage as well because of my kindness and compassion towards these clones.”

Wolffe laughs. Swear to Force laughs. “Have fun dreaming. You just fabricated that the moment you woke up this morning.”

Nico giggles along. “Exactly, darling. But, hm, it's last week actually. But! We're dating now, whether you like it or not. Well I, for one, like it.”

“I don't,” Wolffe grunts, the dry humor dissipating completely from his eyes.

Nico doesn't reply. With the smug smile gracing her painted lips, she sits there almost contentedly, olive green eyes seeming to assess the moment and taking every smallest movement he makes as his reaction. The drink in her hand is almost empty leaving the ice, with red lip stain on the top of the straw.

“I'm not finished yet,” she says to him, still smiling, maybe to show how nice she is (she really isn't she's a kriffing devil), with an additional ounce of seriousness, “Allow me to backtrack. The morning after that encounter with my dick ex Shon, you bet the holonet was full with pictures of you and me and the devil himself at that side of the street. People speculated, and somewhere in those twelve hours, you and me became us.”

Sighing deeply, he shuts his eyes.

“Now the whole purpose of this pretend relationship setting is to take Shon Vatore out of the picture. He's narcissistic, he's obsessed with me, he's disgusting, he's a dick, alright?” Nico goes on determinedly. “I want him out of my life, and you might be the only one who could help me.”

Wolffe’s eyelids crack open. He's sure he was just hearing the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard in his life. There are certainly other ways to do it that don't involve him.

“If you want it so bad to ‘take him out of the picture’,” he suggests darkly, “why not hire a bounty hunter instead?”

Nico is unfazed. “Both my assistant and manager have been coaxing me to do exactly that since ex and I broke up last year, believe me,” she shrugs, meeting his gaze, “But if I do that, my reputation will crumble and my good public image will cease to diabolical. My fans wouldn't hate me for that but all tracks would obviously lead to me, and I'd be helpless in the court of law.”

Wolffe shakes his head, laughing in disbelief. “You big figures always have something up your sleeve if it comes to that.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, darling, that's not how I roll.” The straw plucks into the corner of her lips, and she sips noisily, eyes distant. Finishing, she inhales deeply. “I’m clean, believe it or not. Save for the tiny case of spice I use in desperate situations to numb the nerves and everything.”

“Get to the point,” Wolffe huffs impatiently.

“Hey you threw the ball,” Nico raises her hands, “So since blatant murder won't work in my favor, I've been relying on social resentment. I want people to hate him and forget him, and so I think you can help me with that.”

“I am a commander in the galactic army,” Wolffe growls, his feet carrying him forward dominantly. Nico hasn't fazed. “I fight war. I don't fight toxic former partners, and I'm not teaming up with the alleged innocent side of the story. I'm not gonna be your personal bodyguard.”

“Ah ah, there's a difference between bodyguard and boyfriend and you, my darling Commander, are the latter.”

“Tomato tomato, woman. I'm not–”

“I’ve proposed half of my annual earnings to the Grand Army of the Republic.”

She had shot up to her feet. He's still trying to register the words that came out of her when she joins him in his vicinity – too close for his own liking, her heels clicking too loudly, too close.

Nico stares him down, the impish look diminishes from her features and is replaced by intense seriousness. “That means from this year forward, I'll be financially supporting your military funds and your personal wellbeing and needs,” she says lowly, “Some or few, if not everything, will be under my name – effective immediately whenever the discussion comes around to a close in the next Senate session.”

Wolffe has been breathing noisily he hadn't realized, shoulders heaving to stow his aggravation as if contending against the worse fate of hers. No. His is much worse. He didn't ask for this.

“The length I choose to go through, Commander,” Nico continues. She takes one more step. Their chests now are barely touching. “I sacrifice my riches, a handful of my sponsors, my future projects, and probably half of my supporters throughout the galaxy turning into haters, just because I choose to strike a deal to play date with a clone.”

Before he can resist it, he averts his glare.

Nico sighs softly, “That means it says something about my political views, as I abandoned all of the above. Promises of something nice.” Her menacing tone dissipating, Wolffe hears. He focuses his eyesight on something else. “But this is nicer, even if it takes to play this game with you to get rid of my toxic ex boyfriend. And to be honest Commander, I'm not even mad about it.”

That makes him turn sharply to face her. Nico's jaws are no longer tense and nostrils no longer flaring. Mouth slightly agape as she exhales through it. For the first time that day Wolffe maps her countenance in close proximity, and finds himself baffled to the absence of the usual mirth and smugness.

Nico is pleading, though she doesn't say that out loud. Wolffe doubts she's the type to show weakness out loud. Instead, she sacrifices almost everything – all the luxurious privileges she owns. Career, profit, fame. Money, power, glory. All the winning hand, she forfeited some. Believing in another wave of luck that waits if she won't give away anything.

And now this is her set of cards – a hopeful, daring hand. If this order really comes straight from the Chancellor's office, with the official mail awaiting, he wouldn't have much choice anyways.

“All that for your ex?” Wolffe finds himself speaking. He shakes his head. “Not even worth it.”

A twitch of a smirk in her lips. “I play stocks, my credits are everywhere and limitless,” replies Nico, “And as long as I have a roof over my head and water to survive and a clear blue sky to look upon in hope, I'll live.”

Wolffe scoffs under his breath.

Nico ignores his input. “I approached the Chancellor with my proposition,” she says, smugness returning to her tone bit by bit, “Lucky he's a big fan. Big green from him. In return, by his wrinkly kindness, the old man agreed that I could borrow a certain asset of the Republic to fit my personal agenda.”

“You’re an idiot for even doing this.”

“You don't have a say in this. It's happening.”

“I’m not deaf.” With all courteousness thrown out of the airlock, he jabs a finger into her shoulder. “Just satisfied to say that to your face.”

Nico grabs his hand away and squeezes. The smugness makes its full return to her person as she smirks. “You're not my first hater, Wolffe. Whatever curse you're gonna hurl my way won't break me, and it certainly won't satisfy you.”

Kark, he hates that she's right. He's unsatisfied. Angrily, he breaks free from her grip. “I hate that we met that night,” he seethes.

“Such a whiny baby. You know what? You don't have a choice in this.”

“As if I’ve ever been presented with any.”

That gets her to shut up.

Wolffe takes a step back, relishing how the realization breaks into the countenance. This time it's his turn to smirk.

“Would you just… focus on the trade? I'll be direct about this, okay?” she shakes the confusion away, folding her arms on top of each other in weightiness. “We’re dating now, and me being in the spotlight every time I come out of my penthouse, once your name is out, you are too. I need you to follow all these social cues, the basics of it. What we natborns usually do, not bound by the code of your institution. You don't get it, you ask me, and I'll tell you what to do. Is that clear?”

He growls. “Are we always a property to you?”

Nico blinks. “It's… what's stated in the law.”

“Of course. I'm your slave now, mistress. Tell me what to do.”

“As if you're not a slave to the Republic yourself.”

“It’s different. We serve the Republic with a purpose!”

“The Republic you're serving is the same Republic whose military funds I aid very generously!” she raises her voice. “Wanna up me on that, or do we agree to disagree?”

There it is. The silence. That gets him to finally shut up and dismiss his upcoming protests.

Nico squares her shoulders and pretends to fix the buttons on her sleeve. “You’re allowed to come by to my place and spend time with me whenever you're on leave. Your general is coordinating your usual errands to be shared between your captains as we speak so everybody's prepared,” she continues, watching every twitch of reaction in his face, “So for you, no need to worry as much as you usually do about the upcoming campaigns. You still go out there, I won't hinder you, and I'll be your good little girlfriend waiting for you to come home. When you're on leave, you're allowed to be your own person.”

Nico is thankful she came to the Chancellor prepared, thanks to Titus and Veeli’s help.

The Commander still can't accept the truth. There's doubt still, she can see it. His glare is unwavering, and the way his jaw tenses and twitches in annoyance every now and then somehow spurs her on to defeat him in this useless argument.

To get him to see what more there is, she changes strategy.

“Commander,” she starts, “I did this for your men too. I pay for better rations, I pay for your men's needs starting from socks of higher quality, I pay for comfier mattress in your barracks, I financially support every single one of your brothers stationed on Coruscant. As the patron of the GAR, I'll make sure every single need is fulfilled. For the wellbeing of these men. And all you have to do?” Her arms spread, smirking. “Be my boyfriend in the fake dating scenario. And I assure you, Commander Wolffe, I'll be attending to your needs too. No matter how difficult. I'll give you anything you want.”

That gets Wolffe to not so subtly look up to meet her gaze.

“Anything I want?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just don't get any ideas about wanting the war to be over as we speak.”

It's not like he'd be left with a choice of what to do after the war is over, anyway. He's made exactly for that purpose, after all.

Wolffe is crumbling apart. Nico pushes further.

“Anything you think I have control of. Tell me, and it's yours. You just have to agree.”

He scoffs. “‘Just have to’?”

She nods up at him questioningly.

“You said it yourself,” he scowls, “It's as if I have a choice.”

“I don't either, okay?!” she yells, breathing sharply. “I wish it wouldn't be this difficult. I wish it would be just a random civilian so I wouldn't have to sacrifice my career prospects and a lot of my possessions, but the fates have been playing funny that they chose you. A clone commander of the army bound by so many rules, that I'd have to put on a forced smile and drink tea from a fancy set of cup and saucer in the Chancellor's office to practically ask for this stupid arrangement.”

Wolffe meets her gaze apathetically. “As I said,” he reiterates, turning around, “It’s been working in your favor only. Not mine.”

At the downward infection of his tone, she laughs. Laughs. She's certain Wolffe is just playing games now, and it's kriffing funny. His resolve has crumbled and he's denying shit now.

“Okay, Dramatic Closing Line. I see you've always been this horrible person.”

Silence, before a quiet, “Correct.”

“Not my first Kessel Run, I'm afraid,” she quips.

Wolffe hasn't moved further to the door, seemingly contemplating.

Nico sighs, her schedule swarming her mind. “Look, I'm tired, I still have to meet and greet more of the clones ‘cause I've promised, not to mention possibly running into another unit as we go, I've got modelling at 1500 and a dinner reservation at 2000.” Her heels click against the flooring as she nears him again. Softly, with her gaze drawn to the back of his black skirt thing, she speaks, “I just want this thing to go well in public. Put on a mask whenever we're out, you can hate me all you want behind closed doors. I just want you to act like we're the most powerful couple in the galaxy.”

Wolffe finally turns to face her again. The scowl is ever permanent on his face, still etched into the bronze tone of his skin. Nico wonders if he's been born with it and how his face isn't twitching in muscle soreness already.

It's an expectant scrutiny. Wolffe is expecting something from her.

She sighs, looking down to her heels this time, and internally goes wrecking-balling her smugness altogether.

“I'm sorry, for dragging you into this. I didn't have a choice, especially not when the media in Coruscant is this strong,” she gulps in sudden nervousness. Wolffe might be a bit… scary up close, especially with that scar. “And we have to work together… either way. So uh, why don't we start to warm up with a proper introduction first?”

Nico bats away her nervousness and cranks up her confidence again as she offers a hand.

“I'm Nic. Those close to me call me Nico, short from Nicosalis,” she says, smiling a bit and shuffling on her feet, “You can call me Nico too.”

Wolffe stares at her hand, frowning and all, as if deciding if it's toxic to the touch. With a sigh of his own, he probably decides to internally call for truce, seemingly fighting with his own morale.

He takes her hand, shaking it but firmly. “CC-3636.”

She blinks. “Huh. That's it?”

“Our given Basic names are sacred.”

“But I know your name already.”

“An adverse leak of information.”

“Don’t blame me for being famous due to butterfly kissing with a lightsaber,” she rolls her eyes. Wolffe meets her gaze, alarmed. She grins. “Being the most famous person in the galaxy even surpassing the Chancellor means having connections everywhere, my darling Commander.”

Wolffe rolls his eyes skywards, his head almost lolling back. Nico hides her snickers behind a hand.

“And since we're dating each other, Wolffe.” She goes as far as calling him by name now. “I’ll have to ask you that we need to be convincing. With occasional… public display of affection.”

Wolffe gives her no reaction.

“Is, um, is that a problem for you? You've got experience with this kinda stuff, right? You ever engaged in a relationship before?”

He sighs heavily. His voice is quiet when he admits, “Never romantic. Never long term.”

“Ah right, good ole stress release.” Nico nods genuinely in understanding. “I wish I could say I don't wanna make you uncomfortable for doing this, but I need us to look like we're completely in love. Not as sappy as children's fairytale, but I think you get it.”

Before she can register it, Wolffe suddenly drags his feet forward, boots thumping against the flooring. Their chests touch again.

“Public only,” he proposes.

“Deal,” Nico says quickly with a nod. Then, with a smirk, “Well, aren't we in public?”

Wolffe recoils slightly, a look of surprise – not disgust – on his features. “The hell? You horny or somethin’?”

“No. Maybe? Maybe not?” she finds herself giggling and arching her back to the heat suddenly and pleasurably pooling at her core, “Anyway, just saying.”

Wolffe shakes his head, his gaze serious. “You... always like this?”

“Depends on what ‘this’ means.”

“You’re considerate in one moment. You act like you care,” he contends – his words hold weight in a single moment for the first time in their entire conversation, “Then you act like you don't care next. Is using people to your benefit a hobby of yours?”

She scoffs away his accusations easily. “I’m a public figure, Wolffe. I want people and their attention to benefit me, if that isn't clear enough.”

“You’re asking for attention?” he growls, the voice coming deep from inside his chest, “That what you want right now?”

“If I say yes, would you indulge me?”

With her challenge, Nico leans in, their noses touching. The Commander isn't recoiling or moving away. Excitement blossoms inside her chest as she looks forward to the prospect of teasing the kark out of him and finally getting him to give in, to see what kind of man she's dating.

Disappointingly, Wolffe leans away. His jaw tenses.

“Not giving you that satisfaction.”

“Yeah?” Nico continues prodding him, giving him a sultry look that always works in adult zines, eyelashes batting against her cheeks. “I'll let myself know I'm dating a coward, then.”

The last thing she sees before she turns around is his shoulders heaving, long, harsh breaths coming out heavily and noisily out of his nostrils.

A hand clasps on her shoulder, roughly yanking her towards him. A blink and a second later, she gasps, eyes blown wide in shock when another hand wraps around her throat, fingers clamping down onto her pulse points, her own hand coming up to clutch the perpetrator’s wrist.

Wolffe's breath is tickling her lips, their noses rubbing. A faint, rough sound emits out of his chest with every exhale of breath. They're but separated in just another inch, with either of their favor to lean in and get lost in abrupt, careless, selfish desires.

Once the sensation seeps in – her own pulse beating urgently under his gloved fingers, the fabric scratching against the bare skin of her neck in every pulse, heat crawling up her jaws and entire face – the smallest of moans squeezes out of her throat and falls off her lips. Upon the sound, the amber in his irises constricts, blown with heat.

“Nice. You've found out I'm into choking,” she rasps, features loosening to succumb to the lust, “Buy me dinner first before this turns into hate fucking?”

He jostles her. She whimpers not expecting the movement.

So that's the man he is. Peeling his layers off, getting him riled up, sprinkle the ongoing talk with seduction, and she has him. Or is it him who has her? The man who has her is a man who outrightly acts once he spots insubordination.

It fits her just perfectly.

Her lips part, tongue coming loose and nestles just before the edge of her bottom lip. He glances down at it and draws a sharp breath.

“I did tell the clones we met in passing that we were heading somewhere private,” she murmurs, the delightful sensation of her own head swimming with blood struggling to circulate properly is hauling her up to new heights. “Might as well play the act?”

Wolffe growls. “Shut up, woman.”

“Or what?” Nico challenges, struggling to keep her eyes open and bore down into his because it just feels so good she just wants to close her eyes. It excites her to get him riled up, to challenge his place. “Just a little kiss, Commander. Doesn't have to turn into a full make out session unless you want to, of course. I like where I am now.”

His grip on her falters for a split second as he licks his lips.

Nico huffs a triumphant laugh, her breath mingling with his an inch away.

“The length you chose to go through won't get you anywhere,” he growls lowly, teeth gritting, look hazy behind half-closed lids.

“Gets me to seduce a commander of the galactic army,” she taunts him, nearing the touch of his glistening lips despite his grip. “Gets him to steal a kiss any second now.”

The tension breaks the moment Wolffe releases his grip, and with Nico falling into him, he crashes his lips into hers halfway. A pleasant groan rumbles in her throat as she tastes him on his lips, her body instantly melting into him and his armor. He grabs her by the shoulder, yet the moment he drags his hands upwards to cup the sides of her face, his lips part and openly accept her gasping mouth, catching her lips again and again, and fiercely so.

Her own breath catches in her throat. Wolffe is unstoppable. She underestimates his strength. One of his hands weaves into her hair, pulling her even closer and making her even more breathless. His grip on her is too strong to push away for a mere intake of breath. Dark grunts rumble from his chest as he sucks and nips on her bottom lips relentlessly, proving his point, standing his ground, settling on top of the food chain and reminding her who's over who.

They break away, but solely for his own need to draw more air into his lungs, before devouring her mouth again out of hunger. Not lust. Vengeful hunger.

He's angry, at her, for pushing him over the cliff of this very predicament of her own making. Nico can feel the pent up frustration bleeding out of him into every sharp bite to her lips, into every sudden nudge of the tip of his tongue.

Then, something hard presses against her thigh. Nico doesn't need to look down. A timid hand trailing down from his chestplate stops at his utility belt, reminded of the rigid crotch part of his armor she hasn't found the term of, though she's certain he couldn't be not hard.

Deciding not to do it in here, Nico fights back, pushing into and leaning away from his attacks on her mouth, brushing her own lips against his thinner ones, his stubble scratching against her skin. She playfully bites down once, but he, stronger with his carnal vengeance, harshly returns it twice as if a punishment – the fleeting thought alone and the sting from the bite strikes a new wave of heat between her thighs, her walls clenching around nothing and she moans into his mouth at the misfortune.

Big mistake. Just as her mouth opens, he remains untiring with his prodding tongue and violently shoves himself inside, harshly brushing against her own. She gasps, mindlessly starting to accept him in battle. Wolffe rocks his hard-on into her thigh, unscrewing a deep grunt out of him and into her mouth, the sound making her moan again.

Kriff, had they been in her apartment instead of one of these GAR meeting rooms…

Wolffe pulls away first, the movement abrupt and carries him two steps backwards and away from her touch, seemingly sober all of a sudden. Nico watches him take off his glove while still breathless, dragging the pad of his thumb across his swollen lips – the sight, her handiwork, making her draw a sharp breath – and wipes off a smudged carmine red stain.

Wordlessly, Nico digs into her pocket and offers him a handkerchief.

As he uses the condensation on her drink cup to scrub the stain away – with several questioning glances for her to check and equal responses of a head nod and shake and a finger pointing to where he missed – yeah, she definitely needs to retouch too before they leave the room.

Another five minutes consisting of them finally trading verbal conversation – albeit timidly – to find a close equivalent of a mirror in the room, several pat downs, and a couple swipes of lip retouching later, in the middle of the stage, Nico clears her throat awkwardly. It catches his attention as he fiddles with his glove.

“You're living a trillion trillion people's dream, Wolffe,” she says, gaze fixed into him. “Act like you're special. The entire galaxy would've done anything to be where you are right now.”

After the brief argument they traded earlier, she decides to swallow the I want you to… back and leave it unsaid. It gets her actually thinking during the lull of their cleanup, internally fussing already over just how far the treatment they've received until the slave jokes are but usual sarcasm that inflicts pain no more.

Smugly, selfishly for a bit, she thinks; maybe proposing patronage over the GAR – over the wellbeing of its clone army, to be exact – has been a good idea after all? Next to making out with her arranged commander boyfriend, that actually makes her feel great and confident about her position.

“Wanna head out now?” Nico nods towards the door, a hesitant smile gracing her lips.

Wolffe is looking a bit more tolerant than several minutes ago during their headstrong and suggestive stand down – the situation finally gets into him, or it's the kiss that's that good. And it really was good, if she'd say so herself. Judging by his shoulders and jaw no longer tense, he'd probably agree as well.

They slip out of the meeting room together, now side by side unlike the way they come in. Nico manages to pull a straight sabacc face as if they'd just having a proper verbal discussion that doesn't involve making out at all, while Wolffe is a bit struggling. Though she's sure he's one talented enough to cover his true countenance, probably it's because of the helmet because there's an unconvincing frown between his brows now.

A few troopers in passing throw them a knowing glance. It's enough for Nico’s external wall to crumble and make her cheeks fluster.

They reach the hangar. The 104th boys still in their spots, either actually washing the gunships like they're supposed to do (most of them are), or going to paint the nose of the transport vehicle (one of them is already graced with her image, wearing some silver sequin gown she thinks she had in one of the awards she attended a couple of years ago), or chilling around with the snacks she brought in.

Wolffe is taking in the sight too. He's a bit relaxed at the sight of his brothers, she notices.

She clears her throat, gathering his attention. She smiles sweetly at him. “Guess I'll see you at 2000.”

Grunting, the look he gives her is a combination of annoyance and confusion. “Care to make that clear?”

Nico looks at him in disbelief.

“You didn't catch that?” she huffs a laugh. “Dinner reservation, my darling Commander. Heard it's called a date nowadays.”

Taglist (Form): @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @ladylucksrogue @msmeredithrose @filamentlights

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blogbridgekethy · 5 months ago

Text

Winter's White Wonderlands: Snow Predictions for West Chester, PA and Boston, MA

Winter is on its way, and for those of us who love the frosty season, snow total predictions are eagerly awaited. This year, we’re going to take a closer look at what are in store for two specific regions—snow total West Chester PA and Boston, MA. For weather enthusiasts and local residents alike, knowing the anticipated snow totals can be both exciting and essential for preparing for the winter months ahead.

The Science behind Snow Total Predictions

When meteorologists predict snow totals, they consider an array of factors. These include historical weather data, current atmospheric conditions, and advancements in predictive technology. Understanding these elements can help demystify the complex process of winter forecasting.

Historical Data- Historical data provides a solid foundation for snow predictions. By analyzing past winters, meteorologists identify patterns and trends that can inform their forecasts. This data includes not only past snow totals but also temperature ranges and precipitation levels.

Atmospheric Conditions- Current atmospheric conditions are critical for accurate predictions. This involves monitoring the jet stream, pressure systems, and moisture levels. The interplay of these factors determines whether a winter storm will bring light flurries or a major snow event.

Technology Advancements- Advancements in technology have significantly improved the accuracy of weather forecasts. Modern meteorology relies on sophisticated computer models that simulate the Earth's atmosphere. These models analyze vast amounts of data to predict snow totals with greater precision than ever before.

Comparing Past Winters

To gauge the reliability of snow predictions, it’s useful to compare past forecasts with actual outcomes. West Chester, PA, and Boston, MA have experienced a range of winter conditions over the years, providing a rich dataset for comparison.

West Chester, PA

In recent years, West Chester has seen varying snow totals, from modest amounts to significant snowfalls. Comparing predictions with actual snowfall can help residents understand the accuracy of forecasts and better prepare for future winters.

Boston, MA

Boston is known for its harsh winters, and snow total predictions are always a hot topic. By examining past forecasts and their accuracy, Bostonians can gain insights into what to expect and how to prepare for the upcoming season.

Insights from Comparisons

These comparisons highlight the strengths and limitations of winter predictions. While no forecast can be 100% accurate, understanding these patterns can improve preparedness and response to winter weather.

Winter Predictions for 2023

With the groundwork laid, let's dive into the specific snow total predictions for West Chester, PA, and Boston, MA this winter. Our predictions are based on a combination of historical data, current atmospheric conditions, and the latest technology.

West Chester, PA Predictions- For West Chester, PA, and this winter is expected to bring a mix of moderate and heavy snowfall. Meteorologists predict a total accumulation ranging from 25 to 35 inches. This forecast takes into account typical weather patterns for the region, as well as current atmospheric signals indicating a colder and wetter winter.

Boston, MA Predictions- snow totalBoston MA is likely to experience a harsher winter, with predictions suggesting snow totals between 40 and 55 inches. This is slightly above the city’s average, reflecting a combination of La Niña effects and colder-than-usual temperatures. Residents should prepare for several significant snow events throughout the season.

Methodology behind Predictions- these predictions is the result of detailed analysis using state-of-the-art weather models. Meteorologists have factored in historical trends, current atmospheric data, and predictive algorithms to arrive at these snow totals. While there’s always some degree of uncertainty, these forecasts provide a reliable guide for what to expect this winter.

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nicecrumbart · 2 months ago

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"you have any specific scenarios w/ c!scott etc I'm 99% sure I could explain my viewpoint 😭😭 so please send them over" plsss 🥺 can i have ur interpretation on dl axe-critting tradition? i feel like the 'abandonment' at the beginning was pretty justifably bc like. my guy felt betrayed, he didn't feel safe in a relationship anymore, he had a right to walk away from it. even IF his logic was skewed by his own abandonment issues and bias and his reasoning wasn't totally sound, at its' core, he shouldnt be villainised for just deciding to walk away from something he didn't want....

something thats always been hard for me to unravel w/ his pysche was the axe-critting tradition tho. like it IS fucked up no matter what, im not looking for a defence, just help parsing what pyschological decisions led to him deciding to make the tradition bc it seemed VERY out-of-the-blue for me. maybe the initial axe-crit as a punishment for what he thought was pearl intentionally hurting him in the first session, just once, but why do you think he made it a tradition for EVERY session before pearl started with the powdered snow?

Now THIS is a good question

(Bear in mind I haven't watched double life in a while and I have patchy memory at best

Also this is ALL c! Analysis, the CCs are just having a silly goofy time)

I will say I really appreciate you saying that Scott had every right to not want to be in a relationship with pearl because I feel like that is lost to a lot of people ... Like no one should be forced to be paired up, the season was just making it heavily implied. And if you've ever seen Scott's pov he will twist whatever rules/mechanics there are into his desire.

Anyways-

The way I see it, he's still bitter at pearl for leaving, and the longer they don't resolve the issue the more irrational that anger becomes. I agree the first time could've been a response to pearls actions, but I think it's interesting to consider it becoming a way for pearl (and Martyn in conjunction) to have harsh reminder that they DO have a bond and their separation doesn't mean they're just gone but also that they're not forgiven. (Also the damage an axe crit gives might scare them enough to start considering taking more care for their shared lives - but that feels like to much of an extrapolation for this post)

I also think it's important to remember that those axe crits ALSO hurt the people inciting it. When you think about it that way the action does still feel very irrational and emotion driven - but also self destructive (c!Scott's speciality). Like thinking about it from that perspective and it feels very in character for him, it's just unusual for him to want to consistently hurt another player. But when your lives are linked so directly to another person, any way for him to be self destructive or internalise any actions is an attack on someone else. And because of this, his lines of morality get verrry blurry.

I think a way he could rationalise this is the fact that it is also hurting him too, so the violence feels minimised to him (most likely not seen the same way on pearls end).

Obviously this is a BIIG amount of (probably over)extrapolating on an action. I'm not sure I'm even 100% certain on my understanding of it, but at the very least it's makes the narrative and character actions much more interesting. Which I'd honestly my goal in everything I make 😭

TLDR: C!Scotts double life season is intrinsically linked to his abandonment/rejection issues - the twist being when they get ugly he can't just keep them to himself anymore.

(also his ass is very petty)

#im not satisfied with how this post ends but if i leave it in my drafts ill just forget about it 😭😭#trafficblr #double life #smajor1995 #pearlescentmoon #double life smp #eclipse duo #or is it #galaxy duo #idek anymore #fandumb fanrambles

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utilitycaster · 1 year ago

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Dimension 20's Failed Genre Experiments

(This is the "Has Dimension 20 lost its touch?" post I’ve alluded to; please enjoy some genuine criticism masquerading as a riff on those sorts of articles for other shows.)

Dimension 20's debut and flagship burst onto the scene with a simple and elegant premise. What if a John Hughes movie were set at a high school for D&D adventurers? Its next full length pre-recorded season was the similarly strong urban fantasy The Unsleeping City, which in turn was followed up by the channel’s most ambitious outing yet: the Game of Thrones in Candyland mash-up, A Crown of Candy.

Widely considered to be a watershed moment for the show, A Crown of Candy explored darker themes on a famously comedic platform, was the first on the channel to have permanent player character deaths, added new mechanics and limited what the players could choose to fit the world to support this more serious tone, and on a structural level, was a welcome departure from the prior rigid alternation between episodes of combat and episodes without. It was filmed prior to the pandemic but went to air in early April 2020, when many livestreamed actual play shows were on pause and even some podcasts were scrambling to figure out remote recording. D20 introduced their talkback show as a way for the cast to hang out remotely and chat about each episode, and Adventuring Party has remained a companion to the main show. The channel had hit its stride.

Its House of the Dragon sidequest, The Ravening War, aired three years later. Despite a complicated reaction to its announcement, it was a well-received outing, but one on what had by that time become a noticeably bumpy road.

Sidequests like The Ravening War are what D20 calls its shorter, 4-10 episode seasons that do not feature the main “Intrepid Heroes” cast in full nor necessarily feature Brennan Lee Mulligan as DM. We've seen everything from the perspective of the villains in both a Lord of the Rings clone (Escape from the Bloodkeep) and a Dracula homage (Coffin Run); to a Regency romance in the Feywild (A Court of Fey and Flowers). In addition to Mercer, Jasmine Bhullar and Gabe Hicks have each run a sidequest, and Aabria Iyengar has run three. And while the Intrepid Heroes' only venture outside D&D so far is the D&D-inspired Star Wars 5e, sidequests have been run in various Kids on Bikes hacks and Hicks' own Mythic system, as their shorter format makes it even easier to experiment with the parodies, pastiches, and mash-ups the channel is known for.

There have however been two notable failed experiments, and their close proximity (both released within the past year) could be a hiccup, or could be a sign that D20’s ambition, while admirable, could use some serious reining in. They are Neverafter and Burrow's End.

Marketed as the horror season, crossed over with fairy tales, Neverafter started out strong. Only three episodes in, there was an unprecedented (for D20) total party kill. The subsequent episode is the zenith of the season, in which each character is brought back, most of them changed and twisted by the experience, playing out an analysis of their role as an archetype within these stories: Sleeping Beauty and the classic roles of The Princess (introducing such NPCs as Cinderella and Snow White), for example; or Puss in Boots as The Trickster.

Unfortunately, the quality dropped soon after. It was revealed that the darkness spreading across the fairytale multiverse was due to the influence of The Authors, and the story began to be one about the concept of stories...while still trying to incorporate not only the plotlines of the fairy tales the main PCs were from, but also an intertwined conflict between the fairies and the princess NPCs. With this, the horror, with a few exceptions, melted away: violence and monsters are standard D&D fare, and when heroes race to save the world and victory seems not only possible but likely, any distinction between horror and a typical D&D heroic fantasy is lost.

It’s not the first overstuffed campaign, but it certainly is the first one that fails to land on several levels. Starstruck Odyssey is similarly chaotic and rushed at times, but it consistently sticks to a broad message of personal autonomy and freedom within late-stage capitalism. Mulligan is famous for his capacity to spin endless dense lore off the cuff, and if it at times overcomplicates the plot of the packed and colorful comedic space adventure, at least it contributes to the baked-in excess of the setting. But Neverafter's postmodern flourishes against a horror backdrop desperately needed an injection of sparseness and silence it never received.

This is enhanced by the nature of actual play: with a few exceptions, even when filmed and even with the elaborate production values of Dimension 20, it is first and foremost primarily an auditory medium. We only know what is narrated to us. Neverafter did not permit its audience the time and space to fear the unknown. The existential horror of the metanarrative, of being a character doomed to a specific ending, while touched on by some of the cast (particularly Siobhan Thompson’s Sleeping Beauty), took a backseat to models of giant spiders and tales of undead dwarves. The story lacked the room to build real tension, but also failed to adequately create the claustrophobia of being truly trapped within its narrative. It feels more stuffy than unsettling.

Burrow's End is far less airless, but profoundly disjointed. Neverafter thought it knew what it was, but Burrow's End went through multiple identity crises by the halfway mark, and the marketing for the series reflects this.

The initial trailer makes it seem like a cute if dramatic story about a family of stoats - think Redwall, think Wind in the Willows. The first episode was excellent, however, and sold many who had been unimpressed by the trailers on the series, with its well-played setup of the clear Watership Down/Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH parallels with a unique twist in the form of The Blue.

The promotion took a strange turn, however, with the second episode and its infamous bear carcass battle map. It was hyped as uniquely horrifying, with a teaser video posted of the cast shrieking as the map, unseen by the audience, was wheeled past them. This seemed rather cavalier of the channel once the episode was posted, accompanied by a gore content warning covering a period of well over an hour...which was then further undercut by an exquisitely crafted, but ultimately rather tame display of a bear's innards. It was left out on the table during Adventuring Party as well, further reducing the idea of any meaningful shock factor (or any attempt to accommodate those in the audience who were triggered). The combat this map was for was a creative one, and the episode itself high quality, but it furthered the sense that Dimension 20 itself was unsure of what they were trying to get people to watch.

The series continued on with two more excellent episodes as it reached Last Bast, a clearly man-made structure full of thousands of stoats, with a strong dash of the police state. The actors immediately clocking the flaws of this society, but their stoat characters having no similar sense, led to a fascinating tension. However, the Blue (called the Light in Last Blast), previously described as some animating force and driver of magical power, and mysteriously concentrated in the brain of the dead-but-animated bear, was then revealed to be ionizing radiation.

At this point, the details of my own life become relevant. My career is in the field of health physics. I hold a master’s degree in this specialty and have served as a radiation safety officer, though not at a reactor. I don’t think that this background is a requirement to understand the structural issues of this season; but it certainly made me particularly attuned to the flaws.

Before you claim that this is just a show and who cares: In addition to my love of actual play, I am also a fan of comics and all sorts of speculative fiction. I am well aware that Spider-Man’s “radioactive blood” would not realistically grant him spider powers; I know that going into a high radiation field would not create Doctor Manhattan; I know that Superman does not actually have ‘x-ray vision’, and I know that radiation creates neither kaiju nor rad roaches. This is fine. In comics, radiation is a shorthand for “mad science” or “mysterious powers” with a sense of the lethal and the eldritch and the hubristic. The story is not so much about the source of these powers, but rather the great responsibilities they require. Godzilla, meanwhile, is clearly a metaphor for the very real nuclear devastation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and Fallout is an anti-proliferation and anti-war message with nuclear annihilation as the set up for its post-apocalyptic setting. These works understand that radiation is a limited-use plot device, and, wisely, they keep it simple.

Burrow’s End, by placing radiation front and center, has lost the message. The themes of the story are irretrievably muddled: what seems like a tale of family displaced by human intervention now positions a man-made hazardous material as both sinister corruption and divine boon, and engages neither with a fitting narrative of both the pros and cons of technology, nor of human and animal symbiosis. The finale establishes the latter in a rushed cut scene reliant on a single persuasion roll, and the two episodes prior to that meanwhile establish that while the humans first introduced radiation to the ecosystem, the first five stoats were the ones who sought it out and disseminated it and built the police state, and their true nemesis was Phoebe, one of their own. This culminates with Phoebe, the previously unseen fifth of the first five stoats (who have by now already been killed by the heroes), piloting the body of a 20-years-dead human, threatening to somehow cause global radiation contamination as her grand Evil Scheme. Unnecessarily, from a narrative perspective, I might add; this occurs after the final combat has already begun and she is magically controlling two of the party members. They’re already going to kill her. It’s a hat on a hat on a hat, and the humans are incidental.

When I was a child, I was enamored with the sort of stories in which children are sent to another time or place and then return with seemingly no time passing, and at one point excitedly told my mother I had an idea for a story, of what happens back while you’re time traveling. My mother, a fan of speculative fiction herself, and never one to coddle, told me “nothing, honey, that’s the point.” I wonder if something similar happened here; an attempted deconstruction of those radiation-granted superpower tropes, focused so hard on being clever it overshot into something anything but. Other elements of the story - particularly the weak pun of “copper” to hammer home the already obvious theme of population support being the arm of the police - make me think this was indeed an attempt at cleverness that missed the mark.

I am happy to elaborate on the flaws of the science elsewhere but I think the most succinct way to put it is that while the biology and habits of stoats sans radiation has been considered with what seems to be at least a modicum of love and care (their use of pre-existing burrows, Viola’s pregnancy), the radiation science/understanding of recent nuclear history can only be described as abysmally neglectful, in and out of game. They let a Loss of Coolant Accident go on for three days with a remarkably casual attitude? This disaster was sufficient to result in what appears to be an exclusion zone (of which there have been three, ever, in human history; two of which are the immediately recognizable Chernobyl and Fukushima) and yet it isn’t being monitored closely enough for someone to notice that there’s been penned animals next to the building for years (let alone that the building itself is teeming with stoats)? For that matter, they’re opening the site only twenty years later? After the “radiation dust”, apparently present on the fully maintained roads by the reactor, but neither within nor in front of the reactor, just now made 14 people bleed out (not how Acute Radiation Syndrome works; also 14 deaths from ARS in 1982, when the series is set would in fact be an unprecedented disaster. In our world, Chernobyl - which had not yet happened in 1982 - is the only nuclear accident that exceeds that ARS death toll.)

Radiation becomes an all-purpose plot engine with no internal consistent logic: it kills humans swiftly and brutally (though based on statements by Dr. Tara Steel and the fact that she seems fine in only a hazmat suit - which shields from contamination but will stop neither gamma nor neutron radiation - only via inhalation). But it infects chipmunks and bears with corruptive and bizarre neurological effects, turns wolves into horrifying but loyal hybridized monstrosities, and conveys to stoats not just human intelligence, but mastery of human language, magic spells, and the ability to come back as a revenant through force of will…though it also can immediately kill them, but also extend their lifespans, but also cause them to slowly mutate into wolves (but not through DNA splicing transfer, that would be silly). It kills 14 humans nearly instantly with off-site dust, but another survives a fiery attempted core meltdown with no apparent ill effects.

There is an excellent and thoughtful story about family, generational trauma, and political structures somewhere under here, and the incredible cast does its damndest to sell it, but it is all but lost beneath a sci-fi whodunnit that would make Ed Wood cock a skeptical eyebrow.

Neverafter and Burrow’s End’s respective collapses under the weight of ambition coincide, perhaps unintentionally, with some of the more dubious film editing choices on Dimension 20. Filmed actual play can be visually unexciting, and Dimension 20 has used simple shot/reverse shots, as well as some sound effects (notably for critical hits and fails) throughout its run to break it up. Neverafter, however, is marked by deliberate hisses and glitches, fractured split screens, echoey vocal effects, and nails-on-chalkboard screeches. This did not add to the atmosphere as intended; at best they were irritating and for many made it actively harder to hear key dialogue. Burrow’s End’s editing has been simpler, mostly relying on some, to be fair, well-placed cuts to black and voice distortion to indicate taped or radioed segments; but a key moment - Jaysohn’s potentially fatal rush into radioactive waters - is undercut with a frankly cheesy montage. Others I spoke to compared it to Indian soap operas, 1960s Doctor Who, The Oscars In Memoriam video, and reality show farewell reels. It takes what could be a tense potential character death - something D20 already handles wonderfully with their iconic Box of Doom - and makes it cheap and tacky, particularly jarring given the beautiful and haunting shadow puppet animation the season had previously delivered to convey the stoat creation myths. (And then, when Ava falls into the waters herself saving him, she merely comes back as a revenant with no ill effects. The stakes were never there to begin with in this smoke and mirrors season.)

Praise for Dimension 20 often hinges on its original innovative structure; most actual play shows skew towards more longform storytelling. However, the short format comes with a price. The fixed length of D20 seasons and the elaborate, custom made maps require a deft GM that can guide players to the exact right place without it seeming forced. Threading the needle is harder than it looks; even the otherwise iconic Fantasy High debut season stumbled towards the end when the players were too good at uncovering the mystery, and Mulligan had to place their characters in an inescapable prison in order to pad out a pre-scheduled episode before the finale. Perhaps the strain of this constant need to live up to a reputation as high-concept innovators, rather than simply create something good and cohesive, is beginning to show. The higher production values in Neverafter and Burrow’s End cannot hide their messy plots and confused messages, and indeed only highlight them. One interview said that for Burrow’s End, Iyengar wants the audience to trust her; after Burrow's End, I can’t say I do.

The next Dimension 20 season after Burrow’s End is a long-awaited return home to the flagship: Fantasy High Junior Year. Let’s hope this reminds the channel where they came from, and what magic they are capable of making when they keep it simple.

#long post #d20 spoilers #burrows end spoilers #d20 tag

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anakin-vaders · 2 years ago

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The role of Fashion in The Hunger Games saga a brief analysis.

Ok now with the hunger games renaissance we need to discuss the role Cinna plays in the whole series, and the role of fashion in the hunger games. I read this series when I was 11-12 years old, I grew to become a very, very queer fashion designer (I work for drag queens), I didn't think I truly understood how much THG series impacted me until very recently when I saw/read the whole series again. Like yes, Suzanne Collins makes the Capitol this shallow society, putting a real effort in making their citizens be superficial only caring about their looks, looking super extravangant and absolutely disconnected from the suffering of the districts. While their looks are vibrant, large, shimmery, and totally over the top (showcasing their opulence) the way they dress on the districts (specially 12 and 13) is minimalist, modest, the colors are washed, old. Their each other's antithesis. And of course Katniss expects only that from the people of the Capitol (classic Us vs. Them), and when Cinna, whom I think is very queer coded, comes in, and treats her like a human being, she starts to let her walls down, to let herself be guided trough this horrible thing she's got to endure. In the books when Cinna and his team are pampering her, she doesn't see herself as a symbol, she never really wanted to be one, she feels really dehumanized. Her only motivation upon this point is surviving and get back to Prim on her home, she still thinks everything on the Capitol in stupid and unnecessary. It's only when Cinna puts them in this very intricate and thought out looks inspired by their district industry (coal mining) that I think Katniss starts to understand the power of fashion, the power of symbols.

And later in her interview with Caesar we have the infamous red dress that catches fire and that lefts the audience gagged (if any of y'all have been to a drag show you know how amazing a good reveal is). This moment is so important because now fashion doesn't become something merely functional, or oppressive. Fashion is empowering, this moment is Katniss getting confidence in herself, asserting herself over her circumstances thanks to Cinna, thanks to fashion. It's also very brilliant because this is also catered to the Capitol, to the viewers and consumers of the games. One of the first things Haymitch tells Katniss is to make herself desirable, and this totally makes sense, the Capitol now roots for her, relate to her, so that later she can get sponsors and SURVIVE.

On Catching Fire we have another iconic fashion moment, fire is a very present theme for Katniss. She is of course the spark for the rebellion, and when she understood it, the message not only becomes clearer, it becomes a protest against the games, against the Capitol. The way she and Peeta are almost regal their second time on the games, shows how much she's understood the power of fashion, the power of the message it can send. They look like a piece of coal refusing to cool, refusing to stop burning. And this was all Cinna's mind.

And my absolute favorite. The wedding dress, such and iconic moment and dare I say, a pivotal moment for the rebellion. In the books Katniss and Peeta are doomed to keep their fake relationship for PR reasons, so they get engaged, and make their whole wedding (bear in mind they're both 17 ish here) a reality show-esque moment for the Capitol. Even after they've won, they still have to entertain them, a winner can never rest. The districts are never winners. So when Snow decides to make his personal quest that of making Katniss miserable, thus making his All Star version of the games, knowing district 12 only has 1 female winner...oh if that isn't some evil shit. On top of that, he is the one who request she wears her wedding dress to the interview, the dress that symbolizes all she never wanted (get married, have kids, loose her agency, being controlled by the Capitol). Snow does this hopping Katniss feels ALL THAT, and Cinna being the genius designer he fucking is, turns a 180 on it and gets the wedding dress as a façade, he uses the dress as a symbol of the tragic lovers that never got to wed, the wedding the Capitol never got to see because of the games. And it works. It fucking works.

And then, the dress burns up revealing a beautiful black dress with wings, a mockingjay, she literally becomes the rebellion, she embodies the rebellion and all that comes with it. The power of fashion in the middle of an uprising, and how much it strikes the Capitol because it's said in their language. All of these moments were essential in the history because the people on the districts already knew about the injustices, about the hardships of their conditions. But the consumers didn't. And Cinna, trough Katniss made them see that, he took everything that made the Capitol shallow and gave actual meaning to it. And without of all of it, who knows if the rebellion would've gestated as fast.

TL;DR: the hunger games saga made me a fashion designer, and fashion is really important in the story, dare I say it's a really clever use of fashion and Cinna is a FUCKING genius.

#hunger games #thg #catching fire #hunger games analysis #hunger games renaissance #katniss everdeen #cinna the hunger games #Suzanne Collins #fashion in the hunger games #cinna #the mockingjay #holy shit dude when I mean this saga formed me I'm not kidding i literally went to college to become a fashion designer bc of it.

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datlokibumtho · 11 months ago

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EDIT: I said I'd add more, and so I shall. I swear, the more I rewatch it, the more abserdity crosses my mind. I forgot some, so I'll add those when I remember them.

Rewatching the Mugen Train Arc, and there are a few things I noticed that I shall now share with you. I will add more as I think of them.

▪︎Rengoku's mom is hot

▪︎You will never be able to convince me we didn't see Akaza's O Face during that final attack.

▪︎Why didn't Akaza just drag Rengoku along with him to escape? All that oomf he has, and you're telling me one dude is too heavy? Nezuko can carry someone easily while in baby mode and was strong enough to curbstomp Daki, and you're telling me Akaza, Upper Three, the fourth most powerful demon in existence can't drag one guy along for the ride while bailing? I'm calling that shit hard.

▪︎Tanjirou's VA knocked this shit out of the park.

▪︎I call bullshit that Rengoku didn't activate his Demon Slayer Mark during all that.

¤ Edit: I now know why that didn't happen, so nevermind this one.

▪︎While we're on the topic of Rengoku, can I just briefly express my confusion as to his dream of choice when Enmu put him to sleep? Out of everything he could have dreamed, all the scenarios his mind could have conjured up, he chose "that one time I did something extraordinary and my dad didn't give a shit" followed by any given day of the week. Tanjirou got his family back, Zenitsu got to spend time with the girl he loved, Inosuke got to do whatever the fuck that was...and Rengoku's got an alcoholic father who doesn't give a hair on a witch's tit if his kids live or die, a mom that's still dead from illness, and last Tuesday, the Tuesday before that, and the Tuesday before that, also known as his everyday life. Why? He could have had a father that was a presentable human being again, a mother that wasn't dead or ill, a happy life...and he bypassed all of that. Just. Fucking. Why.

¤Edit: upon further thought and some amateur analysis of his psyche, the dream probably revolved more around time with his brother, or his boundless optimism making him think every day is a gift or worth celebrating or special somehow. Or maybe he just has a really bad imagination.

▪︎Rengoku just gave Enmu his first brush with heartburn.

▪︎Look up the lyrics to Homura by LiSA, and I believe you will join me in saying fuck whoever chose the music. Why they gotta do that? Why?

▪︎Get you a man that's an absolute goober, a total badass, a complete and utter derp, a major sweetheart, and a super serious hot mess all at once. Get you a Flame Hashira. Get you Rengoku Kyoujurou.

▪︎"I'm a box lunch vendor" wasn't suspicious until he said it wasn't suspicious. Then it became suspicious.

▪︎Rengoku moving his ass like "Total Consentrstion Fuck You I'm A Hashira" speed mode activated. "Ecceleration Mode", for anyone that's up on older anine.

▪︎Pigtails runnin' her way through Rengokus dream world like the edge isn't invisible and she was at zero risk of slamming face first into it.

▪︎God damn, Tanjirou, right between the man-titties. Rude as fuck.

▪︎Tanjirou: smells blood in a snow storm, Muzan in the middle of Tokyo, identifies people by their scents after only meeting them once, can smell character traits

Rengoku: two cars down from them, chowing away at bento, unnoticed

Zenitsu: hears thing down to a celluar level and can figure out what something's species and intent are based solely of of their sounds of existsnce

Rengoku: two cars down from them, practically yelling "tasty" repeatedly, unnoticed

Inosuke: has super insane instincts and the ability to lock onto things miles away

Renkgoku: STILL just two cars down from them, living his best life with a crapton of bento, unnoticed

Tanjirou/Zenitsu/Inosuke: "Wonder where the Flame Hashira is."

▪︎Slasher demon: "No one's faster than me!"

The Other Speedy Stripy Boi Of The Mugrn Train Arc: "Destructive Death: Kick-Your-Ass-Faster-Than-The-Speed-Of-Sound-You-Scrub Type."

▪︎Rengoku's Dream World: sunshine, daisies, and fatherly rejection

Rengoku's Subconscious: flaming hellscape

Enmu's Lackey: "What the flip flap fuck is going on with this man?"

▪︎Enmu: shocked Zenitsu did anything while under his spell

The rest of us: "Yeah, it was always gonna go that way, chief."

BONUS: ORIGINAL WATCHTHROUGH THOUGHTS

▪︎My thought process through my original watchthrough eons ago: "Rengoku is a silly mans. Rengoku is kinda cool. Rengoku is utterly endearing. Rengoku is awesome. Rengoku is one BAMF. RENGOKU IS DEAD."

▪︎My almost simultaneous thought process through my original watchthrough eons ago: "I can't believe he dies, he's so amazing and wonderful and i love him. Ok, he dies in this fight, and now that i know the man, i instantly hate whoever did it. Oh no, he's HOT! My emotions are very mixed right now. My emotions are completely decided in their stance, and I am getting teary-eyed over yet another ficticious character."

▪︎My afterthoughts of my original watchthrough eons ago: "Akaza is the absolute worst, that pretty face, hot body and smooth af voice cannot change that. Wow, Muzan was mean to him after he did his damndest. My opinion can not change now that I have seen Senjurou, he is a wonderful little cinnamonroll, and Akaza must remain the worst. He can be terrible and still look good. I mean, are he and his utterly whorish waist and very lovely, somewhat delicately featured face really to blame or is Muzan or psychosis of some kind? Wow, that's a nice hourglass physique and horribly tragic backstory."

▪︎End conclusion from my original watchthrough eons ago: "My opinion of Rengoku has done a 180. I would die for Senjurou. I will probably never truly like Rengoku Shinjurou despite understanding that grief and disillusionment do strange things to people. Akaza is too hot, broken, and in a weird way endearing and lovable to hate. I loves me a tragic backstory and damaged man. I DO NOT HAVE A NEW SHIP I DO NOT HAVE A NEW SHIP I DO NOT HAVE A NEW SHIP"

▪︎I had a new ship

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storiesofsvu · 1 year ago

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Solace in Solitude Ch 12

Emily Prentiss x reader Warnings: language, alcohol, canon typical conversation, smut. This ch feels a little it jumpy, partially because it is, partially because of how it needed to be. Each of the breaks represent a time jump, just little pieces of our girls lives while they figure out how to go about it. Two to three chapters left until this series is finally done with!

“Fuck…” Emily muttered with a small huff, flipping the cover to her iPad closed before she gently tossed it onto the coffee table.

“You good?” You asked, glancing between the television and her.

“Yeah, just lost another round of scrabble.”

“Cheeto breath’s the blonde, right?” You asked, redirecting your attention towards her as you picked up your glass of wine.

“JJ.. yeah..” Emily’s eyes drifted out the window for a moment, reminiscing about her memories with Jayje over the years.

“I take it you two were good friends?”

“Yeah.” She cast you a small smile.

“You know… you are allowed to talk about them.”

“I know.” Emily sighed softly, picking up her own drink, “it just almost feels surreal now. Like that part of my life was some kind of fever dream, the years between Doyle were reality but the way things worked out it almost seems like the fake memories were it, not the time with him.”

“Did you go straight from that undercover gig to your team?” You asked your brow furrowing.

“Basically.” She laughed, the grin staying on her face, “a few months to recuperate, make sure all the loose ends were tied.”

“How does that work on a resume? I mean, you can’t exactly put an entire fake identity on there.”

Emily laughed again, taking a bigger swig of her drink while she mulled over the entire topic, “the bureau and international teams have their way of covering things up. It wasn’t really me who did all that, it was Lauren, so Emily Prentiss came off a desk job, well recommended to the BAU.”

“And they believed that?” You raised a brow in her direction. It didn’t take a federal agent to notice the way Emily behaved, the little things she picked up on that made her seem like someone with extensive experience.

“Everyone had their walls up, they weren’t ready for a replacement on the team yet, it wasn’t exactly welcoming. Not to mention Hotch seemed to have it in for me, thinking my mother had swindled the job for me.”

“Hmm.” You replied over the rim of your wine glass, “it didn’t stay like that though?”

“No.” She smiled softly, “they became family. I spent more time with them than anyone else in my life, we all did, even outside of work. If I wanted to have a girls night I knew JJ and Penelope would always say yes, Derek was never going to decline a visit to the gym or shooting range, Rossi was always dying to teach someone his latest recipe…..” She trailed off, her eyes slowly misting with tears as she thought about how likely it was that all of that continued despite her absence, how they were all coping with her death, with their grief while she tried to figure out her own on the opposite side of the world with only one person by her side. “We were all a better family to each other than our own ever could have been.”

“They sound amazing.” Your hand reached out, squeezing at her elbow and she cast you a grin.

“They are.”

“So aside from being a total bad ass federal agent chasing down serial killers, what is it exactly that your unit does?”

“Behavioural Analysis, it’s more psychology based, figuring out trends, triggers, history, patterns, geographical locations,” she waved her hand with each statement, “putting it all together to figure out who our unsub is.”

“That’s honestly really neat. I kinda wish hospitals had people on staff to help with that kind of stuff.”

“Yeah.” She laughed, “me too.”

***

Thick flakes of snow were drifting down through the air, coating the city in a fluffy white blanket, which meant going nowhere. Emily crossed her arms over her chest, letting out a huff as she looked out the balcony window. The temperature had been decreasing daily and she was getting pent up, cabin fever increasing and had been hoping to get out of the house this weekend.

“You okay?” You asked from your spot in the kitchen, packing up leftovers to toss in the fridge before pouring out a couple fresh glasses of wine.

“I’m bored.” She practically whined, turning around to face you, “if I have to watch another episode of The Bachelor I will blow my brains out.”

“Okay…” you laughed, picking up the wine to move back into the living room, handing her her glass. “You have anything else in mind? New show, game?”

She chewed on her lip, eyes darting around the room while she tried to find something to entertain her and you knew you were in trouble when they shot back up to you with that dangerous glimmer in them. “How about poker?”

“We’ve played every night this week, you think that’s gonna cure this?” You asked, grabbing the deck of cards from behind you before you settled on the couch.

“How about we up the stakes?”

“What? Play for real money?” You asked with a laugh, nearly gulping at the look she gave you in return.

“Or… we could make it strip poker?” She offered with a wild grin and you couldn’t help but roll you eyes.

“Fine.” You started to deal the cards out, “but you better take it easy on me, we all know you’re the poker champ.”

Emily in fact, did not take it easy on you.

It didn’t help that the cold bothered her more, her body aching at the temperatures meant she was bundled up, thick socks, leggings, tank top, thin pullover, hoodie. You preferred cool temperatures, meaning you were already down to just a pair of lace panties while she still had pants and a bra on.

“This is not fair.” You grumbled, letting out a little shiver as you crossed your arms over your chest and she laughed, draining the last of her drink. “You were wearing so many more clothes than me.”

“Sounds like someone’s a poor loser.” She chuckled, the cards in her hand finding home on the coffee table as she shifted toward you on the couch, “but I’m pretty sure I can make it up to you…”

You let out a small laugh as she caged you into the couch, your back hitting the arm in the same moment her lips hit your neck and you were suddenly out of complaints. Her hands toyed with your chest, groping and pinching at you, her lips smirking up into a grin as your hips rutted up against hers. It only took a few moments before her hand was sneaking into your panties, gently rubbing at your clit.

“Fuck…” You muttered, your head dropping back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut as her mouth wrapped around your nipple.

Your moans became louder when her fingers slipped into your pussy, twisting and curling just where you needed them. Emily’s breath hot on your neck, her teeth scraping against your skin as you fluttered around her, whimpers leaving your lips as she toyed with you, getting louder and louder until you hit your peak and losing a poker game was the furthest thing from your mind.

***

Emily let the apartment door swing shut behind her, flicking the lock before dropping the bag of groceries on the counter. After hanging up her coat and kicking off her boots her eyes finally swept through the living room, her head tilting when her gaze landed on you. You were perched in your usual corner of the couch, fuzzy blanket over your lap, mug of coffee in your hand but instead of staring at the television, your gaze as focussed on the corner of the room. She watched you for a couple of minutes, wondering if you were just zoned out, off on some tangent of medical language in your brain but you didn’t even blink to notice that she’d even come home.

“Okay you’re freaking me out. This is like when your cat is staring at the wall and the only explanation is a ghost.”

“Should we get a tree?” Your head titled to the side but your gaze remained in the corner.

“Uh… what?” She asked, laughing awkwardly and you finally looked over to her.

“For Christmas.” You explained, eyes sweeping through the living room, “every where’s all decorated, lights, garland, trees, I could do without the Christmas music at the hospital constantly but it’s a little drab in here, don’t ya think?”

“And you want a tree?”

“Not a real one,” your nose scrunched, “too much work, and it doesn’t have to be a big one, a mini one, just some lights to make it a little festive in here.”

Emily crossed through the living room, dropping down onto the other side of the couch as she looked through the apartment, “you’re right. We should decorate, even just a little, make it feel more homey in here.”

“Yeah?” You looked up at her and she couldn’t help but smile at the excitement in your eyes.

“Yeah.” She squeezed at your leg through the blanket, “we watch enough tv as is, we could be marathoning Christmas movies. I picked up hot chocolate,” she nodded toward the grocery bag.

“Now that, sounds like a festive night.”

“After decorating though.” She grinned and you raised a brow, “there’s so many little celebrations going on out there.” She gestured toward the window, “I walked past two separate Christmas markets today, we should go check them out, pick up some stuff for the apartment, maybe some treats.”

“You wanna go now?”

“Well I was gonna make baked ziti for dinner, but that could wait cause I have a feeling you really love Christmas.”

“Yeah…” you nearly winced with a small smile on your face and Emily laughed.

“Well c’mon.”

Five hours later the two of you were curled up under the same blanket on the couch while The Holiday played on the television. Empty pasta plates sat on the coffee table and mugs of steaming hot chocolate spiked with Baileys were cupped in your hands. Multi coloured lights from the tree and the tops of the wall cast a warm glow throughout the apartment, the smell of gingerbread wafting from a candle burning on the kitchen island.

“You were right.” Emily mumbled “this is much better. I guess I forgot how just how nice actually embracing the holidays can feel.”

“Oh really?” You glanced up at her with a small grin and she raised a brow in your direction.

“What?”

“I’m just saying, I saw an ad for a really cool looking ice sculpture festival next weekend.”

She laughed, nudging your shoulder with hers as she shook her head at you, “alright, fine. It’s not like I have much else to do anyways.”

“Exactly.” You settled back into the couch with a satisfied sigh, “though we need to get some presents for under the tree.”

***

“If you don’t hurry up, you’re gonna miss the countdown!” Emily shouted over her shoulder, puling her sweater tighter over her shoulders, her eyes sweeping through the stars sparkling in the night sky. A dreamy look on her face, no doubt partially thanks to the bubbly the two of you had been drinking since dinner.

“I know, I know!” You scoffed back, hurrying back onto the balcony and handing her a flute, “but you absolutely cannot start a new year without champagne, and this is legit champagne.”

“Classy.” She replied with a laugh when she took the glass from you.

The streets below you were filled with laughter, cheers and the general sound of celebration as midnight ticked closer and closer. You shivered and Emily tugged you closer to her, her arm linking into yours as smiles broke out on both of your cheeks while you joined in on the countdown echoing from the street below. The clock hit twelve and choruses of ‘Happy New Year’ and cheers bounced through the air as the two of you clinked your glasses together and took a swig of your drinks fireworks exploding in the sky above you.

“What?” You asked when Emily swiped your glass, putting it along with hers down on the small table.

“C’mere.” She tugged you to her, “you can’t not have a new year’s kiss.”

Her arm wound around your waist, lips meeting yours tenderly, moving with grace against each other as your arms wrapped around her shoulders. Her tongue slipped into your mouth and you let out a happy sigh into the kiss.

“You know, you’re really good at this.” She murmured, lips curving into a grin and you chuckled.

“I’m good at a lot of other things too.” The smirk on your lips pulled a laugh from Emily.

“I like this.” She replied, stepping backwards and you let out a squeal when she pulled you down onto the couch behind her, your legs settling around her hips as she adjusted you on her lap, her lips meeting yours once again.

The kiss was full of little laughs, happy breaths, satisfied sighs as you held each other tighter to combat the chilliness of the now January night air. You could only hope that if this was how you were starting the year off that it would end up being a better one overall than the last.

***

Emily was in the kitchen scrounging up what she could for dinner out of leftovers when you finally emerged from your bedroom. You glanced up to her with a happy smile,

“I take it the meeting went well?” She asked.

“Yeah. The hospital wants to fly me out for a couple of consults on Tuesday.”

“That’s amazing!”

“You’re good then..” your brow scrunched, “like… if I take off for a few days? It feels weird to leave you… unsupervised, for lack of a better word.”

Emily barked out a laugh, “I’ll be fine, I’m sure I can handle a few days on my own. You go save some lives.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged, “you’ve cleared me, the shrink has my med load decreased, I was cleared at the beginning of the month by PT to up my workouts. Hate to break it to ya, but you’ve been downgraded from babysitter to roommate at this point.”

“Okay, okay.” You laughed, sliding onto a stool at the island.

“I’m guessing this is the same research you’ve been working on?”

“Yeah, finally found the right place with the right fit and resources.”

“So you’re moving then?”

“God no, I don’t even know if there’s an actual job available. They might just want my research, might offer me a grant to keep working here, fly me in when needed. I could probably do ninety percent of it over Skype, it’s all about collaboration at this stage.”

“Well whatever happens I hope it’s good.”

“Me too.”

While Emily did actually enjoy her solo time in the apartment, she found it feeling just a little strange. Knowing that you weren’t coming home those nights, that noise out in the hallway were just the neighbours making their way to their own apartments. That she wasn’t waiting for you before starting dinner, she could eat whenever she wanted and that there was no one to start the coffee for her in the morning. Your absence was felt, even if you were still keeping in touch over text the three days you were gone.

It was barely noon and there was already a sense of urgency shooting through the apartment as you practically jumped out of your bedroom into the living room.

“Em!?”

It wasn’t even a second later that she came barrelling out of her room, duffle over her shoulder, still open so she could grab her phone charger and tablet from the kitchen island to shove into it.

“I, uh.. I think I need to go.”

“What?” You asked and she stalled suddenly,

“The guardian I had for Declan, he just called me. Declan tried to call him, there’s something going on, I need to get back stateside.” She took a deep breath, feeling the jitters in her chest starting as her pulse started to race, “oh god…” She suddenly dropped to a squat, her elbows on her knees so she could bury her face in her hands, “I really didn’t think this was gonna happen so quick.”

“Em…” you stepped toward her, a hand resting on her shoulder, squeezing softly and she was able to take another deep breath, calming her racing heart enough to bring herself up to standing and you could see the misting in her eyes.

“I… I know you’re not my therapist or anything, but you have honestly been the closest person since we got here, and I… I don’t know if I’m ready to go back.”

“If Declan needs you…”

“What if this is some kind of trap? What if Ian got to Tom, and this is just a fucking set up?” She ran a hand over her face, turning back to you, “sorry, I’m freaking out. You were gonna say something when I first came out.”

“Yeah,” you smiled, “you don’t have to worry about Ian. Your team has him.”

“What?” Her eyes widened and you gestured to your phone in your hand.

“Hotch called; they want you back to help break him.” Reaching out you squeezed at her wrist, “you’re ready. They need you, the real you... you get to be yourself again.”

Emily couldn't help the warmth flowing through her at the thought of that, at getting to return to her real life after all this time. “And you what, keep playing pretend here?”

“No.” You laughed, “actually right before Hotch called, St Thomas’ called…there was a job and they just offered it to me. I move to London at the end of the month.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing.” A smile burst out on her face and she pulled you into a tight hug until you were nudging her away.

“You need to go.” You practically laughed, “there’s a jet waiting for you, a car will pick you up on the other end.”

“Fuck, right.” She quickly zipped up her bag, double checking that she had everything she needed.

“Text me if you’re missing anything crucial and I’ll ship it out.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” She paused, looking up at you with genuine gratitude written across her face, “and I mean that, both literally and figuratively. Thank you, for everything.” Stepping toward you she wrapped an arm around your shoulders, placing a kiss on your cheek before she stepped away.

“Yeah well, you can pay it back to me by not ruining all my hard work in your first day back in the field, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

“Stay safe.” You warned her and she cast a smile back to you while she opened the door.

“I will. And don’t be a stranger.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

_________________

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