#and they keep that up in the junkyard too

[godnattakatta]

thinking abt mungojerrie and demeter (again)

[dcxdpdabbles]

Cave boy Danny just casually mentioning things that correspond with Bruce, like the time he stole an experimental power suit and shot a god corresponding with Bruce shooting Darkseid or the Infi-map being like the time Bruce was lost in the time stream, and the bats wondering how this kid can remain a civilian

Danny tried his best to not blink too quickly, as it may cause the stranger to shoot him. He honestly has no idea how he ended up here, but somehow, he was taken hostage alongside a bus full of people on his way to buy some chips.

He got tired of Alfred's instance to ban all junk food from the manor and had snuck out while the Wyanes had been busy going over plans for some big showdown with a guy named Scarecrow.

Danny doesn't know who that is and doesn't care to find out. The less he knows, the less likely he will have to deal with rouge. He's on vacation, dang it.

Or he was until the bus was taken over by a group of men wearing gas masks. They forced their way onto the bus when they stopped for some passengers, forcing the driver at gunpoint to drive them off course, and now they were heading to a wear house. People were crying, but Danny felt like screaming.

He just wanted spicy chips, and- maybe if he had the time- he would swing by the old junkyard to find a steering wheel for his ship! Fenton luck strikes again, it seemed.

"I wouldn't be so smug, Kane," One of the people in a gas mask shouts at him. He blinks up at the woman pointing her gun at his head but scoffs at her stance. His mother would throw a fit if Danny or Jazz ever placed their feet so off balance like that while wielding a weapon. "Once Dr.Crane is done with you-"

"I'm sorry did you just threaten me with myself?" Danny cuts her off. She pauses seemingly thrown before she sputters.

"No- not Kane, Crane."

He blinks at her. "You just said the same thing"

"C-R-A-N-E." She spells in a huff.

"Ohhhhh. Sorry, the mask makes it hard to understand you. Okay, so where were you? Dr. Crane is going to do what with me-?" Danny asks, leaning back in his seat, and waving his hand at her.

There is a moment of silence before she hits him across the face with her gun. "Don't you mock me!"

"Ow." He deadpans, rubbing at his cheek, and wonders if it was supposed to hurt. His healing had vanished the pain before her gun left his skin. "I thought we were having a conversation, but forgive me, I had no idea you had an inferiority complex and assumed everyone was mocking you. Let me guess, no one has ever told you they are proud of you, and now you are defensive of every action you take because-"

"Shut up!" His voice wobbles and Danny knows he hit the nail on the head.

"Does it keep you up at night? Does it freak you out that everyone can see your issues on your face as bright as day? I bet it does it. Bet it causes you to cry like a sad little confused kid who still can't figure out how to ask for help." He doesn't mock. He states it as fact because that is what it was. Fact. She does break down about it; he can tell by her reaction, and his tone makes it all the harder to swallow.

"I'll kill you!"

"Do it." He smiles. "Saves me from your boss. But will that keep you safe? Let's find out! How long will it be before he breaks you down? Ten, maybe fifteen minutes? And he will break you; you know he will. He's already halfway there."

"I-" She stumbles away from him. He doesn't have to see her face to know it's gone pale. Ha.

One of her crew hits her shoulder, having heard him speaking while the rest of the bus stares. "Stop letting him into your head!"

"Oh, what's your name?" Danny asks, blinking his large blue eyes at the man, watching his body language for clues. His eyes zero in on three belts and how they all match up at the buckle despite the fact that they are stacked on top of each other. Didn't Jazz once say that a belt with that much control hinted about attention to detail?

Hmm.

"Is the plan falling apart- can you not control it? The way life just moves on without you and that freaks you out doesn't it. The lake of control?" He asks, and the man jerks back. Bingo.

"Holy shit," A teenager whispers in the back horrified. "It's Dr. Crane jr."

"No, that's the Rabid Dog," Another answer. "Heard he made three elites cry after talking to him for more than ten minutes."

Danny is about to open his mouth when suddenly Robin crashes through the front window. Rude. There is glass everywhere now.

Hours later, Alfred franticly checks him over for injuries while the rest are freaking out. Apparently, they had feared to find Danny screaming from terrible visions but instead found him mentally breaking the hired goons with Jazz's training. "It's not like they did anything. I had a harder time stealing a super suit than those fruitloops-"

"You stole a what?" Tim cuts him off, eyes narrowed. Danny shrugs.

"I mean, haven't we all stolen a super suit?"

"Literally, no one here has done that," Steph tells him, and Danny tilts his head.

"You guys must have had boring childhoods. Surely you at least tried to organize your school into a battle-ready militia? No one can finish school without doing that at least once."

Dick raises a hand. "Brucie, how common is this in your world? Because that's alarming."

"All the kids at my school do that. My graduating class has done it three different times back in freshmen year." He shrugs. Cass makes a strange noise in the back of her throat.

"Not a lie. Brucie is strange," She tells the group, and everyone stares in bewilderment at the boy sitting on the medical table, even Bruce.

Danny smiles at them sweetly like he would at Vlad when the fruitloop is over, and he gets his parents to throw him out sooner than he wants to leave. It curves with just the right amount of innocence and mischievous nature that no one can tell if it's a positive or deadly expression.

"You are from a war-torn world?" Damian inquires, fingers under his chin with a frown. "How are you so carefree?"

"Oh no, we haven't had a war in about- eh fifty years? Give or take." He answers and once again Cass confirms the truth of his words.

This does nothing to settle their nerves.

"Every day I learn more about teenage Bruce, and every day I am more unsettled," Jason announces, and the rest of the Bats nod. Danny's smile turns broader and softer. It makes him more attractive but unsettling in a way.

Alfred sighs with a fond smile. "Oh, the memories. Master Bruce used to smile at his dates in the same way. I can picture him taking that sweet girl to the movies as if though it was yesterday."

"Bruce, how in the world did you get people to date you? That's creepy as hell. " Dick accuses the man who only shrugs.

"Oliver once told me it was part of the thrill. The idea that I could kill them."

"Why!?"

"I wish I knew chum."

Danny slips the control into his sleeve- he will rip it apart later for the Bluetooth piece. He will wait till the Waynes are too busy with Bruce's old stories about his first few dates to take apart the fear gas bomb he took from the woman earlier today. Could he use it as a fuel?

He'll have to do some tests.

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part three

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Three - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2k

My legs feel numb, something cold and metallic digging into my back—chains, pinching at my skin. I try to shift, but the restraints hold me tight. There’s a warmth surrounding me, and I glance up to see Johnny's face, our noses inches apart. “Welcome back, Pumpkin!” Deadpool’s voice calls out from behind, dripping with that annoying cheerfulness that makes me groan and drop my head.

Johnny twists us around, the chains binding the two of us together keeping us suspended above the ground. Now, I’m facing Logan and Deadpool. Deadpool’s staring at me, and while it’s hard to tell through the mask, the tilt of his head makes me think he’s smiling.

He turns to Logan and asks, “How long was I asleep?”

Logan’s response is gruff, “Not all of you was asleep.”

I cringe. “That’s so—"

“Hot?” Deadpool interrupts, his tone mockingly hopeful.

“I was going to say disgusting.”

Deadpool pouts, his voice taking on a playful edge. “I sense a little closeted anger there.”

I squint at him, feeling the absurd need to defend myself. “I’m pretty comfortable with my sexuality, thank you very much.”

“Don’t clench those cheeks of yours too tight, Pumpkin. I see the way you look at Wolvie here.” He tilts his head towards Logan, who finally meets my gaze.

I quickly look away, shame creeping in. He must hate me for what I did. Or for what I couldn’t do.

Deadpool starts rummaging around, searching for something. “Don’t bother. They’re very thorough,” Johnny tells him, a slight edge to his voice.

Logan cuts in, his tone demanding, “You know where we are, start talking.”

Johnny’s voice is calm but serious. “You’re in The Void. Think of it as purgatory. Reed called it a metaphysical junkyard where anything useless goes before it gets annihilated forever, and where the TVA sends people that don’t play nice with the rest of the multiverse.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Like you?”

Johnny nods. “And you. Or her.”

Logan’s voice hardens. “What does the annihilating?”

“Alioth,” Johnny answers, his voice low.

Deadpool’s eyes widen behind his mask. “Alioth is in this thing? From Loki, season 1, episode 5? You know she wrote a fanfic about Loki. I’m talking to you, reader.” He suddenly turns to face the empty space, as if he’s breaking the fourth wall again. 

I squint at him, my voice dripping with annoyance. “What are you doing?”

Deadpool gives me that familiar little head tilt, and I can almost see the grin beneath his mask. “Just keeping things meta, Pumpkin.”

Johnny continues, “Everyone here is on the run from Alioth. Most don’t make it. But there’s a resistance. Other people like us that manage to survive. We’re hiding out in the borderlands, trying to find a way to fuck outta here.”

Logan nods, his voice resolute. “Then that’s where we go.”

Deadpool's eyes light up with excitement. “We? Us? A team? The answer is yes. Shake on it.”

Logan unsheathes his claws, the metal gleaming menacingly.

“Fuck! You nicked it,” Deadpool yelps, pulling his hand back quickly. “Just got the tip with your little steak knife.”

Logan ignores him, turning back to Johnny. “These others can help us get back to the TVA. They can fix things.”

Johnny lets out a dark laugh, and I nudge him, trying to keep him focused.

Logan’s eyes narrow. “Something funny, Bub?”

Johnny’s expression grows serious. “She might have something to say about that.”

Logan’s brow furrows in confusion. “Who’s she?”

Johnny's voice lowers ominously. “In The Void, you’re either food for Alioth, or you work for her.”

The words hang heavy in the air as we approach the gates—or rather, the colossal, decaying corpse of Ant-Man. His gigantic hands, now reduced to skeletal remains, are locked together to form the entrance. As they creak open, a cold shiver runs down my spine, a foreboding sense of doom settling over me. Johnny’s body flares with heat, a stark contrast to the icy dread filling my veins, betraying his own spike of anxiety.

We’re unceremoniously dumped out of the cage, rolling onto the hard, unforgiving ground of the courtyard. The atmosphere here is bleak, desolate—a wasteland filled with the lost and the damned. Variants and mutants alike mill about, their eyes hollow, their spirits crushed by the relentless despair of this place.

From behind, I feel Pyro’s glare burn into my back. I turn slightly, catching sight of Toad, still nursing his wound. With a spiteful smirk, I stick my tongue out at him, my eyes glinting with a momentary spark of defiance.

The air around us shimmers, rippling with unseen energy as Cassandra’s presence draws near. In my sleep, I had only glimpses of her, vague and haunting. But now, as her silhouette emerges, a pang of grief stabs at my heart—she reminds me too much of Charles.

Deadpool breaks the tension with his usual irreverence. “Oh, you must be this year’s Juggernaut.”

“Please be quiet,” I mutter, but my voice lacks conviction.

“Keep your voices down,” Juggernaut rumbles. “She don’t like the chatter.”

Logan casts a sidelong glance at Deadpool. “She’s gonna love you.”

Deadpool, never one to heed warnings, continues, “Is it Charles? Hey, hey, Chuck, it’s us!”

Logan and I exchange a grim look. “That’s not Charles,” we say in unison.

Cassandra steps from her wheelchair, moving with a graceful menace as the sunlight catches her bald head. The air around her seems to crackle with latent power.

“Ah, shit. Oh, ableism great. That’s not gonna go over well with the woke mob,” Deadpool quips, earning a scowl from Logan.

Cassandra’s eyes settle on Logan first, cold and calculating. “A Wolverine. I wondered when I’d get one of you.” Then she turns to me, her gaze piercing through my defenses. “You’re one of Xavier’s.”

Deadpool, ever the disruptor, cuts in. “You know him, you know Chuck?”

Cassandra’s smile is thin, almost serpentine. “Oh, I knew him. We shared a womb. Tried to strangle the sly little fellow with my umbilical cord.”

“Amen,” Deadpool responds, almost gleeful. “I’ve never loved roommates. Mine’s blind, except she could see cocaine for some reason.” He turns to Logan, searching for an ally. “You wanna chime in, Your Majesty? I’m dying here.”

“Who are you?” Logan growls, his patience wearing thin.

“Charles Xavier’s twin,” Cassandra says, her voice dripping with venom. “Cassandra Nova.”

Deadpool’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Oh, shit. Is it anal birth?”

Cassandra’s expression remains unreadable as she assesses us, her tone almost playful. “You two are cute. I have a good feeling about this.”

Her gaze sharpens as she shifts back to Johnny, a predatory gleam in her eye. “And I’ve been trying to catch this little firefly for years, haven’t I, Johnny? You picked the wrong time to make new friends.” She spares me a brief, dismissive glance. “I’ll get to you later,” she adds, her voice like ice. “—pumpkin.”

A shiver runs through me at the nickname, the way it slithers off her tongue far more menacingly than it ever did from Deadpool.

Deadpool, undeterred, presses on. “Oh, Johnny told us all about you.”

Logan’s warning is low and dangerous. “Maybe shut up now.”

“Yeah, maybe don’t,” I echo, my nerves fraying.

But Deadpool barrels ahead. “We were just talking here. Yeah, Johnny told us you’re a psychotic, megalomaniacal asshole. His words, not mine. Hell-bent on domination and pain.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “You said all that about me?”

Johnny stammers, panic clear in his voice. “No, no! How do you— I didn’t say anything!”

“Sticks and stones, Johnny!” Deadpool laughs, his tone mocking. “Don’t let her intimidate you. Like you said in the convoy. This finger-licking, dead inside, pixie slab of third-rate dime store nut milk can eat your delicious cinnamon ring and kick rocks all the way to bald-hell.”

Johnny looks horrified. “I have never said any of those words in my entire life!”

My muscles tense, knowing Deadpool is pushing too far. “That’s enough, Deadpool,” I warn, preparing to act if necessary.

But Deadpool continues, seemingly oblivious. “Ah! The modesty! People think I’m a shit-talker, but this guy, next level.”

“What? This- I- wait- I don’t even know what half of that means!” Johnny protests, his confusion growing.

In a flash, I manage to blip Johnny back a few hours, replacing him with a decoy just as Cassandra’s wrath descends. She tears into the decoy with brutal efficiency, ripping its skin clean off. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing Johnny is safe, even if the others are none the wiser.

Deadpool gasps in mock horror. “Not my favorite Chris.”

Logan’s fury is palpable. “You stupid piece of shit, you just got him fucking killed!”

I feign distress, staring at the decoy’s lifeless form, playing my part.

“Hey, we’re all grieving!” Deadpool adds, his tone too flippant. “PS, do you know what he was doing to the budget?”

Cassandra’s voice cuts through the tension. “Alioth is hungry.”

“There’s been some kind of mistake,” Deadpool protests, his bravado faltering. “Big Yellow is a backup Anchor Being, and I’m Marvel Jesus, MJ if you’re nasty. This may be hard to hear, but there’s another British villain. He’s gonna destroy my universe, and I’m gonna stop him.”

Cassandra’s smile is chilling. “Oh, honey, you don’t really strike me as a world-saving type.” Deadpool flinches. “Did I hit a nerve?”

He tries to regain his footing. “I didn’t want it to come to this. Either you help us, or my friend here is gonna sing the entire second act of Music Man, with zero warm-up.”

Logan tries to change the subject. “Where’d you get the chair?” 

“Once in a while, I do get a Charles through here,” Cassandra muses, her voice distant, almost nostalgic. “Never mind, though. No. He didn’t care to find me.”

Deadpool rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Ah, Gen-Z and their trauma-bragging! Can’t you just stuff it down, turn it into accomplishment or cancer like the rest of us?”

Cassandra’s eyes gleam with dark amusement. “But I’m not like the rest of you. Except maybe the Wolverine. Now, we could be truly terrifying together.”

Logan sneers, his claws itching for a fight. “You’re that scary, huh?”

“The TVA certainly thought so,” Cassandra replies, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “They sent me here before I could walk. And you know, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I love it here.”

“You live in a garbage dump,” Deadpool retorts, unimpressed.

Cassandra’s smile widens, a cold, cruel thing. “I think we both know who lives in the garbage dump. The Void is a paradise. I can wield my power here without shame. Unfortunately, I had no Charles Xavier to teach me temperance.”

Her eyes lock onto mine, sharp and predatory. I’m still coated in the thick, warm blood of Johnny’s decoy, and the sight only seems to excite her. “I told you I would get to you. I’ve been waiting to crack into that mind of yours.” She steps forward, her finger outstretched, and I stumble back, my heart pounding in my chest.

But she’s too fast, closing the distance in an instant. Her long, cold fingers seize my face, digging into my temples with a vice-like grip. The pain is excruciating, a white-hot lance that stabs through my skull as she roots around in my mind. Flashes of my past flood my vision—my dead friends, my failures, my desperate search for Logan. And then, the happier memories, from a time long gone, when Charles and Erik were younger, when hope still felt within reach.

With a sudden, brutal yank, Cassandra rips her fingers free, leaving me crumpled on the ground, gasping for breath.

I hear Logan shout something, but the words are muffled, lost in the haze of agony clouding my thoughts.

“Interesting,” Cassandra murmurs, almost to herself. “But boring. Your Charles, he protected you, made you feel safe?”

Logan’s growl is low, feral. “We’re done talking.”

“No,” Cassandra whispers, her voice a silken thread of menace. “We’re just getting started.”

Next Part

A/N: Guys, I’m on a roll and I was originally going to write this chapter as a recap but with Logan’s POV, instead, those will be added later as bonus chapters! I’ll try get a masterlist up and running.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw

comment if you want to be added!

[year2000electronics]

Does Monster Falls Dipper ever get the hang of being a deer?

he does! it takes some time but he's not bumping into walls as much :] (mabel also bumps into walls she just also used to bump into them as a human so its less notable (see her literally running into the door in soos and the real girl LOL))

its a little hard though, because most of the town's residents at this point are people who are in gravity falls because they grew up in gravity falls- soos has been here since he was at least 12 according to the show, gideon was born here, as were people like pacifica and wendy who have LONG family lineages, even characters like tyler and robbie shrug and say "well im a monster because my parents were monsters, too" so there's not a lot of advice for people who are only JUST getting cursed.

the only two who have something close to advice for them are stan and fiddleford. stan's advice is often hidden behind insults or tough love but there's definitely an undertone of "guy who knows exactly what it's like to have your center of weight dramatically shifted by something", and meanwhile fiddleford... isnt actually helpful at all. but he keeps offering dipper parts from the junkyard to "replace those ones".

I THINK HE DESERVES A "BIG DAMN HERO" MOMENT THOUGH. like, a part where not only does he help save the day, but also does it BECAUSE he's a cervitaur, y'know? and where better to put that than GIDEON RISES!!

DEER HAVE VERY POWERFUL KICKS!!

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Pride! Authors choice! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

a continuation of 1

Gus is going exactly eight miles over the speed limit when the sirens start.

This is Shawn’s fault, since he’s the one that had agreed to meet Gavin right before they were supposed to be at Henry’s. When he glances up to see the large, white cop heading towards him, he decides that if Shawn’s gotten him into this mess, he can get him out.

Shawn is very, very serious about keeping his work and personal life separate, but this is the one instance that he encourages Gus to break that barrier. If more major cities had a diverse police force, he wouldn’t feel like it was necessary quite so often. 

Unfortunately, since Shawn has yet to get the appropriate stationary, he’ll have to go back a generation with this trick.

“What’s this?” the officer says, staring at the back of his license.

“Oh, that’s my father in law’s old police business card,” he says. Shawn reaches out for it back when he does this, but Gus keeps his hands on ten and two. “Apologies, sir, I’ve been carrying that thing around for years. Can never be too careful, as I’m sure you know.”

His eyes flick to Gus’s hand and the gold band on his ring finger. “You’re Henry Spencer’s son-in-law?”

“Yes, sir,” he answers evenly. “I’m actually headed to his place now. You know how he is about punctuality.”

That gets him half a chuckle and the tension in his shoulders starts to ease, up until the officer asks, “I thought Henry had a son?”

It can be a delicate balance, weighing the potential racism against the potential homophobia, but this isn’t Gus’s first time doing this either. “Lots of people think that. It’s the unfortunate name choice.”

That gets him some more sounds of amusements, then his license is being handed back to him. “Tell Henry and the missus that old Kingfisher says hello.”

“Of course, thank you, sir,” Gus says, pleasant smile firmly in place until old Kingfisher is back in his car.

He carefully pulls back onto the road and stays five below the speed limit the rest of the way.

There’s a lack of rusted piece of junk motorcycle out front – Gus would prefer it if Shawn would just buy a decent bike, but he likes tinkering too much for that – and he wishes he was surprised. Henry’s grilling in the yard and he waves a hand in greeting as soon as he steps out. “Gus! What the hell are you driving?”

If only Shawn was here right now, because he’d said the exact same thing when he’d pulled up in the blue Echo and he was still valiantly fighting against the very real truth that he and his father can be uncannily alike. “It’s a rental.”

Henry wrinkles his nose, but any further commentary is cut off by an obnoxiously loud engine as Shawn turns the corner and parks next to him, kicking down the stand and pulling off his helmet in one motion. He clocks the look on both their faces immediately and holds up a hand. “I know, I know, don’t be the moldy grape at the bottom of the bag about it. I’ll fix it this weekend. I’ve already put in the order for some of the parts.”

That’s sort of the truth. They’re going to the junkyard on Saturday so Shawn can play Frankenstein, but there are a couple things he buys new every time because one motorcycle accident due to a worn belt was one too many for Gus.

“Can’t you two just get a couple of normal cars?” Henry sighs.

“This is a normal car!” he protests, holding the gate for Shawn to walk ahead of him. He really hopes that he didn’t meet with the mayor in jeans and a flannel, but he also knows better. Shawn slaps his ass as he walks by, and he’s tempted to yank him back into a kiss, but Henry hasn’t seen them since he picked them up at the airport and he figures they can be on somewhat good behavior for at least one dinner.

“I have dubbed it the Blueberry,” Shawn says, using the same voice he does when giving stupid names to chess pieces.

Henry rolls his eyes even as he pulls Shawn down to ruffle his hair, causing him to yelp and pull away, even though the helmet had flattened it enough that he’s probably doing Shawn a favor.

It’s all normal and familiar and they eat dinner on the porch, the weather a welcome relief after the last couple of years on the East Coast. Gus is thinking about how nice it is to be back in Santa Barbara and how much happier Henry looks than when he was in Miami, and that’s probably only partly to he and Shawn moving back too, when Henry says, “What are you boys doing for work now? Gus, Shawn said something about you working on some sort of drug trial?”

Which is when he realizes that Shawn hasn’t told Henry why they’re back like he promised he would and Gus should have known that he would chicken out, but now he’s trapped at this table. He considers simply fleeing and locking Shawn out until he talks to his father. Henry’s seen him do worse.

There’s really no such thing as impressing the in-laws for him. Well, maybe with Madeline, but Henry knows him too well and has known him too long for there to be any of that. Shawn’s mother has too, technically, but he saw her a lot less than Henry.

“Yeah, he’s an executive at Middle Earth Pharmaceuticals,” Shawn says, as if Gus hasn’t frozen with the fork halfway to his mouth. Henry is frowning. It’s too late.

“It’s Central Coast Pharmaceuticals, Shawn,” he says, lowering his fork. Henry’s steak is his favorite and now he can’t even enjoy it because it’s a steak built on lies.

He shrugs. “I’ve heard it both ways. They want him to revamp their internal systems and rearrange some routes. Plus they’re hoping they can use his contacts to make more sales.”

That last part had been more implied than listed in his job duties, but he’s not wrong. “More or less.”

“Alright,” Henry says slowly, now aware that there’s something wrong but not having yet figured it out. He still has time to run. “What about you, Shawn? Surf instructor? Ballon animal operator? Sommelier?”

“Dad, please, you know I’d never cheat on Gus,” he answers. Gus can feel his knee bouncing underneath the table against his own, the only sign of his anxiety.

Gus clears his throat. “I know you know what a sommelier is, Shawn. You’ve worked at two different wineries.”

“Well, neither of them were French,” he says, as if that doesn’t prove that he knows exactly what it is.

Henry leans back in his seat, staring them down in a way that reminds him uncomfortably of their childhood. The line between Cop Henry and Dad Henry had always been thin and retirement hadn’t really done much to change that. Gus stares at the space over his head while Shawn continues eating with faux obliviousness. Finally, Henry says, “Alright, just tell me. It has to be better than Boston. I hated you working out there with those assholes.”

Gus slinks down in his seat.

Henry frowns before straightening. “You’re not working in Los Angeles again, are you? Shawn, you made enemies there, a lot of them, you can’t just waltz back in, and Karen isn’t there anymore-”

“It’s not Los Angeles,” Shawn interrupts.

His frown deepens. He knows if it was another stupid, casual job then Shawn would have told him already. “This isn’t like Argentina, is it?”

God, Argentina. That had sucked. It was supposed to be legit, and had been, up until Shawn had gotten involved in – well, Gus does his best not to think about it, since he’s not supposed to know anything about it. Neither is Henry. As far as they’re supposed to know, Shawn worked at an Argentinian winery for a year.

And he did! At least on paper.

“Nope,” Shawn says, popping his mouth on the last syllable.

“Alright, enough,” he says, “this is ridiculous, just tell me…” As he trails off, his eyes get wider. Gus doesn’t whimper, because he’s a grown man, and because of exposure. He’s nearly immune to Henry’s temper after all this time.

Nearly.

“Shawn!” he shouts. “You are not working at the SBPD!”

Gus stands abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor. Shawn reaches out to grab onto his shirt, but Gus hops back. “I’ll just get started on the dishes, shall I?”

“Traitor,” Shawn hisses, but Gus refuses to feel bad about this.

As much as he doesn’t want to be a widower, he knows better than to get in-between Shawn and his father.

[marsoid]

answering these in one go

i got Sugar off a craigslist ad in 2016. she was listed for $9k but i got her for $8800, the seller knocked down the price literally just because he was nice and could tell i loved the car so much 🥹 my bank wouldn't let me pull out all the cash at once so i drove her home and paid him that Monday which is CRAZY but he trusted me to pay him and i did

when i first got her she didn't have power steering or power brakes (turned like a land yacht and stopped when she felt like it) so that was the first thing to address. fixed the horn and some other minor stuff that needed it. i also made the decision to replace the carburetor with EFI, which is kind of controversial in the classic car world lol but it's more fuel efficient

the EFI i had installed actually gave me the most problems over the years it was ALWAYS having issues and breaking down. but i recently had it reinstalled by someone who is NOT an idiot and I've had no problems for like 2 solid years I'm so fucking glad lol now she's more reliable than ever

she has a 350 small block V8 and auto transmission since she's my daily driver and allows for the smoothest ride possible as a commuter car. i don't race but she is fast lmao. I've never put pedal to metal but I've gotten her up to 80mph before without even flooring it so 😭 she can fucking Go lol. she kind of defaults to 30mph coasting so i have to have my foot on the brake to keep the speed limit in residentials

what else uhhh the cabin smells so good.... i love old car smell. I'm so lucky in her 53 years of being on the road she's apparently never had an owner that smoked inside the car i would have gone crazy if it smelled like cigarettes in there lmao

she has bench seats in the front and back which are like two little sofas. i used to nap back there on breaks when i was still working at a studio.

she has no airbags and you have to tighten the seatbelts yourself. there's an over the shoulder belt and separate waist belt. the passenger shoulder belt you gotta tug on after clicking it bc sometimes it comes loose on its own 😭 she is a death machine with no crumple zone so if i crash i will die 👍🏾 but I'm a very cautious driver and i don't even drive that much sooo IT'S FINE

she is very low tech besides the EFI and if there's ever an engine problem u can literally just look under the hood and mess with stuff until it's fixed. it's very spacious in there with a lot of room to poke around. cars in the 70s were made to last and because they are still so beloved to this day there's endless info online from enthusiasts about fixing stuff that pops up. some companies are still making new parts for classics so we don't have to dig through junkyards when we need replacements... unless u want to ofc, the hunt can be fun too LOL

i get people waving me down daily to ask me what year she is and tell me they used to have a Nova when they were younger or knew someone that did and how much they loved them and IDK IT'S SWEET!! ppl are always so happy to see her......... the antithesis of the cybertruck

thanks for reading here's some thirst traps

[sp0o0kylights]

There were a lot of things Mike hated in life.

The demogorgon, and how it had essentially destroyed his life.

 Brenner, and the madhouse laboratory El had survived. 

How each and every one of his friends now did something weird--were weird, because flashing lights or fireworks or some stupid tune a toy horse played dragged up memories that made their eyes flat and faces hollow. 

Most of all though, Mike hated how much they relied on Steve.

There was no reason he should be the person to call when it started pouring and no one wanted to bike home from AV. 

Steve wasn’t Nancy, or Jonathan, or a parent--he wasn’t even dating anyone related to any of the Party anymore so what excuse did he have to keep hanging around? 

(Even if Jonathan was always working, and Nancy was always busy with some club or homework, and everyone’s parents all seemed to be in a race of who could get back to normal the fastest…) 

They should at least try to get a hold of other people, instead of constantly going to Steve first.

“Why?” Dusitn had scoffed at him the last time this had happened, feeding quarters into a phone and staring at Mike like he was the one being unreasonable. “I’m not gonna waste money just to hear your sister tell us no again when we all know Steve will do it.” 

Which was perhaps the most infuriating part of it all.

That Steve would do it. 

Show up and help them, even if he bitched the whole time. 

Hell, Steve Harrington knew more about Mike’s life offhand than Nancy did, and that made him want to punch a wall more days than it didn’t. Why the hell was Steve so involved? 

It was stupid. 

Weird, even! They weren’t friends, (even if Dustin and Max and El of all people said the opposite) he wasn’t being paid to babysit, (Mike had double checked; going round to ask Ma Henderson and Mrs. Sinclair, only to get an earful of how wonderful Steve was from both.) he had no reason to hang around! 

It didn’t make sense that Steve could be harassed into picking them up from school. 

Would take them to get ice cream, or hand over extra quarters for the arcade. He even gave out advice like some kind of--brother that Mike had never wanted. 

Above all?

Mike hated that when he needed someone, the number he punched in on automatic was Steve’s.

“I need you to come get me.” He said into the receiver, mad at himself and the world, but mostly mad that beyond the normal amount of squawking Steve did, he shut up and came. 

Drove up in his rich boy car, stepping out and herding Mike into it like the rain hadn’t already seeped into his bones. 

“You wanna tell me why you snuck into a bar two towns over?” Steve asked, long after Mike had slung himself into the passenger seat, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“No.” 

One of Steve’s hands went right to his hair, running through it before adjusting the mess he’d just made. 

It was a nervous habit, and Mike hated that he knew that too. 

“Okay, well.” Steve’s hand fell back to the steering wheel, clenching tight around it. “Next time you want to do something dumb could you at least come talk to me about it beforehand?”

“What the hell would that do?” Mike bitched, staring firmly out of the window. 

“Not waste my gas for starters.” Steve bitched right back. “But I dunno man, we could have taken some bats and gone and wailed on cars in the junkyard and talked or some shit, not--whatever this all was.”

‘This all’ was accompanied by a wave of his hand, indicating not just the bar Mike had been standing in front of, but his general sopping wet state. 

“You’d actually go to the junkyard with me?” Mike challenged, doubtful. 

Steve made a face. “Did you lose your hearing in there? I just said--.” 

“Why?” Mike interrupted. “Why the fuck would you come out with me?”

Matching his entire aggressive tone, Steve said; “Because it’s better than trying to sneak into the one local gay bar when you’re barely fourteen, Michael.” 

And that? 

Steve being oddly aware of shit he really shouldn’t have?

Mike hated that too. 

“You knew what the bar was?” He asked, his voice coming out much smaller than he intended. 

“Everyone knows what that bar is, except it’s more of a biker bar than a gay bar.” Steve shot back--which did actually explain about ten different questions Mike had about the place. “Also, language you little shit.” 

Under his breath, Steve continued in a muttered; “I swear I’m going to start carrying around soap.”

“You cuss more than we do.” Mike responded, and if his own voice was a little strangled as he fought back the sudden swell of tears, then that was between him and God. 

He was not crying in front of Steve Harrington, he outright refused. 

“The point I’m making is that there are way better bars to sneak into. That one’s not nearly as welcoming as people make it out to be, probably because they’re sick of all the rumors.” 

Steve seemed to realize what he was implying because he quickly added; “Not that you should be sneaking into any bars at all!” 

“You’re not my mom.” Mike’s voice turned wet as he lost his battle with his throat, voice cracking as he failed to choke the tears back.  

“No shit Wheeler.”  Steve said, and at least he was good enough not to call attention to Mike’s crying. 

If he had, Mike was pretty sure he’d just up and die of embarrassment, right there. 

“I don’t get why you care.” He muttered, angrily swiping at his eyes. 

“I didn’t keep you alive this long just so you could die of something stupid.” Steve countered easily.

Which was kinda fair, if you thought about it.

Mike very much did not want to think about it. 

Any of it.

Ever. 

“Are you gonna tell my parents?” He asked after a painfully long moment. 

Long enough that Steve had begun fiddling with the radio, trying to find a station as they drove back that wasn’t wailing country or gospel music. 

“I’m not a narc, so no.”  

“Not about the bar.”  

Now Steve just looked confused. 

Probably because he was, because he was without a doubt the stupidest almost adult Mike knew. 

(Not that he could say that out loud--last time he had, Max had made one of her pissy faces and then El got mad because Max was, which led to a break up, which led to Mike having to beg his way back into his girlfriend’s good graces while explaining that he hadn’t meant it like that.

“How did you mean it then?” Max demanded, and Mike wasn’t sure how he managed to dodge that entire conversation but he had, on grounds that untangling his own emotions regarding stupid Steve made him want to pull his hair out and scream.) 

“What about then?” 

 “You know. Don’t make me say it.” Mike absolutely didn’t plead, even if it did sort of, kind of, sound like pleading. 

Steve flicked his eyes away from the road to give one long, weird look at Mike. The same one he gave Dustin when he went off on a rant about Cerebro or Lucas when he started discussing the stats of different D&D weapons. 

Unlike those times, Steve’s face cleared. 

“Oh.” He said, blinking, and Mike could practically see the light bulb flash above his head.

Then; 

“Nah.” 

Mike waited.

And waited.

And kept waiting as Steve went back to searching through radio channels, as if that was the end of the conversation.

It couldn't be the end of this conversation.

Not when this was the part that was eating Mike alive.

He didn’t know if this was Steve repressing it on purpose or if this was what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life if he kept trying to figure his own head out, but either way, he knew he had a choice to make. 

To let the unspoken part of today die quietly. Go unsaid, and remain unsaid, for all eternity--or he could let it out. 

Shove the “gay” part of “gay bar” in Steve’s stupid, jock face. 

Make him acknowledge it, even if it got Mike kicked out of the car, and who cared if it did? 

Steve wasn’t the person who should have picked him up anyway. 

The anger climbed higher and higher in his chest, tears and rage combining until Mike spat it all out, furious. 

“You’re not going to ask if I’m gay?”  

Steve didn’t turn to face him, but Mike saw his eyebrow cocking anyway, given how he was currently glaring a hole in the side of the older teen’s head. 

“Do you want me to?” 

“No.” Mike bit out automatically. “Yes. I don’t know!” 

Steve’s hand found its way back into his hair. 

“Okay then.” Steve paused, clearly fishing for something to say. 

Gleefully, Mike watched him struggle. 

“Do you like guys?” He managed finally, looking like he was navigating a minefield more than just talking.

“I don’t know.” Mike stressed, sinking lower in his seat. “Why do you think I was at the bar? I was trying to figure it out!” 

“Honestly I assumed this was some sort of stupid dare--but!” Steve held up a finger, before Mike could interrupt, “But let’s--shit, hold on, I had a speech for this but I kinda wasn’t expecting to use it this soon. Um.”

“You have a speech for me being gay?”

“Not for you.” Steve rolled his eyes. “For--in general! It was an in general, just in case speech!” 

He rounded on Mike, for longer than the younger was comfortable with given Steve took his eyes off the road to do it. “Okay--you can like boobies, you can like, uh--not boobies, and that’s fine! It’s all totally fine!” 

“You are not making it sound like it’s fine.” Mike said, feeling like he’d been taken out by hearing Steve say the word “boobies.” 

Gross, gross, gross. 

“Well it is.” Steve said, in a tone that felt like he was two seconds from adding in a smarmy ‘so there!’ at the end. 

“But I’m dating El.” Mike whined, which really, was both the heart of the matter and the eye of the storm that had been growing in his head for months now. “I can’t be gay if I like her.” 

“Don’t you guys break up and get together like four times a week?”

“No, that's Max and Lucas, El and I are stable.” Mike scoffed. “Or we--we were stable.” 

Before he started to have thoughts about people that weren't his girlfriend. 

Or women.

“Stable for being in middle school, sure.” Steve snorted. “You don’t just have to like one or the other you know. You can like dudes and chicks at the same time.”

Which Mike did not know, on account of being fourteen. 

He did his absolute damndest not to show that realization, instead adding that to the list of reasons why he hated Steve Harrington too.

Steve shouldn't be the one teaching him about who you could like!

“The point is that who you end up loving isn’t a problem.” Steve finally looked back to the road. “Other people might be an issue, and those people we can punch in the face so long as the cops aren’t looking, which isn’t part of the speech so let’s not tell people I said that part, but whatever you do choose, there’s nothing wrong with you.” 

Steve’s voice went firm, as he apparently recalled his speech or something close enough to it because his next words sounded a little rehearsed. “You have people who are here for you, no matter what. Okay?” 

Oh God, Mike was crying again. 

He wanted to punch Steve in his stupid face.

Wanted to hold onto the fury he'd built inside himself. Thrash around, throw himself out of the car, get away from the emotions that felt too big for his chest to contain. 

Instead he felt it all break on Steve's acceptance. On word's he didn't know he needed to hear until they'd been spoken, and sniffed out a quiet; “Okay.” 

Steve of course had to take it too far by reaching over and patting his knee, which they both regretted judging by how quickly Steve took his hand back and the face Mike made at his hand--but it…

It was appreciated, even amongst all Mike's rage.

Steve was appreciated. 

Not that Mike would ever, on pain of death, tell him that. 

Neither said a word for a while, Steve finally landing on a radio that was playing some Top 40 hit, Tears for Fears singing about ruling the world while Mike found himself trying to rebuild his own once again, tired of it having shattered so many times over. 

At least he finally felt better, even if he refused to admit Steve was the reason for it. 

He wasn’t quite done though.

 There was a piece Steve had skipped over, that Mike felt was critically important, if only because it was partly the reason he was having thoughts about being gay in the first place. 

He had to know if Steve saw it too. 

That it wasn’t just him and his stupid head, making up things that weren’t there. 

“Hey Steve?” 

“Yeah?”

“Who was the speech for?” 

Steve sighed. 

“Rule one of the whole queer thing Wheeler, you don’t out other people.” 

Like there were written rules or something.

(Maybe there were, it wasn't like Mike knew.)

“Was it Will?” Mike asked, and pretended like he didn’t desperately want the answer to be yes. 

 Steve didn’t say a thing, but the fact he nearly took the car off the road was a pretty solid answer in itself. 

“We’re not playing guessing games about other people’s sexualites!” He yelped, hands gripping the steering wheel as Mike felt a wave of relief crash through him. 

Will was--maybe, possibly, also--queer too. 

Which didn’t make this any better but it--wasn’t the not preferred outcome, either. 

(It wasn’t just Mike struggling alone, trying to figure out if his best friend wanted to be more than that, if El was breaking up with him and more and more because she wanted to be less than a girlfriend, if things were changing and he would have no one--) 

“I’m not out here picking Will up from a gay bar dipshit, I’m picking you up, and this is your reminder that next time, you should just come talk to me!” Steve ranted. 

Mike snorted.

He absolutely hated Steve Harrington, but--

“Fine.” He said, talking so low he could barely be heard. “I will.”

--maybe Mike did have someone in his corner after all. 

Even if it was just Steve. 

xXx

Bonus: 

“Between you and me, that kid is gayer than a two dollar bill.” 

“Wow Robin,” Steve teased, “Isn’t that like, a slur or whatever?” 

He snickered when she rolled her eyes and threw a roll of stickers his way. 

“I’m just saying. Did you see the way he was looking at you when you were showing off your stupid biceps?” Robin said, nudging her shoulder into Steve’s. “Will’s gonna have a rude awakening later if he hasn’t already.” 

Steve nudged her back, but kept his gaze on the Party as they trooped their way from Family Video to the arcade next door, the realization that they now had connections for free rentals making them downright gleeful. 

Will was the last one in, and Steve watched him hurry so as to not be left behind. 

He didn’t like to worry about the dipshits, but Robin was just putting voice to a thought Steve knew he wasn’t the first person to have.

And if he noticed it, then it didn't exactly bode well as being kept a secret. 

“Should we like…talk to him about that?” He asked after a long moment, turning to face Robin.

“Us?” She pointed at herself, before turning her finger on Steve. “Why us?” 

“Well you’re into girls.” He gave her a pointed look, glad that the store was empty of everyone but them so he could actually voice all this. “And I’m fine with it.”

“Yeah I’m sure he wants to know you’re fine with it.” Robin taunted, but she had her thinking face on, eyes out to the middle distance. “I barely know him. You barely know him--he’s the quietest out of all your kids.”

“They’re not my kids.” Steve argued automatically. “They're like a weird cross between shitty siblings and that kid in your class who never leaves you alone.” 

A fact Steve no longer took for granted, even if he made it sound like the worst thing ever.

“I just think it’d be nice if he knew that he had people in his corner, you know? Who supported him and shit.” 

“Steve, you compared my crush to a muppet, that wasn’t supportive.” Robin countered, but it too was on automatic. 

Softer she admitted; “You’re right though. If I had known other queer people, if I had known people would accept me...it would have made things a lot easier.”

A very long pause, in which both of them stewed for a moment, before Robin abruptly slapped her hand down on the table.

“Okay, you got me. We're doing it, and I'm making us a speech.”

“A speech?” 

“Yes dingus, a speech. I know you, you’re terrible when you’re put on the spot with this kinda thing, and trust me with things like this the moment will be spontaneous.”

“It’s Will, how spontaneous can it be?” Steve challenged back. “Getting a dinner order out of him is a chore.” 

“Stop whining and hand me that notepad. Im telling you its gonna happen when you least expect it and then you're gonna thank me later.”

“It better not happen without you.”  Steve sighed, but passed the notepad over.

God the things he did for those stupid kids. 

Bonus x2

Steve would later go on to use the speech on himself, in a gas station bathroom mirror, eyes wide and freaked out after Eddie Munson called him Big Boy in a van they stole, while Robin snickered behind him. 

He would turn on her, snapping that she; “Help me with this dammit!” 

In return she’d remind him that Tammy might sing like a muppet but Eddie  was the guy who stepped on lunches while giving speeches at lunch and sticking his tongue out, and “Really Steve, I think I won best gay awakening, here.” 

Which would promptly start an argument regarding how it wasn’t a competition, which would continue for another fifteen or so odd years before finding its way as a reference into both of their speeches as each other’s best man. 

Nancy and Eddie wouldn’t get it at either wedding, but Mike would.

[strrykais]

control alt + love [k.seung smau]

12. balls to the face

"here are your maps, and walkies. we split up in twos, felix and jeongin you head to crow nest, jisung and changbin head to the junkyard." seungmin says looking at the guys.

"minho are you okay with hanging out in the tower at the capital? we need a high vantage point of our flag." he says pointing at the map staring at minho as he nods. "okay chan is staying with the flag defending, ill head to the fort raptor, when you spot their flag don't engage, call for back up."

“remember jongho and mingi are their best shooters so be mindful when you are in open areas, their shots are nasty and accurate. wooyoung is our best bet in capturing if we want to win.” felix says glancing around at the team. everyone gives nods.

“hongjoong and seonghwa arent the best shots but they are fast and good at hand to hand combat to be careful.” minho says looking at jisung.

“whats that look for?” jisung scoffs. “why are they good at this thing?”

“this is how they team bond they do it like once a month with their staff. seungmin and I join from time to time.” minho tells jisung. “dude you literally came to one of these.”

"what about me?" you say side stepping behind minho raising your hand before the two of them could continue.

"you are with me." seungmin says looking at the walkies making sure they are on the right channel. "okay that's everything, remember stay hidden and don't get shot."

you watch as the team disperse seungmin still continuing to look at the map. you walk up next to him trying to glance over his shoulder.

"shorty you are too close. i can feel you on my back." he says glancing over his shoulder

"oh sorry" you say stepping back only for him to turn around walking to you, you slowly step back more but seungmin continues to step at you completely blocking you in when your back hits a tree trunk.

"what are you doing? aren't we supposed to head to fort raptor." you say avoiding eye contact glancing around him.

"im going to fort raptor, you on the other hand, well depends on how you answer this." seungmin says pressing his gun into your lower stomach.

"you gonna shoot me? are you being for real? whats up with this damn team and not having their teammates back?" you say huffing out.

"listen yn, one thing my team does is have each others back. im sorry that the little game you and jeongin were playing didnt go the way you want, but there is something you need to learn and im gonna teach you." seungmin says leaning in, the barrel of the gun digging deeper into your stomach.

"and what is that exactly?" you say trying to seem more cool than you were feeling inside. you couldn't exactly understand what is going on but your heart was racing and you felt like your breathing was erratic.

"teamwork. i know its hard to be heard because you are new, and a girl so you feel like you have to shout. but we, your teammates arent the ones you need to be shouting at. we had your back the moment felix picked you. we had to fight tooth and nail to get hq to even accept the idea of letting a girl on the team. i also understand friends fight its a normal thing to bicker especially with us living together. but what you won't do is belittle your teammates on live game play like that ever again. jeongin can be a lot, trust me i know the kid for 3 years, but sometimes you gotta be the bigger person and either ignore it or talk it out. i don't care that we lost because i knew it. but your fight didn't just effect you and him. it was effecting everyone. your game style change to a selfish one and minho and jisung had to pick up the slack you were pulling. and whatever they couldn’t keep up with, changbin had too pick it up. you caused a chain reaction. do you understand what im trying to say."

seungmin steps back when he notices you havent said anything, lifting your head you stare right at him.

"you are right im sorry, it won't happen again."

"you are right, it won't because ill bench you." he says turning around walking away.

you giggle out at his joke, only for you to stop when you notice he isnt laughing.

"wait you arent serious about benching me?" you say grabbing your gun and calling out after him. seeing him give you a little smirk and a shrug he continues to walk.

"hurry shorty we are behind schedule."

previous | masterlist | next

a/n : i apologize for the lack in updates.. lwk been having writers block but we are SO BACK ALSO SEUNGMIN CRUMBS when the slow burn is fr a slow burn.... :( how excited are we to have this ball rolling??

tags: @onlyhyunjin @15092000volcano @chenlesfavorite @hippopotamusdreamer @vegetablesarefuntables @soondoongdoriii @jeonginplsholdmyhand @nappynapnaps @sincerely-sun @staytinyluv @kimseungminpabo @seungzsmin @sweetasmarie @hinanitiram @tricky-ritz @ayyonoona @hanniemylovelyquokka @toplinehyunjin @missystay @binniesbabe @tirena1 @jihoons-kitten @skz-ot8-stay @darlingz99 @khandzilla @icouldntcareless22 @rihaee @kikieatsfood23 @hvnverse

[spirit-lanterns]

I feel like Jingliu in the android AU has like a virus on her code that puts her out of commission. Like how's she's Mara struck, she's seen as a very dangerous Android that is to be reported so that the government can decommission, AKA destroy, her for safety since the virus let her break out of her code and become sentient which led her to killing a lot of people out of self defense. She's definitely a military grade android so she is especially dangerous. But engineer/mechanic reader finds her buried in a junk yard (she was looking for parts and stuff) and took her back to her shop to repair her. It could be where jingliu is the first robot that ended up staying in her shop

Yoooo this is such a cool idea for Android! Jingliu :0

It fits so well with her canon character too! I imagine that Android! Jingliu is a current unauthorized threat roaming the city and the police is working very hard on trying to track her down. Usually all Androids have a tracking device implemented in their systems so it’s easy to see where they’re going, but perhaps the virus corrupted the device/Jingliu went against her own code and ripped it out herself 😨

Now that there was a rogue, military-grade Android on the loose, it’s plastered all over the news and many Androids and their owners are forced to stay alert. Of course, with a stroke of unfortunate luck, the Engineer ends up encountering Android! Jingliu resting in some junkyard, and she would’ve been skewered to pieces if not for Jingliu currently recharging herself near an outlet…

Because she is held back by a dead battery, the Engineer is able to get closer to her and examine this rogue android herself without any dangers. Unable to resist her tinkering behaviors however, the Engineer can’t help herself from wanting to “fix” Jingliu, which causes her to wake up and see this odd little human trying to patch her up. Her corrupted code is telling her to kill on sight, but her body won’t move and instead; she just keeps watching the Engineer fix her with slow, unblinking eyes. Once she’s fully charged, she has the full capability of murdering the Engineer on sight, but for some reason chooses not to, simply getting up and following the Engineer once she tries to leave.

Congratulations, you’ve accidentally made the killer android like you 😅

[viviseawrites]

steve harrington presents as an alpha a month into his senior year of high school, when the weather is just turning crisp for fall. his parents are thrilled—his father keeps talking about the clout it brings to the harrington name and partnerships it might encourage at the office.

steve harrington presents as an alpha, and he knows it’s wrong. he feels it in his bones. when his first rut hits, it's like running into a wall. everything stops. everything hurts. he’s angry about his rut, made angrier by the hormones rushing through him.

he locks himself in his room, tears apart the soft pillows on his bed with too-sharp teeth. he does not deserve soft things, does not deserve gentleness. his rage wanes as the rut comes to an end, and in its wake, he feels empty, like it burned him from the inside out.

nancy says he smells like a forest fire. he sees the way she winces at it, sees how she sometimes raises her upper lip like she means to snarl at him, to rise to a threat. steve never wanted to be a threat.

but when the Upside Down comes back for round two, he puts himself in front of the stupidly brave pups and turns his nail-studded bat against the four-legged demogorgon babies. he plants his feet and knows his scent is billowing around him, aggressive and uncontrolled. and he fights.

after, dustin keeps telling him how cool he was in the junkyard. steve wonders, now. maybe he doesn’t have to be a threat; maybe he can be a protector instead. maybe the rancid, acrid smell of destruction he wears could be a controlled burn. useful. good, even.

he uses it to distract the russians from robin, allows himself to be seen as a more dangerous target and goads them into focusing on him instead. later, in a grimy mall bathroom, robin tells him he reminds her of winter nights spent in front of the hearth with hot chocolate in hand.

it’s warm, she says, smoky but nice and comforting when he’s calm. she says even when he smelled like he wanted to burn the world down in that bunker, she knew she was safe from it, safe because of it. she settles in at his side, all sharp evergreen, and he leans against her.

fire doesn’t have to hurt. alphas don’t have to be violent, untamed, impossible creatures like society claims. and when he comes face to face with eddie munson in a dilapidated boat house, on the wrong end of a broken bottle, he knows he doesn’t have to let his scent flare.

eddie munson smells like rain, like lightning, crisp ozone and petrichor, a storm of an alpha. in appearance, in scent, in attitude, he makes himself larger. but up close, face to face, steve sees his need for shelter, for safety, for peace, and he wants to be that.

against the cold of that encroaching, panicked downpour, steve makes himself a warm light, offers eddie a place to rest. he gives him grace and lifts his chin, bares his throat. surrenders to the deluge.

and when everything is done, after vecna dies and hawkins recovers, eddie approaches him smelling like spring, like new beginnings, soft and gentle and all steve ever wanted.

[loveinhawkins]

It’s a long summer’s day—August 1985, to be precise—and all Eddie Munson wants to do is leave a broken down fridge in the junkyard.

“I don’t know if you can dump those here, actually,” comes a voice from somewhere above.

Eddie looks up and seriously contemplates the possibility that he’s contracted heatstroke while straining to remove the fridge from the back of his van.

Because surely that’s not Steve Harrington sitting up on the roof of an old school bus like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.

“And what are you, Harrington? The junkyard inspector?”

Eddie pushes the fridge with the sole of his shoe until it topples over with a satisfying clunk into the dry grass.

Steve cups his hands around his mouth, cheering like a sports commentator. “What a shot!”

Okay. Maybe Eddie’s not the one suffering from heatstroke after all.

Or maybe this is just what happens to some people after graduation: you lose the social hierarchy of high school, and then before you know it, you’re surveying the Hawkins junkyard like it’s gym class.

Poor guy.

Eddie should really just leave him be. But… well. He’s intrigued.

“And where’s the stuff you were dumping, Harrington?” He puts on a mock grave expression, folds his hands as if in prayer. “Your car die on you?”

“Uh, no. Just.” Steve shrugs. “Just hanging out.”

“Mm-hmm, yeah, you sure picked a nice place for it. Wait, this isn’t one of your tryst locations, is it?”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Ew, no. Tryst? Can’t you just say make-out spots like a normal person?”

“Nope. Honestly, where’s the fun in that, Harrington?”

Eddie gets a bit closer to the bus, squinting against the sun. There’s a brief moment of shadow thanks to a passing cloud, and he can suddenly see evidence of what must’ve been a huge bruise healing across Steve’s face.

Steve heaves a great sigh; Eddie gets the impression that if he wasn’t here, Steve would’ve flopped backwards, using the roof like a sun-lounger.

“Hey, uh. Are you…?”

Steve makes a face. “Just ignore me. It’s the heat, man. I get… antsy.”

Eddie does not point out the fact that Steve definitely has a massive, air-conditioned house in which to escape from the sun.

“Uh-huh,” he says slowly and hopes it sounds enough like, “Meaning…?” without being too obnoxious about it.

Steve looks down at him, and for a moment it’s almost like he’s sizing him up—not in, like, a gym-class-intimidation kind of way, more…

Eddie’s not sure.

But a flicker of something definitely crosses Steve’s face—something almost vulnerable, maybe—and then it’s gone.

He mimes aiming an imaginary gun at Eddie, one eye closed, and drawls in a ridiculously bad Russian accent, “I would tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

Eddie’s surprised into laughter. Where was this personality at school? In hiding?

“Fine. Keep your secrets, Steve Harrington.” He raps on the body of the bus, as if they’ve just met in a parking lot instead. Something normal. “Enjoy your, uh… lookout spot.”

Steve smiles, raises a hand. “See you, Munson. Hey, what was the shit you used to say?” And it must be a trick of the light, the sun in Eddie’s eyes, because for a moment it looks like Steve actually winks at him. “Here be dragons.”

[bonebrokebuddy]

@kodedgeekthings eyo you mentioned wanting a dpxdc prompt for Howard, Batman’s mechanic!

Harold misses fixing toys for kids and in his off hours has taken up the habit of answering questions on forums about machining, electrical, engineering, mechanics, and mechanical design that are often frequented by students.

One day, he comes across a request by a college student who is trying to assemble his own car out of scrap he bought from a local wrecking yard.

Ghostly_Boy states that he has previous experience in machining and can make replacements for broken or too-damaged parts if need be, but he doesn’t know where to start and what specific requirements he needs to reach to ensure it’s street legal.

Harold willing to help, he answers a few of Ghostly Boy’s clarifying questions:

- Great questions!

It’s good to note that if you’re not careful, fixing or making your own car from parts can be a moneysink and can cost you more than a brand new vehicle. - That being said, your first major step to ensuring you can drive the car is to get the title of the body/frame of the car you plan to build. It’ll have the VIN on a plate welded to the frame usually near the lower edge of the windshield wipers on the drivers side. It’s how the DMV identifies vehicles for licensing.

- Generally, you’ll at first get a “wreck out” title that shows the vehicle is listed as a total loss, but if you can assemble the parts for the car with that frame, the DMV can check if it’s properly running and road worthy & license for you to use it on public roads if you’ve done the proper paperwork.

- Once that is done, it’s largely a case of getting the right parts and assembling them. Depending on how much you have to repair, you could be taking on a task that could give a challenge to even a seasoned mechanic. There may be additional paperwork depending on what exactly you need to repair, like the breaks, lights, steering, etc.

- If you want to build the car entirely from scratch, chassis and all, that’s an entirely different story with a much more complicated list of requirements to make it street legal, so getting a frame from a junkyard is a great first step!

- Make sure to keep all bills of sale, junkyard receipts, invoices and manufacturers’ certificates on any major parts you used in building the vehicle to prove its road worthy to the DMV when it’s complete!

Harold doesn’t always answer first but over time he’s found the adventures of this kid amusing and keeps up with it.

Ghostly_Boy keeps the forum updated with his progress:

The kid spontaneously deciding to scrap the wiring system and make his own in a span of 3 days, leaving experienced mechanics on the forum practically screaming at the kid for his updates showing him using random wires he salvaged and pigtailing them together to get the length of wire he needed.

Mixing not only multiple types of wires but ones that didn’t have the protection needed for auto use. DIY-ing his own relay and fuses he didn’t have and connecting the wrong grounds and switches. And planning on leaving the wires unwrapped and loose.

Leaving Ghost to promptly redo the wiring, correctly this time, within 78 hours.

Making a repair of a massive rusted hole on the passenger side by the bumper and the front tire via cutting 1/2in past the rust, grinding it pretty and clean, tac & seam welding the vintage aluminum housing material of a toaster to cover the hole to the response of Harold and many others in the forum just going “… I guess that would work?”

Harold and many others telling the kid that this “ectoplasm” material wasn’t cleared through the EPA’s Clear Air Act and could be illegal to drive with it as it’s fuel source unless he got the emissions tested & the center of gravity of the car adjusted to have the center of gravity a gas car has, it wouldn’t pass Federal Motor Vehicle Safety Standards. Nor would the previously untested on material make it easy or quick to get an Emissions testing certificate. Best to just stick with gas.

Removing what he thought was a “skid plate” that turned out to be another rusted out section on the frame on the bottom of his car and repairing it with steel he salvaged from an old medical table he had laying around. (To the multiple slightly confused commenters asking how Ghost had a spare medical table, he replied, “eh, my folks visit every so often and they’ve been giving me things they’re clearing out of the house so they can move closer to my older sister. I just so happened to get the ye olde medical table. They’re an odd couple of folks but that’s why I love them.”)

People just crying at the kid to go to rockauto.com and just buy the damn parts he needs for his car. (A good resource btw)

The kid kept cutting corners to save cash but through the badgering of Harold and many others that he actually would have to spend money to make this car be safe to drive in, he finally got it completed.

Ghost’s post of him leaving DMV waving the updated title to the car in its envelope in the air, titled, “THE DMV FINALLY SAID IT WASN’T A FIRE HAZARD! ONLY TOOK 2 YEARS! THANKS EVERYONE!” Got the most amount of responses he’d ever had with congratulations from lurkers and previous commenters.

Over the course of those two years, Danny learned how to draw his own wiring diagrams, properly solder and weld, and learning to actually plan out his projects so he got it right at least the fifth time instead of the 20th. Not bad for a kid that went straight from graduating high school with a 1.5GPA to construction jobs.

But after finally getting the car approved, Ghostly_Boy returns to the forum with a new problem. Lamenting that his parents keep coming over and “modifying” his car to no longer make it street legal.

At this point, about half of the answers to the submission think it’s either a joke project taken very, very seriously with a good chunk of money behind it, or a kid with parents that have narrowly avoided falling completely down the mad scientist rogue rabbit hole.

After all, what sort of parent would think that the DMV would approve to “anti-ghost missiles” being attached to the outer body of the car? Either way, the submissions always had video attached showing a demonstration, proving that Ghost wasn’t just completely yanking their chain. And a good amount of money would have to be sunken in to not only pay for the fines Ghostly continued to get from the additions to his car, but to actually manufacture and make a unique working product for each plea for help request.

Harold is not only taking notes on some of these defense measures but also decides to bring up the boy to Alfred. Intrigued, they together keep an eye on Ghostly_Boy. Bruce may be their employer, but they can handle a case or two on their own.

- I wanted Danny to try to make smth for himself now that he doesn’t have access to his parent’s lab anymore but he also doesn’t have access to ectoplasm so he’s fairly unfamiliar how to wire things Not for ectoplasmic standards.

Also I wanted to make a prompt where Danny had a good relationship with his parents & went into a fairly realistic job after high school with his fairly bad GPA so he’s saving up for a technical school via construction jobs as he doesn’t like the idea of working fast food for understandable reasons.

[seat-safety-switch]

Recently, I was watching my cousin Neutral's dog, when he ate a whole pile of iron supplements. The dog, not the cousin. This would not ordinarily be a problem, except that I live next to a junkyard that still have a 1950s-style cartoon electromagnet in operation.

As you might expect, Rover (not his real name) was stuck up there for a really long time, until I was able to negotiate with the crane operator for his safe release. What price was on Rover's head? Paying their inflated rates for an alternator. I mean, fifty bucks for an 80-amp? This is robbery, I bitched, while trying to get the charge reduced to "some overpriced dashboard trim." Under duress, I paid it, and the dog was fine.

Of course, the true junkyard connoisseur can always make a silk purse out of a dog's ransom. When I selected my alternator, I got smart: I looked at all the terrible, holed-out hoopties and picked the one with an electrical fire in the interior. That can only mean one thing: poorly-installed giant subwoofers. And those babies need juice. Suddenly, I was walking out of there with an "80 amp" alternator that could produce four times that amount of jam, thanks to a heinously sketchy rewind courtesy of our town's least reputable stereo store.

You wouldn't expect such a prize to leave the junkyard uncontested. The crane operator immediately realized the scam I was pulling as I tried to pass off a chrome-plated, water-cooled thing of beauty (with a bunch of random chisel marks as I tried to force it off the tensioner) and started to blather about changing the deal. No dice: even dog-kidnapping junkyards have a moral code, I explained to him, and surely he wouldn't want me to bring it forth to The Council.

Anyway, I turned it into a go-kart motor and gave it to the neighbourhood kids. Alternators are kind of a fad, anyway: all you need to run a car's electrical system is to occasionally rotate a large ferrous object through some magnets. Rover is really good at "roll over," and as long as he doesn't hear that as "play dead," he should be able to at least keep the lights on, which will save me a lot of money in batteries too.

[lilac-gold]

i know that this is just a part of how omori's fight system operates, but i find it very interesting that we are able to make memes like the one pictured below considering all we know about hero's character throughout omori, both in the real world and in headspace

this meme is made by using hero's "smile" skill as well as a rain cloud, sad poem or anything else that inflicts a sad emotion on him. hero's skills are primarily always either food-based healing (e.g. "cook", "fast food", "homemade jam", "snack time") or some form of charisma (e.g. "captivate", "mesmerise", "enchant", "dazzle"). it's hero's job to be the support of their team, and to use his pleasant demeanor and appearance as a distraction.

no matter which emotion hero has, he can still use every one of those skills. it is of no relevance how he feels as long as he can uphold his designated role as a charmer and a healer.

now, consider real world hero's way of dealing with things, which is that he simply doesn't. when he returns to faraway, he's there for everyone else, appearing on the surface to be completely fine and content, and simply not acknowledging his own trauma. he puts on a constant facade of normalcy and perfection. because to hero, it doesn't matter which emotion he has, he can still use every one of his skills. it is of no relevance how he feels as long as he can uphold his designated role as a charmer and a healer.

hero would bend over backwards to please others. he canonically has depression, but would much rather be someone else's shoulder to cry on than admit he's not okay. everyone puts him on a pedestal, viewing him as a sort of ideal to look up to. sunny does it. kel does it. his parents do it. even hero himself does.

i think that's part of the reason why he's so often overlooked by the fandom: hero's unrealistically perfect, but that's exactly the point. he forces those expectations on himself, forces himself to earn trophies and medals even while he struggles to even get out of bed. he smiles despite wanting to do the opposite, because he's not supposed to be depressed. he's hero.

his charm-based skills in headspace alternate between a) reducing foes' attack with a bonus happy effect and b) acting first with all foes targeting him for one turn. hero either dissolves the situation a little, acting like the mediator he always has been, or takes the blunt of the damage for his friends.

he's constantly in the spotlight, in every world.

headspace hero has done a ridiculous amount to help people, from stopping a wildfire to giving up all of his organs, has made such a profound impact on so many lives through his good deeds, and that's recognised. people in headspace adore him.

the conveyor belts at the junkyard are endeared to him. sweetheart falls in love with him. mr jawsum plans to essentially keep him trapped working at the last resort forever. medusa thinks he's "too pretty to sell". hero's worth something to so many people, even when he doesn't want to be.

and that applies to the real world too. he's the only older sibling left for his friends after mari's death. he has to be strong for them, to be that ideal, because they have no-one else to fill that role. he brings kel and aubrey together, rescues sunny and basil, says that they should have a sleepover like "old times". he's trying so hard for everyone else, he can't afford to let himself crumble.

hero's a performer. and we see canonically that he has at least some stage fright from sweetheart's quest for hearts.

sweetheart's an interesting case. i find it interesting that the image above would be found mostly in the fight against her. sweetheart is one of the bosses with a uniquely heightened emotional state, hers being that of happiness in "manic". due to the way the emotion system in battle works (explained to us, funnily enough, by hero himself), it makes sense to oppose sweetheart's mania with sadness, misery, and depression.

so that's what hero does! he has the depressed effect, he'd otherwise look incredibly morose, but as soon as time calls for it, he's got a smile back on his face. we see how uncomfortable he is about her advances, but he gives her a smile that sets into motion a whole separate stream of dialogue where sweetheart proclaims her that she would like to "make [his smile] mine".

hero's the group golden boy. the charmer, the healer, the protector, the older brother, the pillar for them to lean on when things get tough. he knows that he is, and upholds that image to the best of his ability.

that is, until mari dies.

then, he falls into a deep, serious state of depression in the real world, because he's failed. he and mari have strived for perfection their whole lives, only for her to apparently deem it all pointless and leave them behind. hero feels like he wasn't enough, like he never will be, no matter how much he's tried. the faked grins disappear alongside those which were genuine, for how is he supposed to smile when he's given up on the facade?

he stops talking to people. stops going outside. stops helping. he can't do anything but reflect on his perceived failures, and without his pillar of support, the group crumbles to pieces.

hero stays like that for a whole year, until he argues with kel and remembers the reason why he needs to stay alive. this is hurting his brother as much as it is hero, and kel's depending on him to get better. so he does, in a way.

he earns medals and trophies again, helps out again, lives up to expectations then exceeds them even more. he can't bring himself to do the things he enjoys anymore, or talk to the three kids he viewed as little siblings and he failed, but he's trying. then, he leaves, off to medical school like his parents wanted. it's a fresh start. it's a chance for him to start to move on.

he's been healing, a little, by the time he comes back to faraway. he can talk about what mari would have wanted without breaking down entirely. he can make kel and sunny breakfast. he can bring the group together like old times, and reminisce on all he used to have.

but he's still not better, and it shows. it shows in the tears he spills when alone beside mari's old piano. it shows in his refusal to visit her grave. it shows in all the little ways he can try to hide, can cover up with a smile too bright to be real. depression doesn't go away that easily, no matter how much hero tries to pretend he's fine.

all in all, i think this meme essentially sums up hero's character and arc in a single, otherwise funny image. am i overcomplicating things? oh, definitely yes. was this a blast to analyse nonetheless? absolutely! there are far too few takes on hero out there, and i hope this gave a little bit of insight as to why i adore him so much.

[downbadf0rficppl]

i didn't mean to love you so much

Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Summary: You don't know what you have until it's gone. Or is it?

Word Count: 6.0K

Repost

It took 3 days to arrive on D'Qar.

The Naboo N-1 Starfighter that you stole from the junkyard on Bracca was one wrong move away from falling out of the sky. Even with your constant mid-flight repairs, only prayers to the Maker were keeping her together. The BB unit you found kept you posted with constant, and frankly worrying, updates on how the ship was holding. Let's just say the plane was soon to be out of use.

When you entered the atmosphere in D'Qar, the landing gear erupted into flames, eliciting a series of explicit beeps from the BB unit. If not for the life-or-death in front of you, you would have burst into a fit of giggles.

Instead, you just grit your teeth: "Happy beeps, bud."

You and the BB unit left the carnage that used to be a starfighter flaming in the trees, bickering the whole time, and heading towards the Resistance Base. Towards new beginnings. Towards freedom.

Bracca was a junkyard, where scavengers and smugglers looked for parts to sell to the highest bidder. It was dark and dangerous at the best of times, and work was never-ending. It wasn't the kind of place you would want to grow up, but it was better than Kessel. Anything was better than Kessel.

It took a week to get to the Rebel base. Your head throbbed painfully with each passing day, with hardly any food in your system and little water to quench your thirst, the journey to salvation seemed almost unattainable. You had thanked the Maker for rain when it first came, but after 4 days of non-stop rain, you had cursed the skies for it. It only seemed to fall harder.

By day 5, the BB unit was running out of power, its movements slower than before. It was far too heavy for you to carry and without it, you would never reach the Resistance base. There were no sarcastic quips or complaints for its master anymore. No, the two of you traveled in silence, aside from the odd groan from either one of you. Its tiredness mimicked your own. You could only pray that the base would come into view soon. You weren't sure how much longer you would last.

When the planes came into view, you almost cried with joy. With newfound energy, you and the BB unit near-ran the way to the tarmac runway that signaled life on this dratted planet.

And while the BB unit was welcomed with cheers and open arms, you weren't so lucky.

You were marched to the medical bay by two men almost twice your size, flanked on the left and the right so you couldn't run if you tried. Your heartbeat in your throat. Of course, the resistance had to be careful, but surely this was excessive.

After you received treatment for your assortment of cuts and burns, you were delivered to a small room, adorned with only a bed and curtains to block out the light. Before you could say anything, let alone protest, the doors shut, leaving you alone in a small cell deep in the heart of the Resistance base.

As terrifying as the whole situation was, when you laid your head to rest on the bed in the dingy room, sleep came. It beat thorns and nettles on the forest floor of D'Qar. It beat sitting upright for 3 days, trying to avoid meteors and Tie Fighters. It beat restless nights on Bracca, hoping to gather enough for a meal. Sleep came to you better than it ever had before, and you reveled in it.

You woke up to familiar beeping outside the large metal door.

"BB-3?" Your voice came out as a hoarse whisper. The beeping got louder, almost unbearably loud, "Calm down, bud. I don't know how to open the door."

"Step back." A male voice came from behind the door, startling you. You stumbled backward, falling on the floor as the whooshed open. A tall man stood there, and if he were surprised you were on the floor, he didn't show it.

You scrambled to your feet, brushing the dust off your clothes as BB-3 rolled in, circling around you like a vulture would his prey. The man stood there observing you and the droid got reacquainted, before clearing his throat.

"Vice Admiral Holdo would like to speak with you." His tone was authoritative. You didn't want to be on his bad side. He led you toward an office on the opposite side of the building, your legs shaking as you walked. He shot you a pitying glance as BB-3 followed at your heels, before returning his face to its emotionless expression. You hated it.

It must have been early, as only a few people were up, and those who were seemed to want to rather be asleep. But no one batted an eye your way, despite the grime you still felt clinging to your face, and the ripped clothes you were wearing. You wondered if this was normal to them. People coming home grimy, hurt, and disgusting.

Only one man seemed to notice you on your journey.

"Snap!" A voice called out to you. The man in front of you - presumably Snap - broke into a huge grin. "Long time, no see, buddy!" Snap clapped the other man on the back, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

You stood there as the other man regaled the story of whatever mission he'd been on to Snap, and for a moment, you thought you were forgotten.

Until he turned. His eyes seemed to scorch your soul with their searching gaze. It was heavy, but you felt safe under it. Almost as if you knew that he would do nothing to hurt you.

"Heard all about how this one came in yesterday." He stretched out his hand, "Captain Poe Dameron. Pleasure to meet you."

You shook his hand and returned the favour, telling you his name. He tested it on his tongue, repeating a few times. Once he seemed satisfied, Poe turned back to Snap.

"How come you got stuck on babysitting duty?" He asked, mirth dancing in his eyes. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes or butt in - you wanted these people to like you. Sarcasm could be saved for later.

"Kid brought back my droid."

"BB-8 told me the story. Something about running from a resistance fighter, blowing up a depot train," you kick BB-3 gently, "and exploding an N-1. It was impossible. Maybe you should get your droid checked for gossiping?" Snap punched him in the arm, "Hey, it was just a suggestion." Poe grinned widely, "Oh, and the shootout. How could I forget the shootout?"

"It wasn't a shootout." You slapped your hand to your mouth. You hadn't meant to say that out loud. So much for saving the sarcasm for later.

Poe turns to look at you. "Oh?" his grin infuriatingly wide. "That's not what the droid said."

"It wasn't a shootout, we were shot at." Your confidence floods back into you. "And the depot train wasn't us. Wrong place, wrong time. Am I right, bud?" You glare down at the BB-unit.

He mumbles something about ruining a good story before whirring off to stop behind Snap. Stupid BB-unit.

"Guess you're more interesting than I gave you credit for kid." Snap stepped towards you, hand coming to rest on your shoulder. "The name's Temmin, Temmin Wexley. But everyone calls me Snap."

"Pleasure to meet you Snap," you echo Poe's words from earlier.

Your meeting with the Vice Admiral went well. She believed your story, well corroborated by both BB-3 and the bounty on your head placed by a well-meaning neighbour. She cleared you to start training with the resistance, though you surprised both her and Snap when you asked to be a mechanic.

Though when you started working on ships, it was clear to see why. It was almost like there was a secret language that ships spoke that only you seemed to understand. You scoffed at that. Beginner's luck you called it. Still, there was no denying that you loved working on the ships and that you were good at it too.

Months went by and you settled into the routines of the Resistance. You were given a room closer to the other mechanics, who, despite the constant tension of competition, seemed to like you well enough. You often sat with them for meals, although passing up on opportunities to spend more time with them. They seemed content with that. You got used to the early morning wake-up calls when the sun streamed through the window and urgent repairs needed to be made. You learned to enjoy the quiet evenings when everyone else had closed up shop and you could finetune repairs for those who needed it. You finally felt like you had a purpose. It was freeing.

Snap kept you up-to-date on the comings and goings of the First Order - never in much detail of course, but enough to satiate your desire to know more. In return you smuggled him extra jogan fruitcake when it was served while he was away. Sometimes, in thanks for saving your life, you made extra updates and repairs to his X-Wing when he came back from long missions - more often than not to save his those extra hours of tedious work.

Black Squadron had come home after a week long mission the night before. You had worked late into the night the day before, and you were now regretting it. Blue squadron had come into contact with a few Tie Fighters on night patrol, and the damage was hair-pullingly extensive. You were in for a long day. It didn't help that you could barely keep your eyes open, hands glued to a cup of Caf that was doing little for the tiredness clouding your brain. You didn't even notice Snap come storming in.

"WHO WORKED ON MY SHIP LAST NIGHT?" He yelled over all the mechanics. Shit.

You had done some basic repairs for him the evening before last and had spent the better part of last night finishing up repairs and repainting his ship. You knew how pilots were with ship paint. Maker, you were screwed.

After a few moments of silence, you decided it was better to own up than let everyone suffer. "I did, Wexley."

He slowly turned towards you, before grabbing you and pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, lifting your feet off the ground. You were shocked. He was happy - no, elated. The rest of the mechanics, equally as confused as you, turned back to their work, ignoring the scene in front of them.

He still had you gripped tightly when Poe walked in. "Easy tiger, you'll kill the greenie. What did she do to deserve your wrath?"

"My wrath?! No, no, no, Poe. This kid is my new favorite person on base."

"I'll try not to take offense to that," Poe grumbled jokingly, "What did she do to deserve such high praise then?"

"Have you seen my ship? She's beautiful, more beautiful than Jess that one time." He started, about to regale a story, you did not need to know. You elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"My sentiment exactly," Poe said to you, giving you a fist bump before walking over to Snap's X-Wing, closely followed by Snap himself. You trailed behind them, still unsure of what was going on. Poe dragged his finger across the paintwork, "He has a point though. I've never seen Snap's X-Wing look this good." Poe turned towards you, his warm brown eyes sparkling with pride. "Good job, Greenie."

You smiled gently, before turning away. It was high praise from Captain Poe Dameron, flyboy of the resistance.

"Maybe I'll snap her up, you know, give her a real ship to work on?" Poe said, his flirting tone making an odd double entendre that made your face light up in flames.

"Not a chance. Kid, you're my new mechanic. Officially."

"What if I don't want to be?" You countered, your sarcastic tone making both Snap and Poe burst into laughter.

You accepted the role though. There was no world in which you didn't. You enjoyed the perks of being Snap's favored Mechanic - you could sleep in more often, you were privy to more information than the average mechanic. He would tell you if he was to leave the base soon, you were often told just how bad a situation was. Snap trusted you. And if Snap did, so did the others.

'The others' being the other pilots on Black Squadron: Jessika Pava, Karé Kun, L'ulo L'ampar. And of course, Poe Dameron. It was almost like you couldn't escape him. His infectious laugh, his boyish grin, his boisterous personality. His ability to make even the most mundane task into a story for the ages.

No wonder he was so popular.

You began to sit with them in the cantina and you frequently ended up leading the repairs on Black Squadron, no one else being as trusted as you. You opened up to them slowly, telling them about growing up on Kessel and being brought to the Scrapper’s guild on Kessel. You told them the truth about your escape - Poe ended up on the floor laughing, saying “the real story’s so much better, BB-3”. They found out about your impeccable aim after a fun night in the cantina that ended in a tense game of holodarts. They became your family - more of a family you had ever had in your life.

And while, you saw Snap, L’ulo and Karé as your brothers, you could not say the same for Poe. Poe was a flirt, everyone knew that. But as you got closer and closer, it was harder to ignore the way you're heart sped up when he looked at you. How you're palms grew clammy when he smiled in your direction. How his praises and compliments made your knees weak. God you were in love with him.

You knew that half the women on the base had either slept with him or wanted to, and yet not one of them got even a second of his time. None of them except you. Poe would walk you to your room in the evening, and to the cantina in the morning, regaling stories of his adventures before he knew you. He’d bring you caf when you were working late, and sit under the stars with you at the end of a long day. He’d tell you stories of Yavin 4 and his mother. He showed you the ring that hung on the end of his necklace. 

“I want to give it to the one, you know?”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Captain.”

He groaned, “Don’t rank me.” You just smiled.

“So, no lucky lady in your life, Dameron?”

“No lucky man in yours, greenie?” 

You scoffed, “If there was ever a chance, they’ve all been scared away by you.”

“Good.”

You laughed it off, but inside your guts twisted at the idea that Poe was happy you were single. Your insides warmed at the idea that he might just feel the same. 

The next morning, you walked out of your room to the sight of Poe sneaking out of the room opposite yours. Half-naked. His eyes widened at the sight of you, and your hand quickly hid your eyes from the view. Your heart dropped. He lied to you. 

Poe sought you out later on in the day. He came up behind you on the landing deck, with a cool glass of jogan juice in hand. You had stripped out of your mechanics jumsuit, the arms tied loosely around your waist. Your tank top was almost a shade darker with the sweat of exertion and ridiculous heat. And yet you declined it, your face barely concealing your childlike annoyance. You knew it was stupid. You and Poe were barely friends, let alone anything that would justify your anger.

“I’m sorry.” Poe huffed, still standing underneath you in the beating sunshine. You were surprised: Poe Dameron never apologises.

“For what?” You said, your back still facing him. He sighed - he didn’t like it when anyone was annoyed at him. Least of all you.

“For this morning.”

“Why does it matter, Poe? You can sleep with who you want to.” You said, anger colouring your voice.

“It matters,” he yells, “because it upset you. Because, for whatever reason, the idea of me sleeping with other people, made you mad at me.”

His obliviousness tugged at your heartstrings, as if to say ‘he doesn’t feel the same’.“I’m not mad that you’re sleeping with other people.”

“Then why are you ignoring me?”

“Because you lied to me, Poe.” You say, dropping down from the ladder, sweat dripping down your back. 

“What are you talking about?”

“You said there was no one special in your life.”

“There isn’t.” You raise a brow, before grabbing the glass of jogan juice from his hand. “Just because we had fun for a night, doesn’t mean I’m getting down on one knee.”

“I think you’ve done it enough times for that to be proven, Poe.”

His cheeky smile returned, “Glad we’re back on first name terms.”

You shook your head at him, “For the record, if I ever catch you sneaking out of a room in my wing again, I’ll skin you myself.”

“If you catch me you say? Well, I like myself a challenge.” You slap him on the head, before climbing back up the ladder.

“Leave me alone, Poe. I don’t need your love troubles plaguing my every hour.”

“There’s no place for things like love in the middle of a war, greenie. First thing you learn in a place like this.”

If he hadn’t been walking away, he would have heard your heart burst into a thousand tiny pieces. Maybe it was for the best if you didn't love him.

Instead of wallowing in undeserving heartache like an idiot, you forced yourself to forget all about the way Poe made your heart feel. He became just another friend, pushed so far into the friendzone that was no conceivable way out. To his credit, you didn’t hear of another escapade of his again. He probably just got good at hiding them.

That always got difficult when he was sent on week-long missions. Your heart would migrate into your throat and even swallowing became difficult. Your mind would swim with worry, all for him to come back completely fine, his ship always seemed to come home the least scathed. A fact for which your heart was grateful.

"Hey, flyboy," you called, as you walked into the cantina. There were less than 10 people in the whole room - probably due to the ungodly hour of the day.

Poe was sat in the corner, the light of his datapad shining on his face. He ran his fingers through his hair. It was unusually disheveled, which could only mean one thing. He was nervous.

You walked up to him. Evidently, he hadn't heard you from across the room, because when you came up to him and rested your hand on his shoulder, he flinched and grabbed your hand. You winced at his tight grip as he turned to face you.

Poe released your hand when he saw it was you. He leaned back into your chest, eyes fluttering shut. "I'm sorry," he whispered, gently.

You grabbed the datapad from his hands, and placed it face down on the table, "It's ok. What's going on?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

You absent-mindedly run your hands through his hair as his head remained leaned against your chest. "It's not nothing. Is it a mission? You're leaving again soon?"

He hummed in agreement.

"You're leaving today, aren't you? That's why you're up early."

"Why do you think Snap got you to wake up early? You're not just a sight for sore eyes, you know."

His words made you blush. Never have you been more glad that he isn't staring right at you - it would give your heart’s deepest darkest desires away. 

He left that afternoon. After you completed routine checks for him, he was off on a top-secret adventure. Sometimes, it was easy to hate his rank, because it made it so hard to find out where he was, or what he was doing. But as always, you let him go and, as always, you prayed he'd come home safe. To you. You always pray he comes home safe to you.

Hours turned to days, days turned to weeks. And while it wasn't unheard of for Poe to be gone this long, your heart could barely take him being gone for a day. That's the price of being in love. You'd never thought of yourself as still being in love with Poe until he left on that mission. You'd never thought much of the way your heart still raced when he talked to you. You'd never thought much of the way your heart still ached when he left for missions. You'd never thought much of the way your heart still burst when he smiled at you. But without him there, it's like your heart could not find a reason for beating. 

You continued on with your job, trudging through daily repairs and meals, trying to keep your mind away from Poe. You forced a smile when you talked to Snap - missing Poe hit him just as hard as it hit you. You forced a smile when you taught new recruits - you couldn't afford to have them hate you just because the Captain was missing. You forced a smile when you came down for dinner - there was no use in moping around in the middle of a war. But when you were in the comfort of your own room, you let the smile fall and the tears drip down your face. You cried almost every night for the first week that he was gone, trying to reconcile your newly found feelings and your newly lost friend.

It was a surprise to everyone when Poe crash-landed back on D'Qar with burns and cuts littering his body. You were up at an extremely early hour as working on Snap's ship when he landed, and you were immediately filled with concern. A tight knot wound its way around your throat, as you watched the scene unfold. BB-8 was nowhere to be seen. The ship is smoking dangerously, and parts of it are falling off, but most worrying of all, Poe was struggling to get out of the cockpit. You quickly threw yourself onto the X-Wing, hitting the emergency ejection latch with the spanner in your hand. The cockpit lid flew open and Poe climbed out, coughing heavily and clutching his side.  Snap came running out of the base, and grabbed Poe's arm. You ran up and grabbed the other, and the two of you dragged him towards the med wing. 

Two nurses snapped him up, cleaning his wounds and applying bacta spray where necessary. Snap turned away, mumbling something about an early morning briefing, but you stayed rooted to the spot. You couldn't take your eyes off his broken state, and tears slipped out of your eyes before you could control them. After a beat, you spun around on your heel and sprinted to your room. 

When the door clanged shut, you slumped onto the floor and burst into tears. You couldn't bear to see Poe in pain. You hated yourself for not being strong enough to fight through your tears to be with him. And you hated yourself for still being in love with him, when you promised you would be. When your datapad lit up with tasks for the day, you made the rash decision to call in sick. In the time you had been on the base, you had never called in sick. This job was your lifeline, your passion, and nothing, not even illness, would affect that. At least, that's what you had thought. You spent the majority of the week in that same spot, tears subsiding when you became so dehydrated that your body refused to let you cry.

On the fifth day of your hibernation, you finally left your room, having showered and gotten ready. Few people were on the base, apart from the mechanics and medics, and the injured - which included Poe. Given the lack of a real threat in the vicinity, General Leia had given the day off. You didn’t want to relax. You couldn’t relax.

You snuck over to where Poe’s beat up X-Wing was parked, and the sight of it almost made you tear up. The memories hit you like a brick. Poe barely limping towards the med wing. BB-8 being carried to the droid repair room. Fire extinguishers coating the X-Wing with hopes that it may be able to fly again. You got to work.

You were finally satisfied as the sun set over the vast treescape of D'Qar, covered head to toe in oil and grease. After some gentle coaxing by Paige - the only one aware of your all-consuming feelings for Poe - you agreed to grab something small to eat with her.

What you didn't sign up for was to see a broken and battered Poe sitting at the table, laughing at some stupid joke that Snap had probably made. He looked up as you walked in, almost as if he was expecting you. His eyes met yours, and you felt the tight knot in your throat begin to form again - just as it had the morning Poe crash-landed on the base.

Poe tried to lift his arm up to wave but winced at the action, the stitches keeping his wounds bound together stretching at the extreme action. You pressed your lips into a tight smile, willing the Maker to take your tears away. Paige handed you a bottle of water, before leading you toward the table. She left you standing in front of the table, where you awkwardly shifted your feet.

"Gonna sit down?" Snap asked, mirth dancing behind his eyes, "Or are you planning to put on a show? Wouldn't put it past you to have hidden another talent."

You smiled weakly, sitting down next to Jess and unscrewing the cap on the water bottle you had been given. Jess leaned over and whispered gently, "Feeling ok? Paige came up to ask if you were ok when you didn't show up at drills this morning."

"Yeah, felt a bit under the weather after morning rounds."

"Probably the shitty sleep you've been getting worrying about this guy." Karé said, pointing his knife at Poe.

Poe looked at you, his eyes wide, but you tried to brush off Karé's words, sarcastically replying, "Oh please Karé, the only thing you're worried about is whether or not they have that drink that you like from Sorgan, which is disgusting by the way - I don't know how you can drink it."

Everyone laughs as Karé splutters about how delicious spotchka is, the anxiousness wracking your body easing its reins slightly. Under the table, you feel Poe's foot nudge yours gently. You smile lightly at him, careful not to let him have a good look at your red-rimmed eyes and splotchy face. As much as it shouldn't matter, you don't want him to know how much you care.

"You don't have to pretend you don't care for the captain, kid. You should have seen how she leaped to open the hatch Poe, something from a Naboo holodrama. Or one of those superhero films." Snap laughed, as your face burned red.

Poe raised his eyebrow, "Now that's something I would like to see. Maybe I'll get myself stuck in a cockpit again, just to see you in action." He laughs, but you don't laugh with him. You feel your chest tighten, and the knot in your throat return. Your vision clouds with tears, and you quickly got up, excusing yourself on the notion that your headache has returned, and that you should probably get some rest before drills the next day. You stumbled out of the cantina, breaking into a sprint as soon as you were out of sight. 

Poe’s eyes followed you as you left, worrying tinting his gaze. The group had fallen almost silent at your abrupt exit, looking at where you’d run, before turning back to Poe. Snap slapped the back of his head.

“Why, in the Maker’s name, would you say that?”

“What?” Poe said, rubbing the back of his head. Jess gave him a pointed look, “What did I say?”

“You joked about getting hurt, Poe! Why would you do that?”

“He didn’t just joke about getting hurt, Wex! He joked about almost dying!”

"Oh please, it's not that big of a deal. Everyone knew it was a joke. Right?" No one looks at him. "Right?!"

Jess waves at Paige, whose eyes were trained at the door. She meekly walks over, leaning down to talk to Jess. 

"Is she ok?" Paige asked, her eyes brushing over the group until they landed on Poe, "What did he do?"

Poe's eyes narrowed in confusion. "I'm so confused," he muttered under his breath.

"He made a joke.”

Snap butt in, “About almost dying."

Paige’s eyes widened, "You're not serious."

"Look, I don't know what's up with her today, but something tells me that that was the last thing she needed right now."

Paige turned towards Poe, "If you weren't injured right now, Captain, I would beat you up." 

"Hold up. I don't even know what I did." He said, standing up. "I get that the joke was a little misplaced, but it was a joke. I didn't put myself in this situation willingly."

"We get it, Poe. But you haven't been here. She's literally been destroyed - she's barely sleeping, I barely see her come down to eat, she spends all her time working on different ships, drowning herself in work. Today was the first day in the year she's been here that she's called in sick." Paige said, her eyes flitting between Poe and the door. She was in a half-mind to run after you, to console you. 

Poe beat her to it. He got up, ignoring the protest from his teammates, and headed towards your room. He knocked lightly on your door, hearing the gentle sobbing from your room.

His heart broke. He knocked again. 

“I’m fine Paige, I just need sleep.”

“Nice to know you’d lie to Paige.” Poe said, his voice steady and gentle. You open the door to you room, the door whooshing up to reveal Poe in all his glory, “Would you lie to your Captain?”

“Don’t pull rank with me, Poe.” You joked as he bent to meet your eyes.

He reached out to caress his fingers against your cheek and wipe away the stray tears. You leaned your head into his hands, the callouses on his hands like comfort against your cheek. He touches his forehead to your eyes, his eyes closed as if he couldn’t quite believe you were here. That this was happening. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. Poe’s eyes met yours, softly searching for something. Answers, probably.

“Why are you sorry, darling?” The pet name gripped your heart, so familiar and yet so foreign. The tears begin to flow freely again. He soothed you, mindlessly carding his fingers through your hair, “Don’t cry, don’t cry.” 

You look into his eyes, and can’t help but to sob harder. Why did you have to fall in love with him?

Your head curled into his chest, seeking the comfort only he could give. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He asked, whispering into your hair. 

“I didn’t mean to.” You said through tears. Poe looked at you.

“You didn’t mean to what, love?” He asked. You repeated it over and over, your tears soaking through his shirt. He lets you cry until your weak, pulling you further into his arms. 

He asks you again. 

“I didn’t mean to love you so much.” You confessed through whispers. It was so quiet that you thought that Poe didn’t catch what you said.

His widened eyes told you otherwise. 

“You…?”

“I love you.” You whispered.

“You-you love me?”

“I love you so much that whenever I see you my heart quickens until it’s uncomfortable.”

“Love -”

“I love you so much that my hands become so sweaty that I can barely keep a hold of my datapad.” You showed him your hands that were covered in a sheen. He gives you a watery laugh, before wiping your hands on his already soaked shirt. 

“I love you so much that when you leave, I can’t bear to survive.” 

“Love-” You interrupt him again.

“There’s no life without you, Poe.” Your voice broke as you dissolved into another bout of tears. 

“Love, please.” Poe sighed, kissing your forehead, “Please, just-”

“I know. It’s a war. I shouldn’t have, but I did and I can’t help it. Please don’t hate me, please-”

Poe grabbed your face, pulling you into him. He grazed his lips over yours, before pulling away way to fast. 

“I could never hate you, love.”

You pull him back towards you, smashing your lips onto his. He pulls you into his lap deepening the kiss further. You run your fingers through his hair, and over where the bandages cover his fresh wounds. Poe winced, and you pulled back. 

“You should rest. And heal up.”

He looked at you with such adoration, that for a moment you thought you’d melt away. “I have the rest of forever to heal up. I want this now.”

“You have me for the rest of forever. I think you should heal up now.” He rested his forehead against yours, sighing and closing his eyes. You kissed his nose gently.

“The rest of forever is too far away.” He whispered.

“You made me wait for this long. I think you could wait for a little longer.”

“Only a little bit, love. Only for you.”

He stood up, holding his hand out to you. You grabbed it, and he pulled you to your feet. The sudden motion had you dizzy, head pounding due to the dehydration. He caught you gently, lifting you into his arms, before gently depositing you on the bed. He left light kisses on your forehead, and left with the promise of coming back with water and a little food. 

He walked out of the mechanics wing and back towards the cantina, intent on his mission to get a little food and water into you. 

The whole of black squadron watched him walk in. Poe nodded to them lightly, not knowing exactly what they had been expecting. Apparently it was enough for them, as they turned back towards each other. 

He grabbed a small muffin and a bottle of water, before heading back to your room. He walked into see you asleep on the bed, and he couldn’t help but smile. God, she’s beautiful. 

Poe sat down on the bed, rubbing your arm gently. You opened a bleary eye to see Poe crouched next to you, blocking the moonlight streaming in from the window. He pulled off his shirt, and lifted your head up to get you drink some water, before settling down next to you. You rested your head on his chest before falling back to sleep.

Poe moved under you, pulling his necklace from around his neck and placing it around yours. Your hand immediately migrated to the metal ring strung on the end. Poe froze. What if it’s too soon. He relaxed almost immediately, as your fist closes around his rings.

He relaxed, pushing his nose into your hair. You smiled as he whispered something that he probably only said because he thought you were asleep.

“I love you too."

fin.

buy me a coffee

[bxnnywrites]

hiya!! im the anon that told you abt requests being closed, im glad i could help you out!!

i saw you headcanon danny as demiromantic and im very curious, what would it be like if danny had romantic feelings for a survivor reader? how would those feelings develop? i’m not demi myself so i’m rlly curious about the process of it!!

oh anon you have no idea how excited i am to answer this

*clears throat*

🫀 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 🫀

TW :: Obsessive behavior, stalking, violence, general Danny Warnings

Authors Notes :: This uh...kinda turned into a ficlet. Oops!!! I've just thought of this scenario a LOT so I had a lot to say-

Anyways!! Hope you enjoy <3 (also this isn't proof read, we die like men)

It took a really long time for him to realize it, or maybe just for the emotions to develop. He wasn't sure.

You had appeared months ago, or whatever the equivalent was in the realms. Time wasn't exactly an easy concept to pin down here.

For a long time you were just another survivor, someone his knife sliced through with delicate ease. Someone to hunt and kill, that was his job, and entity if he didn't love every fucking second of it.

He liked to stalk his victims, both in and out of trials. Especially the new ones, he loved to see what made them tick. What really fucking scared them.

So he was keeping an eye on you, taking his usual notes, keeping an ear out for anything to use against you later.

But it started to develop into something a bit...more than that.

Suddenly he noticed his notes becoming less about what you feared and more about what you liked.

The way you smiled, how you laughed at Ash's jokes, the way you bit your knuckles when you were worried. The way your eyes lit up when seeing your friends and fuck he wanted to see your eyes light up for him like that.

He shook it off, had to shake it off. It got in the way of what he did. What even was this feeling?

Sure he had flings before he was taken, but he never really had feelings for them. It was part of the game, part of his job. Something to keep him low on the radar. That's all.

Was that what this was then? What it felt like to properly fall in love?

He hated it.

He hated every feeling, he hated the way your smile made his chest light up. He hated how distracted he was, so fucking distracted.

He hated you.

He couldn't stop thinking of you.

Quit laughing at Ash's stupid fucking jokes they aren't even that fucking funny.

More scribbling, more anger, why did you have to appear here? Was it some sort of taunt by the entity? Some kind of damn punishment? Fuck you and fuck whatever feelings you gave him.

For a long time it was like that, if you were in a trial with him you were the first hooked. You were too much of a distraction to his work.

And maybe he loved the feeling of holding you like this but fuck he wouldn't admit that.

------

Eventually you got fucking tired of it.

Every damn trial he would tunnel in on you and only you. Wouldn't focus on anyone else while you were around.

You realized quickly killers couldn't truly kill you. You felt it, every last agonizing slice into your flesh, every bruise, every broken bone, but you would just wake up at the fire at the end.

And you needed to figure out what the fuck his issue was.

Your fellow survivors tried very hard to convince you out of it, but they understood being pissed about it. So in the end, no one stopped you.

So there you were, in front of Autohaven Wreckers. A few survivors tipped you off that Ghostface liked to hang out around this area. Beats you as to why, the place stank of burning rubber and old oil. It made your stomach turn, but you entered nonetheless.

As you walked through the old junkyard, it dawned on you, you didn't really have a plan. You had done this mainly on a whim, annoyed at constantly being targeted and harassed by the white faced freak. Where were you even supposed to look? What if the Wraith saw you? This was fucking stup-

Before you could react a leather gloved hand covered your mouth, pulling you back as the cold steel of a sharp blade touched your throat.

"You scream and this is going into your fucking back, got it?" The voice was husky in your ear, unfamiliar. It made you realize you had never heard Ghostface speak before. So you nod, and he make an approving noise before releasing you. You run a hand over your throat where his knife had bit into it, leaving a light red line against it.

"So," He spoke again, letting you turn to him finally to confirm your suspicions. There he was, the Ghostface in the flesh, mask and all. "What do I owe the pleasure, Doll?"

"Well," You started, feeling your anger bubble up in you again. "For fucking starters, I have some damn questions for you, asshole."

Oh he loved when you spoke like that, some real final girl trope shit.

"Ooo, questions for the killer?" He cooed, leaning against a nearby car and watching you intently. "Brave of ya, Doll. I like it."

"Oh fucking can it, you damned halloween drop out!" You spat, and though you couldn't see it under his mask, your words had him grinning ear to ear. He loved when you were angry like this. "Why the fuck do you keep tunneling me, huh?! Every fucking trial we have you steamroll me and kill me as quick as possible. It's fucking bullshit, dude!"

He laughs a bit, removing his leather glove and using his knife to pick the dirt from under his nails.

"I dunno what you're talkin bout, babe." He says nonchalantly. "You're mad because what, I'm killing you during trials? Come on, that's my job-"

"Bullshit, this is more than that and you know it!" You seethe, god if you knew you wouldn't die you'd punch him. "What's your fucking damage? Hell, I've heard stories about other trials, you're even fucking friendly with some of the survivors sometimes! What the fuck did I ever do to you?!"

His eye twitches.

"Like I said, I'm just doing my fucking job. Now if you would just-"

"NO YOU AREN'T!" You shout at him and he's on you in an instant, hand over your mouth and you can see his eyes through his mask. A deep red brown and angry.

"Listen here you stupid bitch, one more outburst like that and I'm gutting you like a fucking fish, understand?" He snaps, his grip on your face almost bruising. Fear grips you again and you nod. He sighs, letting you go again with an unspoken warning that he would follow through if you got loud like that again.

"Look, it's fucking...it's complicated." He mumbled, looking almost shy as he played with one of the ghostly strips of fabric attached to his outfit. "You're just...you're a fucking distraction. Every trial I'm in with you it's hard to fucking focus, and I have a fucking job to do god damn it." He grumbles. You almost feel bad for him, almost.

"What, and that's my problem?" You snap in return.

"Yeah, it fucking is." He snaps in return, starting to pace back and forth. "I have work to do, people to kill, fear to harvest, the whole nine fucking yards. But you," He points, "You get in the fucking way, you make me lose track, you make me...you...fuck, you make me feel something, OK?"

You blink dumbly at him, finally speechless, and he continues.

"I get this stupid fucking feeling in my stomach and it makes me fucking twitchy. It makes my damn mind race and I can't tell if it's because I want to fucking dissect you or..." He trails off.

"...Or?" You question.

"I don't know!" He snaps, growling a bit as he continues pacing. "I haven't fucking felt like this before, I didn't think I fucking could. I just..." He takes a breath, looking back at you. "I need you to stop."

Your mouth hangs open, shocked by his...confession? If you could call it that.

"What?" You question again.

"Stop! Stop making me feel...whatever the fuck this is!" He snaps again, and even though you can't see his eyes anymore, you can feel the frustration wafting off him.

"How the fuck am I supposed to do that?!" You snap in return, annoyance rising in you as well. "It's not my fault you have a...a fucking crush on me or something!"

"Yes it is, it's absolutely your fault!" He throws his arms up, almost like an annoyed toddler. "It's your fault because you have this soft fucking face and this pretty laugh and that stupid fucking smile! You have these fucking eyes that light up whenever you get to talking about what you love, and fuck I just wish for once that was ME and-" He cuts himself off with a growl, kicking a nearby stack of tired and knocking them down. "It's bullshit, you're bullshit, it's all fucking bullshit!"

You're left speechless until he finally looks at you again.

"There, you happy? Now could you fucking make it stop?!" He breathes out, his eyes just barely visible through the black mesh of his mask.

"I...Well...fuck uh..." You mumble, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I...don't think I can do that? I mean..."

"Fuck, yeah, course you can't." He grumbles, fidgeting with the fabric strips of his costume again. "I just...this is a stupid, distracting fucking feeling and I hate it."

"Well...I mean..." You take a breath, not really sure how to approach the situation. "Maybe we could like...I dunno...start over?"

He looks at you, and you swear he thinks you're insane.

"Start over?" He questions, "The fuck you mean start over?"

"Like, I dunno. Figure shit out from the beginning, like...get to know each other or something?" You say awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck.

"...Are you fucking crazy?" He questions, and yeah, you expected that. "Like, hello, earth to Dollface, I've killed you dozens of times now. I have murdered your friends in front of you." He snaps his fingers, impressive considering he's still wearing his gloves. "Like sure, sounds nice and all, but how the fuck do you expect to just start over? Hi, what's up, the names Ghostface. Wanna get stabbed?"

"Don't be a fucking dickhead." You snap in response and huff, "Look, I don't know what you want me to do about...whatever this shit is," You motion to him vaguely. "Like I dunno dude, you need a good therapist or something?"

"Fuck you." He growls.

"Yeah, whatever." You breath out. "Look, I don't care what you do, but I'm sick of you pulling bullshit during trials because of...whatever your feelings are. So you either talk to me about it and we get it sorted, or I start making offerings to the entity to make your job even harder than I apparently already am." You cross your arms and look him up and down before sighing. "I'm heading back to camp, if you want to fucking talk-"

"Wait," He grabs your arm and you stop, looking back at him before he sighs. "OK maybe...maybe you're right. Maybe we can like, try that? I dunno."

You smile at him, sighing in relief.

"Good, I prefer that." You turn to him, extending a hand and telling him your name proper, even though he already knows it. "Nice to meet you, Ghostface."

He stares at your hand for a second, but slowly, he takes it.

"...Ghostface is fine for now." He mumbles, shaking it awkwardly. "So...uh...how do we do this?"

"Well...what kinds of movies did you like? Before you got taken."

His eyes light up, and suddenly he's on a kick. Rambling happily about his favorite horror movies while you listen.

Things get better after that.

Rather than being targeted, you're more often than not spared during trials.

Of course people get suspicious though, so you have to cut a small deal with him to either spare all of you during trials or kill everyone including you.

He's not personally a fan of the second option, so he ends up sparing your little party whenever you're involved.

You two get closer and you start to have your own feelings for him in return.

Eventually he tells you his real name. Danny, it rolls off your tongue nicely.

He's nervous at first, but eventually his smooth charm comes back and it's rare for him to not leave you flustered and blushing when you two talk.

When you finally get the courage to tell him your feelings, you swear he's on cloud nine. immediately talking about how happy he's going to make you and how he'll make sure no one in this fucking realm ever touches you.

You have to talk him down from that, knowing that your other survivors would hate you if you were the only exception during trials. And while he says "fuck em" you know you can't have him as your only friend in the realm, as much as part of him would love that.

But it's nice, he treats you like royalty. Like you're his entire world.

It might not be a real happy ending, but it's probably the closest you'll get in this hellhole.

And that's good enough for the both of you.