#i really like the battle system in this one

[zeropro]

can i kindly ask for a summary of how time is measured in your au? mostly the cycle/year stuff, im not sure if it's lifted from elsewhere or your own creation — either way i think it's really cool :) world building is awesome

very sorry if you've already gone over this elsewhere

Oh sure! I spent way too long figuring this out so i might as well explain it.

The cybertronian calendar goes in one direction forever unless a new Prime decides to reset it. Nova Prime reset the calendar when he declared the new Golden Age of Expansion, which is why Megatron’s canon Birthday is so small (1st cycle 012) as he was among the first Cold Constructed mechs onlined, and that started with Nova.

The only unit of measurement that we seem to have solidified is Vorns, which is 83 earth years (earth years=stellar cycle). The calendar’s cycles are measured by vorn, the first number counts vorn, and every 24 vorn the second number ticks up. after 24th cycle 12 it would become 1st cycle 013 and then 2nd cycle 013.

There…actually is no unit of time for the second measurement as far as I can tell, so I have no idea what to call it, but essentially you would say Megatron’s birthday as first cycle O’twelve, and people would know he was born 23904-ish years after Nova Prime’s calendar went in effect.

24 vorns is roughly 2000 years and every 500 dates on the calendar is roughly one million years.

I developed this calendar system based on the actual dates we do have in IDW1, I decided 24 vorns are when the calendar turns over because the war starts about a million years after Megatron’s birth and the canon dates for most of those events are in the 500s. I did have to ignore the single canon date set in the 51st cycle for this, but all the other dates are within the 1 to 14 range. And this is taking into consideration that the calendar probably reset some time under Zeta Prime (which is why the Battle of Sherma Bridge where Megatron and the newly anointed Optimus Prime allegedly duked it out for the first time happens in 2nd Cycle 087 even tho Megatron was beat up by Whirl in jail before the war in 4th Cycle 496). Some of the inconsistencies I also chalk up to some bots still using the old calendar. the only date I really cant figure out is 6th Cycle 356 being confirmed to be “half a million years ago” like?? Eh?? Ultra Magnus’ last fatality was pre earth pretty sure and that happened in the 3800’s (of nova’s calendar pretty sure). Maybe they missed a zero at the end of the date or something idk XD 3560 would make so much more sense for half a million years ago.

Also, 83 years is a long time and it does seem like they have smaller units of dating called chords and arcs but I just assume thats like days and months to us and I cant be bothered to figure it out. not enough info about it anyway. I’m sure one of those tracks stellar cycles and the other tracks cybertronian days.

i think the only other unit of time I've used is deca-cycles, just cuz I like how it sounds. a deca-cycle is about a month, or three weeks.

Megatron and Skywarp were constructed earlier on (012 and 023 respectivly), Thundercracker was constructed closer to when the matrix “ran dry” probably in the 100s, and Starscream was commissioned by Cryak at the end of the millenia, in the late 400s, after they’d stopped constructing seekers entirely. He must not have been more than a few vorns old when he met Thundercracker.

Starscream and Skyfire’s expedition would have taken them 40 on the calendar to get to earth, based on Skyfire’s shuttle speed. Starscream probably would have been able to make it back to cybertron a little bit faster.

I referenced this and this page of the wiki while working on this. Most of my worldbuilding is extrapolation from canon.

yes i did all this for one joke.

A few more timeline stuff: Megatron is about .7 million years older than Starscream, and Starscream is about half a million years older than the start of the war. The war lasted 3 million years before they crash landed on earth after which they went into stasis for one million years. Some time after they landed on earth, Shockwave successfully clones Sunstorm.

and in case you were wondering, sunny's serial code is referencing his Collector's Edition toy's ID number (089). SC stands for Seeker Class. they run out of glyphs slots after 999 so they sort them into batches. Sunny is the 089th frame built in batch 16. whether that means his frame was already built and left empty in storage somewhere and then repurposed by Shockwave, or Shockwave built him from scratch based on the blueprints and just continued the serial code sequence, I haven't decided. but either way, it means there was a finite number of seekers brought into the world and they dont even make up a whole united states city's worth of people. Lots of them are dead by now anyway. The whole cybertronian race is so small now they are all on first name bases with each other XD. But i digress, none of that has to do with time or calendar stuff, just thought it was fun.

thanks for asking!!

[that-hazbin]

Media Demon AU - excuse me you've inspired me to write in your AU, have a gift.

Lucifer and Lilith being dragged out to Pride by Teenage Charlie, they aren't expecting anything but blood, brimstone and depravity and are pleasantly surprised to find everything drastically changed.

The streets are well lit, banners of alternating colours crisscross the streets below, colourful storefronts and music on every corner, it's easier to say what street doesn't have a sinner or group of sinners with musical instruments singing their hearts out as practice or hoping to be recruited. Walls usually vandalised with nasty graffiti feature massive spray painted murals and while some are admittedly indecent they are of high quality.

Posters on every storefronts advertising performance arts of any kind imaginable, with temporary soul contract offers for skilled musicians and other artists to either teach or perform.

Lucifer looked at some of the advertisements somewhat curiously.

Carmine Industries who in addition to Angelic Weaponry also did research and sold parts for sound systems, stages and repaired instruments in partnership with the Media Demon.

Zizzi the Party Overlord who seemed to have a mild friendly rivalry with the Media Demon in terms of recruiting talented bands with many non-violent battle of the bands in their history.

Then there was Alastor the Media Overlord himself, there was no picture, but a mention of sponsorships and sign up sheets guaranting safefy in return for the low low price of your soul. The caveat of 'for however long you were employed' was interesting but seeing the list of guaranteed benefits supplied, and the sheer lack of better options, it would be extremely difficult to refuse. Food, Housing, lessons, free dental and there was even a section for imps and hellhounds who wanted to work in the porn industry.

Lucifer paused his reading and sharpened his hearing to listen to the sinner talking to his wife and daughter.

"I'm practicing for The Media Demon... no I'm not into the lust sector... or television sector, don't worry... Overlord Alastor suggested I publicly perform to get over my stage fright. I never gotta perform up top back when I was alive cause I wasn't of the right folk. Overlord Alastor don't care about that nonsense though, so I can now!... What do you mean redemption?... Why would I want that when I got everything I want down here?... Those bigots are either up there or down here in the service industry, watching the same folks that they denied a job cause they was coloured be the next Michael Jackson is like Karmic Retribution... You wanna meed the Media Demon? Good luck with that, man's got a schedule so packed it's gotta be a war crime, managing the radio, Television, Internet and the entire Porn industry, powerful overlord but yeesh the paperwork... I don't think he actually sleeps... He's sponsoring a theater performance on Laufrey Theater, that's on Allegra Avenue... Look when the Media Demon rebuilds a entire city district after a Extermination on his own dime the demon can name a street whatever he wants... Royal permission? Pfft! Those bluebloods are never here, never help either... It's a far better name that 'Wreck that Booty Lane' that's for sure, look ladies get a new map from one of the shops, I gotta practise!"

Charlie was gone on the musical performances of the sinners on the streets, she'd thought earth was interesting from the extensive smuggled books and media she got from various Goetia and Hellborn after her interest in humans had became common knowledge but this was like everything all at once, she really didn't understand her parents extreme views on sinners. Look at what they were capable of, clear and present evidence that they just needed a chance!

Charlie was mentally adjusting her redemption plans and jerked in surprise when her father spoke up, waving a leaflet with Laufey Theater on the title. "How would you like to see a play?", her dad was showing interest in sinners? Actual interest?! Don't jinx it Charlie! "Can we really?" Charlie couldn't hold back the excitement, like a confetti cannon about to go off and it probably showed. Lucifer smiled "Anything for you Char-char"

"I'm sorry, sir, our tickets have sold out."

Alastor couldn't help but stop, ears perking up, as he passed by the Laufey Theater. It's unsurprising that the tickets have sold out, it's the premier of a creative adaptation of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, and Alastor can personally attest to the uniqueness of the play. It doesn't follow the popular inspirations from James Whale's film adaptations, such as electricity bringing the monster to life, and the background music consists of newly commissioned works played live for the audience. Alastor had seen a couple of the rehearsals, and was invited to watch the premier by the theater director herself.

He was busy, though, terribly busy, and he told young miss Melody that himself. Still, she insisted on reserving seating for him in the VIP section, despite his protests. A whole box, four seats, left empty for a man who doesn't even have the time to attend? It was preposterous, really. He tried several times to convince her to sell the seats, or at least give it to some of the family of the actors, but she remained firm. No one else were to sit in that box unless he were right there along with them.

"I'm truly sorry, sir, but there really is no room left tonight. We've even had to use our expansion runes to create more space in the theater, but even those extra seats have filled out."

He should walk away. Really, he's on a tight schedule, a meeting with Carmilla Carmine and several others regarding the adaptability of angelic steel in the medical field. He has no time for a singular man missing his chance—

"Sorry, girls. I know you were excited, but maybe next time?"

Fuck.

Alastor pivots, catching sight of an imp, a succubus, and presumably their teenaged daughter, who shares features of both. Something about them is familiar, but he waves the thought away; he's used to seeing "familiar" things, given that he's back in time. He's stopped trying to place the memories.

"Pardon me," he calls, instantly getting the attention of both the family and the ticket seller. "Apologies for eavesdropping, but I seem to have a solution for your problem."

He flashes a nonthreatening smile, dripping southern charm and hospitality.

"I just so happen to have a box set aside for me, and no one else to fit the remaining seats."

He turns to the seller and winks.

"Could you tell our darling miss Melody that her so-called muse is here for the premier?"

The seller gapes, immediately connecting the dots, face growing red with realization.

"Right— Yes! Right away, sir!"

The seller practically vanishes from sight, rushing to fulfill the request. Rather than waiting outside, Alastor moves towards the doors, opening them wide. He turns his head towards the family, noting their expressions. The father looks confused, almost suspicious— which, fair enough, this is Hell after all, and although the Pride Ring has gone through many changes over the years, you can never be too careful.

The mother's face is mostly unreadable, although she seems to be evaluating him the same way he's doing it to her and her family. Taking in his demeanor, his clothing, the way he positions himself. Her daughter has, in contrast, the exact opposite disposition. She's excitable, eyes sparkling and smile wide enough to rival his own, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her behavior reminds him of a certain optimistic young lady, which only furthers to solidify his decision.

"Well?" Alastor says, cocking an eyebrow and waving a hand towards the doors. "Shall we?"

"YES!" The teenager squeals, eyes somehow growing even sparklier. She practically floats through the doors, pausing briefly to turn towards her parents to show off her excitement with a near-silent "eee!"

Her father's expression melts into something hopelessly fond, while the mother's turns amused, shaking her head exasperatedly.

"Apologies," the mother says. "Our daughter's never been to a play in the Pride Ring. She loves new experiences."

"Well, she's in for quite the event! You all made an excellent decision, tonight's show is certainly one for the ages!"

The succubus chuckles, moving to step through the doors.

"I'll take your word for it."

The father, left alone outside, seems to hesitate for a moment. Then, he gives a tight smile, moving through the doors with a polite, if awkward, nod. Alastor follows him in, and internally sighs. The familiarity he feels with these people only seems to grow, and he wonders, briefly, if it was worth ditching his meeting to sit for the next few hours trying not to wonder how on earth he knew this family.

"You know," the imp says, dragging Alastor out of his thoughts. "I don't believe I caught your name, mister...?"

"Oh my!" Alastor exclaims, perhaps a touch too loudly in the near empty foyer, turning the heads of the man's family and the few stragglers who've yet to take their seats.

"Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Alastor, the Media Demon!"

He takes the imp's hand, giving it an enthusiastic shake. He notes the man's expression is shocked, almost disbelieving. It brings a mischievous glint to Alastor's smile.

"Pleasure to be meeting you sir, quite the pleasure!"

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Twenty Six - Feelings

Part Twenty Five

———

Pilots seem to come from all walks of life, it really depends on how or who recruited them. As the death tolls rose, they started scouring the Earth for compatibility in every place that was reachable by both government agency and private industry. 

Compatibility testing is not standardized across the planet, across agencies, or private companies. 

Those first few years a significant portion of pilots were underage, found more compatible than older people, the youngest pilot back in the start of the program was registered at thirteen years old. After years of regulation, it was made mandatory that pilots must be of the same age to enlist to become a pilot. 

As the number of attacks increased and the number of pilots was rapidly decreasing, many of those regulations were repealed in certain countries; namely the US. 

It is legally viable to become a mech suit pilot as young as fifteen in the United States if they are found compatible. One private company accepts people that young for compatibility testing, while the written test is now given with the selective service paperwork to boys once they turn eighteen. 

The written test is offered with voter registration, but not required. 

—

Archa Three was in a system with two nearby stars, the one the planets actively orbited around and one of an extremely close system. At night the sky would shine with the distant planets and stars, Bluestreak was enjoying the night sky in the quiet. Arm around Sunstreaker’s shoulders, staring at the stars reflecting in the water. 

It had only been a few minutes from when Bluestreak went quiet to Sunstreaker falling asleep, the suit slumping just enough to alert him. Ex-venting slowly, he kept his arm comfortably around Sunstreaker, staring at the horizon.

Until his comm buzzed and he nearly growled. Answering silently, “What?” The bite in his voice would have been enough to scare most people, but the voice on the other side of the comm laughed. 

Though he was still laughing, it took Prowl a moment to clear his voice, “I apologize, I didn’t realize you were so invested with your overnight watch.” Bluestreak’s face burned, “Oh just shut up, fragger.” Prowl chuckled lightly again, shaking his head a bit.

Prowl and Jazz were on the edge of Paraxus, as Jazz had left Iacon sometime during their hectic day, leaving Sideswipe and Breakdown on effective lockdown in the Iacon apartment. Paraxus though the city was still rebuilding from the war it had become a tactical hub at the start of the battles with the Quintessons, realizing it could not and would not remain neutral to destruction again. 

“How is Sunstreaker handling the change in command?” Prowl was keeping his voice down, likely meaning even on internal comm that Jazz was asleep somewhere nearby. Glancing down at the sleeping mech, Bluestreak smiled a bit, “It’s going like you thought it would.” Humming, Prowl fell quiet for a moment.

Bluestreak leaned his cheek against Sunstreaker’s helm, turning up his sensors. Checking the perimeter cameras and sensors with a quick scan, humming then, “He’ll be fine, just has to communicate.” He could almost feel the teasing from the other end of the comm, “That’s why I paired him with you and Ironhide.” Rolling his optics, Blue tucks one servo against Sunny’s side.

“He’s been angry, really angry then so calm. Is that normal or something that’s just Sunny?” Prowl ex-vented slowly, and Blue knew he shifted his weight. One of the mechs few tells, “So, not just Sunny?” Humming again, Prowl shook his helm slowly, “When Jazz went through overuse, it wasn’t this bad. But for him it was fight or die, he couldn’t show who he was. With Sunny and the others, they are out of their suits enough that every time they go back in it’s worse, but this is how they do things on Earth.” Venting shallowly, Blue shifts closer to Sunny, who seemed to move closer and lean more into him.

Looking back out at the ocean, Bluestreak stared, “They're more stubborn than a miner from Tarn.” Prowl’s comm cut out briefly, likely to choke back his own laugher which brought the slightest smile to his face, after a moment Prowl returned, “That is certainly one way of phrasing it, so then, how are things going for your relationship?” It took everything in Blue to not make a sound, gears grinding painfully as he adjusted in his seat.

Prowl just waited, probably wearing his stupid smirk on his faceplates, “It’s fine. Thank you for asking, you slagger.” The chuckle rang through the comm, “These things change and grow, human relationships are different from ours, not horribly so but different enough.” Venting slowly, Prowl stared out the window of the habsuite he was in, Jazz sleeping on his shoulder like Green would, “You have to have meaningful conversation, not just talking at him.” Blue rolled his optics.

The sand was warmed from the suns in this system, but even now away from the heaters it was starting to cool quickly, “We talk.” Prowl hummed, “Sunstreaker is the quietest human I have ever met, versus you.” “Hey!” Trying to hide his grin, Prowl cleared his vocal components briefly, “I am just saying, you two are different. That’s not a bad thing, it just means you both have to have patience.” And Bluestreak’s face burned, glancing down at Sunstreaker. 

Though he could see him, he knew the real Sunny was asleep somewhere safe, tucked inside the suit and away from the toxic and corrosive things this planet seemed to be blanketed in, “Yeah, patient.” He vented before looking back out at the ocean, nodding a bit, “I’ve gotta get back to watch, say hi to Jazz for me.” Prowl glanced over at his own companion who was sound asleep, “I will once he wakes up, keep a vigilant optic Bluestreak.” Bluestreak hummed before disconnecting the comm. 

He checked over the cameras and sensors, nodding a bit before going back to scanning the horizon. The way Sunstreaker reacted to the Quintesson ship was more than instinct, it was personal anger. 

It would be something that they’d have to talk about some cycle, but Blue figured it would be the same one where he explained the so-called inside joke, “Ah, Primus.” he chuckles lightly and shakes his head a bit. 

—

Staying connected to the suit while asleep was not smart or safe, but many pilots had done it before and many would do it after Sunstreaker was gone. It exacerbated overuse symptoms and increased the chances of the crash, but sometimes it was easier than dealing with the after effects of disconnecting.

The suit jolted at the same time Sunstreaker did, still connected even in his sleep, and he was gasping for air. He couldn’t see as his cockpit was shrouded in darkness. 

A hand collided with his chest and he tried desperately to grab it, “No,” his voice was choked, struggling to get air in and out, the hand on his chest shoved him down, “Relax!” Sunny wasn’t familiar with whatever the muffled voice was saying. Finally, he hits the emergency start up for his visual feed. 

Ironhide was over him, pinning him to the sad, practically snarling at him, “Online! Fragging online!” Sunny’s visor brightens just a bit as the rest of his external feeds kick online, sand was spraying all over them, “What the hell?” Ironhide pulls him up and points, “We’ve got company!” He stared for a moment before swearing and online the rest of his suits systems, “Damnit, damnit!” He grabs hold of the controls and adjusts the suit to standing.

The beach was in chaos, it was just shy of morning and there were craters everywhere. It looked so much like the field in Santa Monica. Sunstreaker finally got his head up and stared for a long moment, it was only one ship but it was doing a lot of damage, meaning Sunstreaker had probably pissed them off.

Ironhide still had him by the shoulder and pulls him back behind cover, “When I put you on overnight watch that doesn’t mean give it to Bluestreak so you can recharge!” Hitting the sand again, Sunny groans slightly, “I didn’t mean to fall to sleep! Fuck, alright, just let me handle this.” He slowly rolls and pears over their cover at the ship that was shooting at them. 

He could just see Bluestreak tucked in cover, holding his shoulder with his rifle leaned against his side, “Goddamnit, I can’t even get a decent nights sleep.” With a deep sigh, he adjusts the extension for his bracers before going over the cover and towards the gunfire.

—

Sand was still blowing against his suit and it had been hard to sleep, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Hound had disconnected from the suit for the most part, but kept a screen up with the external feel along with a hold on Mirage’s arm.

He was sitting on the floor, helmet off and eating while watching the outside for the clearing of the storm. Every few minutes Mirage would shift them both and send him tilting the other direction. If he got motion sick, it would make the experience only mildly unpleasant. Right now, he didn’t mind.

The external audio was turned down, mostly wind noise, but some of it was Mirage’s murmurings. Some of it even sounded like praying. Sighing slowly, Hound leaned against the side of his piloting chair, adjusting again as Mirage’s grip shifted again. Grabbing his helmet, he pulls it on before turning on his comm and pinging Mirage.

It took a second for Mirage to answer, “I thought you were asleep.” Hound smiled a bit and leaned his head back against the arm of his chair, “I slept for a bit, but after a while the wind isn’t just white noise anymore.” With a hum, Mirage shifted again, “Are you comfortable?” He chuckled lightly, “Yes Mirage, I’m alright.” Hound sighed slowly. 

The wind was still howling, “How close to sunrise are we?” Hound closed his eyes for a moment, breathing slowly, “Only a few klicks or so, least it should be.” Hound nodded then hummed, realizing his mech wouldn’t move, “And then we find the source of the storm?” Mirage chuckled lightly, “If there is one, yes.” he sighed slowly and held Hound that little bit closer.

Hound slid a bit on the floor and tried not to laugh as he adjusted, “I really am fine Mirage, sandstorms happen on Earth too.” But the mech remains quiet and Hound’s breath caught, “Mirage?” There was a moments pause, “Yes?” Sighing slowly, Hound stood, “Do they have storms like this on Cybertron?” And Mirage sighed shakily, “Not where I’m from, no.” Hound stared at his visual feed for only a moment longer.

Back in his chair, he connected with a bit of a jolt and moved quickly, trying not to hurt Mirage while he moved them both. The wind was trying to shove his suit back to the ground and Mirage wasn’t much help, wiggling and thrashing before finally they had switched places.

Hound was now pinning Mirage to the ground, though not face first in the sand, and Hound’s mech was cradling the poor man’s head, “You should have said something.” He really couldn’t see Mirage, the sand was that dense in the dark, but he had him on infrared, “You were asleep when the storm hit and I couldn’t wake you. I was fine.” Hound scoffs and shakes his head, “You’re insane.” But he continues to hold Mirage’s head away from the ground.

To be fair, Hound knew if he wasn’t in his mech, it would be incredibly awkward to hold any person like this. Watching Mirage’s face get warmer on infrared was proving that fact, but he just held on as still as the suit would allow, “Back home, I’m from essentially a desert. I only lived there a few years but it’s still home.” Mirage’s optics turned towards his visor, though Hound wasn’t sure if he could see him through the storm.

“We didn’t get storms this bad and there wasn’t a ton of sand, but we’d still get them. We’d also get the densest fog you’d ever see.” Hound just hoped that his talking would help keep the poor guy calm, he sighed slowly.

Clearing his throat a bit, Hound lowers his head slightly and closes his eyes, “On Earth, more specifically back home, out in the fields on the really windy days we’d get very weak tornados that would really only move the dust around. They were small and harmless, but they’d still send sand and crap into your eyes. Uh, they were called dust devils, I think. But it could be the most clear and beautiful day and it would be ruined by the fucking sand.” His helm lightly touched the edge of Mirage’s chest plating.

Mirage was staring, just able to see Hound through the sand and to say the least was deeply embarrassed. It was one thing to be frightened by a sand storm, it was another to be comforted by the most oblivious mech in the universe. His own hands had been stiff at his sides, as Hound’s had held his head just above the sand, the poor mech's elbows buried in sand. Slowly, painfully slowly he’d rested his hands back around Hound who just kept rambling on about Earth.

It really was a comfort to listen to him, and Mirage smiled softly, brushing a hand lightly up Hound’s side, “Earth sounds so nice.” Hound looked up, visor brightening, “I miss it, sometimes.” He sighed slowly, shifting slightly in his chair while keeping the suit as still as he could. His implants felt like they were burning and the skin around them was swollen, “But the work is here. I wouldn’t wish to be there, when there’s so much to do here.” He smiled a bit, “Do you feel better?”

Mirage really wanted to punch the oblivious idiot, “Yeah, I do.” Hound smiled, “Good, I’m glad.” He lowered his suit’s head back down, “Get some rest Mirage, I’ve got you till the storm breaks.” Mirage stared at him like Hound had grown a second helm, the mech was insane and oblivious. Rolling his optics a bit, he vents out.

Tapping a few things in the controls, Hound locks up the suit, keeping it in place. He doubted it was the most comfortable thing for Mirage, but it might be the most comforting. Yawning, he removes his helmet and tosses his legs over the arm of his piloting chair, “God, it had to be the middle of the night, didn’t it?” Mirage chuckled in the dark, “That is the way things go.” And Hound smiled, closing his eyes.

—

The room was pleasantly dark and the bed decently comfortable, his arm thrown over his eyes. Since it was just himself and Sideswipe, the apartment was almost pleasantly quiet. It had been hard, the first few days of bed rest but his overuse symptoms had been limited before the concussion and he had yet to be back in the suit since. 

Almost all overuse symptoms were gone, though Breakdown had experienced them in the past. His were slightly different from the Americans, as his implants didn’t bleed or drain, as most of the skin around them had been cauterized. It was only once on loan to MECHA did any of his integrated hardware get updated. 

Almost all of the new stuff was still in fact new. For the twins, their implants and things were only a few years old, Hound and Jazz had had them for almost or around ten years, as had Breakdown with his original integrations. The ones for the upgrades though, those only came about in the last year or two, they would still itch and burn.

Right now his right arm was burning and he thought about getting up to get some water to put on it, but Sideswipe’s music was being played at unbearable levels in the living room. 

So, Breakdown just turned over and tried to go back to sleep. 

Sideswipe was playing his music while checking through part of the wiring on his suit, nodding along to the few familiar sounds from home that were withstanding. At the end of the week, if Breakdown was cleared by Jazz, he’d be shipping out to join Megatron and Hound while Sideswipe was still wondering who on earth this Elita-One person was. 

They couldn’t be that bad, most of who he’d met had been nice enough. Sometimes a little scary but he doubted anyone reached Megatron’s level of intensity. 

The little comm on the wall started to ping, which would go ignored until Sideswipe could get his helmet microphone working again, so it would just sit there and ping. He swore loudly as the wires he connected burned his fingers lightly, kicking his assistance suit off the table.

Breakdown covered his ears and turned into his pillow.  

— 

It wasn’t particularly hard to disable its small shuttle craft, these were run of the mill and more typical back home than they had been in the nearly seven months that they’d been among the Cybertronian’s. Then again, they were fighting an army of these freaks compared to the one or two that was able to topple an Earth city.

Sunstreaker was breathing heavy, mask back on as the air in his tanks was starting to drain with the exertion, “Fall back!” He throws his arm behind him a bit, tangled with the Quintesson, whose ship was above them and still laying down covering fire through the cybertronian camp, “Sunstreaker, don’t be stupid!” Ironhide was behind him, just barely covered by an overturned crate and holding his arm.

It was singed and sparking painfully.

Barely sparing a glance over his shoulder, Sunstreaker drags his blade across one of the tentacles of the Quintesson, splattering his mech in that familiar disgusting green, “Ironhide, fall back and get the others to a safe distance! That ship isn’t going to be able to stay up there if it uses up all its energy on the covering fire!” The Quintesson quickly tugged him back and screamed, trying to pry at his plating. 

Someone yelled loudly and several blaster shots came incredibly close to Sunny’s visual feed, one camera cutting out with a flash as he swung around, foot colliding with the beak of the enemy. It shrieked and reeled back, Sunny bringing one of his bladed bracers down on it again, splattering more green across the light sand. 

There was no more yelling behind him and he could finally focus on just the fight, Ironhide pinging him to alert him of their retreat location. With a bit of a smile, Sunstreaker dove at the monster again, pulling at its limbs with a horrific squelching noise. Wrapping its limbs around his arms and pulling, tearing them away from the alien and cutting them when they wouldn’t give, it screamed and tried to get hold of his legs again.

He stomped on it and headbutted the thing, though he thought for a second he heard his visor crack, another camera was quick to pop offline, which he doubted was a good thing. Sunstreaker was still able to maintain his entire visual feed, resorting to auxiliary cameras.

This particular specimen had denser skin than other Quints he fought, harder to pull apart and nearly impossible to cleave in two without Sideswipe there, but he was still trying. Spraying the beautiful beach in green as the ship above lets out its final pathetic shots on the distant sand, its menacing hum turning into a pathetic whine. 

It started to let out an alarmed sound, which caused the Quintesson to look up and gave Sunny the perfect moment to jump forward, arm going half way deep into its body. It gurgled briefly, spraying the front of his mech greener still, before its tentacles fell from around Sunstreaker and it’s body gave way. It almost dragged Sunny to the sand too.

He hardly had a moment to catch his breath before turning than diving the other way, the absurdly large scout ship crashing onto the beach where it’s energy cells were quick to explode upon impact. Spraying the once beautiful organic paradise in a horrible mix of technological and organic shipwreck. Leaving the beautiful beach on fire. 

The concussive wave hit last, slamming into Sunstreaker’s suit like a perfectly placed punch, enough to knock the wind out of him.

Laying in the sand, the water comes up and brushes over parts of his mech and Sunstreaker tried not to laugh. There, on the beach, staring up at the brightening sky, it really did remind him of home for a long moment. 

Chuckling and sitting up, he rubbed a hand over his covered face, moving to remove the oxygen mask before stopping. Starting. The hand of his mech had glass sticking in its seams, a light blue glass, “Oh shit.” He didn’t know how bad it would be, but that would be a part that would be incredibly difficult to replace or explain having to replace.

With a shove off the ground, he pulled up the coordinates sent to him by Ironhide and started that way, a few mechs already appearing from around the area to try and start putting out the fire. A few had upgrades that were able to put down extinguishing agents.

Sunstreaker kept walking, even as a few people he knew stopped to gawk at him, which was not a good sign to be able to explain this away.

It got even worse when Flatline came running up to him, the mech was large and intimidating but an incredible medic, “Sunstreaker, you need to stop, just hold still!” His hand lightly grabbed Sunstreaker’s suit, and Sunny pulled back, holding up his hands lightly, “It looks worse than it is, I swear.” Poor Flatline looked horrified, “There are going to be mechs who actually need your help, cause of the explosion and stuff.” Sunny added lamely. 

This was not going to help his case, even as he kept backing up, now in the tree line and edging close to where Ironhide had ordered the retreat to. More mecha were gawking at him or even gasping, this was bad, “Sunstreaker, it is more than just appearing incredibly painful, your optics,” “Are fine! I swear, it’s just the visor, I think. I can see.” He tries sidestepping the medic, when sends him colliding with his commanding officer. Today was just turning into the perfect mess.

Ironhide looked ready to yell when Sunstreaker turned to him, before going pale, or cold, Sunny wasn’t entirely sure which to describe it as for a mech, “Sweet primus, how are you still standing?” Sunstreaker winces, “Is it really that bad?” Ironhide gawked at him as someone nearby was sobbing.

”That bad? Kid, your visor is shattered and you’ve got a graze that took out part of your finial.” The sobbing got louder, “Oh Blue, he’s alive! Calm down, for sparks sake.” Ironhide sighs slowly, staring, “Does it hurt?” Sunstreaker could only offer a shrug and the truth, “I don’t feel a thing, but I was designed that way.” Flatline made a strangled noise and Ironhide looked ready to either pass out or murder mankind, he wasn’t sure which at the moment, “Come on kid, sit down, let Flatline at least, at least cover it.” Nodding a bit, Sunstreaker slowly sits.

Flatline filled most of his visual feed in the next second, “I don’t have the parts to replace this,” “I don’t think you could if you wanted to. A lot of your stud won’t integrate with our systems.” Flatline looked to Ironhide, who could only nod, then Flatline swore and started to put god knows what across his suit's visor.

It went quiet for a bit after that, Ironhide disappearing out of Sunny’s field of view and Sunstreaker couldn’t move without being growled at. Intimidating indeed. 

It was only once the shattered visor was mostly covered and Sunstreaker had adjusted his cameras did Ironhide reappear, with Bluestreak to his left looking horribly distraught. Sunny smiled and realized that Blue wouldn’t see it before sending him a ping, which opened far faster than would be humanly possible. He still offered a smile, but it didn’t seem to improve Blue’s mood.

Ironhide cleared his throat a bit, “Sunstreaker, I gave an order to Bluestreak here to fire on the Quintesson when he had a clear shot.” He pauses and looks at Blue then back at Sunny.

It honestly looked Sunny way too long to put two and two together, he paused before staring with a slightly slack jaw, “Wait, Blue shot me? In the face?” Bluestreak made a pained noise, “To be fair, he was shooting the tentacle that was trying to wrap itself around your face that you were ignoring. The second shot just hit your face since the first one severed the thing.” Nodding slowly, Sunstreaker goes to rub his face in thought and three mechs were quick to grab his arm.

”Don’t touch it! It’s only a cover till you can get it repaired.” Flatline was glaring now, so Sunstreaker slowly lowered his hands. Ironhide sighed deeply, “This could have been a lot worse, if we were using the weapons from the war.” Nodding for a moment, Sunny looked to Ironhide, “You’re not using the weapons from the war?” “Primus no, those things were designed to kill us. To go through cyber-mater. We only use the new stuff now.” He nods a bit, clearly worried but unwilling to show it. 

Bluestreak’s hand lightly covered his mouth, “It’s… It’s only supposed to-to hurt organics.” His voice wavered and rose, but Ironhide’s hand came down, “See? It’s nothing personal, kid. We all get shot by an ally at some point, though it’s usually Mirage as the high caste bastard can turn himself invisible.” Bluestreak looked at Sunstreaker, clearly still distraught and horrified, but Sunny nodded a bit and moves over, taking his hand, “I’m not hurt, I swear.” Ironhide and Flatline shared a look.

With a deep sigh, Ironhide rests a hand on Sunstreaker’s shoulder, “I think it’s fair to say you're off punishment Civi, just, get some rest while we try to recover anything from camp. Try to recall Skyfire and the shuttle to get the pit out of here.” He nodded a bit before going off, barking orders again.

Sunstreaker stared after them, “That Quintesson comms station was at camp.” Bluestreak took his hand and held it tightly, “That doesn’t matter.” Looking at Blue, Sunny shakes his head lightly, “I’m not hurt Blue, it just busted up a camera or two.” But the pain on Bluestreak’s face wouldn’t be going away any time soon, “But you look hurt and I caused it.” Sunstreaker sighed, leaning his head against Bluestreak’s shoulder.

Even though they were in the tree line, the waves were still audible, “I’m human Blue, whether I was hurt or just my suit, we both know this is what I was made to do.” Bluestreak’s grip held tighter, “I hate that you pilots feel the need to live and die for this.” Sunstreaker smiled sadly, “What else would there be to live for? When your world would die if you didn’t at least try.” He sighed slowly, running diagnostics.

They sat there, silently, Bluestreak looking both at the suit and the human in the corner of his visual feed, unable to stop thinking about the fact that his gun was re-designed specifically to kill organics. 

———

A/N

So I basically wrote this all tonight, cause I lost track of time and forgot it was Monday after posting an earlier chapter on Ao3. I was busy today anyways.

It’s not likely that I’ll have part 27 for you guys on Friday, just cause I have to write some personal statement for applications this week.

Also also, earlier when I mentioned it being action and fluff? Yeah, I have written up till Sunny was just starting the fight with the Quint, I did not anticipate the later part of this chapter.

Sunny’s visor for his suit has a small chunk taken out of it, right near where his right eye would be, and it had spider webbed the glass. It’s not a pretty picture, plus the tip of his finial thing had been sheered down. I promise if you look at @cosmique-oddity ‘s art for Arcturus you’ll know what I mean.

Uh, anyways. I hope you enjoy this late chapter. P. 25 didn’t do great last week so we’ll see?

Also I have no idea who Flatline is. I know he is a decepticon medic from IDW and I needed a medic that could be on Archa three with them.

TAGS!

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @childofprimus @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @dimencreasatlas @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @starscreamloverfr @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @blue-wrens @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @osqindaxend @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscarpheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @pour1tin @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare

And once again thank you to @keferon for this amazing AU

[bluuscreen]

okay actually i’m gonna talk more about the seizures thing under the cut because i wanna get into it

first i’m gonna give the disclaimer that i personally have never had a seizure [afaik? though i feel like that’s something i would know] and i’m basing this purely on some cursory research, but i’m definitely open to input if anyone with more experience than me has any o7 this is also a sort of fantasy version of epilepsy since it’s caused by something supernatural, but i’m gonna try and keep it at least kinda grounded

sonic’s seizures are mostly caused by stress or fatigue. so if he overworks himself, doesn’t get enough sleep, etc. he’s at higher risk

this does mean he’s probably most liable to seize during battles and the various world-ending calamities that happen on a semi-regular basis. his friends end up setting up a system where he isn’t allowed to go in without backup anymore [even if it annoys him] and they’ll tag in to do the brunt of the fighting if he even looks like he’s getting a bit wobbly/spacey

if he does pass out/space out during battle the usual protocol is for tails, rouge, or shadow [because of flight and/or speed] to carry him somewhere safe, make sure he’s alright and set up with a book or a game to relax with once he’s conscious again, then get back to the fight if they’re still needed

his seizures mostly present like how the whole prism ghost thing looked after nine got the energy out of his body. falling to the ground, passing out, twitching/spasming, you get it. going by the descriptions that i’m reading on mayoclinic i think it’d be something akin to tonic or tonic-clonic?

starfall islands SUCKED for him both because he was stressed pretty much the whole time with very little help/rest and the cyber corruption made his symptoms way worse. he mainly experienced memory loss, fatigue, numbness, and brain fog, on top of his already present symptoms. amy, knuckles, tails and later sage had to keep reminding him of where he was and what he was supposed to be doing [this part could be considered canon [just slightly different circumstances] if we look at the voice lines that are shown in this video. looking at the comments it seems these lines weren’t actually cut, they just probably only play when sonic is idle for long enough. which ofc makes me wish the corruption had more consequences which is why i’m tying it in here]

the memory issues are somewhat of an ongoing problem, not really related to the seizures specifically but they are still related to the prism energy and later cyber corruption messing with his brain. his friends have had to get used to occasionally being called by the wrong name when sonics wires get crossed and he mixes them up with one of their shatter-selves. shadow is technically immune to this, but sonic has forgotten his name at least once and resorted to using nicknames for like twenty minutes until shadow noticed and reminded him

i’m not quite sure how sonic handles big fights once tails, amy and knuckles go off to travel the world after frontiers? honestly the most fun idea to me here is that eggman is like “yeah i’m evil but i’m not that much of an asshole” and just doesn’t cause any huge shit until he knows sonic has backup. or team dark and his other friends just help him out more often idk

going super does temporarily fix all of these issues, but obvi he can’t be super sonic forever. it’s like taking panadol for a headache—fixes the symptom, not necessarily the cause, and wears off eventually

watched sonic prime, have some doodles [no the “classic” universe doesn’t really make sense However i wanted to draw tiny shadow so whatever]

text under the “classics” since it may be hard to read:

- shadow is arguably nicer, but he’s affectionate in the same way a grumpy cat is

- not the actual classics [obvi, since shadow doesn’t have a classic vers.]. they’re in roughly the same point in the timeline [as regular sonic and shadow], they’re just small

[dailyadventureprompts]

Hi there! I hope your having a wonderful day!

So i had a question, or more acuratly wanted to ask for some advice. Ive more or less recently started dming, mostly in the form of one-shots for my main group. And ive stumbled across the following issue: while i love the lore building and describing and rp-ing i really struggle with combat. I tend to get overwhelmed and forget about effects and skills, and struggle with coming up with 'battle tactics' (which is what our campaign dm suggested) or make it way to easy because i worry about the players being dissappointed by 'loosing'(eventhough they've mentiones they would love harder combat and would even be okay with a tpk if it was earned)

So do you happen to have any suggestions or ideas on how to practice running and organizing combat and/or scalling or ways to not get so overwhelmed?

(Im sorry if this isnt quite what you do, i just didnt really know who else to ask)

This is ABSOLUTELY what I do friend, every part of the dungeon mastering experience is worth talking about because that's how we improve.

If you're having trouble learning your way around combat you're more than justified: it's a whole second game, and strategic skirmish tactics requires a very different skillset compared to the collabrative storytelling rules you're just now getting a handle on.

First, lets talk about what combat in d&d is even FOR: Fights in d&d are really no different than any other challenge, they're a hurdle you as a DM employ to introduce drama to a narrative and engage your players, not all that different from a locked door or an obstinate NPC that needs to be convinced. The difference is that when you call initiative, you are shining a spotlight on the moment to moment decisions your party makes when time is limited and greatly raising the stakes: Seconds matter in combat, quick thinking matters, mistakes matter.

To use a simple example, recently I ran a road encounter where the party came across a gnomish merchant who's wagon had been attacked by predatory flightless birds. The question wasn't "can the party defeat the birds", I knew they could, the question was " Can the party defeat the birds before they eat this poor gnome who will be a friend/ally to them later"

The reason you're having problem with tactics and being worried about killing your party is that you're thinking about combat as its own isolated thing rather than a dramatic beat as part of a larger story. Most fights in D&D are NOT about attacking the party directly: Instead the baddies have something they want to accomplish (Take, devour, defend, slay) and it's a question of whether the heroes can stop them before they accomplish their mission. Combat only takes 2-4 rounds generally, which is a limited time for your players to put their thumbs on the scale and try to alter the course of events. Tactics are emergent out of goals, so think about what your minions would want to happen and how they would've gone about achieving it before the party comes by to wreckingball through their carefully laid plans.

Another example: An enemy force is attacking a castle the party are guests at, looking to secure hostages in preparation for a coup attempt by a rival noble. While the villains' over all job is to capture pieces, the initial wave of badguys are primarily concerned with slowing the party down to prevent them from interfering with the other attackers around the castle, meaning they'll fight defensively, potshots from cover and barring exits.

When you refocus the badguys' goals away from killing the players and towards things that push the plot in a particular direction (especially one the party would generally like to stop) you’ll have a clearer idea of what the enemies want to be doing, which not only helps you decide how they act, but also pick what enemies go into a fight.

If you're feeling totally overwhelmed another option would be to switch to a game system that focuses less on crunchy combat. It's drastic but everyone has game systems that fit better with their particular DMing style, especially in the early days when you're first developing. I'd highly recommend Forged in the Dark, or Powered by the Apocalypse systems, as they still have the punchy action-forward storytelling of d&d without having to manage much on the mechanics side.

[jennrypan]

The sheer..annoyance I felt when Bugnoire or whatever her name is, was the one to 'defeat' Monarch (I say defeat like that cuz she actually didn't. She let him get that wish cuz she foolishly believed he changed despite the evidence of CRITICAL THINKING. And he just killed himself. So..yeah. there was no defeat.)

Like..it rendered Chats place in the team useless. Cuz they were in this TOGETHER and then suddenly..he's gone, Chats not there, her partners not there. Marinette not only fights Gabriel by herself but continues to make choices FOR Adrien like him and everyone else, she decides he doesn't need to know about his mother's whereabouts, he doesn't need to know about Natalie and Gabriel's villainy, and she decides to lie to Adrien and all of Paris..cuz he asked her to?? Cuz he gets excused for all his terror cuz he missed his wife sooo much. Marinette decides Adrien doesn't need to know he's a sentibeing and his amok is in a ring that could be easily stolen.

Does she even really ask about Chat? Where Chat was during the final battle??? She doesn't even tell her first PARTNER what the fuck even happened, doesn't explain. No she made Alya her second in command. Even though Chat was here from the beginning, always helping her ass, always putting his issues aside so he can help her (HE was the one comforting her when she lost the miraculous, even after the entire season she's been brushing him off. AND IN SEASON FIVE. HE STILL COMFORTS HER. After he just lost his father and found out he couldn't even be there to defeat hawkmoth.)

..and yall want me to root for them as a couple? No. Marinette keeps treating Adrien like a prize she can coddle and cling to and it doesn't seem like she sees Chat as an equal but as just another hero. I need Adrien to have a support system that ISNT cool with Marinette. I need him to have friends that aren't so close to her cuz he doesn't have that! Nino is suppose to be his best friend but he rarely gets to spend time with him unless it's on a double date and Nino was Marinettes friend first. Kagami is his friend but oh..she's one of Marinettes besties now and Felix is with Kagami so he'll trail her cuz ofc he will.

Chat was suppose to be his one freedom but now, it's just as restricting as his regular life, his regular life is probably more freeing now actually.

To make this post..shorter. basically: Marinette/Ladybug doesn't treat Chat as a partner nor does she treat Adrien as a person and he needs a circle that has NO attachment to Marinette. He needs people he can convide in that won't just run back and tell her so she can 'make him feel better'.

[the-edge-of-great]

I once read a oneshot about Sonic finding out that the Resistance didn't keep close contact with Tails during the War, and it was really good, but I feel Sonic wasn't as angry as he should've been. So here's my two cents written from the outsider perspective of the Rookie character.

(This might soon become a whole story, but for now, this is it)

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

After six months of the world mourning Sonic the Hedgehog, the Resistance has finally brought him home.

Not to brag, but I was the one to bust him out. Well, kind of. Other members of the team hacked into the Death Egg’s security system and freed Sonic from his chains. Then, Sonic fought the leader of the Deadly Six (not sure who they are, exactly; fingers crossed we don’t run into them) and during his escape, he found me courageously fighting a few badniks all by myself. He gave me a hand, not that I needed it. From there, I called Knuckles the Echidna, mission leader, on my wrist communicator and led Sonic to freedom.

So it was a team effort, but I was the first person in the world to see Sonic the Hedgehog alive. 

Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I’d find inside the Death Egg. Everyone seemed convinced that Sonic was killed in battle. Even the leaders of the Resistance, supposedly his closest friends. The only person who firmly disbelieved this was a kid named Tails, but he left the HQ long before I showed up. I’ve heard bits and pieces about him, but for the most part, he’s an Off-Limits Topic. Though I know to mind my own business, I always wondered how a little kid could be so important to a cause like this.

In the next room, something slams against the table. “Stop stalling, Knuckles!” Sonic the Hedgehog hisses. “Tell me where he is.”

Knuckles sighs. “He’s probably at his workshop—”

“Probably? You don’t know?”

“I’ve been a little busy, if you hadn’t noticed,” Knuckle snaps.

“Busy.” Sonic scoffs. “That’s not an excuse.”

“We tried to make him stay, but he wanted to leave.”

“I don’t care that he isn’t here. I care that you don’t know where he is! He could be hurt, or worse.”

“Don’t think like that.”

“How can I not? I’ve been locked up for six months, the world has gone to shit, and my little brother is in the middle of it—alone!”

A chill jolts through me. Little brother?

“How long has he been gone?”

Silence.

“I’m losing my patience here, Knux,” Sonic growls.

“Four months.”

More silence. It stretches long enough for me to contemplate glancing inside, just to make sure they’re both still breathing.

Then a blue blur races past me. I don’t have a chance to move before he knocks me into the wall. Once I find my footing, I run after him.

The front door hits something hard when I push it open. Metal scrapes under my feet. Confused, I step over the mess and continue into the street. I don’t see Sonic, but he definitely came out here.

The entire street before me is littered with carnage. Badniks torn in half. Blue and red wires strung out like entrails. Smoke billowing from piles of robots who still twitch and spark, as if they’re in pain. At the center of it all, I finally spot him: the great and legendary Sonic the Hedgehog rips the power source out of a badnik’s chest and crushes it in his hand.

I can’t move. In minutes—seconds, maybe—he did what it takes a squad of Resistance soldiers to accomplish in hours.

Tossing the badnik to the ground, Sonic finally spots me. My stomach turns. I know he’s the One Who Saves the World, the Good Guy, the Hero… But right now, I wonder if it’d be safer to retreat and stay out of his way.

I’ve been locked up for six months, the world has gone to shit, and my little brother is in the middle of it—alone!

“Hey, you’re the one who rescued me from the Death Egg,” Sonic says as he approaches. His sudden calm demeanor is startling.

“Uh y-yeah, that’s me,” I stammer.

“I never thanked you for that. Knuckles said you’re new to the Resistance?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good. With more people fighting back, we’ll take back our planet in no time.”

“With you here, we should be able to take him down tomorrow.” I try to laugh as I glance around at the wreckage, but it comes out shaky and awkward.

Sonic’s smile is sharp and not quite friendly. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’ll be a bit longer than that. I’ve got something to take care of, first.”

I nod. “Right. You wanna find your brother.”

Green eyes cut to me. Immediately, I regret everything. 

“Thought I felt someone listening in there,” he mutters.

“I–I wasn’t eavesdropping. I mean, I didn’t mean to—” I wince. “Sorry. I’ve just heard a lot about Tails in the last month, and I… I didn’t know he’s your brother.” 

“That seems to have slipped everyone’s minds.”

“I can help you find him, if you want.”

Sonic snorts. “Thanks, but I think it’d be better if you stay here.”

“Remember when I saved you from the Death Egg while still being new to the Resistance?”

“Remember how scared you were when you stepped outside a minute ago?”

I bristle. “I wasn’t—”

The knowing look he gives me snaps my mouth shut.

“I was just surprised.”

“Right. Surprised that the Hero could be so violent?” Crossing his arms over his chest, Sonic observes his destruction. “Gotta be honest here, I’m not ready to jump back in and save the day. Don’t get me wrong, Eggman’s reign of terror will be ending very soon. That’s a promise. But the only thing I care about right now is finding Tails. So if you’re expecting the Hero, you'll have to wait.”

I frown. Who is Sonic the Hedgehog if not the Hero?

Against my better judgement, I realize I want to find out.

“Well… I kinda wanna meet this infamous Tails.”

He smirks. “He’s definitely worth the trip.”

“Then, what are we waiting for? Any idea where he might be?”

Sonic eyes me. Then his smirk softs into a smile, and he leads the way to Tails’s workshop. I fall into step beside him, trying to ignore the scrape of metal at our feet.

[holyblanchett]

Not a Agathario thing but simply an Agatha thing I'm mad about.

Billy knows more magic and engages with more magic than Agatha. It fucking pissed me off and I have let it simmer for too long. We got more scenes of Billy talking technical magic than Agatha which is utter bullshit, Agatha as established in Wandavision is someone who loves the analysis, she loves picking apart what makes a spell work, why it works and more, she's the type of witch to have a grading system for all the other witches like she's Ash Ketchum who's going to be the Pokemon master and defeat all the other trainers.

Comics Agatha yaps so much about magic it gets annoying, in an endearing way but like yeah this woman knows what she's talking about and she sure as hell isn't stupid enough to not be able to survive without her 'purple' (it's adorable okay I love that Nicky calls it that). In the finale we have Agatha do like three spells, three? Motherfucker that lady forced the scarlet witch down the trauma central memory lane and had enough audacity to comment about her dead parents after she watched them die, she's got guts, she's got balls. She's not gonna mess around when it comes to a battle unless she's playing her opponent, she's fucking ruthless. like the whole scene with her having a noose around the twins' necks? You think that lady will whip out three spells and just not do anything else????

It is simply not realistic. Especially when it's against Rio, because let's be for real these two probably go hard in their fights as shown in the first episode. To have that condensed down to a little play fight of a thing so Billy can come in made me flip the fucking table.

It's stupid af, for a comics comparison it's like having Magik aka Illyana put down her sword forgo her wards and spells to karate chop someone or bringing a nerf gun when your opponent has an ak-47.

Agatha has two fight modes, fucking go for the kill or, slowly manipulate everybody give and give Doofenschmirtz monologues while she does it then bite heads off. Both end the same way. Agatha uses wit and charm alongside her magic.

If Jac really wanted high stakes she wouldn't have nerfed Agatha or have her go out without a proper verbal battle and one weird Billy thought invasion. So yes I'm beyond fucking mad.

Can I just say I shouldn't have laughed so hard at this (affectionate). I'm telling you if Jac had saved her coins for the final battle the show would have been so much better. I was craving a Agatha/Rio showdown. Mama had her magic for not even two minutes and even then she was struggling?? Rio knocked her on her ass one time and she was laying there like wtf??? I think another Anon referred to it as a light show and they werent wrong. It's so crazy to me. Hell, Comic, even What if...? Agatha is goated and so powerful. I get she had the darkhold in Wandavision but she's always been gifted she does not need it. She was done so dirty in her own show i will never forgive them 😭😭

[orangez3st]

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

[transmutationisms]

https://www.tumblr.com/ezrazone/774868156863954944/been-loving-your-ao3-criticism-lately-3-i-also

Hey hope this doesn't come up as too weird. Lately I've getting a lot into IP and Copyright abolition and thanks to ezra and his posts I've also gotten on actual good criticizing on stuff like AO3 as both a page, and org and what it "represents" for fan culture and free expression from a more material standpoint that doesn't rely on neither completely incurious fandomitism nor in reactionary stances on censorship and transgressive subjects in media which is a big plus

In one of his latests posts he mentions you talking about how AO3 Isn't actually focusing on legally addressing IP and Copyright issues on "fan content" but rather censorship ones and how even in that regard despite all the money they have hoarded they're unprepared for an actual legal confrontation:

”@transmutationisms also brought up a good point in conversation last night that much of their emphasis is on anti-censorship, which ironically means that a serious legal challenge would probably have more to do with content than legal resemblances to IP. a glance at any of their public statements re: censorship makes it obvious that they are actually woefully underprepared for what an actual crackdown might entail, like they’re formed around preventing another anne rice incident from happening when anne herself never had a problem with the vampires doing gay sex or whatever but a stronger legal entity might.”

Basically, I would like to know more about your stance on this, how is AO3 unprepared for any serious legal battle, and how fucked would they be in the case they had to respond in court for denounces from bigger legal entities regarding content material and censorship or obsenity/exploitation laws rather than IP and Copyright laws?

Personally as I see it currently, If it were to happen a case where in the USA at least, the country which gives the site the most traffic, they were called into court (specially on USA states such as Washington and *I think* Florida, in which any illustrated or written material featuring underage sex no matter how fictional is legally seen equally as actual CSEM with as severe penalties and there's that, and I highly doubt they want to spend any of their +2M$ funds or time into changing american laws as a whole about child abuse online), If the feds, or even just a bigger IP holder entity such as idk Warner thinking them hosting shota fanfics with DC characters muddies their cartoons and comics' image, under jurisdictions such as mentioned actually Did crack down on AO3 and they happened to find out about their "flimsy" and extremely vague rules regarding shit like RPF with real minors (actors, historic figures, true crime figures, streamers and youtubers, ect) or how extremely easy and common it is to make troll nsfw fanfics on semi-anonymised real minors online that are getting harrassed on sites like tiktok and twitter, they're sooner or later gonna get fucked biiig time lol

ezra may have misled you about how useful i can be here haha i was mostly just saying that pouring money into the archive doesn't necessarily make it any stronger legally. like if the argument is that they exist to legally defend the rights to transformative works -- there are other ways they're vulnerable as an organisation, and their position on free speech seemed to me like an obvious point of attack if you were trying to like, take them down. i have no idea how likely that is to actually happen though -- there won't be some systemic crackdown on fanfic from above; the scenario i'm picturing is like one aggrieved alt right weirdo makes it their mission to go after them. really just i was high and i was talking out my ass lol

[faeriegirl]

March 7th study 📸

[chawliekin]

and if I said that dennis’ insistence on being the breadwinner/provider despite literally being a pampered princess who dgaf about traditional roles of masculinity in every other regard (aside from ego) is because his mom only stayed with/chose frank for his wealth and dennis is highly aware that he’s difficult to love and unable to show his emotions openly so he has to be contributing something to the relationship materially in order to feel like he’s worth staying for… and mac grew up with parents who were extremely ambivalent to him and eachother so he has to overcompensate by proving his worth at every given moment and seeking praise/validation from people (and religious icons) who will never demonstrate the same amount of dedication to him but he has no idea how else to desperately keep himself close to those he loves other than by eroding himself into something they’ll approve of… dear god they’re both exactly what the other needs — someone who can’t and won’t leave them even if they try — and they don’t even see it…

[regina-del-cielo]

Maybe it's a 'study finds water is wet' type of thought, but

considering it's an action movie whose overall plot is "immortal warriors Fuck Shit Up™️", I think it's significant that in The Old Guard the thing that makes Copley pull red strings through his Murder Conspiracy Board and say "[Merrick] doesn't care what [Andy]'s done with [her immortality]" is the people they save, not the ones they kill

Most of the Conspiracy Board is him circling random newspaper headlines and faces on old photographs to (more or less realistically) follow the immortals' treck through the world and big historical events. Which is, in-canon, not much different than putting portraits from different centuries next to a picture of Keanu Reeves and saying "they look the same, clearly Reeves is an immortal!"

But then there are the connections. A little girl holding Joe's hand in WW1 becoming the youngest (and first) woman to be awarded a Nobel Prize for Medicine (suck it, Kozak). Or the grandchild of a family that Andy saved from [something] helping people escape from the Khmer Rouge genocide in Cambodia.

They are warriors. They have fought and been in the midst of countless wars, major or minor, throughout history. They must have killed as many people as they saved... and yet.

It's not them taking out a random warlord or dictator or rabidly hateful politician that has tangible repercussions in history. It's the children and families they get out of war zones, save from accidents, protect from natural disasters. People to whom they give a second chance at life, and grow to change the world (or even just their own world), like a mysterious stranger once changed theirs just by holding out a hand or patching a wound.

I don't know I just think it's particularly neat

[wriokitty]

I change my vision depending on the selfship tbh

[skaruresonic]

actually, yesterday I started playing Inuyasha: The Secret of the Cursed Mask for the PS2.

it's a pretty good game! plays a bit like a pared-down FF7 without all the bells and whistles, but it's a fairly solid experience otherwise. Sango is best girl <3

[starswallowingsea]

411991691

^^ i had to remake my r1999 account so add me on my new one!