#where he joked about needing a ventilator

[miniwheat77]

Protective. (Ghost x Reader)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, slight yandere behavior, mentions of blood and violence, death, possessive Ghost, men making reader uncomfortable, (let me know if I missed any.)

(Summary): Ghost discovers his feelings for reader and doesn't know how to deal with them.

When you joined task force 141, everyone took you under their wing. They looked over you.

You were significantly younger than everyone else, smaller than the massive men too. They didn’t need to look out for you, you could handle yourself obviously but they felt obligated.

Ghost specifically felt the need to watch over you. He was constantly watching you from afar, watching you interact with everyone else on base. Making sure you were happy and not uncomfortable. A couple times men on base have made you uncomfortable it doesn’t take Ghost long to intervene.

Soap had made a couple jokes about it in the past, how his stern eyes watched upon you constantly to make sure you were okay. A small threat had Johnny not making another comment. Mumbling out a small “I’m just joking LT, damn.” Ghost tried to push these feelings he had back. Tried to think about anything besides you. But he just couldn’t. He always felt this slight burn in his chest when he seen you interacting with the other men on base, felt the sting when you were friendly to him. He wanted you to be his. Sometimes he’d daydream about you, a life with you. He imagined you sitting with your feet in his lap, massaging your feet while you were plump with his baby. He imagined running his hands over your pregnant belly. He was obsessed before he knew it. And he didn't know how to control it.

Ghost respected Alejandro and Rudy. He respected Los Vaqueros. But when Alejandro flirted with you, called you pretty. A wave of anger he’d never felt before came over him and it didn’t take long for him to intervene there too, saying you needed to get to the next base for a mission. He liked Alejandro, but couldn't help but hate him for saying such things to you, you were his, didn't he know that?

Ghost is staring off into space. It's lunchtime for him, everyone else is scattered on base. A couple men are off on missions but 141 was still here awaiting their next mission together. He's staring down at his MRE, it's not good at all. A giggle left your lips and Ghosts ears perked up immediately. Who was making you laugh like that? He stood up from his chair, rounding the corner to see where you were and who the hell was making you giggle like that. He relaxes when he sees you down on one knee. “Fawn, what are you doing?” His voice is stern and you jump slightly. “There’s a ladybug.” You smile, picking it up. His heart jumps in his chest. He’s smiling under his mask but you can’t see it. “What, ya gonna keep it as a pet?” His rough voice warms your ears.

“Can I?”

“What?” He says confused. “Can you even keep them as pets?”

“Yeah?”

You perked up. “How?” You ask. “Just.. get a jar and put some grass and sticks it in or something.” He crosses his arms. “Do you know if we have a jar?” You blush. He sees your reddening cheeks, this is his moment. This is it. He nods his head for you to follow him. “I don’t have a jar but I do have a plastic thing that was full of those furniture sliders.” He breathes. It’s a cylindrical shape, 8 or so inches tall by 4 wide. It has a plastic top with tape. “Cmon, I’ll help you.” You follow him out, cupping the ladybug in your hand so it doesn’t fly away. Ghost washes it out with soap and water. He makes sure all of the soap is rinsed out and dries it, stabbing some holes in the top for ventilation, making sure not to make them too wide. He didn't want the ladybug escaping. “Here. Put it in.” He holds it out. You let the ladybug crawl off of your hand and into the side of the container, closing the lid. You follow him outside, cute smile on your face as you look into the jar at the ladybug. He helps you gather everything you need for it. A small layer of dirt and grass in the bottom, leaves, sticks. You had spent some time outside with Ghost before. Usually you picked weeds in your free time to make the front of the base look a little nicer. Ghost would lie and say he needed some sun, which didn’t make much sense with the mask but who’s really keeping count. Sometimes, you’d pick a flower and hand it over to him. Occasionally you’d tuck it under the straps of his helmet, or on his vest somewhere. Sometimes he’d “forget about it.” And would only remove it when someone would point it out or until it died. Soap teased him the couple times he’d seen you doing this. It was probably weird, but he never threw them away. He would flatten the petals out and leave them in a book to flatten them out.

“What do they eat?” You ask, looking at it in the jar. “I think microscopic insects.” He’s watching you. You’re sitting in a chair and he’s standing behind you. “You’ll have to keep adding leaves and dirt and grass so that it has more to eat.” You nod your head. He’s watching you as you looked at it. His heart swells in his chest. “Should we wet it down a little bit?” You ask. “Yeah, Johnny has a spray bottle for his hair.” He disappears down the hallway.

He knocks at Soap’s door. “What’s up LT?” He asks. “Can I borrow your spray bottle?”

“Uh.. yeah? What for?” He asks. “Y/N found a ladybug and made a terrarium for it.” Soap smiles. “Ah. You helped her?” He smirks. “Yeah?” He narrows his eyes. “The spray bottle Johnny.”

“I’m going I’m going.” He raises his hands in surrender. Johnny could see right through Ghost, and Ghost hated it. He knew he liked you. Soap hands him the bottle and he spins around, walking back toward the mess hall where he had left you. He passes you the spray bottle, sitting in a chair next to you as you moved the ladybug out to mist the inside of the container. When you’re finished, you put the ladybug back in and smile. “I’m gonna keep it in my room.” You smile. “Come on.” You grasp Ghosts hand. He feels his heart freeze in his chest, breathing out. Just the slightest touch from you had his heart jumping in his chest. You pull him along. Placing the small container on the small nightstand you had. You scooted it to be near a window. Half of the container was in the sun, the other was in the shade. “There. You got your pet ladybug, fawn.” He let’s out a deep chuckle. You smile real wide at it, and his eyes want to roll back into his head at how sweet you were. A knock at your door has you both perking up. “You both decent?” Soap asks. “Uh… yeah?” You say confused. Soap opens the door and smiles. “Sorry, seen you both come in here alone. Didn’t want to walk in on anything.” Your face heats up, realizing. Ghost wants to ring Johnny’s neck. “No, we’ve already finished.” You send a wink Soaps way, and Ghosts cheeks burn, eyes widened. Soap laughs. “Jesus Christ.” He rolls his eyes. “Was thinking about going to the pub later. You guys wanna come?” Ghost would only agree if you said yes.

“Uh.. sure yeah.” You smile. Ghost crosses his arms. “Yeah I’ll go.”

For the rest of the day, Ghost was glued to your side. Most of your time was spent in the mess hall, talking to each other.

When the time came to go to the bar with them, you got a little dressed up, not your usual uniform. You were squeezed in the back seat of Price’s truck next to Soap and Ghost. You were in the middle between the massive men of course. Gaz in the passenger seat, and Price was driving. “Why you so dolled up little lady? Planning on going home with someone?” Soap smirks. Ghosts eyes tear him to shreds from the other seat. “Got a piece of Ghost and want more already?” He tries to save himself. “No. I just wanted to feel like a person today.” You blush. “I’m just giving you a hard time. We all know Ghost isn’t gonna let you go off anywhere alone. He’s like your protector.” Soap nudges you. Ghost wants to tear Johnny apart right now.

When you arrive, you follow everyone inside. Ghost is behind you. Following you close behind.

The night goes pretty smoothly. Everyone is sitting at the bar until a few of them decide to play pool. Ghost excuses himself to the bathroom. He sits at the sink, he hated this. He hated feeling this way for you, he didn’t feel this way for anyone. He was usually able to swallow down his feelings but he just couldn’t with you. He takes a deep breath, walking back out to the bar. He sees that someone has filled his seat next to you. Price, Gaz and Soap have disappeared to the back to play pool. They didn’t really need to see this anyways. Ghost could see how uncomfortable you were. “I’m sorry- but I have a boyfriend.” He hears you lie. This random man’s hand reaches to touch your hair. Toying with it. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

“He went to the bathroom,” you shrug his hand away. Ghost knew you could handle yourself. But knew you didn’t really like to with your own people. You only wanted to eliminate terrorists. “I was just in there, didn’t see him. Why are you lying sweetheart? You don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yes. She does.”

The man looks up from you, seeing Ghost standing tall. 6’4 1/2. Mask on his face. Arms crossed. His chest raised with his intake of a sharp breath, he wanted to kill him. His eyes burned a hole into the man. Nobody was supposed to be touching you, period. “I suggest you get away from her, before I make you.” Ghost raises his jacket, showing his sidearm in his waistband. The man’s eyes widen and he raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry man, I didn’t know she was taken.”

“She told you she was, mess with another girl in here again and you will regret it.” He seethes. The man stands up, walking for the door.

Your heart flutters with admiration. The way he defends you, it’s so amazing. It makes you feel invincible. A breath leaves your lips. Ghost sits down next to you. “You okay? Did he hurt you?” His hands are on you, making sure you’re okay. “I’m fine Simon, thank you.” You breath. The way his name rolls off of your lips. It throws him for a curveball, closing his eyes tightly. You’ve never called him that before, it puts him in a daze. “I like that.” His voice is deep, raspy. “What?”

“I like when you call me Simon.” You smile. “Well. I like your name, Simon.” You chuckle. Ghost could tell you were a little buzzed.

This is what this was. This is why he’s having such a hard time with you. You see right through him, right through his tough shell. You see Simon. This wasn’t Ghost growing feelings for you. This was Simon. He’d pushed back Simon, as far back as he could. Simon had been hurt one too many times and all that was left was Ghost. Until you came along of course. Simon emerges from the depths of his mind, every time you compliment him, or give him those tiny purple and white flowers, a Daisy occasionally. Sometimes you’d manage to find a wild rose, passing it to him. When you were hurt, his eyes full of worry. That was Simon.

Ghost only ever seemed to emerge when someone was messing with you. When it came to killing people for you, when you’d been shot or stabbed or cut. He was heartless, ruthless. When it came to them. He had no mercy for those who endangered you. But, once the threat was eliminated. When you laid there, laughing off the pain, fading feeling of dying haunting your brain like a plague. It was Simon who aided you. Simon who’s eyes filled with tears, scared to death at the thought of losing you. It was Simon who sat in the infirmary with you, by your side. Jumping at the slightest snap or sound. It was Simon who felt the rush of relief when your eyes opened and you sent him that same lazy smile. His heart swelling in his chest.

Ghost was in danger because of Simon. He’d pushed Simon back all of those years ago. The pain, the hurt. The shredding he felt in his chest from sorrow and despair he’d suffered from other people, from the military. From losing everyone he’d ever loved, losing everyone he’d ever known. He felt sick. He felt nothing but sheer pain.

He was coming to terms with it. Simon would take back over when it came to you.

He was in love with you.

He had nothing else to do but accept it, accept the fact that you were haunting his mind day and night.

“Do you want to go back to base, fawn?” He asks. You nod your head. “I thought that… dressing like this would make me feel normal. Not put me at risk.” The sadness in your eyes makes Ghost want to march outside. Find that man, and beat him until he stops moving. He hated seeing you sad. “Let’s go, we’ll walk back. It’s not far.” He smiles. He passes you his jacket, leaving him in a long sleeve black shirt. “Hey, we’re going to head back to base. She’s not feeling good.” He says to the others. They nod their head, and he walks back to you. Exiting the doors with you. “Thank you, for being so kind to me Ghost.” You smile. He nods his head. The walk back to base isn’t so bad, it’s a little cold, the air nipping at your cheeks. Ghosts jacket keeps you warm for the most part. “You want to check on my ladybug with me?” You smile. “Sure love.” He laughs. You grasp his hand, pulling him along to your room. When you get inside, your ladybug is still crawling around. “I’m not sure what I’m gonna name it.” You look at it closely, resting your head on your hand. He thinks for a second. “I’m not sure.” The both of you think for another few minutes. “I got a couple books in my room. Maybe we can find something there.” He laughs. You nod your head, following behind him.

When you get there, he passes you a book. He doesn’t think. He totally forgets.

You flip a couple pages and a little dried flower wisps it’s way to the floor. Ghosts eyes widen and you furrow your eyebrows, picking it up in confusion. “Is this..” you start, flipping through the book, finding many more. A small smile appears on your lips and his eyes look down, crimson creeping up onto his cheeks. “Are these the ones I’ve given you, Ghost?” You ask. “Uh..” he scratches the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah.” You smile. “I didn’t know you kept them. I thought that you just threw them away.” You smile, tucking the fallen flower back between the pages. “Yeah.. I.. My mum always taught me how to make stuff with them. It’s a force of habit.” He rushes his words. “I think it’s sweet.” You smile. He laughs. A genuine laugh. You’re so oblivious to his feelings for you. You’re so sweet, it’s almost too much to bare. It’s hard for him to believe you’ve killed people, that you were so mentally and physically strong when it came to the military. “Listen.. Y/N.” He breathes. Your real name falling from his lips has you looking at him in confusion.

This wasn’t Ghost talking anymore. It was Simon.

“Sit down for me, yeah?” His voice is soft, something you’ve never heard before. It leaves you confused. He grasps the bottom of his mask, pulling it over his head and completely off. Your eyes widen. Having never seen him before. His blue eyes burn into yours and you’re in awe by the fact that he’s just revealed himself to you. Not Ghost. But Simon.

He takes your hands in his, kneeling before you. “I..” he takes a deep breath. “I like you.” He sighs. “And. I always told myself I’d never put myself in this position again. But I can’t take it anymore. I need you to know. That I have feelings for you. It’s okay if you don’t like me back. I just needed you to know, needed to get this off my chest.” He breathes. He looks down. He expects to be rejected by you. You were much younger than him, he imagined you’d never go for someone like him.

You take him completely off guard. Cupping his cheeks with your hands and pulling him in to kiss you. When his lips are on yours, it lights a fire inside of him. He wraps his arms around your lower back, lifting you up with ease and you wrap your legs around his back. He shoves the small wooden chair to the side with his foot, and backs you up into the wall behind you. His lips don’t move from yours until the both of you are panting. Lips swollen and blushing from the rough kiss you’d just shared. “I.. I like you too. I’ve just been too anxious to say anything because I didn’t think you liked me back.” You smile, breathing out. He presses his forehead to yours. This was Simon. All of him. His eyes, his lips. His beautiful smile. “You’re.. so handsome.” You giggle and he pulls you back from the wall. Backing himself up until he falls back into his bed with you. You’re straddling his hips, scooting up onto him. “Thank you sweetheart.” He blushes. You can see the pink appearing onto his pale skin. He definitely needed some sun. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are, you’re a sight for sore eyes, Simon.” You giggle. “Can’t believe you’ve kept such a beautiful face a secret.”

“I wish I could keep your beautiful face a secret. My own secret.” He smiles. This side of him was so different. You lean down, kissing him again. It felt so foreign. So forbidden. His lips were soft on your own and you couldn’t help yourself as you propped yourself up. You deepened the kiss and slid your hips up his front. It takes him off guard. Did you really want him like this? When he pulls away, he looks into your eyes. He doesn’t see even an ounce of hesitation. He slips his fingertips under your shirt, feeling his fingertips on your bare skin. It’s too much. He’s hardening beneath you, you can feel him throbbing against you. His dark jeans were refining him. You rock your hips into his, eyes darkening as you looked down into his eyes. A sigh leaves your lips when he pulls your hips into his, groaning out. “This is a bad idea,” he pants. “Yeah it is.” You lower yourself again. Lips on his. You kiss him harder than before, teeth knocking into his from the force of your kiss. You grasp the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, discarding it somewhere on the floor of his room. His fingers move along your waistband, unbuttoning your jeans and pushing them down your hips. You lift yourself up, sliding them down your legs and throwing them down with your shirt. You’re only in undergarments now, dazed from the effect he had on you. He unclasps your bra with ease, ditching it to the side. You’re only in panties now.

He pushes them down your thighs, exposing you to him completely. Your lips go back to his as he unbuttons his own jeans between the both of you. You have to move so that he can slide them off, pulling his shirt off. He’s fully naked now. Nothing is stopping you, no thin layers can be used as an excuse now. You look him in the eyes, taking a deep breath as you grasp his rock hard cock, lining him up with your sopping entrance. When the tip of his dick brushes against your wet folds, his eyes roll back. This didn’t feel real, he felt like he was dreaming, he’d wake up soon. He was sure of it. His fat cock pushes into your opening, stretching you. Your lips part, eyes widening slightly as he stretched you. “Oh-“ you breath. A gasp leaves your lips when he lifts his hips into yours, bottoming out in one thrust. “Fuck-“ you gasp out, the first time he’s heard you curse. And it’s on his cock.

He fits perfectly into you, brushing right into your spongy spot. He made your thighs shake and weaken. A lazy smile covers your lips and your eyes are screwed shut. “I.. it’s almost too much.” You giggle. Thighs shivering as you lift yourself up onto him, sliding back down. “Shit!” He groans out. “My god you are fucking tight around me.” He gasps. His chest felt heavy from the pleasure baring down onto him. “Fucking hell you feel good-“ he grits his teeth. Muscles showing as his clutches your hips. He wanted you to move against him, was going crazy by the a sense of you lifting your hips into him. You started grinding your hips into him, unable to lift yourself off of him without shaking and collapsing. It was pathetic how he made you like this, had these effects on you. He grasps your thighs, beginning to help you lift your hips into him. “Oh- it’s too much- ah!” You gasp. He lifts you up, flipping around to where you’re underneath him. Legs shivering, body spasming as he slipped into you. He bottoms out, growling out. “You’re going to have to let it be too much.” He groans, sliding his hips back and thrusting into you. Hard. A cry leaves your lips, and he thanks whatever god is out there that everyone else is at the pub. He hammers his hips into yours, bottoming out with each thrust. You could barely take it. “Ah! Simon!” You mewl, clutching onto the bed sheets. He halts his thrusts. “Hold your legs open for me sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” He breathes. You wrap your arms under your knees, pulling them apart. He takes a slow deep thrust, sliding perfectly into you. Brushing up against parts of you nobody had ever touched. Parts of you that you never thought were possible. A moan leaves your lips. Skin heating up and covering with a slight sheen of sweat. “Simon-“ you whimper.

This was different from any other person you’d been with. He was gentle with you, yet so rough. It felt different, the way his calloused hands touched you, so soft yet so warm. The way he touched you, it wasn’t desperation. It wasn’t lust, he took his time. He was caring, reassuring. Realization came down onto you. Washing over you like a rainstorm.

He was in love with you. Saving the flowers, watching over you, protecting you. Only you, no one else. He loved you.

Each thrust of his hips has you falling apart beneath him. You were no longer collected, no longer cared about how you looked. You moaned, whimpered, mewled. You could barely keep yourself together. He felt so good inside of you, and you were desperate for that high that he was pushing you closer and closer into. “Simon!” you moan. Bringing your hand down between the both of you to run circles at your nub. He pushed you further to your brink. You tried to keep your legs open for him. He leans down into you, panting into your ear. He was trying to keep himself together as well, but the way you squeezed around him had him struggling. He was moaning more than he wanted to, he didn’t want to feel anymore vulnerable than he already did, but the moans and whimpers slipped from his lips like a song, he couldn’t keep himself together, his lower stomach was clenching up tightly. He was so close. He clenches his teeth, gripping the sheets besides your head tightly. “I- I’m gonna cum Simon!” A pant falls from your lips and you’re right there. He keeps a steady pace, making sure not to move a muscle from where he was. Your eyes started to grow heavy, harder to keep them open. “I- I-“ a cry leaves your lips when he pushes you over the edge and he rides your high out. His hips halt. “Why are you stopping?” You pant out. “I don’t want to push you too far.” He breathes. “I can take it.” You look up at him. “Are you sure?”

You nod your head, so he continues. His thrusts resume their slow deep strokes until he’s hammering his hips into yours again, feeling your wetness dripping down the both of you. He bites his lip hard. Eyes screwed shut. He lifts himself up slightly, face a few inches from yours, the muscles in his arms clenching up tightly. “You can tell me if it’s too much okay?” His voice is deep and unsteady. His dog tags dangle in your face and you can feel another high building. You nod your head. The size of him makes you feel so small beneath him. He was so caring, even during something so sinful. He’s right on the edge within a few more thrusts, his cock twitching slightly. This is where Ghost starts to show through. Those cracks showing darkness. You were going to be his, he was going to knock you up. You were his- only his. He’d prove it to you. You were made for him, he could take care of you. He’d worship the ground you walked on. He would protect you. Thoughts of you, round with his child. It pushes him closer to his high, he was so lovestruck by you, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Forgive me sweetheart. I can’t stop myself.” He groans. “I don’t want you to stop- you can cum inside me.” He growls as you say it. Teeth gritted. So sweet, but letting him do such dirty things to you. When he finally hits his own high, his cock throbs hard with each spurt of his cum filling you up to the hilt. The sound of a door opening has you pulling him into you, kissing him hard to muffle his cries as he came hard into you. Pushing you into another orgasm. You muffled your own moans with his lips. “Fuck.” He grumbles. “Shhh.. S’okay.” You giggle quietly. “You’re soaked around me sweetheart.” He mumbles. Smiling into your lips as he kisses you again. He’s fucking perfect. Beads of sweat forming on his toned chest and arms. Face beat red, hair flattened with sweat. “Shit..” he sighs. Laying next to you. He hears another door close and could tell it was Soap going into his room for the night.

After a few minutes of laying together and cooling off, you clean up. Returning your clothes to each other and putting them back on. He follows you to your room quietly. Saying his good nights to you before returning to his own room. He sighs out. Sitting down on his bed. You were his.

As he lays on his bed, he thinks for a moment. The shadowy side of him beginning to appear. You needed to be his for good. He imagined fucking his cum deeper into you with his fingers, thought about sneaking into your room, you were just down the hall. He breathes out. He has to force himself to sleep so that he doesn’t act out. He wanted your trust, wanted you forever. He’d do anything to get it.

The following morning, he got up before everyone else, sneaking his way into your room. When he steps inside, he feels that it’s more cool than usual. He notices the frost growing in the small plastic container your ladybug was in. “Shit.” He mumbles to himself. You were warm under your blanket, small sighs still leaving your lips. You must’ve forgotten to turn on your heater. He picks up your terrarium, hurrying out the door quietly. He steals your alarm clock on his way out, setting the terrarium where the sunlight would shine so that it could warm up. He waits impatiently as the sun appears. Leg bouncing up and down. “Uh. LT? You okay?” Soap asks. “Yeah.” He sighs. Price appears, a confused look on his own face. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He growls out. Price raises his hands in surrender. “Nothing son, you just. Um..” he breathes. “I moved Y/N’s alarm clock. Don’t wake her up.” He says quickly. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Her ladybug froze, I’m going to go look for a new one when it warms up outside.” They nod their heads. “We can help you find one. What color was it?” Price asks. “It was Red, but it was a big one.” They nod their heads. When it’s warm enough, everyone is outside searching for ladybugs. “I’ve found 2, but they’re orange.” Ghost thinks for a minute, “add them in, she’ll love it.” He smiles. Gaz finds another, a big bright red one. Just like the one that was shriveled up on the bottom of your container that he had removed earlier. “thank god.” He sighs. “I got a real light orange one.” Price says, flicking it off of his thumb into the container. “Great. She’ll love them.” He sighs. Soap is smirking at him when they return to the mess hall. “You really like that girl don’t ya?” Price chuckles. “Uh.. yeah.”

Everyone looks upon him. “What?” He asks. “You don’t have a mask on.” He reaches up, touching his bare cheek. “Jesus Christ,” he groans. Walking off to his room. They’d seen him.

They seen Simon. Searching to please his girl, so that he didn’t have to see her heartbroken. Protecting her. Looking out for her. He returns his mask on. He’s sitting at a table in the mess hall across from Soap when you finally emerge from your room. He’d messed with your alarm clock and turned it off. Placing it back down. “My alarm didn’t go off I guess. How come nobody woke me up?” You ask. “You seemed peaceful. Besides, Simon has a surprise for you.” Price smiles. “Hm?”

“We all found some ladybugs when we went out this morning.” He nods to the terrarium. “Oh my gosh really?” He nods his head. You sit down and lower your head, looking into it. Ghost looks at Price, giving him a nod. The smile on your face as you watch them all climb all over the container brings Simon so much joy, it warms his heart. You were his, completely his at last.

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost posts #johnny soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #gaz mw2 #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #captain price #price x reader #ghost fanfiction

[strlingsav]

Yo…your last fic was brutal. I had to stop and back up coz immediately after the smut was pain! No prefaces or even a segue on what’s about to happen. It choked me up with the suddenness of it all.

Smut..fluff..more smut..more fluff..MOTHERFUCKING PAIN!!! 🤯😱🫢😭😭😭

Please, please, please…bring him back. Give us fluff and butterflies. Maybe he can survive, just a damaged but is able to come home to reader, he can heal and with those injuries, maybe retire and live in peace with reader? Maybe even have a bun in the oven waiting for him? Just heal us pleaseeeee! Anything will do, please!! 😭😭😭

(But only if you’re willing, of course.)

Thank you for the love, the smut, and the shared pain (coz I’m sure that also hurt you too). Just..thanks. 💕

Ugh of course I'll indulge this bc one I love you for being so sweet and two because I'm an absolute whore for happy endings. 🥺🤍 The first is here.

Endings: Two

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Explicit/gory content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

"L.T.," A voice was hazy and distant in Simon's ear- miles away, but he could see the outline of a figure before him.

He didn't have the energy to respond. He wanted nothing more than to give in to his body's demand to sleep, to rest. The dopamine firing in his brain, coursing through his veins, kept him subdued, peaceful, even.

"Up you get, Sir." There was a short pause, followed by radio static, "We're on our way out, evac standby."

Simon grunted as he was lifted from the ground, the shift in his weight caused a growl to come from his swollen lips.

"Steamin' bloody Jesus. You look like hell."

Simon could register the voice, now. It was Johnny. The Sergeant had found him in the wreckage, he'd survived.

Simon could hardly muster a 'fuck off', settling for a haphazard groan of displeasure.

Simon carried on, regardless of the pain in his chest, in his thigh, the throbbing in his skull now making him fully aware of the injuries to his person.

"Need a medic down here!"

Simon felt his body transfer to a spineboard, not without a loud yowl of pain, watching his feet as he was carried toward another helicopter prepped for evac.

Soap jogged beside him, his hand helping carry Simon's weight. The fog hadn't yet lifted, still blurry and half-awake, Simon could hardly comprehend where he was headed.

"You'll be alright, Sir. We'll take care of ya. Hang on, wouldya?"

He was relieved and devastated at the same time. He'd already made his peace with dying, he'd agreed to the terms his body set, the serenity that had almost cradled him to his grave- but you, damn you, forced him to hold on. Damn you, for settling into his mind and making it your home. For being the only thing he could think of, rely on to keep him hopeful, as he was carried onto the helo.

—

You received the call while at home, nearly dropping the plate in your hands when you heard the Doctor on the other end tell you Simon had been admitted with traumatic injuries.

You drove to the hospital, disregarding every speed limit and stop sign, thrumming your fingers against the steering wheel impatiently at every red light, watching the road through blurry, swollen eyes.

When you'd made it through the maze of hallways, finally finding Simon, he was asleep. He was on a ventilator, his skull bandaged where they'd pieced it back together once the swelling had gone down.

His eyes had been taped shut after surgery to aid in the repair of the severed retina, a white cast over the broken femur he'd endured.

You hardly recognized him through the swelling on his face. He wasn't the same- not the strong, solid man you'd said goodbye to a month ago.

You were sure it was a joke, a prank he'd pulled to keep you on your toes, but that wasn't like him, and a month in, you knew it was your new reality. He was lucky to be alive- so the doctor said.

The extent of his injuries meant physical therapy, a lot of it. The idea made you cringe, if he ever woke up, he'd fight like hell against it.

Despite feeling so completely overjoyed that he'd made it this far, survived this much, there was a part of you that knew there was a long journey ahead. A journey that would mean sleepless nights, emotional support, physical support.

You were dreading it. It seeped into you, like a bird of prey, it dug its claws into you. It only got worse.

A cycle of grief and anger, missing him- his voice, his eyes- so badly your breath caught in your throat every time you looked at him, looked at the broken man lying helplessly in the hospital bed- but also resenting him for putting you in that position.

Turning you into a caretaker, the solid foundation for the both of you while you almost lost the most important man in your life.

You couldn't help but feel the guilt eating away at you- how fucked up it was to think of yourself during a time when Simon might never wake up.

But you persevered, pushed past the dread in the pit of your stomach, and waited at his bedside with sharp eyes.

Day and night, you'd settle in, sleeping with a thin throw-blanket you stole off the couch and an old pillow. You'd wear his T-shirts and sweaters, just for a hint of familiarity, a semblance of your old life, his smell.

You'd hold his hand, even when you knew he couldn't feel a damn thing. You'd talk to him, tell him about your day- regardless of the fact that he didn't hear you at all.

Most nights, you'd sob under the disguise of the heart monitor and thrum of the ventilator. You'd grieve the man you loved. Whether he was dead or not, he would never truly be Simon Riley again. You'd learn to love the new man he'd be, you were sure of it, but your heart had been caged in, trapped under the weight of his unrecognizable form.

He had woken up after a few months, to which you celebrated with vibrating happiness. You tried not to smother him with affection. Instead, you gave him his space as he took in his surroundings, began to somewhat understand what exactly had happened.

You sat down, reaching for Simon's hand, and you felt him squeeze down. For the first time in months, he'd responded to your touch.

You stared up at him, your eyes welling with tears, your heart racing in your chest, pounding against your rib cage. A tidal wave of relief washed over you.

"Baby," You whispered, moving closer, kneeling next to him. "Simon."

His voice was muffled, panic filling his eyes as he realized he had an E.T. tube down his throat. You kept him calm, calling for the nurses immediately, watching with worried eyes as they extubated him.

He coughed, settling back into bed as he turned his head to look at you. Then, he whispered your name. Strangled and hoarse, rough with phlegm.

You could feel a shiver down your spine. You took a deep breath in, bowing your head to rest on his arm as your chest was racked with sobs. It was nearly impossible to control.

"God, Simon," You sniffled, your face tilting to look up at him. "Thank God," You cried, burying your face in his shoulder.

His doctor didn't want you to get your hopes up- he didn't want you clinging to the idea of Simon's recovery.

"We're not entirely certain what his brain function is like at this point, he'll need a CT. He may not ever remember his accident, and might even have trouble recognizing his surroundings." His doctor was resolute- harsh, not wanting to lead you on with false promises and hopeful ideations.

Your eyes had been swollen for months, and after finally coming to terms with his situation, they were dry and irritated.

You pursed your lips, entirely unsatisfied with the answer but defeated.

"Thank you," You forced a polite smile, turning on your heel, back to Simon's bed.

—

His physical therapy had been going well.

The cast had come off, and you finally recognized your boyfriend after the swelling went down. He was there, real, whole again- mostly.

You'd been woken up by his terrifying shouts and screams for help multiple times a night. It didn't subside, not until you wrapped your arms around him and quieted him down. You weren't sure if he knew, or if he wanted to hide behind the facade of sleep to save himself from embarrassment.

He had difficulty remembering the accident in its entirety, only remembering how difficult it was to move, to get up. He recalled the pain well, regardless of just how hard his body worked to keep him sedate. On the rare occasions he spoke about it, he'd never forget Soap. Never forget the voice he heard, urging him to stay awake, to get up.

You knew you couldn't thank Johnny enough, couldn't make it up to him in anyway that would equate to what he did for you and Simon. Anytime you brought it up, he'd shut you down, and Simon didn't speak about it either. Not unless provoked.

It was a memory he pushed down, as deep as he could, locking it away in the same vault where he kept every other long-living secret.

You knew better than to push him on it. You wanted to be there for him so badly, to tell him how happy you were that he was okay, alive, but you didn't. You gave him his space until he asked otherwise, which usually came in the form of a simple kiss, a hand on your waist, a quiet 'love you' when he passed by you.

You could never figure out why he'd suddenly started telling you he loved you more often, but you didn't question it.

—

When you missed your period, missed the cramps starting a few days before, the blinding headache at the start of the week, you realized your intimate exchange before his deployment may have had an unintended effect. Despite contraception, you had a feeling something was different- wrong.

You were pregnant. Two solid, indisputable red lines, staring you in the face. A happy face, on another, with a plus sign. It was real, concrete. Part of you didn't want to tell Simon- you wanted it to go away. But, against your judgment, you did.

It was late, finishing the day with a shower together as usual.

You were starting to show- not enough that he'd notice, especially not with the turmoil in his head. Though, while he scrubbed across the flesh of your stomach, a soapy loofa leaving bubbles and foam behind, the grin on his face when you stood on your toes to kiss him; it was the right time.

"I'm pregnant," You blurted out, your hands falling to your sides.

You avoided his gaze and silence fell between you, the running shower louder than ever, accompanied by your jugular pounding in your throat.

He looked shocked, confused, terrified- all in a series of minutes.

"Trust me, I know it's not ideal. It's not good timing. I know you're still healing and we're just getting things back together. I'm sorry."

He took a moment, his rough hand pressing against the small bulge in your stomach.

"How long have you known?" He asked.

"A few weeks." You swallowed.

"How far along?"

"Three months."

The tension was undeniable, holding your breath for the moment he told you he couldn't do it, didn't want it.

Instead, his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

"My kid's in there," He breathed, his arms squeezing you gently. "You're havin' a kid. We're havin' a kid."

You smiled softly against his shoulder. Now, you could be excited. You didn't have to feel guilty for holding it back, or for carrying another 'burden' inside you. You could celebrate. The baby, another milestone in your life with Simon, normalcy returning.

"We are," You breathed, leaning back to hold his face in your hands. "I love you," You said gently- a fact, a statement with every ounce of truth to it.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

He'd tell you one day that during his accident, all he could think about was you- that he wanted to fight to be alive for you. But for now, he settled for telling you he loved you, every chance he got.

#cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod mwii #mwii #simon riley #strlingsavwrites #ghost x you #ask strlingsav

[heeseung-min]

hii your writing is so good. hehehe do you mind if I request like. y/n had an amnesia and found out everything. that his husband wasn’t actually his real husband. (you can choose between enha member hehe)

[13:05]

"Good morning, sweetheart."

You smiled and felt your husband was hugging your body from behind. You were cooking fried rice kimchi as meal for breakfast. Usually Jay would be doing all of that since he always in charge of preparing the foods but you wanted to do it today. You let Jay snuggled and left some kisses on your shoulders before finally turn off the stove and serve the rice.

"I will be late today. Need to finish some assignments. Don't wait for me, okay?"

"Okay. I just left some dinner for you later."

"Sure. What are you planning to do today?"

"Uhm, I don't know. Maybe just watch some movies and cleaning the house."

Both of you continue talking while enjoying the breakfast. It's like a routine that you guys would do before Jay will go to work. After you and him shared goodbye kisses, you started to do the chores from doing the laundry until cleaning every rooms.

When you reached Jay' small office, you were a bit curious why this whole time he didn't let you to clean the room but today he gave you permission when you asked him. You didn't think too much and just open the door and looked around the room. It was a little bit dusty and messy with bunch of papers from his work. Maybe that's why he didn't let you clean the room.

You separated the papers from important to unimportant documents and discarded the unimportant one and sweep the dust on the table and the book shelves. You opened the window to ventilate the room and sat on his chair to rest yourself for few minutes. Your eyes caught the photo album that was on the table and slide off the pages watching pictures of you and Jay going to some places. Until you reached the last page where it was unfamiliar photo that you never see before but it has you in it. You were standing with a man but the face has been crossed with red pen made it difficult to detect the person.

"Why I never know about this picture?"

You decided to keep the picture and ask Jay when he's back from work. You continue to clean the room until you stumbled to a box and made it the things inside it fell to the floor.

"Ah shit. Erghh, I just clean it."

You quickly took all the papers and documents and put it back inside the box but your attention suddenly attracted to the specific paper that contains your own picture.

MISSING!!! IF YOU FOUND HER PLEASE CALL US!!!

You read the detail on the paper. This was three years ago before you married Jay. What was happening actually? You didn't have any clue about it. You started rummaging the boxes to find more clue and dumbfounded when you saw a marriage picture of you and someone else but not Jay. You suspected this was the same guy that you saw on the picture that has been crossed on his face.

Is the guy your real husband?

What about Jay?

"What are you doing there, sweetheart?"

You startled at the voice. He shouldn't be back at this time. Your hands started to shake when the nervous feeling hit you. Jay walked closer when you didn't respond to him. You felt scared when you finally connected the dots.

"Let's go out, sweetheart. My shift done early today."

"Who are you?"

Jay tilted his head and staring confusedly at you. He thought you were joking so he wanted to pull you closer to hug you but you stepped back instead.

"What are you playing right now, baby?"

"Answer me! Why I found my wedding picture with someone else?! What did you do to me three years ago??!!!"

Jay sighed and rolled his eyes. He cursed to himself for not throwing the box out.

"You aren't supposed to know about that, y/n."

"...what?"

You didn't have enough time to react when you felt Jay hit your head from the side and made your head collided harshly to the table. The last thing you saw was Jay's face and you felt he was gently carressing your hair.

"I did this for you."

__________________

__________________

When you woke up, you were at the hospital with Jay sleeping beside you while holding your hand. He jolted when he felt you were moving.

"Baby, are you okay?"

He asked as he caressed your hair and let you leaned closer. You didn't remember anything that caused you to be in here and you felt hurt when you tried it so you just shake your head.

"I'm good but how can I be at here?"

"The doctor said you fainted due to the stress. I'm sorry for not taking care of you."

"No no no you are doing good enough already."

Jay smiled when you hugged his body. He adjusted his body so both of you can fit on the bed. He pat your back until you finally sleep again on his arms.

And the cycle will repeat again.

You will live as the wife of Jay.

And this time Jay will burn every single thing that related to your past.

Man that was hard😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😦 yall better enjoy it or i will haunt you guys down

Taglist: @stacey-stonem @duolingofanaccount @obsessed1with1straykids @huggyuvita @rowretro @eeunoia @soireegurl

#yandere kpop #yandere enhypen #kpop yandere #enha x reader #lee heeseung #park jongseong #park sunghoon #jake sim #kim sunoo #yang jungwon #nishimura riki #yandere jay #jay enhypen #yandere jongseong #enhypen sunoo #enhypen au #enha imagines #yandere drabble #enhypen scenarios

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Of Honeysuckle and Haiku [Tech x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: This is my submission for an event hosted by the wonderful @cloneficgiftexchange, written for @apocalyp-tech-a. I hope you enjoy my first Tech x Reader! 2nd Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader who works as an analyst/researcher for the GAR. Minor AU changes (no missing and/or dead Clones here (but Echo is still part of CF99)!). Prompt sentence/s will be orange to keep in line with the color scheme of the graphics. Tech has a “secret” crush on Reader that she knows about. Flirting is stored in the info-dumping/poetry. Star Wars and real-world swearing is as naughty as it gets. Some Mando’a. Brief references and allusions to injury and other canon-typical violence, and a small flashback where Reader’s senior colleagues are (implied to be) behaving like jerks to Tech, but nothing explicit. Use of stylistic and narrative italics. Fictional flowers. 

Prompt: Can't we ever go to a nice place? | Oh, that's what that button does.

Word-count: 8,270

Another Primeday, another pile of notes in your locker. 

That's how the weeks always started. 

You worked closely with the Grand Army of the Republic as something of an analyst and unofficial bookkeeper, going on for two years now. Colleagues and work-friends would slip scraps of flimsiplast in the ventilation grooves of your locker as a way of non-electronic communication.

The old fashioned way, older department heads joked. 

The flimsi stacks contained a mishmash of written comms. Inside jokes. Recipe trades. Reminders to get CT-6922’s helmet serviced for the video feed you needed for Jais in the Reverse-Engineering Department if they're ever going to find out how that new Separatist spider droid worked. 

And a poem, written in spidery Aurebesh lettering from your “secret admirer”. Always the top of the pile that collected at the bottom of your locker. 

You knew full well who it was after a while, piecing together all the clues he'd strung along for you. Game recognizes game, as they say. It took cracking a complicated cipher in order to- 

Nah, who are you kidding? 

You got impatient and asked Jais in R.E.D. to help you with scrubbing the security footage for the last person to stop by your locker one morning, finding a haiku waiting for you. A haiku regarding subject matter you had just been discussing with a colleague the other day who had a grueling day of carefully dissecting a Flame Beetle from Kashyyyk ahead of them, and you were slated to assist them. 

The shimmering shell  That conceals a beetle’s wing Is called elytra  - I wish I was a beetle 

Mild alarm that someone was messing with you turned to curiosity soon after; it had been Tech of Clone Force 99 who dropped the poem into your locker some weeks ago. 

He'd been helping the analysts while he got his leg in working order, having broken both the tibia and fibula of his left leg in a skirmish. (That's about as much as you knew at the time.) Tech would be returning to fieldwork sooner than later; between check-ups and some physical therapy work, the genius and navigator of CF99 kept himself busy here, so he would still feel useful to the GAR while recovering. 

Of all the analysts Tech assisted, you seemed to be his favorite given that you actually liked letting him help you, and didn't saddle him with a dull day of deskwork like some of the senior analysts who wanted him out of their hair. 

You felt it was incredibly unfair to Tech, but there was nothing you could say to change their minds. You'd tried. 

Instead of reading this week's new stack of flimsi notes from your weekend off at your locker, you decide you'll read them at your desk for a change. The smell of Tech’s typical caf blend is particularly inviting this morning. It’s been raining since last week, this morning the hardest yet. Thank the Maker you had a rain repeller in proper working order for the walk to the research center from the speeder cabs. 

“Good morning, Tech.” 

Sitting down, from around the other side of the desk, you can see he's in a walking boot now. An improvement from when you last saw him just two short days ago. 

“Hey, that's a good sign! Think you'll be back with the rest of the Bad Batch soon?” 

You take no offense when his eyes do not lift from the screen of his datapad. “Good morning. I suppose, yes…” He doesn't sound entirely enthusiastic like one might've expected, but you have enough of a grasp on his mannerisms by now to know that Tech is eager to return to his brothers in due time. 

You've met the rest of his squad on a handful of occasions as they've come to check on him, making sure he's not missing all the action by keeping him up to speed on their exploits. 

Smiling, you slide a cup of caf you believe to be Tech’s closer to him as you leaf through the notes from your locker. 

“Don't let your caf get cold.” 

The datapad drops away. “That is for you,” he explains, “if you desire to try it, that is. I recalled you expressing interest in the last blend of caf I brought in, saying that it smelled good last Taungsday.” 

You blink, surprised he remembered those details. Well, not that surprised; you understood Tech had a remarkable memory that allowed him to recall obscure details. It’s saved you from a few headaches, like that same Taungsday when a visiting representative from Glee Anslem insisted upon having the innocuous bouquet of Nabooian Honeysuckles sent off for allergen testing. Whatever it was that provoked the Nautolan’s (thankfully minor) allergic reaction, it was not the flowers, though they were refused return. 

Shame… the delicate white, orange and cream blossoms were such a thoughtful gift from Senator Amidala to the visiting representative and now they look so out of place on your desk, still in the elaborate ceramic vase they came in. You’re going to need to find a way to return it to Ms. Amidala once the flowers have shriveled and lost all their silky petals. 

Thanking Tech for the thoughtfulness behind brewing you a cup of caf, you give it a careful taste and find the flavor far more robust than the instant mix the breakroom keeps on hand while you read the first of the notes. (Looked to be a heads-up that a commando had some grisly footage to be analyzed because Trandoshan pirates were involved and the credits were on Delta Squad being responsible.)

“Mmm… That’s nice. Thank you again, Tech.” 

“You are welcome.” he replies, half-ducking his head back down into the datapad, though his eyes remain on you. 

Framed by the yellow lenses of the black-strapped goggles he wears, there is an observative nature to those brown eyes. The phenotypic eye color for all Clones is brown, he explained to you once. Though yes, there were a few aberrations in physical traits among his brothers in the GAR, just not quite to the same scale as the experimental squadron that Echo from the 501st Legion (once thought to be dead) joined not long ago. Echo still keeps in contact with the 501st, Captain Rex and a brother named Fives the closest of all. You figure what he must have been reading off his tablet before he came in this morning were more messages from his brothers. 

Setting aside notes as you read them, you’re careful to keep the scrap of poetry for last as always. Wonder what it’ll be today. A sonnet? Free-verse? Acrostic or maybe a limerick? Another haiku? Tech seemed to love leaving you haikus most of all. 

Still finding his eyes upon you, you lay aside the last note about keeping an eye out for a missing label-maker and delicately clear your throat. “Yes, Tech?” You’re careful to offer him a friendly smile, a quiet measure of assurance that you’re not annoyed or disturbed by his watchfulness. 

“Senator Amidala sent a letter of apology to the center regarding the honeysuckles and vase,” he begins, explaining the letter was forwarded to everyone who worked in the analysis department, “and since she feels terrible about the situation inadvertently caused for both her guest and the center, she suggested someone is welcome to keep both, if they wish.” 

“Well that’s very kind of the senator.” you reply, giving the flowers on your desk a look of consideration, one that prompts a strange expression out of the genius you generously share your desk with. 

You ask what the matter is with another swig of caf. 

“I hope you don’t mind too terribly that I… accepted on your behalf.” Tech confesses, aware he’s more than likely crossed a line by doing so. You and Tech do not know each other all that well, but he’s strung together enough clues to have some idea of what you like. He’s noticed what you give the most attention to, and you had secretly been admiring the Nabooian bouquet for some time on Taungsday… 

Cautiously, Tech adds, “You could always give them to a friend.” 

Casting a third glance over the tri-colored flowers, Tech is assured that won’t be necessary, and he’d been correct in his assessment all along. “I don’t mind at all; thanks for saving me the trouble. I was secretly hoping to take these home, I’ve been obsessed with Naboo for a while now…” you admit, dropping your voice into a near-conspiratorial whisper. 

There was an often sunny windowsill back home with plenty of space for the vase and flowers that would make for the perfect spot to show both off. Maybe it’d inspire you to finally take that trip to Naboo you always wanted. Naboo sounded like a nice place, nestled in the Chrommell system of the Outer Rim Territories. 

Idyllic, picturesque, it was often described. 

All this analyst-work had you in a position to see the glorious, the gory, and everything in-between in the adventures of the Grand Army day in and day out. Compiling reports near and far was beginning to instill a sense of longing for adventure in you; nothing grand was necessary, just something different. Something beyond the walls of the GAR research center here among the Core Worlds. 

I’ll be satisfied with a taste of adventure. Just one bite. Just one, I promise. 

The yellow-lensed goggles are adjusted. “What fascinates you so much about Naboo?” Tech asks, curiosity burning at him. 

“Oh… I dunno,” you say with a shrug, smiling, “it’s hard to put it all into words.” And you wouldn’t exactly have the time, either, with your shift due to start soon. While you’ve still got the time, you should finish as much of the caf as you can before it grows cold, and finally get around to this new poem Tech’s left for you. Maybe he can already guess that you know these are from him, but a part of you finds it fun in some way to pretend you don’t. 

Fixing an errant strand of hair back in place, you unfold the note and read. Another haiku, today, lamenting the dreary weather. 

To simpler splendors  Like summer's gentle breezes and honey most sweet - When will the rain stop?

You find it curious and strange - this possible complaint - given you know Clones come from the storm-cloaked world of Kamino. Surely this weather feels just like home for him; familiar, maybe even comforting. But maybe it’s not his complaint, it could have been your own off-handed remark from some time ago that he’s echoing back to you now. 

Tech’s level of observation was truly incredible, sometimes. You already felt yourself missing his knowledgeable presence once he was healed up and returned to the Bad Batch. That wouldn’t happen until he was rid of the walking boot and cleared for active duty, which was mildly comforting to you, selfishly speaking. Logically you know this arrangement is temporary, and you will not always have your willing assistant. 

A willing assistant who has given his attention to closing off communications with Wrecker, from the sound of things as CF99’s genius reads the messages under his breath. Tech is trying very hard to appear like he’s not taken notice that you’ve read his latest haiku. 

You set the poetry aside along with the other locker notes, and pick up your clipboard full of the day’s tasks. “Take your time, Tech.” you promise, chuckling warmly as he flashes the famous pointer finger in your direction, requesting just an extra moment. “I know Wrecker misses having his big brother around.”

Tech says nothing in response to your teasing quip, only offering an appreciative if distracted smile before he’s ready to help you with your tasks for the day. 

On Primedays, the first item of business on the list is often the most nerve-wracking of all your assignments, today no exception.

“Dammit, I grabbed the wrong screwdriver… Would you mind handing me the… the, uh…?” Tech takes the incorrect screwdriver from your fingers and replaces it with what you need while you struggle to think of the name for the correct type, much to your relief. “Oh, thank you Tech. Will you need this back when I’m done?” 

Tech nods, a silent promise it was no trouble. “I will not. I’m finished with what I needed it for. Feel free to use it as long as you need.” He does not need to remind you to go slowly. 

Your first research assignment of the morning involves dismantled bombs, and the additional Clone tucked in one corner of the room clad in the bright orange of ordnance specialists serves as an eye-catching distraction rather than a precautionary measure. Nicknamed Reddy, this Clone trooper is only doing his job, of course; he’s supposed to be here as part of the protocol. This facility has gone one thousand and twenty-seven days without an explosive incident, which is a comforting number, but there is no room for complacency. In the unlikely event a bomb somehow reactivates, Red Wire is here to snuff it out for good. 

(Or tell everyone to evacuate and seek shelter if he somehow can’t.)

Helmet clipped to his utility belt, Reddy is reading the printed report, bobbing his head in time to some jaunty tune he’s got stuck in his head. “Disarmed and partially dismantled by… CT-9903. That’s your squadmate Wrecker, right?” 

“Correct.” Tech replies tersely, hoping not to prove himself distracting to you. He’s only standing as close as he is to give or take tools as you need them. 

Reddy nods his head in approval of the work scattered over the examination table. “He did a good job. Definitely has the gentle touch needed for bomb disposal.” Yes… Wrecker certainly had steadier nerves than yourself right now. You would prefer not to have shaking hands, no matter how incapable this bomb is… should be… of going off. 

“Reddy…”

He catches the warning. “Sorry, ma’am.” 

You just need to pull off a particular durasteel plate, and take detailed pictures of a unique section of wiring to enter it into the GAR database of known bomb constructs and find close or exact matches. Then Reddy has the pleasure of disposing of the remnants for you. Fewer distractions while you remove notoriously fiddly screws, the better. 

So why are your hands still shaking now that you should be able to focus again? 

“... dammit…” You’ve worked yourself up about the unsteady nature of your hands now. Stress will only worsen it, prolonging the tremble. Setting the screwdriver aside is the best course of action until you can find your nerve. 

Rational thoughts, you remind yourself, everyone has had this happen to them at one time or another. 

“May I?” Tech offers, voice softer than you ever remember it being before now. 

He is careful in offering to help without immediately trying to take over your work. Tech recognizes you are capable in all the various aspects of your job, and he does not wish to undermine or blow off your expertise. He understands from experience how that can be frustrating, even disrespectful.

And Tech aims to be very respectful of you. He's been very careful in how he's hinted his interest in you thus far. (Maybe too careful.) The haikus in your locker had been because he heard you liked poetry, and he proactively accepted the honeysuckles Senator Amidala offered for the trouble because he thought you might like them. Sharing his favorite blend of caf was a decision more premeditated than the other two.

You step to the side, accepting the offer. 

“Thank you, Tech...” you say, gesturing to the tools in an unspoken measure of please, by all means. Tech takes position where you previously stood, and begins to work on the dismantled explosive. Long, dexterous fingers make the process of loosening and extracting the remaining screws look deceptively easy. 

“You’ll want your datapad soon,” Tech suggests helpfully, soon down to just two more corner screws to remove. 

“Oh, yes…!” 

Scooping the tablet off of the examination table, you habitually skip your fingers across the reactive transparisteel and pull up the camera function, priming everything to capture the colorful chaos of wiring and circuitry inside once Tech has removed the panel. Once it is lifted out of the way, Tech side-steps to allow you in front of the bomb once more so that you can capture records for the GAR database. 

However, the camera will not focus.

“Strange…” You tap the center of the screen, hoping perhaps the datapad will behave like your modern comlink and auto-focus, but it does not give you the result you hoped for. You chuckle somewhat bashfully. “Sorry, it’s… been a while since I’ve used this old datapad for taking pictures.” 

“Press the red, center button on the top row twice.” 

Taking the advice of the bespectacled Clone beside you, the image on the screen comes into crisp focus, not a detail lost. “Oh, that’s what that button does.” This tablet is an older generation, but the facility keeps it because it's sturdy and reliable. No sense in replacing perfectly good technology so long as it continues to work. 

“Been using these tablets for ages and I never knew that. How'd you know that?” Reddy asks from the corner, safely voicing his curiosity now that the hard part is behind you. “Just real tech-savvy, I take it. That how you get your name?” 

Tech smiles knowingly. “Learning the ins and outs of each machine I use is crucial to my effectiveness in service of the Republic. Much in the same way you're here to assist the researchers, analysts and reverse engineers in bomb identification, in some cases.” The second question goes unanswered, you notice, but Reddy seems to let it go. 

“Hah, can't argue with that comparison!” he says agreeably, his smile sunny. You’ve always liked that about this particular member of the bomb squad; Red Wire has an optimistic disposition and general attitude despite the nerve-rattling nature of his job. He’s not terribly jaded or gruff like some of the other Clones on rotation at this facility. 

Once you've collected all your necessary pictures, you are promised that he'll take it from here. “Good work as ever ma'am. I'll clean up while you get started on the search.” 

“Thank you, I appreciate the help as always from both you and Tech.” you say, patting him on the shoulder before you follow after Tech, who’s already making his way back to your desk, neck craned over his datapad. Stepping past the blast doors to catch up to Tech, you breathe a sigh of relief while Red Wire begins the disposal process, the hardest task of the morning behind you. 

“Glad that’s over,” you say, finally feeling your quickened pulse slowing at last, “Thank you for the help once again, Tech.” You’re certain he heard the first thank you, but extra gratitude never killed anyone. 

Tech’s deliberate stride slows to match with yours. “It was no trouble. I thought you might want the help.” A polite smile breaks the veneer of the usual expression of thoughtfulness and concentration you’ve become accustomed to in the time Tech’s been here. 

You’re very familiar with how he appears when he’s concentrated: the furrowed brow, his shoulders rolled forward, the subconscious setting and unsetting of his jaw as he mulls over a million thoughts. Wowing your colleagues with how he could extrapolate info from separate, complex datasets within multiple windows on the screen of his datapad without error. 

The way his brown eyes, deep and dark, looked like honey when framed behind his goggles…

Sitting down at your desk where you fire up the database you’ll be working with, already you see the slight furrow of his brow as Tech takes his seat on the other side, trading messages with his squadmates while he elevates his leg to alleviate the pressure of the walking boot. Tech misses being out there in the field more and more with every passing day. 

“Tell ‘em I said hi.” you request with a soft chuckle before allowing him to concentrate on keeping himself in the loop. You just have to hope his handsome face painted in deep concentration doesn’t prove too distracting for you as you cross-reference your wire samples. The squad leader of the Bad Batch, Sergeant Hunter, had teased Tech once a few weeks ago, when he dropped by with Echo, on the depths of Tech’s concentration. That’s when you’d truly taken notice of it for the first time.

Tech, utterly embroiled in some “little” project he’d created for himself here at the research center, was staying long after your scheduled hours, repeatedly promising that you really don’t have to stay here. 

You turn another page in your holomag. “I’ll be fine staying here a little longer. I want to make sure none of the senior analysts bother you. Again.” It was a slow Zhellday afternoon you had no other plans for, and a couple of people a little further up the chain of command really had a bug up their ass about Tech’s presence here today in particular, continually complaining about an incident with his crutches.

Someone hadn’t been looking where they were going and bumped into the mobility aids propped against a wall, knocking them over this morning. Unfortunately, there had been a tray of glass instruments set aside nearby that did not survive the crutches’ sudden descent. The senior analysts, most of them much older than you, wanted him thrown out of the facility and have the agreement with the GAR that Tech would be here until his broken leg healed nullified. 

“He’s got a broken leg! Is he supposed to just hobble around the lab without his crutches? It was an accident, but I’m starting to suspect you’re looking for excuses to get rid of him because you’re feeling threatened by his intellect!”

Clone Force 99’s second-in-command hums shortly in delayed response, a frown marring his otherwise concentrated expression. Tech adjusts his goggles as he pours over some reference. The man with partial skull iconography inked across his similarly tanned face next to Tech carefully nudges him with his elbow. 

“Tech, this is when you’re supposed to tell the nice lady thank you.” Hunter warns him, teasingly of course. He’s gotten back from a long deployment, and rather than going to the nearest mess hall with Wrecker and Crosshair, he’s come to check up on Tech, finding that he’s still at the GAR research center. He’s too tired to give any kind of reprimand just for the sake of appearances. 

“Especially after this morning… Don’t make me do the nat-born thing, vod.”

Tech sort of scoffs, the threat of referring to him by his CT number, like a misbehaving natural-born child hearing the use of their middle name, by his brother having little effect. 

“No thanks necessary, honestly.” You turn the page to your holomag, skimming the article to see if it’s worth an in-depth read, then meet Hunter’s eye. “It was honestly a bit cathartic to have a go at those jerks.” Decrying them as jerks to the squad leader of the Bad Batch was putting it real mildly given your true thoughts of them right about now. 

Echo gives you a knowing nod. The sergeant smirks, and this is what gets Tech to break his silence. 

“Don’t, Hunter.”

“Glad you made a friend, Tech.” Hunter says it with complete sincerity, so far as you can tell. Leaning back in the borrowed lab chair, Hunter kicks his feet up for a moment on a corner of the desk to adjust some parts of his armor. “Wrecker might get jealous.”

“I think we all would.” Echo says with a kind chuckle.

“Plenty of me to go around,” you promised the three of them, “I love making friends with the GAR.”

A few hours later, now four items deep into your checklist for the day with the wire cross-referencing behind you, you lean back in your chair and stretch your arms above your head, feeling something pop with great satisfaction. “Mmm! That felt good. Hey, Tech?” He nods to show he hears you, at which point you continue. “I’m thinking of running home real quick during lunch to take the honeysuckles home so I’m not wrestling with those on top of everything else I’ll have to take with me tonight. You gonna be okay on your own for a bit?” 

“I will be fine.” he assures you, sliding the clipboard from “your” side of the desk over to his. “I may need the password to your desk-mounted computer terminal, however.”

“It’s ‘naboofields’. All one word, no capitals, special characters or letters.” 

You root around your desk for one of the seemingly innumerable sticky-flim pads you possess, scribbling down the password - just in case - as neatly as you can before removing the top flimsi-note and hand it over to him. Honeyed eyes blink once in mild surprise after he inspects your handwriting. 

“Not very secure, I know.” you laugh bashfully, straightening a few sheafs of flimsiplast before gathering up the stack of locker notes to tuck them in your pocket. Busywork to avoid any kind of lecturing look. But when you meet his eyes for the moment before wondering how best to pick up the ceramic vase full of beautiful tri-colored honeysuckle, you find no disappointment. Only more curiosity. 

“Have you ever been to Naboo?” Tech asks. He’s noticed this particular topic has been cropping up a lot between the idle doodles on flimsi scraps of the bulbous Shaak grazing through lush emerald fields and little reminders you’ve written to yourself scattered across your desk lately. Ticket prices. Best time of year to go. Popular festivals. Fashion. You were weaving a curious pattern.  

Tech doesn’t do this very often, but he hazards a guess. Could you perhaps be… homesick?

“Were you born there?”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t born there, and I’ve never visited before. Naboo’s just some… silly dream of mine lately.” 

“Why do you say ‘silly’?” The question is earnest and sincere, and Tech sits forward off the backrest of the lab chair, posture straightening out. “Has someone said something unkind about your desire to see Naboo?” He couldn’t imagine why someone would disparage this; many galactic citizens express some level of desire to visit this planet in the Chrommell sector at least once in their lifespan. 

He’s assured there’s no one being unkind to you when you wave him off, sliding the vase across your desk carefully. “No one other than me, I guess. I dunno when I’d ever have a chance to go visit between the work I do for the GAR, plus being in the middle of the Clone Wars for stars’ sake…” You’re considering if it would be worth telling him about your developing case of wanderlust, your craving for a taste of adventure. (Just a taste… just a taste!)

What Tech was supposed to do with that revelation, you weren’t sure. Did you want his help planning this whimsical trip? Or did you just need to confide in him with this harmless little secret? 

“Would it be impolite to presume you don’t have many vacation days accrued in order to enjoy a short holiday?” Tech assumes you’re well aware of labor laws the GAR has to comply with for civilian staffing, like yourself, but he has no means of knowing how much PTO you have stored up without rooting into the system.

“Karabast, I- I hadn’t even thought of…” Your thoughts trail off as you look out one of the rain-spattered panes of transparisteel and determine you need to stop by your locker to gather your weather wear and rain repeller. When was the last time you had some extended leave from work that wasn’t a sick day, anyways? “I have some PTO I’m owed, but I try to be smart and save it for emergencies… I, uh, think I have more than two week’s worth.” Truthfully it’s been some time you looked at the amount of PTO you’ve accrued. It very well could be less than you remember, or more than you imagine. 

Tech makes a quiet murmur of agreement that saving the time off for emergencies is rather smart, shrugging after a stretch of clearly contemplative silence. “I was merely curious.” The statement makes it tempting to tease him in return, say something like aren’t you always? but he has something more to say before you work up the nerve, gesturing to the clipboard. “May I watch the helmet footage for you while you take the Nabooian Honeysuckles home?”

“I was warned it was grisly.” you caution him out of kindness, thinking back to one of the locker notes. “So, as long as you don’t mind or won’t be bothered, I suppose you can look at the footage for me… Credits are on it being sent from Delta Squad.” 

Scrutinizing the datadisc, Tech finds RC-1207 etched into it. Commando Sev, he tells you, went missing on Kashyyyk for a month early in the war… (Thank the Maker, his pod brothers had been fortunate in finding him.) Sev has never spoken of the experience. 

“This should prove to be fascinating, in some regard.” Tech speculates, slotting the disc into an external inspection device to set everything up to complete this in your absence. Goggles are adjusted every so slightly, changing the way they are seated on his face. “I’ll leave the notes for you on your desk by the time you return.” he promises. 

You make sure you’ve gathered the last of your things, saying that you better get going now that everything’s agreed upon. Carefully cradling the vase in the crook of your arm, you arrange the bouquet slightly with your free hand to avoid bruising any of the velveteen petals as you carry it. 

Turning on your heel, you head for your locker to collect your rain repeller. “Appreciate it, Tech, thank you. I’ll catch you later.” 

“Watch out for the deeper puddles, don’t slip.” Tech calls after you. 

He’s overheard many of your colleagues using this phrase the last couple of days to warn one another; the longer the rain’s gone on, the deeper the areas of rain retention have become since the water table is oversaturated. There has been no break in the weather, but the end is in sight. 

‘When will the rain stop?’ Soon. Maybe even tomorrow.

Habitually, you call back that you’ll be careful and another farewell, flashing him a sunny smile as you head out the door for the speeder cabs, the honeysuckles in one hand, repeller in the other. You don’t expect to be gone long.

Taking the vase full of honeysuckle home is your highest priority, right along with making sure the flimsiplast scraps in your pocket remain dry. Flimsi, while conveniently reusable, was hair-thin, had a slight transparency to it, and dissolved in water. (Why some disposable gowns for med centers were made out of the acrylic material when it was kriffing semi-transparent you had yet to figure out.) If you were careful of the shifting winds before you got to a speeder cab, Tech’s poems would stay safe and dry in your pockets, joining the others in a box of precious keepsakes at home. 

Maybe you could put them all in a scrapbook one day, able to read and admire them all at leisure, or whenever you miss having new haikus show up in your locker once Tech’s broken leg is fully healed and he rejoins his brothers. Tech’s been careful not to voice how much he’s come to miss his brothers - else he risks sounding ungrateful for the research center agreeing to let him assist there after much back and forth - but you know he’s getting somewhat impatient. 

“If I had known a second BX droid was around the boulder, I wouldn’t have tried to kick the first over the precipice…”

“That’s how you broke your leg?”

“Had it broken for me when the commando droid grabbed me, more accurately. Better me than Echo…” 

He’d return to his brothers in time with the whole of hyperspace at his fingertips. Hunter would get his second-in-command back. The Havoc Marauder will have both of her pilots and it won’t be Echo spending time alone in the cockpit. Wrecker and Crosshair will once again have their brother to parse through factitious scenarios and the complicated mathematics necessary to pull it off relating to their enhancements to help one another in staving off hyperspace hypnosis. 

And you’d go back to dreading Primedays and dreaming of clover covered plains on Naboo between every string of data you analyze for the GAR once Tech left. You’d miss the extra pair of capable hands and his talented, dare you say exceptional, mind. You’d miss the presence of yellow-lensed goggles and the steady, red light of the cylindrical camera attached to them that sometimes followed you around the analyst lab, that were as much a part of Tech’s face as the rest of his features. 

You’d miss him and the harmless little crush Jais teases you over since helping you find out who your secret admirer was. 

“Swing by your locker lately?”

“You have better eyesight than a Mynock but all the subtlety of a Reek, Jais. Yes I saw he left me another haiku.”

“What do they say?”

So much by using so little. 

Tech has just seventeen syllables to work with, but boy does he make them work. 

They will last far longer than any tender blossom, tucked carefully on the windowsill and lovingly arranged to fill in the gaps in the bouquet during transport. Home only for a short time, you settle for tucking the new haikus and other notes on the low table in the living room to sort through later tonight while eating dinner. 

Come to think of it, maybe you should invite Tech over for dinner sometime, while he’s still here. (While there’s still time to leave things behind in order to remember him by.) He’s been staying in temporary accommodations in the unofficial research district since the nearest GAR barracks are an hour away, and the district isn’t too far from your place. You’re not sure what the protocol on this is (or if there’s any), and he’s more than welcome to turn you down, but-

This harmless crush has gone beyond only going one way. 

You’re going to miss Tech when he leaves, not just because it means you'll lose an eager assistant who shares what he learns while you work. You've grown to like him in ways you haven't devoted proper time to exploring why with the nature of your work, but you like Tech too. And you don’t want just a vase full of honeysuckle that will one day wither and a smattering of haikus to remember him by. 

You want something more. Something meaningful before he goes back to making mayhem for the Separatists. 

And maybe it can start today, if you're clever enough. 

It's time to stop daydreaming.

When you return to the research center, you first put your rain repeller away in your locker and collect the few notes that appeared while you were out. No new poems, only warnings that one of the senior analysts had a bug up their ass the size of a mynock (scratch that, a bantha) again over something minor, and it's best to stay out of their way until they cooled off. 

“Hey, Tech, I'm back.” You announce your return from the lockers to avoid potentially startling him, finding him fiddling with a part of his vambrace. “Got some cryptic notes in my locker. Feel like I missed some excitement while I was away.” 

“Yes… You certainly did.” One of the analysts lost their temper with the ‘newfangled’ caf-pot in the break room, Tech explains. Nothing newfangled about it in truth, it just wasn't working because it had been unplugged for cleaning and someone just forgot to leave a note. 

“Speaking of notes,” he says as an aside, procuring a printed message from Lieutenant Waxer of Ghost Company in the 212th, “This came in just before you arrived while I was at the copier.” 

Giving the lieutenant’s request a once-over, you find a general greeting after the Grand Army of the Republic’s letterhead, asking if someone would mind helping him locate the origin of a particular word in the language of the Twi’leks. Printed requests are deemed non-urgent, but it’s simple enough that you don’t mind adding his query to the bottom of your daily checklist, on which you find only the helmet footage crossed off. 

“Thought you’d have gotten more done than this.” you say, chuckling as you take a seat at your desk. 

Tech adjusts his goggles and meets your eye. “Felt it would be impolite to take your work from you when we had an agreement for just the footage.” He returns to fiddling around with his vambrace and his datapad, perhaps trying to sync something up. 

His concern of taking further work from you without asking is very kind, and rather touching. You feel warmth in your face disproportionate to the heating system warming the labs on this rainy day. “Oh. Well, I wouldn’t have minded too much, but thank you. What’d you do instead until I got back?” You figure it didn’t take all too long to study the commando’s footage, finding the notes Tech’s took for you pinned underneath the datadisc the feed was stored on. Lifting the high-tech paperweight, you give the notes a glance. 

It’s the same thin lettering as the haikus. 

Tech tuts in thought while snapping a part of his vambrace back where it belongs. “General research. Nothing important.” He does not immediately elaborate on what he had researched, thinking you may want to take a moment to mentally prep yourself for returning to work and start on the next task at hand. 

They were not concerns he (often) had to keep in mind with Hunter, Echo, Wrecker and Crosshair because he knew them so well compared to other people, compared to you. They spent the most time together and could give him a playful ribbing for overstepping boundaries, or starting detailed explanations when it wasn’t the best time. No one cares! was often said in-the-moment, and apologized for in ways that did not involve the words I’m sorry - and that was normal with his brothers. 

So when you break into a big, friendly smile and draw out the word “Liiiike…?” while you continue to settle in, Tech knows it’s okay to elaborate. That you seem interested in what he has to say. 

“It was the origin of halliksets. I became distracted when I learned they were quite popular on Naboo, and spent some time looking into that instead.” As he expected, you perk up with the mention of Naboo, interest piqued. “They’re made with seven strings, and the ore commonly used to make them comes from Kreeling, a mining planet also within the Chrommell sector.” The ore seems to be used to decorate the rounded body of the instrument, from what he had been reading. Ornamentation rather than function. 

“Huh,” you say politely with a smile to match, “I had no idea. That’s really neat.” 

You thank him for sharing before agreeing that perhaps you should get started on some of your work when he warns you that he can hear someone from another department coming, and it may be wise to appear busy. 

For the next fifteen or so minutes, you and Tech are careful to appear focused on tasks from the clipboard. Something about figuring out why a standard caustic compound utilized by the GAR didn’t work. Tech casts a subtle glance over his shoulder while you muse over the specs, wondering just like you why someone from another department is taking their sweet time to leaf through all the disposable pipettes in the storage cabinet of all things. Trying to eavesdrop? Just really particular about their lab supplies? Who karking knows. 

While looking into the humidity record on Felucia the day of the recorded equipment failure, you take a moment to open the system you submit your time-off requests to and look at the amount of paid time off accrued. Two and a half weeks. That’s not bad. 

“Good to know….”

“What is it?” Tech asks.

“Oh, just poking into weather records,” you hum, hiding the portal, “Seems the caustic compound failed because of higher than average humidity that day. It was under six months old, so I don’t think it was a product age failure.” From the flashpoint of the Clone Wars on Geonosis, much of the equipment utilized barely sits on a shelf any longer than six standard months after its production and purchase for the Grand Army. 

Clones were clever. Well trained. They knew how to account for things like planetary climate, weather conditions and equipment age out in the field, but you’ll always have the occasional fluke. Things beyond your control, beyond what you trained for. (Some things you could never train for.) But the Grand Army of the Republic could be trusted to give it their all, no matter the occasion, no matter the challenge. 

You trusted men like Red Wire with your life here in the labs when you had to work with disarmed bombs, never doubting his ordnance training for a second. The same goes for the man sitting on the other side of your desk from you now, the injured leg in the walking boot propped up in a spare chair. You trust Tech too. 

When the personnel from another department finally leaves, they’re grumbling something venomously about the missing label-maker under their breath, the word “di’kut!” loudest of all. 

You recognize the Mando’a. Pronunciation DEE-koot. Multiple meanings. Idiot. Useless. Waste of space. (More accurately a waste of their time… Pretty sure someone already said the label-maker wasn’t in there.) You wonder where they know the word from. 

Speaking for yourself, you’ve picked up a smidgen of the language from working as a researcher and analyst, and you’ve added a few more words to your repertoire from Tech’s uninterrupted correspondence with the Bad Batch that he’s allowed you to see some of. 

And speaking of them… Now that you and Tech are alone, this might be a good time to try putting your plan in motion knowing how much PTO you have to work with now. You want to go to Naboo, and you want to see if there’s any way you can convince Tech to go with you. Maybe even meet you there with the rest of Clone Force 99. Make bumping into them look like a coincidence. 

“Hey Tech, when you return to your brothers, any plans or ideas on where you’ll go first?” 

A pad of sticky flimsi-notes is pulled from one of the many drawers of your desk, and you root around for a working pen while you wait on an answer. Calling upon courage from the very heart of the cosmos, you hope you can pull this off. 

Tech answers the break in relative silence with a quirk of his eyebrow. “None that I’m aware of, but I suspect we’ll be going wherever we are needed.” There is a long contemplative pause, eyes flicking to his trusty tablet more than once as a few new messages from Wrecker come in. 

“Is there some reason you’re asking?” He pushes the datapad aside now, giving you more of his attention, which is appreciated. 

Shoulders bounce. “What if I said I was just curious?” You don’t expect him to buy that, he’s too clever. But you need a moment of quiet contemplation on his part to count out the syllables without messing up. Once you’re certain you have five, then seven syllables, you flash him an easygoing smile. “Being curious isn’t a crime, is it?”

“On some planets it is. Some rather… ridgid, often self-isolated cultures across the galaxy view curiosity as a sign of an idle mind and fear it will inspire mischief. Free thinking. Rebellion.” 

The question had been rhetorical, and you don’t mind that he answered, but you find the fact quite sad. You also don’t want to begin to imagine how that sort of “crime” is punished. Curiosity is a natural part of life to all, to criminalize it is… frankly ridiculous.

“Well good thing we’re not in one of those isolated cultures.” you say, now thinking how you’ll finish penning this poem. Should you add your reasoning for why you wrote this at the bottom? (Would you even have room?) Maybe you should just tell him after he’s read your poem instead. 

“Agreed.” Another message comes in from Echo this time, but Tech ignores it, continuing to hold eye contact with you; almost like he’s performing an inspection. “So I hope it does not feel like an accusation when I say I don’t believe you are ‘just curious’.” 

“I did have an idea…” you admit, fiddling with the pen in your hand for the moment, “Since I heard Clone Force 99 isn’t keen on following every little order…” This is when you choose to slide the haiku you were working on over to “his” side of the desk, waiting in nervous silence as brown eyes scrutinize every Aurebesh letter laid bare before them. 

Can't we ever go  to a nice place, verdant fields  of spring eternal? - Feel like breaking a few rules?

Tech’s eyes lift from the flimsiplast note, looking surprised. He didn’t take you for the sort of person who’d encourage breaking certain GAR protocols, let alone… Your name falls from his lips, asking what this is about in the same tender tone. 

“I thought about what you asked regarding how much time off I have, and I found out I have two and a half weeks…” You explain, fiddling with the pen some more to occupy your nervous hands while he continues to monitor you. “I thought… Maybe once your leg heals up, and you’re cleared to return to active duty, you could find an excuse to spend some time on Naboo. Get to know each other better, perhaps?” He clearly has some kind of feelings for you that are in the earlier stages of reciprocation, and if you’re away from the lab, and he finds the time or the excuse to nip down to the Chrommell sector and meet up with you on Naboo, then neither one of you have to worry about behaving quite so professionally. 

Looking down at the haiku once again, Tech takes in your explanation, your invitation, and offers a mild chuckle at long last.

“You know what my brothers will say if I tell them about this?”

You swallow nervously. “W-what?”

“That it almost sounds like you’re asking me on a date.” 

You do what you can to keep your jaw from dropping, but there’s little to be done about the fiery feeling building in the apple of your cheeks that suggests there may be color blooming there. If you’re blushing, Tech certainly does a splendid job of politely pretending he sees no such thing while he gives your poem another look. 

You do the same in kind when additional color builds in his own face and crawls up his neck from under the top of the body suit. “I take it you figured out who was secretly leaving you the haikus.” His smile is timid, but not quite as nervous as your own. 

“I did. A while ago, actually.” you confess, confirming his suspicions. “I had help checking the cameras to see where the first one came from. I didn’t see a reason to say anything, or stop you.” You add that you’ve kept every single one, too, to some surprise of the computer and weapons specialist sitting across from you. 

He sits forward now, carefully easing the walking boot to the floor. “You really want to spend time with me on Naboo?” Your earnest nod surprises him further. You do. Out of millions of Clones in the galaxy, you’re asking Tech (and his brothers by proxy) to join you in visiting the idyllic planet. 

You carefully carve out a little portion of your PTO and submit the request as the very first step in the planning process, and while you await approval you and Tech will continue to work together as normal. You still have to behave professionally in the meantime. 

Well, as professionally as possible when Tech decides he can now confess he has a backlog of haikus for you, enough so you could have one waiting for you in your locker every day until he’s cleared to return to fieldwork in a few weeks, in theory. 

“Poetry every Primeday, honeysuckles today, and now you’re offering daily haikus? Maybe I will be asking you out on a date if you continue to spoil me like that.” you warn him, chuckling. Of course now you get the feeling Tech will make sure the weeks leading up to your time-off would consist of honeysuckle and haiku to ensure that you would. 

And those were going to become some of your best weeks working as a researcher and analyst for the GAR, whether you got that time off or not, because it would be spent making precious memories with Tech. 

That was what mattered most.

First time I've ever participated in one of these events, and I don't think I did too badly, considering I completely restarted this at one point! (Apologies for how long this ended up being, too, haha.) I hope you liked it, Tech-a! 🩷

Fic taglist: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit

[Masterlist] [Taglist] [Requests: Open]

#frostfics #Of Honeysuckle and Haiku #star wars #tbb #the bad batch #tbb fic #tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #tbb tech #tech tbb #tech the bad batch #tech #ct 9902 #fem reader #tbb tech x reader #tbb tech x you #tech x reader #tech x you #tech x fem!reader #TBBE2024

[lets-try-some-writing]

has optimus ever been horribly sick before? (other than cybonic plague)

Short answer. Yes. I am primarily an angst writer, of course my dear blorbo has suffered from illness.

═════════════════

Before and during the war as a general rule, Optimus never really got sick. His health was always kept as a top priority while he served under Alpha Trion and he was swarmed by medics enough during the war to ensure most plague could not touch him. That said, there were two instances where he was ill that were worthy of note, one pre war and one during.

Back when he was not yet a Prime, Orion only travelled to secure locations if he travelled at all. He was an archivist, he did not go into the dark and gritty parts of Cybertron. If he made journeys, it was to other archives across Cybertron to collect and corroborate data. His firewalls and immune systems were specialized to handle the viruses found amongst the middle and high caste mecha. He could quite easily walk off a software attack, system glitches, and all sorts of other viruses intended to weaken the fine and sensitive parts of a mech. But the things that targeted hardware and the frame as a whole? He was not at all prepared for those when he made his trip down to Kaon for the first time.

He was so focused on speaking and coming to agreements with Megatronus that when his venting started to sputter and he felt cold, it came as quite a surprise. He tried to ignore it, being far too enthralled with speaking with the mech he had been looking up to that when he finally collapsed after attempting to get up, he was left in shock. Megatronus saw the signs of ventilation failure and thankfully booked Orion to the nearest medical center with Orion offering paperwork as needed to allow the gladiator to move as needed.

By the time Orion actually made it to the hospital, he was already beginning to suffer from full ventilation failure. He spent the next three cycles confined to a berth hooked up to both a heater and a set of ventilators. His frame was unable to regulate its own temperature as his immune system fought off the virus attacking his systems. It was its own form of agony and he could barely move without feeling as though he were cooking alive or being frozen to death. There was no comfortable middle for Orion Pax. Thankfully Megatronus came to visit him in the hospital after forcing his way in. The gladiator apologized for Orion's situation to which the archivist laughed. Orion should have known better than to visit a new city state without getting proper firewalls installed. He made that quite clear, and soon enough, despite Orion feeling like total slag and hardly being able to speak without wheezing, he and Megatronus has a pleasant time discussing everything and anything as they were before Orion grew ill.

Orion had to wear a ventilation filter over his vents and had a heater strapped to his back that was similarly fitted over his vents for a stellar cycle afterward. However it was of little consequence as the situation repeated itself but in reverse around a vorn after the incident when Megatronus came to visit Iacon and got a nasty case of protocol override virus attacks. The gladiator was lift reeling and Orion was there all throughout to converse with him and make light jokes regarding his own prior stint will illness in Kaon.

During the war there was no such levity when it came to illness. Optimus was a Prime and fitted with enough firewalls from the Matrix to keep just about any virus for touching him. But of course, as the Decepticons began their biological warfare program, old firewalls were rendered useless. Optimus was on the frontlines when it happened, and thus he was one of the first to be rendered bedridden by the prototype cybonic plague. It most certainly wasn't lethal, but the mecha who had it were left purging their tanks unable to keep energon down and left in agony as their very energon was corroded. To handle it their energon had to constantly be drained and replaced via IV's to ensure they survived. It was a form of torture, but one Optimus took fairly well all things considered.

He continued to move around and work once the worst of it wore off and merely carried a bucket around with him so that when his systems demanded a purge he could walk off for a moment and do what needed to be done with a degree of grace. He was miserable, but he was functional and carried around an IV and energon pack hooked up to his fuel lines as he worked on internal affairs' as he recovered. All that made the situation better was Bumblebee, who was still very young at the time, drawing Optimus pictures and making him 'get well soon' cards. It was sweet and made enduring the suffering of the prototype virus easier to bear.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #bumblebee #megatron #sickness #poor prime can't win can he? #always some form of suffering haunting his steps #why? #because this writer said so

[dandylovesturtles]

Chello~! So I was reading your amazing fic “I May Be Invisible but I Still Look Good” and I was wondering, just outta curiosity. What inspired the concept for the fic in the first place? It’s a really cool concept- a spell that basically tears the soul out of the body and makes a person a “ghost” (sorry, Leo, I’m using the word ghost), but there are restrictions to what they can go through and stuff.

And another note- is there a specific reason you chose which one of Leo’s brothers broke which part of the spell? Like, Mikey broke sight, Raph broke sound, and Donnie broke touch. I see the parallel with Donnie, since he’s typically pretty adverse with touch, but I was wondering about Raph and Mikey.

I also wanted to say that your writing is beautiful and the fact that I can’t leave more than one kudos-es on Ao3 is cruel 😤.

Keep up the amazing work and have an absolutely wonderful amazing supercalifragilisticexpialidoshus day/night/afternoon/2am/endless white void :,]

Hi! Thank you so much for reading, I'm glad you're enjoying it! I've answered some of this but I'm too lazy to dig through my blog so I'll answer again! lol

I've written a fic similar to this before for another fandom (One Piece) over a decade ago - it's a trope I've always enjoyed haha. Though that fic was definitely more of a comedy (the character who got ghosted ended up possessing another character's body so they had to share), while this one leaned more heavily on angst. Although both OP and ROTTMNT are comedic canons so there's still a lot of jokes in both haha.

Anyway I thought of doing this with Leo because even though Donnie was (and still mostly is) my favorite character, Leo is the one I like putting through the spin cycle, because I think his character is a really interesting one to dig into. Leo has a lot of layers to him, and he has a hard time showing his real self to others and asking for help, and this sort of trope is great for forcing characters to do exactly that. Take away their ability to communicate and it makes them want to communicate more! lol

I ended up rambling so I'm putting a cut here.

I actually went around and around for a bit coming up with exactly what the restrictions are for how Leo can move. Like, I spent way too much time trying to decide if he can climb ladders and in the end I just avoided ever mentioning it (he probably can, like he can climb stairs, because otherwise getting out of certain parts of the sewer would be hard). But a lot of it came out of practicality, like I needed him to be able to ride in the tank properly so he could go home with them in the first chapter. But when I thought of the scene where he and Mikey get separated by Meat Sweats I just pushed that to the logical conclusion of "well he can ride in the car but he isn't actually constrained by the frame of the car besides the bottom" and that turned into car surfing.

Initially however I was going to have it so he was restricted to the immediate area around his body and so to leave the lair with Leo the brothers would have to Weekend at Bernie's him around. I eventually gave up on this idea because it caused too many logistical problems lol... Like I would have to establish that either his body can survive because it's just in a form of stasis (which I didn't like because it retroactively killed some of the first chapter's tension and also killed later tension) or they would have to cart around some kind of ventilator and that's a logistical nightmare. But I didn't want Leo to be confined to the lair because, boring. So that's where the idea of him being tied to them after they regained a sense came from, which has worked out great because I ended up using it for way more drama than I anticipated at the start haha.

Here's my writing tip no one asked for: when coming up with the rules for any kind of magic anything, narrative utility always trumps realism - as long as you have internal consistency it's fine.

AS FOR WHO GETS WHAT, well, I always planned for them to regain the senses in the order Mikey > Raph > Donnie (I feel like it just makes the most sense that Mikey is first and Donnie is last so Raph is naturally the middle), but originally they were going to get the senses in waves, like once Raph broke part of the spell both Mikey and Raph would get hearing, etc. And I already planned on it going sight > hearing > touch as well. But then I decided to split the senses up because I felt like it was more interesting that way. See the tip I posted above LOL

But as for why I picked sight > hearing > touch, well... I needed Mikey to see him first for narrative utility but also since Mikey is the one who is best at emotions, I liked having him get sight, because that way Leo can't really hide from him, and so Mikey can get a sense of how Leo is dealing with everything through this ordeal. Like Leo can hide his emotions from Raph by being quiet or from Donnie by not touching him but he can't escape Mikey. The other two obviously know Leo is not having a good time, but Mikey is the one who has the fullest picture of how badly this is affecting him, and Mikey is also the best at communicating that to the others and helping Leo through it just by being there. That's why you get a lot of Mikey literally guiding the others to him, too - he's good at helping that way!

As for Raph, I made a joke at the time that I wanted to force the dumb-dumbs to actually use their words lol. Which is a lot of the motivation! Of course, Raph and Leo are at a better place than they were pre-movie anyway, but I still wanted to put them in a place where they have to talk because they literally don't have any other options. Also, I really love the co-leaders vibe, or at least Raph being his right hand man, and I wanted the two of them to be able to talk strategy, which was of course easiest if they could actually, ya know, talk. Leo may be leader but he still looks up to Raph and turns to him for advice, or as a sounding board to work out what he's thinking through, so it's really beneficial for him to be able to talk to Raph.

And yes finally, Donnie is touch averse so he gets touch and we all laugh. LAUGH. But also Donnie would be most frustrated by not having a more direct way to communicate with Leo, but also the most determined to actually make it work. Also this way he is given a problem to fix. Leo is touch-starved and it's not good for him to be like this for too long, because he's losing his grip on reality. Donnie can fix that problem by touching him, and so he will, because Donnie fixes problems. Even if it requires giving his dumb-dumb twin shell scratches (he doesn't mind) (he won't admit it though).

Also the ouija board jokes are very funny. If it works for zozo why can't it work for Leo!

Sorry for all the rambles aaaaa thanks for the ask!

#fic: i may be invisible but i still look good

[admin-in-residence]

The Case of the Secret Starcourt Base… (Part 1)

Summary: The very first jump into official canon! Bea gets roped into a new adventure, Eddie and Wayne get worried, and we begin to discover the Secret Starcourt Base…Part 1 of 2!

Part 3 of The Case Of…series.

One Shot Warnings: Mentions of drugs, Mentions of Alcohol, Original Character is stated to be female.

”You want me to crawl through there?”

Bea wasn’t entirely sure how she had gotten into this situation, standing below a ventilation shaft in the back of Scoop’s Ahoy. One moment she had made a last minute decision to get some ice cream before meeting up with Eddie later that afternoon, the next Steve Harrington was dragging her into the back room with his co-worker, Dustin Henderson and Erica Sinclair.

“Can I ask why?” Bea asked, “Did you lose something or…”

The four other people turned to one another in a huddle, whispering amongst each other.

Bea crossed her arms, she hated feeling like the odd man out. And it’s not like she asked to be dragged back here.

After a few moments, the group separated once more.

”We picked up on a secret Russian Communication, and we have reason to believe that they have a base somewheres in Starcourt.” Dustin said, “I’m telling you this because I believe we can trust you.”

Bea blinked- once, twice.

She wasn’t quite sure how else to react to a statement like that, but she knew Dustin from school and he didn’t seem the type to joke about something like this, especially when he looked so serious.

“Erica can fit through the vents, but she wants someone to go along with her- I remember you from school, your one of the good ones.” Dustin explained.

One of the good ones- a loose term for staying out of peoples business and not being a bully. Bea preferred to stay quiet, too much attention and you’d attract bullies like flies. Dustin and his group of friends were some of the good ones too…Before, she didn’t have anyone to help her face bullies, but with Eddie she found herself opening up more than she ever had- look where that got her now.

“It’s a contingency plan.” The younger girl interrupted. “If something happens to me, you can still crawl back through the vents for help.”

“Which won’t happen because we’ll be talking to you guys through the radio the entire time. All you have to do is crawl through the vents and open the transportation door.” Robin huffed.

“Sorry- but I’m still trying to get over the whole Russian base thing, can I have a minute?” Bea gaped, taking a seat at one of the tables.

“I know it seems scary-“

”Seems!?” Bea gasped. “Sorry, sorry…its just.”

“A lot?” Dustin finished. “That’s why we have to do something, if we don’t, they could hurt a lot of people, people that we care about.”

Bea’s mind flickered, thinking of Eddie and Wayne back home at the trailer park…not just her house, but a physical place that she felt at home at. Walking through the door and Wayne greeting her if he wasn’t at work, or Eddie driving around playing his obnoxiously loud music.

She understood for once, what it felt like to want to protect someone other than herself.

A year or two back, Bea wouldn’t have thought twice about it. She would have walked out the door to Scoops and probably wouldn’t have came back, back then she would have thought them to be crazy.

But then Will Byers disappeared for a week, they had a funeral for him, and then he comes back from the dead with little explanation. Barbara Hollands gets caught up in some sort of Laboratory leak, and Bea’s own father, a doctor who worked at a supposed Energy Lap quits his job abruptly and started drinking away any memory of the place.

There was something strange happening in Hawkins, and Bea finally had a chance to figure out what may be the cause of it.

Sure her palms were sweaty and her heart was racing…but…

“Ok. Ok I’ll do it- but I need to make a quick phone call!”

…

Eddie Munson’s day had been going perfectly fine. He finished a few deals he’d put off while driving Bea back and forth to the library, not wanting the kid to be around while he did the drug deals, and he had plans to meet up with Bea later for movie night. Wayne even had the night off and after much pleading from both Bea and himself, they’d managed to convince Wayne to watch a movie with them.

Bea had peddled off that morning, on the hunt for yet another ice cream cone from Scoops Ahoy and he’d thought about driving over to the mall to pick her up once he finished at the school, but he figured she’d probably already be back at the Trailer Park.

Instead, he walked into his Uncle’s trailer to find Wayne hanging up the phone.

“We’re going to have to postpone movie night tonight.” Wayne announced. “Bea called, apparently she’s been invited to a sleepover with some girls from school, last minute thing but she said it was important. Told me to tell you that she should be free tomorrow night.”

Eddie felt his heart drop for a moment, before confusion clouded his mind.

“Is that all she said?” Eddie asked. “Didn’t say who it was with?”

Bea had told him multiple times that she didn’t get along with many people in her grade, so it seemed out of character for her to randomly drop movie night to go join a gaggle of them. She wasn’t like the other girls, she didn’t like her nails painted or swapping weird romance stories or whatever else girls do at silly little sleepovers.

Bea liked music, books, and she had a newfound love for D&D, she’d even gotten a Hellfire T-shirt just a couple of days ago. Eddie hadn’t ever seen the girl smile so wide when she threw it on over her t-shirt. She was officially part of his crew now.

Maybe he was just jealous, jealous that she’d ditched him so quickly for something more ‘normal’ in the eyes of Hawkins.

But Eddie knew better then that, and he’d gotten to know Bea quickly over the past couple weeks of summer vacation…there was a underlying feeling, a bad feeling that was creeping up.

Something was wrong.

…

Time passed quickly, and night fell over Starcourt in a blink of an eye. Erica stood beside Bea, kitted out in elbow pads, a backpack and a bike helmet fitted with two flashlights.

Bea was pretty sure her single flashlight and one of Robin's sweaters to keep from getting ventilation shaft gunk on her new Hellfire shirt would suffice her just fine, but if all of that made Erica feel safer than who was she to say anything?

With word from Robin and the others topside, the operation was a go. Erica climbed up the ladder first and crawled into the shaft and after a few moments she called back to Bea to tell her to follow.

For once her shorter size paid an advantage, and without the clunky elbow guards she was able pull herself through the shaft with ease. Erica’s flashlights led the way as they followed the route that they had spent the afternoon memorizing.

“We’re here-“ Erica called back, “The storage rooms empty, no guards in sight.”

Bea heard the faint buzz of the radio and Robins voice confirming and they enacted part two of the plan. Erica kicked out the panel and threw her backpack down and Bea shuffled forwards to follow.

The storage room didn’t look like a secret Russian base, if anything it just looked like any other storage unit, full of boxes belonging to that Chinese place in the mall. Maybe they were full of fortune cookies or something.

Bea pulled herself a little closer to the edge, maneuvering her feet around and sliding out into the room. Erica was already one step ahead opening the control panel to unlock the doors.

Glancing around the room, nothing seemed out of place, she didnt see any sort of security camera’s or big signs alerting anyone to a secret Russian base.

She probably should have been concerned about that-

…

Eddie paced around the trailer- there was something off about this entire thing and the more time that went by, the worst he felt about it. Wayne had laughed it off, making a joke that Eddie was acting like a mother hen-

He’d gone over to Bea’s, just to see if she’d come home…but her bike was still missing and the lights were off. Her father most likely at the bar yet again, and wouldn’t be back until the early morning if he wasn’t back by now.

He’d tried to think of some of the kids in her year, but names eluded him and he didn’t want to seem crazy calling a bunch of her classmates looking for her. Even worse would be talking to any of the kid’s parents and trying to explain that he wasn’t family, but she was basically his little sister and she was missing.

Finally in desperation he’d gone out to the van and drove into town, Bea’s newly renovated bike wasn’t hard to miss now that it was ‘sunset orange’ as she still loved to call it. Eddie was fairly sure she was the only kid in town with the colorful bike…and he was pretty sure no one else would be caught dead with a bike that color anyways.

The bike made her happy though- so Eddie kept those thoughts to himself.

Unsuccessful, Eddie turned back around to head home, it was starting to get really late. However, one final idea crossed his mind and he turned down the next road heading towards Starcourt Mall.

The Mall lights were still on, they’d never shut off once since they’d turned on except for that power outage the day before. But he could see through the windows that the shops were closed up for the night, all of the employees already headed home for the night.

Pulling up to the curb, Eddie hopped out of the drivers seat leaving his van on.

Very few bikes were left at the bike racks, but there was one down by the end was the one he was searching for. Sunset orange dulled by the neon lighting of Starcourt, but recognizable to Eddie from seeing it so much.

Eddie pulled the bike free noticing that there was no bike lock to be found-

That was the first warning sign.

Ever since renovating the bike with Wayne, Bea had resorted to chaining it to the bike racks, not wanting it to be stolen by anyone after the time and effort they’d put into it. Usually she only left it unchained if she was planning to be in and out somewheres.

The second warning sign was that Bea was nowhere in sight.

If she’d truly left with a classmate for a sleepover she would have figured out some way to bring the bike, either biking to whoever’s house or having someone pick it up and take it with them. She would have needed it to get back home in the morning as well. But here it was, unchained and alone.

Throwing the bike in the back of the van, Eddie ran back to the driver's seat and floored the gas peddle, tires squealing as he sped off.

This time he took the road towards the Hideaway.

…

“What is that!?” Bea stood on her tiptoes trying to peer around the group huddled around the boxes.

Getting fed up enough she shoved her way in between Dustin and Robin looking inside the box before them.

Steve was the bravest of them reaching inside to grab one of the handle’s of the weird storage container. Robin and Erica backed away with his orders, but Dustin stood his ground as did Bea.

“Back off kid- we don’t know what this is.” Steve told her sharply.

Bea however, having spent the past weeks with Eddie Munson had developed a tolerance to orders- and she didn’t take kindly to them anymore.

“And? If that is something highly dangerous, standing a few feet behind you isn’t going to save our lives.” Bea fixed her words with a classic stare that she used against Eddie.

Steves eyebrows furrowed for a moment before shrugging. Twisting the handle, there was a click, a hiss and he was able to pull a capsule up out of the box. Inside, swirling green liquid gleamed by the overhead lighting, a weird glow cast a green haze over Steve and Dustin’s faces, and Bea assumed her own face was hued with the odd color.

“That’s definitely radioactive gook-“ Bea announced. “Nothing that color is anything that’s safe.”

Everyone glanced between her and the capsule before the floor shook beneath their feet.

Bea’s heart dropped into her stomach and suddenly- she didn’t feel very good, like she’d ridden to many roller coasters.

“You know what- I’m going to wait outside.” She announced quickly, rounding the table and over to the control panel.

“Bea’s right, lets just grab that and go.” Robin followed.

Eyeing the panel before her, Bea pressed the ‘Open Door’ button once.

Waiting a few seconds she tapped her foot before pressing it twice.

“Are these button backwards?” Bea asked her voice raising, her heart skipped a beat and she gave a nervous giggle. “Like is it Opposite Day or something?”

Dustin pushed her out of the way and jammed the button a few more times.

“Just press the damn button nerds-“ Erica scoffed, “Just press ‘Open Doors!?”

“We’re pressing it!” Bea screamed.

Her heart was pounding in her chest and she willed herself to hold the ice cream bowl Robin had made for her, down in her stomach. However, as the seconds passed…that was getting to be more and more difficult.

Steve entered the fray, pushing Dustin over, Dustin pushing Bea over and the three of them began to bicker about the door, Steve slamming his hands all around onto the different buttons.

From the ceiling there came a click and walls descended down over the door’s.

Stepping away, Bea found a spot against the wall as her breathing hitched.

We’re the walls caving in too or was that just her?

For a moment there was only silence except for the ragged breaths erupting out of her chest.

The lights flickered once-twice-thrice-

And it felt like the floor dropped beneath her feet.

Like a rock, Bea sunk to the floor, hands rising to cover her ears as the storage unit- or…elevator? Began its descent to wherever the hell it was going. Unlike Eddie’s shitty driving, or the roller coasters that Bea used to ride on at the fair when she was a kid, this was a speed unlike anything she ever felt making her dizzy and nauseous atop her hysteria.

The others screamed around her, none of them knowing what was happening or where they were going-

As soon as they started going down- the elevator came to an abrupt halt. The boxes around them falling off shelves and the table, Bea’s head snapped back to the wall and she whimpered at the pain. However, the pain was enough to break through her haze and she sucked in air greedily.

“Everyone ok?” Robin groaned, rubbing the back of her own head.

“Everything’s just great!” Steve exclaimed. “Even better now that we know that Russian’s can’t design elevators!”

“Just so you nerds are aware- I’m supposed to be spending the nights at Tina’s, and Tina always covers for me. But if I’m not home for Uncle Jack’s party tomorrow, and my mom finds out you guys are responsible- she’s going to hunt you down one by one and slit. Your. Throats.” Erica snapped.

Bea thought about Eddie and Wayne, Wayne no doubt had accepted her lousy excuse that she was having a sleepover with a classmate- but Eddie? She was pretty sure Eddie wouldn’t fall for it, and could picture him arguing with Wayne over it- but the fact of the matter was she hadn’t told anyone truthfully where she was going. If she went missing, there would be no place to look for her…would Eddie or Wayne look for her anyways?

She wondered silently to herself if she’d ever see them again-

…

By mid afternoon even Wayne was beginning to be unsettled by the silence from Bea. His days off had been filled with the younger girls questions and laughter since Eddie had befriended her. She’d been a good thing. Eddie had been more responsible in these past few weeks then he’d ever been, acting as the younger girls pseudo-big brother. Hell, Eddie and him hadn’t even been this close in years.

By evening he began to question the truth to her story- she’d never mentioned any other friends her age before and stuck to Eddie like glue. The only other friends she’d talked about were friends she’d met through Eddie and his club.

When Eddie had arrived home with Bea’s bike in the back of his van, and reporting a trip to the Hideaway and finding Bea’s father drunker than a skunk along with his friends, Eddie was panicking. Wayne assured him that Bea was fine, she’d sounded fine on the phone, she was probably just trying to fit in…but even Wayne began to doubt his reassurances.

When no phone call came in requesting a ride home in the morning, Eddie headed back out, this time to the Hawkins Library, Bea had an early morning shift and at the very least he could swing in and make sure she was fine.

If he was worried before, Eddie’s anxiety skyrocketed when the librarian reported that Bea hadn’t shown up for her shift that morning, lamenting about how she’d had to report her a no-call, no-show for the first time.

Eddie didn’t stick around to talk and using the pay phone outside he called his Uncle to report his findings, together they decided the next best step was to head on down to the Hawkins Police Station together, something was clearly wrong .

Eddie just hoped this wasn’t anything like the Byer’s incident.

Tag List: @kik51199 @hardysbitch @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mirkwoodshewolf @maddwich @kastainkniver

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x original character #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x original character #st 4 #strangerthings #stranger things x reader #platonic eddie munson

[momentsofmy20s]

How late is too late?

For me it was on June 7th, 2022, at 12PM; The day my mom called while I was at work saying that she thinks my father needs to go the emergency room.

I worked at a daycare at the time and I was doing my best to get one of our most rowdy kids to go to sleep for nap time. He was finally sleeping while I was carrying him in my arms; Peace was finally my friend. That’s until I got a call from my mom. I almost dropped the baby when she told me about my father. I started shaking and I laid the baby on his sleeping mat and told my coworker that I had an emergency. My workplace was on 5 minutes away from my house, but it felt like hours.

I got to my house after breaking every traffic violation to exist and saw my mom crying right next to my father. He was sitting on the couch insisting that he was fine and that he was NOT having a stroke while his words slurred; A sign of having a stroke.

That was the first time I ever yelled at my dad. I still remember what I told him:

“Dad, you are not okay! Get in the truck right now.”

“No it’s okay I’m fine.” He’s was being so stubborn.

I ignored his words and said, “Either I take you to the emergency room, or I call an ambulance to come and get you. I don’t care if you claim you’re feeling fine. We’re going to the hospital right now! So choose, we go in the truck, or I call 911 right now. Hurry up and choose.”

After I mentioned the possibility of an ambulance coming to our house he weakly got up and started walking to my truck, with my mom trying to help him walk.

I got in the drivers seat and my mom buckled up my dad in the passengers seat. I took off before my mom could even close the door from the back seat. My dad was already giving my mother everything i his wallet so she can be prepared for any expenses or to fill out any paperwork. And I sped to the hospital in frustration.

My dad kept saying, “Slow down.”

And I responded with, “You don’t get to tell me how to drive right now.”

I was trying my best to get there as fast as I can. Along the way, my father started crying and saying that if something happens that he was sorry for everything and that he loved us very much.

I kept telling him to stop saying that. That everything was going to work out fine.

I hoped everything would be fine but about 2 months later, after my dad was in the hospital ventilated and not being able to speak a word or really move his left side of his body, he could only move his right arm and open his eyes. That’s he would hug me, his only child, his only daughter. I wouldn’t leave his side. I would lay my head down on his stomach and he would just pat my back. The doctors kept giving us false hope. I lived in that hospital for a month and a half until they moved my father to another hospital… this hospital was the one where they move patients that don’t have any hope anymore. And that’s when I started preparing myself for the worst news a daughter could ever here.

Once he was moved, he could no longer open his eyes, move his arm, he was just comatose. He could hear us, but other than that, he was just living off a machine.

Then on July 14th, 2022, my father passed away at 12.18PM. I was devastated.

I remember getting to the hospital and my mom and grandmother went in before me but I couldn’t go in. It was the hardest thing for me to do. After 5 minutes of heat the cries of my mother and grandma, I mustered up the courage to see my father. I walked in and saw his lifeless body on the bed. That was no longer my dad. I couldn’t recognize him. I sat by his bed and just held his cold hand, trying to warm it up. I was grab his face and it was cold as well; I tried warming up his face as well, but nothing was working. He wasn’t opening his eyes. He wasn’t telling me any dad jokes. I would never get to feel his tight hugs ever again. My dad was my best friend. I love my father, and my best friend.

So how late is too late? Like I said, my father passed away. The day before he went to the emergency room, he asked me:

“Do you want to watch a movie together? Make some popcorn? You can choose the movie.” He smiled and patted the seat next to him.

I looked at him annoyed cause I was tired from work and I said, “I’m fine dad. I’m just gonna go upstairs and sleep.”

He frowned, and I felt bad. I was just so sleepy. But now that I know what I know now. I would’ve watched the movie with him. I would’ve told him I love him and that he is the best father in the world.

But it was definitely too late for me

to go back and do that.

I just want to share… never let it be too late for something. You’ll regret it, I promise.

As for kind, gentle, loving, smart, father… Rest in Peace, Dad. I will always love you. My hero. ❤️

#online diary #death mention #triggering content #father #love #my story #archive of my own #sad #journal #Spotify

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Some more platonic yanderes for ya: Established RusAme, but both become platonic yanderes for a darling. So, they just kinda share the darling while still being in a romantic relationship with themselves.

Even if their feelings for you are platonic both of them will still have a decent amount of control over you. They’re kind of like your gay dads. So congratulations, I hope you’ve always wanted to live in a Big Brother type of fantasy. 

Also you’re going to hate me for the amount of puns I put in this. 

How you met them: 

They were on another hiking trip dates. While they were hiking Alfred wanted to fawn over a black bear. Turns out this bear thinks Alfred was beargining for a bad time. He didn’t want to be cuddled by the ultra strength Didney Worl character. So the bear had chomped down on Alfred’s leg and had a tight grip on it. Ivan wrestled the bear off his cute but dumb boyfriend. 

“You need medic now.” He manages to get the park rangers and the medics to where they were in the mountains. You were the lead ranger that was leading your team to aid them. 

“Alright let’s get em fixed!” 

“Hahah. I guess my acting career is over.” Alfred jokes. Blood gushing out of his leg made him a little delirious. 

“Shut up, Alfred.” He says in a tone that hinted he was holding back laughter. He loved his idiot of a boyfriend and his crazy foolishness. 

While you finished the report and giving the document to sign Alfred was free to go…with crutches. 

“Thanks again y/n! You’re a cool dudette!” Cheerful even after getting bit by a bear. 

“No problem. Just try not to hug anymore bears.” 

“Yeah that was a pawful.” Alfred snorted. 

“Yeah, you were Bear-y bad pain.” You jab back at Alfred. 

<Kermit the frog on a ventilator of me laughing at my own joke.>

Ivan rolls his eyes and says ‘oh god’ in Russian. 

“I will give you a-PAWS for you and your teams rescue.” Alfred winks and thumbs up. Dropping his crutches in the process. 

“Nyet! Nein! NO! Nay! HELL NAW YOU AMERICAN.” He slowly stalks closer to Alfred with his purple aura expanding. 

“So are puns are clawing at you?” 

(In Russian) “I will fuck you sideways.” 

“Hahaha you’re cute when your irritated.”His grin grows wider at Ivan. Yep his viocidin was kicking in and making him feel woozy but he wanted to choose violence. 

The two of them began to rough house even with Alfred’s damaged leg. 

And you weren’t having any of this. You pried the two of them apart with your sheer will and physical prowess. Ivan and Alfred were stunned and amused. 

“You know y/n you should hang with us. We could totally party together.” Alfred had a mischievous smirk on his face. Oh the stunts and daredevil type things he’d want to do with you. Things like planking on a tight rope on a high rise in NYC. 

Yes, Alfred is a daredevil I headcannon that.

They will eventually start to low-key threaten you to hang with them.

“Ah, Sunflower nice to see you in these parts if the woods. It would be a shame if these tress are the reason you ceased to be.” Then he’d Homer Simpson his way back to the tress with a smile that would not fade. 

Alfred will try to be overwhelming with how often he calls your station for help. He ask question, inquires about random things, beg for help, etc. He practically clogs your phonelines. 

The overbearing and menacing yanderes can be quite the combination to handle. They eventually wear you down into a ‘friend contract’. 

You still have autonomy except on Mon-Wed and every other weekend. (they like to have their private time to bone and romance each other.) 

They text you daily. 

They put a tracker in your phone. 

If you dont answer when they call prepare to be hunted down by some of their nations best agents. 

Game nights are mandatory. (Usually happens on a Monday night.) 

It is nice to have them around when someones is being an asshole to you. They will end up in a dumpster bloody with broken bones. 

So, it’s not so bad. Right?

#alfred f jones #ivan braginsky #hws russia #hws america #hws #hetalia fandom #headingalaxys writes stuff #hetalia #yandere hetalia #hetalia america #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere hetalia headcannons #headingalaxys spicy #headingalaxys #headingalaxys writes headcannons

[moobrvoobl-moobmoob-oobmpoobroom]

Can you just imagine how painful it must be for Vador to utter the word "Senator"...

i did… and then my hand slipped…

note: this kind of assumes Vader didn’t know Obi-Wan was still alive, but I wrote this on a whim and what even is canon anyway.

————————

It was the breathing that did it.

There were many terrifying factors to Darth Vader’s appearance, but it was the distinct mechanical hiss of his life-giving ventilator that scattered Keshian crew and nobles alike out of his way as he strode inexorably towards the bridge. A child stared in horror up at him from a side door before its mother pulled it away into the room. Metal creaked and bent before him as he pulled the bridge doors apart, stepping through the now-empty space like it was no big feat. The crew of the ship flurried around in a flustered rush, but at the middle one woman stood still, and there was something familiar about her as she turned towards him-

“Okay, what’s Jabba the Hutt’s middle name?” Hardcase grinned as the rest all shrugged. “The!” 

Jesse and Fives groaned, but Ahsoka raised an eyebrow as Feli let out a soft laugh. “Where do you get all these jokes?”

“From the Darth Maul,” Hardcase said cheekily. “What do you get when you cross a bounty hunter with a tropical fruit? Mango Fett!” By then, Rex was facedown on the table, covering his ears, and even Padmé seemed to be over it. Feli was the only one who seemed to appreciate the riddles, and seeing her laugh was so different to Anakin than how she usually was, calm, composed and-

It was her. 

The steadfast senator of Mochi (that idyllic Outer Rim planet that Padmé had dreamed of retiring to) was the very same woman who stood in front of Vader now. Feli Dashone. One of Padmé’s trusted allies, Hardcase’s one true love, the woman who hadn’t smiled since they’d gotten back from Umbara. 

He should say something. ‘Feli’ hurt too much to say, so he went with the better option. Not that it didn’t hurt, just that it hurt less. “Senator,” he rumbled. “Or should I say traitor?”

“Lord Vader.” She was as cool and collected as ever, meeting his emotionless black mask with no trace of the fear that normally dogged his adversaries. “I see you and the Empire’s cronies have decided to… inspect our vessel. There’s no need. We’re on a diplomatic mission to-”

Vader had heard it all before. “You are aiding the Rebellion.”

“I am delivering food to refugees on Alderaan. Surely that is not a Rebel act.”

“It is when you also smuggled weapons, Imperial blueprints, and supplies to insurgents on Lothal on your way there.” He took a step closer; his large build cast a sharp grey shadow over her slight frame, but she did not flinch. “We found the manifest of your ship. Did you think your actions would not be discovered? You cannot hide from the might of the Empire.” He clenched one black-clad fist.

To his surprise, she actually took two steps closer, looking right through his tinted red lenses. “Tell me, Lord Vader. Are you so cold and bitter inside that the suffering of peoples in your jurisdiction matters nothing to you? Don’t you care about the thousands and thousands of beings, couples, families, children, who are dying all over the galaxy?” Her voice had taken on a soft, glowing fury, and she seemed to catch herself, leaning back and straightening her posture. “If the Empire won’t help them, I will. All I am doing is honouring the wishes of an old friend.” 

He pretended nothing else she’d said had even reached his ears. “Then you know of other dissenters in the Senate.”

“Now? No. But many years ago, as I’m sure you’re aware, Senator Padmé Amidala passed away.” Padmé. There was a faint tugging in his heart, as if her memory, the mere mention of her name summoned longing of some sort inside him, and he did his best to dredge up all the anger and hate he could to squash it away. “Her last message in a hologram to me was to protect the people.” Among other things, Vader deduced, observing the way she seemed to be purposefully omitting something else that Padmé had said. “Surely you would not stand in the way of friendship. Surely you would not disgrace Padmé’s memory in this way…

“Anakin.” 

It was only due to extreme effort that he didn’t jerk violently away from her. How-

“Master Kenobi paid me a visit on Coruscant the day the Republic fell,” she said, eyes glittering with savage satisfaction. “How could you. How could you betray everything you’ve ever known, everything you fought for? The Republic, the 501st, your family. Obi-Wan, the Jedi Order, Hardcase, Padmé.” She took a step closer, and he felt the temperature in the room — or just in his suit, maybe — plummeting as her voice dropped to a sharp whisper. 

“Padmé would be ashamed if she saw what you’ve become.” 

His fist tightened, something invisible crushing down around him, and as he clenched it closed, she dropped to the floor, motionless. Blinking away the red haze, he gestured to the stormtroopers standing awkwardly at the door. “Take her away.” One of them knelt, then seemed to freeze. 

“Um, she’s dead, sir.”

Anakin.

Let her go!

It seems, in your anger, you killed her. 

He pushed away the memories as the overhead lights sparked and flickered. “Then dispose of her. And burn this ship to the ground.” As we soon will destroy the Rebellion. 

But first, he had one thing to take care of. 

Master Kenobi paid me a visit the day the Republic fell. 

Obi-Wan was still alive. That meant Vader had one last loose end to tie off. 

—————————

yeah so I don’t know how to write Vader but I hope you liked my random little snippet sjdbjdbdjd

#Everydoors #asks #Vader #Darth Vader #Feli Dashone (OC) #Padmé Amidala #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Anakin Skywalker #Star Wars #Star Wars fanfiction #sw fanfic #Star Wars fic #Hardcase #Clone trooper Hardcase #Swift writes

[tuptastic]

current Transformers OC reference masterpost! (these references have been made over the course of the last year, so there’s some style changes)

Zephyr - the adoptive son of Ironhide, who’s got a penchant for taking in strays. Everyone is convinced he’s Bee’s kid, but no one talks about it. Scout who’s absolutely fascinated by the world around him. Has been taught a lot of bad habits by the twins, who were other foundlings of Ironhide. Is constantly trying to modify his visor to allow him access to things his visor shouldn’t have access to. Once dated an undercover Decepticon for like 3 months. His siblings won’t let him live it down. Has an electrical based outlier ability and can shock people through his hands and feet. The wiring on the side of his helm sparks when he’s frustrated.

Oracle - the son of Ratchet and a special op’s bot named Savvy (who has since been offlined in duty). The pseudo little brother to the Protectobots and Aerialbots - he is incredibly close to First Aid, as he has played a large role in his training. Sparked medic, and damn good at his job. Primarily works as a field medic. Tries to act serious and professional but he’s really, really not good at it. Will turn his emergency lights on to piss bots off when they’ve scorned him. Often is getting hauled around like a toddler by his older brothers. Courting Blitz, to the disappointment of Ratchet (Oracle does not care)

Blitz - Foundling of Bulkhead. Has also partially been raised by Wheeljack, as the two are close friends. Was also raised around the Autobots’ combiner teams, but the Aerialbots took much more of a shine to him due to his general attitude and behavior. Heavy hitter with a love for making pun jokes. Thinks the Wreckers are cool as all shit. Isn’t good with emotions, but will give hugs if you need them. he gives good hugs. Absolutely in love with Oracle, and thinks it’s hilarious that Ratchet is salty about them courting.

Ranger - Son of Optimus Prime and Elita One. Youngest sibling of Arcee and Hot Rod/Rodimus Prime. His spark separated way too early, and as such many essential systems failed to online or develop properly. He cannot take energon by mouth, and must have it introduced to his system via tubing, as well as requiring a form of ‘pacemaker’ to keep his spark working properly. His ventilation system often needs recalibrating and working to keep them cooling him properly. Too sweet for his own good, and sees the good in everyone. This often gets him into trouble. Got stranded with Stormshot of the Alpha Trine once, and helped save his life - leading them to fall helplessly in love with one another. He bullies Oracle relentlessly due to how often he is in the medbay (but they’re very good friends)

Nightlock - the oldest of the Alpha Trine and Megatron and Starscream’s sparklings. Was created as an attempt to combine the twos’ best qualities into a super soldier, but their seeker genetics caused the spark to split into the trine, spreading the traits among all three brothers. The golden child, and Megatron’s favorite. Keeps his mouth shut and does what he’s told. An absolute nightmare on the battlefield due to how adept he is at his job. Harsh and rough around the edges. 100% brainwashed by his sire. After his brothers left, he loses an optic to one of his sire’s fits, which frightens him into rethinking his entire life, enough to where he offers to become a double agent against Megatron. Changes his name to Nightwaker after the war

Stormshot - The middle mech of the Alpha Trine and Megatron and Starscream’s sparklings. Created as an attempt to combine the twos’ best qualities into a super soldier, but their seeker genetics caused the spark to split into the trine, spreading the traits among the brothers. Typically forgotten about by his creators. The hard hitter of his brothers. Absolutely massive in both height and weight. Despite it, he’s not fond of violence, and if it is not necessary he will not engage. He wanted to be a dancer, had he not been sparked during the war. Almost killed Prime’s kid when they got stranded together out of fear of being taken prisoner by the autobots. When Ranger let him go, he would end up forming a friendship that later turned to love towards him. Defects from the Decepticons to the Autobots to be with Ranger after his sire threatened his life one too many times. Would do anything for his brothers.

Crossfire - The youngest of the Alpha Trine and Megatron and Starscream’s sparklings. Created as an attempt to combine the twos’ best qualities into a super soldier, but their seeker genetics caused the spark to split into the trine, spreading the traits among the brothers. The scapegoat of the family. Has an outlier ability that affects his voice. The volume of his voice correlates to damage that can be done, almost akin to a sonic boom combined with directly damaging ones’ audials. He cannot shut it off, however, and wears an inhibitor device that will shock him if he raises his voice above an ‘acceptable level’ without being permitted by a higher ranked official, usually his creators. Speaks primarily in a whisper. Incredibly anxious, and suffers from panic attacks and severe self isolation. Defects to the Autobots after Stormshot does, when Megatron begins getting extremely violent with him and attempts to take his life. Has bouts of nonverbalism as a result of his trauma. Loves astronomy, and would like to learn medical skills, to save lives rather than take them. Small dude.

#transformers #maccadams #transformers oc #transformers original character #cybertronians #transformers sparklings #transformers g1 #idw transformers #ike’s art #ike’s ocs #zephyr #oracle #blitz #ranger #nightlock #nightwaker #stormshot #crossfire #transformers seek and destroy

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

➖ Mature content, 18+ ➖ check the trigger tags each time ➖      

Chapter 13 - Flashbacks. Episode 1.

Andy: *I ran as fast as I could out into the garden, and didn't stop till I ran out of garden to run in. I couldn't breathe, or at least that's what it felt like. I was hyper ventilating, but it felt like no air reached my lungs. A stinging pain went through my brain, like a knife piercing it, as yet another flashback rushed through my head. Blood. So much blood. My hands covered. My clothes covered. And in my right hand, the tiny tool, an instrument, designed to cause as much pain and suffering as possible. Designed to rip out flesh, but so little at the same time that it would take a long time to cause life threatening damage. Prolonging the inevitable, making the pain last longer. I groaned loudly as another flash went through my brain, this time I could smell the mix of blood, urine and vomit on the floor. Hear the piercing sound of his screams as I tore my way through his skin.*

Evan: Andy!?! *His yell rolled over me like an echo* What happened in there???

Andy: *I turned my head and looked at him with tears in my eyes, but as I opened my mouth to cry out for him to hold me, Everything became black.*

------Evans point of view-----

Evan: *I saw him buckle right in front of my eyes, and even if I wasn't more than about 6-7 meters away from him, it happened so fast, I had no chance to catch him. He dropped into the grass like a stone. As I ran to him and kneeled down next to him, I saw his eyes already slowly opening again. I padded his cheek lightly, speaking in a soft lowered voice* Hey…. Andy…. are you okay? What happened in there? We were watching Supernatural, and then suddenly you stormed out of the door? When I reached you out here, you fainted before I could get to you.

Andy: *He looked at me a bit confused, then suddenly it was like he remembered whatever had happened before his brain shut down. He turned pale in his face, his eyes flickered, and before I could get to say or do anything, he rolled over on his stomach, got up on all four, crawled about a meter and started vomiting in the grass.*

Evan: *I dragged myself towards him, half crawling, and as I reached him I put one hand on his hip, and one on his shoulder Softly caressing him* Hey… breathe…

Andy: *Scoffed and rolled his eyes* That's damn near impossible while my dinner is shooting out of my throat like a rocket!

Evan: *He did have a point, and although I appreciated his attempt at joking, I was far too concerned to laugh at the comedy. So I instead caressed the back of his neck lightly for the almost 5 minutes it took for him to finally be done with reversing tonight's dinner. As he was sure there weren't more left, he sat down in the grass few meters away and lit himself a cig. I frowned at him, but let him smoke it anyway, although it probably wasn't the best to do when he so clearly was ill. But he looked like he really needed it. I sat down next to him, grabbing a cig for myself. Observing him for a bit, he seemed calm. Maybe it was in fact just that? Maybe he was sick? A flu perhaps? But as I was just about to ask him how he felt, he started shaking uncontrollably as he started crying his heart out, falling sideways in the grass, hiding his face in the palm of his hands. Andy? What's happening?? *I crawled behind him, gently sliding one of my arms under the shoulder he was laying on, and lifted his shoulder and head, Planting them gentle in my lab, and as he felt me close he started crying even heavier than before, to a point where he started coughing, and I was afraid he would vomit all over both of us. He didn't though.* Sssh sssh sssh… calm down… breathe Andy… *I tried to make my voice as calm and soothing as possible, while trying to figure out what the heck had happened in the tv room That had made him so upset?* Andy… no matter what it is, we will fix it… I promise…

Andy: *He shook his head wildly* It can't be fixed, it can never be fixed!!!

Evan: *I planted a hand on his hair, slowly caressing the black mohawk, hoping it by some miracle would calm him down. It didn't.*

Andy: Please don't be so sweet to me, I don't deserve it.

Evan: *I frowned softly* Of course you do! Don't say silly things like that.

Andy: *He sniffled his nose and somewhat yelled between his tears* If you knew what I have done, you wouldn't even be sitting here!

Evan: *I thought about his words for a few seconds. Were there really something Andy could do that would make me walk away from him? And as I quickly came to the conclusion, that the answer to that question was no, I grabbed his hand tightly and in a lowered but certain voice said* Andy, there is absolutely nothing in this world, that could make me leave you. So why don't you try me out? Whatever it is, we will get through it. Together.

Andy: *He sobbed loudly* I don't wanna lose you!

Evan: *I shook my head softly, and grabbed his shoulders firmly, yanking him up from the ground so we sat face to face. I placed my hands on his cheeks, and with my thumbs I gently wiped away his tears, smiling softly at him.* Andy, I can assure you, I'm not going anywhere. Trust me.

Andy: *He looked deep into my eyes, and I could almost taste his sorrow as it reflected in his eyes* Evan…. I…. *He sobbed softly* I tortured someone.

Evan: *I looked at him confused, not fully knowing if he was kidding me or not?*

#unicornmanes #Andy Shaw-Thompson #Andycorn #Evan Thompson #tw: briefly touching a panic attack #tw: short gory memories

[chargetheintruder]

And catching up on what I said I’d do last weekend.

Fair warning: Political crap.  Because I’m stuck in a timeline, you know?  We live in a society and are stuck with a timeline.  =))

First off, yeah, it’s hypocritical as all fuck that EVERY right-winger ever is pissing and moaning and calling “hand-out” over President Biden’s recent act of Mass Student Loan Forgiveness (THANK YOU, Mr. President, by the way) when a) many of these same politicians also took out PPP Loans during the pandemic and never paid them back (which is what loan forgiveness and bankruptcy have in common, superficially, I guess), and also b) ALL of them kept it quiet TWICE when banks got government HAND OUTS, a.k.a. bail-outs over their own greed and ineptitude with regard to exotic investments in real estate.  No, seriously.

Trumpist fuck-nuts think it’s all good when a business, a corporation, a landlord, or a politician squeaks out of debt, as Trump did going bankrupt some six times, but God Forbid an ordinary college student or former student should get cut ANY breaks during a once-in-a-century pandemic that BECAME a disaster thanks to what again?  Incompetence coming from Trump you say?  So-called conservatives living in QAnon’s evidence-free la-la-electric fairyland on 8channel you say?  Or maybe both of those points and every point in between them.

In shorter terms: While I personally believed President Biden could have acted sooner and done more--he could have easily went for greatness just by doubling his numbers, $20K baseline, $40K with Pell Grants, and doubled the income limit too--the truth is, getting this contrarian President to actually do something himself is like pulling teeth?  Yeah, I’ll take a win when I see it, we can wait until later to see if Manchin and Sinema merit getting their kneecaps ventilated over how much of the rest of Biden’s agenda they forcibly ruined.

Secondly, and yeah, I said I would get to this, I’m just sorry it took me nearly a week to do so.

But the truth is that Trump needs to go on trial for the things he did, and the things he encouraged.  Donald Trump needs to go on trial for both incitement of insurrection on January 6th, and for his deliberate mishandling of both Presidential records and Classified materials.  America needs to get a spine on this and demonstrate that NO ONE is above Rule of Law.  It really is that simple.

But there is something that needs to be said: the outcome of all that will not satisfy anyone.  It won’t.  Trump will most likely plead “no contest” whenever possible and while that’s the equivalent of a guilty plea, his followers will not accept that as such.  Meaning any authorities willing to actually do their as-stated job and stop insurrections from the trial of Trump are going to have their hands full. The joke gets better.  Should Trump be found guilty or the equivalent, yes, he will go to prison, but in sentencing the judge will have to consider his age, as well as his protection needs as a Former President.  Meaning, yes, as a really old rich-bitch, Trump will NEVER actually go to anything more than a medium-security white-collar prison.  No General Population for Trump.  His potential flight risk and insurrection risk merit medium security but his person doesn’t merit more than that (he’s 70-something, in mediocre health and needs at least trivial Secret Service protection).  Trump’s prison experience will be more like Martha Stewart’s, only more permanent.  Chalk that up to White Privilege, I sure do.  And I say that as a white guy.

About the only major benefit from Trump’s going to prison we can get is that he won’t be dead and a martyr.  He won’t inspire anyone anymore--indeed, the whole point of the sentence will be that Trump will die of old age being kept very much Isolated and Quiet.  Maybe that is the best we can hope for, is a situation where sure, people will raise hell but they’ll have to do it as “their own people” versus being led by Trump directly.

Third thing?  I keep saying this again and again, but now it looks like it might just happen.  This being an effective No More Republicans Scenario.  In short, the trial hits, it sweeps up enough figures in both the House and Senate to chill the midterms, and in essence, the Democratic Party gets the spine they needed last year, and uses the 14th Amendment to finally kick the rest of the bastards out to the curb.  On the one hand, yes, this is more incentive for the Idiot 30 Percent of every state (the Idiot 28 Percent, actually, plus the One Percenters and kept hacks who support them).  More fuel to their fire, more cause for them to raise hell, such as it is, but consider how much Trump has been bashing the Police lately.  This is a bad move in terms of tactics because the right-wingers don’t know that if they fight the Militarized Police here in America again, directly, they will die.  They will simply be shot dead.  Don’t think the police don’t know how their own suffered in the January 6th insurrection.  The alt-right as such have LOST the Blue Lives bunch and don’t know it.  This isn’t gloating, this is simply looking at how police behave in the USA, looking at what they demand of people typically, and looking at how Trumpist red-caps typically act.  Those who still follow Trump still think they can raise hell--and are in for a severely rude awakening on that.

In the meantime, the sensible 70 percent of us, in every state, just need to get used to the idea that we ARE going to go into a one-party state, temporarily, probably for the remainder of President Biden’s stay in the White House.  It probably won’t be all that severe but it will LOOK concerning to people who don’t know how the 14th Amendment works.  It’ll be a while before we get a post-Republican conservative party, and until that happens, Democrats and Independents will be the only shows in town and on the ballots.  But yeah, it’ will mostly look worse than it is, actually.  And I’m saying this from Illinois, where the current Governor has literally forced an emergency State-Level coup-d-etat just to make damned sure his state survives COVID-19 without endless bickering from the “but we LIKED Rauner” camp in the State Legislature and elsewhere.  No really, if even the “moderate” anti-Trump “republicans” had any say during the pandemic years, Chicago would be DEAD.  That’s the state-level conservative bias in the main, “fuck Chicago” because that’s “where them libtards breed and lay some eggs.”  =))  So yeah, maybe Governor J.B Pritzkier (whose last name I always mess up) has a point in Assuming ALL Direct Control for the time being.

And maybe kicking the Bastard Party out at the federal level is also a good thing, temporarily, as well.

#Student Loan Forgiveness #Thank You #Prison For Trump #won't be perfect #14th Amendment #temporary one-party rule #sometimes you send the idiots and children to the kid's table while grown-ups handle business

[santostrife]

I asked nekropsii this so now I'm gonna ask you this! if you want at least. sov characters you could be roommates with comfortably vs sov characters you couldn't even share a room with if paid

Heya!! This question is so fun so thanks for sending!

Most of the crew is pretty unanimous with our opinions, and I'm much of the same, but it's a fun hypothetical! so here we go,

WARNING: LONG AS HELL

[PLAYERS]

[ Cynical Itinerant - Cytin - Tintin ] Abso. Cool-o-rama Over Here. Would absolutely love to be a roomate with this dude! Learning how to say shit in Latin would be FUN.

[ Dynama Zarrow ] Nope. Either the religious talk would drive me stir crazy or I'd drive them stir crazy with the fact that I make several jokes About God, and various other things.

[ Tejuri Kromab ] Hell yeah! Granted our Southern-Hospitality might collide a bit, but not in anyway negative! I'd be interested in what she's writing just out of pure curiosity. I am sharing some sweet tea with her.

[ Presae Covnul ] Split. Doesn't know half of the electrical appliances I'd be using, and would probably tear them apart. But otherwise seems like a pretty chill roomie! Would make a mean soup that would cure me of all diseases.

[ Pardus Rubato ] Split. Would probably blare the music she's working on at 2 am. While the music in itself is impressive, but I'd be tormented with unwarranted AMV's every time I take my headphones off. But I must also consider that, 1. is kitty 2. PARKOUR.

[ Retris Morage ] Wouldn't Mind! Having a decent place wouldn't be out of the question, and a pretty nice guy once you befriend him! Probably would pester him with too many questions though given his knowledge.

[ Ajax Barrett ] I don't see why not! Watching shitty or good movies sounds like an absolute TIME with him, plus I'd like to take him to a rage room and absolutely Wail on a TV.

[ Emeric Sargas ] Split. We'd need an entirely separate ventilated room so I don't get attacked by fumes that could kill me, but otherwise would be a fun roomie! I think they'd be interesting to talk to, even if my brain would get melted a little. But I'm pretty sure it's already halfway there on it's own.

[ Kausat Stolar ] ...Split, but leaning on yes. Got the same interest of Weird Houses. Although he takes it a bit more... Seriously then I do. Would absolutely not go with them on a Abandoned House exploration, but would absolutely make him Worse by showing him the game "ANATOMY".

[ Tomiei Aerras ] Eeeehhhh...... No. She's hilarious, no doubt, but Hardcore Tiktok People scare me.

[ Annomi Errata ] Absolutely not. I think I'd knock him out cold out of pure reflex if he even breathed at me wrong.

[ Pleome Alrium ] 100% Yes. Sweet guy!! Cool Hobbies!! Beach trips sounds like an absolute Blast with this guy!! What more could you want!

[NPCS]

[ Inaniloquent Commander - Inaco ] Split, leaning on no. On one hand, the garden would FLORISH. On the other, no leniency on rules would probably jack up my anxiety real bad.

[ Argebi Kromab ] Unsure... I'm sure she's wonderful, and the package deal with Khanda doesn't bother me too much, but it's a living situation where it'd drift more into "You do your thing, and I do mine". Can't really say for sure why!

[ Meseri Covnul ] No, but for my own safety & sanity. I'd like to keep my skeleton, thank you.

[ Khanda Morage ] Split. He'd tell me something Entirely Untrue, and the worst part is that I might believe him if I have no knowledge of the subject in the first place. Would be embarrassing in the long run. But, is hilarious, and probably plays a mean DND game.

[ Arsine Sargas ] Running so so far away. She'd get a wiff of my brainworms and use them to her advantage. No thanks. + The apartment would smell like wet cigarettes' 24/7.

[ Ochosi Stolar ] Split. High energy would probably get me pretty exhausted after a while, but in moderation would be pretty cool! Would give me near heart attacks though with the kinda stunts he's doing.

[ Dulvyx Errata ] Nope. Absolutely not. A thousand times no. Self Proclaimed "Empaths", scare me.

[ Atrisa Alrium ] HELL yes. Seems so sweet. And our grocery list would include a gallon of Women Respecting Juice. I wouldn't allow myself to get dragged to a bar, but small socialization events would be healthy for me I think!

#rambles rambles rambles #santos.pesterlog #cynical itinerant #cytin #tintin #dynama zarrow #tejuri kromab #presae convul #presae covnul #pardus rubato #retris morage #ajax barrett #emeric sargas #kausat stolar #tomiei aerras #annomi errata #pleome alrium #inaniloquent commander #inaco #argebi kromab #meseri convul #meseri covnul #khanda morage #arsine sargas #ochosi stolar #dulvyx errata #atrisa alrium #sovereignstuck #sovstuck

[heartofcourage]

Space Dust

Then we hear the squeaking tires of a second bed coming to a stop in the corridor. A short time later, Neon Red stands next to us. It's daylight inside here, but the only thing my mind can still perceive in this state is the neon red glow. Doors slam shut twice & all the sounds around us. And yet I manage to see that in the operating room, in front of our bed ends, no daylight can penetrate through the windows, except for a few small rays of light through the wooden columns.

The ventilator beeps every second.

My wrists, my head, heavy as lead, will be taken, cabled & bandaged. One of the two nursing sisters asks the other: >> Shouldn't we at least have told Neon Purple before we started?<< >> What's going to happen? The whole thing is an experiment. Let Neon Purple tell us what she saw on her long journey. Let's finish 'em both before Dr. Sable is back.<< >>All right, the other foster nurse adds uncertainly, with dogs crying in the background, a loud laugh from Dr. Sable & screaming monkeys.<< This is followed by an enormous & deep bang. >>She exploded, that's a nice set of new high-heeled shoes & handbags.<< Dr. Sable whistles down the aisle in our direction. I stopped fighting back a long time ago. Contrary to my ability to speak, I can still hear them all speaking very well. Several heads in light blue surgical caps walk at my foot end, while I stand in the even darker hallway together with Neon Red halfway to our beds. A light breeze is blowing across the corridor. We hear animals cry. Somewhere here*. I try to move my fingertips but my body just feels heavy & lightheaded. Someone shouted something, it sounded like a loud one; No! We're starting to get scared. I briefly think back to point 3 in my contract, which states that this is a human experiment on the spot. My hospital bed is starting to shake & the likes of us are now being wheeled completely into the operating room. White light flashes into my eyes at lightning speed. Through the door of the great, cold room comes the plaintive noise of several dogs. The chief doctor's whistle sounds, which I already knew by heart from his melody:>>Bring Neon Red in & finally close this shitty door. The propofol should have an effect immediately, so that Neon Purple shouldn't notice anything anymore, but one thing's for sure, I'm not inside..<< Dr. Sable is getting closer & closer to mine, his grin is getting bigger & he adds:>>not yet.<< He tries to make his team laugh, holds his hand on his stomach & talks about a little joke. (…)

A heavily pregnant woman looks in the direction of the man who is bullying the horse. The road breaks up audibly, crumbling. In a front door of a row of apartment buildings, there is a young woman, about seventeen years old, her name is Sevi, with black, full & long hair, she waves to us over to her, then she disappears & we walk up the stairwell where she lives, all the way to the top under the roof. Big, fat black flies are flying around in the apartment entrance area & it stinks of decay. It’s all so very dirty & we don’t even know why we’re here anymore. My twin sister says:>> Look there!<< Sevi is standing at the end of the hallway in the apartment where she lives with her mother, waving us back over to her. Garbage is in big bags in every room. She smiles at us. >>We should come in.<< A little girl is sitting at a table, intimidated & full of fear, in front of her a big dog baring his teeth & not taking his eyes off her. It’s Neon Red with tubes in her nose, Sevi is sitting next to her & her mother is in front of them. I know immediately that we can’t stay here a second longer & know again why I’m here. Neon Red is in a coma & needs to be led back, back to life, which she can’t do on her own & I don’t know how long she hadn’t made it this far. I step into the eat-in kitchen with my twin sister, the floor creaks & the dog doesn’t take his eyes off Neon Red. Now he has heard us & rushes towards us, but a heavy iron chain & thick spikes around his neck that press deep into his neck holds him back, he howls & is held by his mother with extreme effort to let us slide onto the bench, we wave him away:>>Neon Red I want to lead you back & I think I should tell you that there is no reason to cling to the edge of the table forever. We have to get out of here because life is waiting for you.<< >>I can’t even think about getting up, if he tried he would jump up & tear me to pieces. >>He wants to do that, but he can’t do that, Sevi says, her mother.<< She swings her dog’s heavy iron chain through the low-ceilinged room, in which fat flies are roused from the windows, only to compete to fly around confused over our heads.<<

Both ventilators are beeping very quickly.

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[killedbycorona]

oh I’m fucking sick bro. I’m trying to stop lying when about when I’m in pain and trying to stop my pattern of being vulnerable and then shutting down before I can let anyone take care of me or respond. I think I’m pretending things are better? they are at some points like I’m working really hard on my sleep and and and. my dad isn’t here to help me through it? my dad isn’t here to see anything or do anything or help me breathe because I can’t breathe and I can breathe and it’s good I’m alive but it’s crazy because he stopped being able to breathe without a ventilator and I can’t breathe without my mom or Matt calming me down and I’m trying to be honest about my pain and not pretend it’s not here but I wish my dad was here instead of my pain and I can’t believe I am taking off work to see his stone with his best friend who I really need to call more so I can have a sense that my dad is still alive through stories but he’s not alive. And I’m so fucking tired of my teacher saying everything is victomhood because now I can’t ask for help without thinking I’m playing the victim. shut the fuck up. how could you make a joke that my dad ghosted me? where’s your sovereignty in that? God fuck. This fucking email. I feel insane. I’m trying to see the good in everything still but having this rage underneath makes me feel like a liar when I know rationally I can have conflicting emotions. Fuck dude. This email bro.

global health emergency is all done! went bye bye! and my dad didn’t survive? three years later and everything is getting all “normal” post covid but my dad’s in the fucking ground and the sky? if I am okay during the day, it all crashes down on me at night. I’m sick bro I’m fucking sick I fucking hate this I will never stop being enraged fuck this. He should be here what the fuck

I wish I was in Colorado with everyone who took care of me then and not in New York because these feelings… I feel like I did three years ago. I’m in a moldy basement apartment with a mealtrain and buttered noodles and peas and donations and so many dying orchids. everything in a box. my hair to my belly, long and brown. ptsd bro. everyone visiting in masks and panic attacks. fuck

#3.29.23