#coating nuts and bolts

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

B7 Blue PTFE Coated Threaded Rods With Nuts

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Bite my lip just for the taste

nonnie request here

Blurb: Eddie isn’t only good with his hands. He worships the ground you gracefully walk on and he is determined to satisfy you in every way that he can. Your pleasure is his pleasure and thanks to your mutual friend Steve, he might just have a chance to give you what you deserve.

Pairing: Older!Mechanic!Eddie x Reader

Warnings: 18+, lust at first sight, rough!dom!Eddie (careful what you wish for, right?), oral (m receiving), p in v sex, sloppy kisses, naked bodies and underwear description, reader referred to as girl, pet names, praise kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), alcohol, characters are of ages 25+ and 30+

-

divider by @cafekitsune

Not only was Eddie Munson phenomenal with his hands when it came to mending cars and tinkering around with bolts and nuts… but he knew a trick or two with his strong muscular tongue and his long skilled fingers; and they weren’t associated with playing guitar or singing a epic chorus.

Eddie knew how to fuck— and he was fucking great at it.

But he couldn’t just come out straight with it and tell you that— he had to ease into it. It was like a dark lustrous dance of longing and need and he didn’t mind if he were in it for the long run.

Eddie wanted you but he knew that perfection took time.

It all began on a sweltering summers day. The metal head was very well educated on how car batteries and engines reacted to intense heat— but no amount of study could have prepared him for the way your car trundled into his garage.

Wiping the sweat from his thick brow he watched how you swung open the door with a tired groan and a chesty grumble. Full of merciless rage as you rattled your hands against the metal plating of the evidently old vehicle. Swearing like a sailor on a sinking ship, “Piece of shit!! I hope they crush you!”

Eddie couldn’t control the way his jaw nearly hit the dusty courtyard floor as your heeled foot struck against the cars front tire multiple times. Your rage wasn’t what surprised Eddie— he was accustomed to watching customers let out their pent up rage onto their dying automobiles. But what stunned him was you. You presented yourself in a way that made Eddie question why you decided to bring your car all the way down to this side of town when you clearly could afford to go elsewhere.

Not to toot his own horn, but Eddie was one of the best mechanics this town had to offer. However, he did hold a reputation that much of the community did not agree with. He had a look that made people uncomfortable— that made them run away.

But not you.

You charged toward him fiercely and determined. You made Eddie shrink in his boots.

“Hi, I’m looking for Eddie? Eddie Munson? I’m told this is his place.” Your sugar coated tongue had Eddie’s mind reeling. The contrast of your actions and your personality made him want to laugh aloud— but he managed to keep his humour to himself. For now. You hoop your keys around your index finger, swirling the metal so they would clank and chime against one another.

“You’re looking at him, princess,” He wipes his large oil covered hands against the dark denim of his jeans, toying with the chunky silver rings that graced his fingers as he drank you in further— having a better view of you now, “How can I help?” He briefly glances over to your car, his two front teeth puncturing his bottom lip as he recalls the way you were attacking it just moments earlier.

“My friend Steve said if anyone can fix this hunk of shit then it would be you.” You offer Eddie a tight lipped smile, your hands resting comfortably on your hips as you also gaze back over at the rust bucket your father gifted you 4 years prior, “She isn’t much to look at, but she meant a lot to my old man so… I sort of have to keep her around, Y’know?” You roll your eyes comically and Eddie hums in acknowledgment, crossing his heavily tattooed arms over his plump chest that is clad in a tarnish white tank top.

“I get it.” He grins and winks at you, walking over to where you had abandoned your prized possession, “I hope Harrington put a good word in for me, his car would’ve been scrapped last year if it weren’t for my talent.”

“He said you were the best… alongside some other things that I best not mention if you wanna keep your friendship with him on good terms.”

Eddie laughs as he leans against the bonnet of your car, his wandering eyes flickering from your skirt that is stretched across the fullness of your thighs and up to your face and all over again. He couldn’t seem to pull his attention away from you.

“It’s unlocked, if you’d like to have a look inside.” You gesture toward the hood of the car which the metal head is leisurely draped on and Eddie’s cheeks warm at the inkling that he was caught gawking at you.

“Yeah, I’ll pop it open. It might just be the heat…”

It was now your turn to rake your eyes over Eddie’s frame as he peers into the organs of your nearly dead vehicle. He was only older than you by a couple of years and yet he seemed much more experienced in life than you did. The tattoos against his pale skin had you nibbling on the plush flesh of your bottom lip. His jeans hung loosely on his hips, held up by a studded black leather belt and above the hem you could see the waistband of his boxer briefs peering out at you.

One thing Steve had failed to mention to you before your arrival was how smoking hot Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson was. If you had known sooner, you would’ve dressed up a bit more— maybe you would’ve gotten changed out of your PA office attire.

But still, your tight fitted blouse and shiny black heels would just have to suffice.

“What are you doing right now?” Boldly you move around to meet Eddie’s line of vision. His eyebrows knit together in slight confusion and he flicks his fingers toward the open hood of the car, “No, I mean, after this. What are you doing? Do you.. have plans? Maybe going home to a girlfriend, perhaps?” You weren’t very subtle, but screw it! You saw the hunger in his eyes when you first showed up— he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him and you hadn’t been taken care of in a long time.

You were needy. Desperate. And Eddie may as well have been served up to you on a silver platter!

“Plans? Oh uh… no. Not at all. I uh… I was going to go home and have some shitty wine,” His pink lips perk up into a toothy smile, a knowing smile, and you bite the inside of your cheek to suppress your own, “Does that maybe interest you? You don’t seem like a shitty wine girl.”

You shrug your shoulders and a transparent smugness settles deep into the apples of your cheeks, “I like shitty wine.”

“The good thing about being your own boss is that you can finish whenever you want.” He slaps the bonnet of the car shut and dusts his large hands against one another, “How about I look at this tomorrow and we can take my car back to mine? Or would you like to check out my ass for a bit longer?” He slyly winks at you and your face tilts toward the ground as you make a feeble attempt to conceal the blazing fire that was torturing your skin.

“Hmmm that depends— can you guarantee that you’re not some psycho and that I won’t end up on the front page of the paper tomorrow?” For someone whose body may as well be a ferness with how hot it is, you sure are making Eddie work for what you both want. Something about him made you brave, but it also made you… timid. Quiet… obedient.

And boy oh boy, Eddie was enjoying every second of the power he had over you.

“How about I let you drive? You have the keys… you have the control.” His husky voice drops an octave as he takes a few steady strides toward you. His gaze penetrates yours and his dangerous eyes have an addictive allure. Captivating and intimidating. Revealing little but knowing much… it was exciting. He excites you.

“That could work…” your voice betrays your facade of confidence and Eddie grins wider at the soft falter in your tone. He could read you like a book. Your inviting body language, the blown darkness in the centre of your glossy eyes and the way you don’t back away from him as he stalks even closer to you. You were his prey… and he was the hunter set on a target.

One of Eddie’s rough calloused hands gently takes yours. He positions your palm flat out toward the sky so he could drop his keys onto it all while his focus on your face remains unwavering, “The keys to the castle.”

“Fitting, since you called me a princess earlier.”

“Maybe I orchestrated this from the beginning?” An entertained eyebrow perks up behind his stringy damp bangs.

“Is that so?” The sound of your hushed voice echoes back at you and your lips part longingly at Eddie’s close proximity. He is close enough to kiss— tasty enough to devour. A banquet of all of the most desirable and finer things in life.

“I saw you in those heels and with those legs… I couldn’t resist. They don’t call me a Eddie the freak Munson for no reason, princess.” There is a clip to his voice, a new intensity piercing through his words like a pin to a voodoo doll.

“You might just have to show me how freaky you really are then, Mr. freak…”

-

Eddie was right. The wine did taste like shit.

You were currently draped across Eddie’s large sofa, the soft suede fabric welcomed the mould of your body as you sunk into airy cushions and you sipped hesitantly from your stemmed glass. Smearing your dark lipstick across the pristine rim as you did.

Eddie was perched on a chair across from you which was cut from the same material as the couch. His feet were planted to the floor and his legs were spread wide; like a King on his throne. There was a coffee table separating the two of you and part of you questioned why he was so far away.

You and Eddie locked eyes, a welcoming and long stare. It was comfortable, patient but growing. Neither of you looked away, but none of you made the first move, either.

Eddie was assessing you. He was trying to figure out how this would go. How it would play out. Who was going to be the dominant one and who was going to submit?

You wanted it to be him. You wanted him to know that you needed your decisions made for you tonight.

You bring your glass of wine back to your mouth, taking a small drink and proceeding to lick and bite your lip afterwards. An unspoken invitation that Eddie silently accepts.

The warm light that glows from the table lamp next to you illuminates Eddie in a gorgeous orange hue, darkening his tattoos and brightening the metal around his fingers and his neck. You envision how he would look above you— glistening in sweat with his necklace shimmering as it dangles atop of your face. The image nearly causes you to whine aloud.

Nearly.

You surveyed your surroundings, “This is a nice place you have— very cozy.” You place your wine glass on a coaster, coming back to snuggle into the pillows of the sofa and Eddie hums, pleased.

“It’s no bachelor pad but it’s home.” He tilts his nearly empty glass toward you and a mischievous smile toys with the edges of his lips, “Thank you.”

He finishes his drink with one swift movement before he is leaving his post from across from you. You watch him with blown eyes, eyes that are bright and eager. He settles his lean and sturdy physique against the door frame that leads into his kitchen space.

Your heart rate quickens with anticipation and your hips squirm beneath you as you try and remain confident under his abysmal and sinful demeanour.

You were overly aware of the lewd events hurtling toward you and the excitement of it causes your face to flush with colour.

“I’ve never fucked a girl in heels before… I think you should keep them on.” He prowls toward you, his body language animalistic and focused.

He’s been wanting to pounce on you from the moment you stepped foot through the door— but Eddie is a gentleman and gentlemen take their time.

Eddie was in front of you now. His eyes such a deep shade of chocolate brown that they seemed to swallow the light rather than reflect it. They were adorned by long dark eyelashes that you were envious of and strong clean eyebrows that framed the chiselled structure of his face. He looked like a painting. Like he wasn’t real.

“I… I can keep them on.” Your face tilts toward your feet as you try to remind yourself of the appearance of the shoes that you chose to wear that day however Eddie is quick to tensely grab you by the flesh of your cheeks and snatch your attention back to him.

“Eyes on me.” His voice is a hushed purr as his nose teeters on the edge of brushing yours, “I wanna see your pretty face.”

His grip remains tight and it forces your lips into a cute pout which Eddie coos at, “I wanna kiss you. Is that okay?” You nod your head feverishly. Without wasting a single second your lips finally met, tinged with impatience. His lips were magnificent, full and defined and soft. His tongue tastes of alcohol and mint and you moan at the contact of his wet tongue wrestling against yours. His teeth nip at your bottom lip and your eyes are lidded as your fingers touch the exposed skin of his shoulders with a feathery graze; causing goosebumps to arise on Eddie’s inked skin.

“I need to know that you want this…” He breathes heavy laboured breaths, “That you want me to take control. I like it rough, baby, so we need to have a safe word… okay? Safe word is Cherries. You got that?” His domineering mask slips for a quarter of a moment as his black hues sweeten. You nod again, your mind clouded with lust and desperation.

“Repeat it back to me.”

“Cherries is the safe word.”

“Clever girl.” Without a beat Eddie is dragging you up and onto your feet. You are wobbly on your legs for a moment but you are fast to regain composure. As Eddie goes to lead you through to his bedroom you stop, your body set alight.

“Eddie can I… can I taste you first?” You are a blushing mess as the words drool from your lips. You hadn’t stopped thinking about it since you seen him man spreading in front of you in his armchair earlier. You wanted to dip down between his thighs and make his cock twitch with need, “Please.”

The metal head looked bewildered for a moment however he quickly welcomed the request. How could he possibly deny such a sweet girl when she asked him so politely?

He walks the both of you over to the comfortable chair, sitting himself down and allowing his hands to have free roam of your ass and hips, “Ask me as nicely as that and I’d give you anything you want, princess.” The pet name was now tainted with naughty intention as it rolled off of his slick tongue and your knees weaken at the sight of him gazing up at you.

It was nice to be able to study a man features without any shame or embarrassment. You were so used to stealing glances at attractive men but the visual feast sitting in front of you was enjoyed without any guilt.

You offer Eddie an intoxicated smile as his eyes venture over your face, your neck, your breasts and your exposed legs. You weren’t worried about the way your body looked— there was something so calming about Eddie that struck a match of confidence within you and he seemed to like what he was looking at.

“Such a pretty thing, aren’t you?” He rips down your skirt from around your waist, letting it pool around your ankles and leaving you stood in the pile of bunched fabric. His hands work quickly on your blouse and Eddie growls at the sight of you. Nothing to you but your matching lace underwear set and your heels.

Your nipples peak at the change of temperature in the room and the sly man pinches them with the tips of his slender fingers, rolling the buds mercilessly and smirking devilishly as he does. The action causes a soft whine to emit from your throat and Eddie’s lips perk into a grin at the sound. He was obsessed with you.

“Kneel.”

And you do. The bones of your knees meet the floor with a pathetic thud and Eddie smooths the palm of his hand across the softness of your hair; enticing you that he will be gentle at first but he yanks the strands seconds later, causing you to yelp.

“Open up. I wanna see if I’ll fit.”

Bracing yourself with your hands on his jean clad knees you unhinge your jaw, opening wide as Eddie slots two of his fingers onto your tongue and they slide deep in the crevasse of your mouth. They tickle the back of your throat and your thighs clench together at the thought of him fucking of your face.

“It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I’m sure you can handle it. Right, hon?”

“Yes. I can take it. Please…” You babble around his digits.

There you are again with your manners and your begging bambi eyes. It awakens something within Eddie— something that had been sitting dormant but has now stirred from its slumber. A darkness. A line he had never crossed but he was so close to it now. He wanted to own you. He wanted you to belong to him… to be his and only his.

“Go on then, baby. He’s waiting.” He winks at you and your adrenaline shaken hands find the zipper of his jeans. Eddie’s thick bulge strains against the stiff denim and you chew on your bottom lip furiously as his long and full shaft springs from his boxer briefs.

Your mouth salivates at the sight and you look to him for permission, which Eddie gives, before you are popping his throbbing tip into the hot cave of your mouth. A vibration travels down Eddie’s cock and reaches his balls as you moan around him. He felt so good— so natural to have him in your mouth. Like sucking on your favourite treat.

“Fuck— that feels so good.” Dark curls spill onto the back cushion of the chair and Eddie’s hands fist your hair into a ponytail, guiding your slobbering mouth up and down the length of his aching cock.

Your mind was blank of anything except for Eddie’s body and the way he felt inside of you. He hadn’t even penetrated you yet and your panties were dampening with slick more and more with every passing bob of your head.

“Shit—“ Eddie seethes through clenched teeth, his hips rocking up to meet your sloppy movements and he punctuates each thrust with a rewarding moan. “I need to feel you.” It was abrupt, the way he ripped your mouth away from him— but you understood. You needed to feel him too. You hadn’t felt this desperate for anyone before; this sultry and seductive. This needy and submissive. You didn’t want this night to end.

You cant contain the soft pants that leave your throat, a mixture of excitement and arousal as you climbed onto straddle Eddie’s thighs. His body felt hard and masculine beneath your touch and you shivered at the way he laid a harsh spank to the meaty flesh of your ass.

“As innocent as you look, you really are just a dirty little slut, huh?” He slaps you again, this time harder than the last and you nearly collapse against his chest. Eddie laughs mockingly, forcing you to sit upright as his fingers plunge down into the soaking fabric of your panties.

You gasp, your already primed body becoming slippier as his fingers thrust softly into you— testing the waters.

“Such a wet pussy, all for me…” His fingers twitch inside of you and you release a sound which can only be described as a moan combined with a helpless whine. With his free hand Eddie rips your breasts from the confines of your bra, allowing the skin to spill free.

His tongue bathed your breast while he used his teeth, giving you peppered bites that shot pleasure through your body like a lightning bolt. He drew your coiled nipple into his mouth and he let his teeth roughly drag over the tip. You moaned loudly. He leaves your breast and looks up into your face.

“Tell me how badly you want my cock.” His voice is a clipped and cool demand.

“I want you to fill me up so bad. I need it, Eddie. Please… fuck, I want it more than anything.” Your hips grind against his fingers and your words must’ve struck Eddie in a pleasant way because before your brain has any time to catch up to his ever changing movements, his fingers are pulling your panties off to one side and his cock is teasing and toying with your dripping hole.

The eye contact between the pair of you was intense as Eddie’s entire length slowly slid inside of you. Your breathing catches in your throat at the stretch of him. Before long, Eddie settles inside of you and your eyes remain shackled to one another. Sex with a stranger shouldn’t be this intimate— so you screw your eyes shut.

Big mistake.

“Open your fucking eyes,” He snarls, his hand grabbing your throat harshly as he pulls your body down toward his, “I want you to watch me as I fuck you.” Your eyelids snap open and Eddie’s features are slack but intimidating as he looks at you. The feeling of being brutally and totally full was almost too much for you to stand. Too much for you to handle. He pulls back from you and begins to thrust.

“Wait—“ You plead and your hands find Eddie’s chest as you support yourself on top of him, “I just need a moment to adjust… you’re so big.” You squirm at the pulsing of your walls around Eddie’s shaft and he grins egotistically up at you.

“Perfect thing to say.”

He repositions his grip onto the back of your thighs, slowly readjusting himself beneath you and easing himself in and out.

“Okay,” you breathe with a soft nod, “You can fuck me now.”

Eddie sensed that your body was ready for his size and he then started to brutishly slam his body into yours. Unbelievably erotic sounds hit your ears as you feel and hear his hips slapping against yours. Sticky skin meeting sticky skin.

“Feels like someone is fisting my dick.”

“Wettest little pussy I’ve ever fucked, yknow that?”

“Shit, I could cum from just the sight of you.”

“Listen to that, baby. You hear how much your pussy is loving my cock?”

“Keep those stunning fucking eyes on me.”

Eddie’s deep grunts and moans mixed with his dirty commentary only heightened the erotica. You’re gentle to take his hand into yours, timidly welcoming two of his fingers back into your mouth as you bound up and down to meet the crack of his hips against yours. Eddie’s eyes gloss over from the view of you above him and his thrusts get snappier and more intentional. Harsher. Quicker. Deeper.

As his cock fucks your sweet hole, his fingers are busy fucking your mouth as well. He took note of how much you liked to have him in your mouth— no matter what part of his body that may be. Eddie got an inkling that this would be the first of many nights together. And he wasn’t mad at the idea— he was actually thrilled by it. It spurred him on.

“Rub your clit for me, sweet girl.” It was as if you were in a trance and the only thing you were able to do was obey Eddie’s every beckon and call. Your finger tips find your sensitive bundle of nerves and you sigh out in complete bliss at the euphoria that shocks up every vertebrae of your spine.

“That’s it, baby. I want you to cum so fucking hard. I’m getting so close— want you to cream all over my cock.”

The speed in which your fingers circled your clit increases and your eyes fight to stay open. You could feel the desperation punctuated in every one of Eddie’s quickened thrusts and you feel that familiar build coming to build in your tummy.

“Fuck— I’m gonna cum. Keep rubbing that clit, baby. You’re being such a good girl for me.” His tired pants fill the air and your mind whizzes and bubbles as you whine out loudly.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, of fuck!” Your mouth gapes open wide, mirroring the sweaty sex symbol below you and your eyes widen as your orgasm floods your every cell. Shaking your body from head to toe. You feel Eddie’s cock swell inside of you— causing your high to continue

“Shit!!” A yell breaks past Eddie’s swollen lips as his orgasm hits. You watch as his face contours as he cums inside of you. His eyes squint shut and his mouth is pulled into a grimace. The veins on his forearms bulk and tense. It was the sexiest thing you had ever fucking seen.

Your heart paced rabidly in your chest as you both breathed heavily, trying to control the heaving of your chests as you both came down. You’re relying on Eddie’s body to keep you from collapsing and Eddie is wise to this. His strong arms wrap around your body as he pulls himself out of you, bringing you to rest on his chest.

Too tired and sated to do anything else, you press yourself against Eddie’s bare and empty sack, grinding lightly down onto the tender flesh of his balls and the noise that leaves Eddie’s throat is indescribable.

You shoot up to look at him and it’s now your turn to smirk and it’s Eddie’s turn to flush a shade of bright red.

“Ignore that.” He coughs to clear his oesophagus, followed by a light hearted chuckle as you come to lay back against his limp body and a knowingness fills your mind.

This wasn’t just going to be a one night stand… and this wasn’t the last time you were going to be laying on top of Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson.

This was just the sweaty, sexy beginning.

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers @rainybloo28 @munson-enthusiast @godcreatoreli @littlefreckles4 @what-the-jams @tlclick73 @ameliapond1995 @thepurplelovewitch @somethingvicked @costellation-hunter @munsonzgf @emxxblog @ingridvasquez @sadbitchfangirl @im-julessssss @munsonburn3r @unclecrunkle @cierra222 @ziggeddie @yarafae @sidthedollface2 @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @purplewitchcauldron @jasminelafleur

[ebodebo]

Nuts And Bolts

—mechanic!ghost with psychologist!reader…MDNI

Stepping out of your office and onto the town's bustling streets, you admire the Christmas decorations the city has set up. But, it does nothing to settle your soured mood.

Simon and you had gotten into an argument the previous night, and you haven’t heard or seen him since. You assumed he went to his car garage to let off some steam, but, as his wife, why the hell were you left to wonder about your husband’s whereabouts?

To set the scene, it had been an ordinary night. You had gotten off work before Simon, so you thought you would prepare a nice dinner with a glass of red wine.

Simon swings open the door as you season some vegetables, dawning an unpleasant expression. You turned to face him, raising a brow.

“What’s the matter?” You ask, setting your tongs down to walk over to him. He simply shakes his head and heads straight for your shared bedroom.

You tilt your head and head straight towards the bedroom after him, unable to let him writhe in his agony alone.

“Simon.” You stand in the doorway, observing him as he sits on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t so much as spare you a glance, making you worry.

You make your way to him and sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “You want to talk about what you’re feeling?” You insist, making him finally look at you.

“Stop it.” He firmly states. Your eyes widen at his tone.

“What?” You ask, keeping your tone soft to avoid antagonizing him.

“You’re tryin’ to do that shit again.” He scowls, standing up to walk back through the bedroom door. You quickly follow suit as he continues.

“Trynna’ pick my brain.” He walks over to the liquor cabinet and grabs a bottle of whiskey.

“Like I’m a fuckin’ patient.”

“No. I—” You intently pause, thinking. “Okay, you seem upset, stressed even.” You watch him grab a glass and pour some whiskey into it.

“Alcohol isn’t a good way to cope.” You say, adopting your signature calm voice you use on your patients.

He laughs dryly, even though the burning amber liquid coated his throat.

“And, there you go again.” He sighed, looking up at you.

“I’m trying to help you, Simon.” You insist, reaching out to gently grab his forearm, though he quickly retracts from your touch.

He lets out another dry chuckle before setting down his glass and walking to the coat rack to grab his coat. You attempt to question his whereabouts, but he fills in the space first.

“I don’t need a shrink. I need my wife.”

And, with that, he left. Leaving you to stare helplessly at the front door, not knowing where you went wrong and not knowing where to go from there.

You recounted yesterday’s events in your mind all day today, even during patient sessions. You always left your personal matters at the door, but this was different because you were genuinely dumbfounded.

Even walking out of work, you still thought about the whole ordeal. However, your thoughts were absolved when you saw the familiar mechanic shop sign out of the corner of your eye. They would be closed about now, but, knowing Simon, he would still be there.

You walk into the garage part to see a body under a truck, working on it. You delicately press the little bell, you insisted he get, on the desk closest to the doors.

“We’re closed.” God, it had only been a day, but you missed his voice.

“Even for me?” You question, feeling a little shy. He paused his movements before scooting himself out from under the truck. Your eyes shamelessly glazed over his body, looking at what he was wearing: an old white shirt covered in grease and gray sweatpants with oil marks.

“No, not for you.” He stated, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he grabbed an old rag to wipe his hands clean.

You gave him a half-smile. “Been working overtime, I see?” You try to keep your tone playful, but judging by how he slightly frowns, you can tell your voice has defiled you.

“We should talk.” He stated, with almost a cringe on his face. You nod and sit on a chair adjacent to him as he leans on the hood of the truck he was working on.

“I’m sorry.” He sighs out, clearly disappointed in himself. “Was havin’ a shitty day and brought it onto you.” You look up at him and give him a frown.

“I’m sorry, too.” He snaps his eyes to yours, a puzzled expression taking over his face.

“For what?” You gently tug on your bottom lip before answering.

“For treating you like a patient and not my husband. It’s not fair to you.” You sigh, avoiding his gaze.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He lightly demands. You bring your head up and bring your eyes to lock with his.

“This isn’t your fault. I was bein’ a dick.” He walks over to you and reaches for your hand, which you grasp. He guides you from the chair so you’re standing before him, looking up at him.

“Are you gonna come home?” You softly question as he stares into your eyes, mentally kicking himself for making them look so sullen.

“Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.” He says, bringing his hand up to sweep a stray piece of your hair away from your face, leaning down to kiss your lips sweetly. You could feel your skin sizzle from only a slight touch, internally sighing as he pulled away to speak.

“Should get goin’ then.” He says, walking over to the truck's hood and gently slamming it shut. “Johnny’s gonna come check the exhaust.”

“When’s he coming?” You absentmindedly ask as you watch Simon slip off his white shirt, observing his toned body.

“Eh, half an hour.” He casually says, turning away from you to walk over to the cabinet to grab a clean white shirt.

“So, we’re alone?” You question, bringing your hands up to untie the front of your blouse.

“Uh, huh.” He agrees, still rummaging through the cabinets, back towards you. You hum a sign of approval as you open your blouse, then move to unclip your bra, your breasts spilling out as soon as you do.

He finally finds a clean shirt and turns toward you, eyes widening as he sees you, chest bare. Your pulse quickens as he stares, unsure of his thoughts. When he doesn’t speak for a moment, you start to lose the confidence you had garnered.

“Is it too much?” You shyly ask, starting to feel insecure. He can’t speak; his mouth has gone dry at the sight of you. He drops the shirt in his hand and walks over to you, bringing his hand up to trace the curve of your breast.

“Fuck.” He manages to get out as your breathing becomes more ragged and your pupils dilate at the sensation.

“It’s never too much.” He answers your earlier question, cupping the bottom of your breast, making you sigh. You bring your hands up to grip his shoulders as he caresses your breast.

He leans to press a hot kiss onto your lips as he rolls your nipple between his pointer and thumb, making you moan into his mouth. He roughly grips the back of your thighs and picks you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he hauls you over to the hood of the truck.

He hikes up your skirt and hurriedly connects his lips back to yours before kissing down your neck, gently sucking on the tender skin, making you whine. He sinks to his knees in front of you, bringing one hand up to grab ahold of your calf, raising it slightly so he can slip the heel off your foot.

Once he gets one heel off, his other hand drifts to your other foot, slipping the heel off as he plants kisses up your ankle, and calf, stopping at your mid-thigh before nipping at the pantyhose encasing your cunt with his teeth, making a tiny hole. He slightly raises his hands and uses his pointers to split the pantyhose further.

“Hey! Those were Falke.” You urge, referring to the German-made, almost three-hundred dollar silk tights he had soiled.

“I’ll buy you more.” He amends, gripping the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, slipping them down simultaneously. His cock immediately shot up, so visibly hard. You brought your hands to gently pump him up and down as his hands went to massage your tender breasts.

He groans at the contact, gripping your breast a little firmer. You moan at that contact, pulling his cock a little firmer.

“You’re killin’ me, baby.” He chokes out, gripping the back of your neck as he roughly kisses your lips. With your hands still on his cock, you gently pull him closer by it, making him hiss as you guide it to your slit.

“I need you in me.” You whine as he brings his hand to twirl in your hair. In one swift motion, he thrusts into you. You both groan at the swift contact, even throwing your heads back.

His movements continue; over and over again, he thrusts into you, making you dig your nails into his skin, desperate for stability. You knew you wouldn't last long and could tell Simon wouldn't either. It has been only been a God-damned day, and you ached for him. Nothing but him would suffice your craving.

“So, fuckin’ good, baby. So, fuckin’ good.” He gruffly repeated, making you clamp around him tighter until you felt that familiar all-consuming euphoria you had so ached for.

As you reached your peak, Simon followed suit, coming with your name on the tip of his tongue. You were both panting, even after both of your orgasms subsided. You looked up at him as he tied your blouse back so your breasts were concealed, bra be damned.

“You did good.” You praised as he reached down to pick up your abandoned skirt from the floor.

“Yeah?” He lightly laughed out, finding humor in your statement.

“Yeah.” You nod as he grips your waist and pulls you off the hood of the car.

“Can you walk?” He questions, his hands still on your waist to help steady you as he carefully slips on your skirt.

“No. Might need you to carry me.” You sigh as you bring your hand up to fake an anguished expression.

“Uh, huh.” He rolls his eyes, though they contain no actual annoyance, as he goes to pick you up bridal style.

“Let’s get you home, Drama.”

a/n: this is the pipeline i’m here for

ur honor i’m just a girl

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲 | 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶A deleted scene from chapter twelve where receptionist!reader acts like a bimbo in front of Eddie just to rile him up. Written very tongue-in-cheek at the beginning.✶

NSFW — sexual themes, handjob, unresolved sexual tension, 18+

↳ start the story here to catch up!

[wc: 2.1k]

Heeding your checklist of chores, you idled at the workbench against the far corner of the wall. There were a few of the usual things you organized: placing nuts and bolts in drawers, facing products with their labels out, tidying small boxes, folding the end of the paper towel roll so it didn’t unfurl itself in the turbulent path of the oscillating fan. You bent over to toss cellophane wrappers into the waste paper bin, and took your time musing if the liner should be changed despite the little amount of balled up paper weighing down the bottom. Standing, you swept off the unsanded tabletop with your hands, and worked a crusty rag over an oil streak, making a mental note to call the laundry service to swing by a day early.

As you stepped away, you knocked a pencil to the floor. Its bright yellow body was impossible to miss, along with its excruciatingly long hexagonal roll carried by your elbow to the very edge, but you managed. You knelt to your hands and knees to retrieve the writing utensil, inspecting its broken tip. The graphite was missing completely, leaving behind an empty hole where it once was. An unfortunate accident. You rotated it a few times looking for other flaws—an honorable way to spend your time.

“You doin’ this on purpose?” gruffed out an annoyed voice behind you.

No need to check, you heard the amused twist at the corner of his lips. His left canine was probably on show, too. Not in a hurry to confirm, you gripped the pencil in your fist, and leaned forward, stretching in search of the missing lead before it was stomped into dust and potentially transferred from someone’s boot sole into a wealthy client’s car. You were thinking of them, really.

The floor was a rewarding oasis in the noonday sun baking through the warehouse windows. Your flat splayed hands and knuckles worked over the grit of dirt to inch your pursuit closer to the wall, drinking in the chill of the epoxy coated concrete cooling you down better than a 50 cent clear plastic cup of Kool Aid at a kid’s misspelled lemonaide stand. Though, the unforgiving flooring bit into your joints, and indented your knees with the netting of your pantyhose. But Eddie’s study did not sway to your shoe slipping off your heel. No, he was a gentleman. And as a gentleman, he praised the wealth of curves you put on display.

He used the heels of his heavy boots to drag himself from under a Mustang, thumping up beside you, wheels on the creeper rolling along the slick floor.

The lower you dipped your chest, the higher your skirt hem tickled the back of your thighs. In total innocence—truly giving your best effort to find the missing pencil tip—you tilted your hips to unimaginable degrees, presenting your ass to the point even your lower back side-eyed your act.

Smooth backs of fingers lifted the hem more. Eddie curled his index under your skirt, and assisted it to the crease of your cheek, following the change in nylon with his rough thumbprint as it wove denser around your thighs to hold you in. Tummy Control, it was advertised as. To a man who had seldom encounters with women, this meant very little to him, as did the change in texture. Though, curiously, he rubbed at it with interest.

“You’re something else, you know that?” But his voice was too playful to shame you, hardly traipsing through his throat to chastise. “I’m out here working my ass off, and you’re struttin’ around the garage in this lil’ piece.” The little piece in question was your corporate approved pencil skirt from a long forgotten temp job when your apartment lost two roommates in a breakup, and rent was past due.

Pandering to your audience of one, you shuffled two of the tiniest inches backwards, and steadied your hand on his outstretched leg. You bent at the hips, filling his large palm with a handful of your ass, and he admired you in a brush of fingertips near the innermost valley of your thigh, licking a divine chill up your spine. Playing along, you pretended to just notice him, assuming a sinless gasp, and following it with many airheaded inflections, “Oh! Didn’t see you there, handsome. Am I distracting you?”

The standing fan swung its head in your direction, sweeping Eddie’s bangs off his forehead in a brief burst.

You’d been on hundreds of dates, and not once had you been so deeply complimented by someone’s gaze.

Eddie dwelled in the distraction. He stroked his thumb over the fat, and traced his pinky along the hypersensitive crease before the swell which had your muscles tightening in a squirm. He was so close to the middle seam of the pantyhose. Perhaps he knew this as well, but didn’t care—he was just happy to be touching you. Laid out in the neon orange creeper, sun glancing off the packed garage, casting a glow across his puffy face. Sleepy eyes, messy hair, unbearably adorable grin—the type of candid expression showing how honored he was to look at you, so forthcoming and open. A trap, if there ever was one, luring you into picturing him twisted amongst your bedding on a late morning.

As he tracked his gaze over your backside, an aching reminder moseyed its way into his consciousness. Setting into a glare, he forced his way through any pleasantness lingering in his chest to tell you plainly, “Sweetheart, you’re fucking torturing me here.” You giggled, and he broke, falling victim to the squinch at his crow’s feet.

“You think I’m not torturing myself, too?”

“Dunno.” He craned his head back to check underneath the car for where each pair of boots were moving, and you peeped through the driver’s side window to keep tabs on the seated customers in the lobby. Once you both ensured there was no danger of being caught, he turned his attention to you fully. “You’re not wearing my favorite pair, so I couldn’t tell.” In case you weren’t sure, he wrung his hand around your leg, and drummed his fingers where there should be an easily accessible hole in your tights, where he could drag his fingers through your slick truth. His sorry features were tainted with remorse when your plush thighs weren't spilling out from the nylon; however, he drew his eyebrows in mock sympathy, and traced the area. “Could make these my new favorite pair, though.”

You about melted into a puddle of dumbstruck glee at his first foray into initiating dirty talk. “Yeah?” you stressed the word like he would—big smile and all. You raised the placement of your grip on his leg up, further, still going until the inside of your thumb threatened to assist what laid fat and heavy towards his hip. Car exhaust, pungent motor oil, and fumes swam in your head. Mind dizzy, you skimmed your nails over his heavy sack pressed tight against the seam of his coveralls. An implied line was drawn along your heat by his featherlight touch. You leaned over him, real close, chest over chest, knees spread because his hand encouraged you to do so. Mouth to mouth, considering kissing the dirt from his lips. “Wanna rip ‘em, and have me on top while you’re on this thing?”

Eddie moaned, and it wasn’t shy in the loud garage. “Want it so fucking bad, baby.”

A single ding from the bell atop your desk drew your attention.

Bodies paused, you both existed in the indecision of what to do. Eddie’s forehead wrinkled from his high brows driving his attention backwards, peering under the car again. The other employees of David’s Auto Repair shuffled around a Studebaker. There was no one inside to help the customer. What a shame.

Eddie lowered his chin in long clockticks, seeking you behind his heavy lashes and heavier gaze. His nose met the side of yours in an unrefined graze, dragging his chapped lips wherever he felt your smile. He kissed you hungry. Needy, desperate to fit the magnitude of his palm at the back of your head, and dirty your mouth with noses mashed together. He wanted you messy, he wanted you catching your balance on the creeper for the same reason his held sigh became your next breath, taking a pinch of your pantyhose over your pussy and twisting it around his fist to demonstrate his annoyance, as if the dull ache of your bottom lip against his teeth wasn’t illustrative enough. The peak of your whine and his approving hum tethered the snap of your tights and the squeeze he left on your thigh. Filthy warmth blanketed the top of your hand. Stifling hot, calluses running rough over your knuckles as he cupped your palm over his hard length, and curled your fingers around himself, kicking his hips up to really stretch the limits of your grip. Together, he guided you in a few teasing pumps along the base, ego growing at the pretty sound hitched in your throat.

“Hey, Ed!” Mr. Moore’s yell burst the bubble you two surrounded yourselves in. “C’mere, ‘nd look at this.”

It wasn’t an emergency. It could wait. There were enough mechanics on duty, they could figure out what they were gawking at, or admiring, or whatever it was they were doing. That was the justification behind your shared look with Eddie, and the tension holding you two apart faded within seconds. If anything it spurred you on. You raked your fingers through his hair, mussing the roots at the crown of his head, covering the side of his body with yours, stroking his cock. The consequences didn’t matter. He increased the pressure and showed you how he liked it when you looped your thumb and index around the edge of his fat tip and pumped him faster—

Ding, ding, ding.

The kiss slowed from the distraction, but you tried to keep going, staying in the moment with Eddie’s praise burning your cheeks. He was eager, he was close. He was whispering, “Feels fucking good when you—yeah—like that,” when you added the twist of your wrist to the end of motion.

“Ed!” Mr. Moore’s voice ruined the moment. “Where’d he… And wasn’t she at her desk a second ago?”

Ding, ding ding!

Your foreheads crashed together in a defeated groan.

Eddie sagged completely limp on the creeper. “Why do you do this to me?” He dropped his arms in a big shrug, kicking his legs out flat, throbbing hard in your palm. You curbed the urge to keep going and dragged your fingers away.

“Hey, you’re the one who started this,” you sniffed, sitting back to fan your face in effort to make yourself presentable while he considered rolling under the car for the next eternity to hide his blazing red cheeks.

“I was a good worker before you came along,” he argued, pointing at you with a nail outlined in grime. He did it with such vigor his shoulders curled off the creeper, sitting up to give you a real good talkin’ to. “I never did this sorta shit with anyone before you showed up. You’re bad for me. You drive me crazy.” Not an ounce of anger dared enter his tone, not even having strength to control his smile from going lopsided, dimpling, nose scrunching in a badly contained laugh. Never would he want you to think he was mad at you, even as a joke. He was soft like that.

Eddie broke first, and that’s all you needed to kiss him against the black Mustang door, thud on the metal deadened by his nervous hand coming up to brush his curls flat.

“You drive me crazy too,” you promised against his lips. “Now, try not to cum your pants when I bend over to get this trash, and have fun explaining to the guys why you can’t stand up for the next few minutes.” You cocked your head, and smacked your tongue in a hard, “‘Kay?”

He glared at your smugness. Glared at your backside, too. Scowled at his grip formed around the swollen length rising so obvious no matter how he fixed his legs, and surrendered to the humiliation of laying back on the creeper, summoning enough dignity to roll himself to the other side where a gaggle of boots scuffed the ground in search for him, and give some excuse that he was very busy fixing something and wouldn’t be available for the foreseeable future.

originally thursday's section in chapter twelve was split into three separate scenes. i was almost finished writing the first two when i took the section in a different direction and mashed all the important elements into the scene in the breakroom which did make the cut. truthfully i had only written to eddie's line of "wanting it so badly" and they would've gotten interrupted at that point (before any touching), but since this isn't exactly canon, i went ahead and had fun and made it a little spicier.

you might also recognize some imagery, lines of prose, or descriptions i salvaged from this piece and put into the final one!

[thecaffeinatedwitch]

The Science Behind the Law of Assumption: Is It Backed by Psychology?

The Law of Assumption sounds almost magical, doesn’t it? Think it, assume it’s yours, and poof—your desires come to life. But let’s bring it down to earth for a moment: is there any real science behind this idea? Spoiler alert: yes, there is. While it’s not wrapped in cosmic glitter, psychology offers some solid evidence for how changing your assumptions can genuinely transform your reality.

So, let’s dive into the psychological nuts and bolts behind the Law of Assumption—and maybe crack a smile along the way.

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT): A Fancy Way of Saying “Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life”

CBT is a superstar in the psychology world. At its core, it’s based on the idea that your thoughts shape your feelings and actions. Sound familiar? It’s essentially the Law of Assumption in a lab coat.

Here’s how it works:

Negative Thought Loop: You think, “I’ll never be good at this,” which makes you feel anxious and unmotivated. Naturally, you avoid the task, and voilà—you prove your own assumption right.

Positive Thought Shift: In CBT, you challenge that belief: “What if I can do this?” That little mental shift changes your actions and eventually your results.

The Law of Assumption takes this principle a step further by saying, “Don’t just question your limiting beliefs—replace them entirely with assumptions of success.”

Example: Instead of “What if I could be confident?” assume, “I am confident.” Yes, it might feel awkward at first, but just like a new pair of shoes, it’ll feel natural the more you wear it.

The Placebo Effect: Proof That Belief Changes Reality

Doctors have known for ages that the placebo effect is real—and honestly, kind of mind-blowing. If you believe a sugar pill is medicine, your body can actually heal as if you’ve taken the real thing.

Think about that for a second. Your belief literally changes your body’s chemistry. Now apply that same concept to your life: if you assume success, love, or abundance is already yours, your brain and body start working in ways that align with that belief.

The Science-y Bit: Your brain releases neurotransmitters and hormones based on your thoughts. Assume positivity, and your brain produces feel-good chemicals like dopamine. That positivity influences your actions, which influences your outcomes. Boom—belief becomes reality.

Example: Assume you’re a charismatic speaker. Your confidence increases, and you speak with ease. People respond positively, reinforcing your assumption. Suddenly, you are that charismatic speaker.

Neuroplasticity: Your Brain, the Ultimate Shape-Shifter

Neuroplasticity is your brain’s ability to rewire itself based on repeated thoughts and experiences. It’s like Play-Doh—but, you know, way more sophisticated.

When you consistently affirm a new assumption, like “I am successful,” your brain builds neural pathways to support that belief. The more you repeat it, the stronger those pathways become, until it’s your brain’s default setting.

Think of it like this:

Repeating “I am successful” is like carving a trail in the woods.

At first, it’s slow-going, and you have to hack through some underbrush (a.k.a. your old limiting beliefs).

But the more you walk that path, the clearer and easier it gets. Eventually, it’s the brain equivalent of a six-lane highway.

Changing Beliefs = Changing Behavior = Changing Reality

Here’s where the science and the Law of Assumption truly align. When you change your internal beliefs, you naturally start to act differently. Those actions create new opportunities, relationships, and results in your life.

Example: If you assume, “I am deserving of love,” you’re more likely to set boundaries, seek healthy relationships, and radiate confidence. These behaviors attract the kind of love you’ve been looking for, and—voilà—you’ve manifested it.

But What About the Doubters?

Now, I hear you: “This sounds a bit too good to be true.” Fair enough. Change doesn’t happen overnight, and you can’t just sprinkle affirmations on your problems like fairy dust. The magic lies in consistency and persistence.

Think of it like working out: you don’t hit the gym once and wake up with six-pack abs. (If only, right?) You repeat the process until the results show. The same goes for your mindset.

So, The Law of Assumption isn’t just fluffy self-help jargon—it’s rooted in solid psychological principles like CBT, the placebo effect, and neuroplasticity. Sure, it might feel a little weird to assume you’re a millionaire when your bank account says otherwise. But science backs you up: your thoughts shape your reality, and with practice, your brain will believe what you tell it.

So, go ahead. Assume you’re living your best life. And if anyone raises an eyebrow, just smile and say, “It’s science.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieangstyaugust.

Different Lessons

Day #6: "Who did this?" | Word Count: 3300 | Rating: T | CW: Death of a Parental Figure, Grief & Loss, Language, Smoking | Tags: Future Fic, Established Long-Term Steddie, Hurt/Comfort, Beloved Uncle Wayne, Life Goes On, Even If You Don't Know How

It's all still here. 

Eddie stands there, hand resting on the light switch, and he doesn't know why that surprises him so much. Of course it's all still here. Where else would it go? If he didn't move any of it, and Steve didn't move any of it, well, Wayne definitely didn't. 

Not now. Not ever again. 

Eddie looks around the large shop down the gravel road, beyond the house. He didn't understand why they were building it. Not at first. Wayne worked like a dog for decades in that goddamn factory. Why would he want to continue to work in a shop during retirement? How could that possibly be fun? But Steve assured Eddie that this was different.

Making, creating, building for the love of it, was, in fact, different from manual labor for a paycheck.

They kind of looked the same to Eddie, but if Steve and Wayne both said so, well, who was Eddie to argue?

So, the land was cleared. Leveled. And a quonset building went up. Metal, rounded, and fucking huge. With big, handmade wooden barn doors installed. And a smaller, regular-sized door next to it that Eddie was tasked with painting. He was pretty sure that was just to keep him out of the way, but he chose red and painted it, and standing here looking at it today, he realizes it could use a fresh coat. 

Wayne and Steve built the barn doors themselves. Wayne taught Steve as they worked, patient and willing to answer all of his questions, as Eddie sat on the workbench, taunting them. Being annoying, he's sure. But the doors still got made, and now they're gorgeous, sanded, stained and finished. 

It took all of them to hang them. Wayne and Steve, Eddie. Gareth, Jeff and Goodie. Everybody working together to ease them onto the tracks, hoping like hell that they'd fit and work for fuck's sake once they were up there, after all that trouble.

They did fit. And they still glide like goddamn butter, so much so that Eddie can't believe Wayne and Steve made them with their own hands.

Everything in here has Wayne's fingerprints all over it. The machinery he rigged to work just the way he wanted. The coffee mugs that never seemed to make it back to the house. Now being used as pencil holders, or sorters for nuts, bolts and screws.

It's home, in here. Sure, the house up the road is home, too. But this feels different than that. 

This was Wayne's space. All his own. 

Eddie isn't religious, but this is his sanctuary now.

Because the shop is exactly the same as it was the day Wayne died in it. His last coffee mug is still on the window ledge. Liquid long evaporated, only the dark stains inside the porcelain proving that it was once there, once used. 

That Wayne was once there, using it. 

His cheaters are on the counter. And the bench. And a pair hanging from the coveralls pocket. Cheap drugstore reading glasses he needed to see anything up close. Eddie would tease, and Wayne would reassure Eddie that his day was coming.

It hasn't, not yet, but if it does, apparently he has a stockpile of glasses to choose from.

Eddie looks around, and it looks like Wayne'll be right back. Like he stepped out, just for a minute. 

Not forever. 

Eddie knows he won't be back, he knows, but it still feels like he'll come back any day now. Like it's all just waiting for his inevitable return. 

Like Eddie is still waiting for his return, because anything else is unfathomable. He can't be gone. Not when Wayne's stuff is all right here, just where he left it.

But no. He is gone, and there's not even any ghosts lingering, just his stuff. This is just a shrine that was accidentally left behind in his departure. 

The motor of the bass boat is up on a worktop, half broken down, torn apart. He doesn't know how to fix that, and he supposes Steve doesn't either. Is it destined to just sit there, just like that? In limbo? Forever?

That boat was a splurge, a want, not a need, and Eddie was happy Wayne decided to get something that he wanted, just for himself. 

After a lifetime of sacrificing for Eddie, Eddie just wanted to pay him back in any way he could. 

A boat, a home, anything at all. 

Eddie damn well knows the town likes to whisper behind their backs. Like Eddie is aimless, shiftless. The weird, queer freak that was incapable of flying the coop. Incapable of growing up. 

The one that somehow brought the Harrington boy down with him.

That they were flitting around, no jobs, living off the old man. 

That's not true, of course. 

Yeah, they were traveling around the world, fixing problems that came from beneath. Whispered secrets, unknown horrors, with very few explanations.

Experts in a field Eddie wished they knew nothing about. 

Hawkins has forgotten. Eddie hasn't been allowed to, not ever.

But maybe they were right, in some ways. Eddie still doesn't feel grown up. But they acted like his relationship was somehow less, just because Wayne was living under the same roof. 

But it was more. 

Eddie knows that. Having these extended years with Wayne, extra years that Eddie hadn't been promised, was good for all of them. 

Eddie loved having him here any time they came home. And he thinks Steve did, too. 

Wayne stayed with the house while they worked, sometimes going job to job for months at a time. Living out of suitcases. But he was always waiting here for them to return. Home. 

Wayne was home. 

And now Eddie's home has left him. 

Eddie misses him desperately. There's a gaping, bleeding hole in his heart, and in their home. 

Wayne's last pack of cigarettes sits on the wooden worktop, six of twenty remaining. Eddie has counted, and re-counted, without moving them. They're right next to a notepad and pen, and Eddie wonders if this was the last thing Wayne ever wrote. It means nothing to Eddie, just shorthand chicken scratches, measurements for something, a rough design plan, maybe? It doesn't matter. Except it does matter to Eddie. They're important because they were Wayne's thoughts, put to paper for a later date that would never come.

Eddie reaches up and runs his hands along the worn coveralls, hanging on a hook. One of several identical pairs. He died in another, that and his work boots.

Dying in your work boots and your worn coveralls isn't a bad way to go, all things considered. That's what Wayne always said.

There are worse things in life than death.

And:

I'll die with my boots on.

Both premonitions, it turns out, and painfully true. 

Steve and Eddie on the road, a message from Gareth waiting at the next checkpoint, telling them to come home. Now.

There are worse things in life than sudden, swift death. Here and gone. No suffering. One breath you're fine, and the next you're just not here anymore. Eddie's experienced both. His mother's long, drawn out death. The anticipation, the suffering, the anxiety.

And now, the opposite. 

Even if Eddie wasn't here. Even if he missed it. Even if Wayne died alone, with Eddie and Steve several states away. Eddie'll still take that option, if he gets to choose. He'll go like Wayne. Just blinking out, no fanfare. Wayne's death, exactly how he lived. Quiet, alone, and independent as fuck up until the exact moment he headed off into the sunset.

Eddie doesn't know where Wayne is now. 

Probably nowhere, Eddie thinks. Besides the ground.

Steve thinks otherwise. Steve's an optimist, though. 

Eddie often wonders what the fuck that's like? He's just too self-sabotagin' for that ever to be true for him. They go into jobs the same way, Eddie pessimistic and looking at all the bad. He wants to hear the worst of it. But Steve's beside him, ever optimistic, looking at the good. At the hope.

They make a good team, a good balance. Always have.

This was meant to be their house. Wayne was just keeping it company until they were ready to settle down. That was the excuse to get his stubborn ass into it, anyway. 

Eddie's ready now. There's no place like home is fucking true. The rest of the world holds no luster for him now, not anymore. The shine dulled and tarnished.

But, home?

At home, it's all still here.

And Eddie's just filling the spaces around it all. Around everything Wayne left behind. Absorbing it into himself. Into his bones. Wayne's stuff getting pushed to the back of the medicine cabinet. His clothes shuffled to the back of the closet. 

But still here.

There's room enough for all of it.

The phone rings. The red one. Eddie doesn't answer. He's not leaving home, not yet. Maybe never again. 

He's really sorry that the rest of the world has problems that maybe they could help fix.

Right now, Eddie can only try to fix himself. 

Eddie hears the saw. On, then off, then on again. The high-pitched whine of it.

When he rounds the side of the house, those beautiful barn doors are thrown wide open. Steve's leaning over a table, noting measurements. Scribbling with a pencil, one of the big rectangle ones, that won't roll away.

Referencing back and forth to another set of papers. 

He's got on a backwards cap, one of Wayne's from the wall inside, Eddie's pretty sure. 

Ear protection. Eye protection.

Carhartt overalls, and a plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Eddie's sure it's one of Wayne's that worked its way up from the back of the closet. 

Things are starting to get moved, here and there. Used again. Time marching on.

If Wayne could see Steve now, he'd be proud. Eddie knows it. Even if once, he was sure Wayne thought Steve was a goddamn yuppie like the rest of Harringtons. But Wayne learned just how goddamn tough Steve is, fast. Eddie slung over a shoulder, Steve marching him back from hell. Alive. Somehow.

And that's all it took. Wayne loved Steve, and over time, loved him just as much as he loved Eddie, Eddie's pretty sure. 

He misses Wayne, and he knows Steve does, too.

They both feel closer to him here.

Eddie thought he'd have more time. A lot more. He should have listened more, learned more. He should have helped build those doors. 

But he didn't. Wayne taught him different lessons. How to play the guitar. How to do the nightly crossword. How to survive.

Wayne taught Steve others. 

And where Eddie's done it in the house, Steve's filled the spaces around the things left behind in the shop. 

Eddie puts down the lemonade, poured into a familiar mug, right next to the pack of cigarettes that are gathering more sawdust, and waits. Doesn't want to startle Steve, though, if Eddie knows Steve, he already knows Eddie's there.

It's his job to not be snuck up on. 

Eddie notices the boat motor has been moved. 

The sawing stops, and Steve comes over to him.

"Who did this?" Eddie asks. "What are you doing with it?"

"I moved it. Goodie's coming tomorrow. Thinks he can fix it," Steve answers, then he's downing a big swallow of lemonade. It's just from the canister, but made extra strong, just like Wayne taught him. 

Goodie is good with motorcycle engines. Eddie doesn't know if that translates to boat motors or not. But what can it hurt to let him try? It's just been sitting here, waiting for Wayne to pick up where he left off, which is never gonna happen.

The next night, Goodie and Steve are leaning over it, heads together. They've been tinkering all day. Thinking they've got it, putting it into a five gallon bucket of water to test run, and then shaking their heads when it refuses to fire up.

Eddie watches it all through the big, open doors. Gareth is poking at the firepit. Jeff cooking on the grill. Kids and spouses hanging out, playing or talking.

His family is here, just. It's not everyone, there's still a missing piece. And there always will be, now. It's a hurt that settles deep in his chest, and he knows he'll have to carry it there forever right next to the loss of his mother.

He hears the motor rev to life and Steve and Goodie are screaming in delight that they finally fucking did it, and Eddie smiles. 

Maybe they'll take the boat out this weekend. 

Eddie uncovers the boat, and it's another time capsule under the tarp, one he hadn't considered existing. Fishing poles, still baited with hooks and lures. Empty cans, dead leaves.

Another pack of cigarettes. He laughs, and pockets them. One shrine is enough. These? Maybe these he'll smoke. 

They take off across the lake, getting up to speed. The wind is rushing through Eddie's hair, and when they slow to turn, Eddie cups his hands, and lights one of Wayne's cigarettes. 

Breathing deep. 

Then, coughing. 

It's stale, and tastes bitter.

Thankfully, Steve and Goodie can't hear him, as he tries to expel it all in an unattractive fashion. 

He hasn't smoked in years, and his lungs are protesting. He laughs, and just holds it in his hand, and enjoys the ride. 

Gareth and Jeff are on the shore, waiting their turn, but are also the rescue crew if the motor fails mid-lake. 

Eddie can swim to shore, has done it once before in this lake, but would really rather not repeat the experience. 

The motor sings, and when they pull up to the dock, Steve and him get out, letting Goodie take the others out on the water. 

"Smoking again, are you?" Steve asks. But there's no judgment. Steve never judges him, somehow. Even Eddie judges himself. That Steve doesn't is a miracle. 

"Not well," he admits, sliding the pack back into his shirt pocket. Where he just might carry them from now on. Over his heart. 

One pack watching over Steve in the shop, one pack watching over him, everywhere else. 

"Boat's running good," Eddie offers and Steve smiles. 

Steve drapes his arms over Eddie's shoulders, leaning up against him, hands resting on Eddie's chest. Over his heart, hugging him from behind. 

Steve tells him all about the motor. What they fixed. What they can still fine-tune. 

Then.

"I miss him," Steve says. 

And yeah. That's the long and short of it. 

"Me too." 

Winter comes, and Eddie glances out the kitchen window, spotting Wayne splitting wood. 

The thought is fleeting, painful, and it sucker punches him when he hadn't seen it coming. He grips the edge of the sink, fingers digging in, as he doubles over, trying not to cry. 

When he looks again, it's not Wayne at all. 

It's Steve. 

Ax in hand, the heavy Carhartt coat on his back. Eddie's not sure if it's actually Wayne's coat, or just something that he associates with Wayne so strongly, that it feels like it's his. 

When Steve hauls the logs in later, Eddie holds the door open for him.

After he's done, Steve shrugs out of the coat, face red from the cold. 

Eddie just stares at him. 

When did Steve grow up? They were just kids a second a go, Eddie's sure of it. But Steve's going gray at his temples, and he's not old, but he is all grown up. 

That means Eddie must be, too. 

Wayne's gone. His mother's gone. Fuck knows about his dad. 

He suddenly realizes he's the older generation, and the thought of that is suffocating. He still feels like he needs to look for real adults, and now there's nobody left to turn to for guidance. 

Steve is an adult. 

So, Eddie pretends he is, too. 

The red phone rings again. And again. 

Steve finally unplugs it from the jack, and unscrews it from the wall, shoving it into the closet, on top of a box of Wayne's old boots. 

They can always plug it back in. 

Just. Not today. 

Today, the guys are coming over to jam. They've been doing that more and more since Eddie's been home. 

They will never be anything except what they are. A middle-aged Midwestern garage band. Comprised of a relucant monster hunter. A lawyer. A mechanic. A loan officer. 

Best friends. Still. All these decades later. 

Steve is in the shop, the heater red hot, and Eddie had dragged down Wayne's easy chair from the house with Gareth's help the other day, so now he can sit in front of the heater and read while Steve works. He rocks gently, his foot pushing off of the dirty floor to keep him in constant motion.

He feels better moving, always has, and this rocking soothes that part of him well. Especially since his whole life has come to a standstill. 

All the noise Steve's making is a comfort, familiar. It's a hug. A hello. 

An echo, still ringing through the night. 

Eddie can dig in the back of the closet, too. Tonight, he's wearing a heavy, buffalo check flannel coat. It's worn on the sleeves and collar, but Eddie swears it still smells of cigarettes and Wayne's cologne. 

His cologne is still in the bathroom in the house, his cigarettes are still on the table, out here. 

Still six in the pack. 

He's everywhere, and nowhere, all at the same time.

Steve comes over holding up a piece of wood, holding it up, showing it off. 

Eddie's not sure what it'll be, but he smiles encouragingly. 

Steve smiles back and then leans down, kissing him. It's quiet, this life they've decided to live. Too quiet, sometimes. But Eddie's happy.

He wasn't sure he would be again, but here he is, with Steve. 

At home.

It's peaceful.

And this becomes their new routine. Eddie sits, Steve works, and the winter wind blows against the shop. 

Tonight, Eddie must have dozed off, because he jumps when Steve touches his arms. 

"C'mere. It's done," Steve says. 

"What's done?" Eddie asks, but he takes Steve's offered hands, getting pulled to standing. 

In the back there's something with a drop cloth thrown over it. 

Steve is giddy, and it's contagious, "What is it?" 

"For you, I think. If you want it," Steve says, as he yanks the sheet off. 

It's a cabinet. A hutch. Like for storing the fancy dishes. 

Okay. 

"It's pretty," Eddie says, because it is. "Who did this? You? Wayne?"

Steve squats down and plugs it in, "Both of us."

When it comes to life, backlit and beautiful, there are heavy hooks inside instead of shelves. 

"For your guitars," Steve says, grinning. "It took me a few tries to decipher his plans. I got some things wrong. And I probably did things differently than he would hav-" 

Eddie cuts him off, kissing him. Hands grasping Steve's back. Holding him tight. 

When Eddie pulls back, he knows he has tears in his eyes. He doesn't care. 

"You really did this?" 

"Well. It was Wayne's idea, I just interpreted the plans I found," Steve says, and Eddie pulls him close again. Clinging to him. 

He loves it. He never expected to get something from both of them, not ever again. 

"Thank you," Eddie says, and he's talking to Steve. 

And to Wayne. 

Wherever he is, or isn't. 

Eddie may never get that answer, despite solving so many mysteries for other people. 

But, right now? It doesn't feel that mysterious at all. 

He's still here. 

In the shop. In all the things that live here in their home. In Steve.

In Eddie's heart. 

In all of it.

Always. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieangstyaugust and follow along with the fun angst! 😭

Notes: I saw this tiktok the other day and cried. Then it manifested itself here, because the truth of it needed to be jotted down. Also inspired by Bass Boat by Zach Bryan. And his Pink Skies, too. It's been my sad song album this past month.

[thesorcerersapprenticeu]

Chapter 8: Crushed

Summary:

The moment has come, the beginning of the trauma, and that's all anyone needs to say. Well, well, well! A D-D-D-D double update! Feel free to check out the chapter of my "Hold on" story, at least anyone who might be interested.

Notes:

I don't want to say too much, after all I've had far too much to do, but here it is. The beginning of all evil, the bearer of all trauma, and all because of you and Powder. Enjoy reading, and feel free to leave a comment and Kudos!

---

You had already forgotten that the people from above, from Piltover, always called Zaun a shithole. Not exactly forgotten, you just tucked it away somewhere in the back of your mind, along with the rest of your life's information, before you were down here with Vander and the others.

However, you often remembered them, your real family. You always asked yourself "What are they doing today?", your siblings and your parents. Maybe they've become scientists, your siblings, and are now doing research at the Academy or somewhere else.

But you didn't care whether your parents ever really looked for you.

Normally you would not care, you are quite sensitive and had hoped for it at the beginning. The Undercity was cruel at first, dangerous and even the air was a risk for you. In the early days you probably would have planned an escape, but there was something.

You were not alone.

Powder and Vi, Claggor and Mylo, they were just as hopeless cases as you that Vander had taken in. You and the sisters spent the first few nights in the same room, while you were turned to the wall, playing dead, Vi kept trying to strike up a conversation.

You only answered when Powder tried. You don't know exactly why, but you had a bond with her because she was like you.

But although you got on better and better with everyone, you never really stopped thinking about Piltover. The mistakes of your past still haunt you like a shadow, every step a memory and every breath a mistake.

And what was going on now?

Vi. Was. Way.

While you're sitting in bed in the basement with Powder, she with the Bunny in her hand and you with a book, Claggor and Mylo seem to be planning something. They're running around in a panic, putting things on the table and literally screaming. You hear something about "enforcers" and an "attack".

But it probably wouldn't come to that anyway. While you continue to relax and try to compare your spellbook with the notebook from the Academy of this Jayce Talis, something happens.

"Well, if the enforcers hit tonight, we'll be ready..."

Your gaze goes across the room, along Powder's silhouette, hugging the Bunny tightly and listening to them. Then it hits the table with weapons on it.

Surely they'll never be able to fight the Enforcers with that? Especially because of the armor, you need something stronger.

 You look at the table again as your hand seemingly automatically picks up the Enforcer gadget in your coat pocket. What lies on the table in front of Mylo and Claggor, and their hope against the Enforcers, is almost embarrassing.

Vanders gauntlets, a wooden bat, a glass bottle, a key? Mylos lockpick? And a small array of nuts and bolts?

"Dibs on the Bat." Says Claggor as he points to the table.

You won't win a single battle with that! They're not seriously going to pull that off, are they? And anyway, where is Vi?

"No no no no, I found it."

"But I called it."

"I found it"

"Respect the dibs, I called it already."

While the two of them continue their unnecessary discussion, you are more worried about Powder and Vi. As you watch, Powder tries to hold back tears with her beautiful blue eyes, something you've been doing for the last two hours. She gently strokes the bunny's head and looks in your direction, your eyes increasingly deciding to let a few tears flow.

Where is Vi? Has something happened to her? Was she perhaps taken by the Enforcers? Damn! Normally she always comes back!

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the door is ripped open. Your mind can barely follow as Powder jumps out of bed and runs over, blocking your view. It was Vi, you're very sure of it.

""Where's the -" She's cut off as powder charges into her, holding her tightly. She had a huge smile on her face as she hugged her sister. Actually, you would have run right in with Powder, hugging Vi and feeling safe. But something is wrong.

Why is she alone? Where is Vander? Where did she come from, and why does she have that look on her face?

Vi appeared distressed, worried and fearful all at the same time. She trembles slightly and you can literally see the shiver following her. Something must have happened to affect even a strong person like her. It looked like she had scars in her eyes, scars that reflect the trauma that happened, and that's what's important now.

Vi takes a deep breath, and as you analyze it, she does her best not to cry in front of Powder. She shakes her head slightly, and walks over to the table where the 'weapons' are. But unlike Mylo and Claggor, you saw right away that she was damn serious. It was that look again, where it looked like she had a fire in her eyes that wouldn't stop at anything or anyone. Your suspicions were confirmed even more when she suddenly reaches for Vander's Gauntlets, which also caught Mylo's attention.

"Hey. Those are Vander's. Slown Down- What's going on?"

The room is dead quiet, not even the wind can be heard. Your own thoughts circulate around Mylo's question, Vi's strange behavior must have a reason after all, but what reason was so bad that she would reach for Vander's gun.

You look to Powder, unlike you, she seems to have understood something. The look of sadness and worry in her eyes tells you that Vi probably doesn't want to talk about it, so it's pretty damn bad.

Vi looks up, and you immediately notice that despite her seriousness, the fire in her eyes was no longer there. She answers in a low voice, looking down slightly and almost frightened.

"Benzo's dead"

What? I must have misheard. Benzo? Vander's friend Benzo? Why? How? Who?

The tension is at an all-time high, nobody can believe what they have just heard. No one is looking at anyone, no one is talking, no one is breathing and no one is moving even a little bit. It's surreal to think that just a moment ago there was such a warlike, loud atmosphere here.

Claggor, who seems to be wondering the same thing as you, breaks the tension like a hot knife through butter. But not as sad and distraught as you or Powder, no, he answers Furious.

"Dead?"

"They took Vander."

While Vi looks away, apparently out of frustration at not having been able to help, Mylo now also gets involved.

"Who took Vander?"

Vi shakes her head, it looks like she wants to do it alone, either she has a score to settle or there's a lot more to it than that.

"I don't know, but I need to help him."

Mylo responds directly to her statement without wasting a second. It's as if he hadn't even heard her, but one thing was apparently clear to everyone:

"We're going with you."

Vi, looks around. One look at the weapons, another at you, and especially one at you. Her gaze softens for a moment as she looks from you to Powder, but then something seems to come back to her. Her gaze becomes serious, almost set and already fighting.

"Whatever killed Benzo...was like noting I've ever seen. It tore him apart"

Impossible. Not even Vander could tear a man like Benzo apart, that much strength would be beyond his body. Unless the person doesn't count as human, maybe something like a drug to go beyond the human limit?

But who would create such a drug? Or more importantly, why? Why did they kill Benzo but take Vander? Do they want Vander...

You follow Powder's gaze on Vi's fist as you continue to think, slowly the pieces of the puzzle fall into place and the decision seems clear: another riot. Led by Vander back then, this one to be led by monsters or fully drugged humans? And probably also by Vander, but this time even more dangerous than then.

Claggor, standing behind her, places his hand on her back in a comforting manner. He also looks quickly around the room, especially at Mylo, and starts talking.

"You're not doing this alone, Vi."

Mylo, who quickly stands next to them, wraps one of his arms around Vi and continues to cheer her up.

"He's our father too. And our friend. Do you know where they took him?"

They continue talking, but too quietly for you to hear properly. You quickly wipe away your tears with your sleeve and put your two books in the pockets of your coat. At the same time you keep a strong grip on the enforcer gadget, you would certainly need it, after all it has already proven once how useful it is with the rotation.

Powder runs past you, at a small crate that was filled to the brim with inventions. She quickly grabs out a couple, as many as she can carry, and walks slowly in Vi's direction.

Vi doesn't look at her, as reaches down and takes one of Vander's gauntlets, puts it in a bag with a few other weapons and swings it over her shoulder,

"The old cannery, near the docks. He said..."

She doesn't finish the sentence, walks slowly in your direction and you panic. Her serious look as she slowly walks to your bedside scares you about the whole situation. You slowly realize the gravity of the situation, with Benzo's death and Vander's imprisonment, everything will now come to an end.

Vi doesn't look down at you, she kneels down and looks you in the eye. She looks at you, the little frightened boy, in such a way that you feel the calmness behind her behavior; the pure patience to solve the whole situation without leaving problems behind. What would you do for good? Could you do anything at all with your rather tiny power?

"Y/N...I know you want to help...prove yourself." Her voice is soft as it meets your ears, as are her eyes and features, all of which are comfortingly soothing. But you don't understand what exactly she's hinting at until a few seconds later.

Why doesn't she want me around? Does she see me like Mylo, just as a burden? Or am I not worth saving Vander? Why? Why Vi?

"I -

"And Powder...I'm gonna need you to sit this one out." She sighs, but no matter how calmly Vi says it, the meaning remains the same.

Powder's entire expression falls, you see how she breathes faster and barely holds the inventions. It's all about to collapse. Then Powder takes a furious stance, raises her eyebrows and responds according to her feelings.

"What?!"

"You're not coming. "

"I'm not afraid! "

"It's too dangerous. "

"But families stick together. You said it yourself."

"I know what I said."

"But-!" Powder stops her angry replies for a moment, turning to the bed and dropping her eyes to your form. She sees you, looking not only sad, but disappointed, as well as her. For a moment she sees your tears, threatening to flow because of the realization, but you say nothing, which pushes her further. "We Want to Fight! We can help, Me and Y/N-

"You're NOT Ready!"

Silence fills the room again. As a shock runs through you and Powder at Vi's statement, Vi takes a step towards her. You can't process it, it feels like time has stopped for a moment, the fact that Vi thinks neither you nor Powder can do anything to help hurts more than anything. It was like back then with your parents and siblings.

"You and Y/N, you're all I have left. I can't lose you"

Then why are you leaving us alone?

It hurt, a deep ache in your heart that runs through your whole body and makes your bones brittle. You notice the tears slowly streaming down your cold face, leaving a feeling of warmth that seems too short and too foreign.

You get up, walk closer to Vi and stand right next to Powder, who looks at you with tears in her eyes. But somewhere inside both of you was the urge to prove yourself, to finally show them that you're not just dead weight.

Vi takes her hand off Powder's cheek, where she has just been wiping tears, which has only made it worse. She reaches into the bag and pulls out a flare, which she gives to Powder with the instruction:

"Here. If they for you both, take this and run. Wherever you are, light it up and I'll find you. I promise."

Powder's hands reach for the object, she turns to you and you both look down at Vi's promise. She puts her forehead against her sisters. They embrace for a moment, one with tears in her eyes and the other with a look of pure determination.

Then, to you. She goes down again, wraps her arms around your back and hugs you like a cuddly toy. You hug Vi too, continue to cry quietly and don't really want to let go. But before she lets you go, you look at Powder again, which Vi sees, and whispers something in your ear.

"Protect her."

With that, she leaves, Claggor and Mylo behind her and right by the stairs. As she closes the door, she takes one final glance through the small gap, looking at it as if her heart would break. You and Powder are literally devastated with tears in your eyes as you look at her.

But that's exactly what they have to do to protect you.

And with a final glance, she is gone.

<hr> </hr>

Everyone was gone, only you and Powder were left in the room. Like pets left behind without use, you were to stay there while the others freed Vander, without you.

That's so unfair. Why are they all going without us? Why always the two of us?

Powder was sitting up in bed again, but was completely upset. Tears streaming down her cheeks, a suitcase was open next to her, with Vi's Bunny doll sitting inside, the Crystals in the doll's arms.

Powder's whole life had just been turned upside down, her sister was away with her bigger 'brothers'. And she was here, with you, but completely useless according to the others. Just as useless you two always were on the jobs Vi picked up somewhere, just as useless when there were heavy things to carry, just as useless as when Benzo died and just as useless as when Vander was taken away.

We can help in other ways, can't we? While they somehow distract the people holding Vander captive, we can free him. We can help... We can...

Your thoughts are circling around each other, while you haven't moved a bit. You look like a mental patient, still standing in the exact same spot as the last time Vi looked through the door. The only difference now was your head, which was much lower than before, and your face.

Your face was absolutely blank. A serious look, huge eyes that showed nothing but anger and fear and an aura that you had never had before in your life.

The Situation is breaking you down to your core, breaking your character in the worst possible way to annihilate the toxic traits you have. Your stubbornness, fear of weakness and self-destructive behavior were always going to catch up to you, sometime.

It is our fault. It is our fault, because we are weak, because we couldn't defend Vander, because even though Vander was Captured, he is still stronger than me and Powder combined. Can we ever help?

Powder keeps crying, and even though it hurts like hell to hear her like that, you won't be able to do anything about it anyway, why should you? you're weaker than anything else in this damn world.

A monkey's head suddenly flies across the room, bounces off the wall and hits the floor, where the situation slowly gets your attention. Still, the monkey toy doesn't stop and clapping is cymbals together as it spun in a circle. Powder screams louder, but you don't stop her, your mind is in too much of a storm right now for that.

You can still hear her crying, screaming and whispering. She seems overwhelmed, her own sister has rejected her, it was the worst thing she's ever had to endure. She stands up quickly as you slowly look in her direction, grabbing the suitcase and holding it over her head.

Normally you would either say something or think something when you see it, but your mind is completely blank.

The monkey stops, and the only thing you hear in the room is Powder's ragged breathing. Then she drops to her knees, drops the suitcase and watches the Little Blue Crystals fall out. Your eyes follow the Little Crystals as memories from the apartment come flooding back. The magic you felt back then and the huge power of the gems.

The Explosion Crystals? She still has them?

Apparently the memories wash over Powder, the Crystals on the floor spark out something minimally like electricity, and she has grown huge eyes. The crying stops, the sudden breathing stops, and the only thing that remains is a path. The path that will now change everything.

She turns around, meets your eyes with hers and hastily begins to speak.

"We-!" She stops for a moment, bends down and packs the Crystals into her small hip pocket. Then she runs a hand skeptically through her hair, which was now in front of her face and completely disorganized. "We can help them!"

What is she up to? Does she want to follow them? What are we supposed to do with the Crystals to help them? Wouldn't they destroy the whole cannery?

"If we bind these to the monkey, we can send him to the bad guys and..." She takes a deep breath, lets her cheeks swell and holds her hands in front of her face. Then she moves slightly closer to you, your eyes still focused on her face. "Boom."

"Are you...sure about that?" You were afraid, the previous anger was gone and it left you feeling empty. But you couldn't think logically about the power of the crystals right now. "What if they hit us?"

"That won't happen! " It was funny to think that she was crying a minute ago, but now she seems so full of energy. "Come on we can do that...just you and me."

Maybe it was the warm feeling in your stomach that made you turn the corner and join in. Or maybe it was the feeling of having to prove yourself that was suddenly in the foreground for both of you, especially after Vi left you here.

"Protect her"

You feel lightly at the pockets of your cloak: your spellbook, the notebook from the apartment and the Enforcer Rotation Gadget. Everything you needed was there.

And with one look into Powder's eyes, you could see that the previous sad, abandoned look had changed. There was a fire in her eyes, a blue that seemed just like her Sapphire colored eyes...Pure Determination. But here, where it was all or nothing, it was a Dark Determination that put everything at stake.

With that you nod.

"Okay...Let's go then!"

And with that, you were on your way to pure ruin, which will change everything forever.

<hr> </hr>

Powder knew exactly where the Cannery was. But to get there, you had to take the path she suggested, not the normal one. There seemed to be something like a warehouse right next to it, but how you got there... You had to crawl through a tunnel.

But it was the safest way, well, safe in the sense of no people. But if you look at the huge walls you crawl past, everything seems useless in terms of safety. A bad feeling slowly lines up in your stomach, something, something bad is going to happen.

Powder continues to crawl in front of you while she keeps one hand on the waist bag, you keep one on the Rotation Enforcer gadget for safety.

While it goes on, however, your mind is already thinking ahead, for all purposes.

They will definitely encounter opponents, and then they will have to fight. Although, Vi will be able to fight them, even if it depends a lot on the crowd and the opponent. Mylo, meanwhile, will free Vander, and Claggor is there to help.

You look forward, and at the same moment Powder looks back at you, and you can't help but smile a little. But still, the fire in her eyes is like Vi's, and that means that somehow everything will be alright.

And then we both come along, flatten the bad guys with our homemade bomb and save the day. No, we'll just save everyone! We'll prove to Vander and Vi that we're worth existing! We're here just like you, we're neither useless nor unimportant!

You can't avoid it: It all feels like the calm before the storm. The last time you were considered so unimportant was with your physical parents, and that ended with you running off and meeting Vander at the bridge. But here? Vander was trapped, people with a lot of power are trying to bring everything down and you have to survive somehow.

That's where the bad feeling in my stomach came from.

"All good Y/N?" Powder asks, with her head forward and a slow view out of the tunnel.

"...Yeah...All good." You answer, quietly and with a guilty conscience that you're not getting it for her, from your bad feeling.

So there you both were, outside, peeking through a window that was blocked by a pair of wooden planks. Powder scans the area while you try not to fall off the small stone step that was by the window because of your poor sense of balance.

You look through the window, and gasps. Vi is facing a man twice her height and width, it looks like an unwinnable fight, and right now that means you and Powder need to act as fast as possible.

The cool air that just touches every freed part of your skin. Your heartbeat, which is pounding through your whole body and stopping in your ears. The adrenaline pumping through your body and making all your limbs fidget.

A small rustle catches your attention, which at first seems like a shock that makes your eyes widen and your legs twitch, but it was harmless. Powder reaches into her pocket and pulls out one of her inventions:

The monkey doll, which is now transformed into your weapon.

Deckard, unknown to you, tops outside, bumps into the door where the others were and startles you. Powder startles, as do you, and slowly becomes jittery. It's getting harder to breathe, and it feels like the climax of your life is about to come.

Powder takes two of the crystals and puts them in gizmo's, the monkey's, container. She closes it quickly and looks behind, the monkey's trajectory seems to become clear. The two of you, in a moment of tension, put your heads together, feeling the warmth of hers, and she whispers something to the monkey.

"You have to Work...For us, okay?" Powder says, in a soft voice that gives you goose bumps and red spots on your cheeks.

She holds her forehead against it for a brief moment before she winds up her intention. She grabs the monkey through the window, taps it on the head and lets it run off with clapping cymbals. Your panic rises; if anything goes wrong, lives will end and yours probably will too.

Come on little monkey, just work.

While the Monkey walks, the cymbals clap and leave a sound. The crystals begin to crack and spark as they become more and more unstable with each hit.

The explosion will be damn strong, one stone was already enough in the apartment to take the whole building down, but we need one to save everyone.

Deckard stops his attack against the door, and turns to the monkey. His face holds a confused expression as he slowly looks down at the object. As you hide many meters away, panic slowly rises within you.

Because...

The bomb did not explode.

Something must have gone wrong.

You panic, turn backwards and look through the window. You couldn't see the monkey, but that only fueled your panic and the adrenaline in your blood. But the monkey wasn't far away, you would only have to take a few steps and you could detonate it manually.

Why didn't the monkey ignite? It should have exploded immediately when the cymbals banged because of the movement.

In that moment, you make a millisecond decision that changes everything and everyone.

"I'm sorry Powder."

You don't give her time to react, it would have been too painful for your heart and you wouldn't have been able to bear it. A quick foot on the floor and you throw yourself into the window, hear Powder's voice behind you and turn up.

And there you were for a second, straight out in front of Deckard. You literally jumped out of the corner, and his gaze met you immediately. Hungry veins drenched with Lillan fluid point in your direction as your eyes meet his.

You and Deckard, who remained focused on the enemy that faced them. But no matter how quickly he would have tried to react in this situation, you were far quicker:

You yank your right arm out of your coat pocket and pull out the Enforcer gadget, time seems to stand still as your eyes scan the whole situation once more, for the last time.

In front of you, right on the ground, is Powder's monkey bomb, which you now have to activate manually. A few meters in front of you Deckard, a monster disguised as a human, who was pumped full of drugs and would tear you apart in a second. But for everyone else present, the realization came a moment too late, putting you in the position of death.

With an outstretched right arm, you throw your self-named 'Steel Ball' at the Little Monkey Bomb with full force. For a moment, everyone looks from afar, even the people you didn't recognize at first: Silco and Sevika. As if the rest of the situation had become completely uninteresting, everyone looked at the little boy and the seemingly floating steel ball, which was flying towards the monkey at breakneck speed.

Your mind was completely blank, not a single thought dared to question your determination. But still, rooted somewhere in your mind was the knowledge of what was about to happen.

But unfortunately, the realization came a moment later to Deckard. And still a few moments later to the others. But it was too late.

But in the whole situation, you were already so far gone that there would never be a person who would understand your thought flow.

Even if I desperately tried to run away, the explosion would hit me anyway. So I can stop right here and take them all with me.

An Apology Is A Promise To Do Things Differently Next Time, And To Keep The Promise...

"Protect her"

I'm sorry Vi.

Everything simply exploded.

Your 'Steel Ball' didn't even get to pop on impact and let out the Thin Steel Wires. The monkey exploded within a fraction of a millisecond; the whole warehouse shakes, it flies into the air and the fire rises up into the sky, leaving a noticeable blue color and smoke.

Powder was launched from her position but... she wasn't scared. She had nothing to fear, she proved herself. And thus begins her love of explosions and the feeling of always having to prove herself to others.

Deckard was there one moment and gone the next, the explosion absolutely shredded him and threw him away. With that, the explosion made its way to Silco, but before it could wound him directly, Sevika shoved him back through a doorway and took the brunt of the explosion for him.

The Shimmer stockpile ignited into flames as the explosion made contact. The fire traveled down through the entire factory and made its way into a room where a scientist was consecrating. He barely had time to react before the fire engulfed him completely.

The blast entered the room where all of the others were. When one of the shards hit the ceiling, the blast knocked Claggor's goggles off and sent a splatter of his blood with it. He was thrown into the wall and died instantly, a nightmare for him, but a dream for the others.

A metal pipe stabbed Mylo's shoulder, sending him into the wall as well, but he wasn't dead. He looked over and saw his friend's body, but he couldn't find him alive. He tried to pry the pipe out of his shoulder but stopped when he heard the unforgettable sound of cracking. He looked up and could only watch as the concrete slabs fell on top of him. He didn't survive.

As Powder fell through the air, time slowed. She reached out and gently touched a particle of magic with her finger.

She was happy.

She proved herself.

And she was even prouder that you did the same.

Vander was lying on his front with a large stone slab on top of him, that had fallen from the ceiling along with the concrete that had fallen upon Mylo. The explosion had forced the door from its position and knocked Vi over, the door resting firmly on top of her unmoving figure.

Vander woke up slowly, grunting in pain as his whole body was riddled with pain. He looks around as best he can to take in his surroundings. That's when he sees the sights he wished he hadn't. He saw the limp arm of Mylo hanging out of the rubble. Then Claggor's goggles in the middle of the floor, cracked and bloodied.

But everyone was only hit by the shockwave, not like you. The direct explosion, the released energy was released from one second to the next and created a detonation that was unsurpassed.

And that's exactly where you were.

But your luck at that moment was second to none:

Your Steel Ball was swung over you by the shockwave, protecting you from all the building pieces falling on you. He jumps up, letting the steel wires radiate out and stopping many of them before they all hit you and kill you outright. But of course he can't stop everything.

A long and pointed wooden plank goes along the steel wires, but is not held in place. As you are burned by the explosion and pushed away, you land on your stomach, back up. At first you don't feel the pain at all, it doesn't feel like a plank of wood is stabbing through your ribs and intestines, tangling in them, hoping to rip them out miserably.

But of course that's not all: a few of the large piles of stones hit the steel wire and destroy your shield, saving your pathetic life from death. However, unfortunately for you, a large, sturdy stone falls straight down at high speed and buries your right arm.

But that's not all, in addition to the unbearable pain, because your brain can't create more adrenaline, there are the remaining stones that bury you alive. With a huge weight they press your weak little body to the ground and deny you any movement you could possibly think of.

So there you were, after everything you've been through so far: Buried alive, with a completely crushed arm and two spellbooks in the pockets of your cloak. Blood draining from your body. Oxygen slowly running out. Hope already extinguished. All were indicators of the condition you had only read about in books until now:

Death.

Normally you would be screaming now, for help or anything that your blood-filled lungs would allow. All your thoughts would end logically and with full hope that "someone will come and save me". But now? Most of the others were injured or dead. Because of you and Powder.

So you just stop thinking, breathing or simply living. You wouldn't be able to cope with the disappointment that you are any other way. Because of one thing you finally wanted to do right, so many have been hurt and died.

A little blood makes its way out of your mouth, even though you have already given up, you lift your head as far as you can and simply let the substance flow out. The red, warm, metal-tasting substance reads out of your mouth and stains the ground beneath you red. But through watery eyes you see the entire floor beneath you is red, not just through your mouth, but through your intestines and your crushed arm.

"Silco!"

What was it exactly, did you just hear a voice? Or are you already in a near-death experience and just needed a little push to the other side? But you think for a moment, it sounded like Vander, but deeper and more like a monster. But with this brief thought, the pain you are slowly feeling at full height and the feeling of failure, you give up.

But not quite.

You could hear another voice a few moments later, but only softly and interrupted by your loud heartbeats. It must have been Powder's, the only voice that sounded happy in this situation. With the last of your strength, which you thought had left you some time ago, you smile.

"Because you're a Jinx! DO YOU HEAR ME?! MYLO WAS RIGHT!"

The last power in your body gave its all to listen in, just before the end came. Everything else became quieter, the burning of the fire, the sound of the wind, your breathing and simply everything.

"No. No. No. No. Violet, please!"

The moment you stopped absolutely on your life, you missed something. On the one hand, the quiet weeping of Powder, but on the other hand...

Did you miss the blue light shining out from under the stone where your right arm is buried? You didn't see the piece of a corpse that came closer and closer to your arm either, but everything has its time.

And with that you speak your last words... At least before your rebirth as "The Sorcerer's Apprentice".

Powder... I'm sorry... I'm really sorry... I wanted to believe... I really wanted to believe that I could do something for once... Goodbye. Powder... goodbye.

---

Notes:

Holy shit, what a chapter! The end of a life will always come, whether before or through illness. But this death is already quite hard for someone like you, but it's only the consequence of your actions. Thanks for reading, as I said, leave kudos and a comment on this terrifying chapter!

[firerose18991]

Prince! Itadori x Black femReader prt 2

Info: fluff, adventure, multi part fic

Written with black curvy/chubby readers in mind but all are welcome

Wrd cnt: 1.69k

Prt 1

As you and Yuji contemplated your impending fates a commotion was building outside the tent.

“FIRE!” A booming voice whipped through the camp.

You jumped up from the stool you sat on, the smoke was already starting to fill the air in the tent.

“Grab your shirt.” You called to him, and pulled him out by his wrist.

When you reached the outside of the white tent, now sullied from the ashen air beginning to coat all of the camp, you saw the chaos. You spotted the head nurse directing a trailer from the camp on the barren hill down into the lush forest beneath.

“Nurse! What's happening?” You ran up, Yuji in tow.

“The Barbarians! They're storming the camp!”. She ran up to take Yuji's other hand. “You need to flee and meet with your army. We can't protect you here.”

“But the camp is neutral, are they killing their own people?” Yuji resisted the nurses' pulls towards the escape route, though it mostly looked like her tugging a brick wall.

“If they have a target like you they would've lost those men anyway. Most of them are the ones you injured in your battle.” Yuji was taken aback.

Since he'd been injured only sparse battles have occurred which only lasted a few hours at most. He was the target of the Barbarians all along. With the line of succession open his territory would be vulnerable. Nevertheless he wasn't going to hide like a coward among the sick and injured. He finally had the time to put his shirt back on. It hung loosely around his muscular frame.

“Do you know where my sword and steed are being held?” He turned to you.

His kind amber eyes still held their warmth but focused on you to give an answer urgently.

“You can't possibly-” the head nurse started.

“The stables are by the edge of camp, close to the lake.” You pointed the way and he bolted off.

“(Y/N)!” the Nurse yelled at you as he ran off. “He’s in no condition-”

“If anyone is going to keep the encampment safe it will be him. Let’s focus on setting up a place for triage further in the forest. After all this everyone will need it.”

You helped usher the remaining patients down the slippery hills of the forest to a natural basin near another river outlet closer to Yuji’s kingdom. The screams of those fighting over the ashes of the old campsite echoed to where you had found yourselves. Your heart ached thinking of Yuji fighting, maybe being heavily outnumbered and you wondered if you’d done the right thing by sending him off.

You busied yourself by the end of the first day purifying drinking water and gathering ingredients for healing potions. Some of the patients had sustained burns and you had to quickly find natural remedies in a forest you had barely gotten to know. Others worked on using their magic to create temporary rock and mud huts for patients. When you’d found just about all you could make sense of in the forest’s herbs you headed back and sat on the river bank. The fight raged on even into the night. That gave you some hope the Yuji was still out there fighting. Enough to get you through the next day.

In the morning you were the first up. Catching fish in the river and pounding wild nuts and berries into edible porridge. You’d made a large fire to cook and were careful to cast a smoke concealment spell. The head nurse woke up to you using a giant stick to stir the massive amount of porridge and fish roasting on the sides. You looked like you’d thoroughly lost your mind.

But the smell drew everyone from their huts and away from their miserable night rest. Once everyone had eaten their fill patient daily care was still at the forefront. You directed your fellow nurses to plants with antiseptic properties whose leaves could be used as bandages for the time being and crafted potions with yesterday’s work. And in the night you repeated the same as the morning. You’d brought all the nurses up to speed and everyone fell into their roles once again. The battle could still be heard. When particularly devastating attacks occurred you’d see mass flocks of birds scattering overhead to escape the atrocities. But as long as it continued your people would remain.

The third day was uneventful and fatiguing for all at the camp. In their down time a lot of the nurses watched you pace back and forth working like someone had lit you on fire. The head nurse had to pry you off a tree you’d attempted to climb to get more leaves. But in your sleep deprived state you missed a foothold and fell down. She coaxed you into a mud hut to get some rest which is where you stayed even through dinner. At some point you’d managed to fall asleep and woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of crickets and fire crackling. For a moment you allowed yourself to take in the natural ambiance before you shot up from the ground. The fighting had ended.

“Oh gods.” you whispered to yourself as you clumsily pushed your fatigued body off the ground and out of the hut.

You stumbled out to the haunting forest. The battle was done but you couldn't be sure who won. Part of you nearly began to mourn Yuji until you were startled from your thoughts by the sound of sloshing mud and leaves drawing closer from the forest. You clasped your hand to your face and hid around the corner of the hut, if need be you would wake the others and try quietly to get away.

As the heavy steps grew closer you began to make out the figure of a lone man. The moonlight only illuminated him in slivers at a time. Once it brushed upon his bloodied face and you saw the pink hair peakout through dried blood you stepped out from your hiding spot.

“Yuji” you gasped, stepping toward the bush he was slowly making his way over. His head was bowed from exhaustion. It was a miracle he made it to your camp with his injuries. You caught him just as he tripped out into the basin front. A small part of you wanted to be mad at him for taking on such a foolhardy battle, the other was mad at yourself for letting him. But that was all overshadowed by the immense joy you felt from him having returned in one piece.

You looked up as you heard more zombie-like steps creeping through the forest towards you. You hugged Yuji's now sleeping form against yourself, not sure of what you could do. Soon soldiers wearing the crest of the Itadori kingdom began emerging from the forest. Each as bloodied and bruised as their prince. You finally placed yuji down gently when you saw commander Nobara stumble through with the last set of soldiers. You caught her as well and placed her down gently before going to get the other healers of your clan.

Everyone worked through the night to pull the soldiers through. With healers stretched thin the head nurse walked over to you wordlessly and handed you a wand. Something only the most recognized and talented of your clan get the honor of wielding. You quietly rejoiced as you walked over to the remaining horde of soldiers that needed attending to.

When dawn broke the streaks of blood from soldiers marching to their last salvation were illuminated. The camp was lively with those who’d only endured extreme exhaustion and doctors rushing to care for those in more critical cases. Once you took care of your most critical patients you whisked through the camp looking for Yuji, the head nurse had decided to take him under her care as he wasn’t at 100% to begin with. As you approached her tent you heard hushed voices.

“Excuse me.” You spoke softly before entering the tent. You looked around to see Yuji sitting in bed, some dried blood still stained his skin. And the head nurse brewing a pain reliever. “Sorry I just came to see how he was doing.” You were hoarse from exhaustion.

“Glad I'm not the only one who looks like hell.” He smiled, thoroughly wrapped in plant fiber bandages and propped on pillows.

“The leader of your enemy has been defeated, but some of his men still remain at this camp. It is not our place to get involved in these matters.” The head nurse spoke to both of you.

“I completely understand, I would never ask your people to compromise their values for my sake. I believe a short prison sentence after they've healed will be enough to satisfy me.” He really sounded like he'd been on the throne his whole life.

“Yes well that may take a while”

“After dealing with my own injuries I've learned to be patient.” Yuji's grin turned into a wince.

The head nurse shooed his hand that instinctively went to his injury and used her wand to lessen the pain.

“(Y/N) the medicine.” She nodded to you.

You made your way over to her work station and waved the supplementary wand that still hadn't been taken away over the pot to complete the medicine. It glowed like gold in the dingy wooden pot. You brought it over to where Yuji was fighting a coughing fit, for fear of displacing his ribs. Once he got some of the medicine down he wearily settled back into the pillows.

“Hopefully this time I leave him in your care he'll make a full recovery.” She winked and left the tent to the two of you.

<<<prev

[mxstellatayte]

metal, nuts, bolts, and a hell of a lot of blaster residue (chapter 1.)

din djarin x female mechanic reader.

chapter 1 word count: 5.4k

warnings/tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader is a mechanic, found family, din djarin speaks mando'a, din and reader are both very touch starved, i don't know how fictional money works, din djarin is a bottom, smut written and proofread by an asexual, din and reader have ptsd, canon is dead and i killed it, no use of y/n

It was on the third time to Nevarro that he’d finally needed repairs. Greef Karga would always greet him and the kid with a smile on his face, referring to him as “Mando.” Friends, you’d realized after a short time. Tall, imposing, and covered from head to toe in gleaming plates of Beskar armor, the Mandalorian strode confidently through the airfield on the outskirts of town where you worked on Navarro. Of course, you’d only seen him around and heard the whispers passed from lips to ears, getting slightly more molded and misshapen every time, rinse and repeat, throughout cantinas, dining halls, and bars whenever his looming presence would enter, no one besides Magistrate Karga ever mustering up the courage to speak to him for any reasons other than what would soon occur: business. 

Apparently the group of Mandalorian radicals, as you’d heard them called, were a group of religious zealots, vowing to never remove their helmets (how they ate, drank, bathed, and slept, you could only guess,) work amongst themselves and interact in limited amounts with anyone not of their creed. Your knowledge about… anything, really, of the outside world before and immediately following your defection was limited, the weeks being a blur of being offered a job at a small bar just down the street from where you lived now and not far from your airfield, a family-owned establishment on the outskirts of the city, getting used to your new home and city, and attempting to pick up miscellaneous mechanic jobs here and there to build your reputation. You knew little about the time on Nevarro before your defection from the Empire, little news about anything reaching your mechanic job in the lowest levels of every landing port on any ship. You, quite literally, lived under a rock, several thick sheets of stone separating the repair bays from the higher-up landing pads in more Imperial cruisers than not. 

“What can I do for you?” you smile to the visor as you wipe off grease from your hands with a rag frequently slung over your shoulder. Some it remains, the dark amber liquid packed under your fingernails, sticking in the creases of your hands and in your cuticles mixing with the dirt and dust in the air and creating a persistent, unremovable black coating on your hands and wrists, coming to an end roughly a third of the way up your forearms. You've undone the top zipper of your mechanic's coveralls and now have the sleeves tied around your waist, a black shirt underneath neatly tucked into the pants of the coveralls. Your boots (a pair due for replacement at this point, but your supplier had been slacking recently and upping his prices for no reason, so they'd gone neglected for a while,) your second pair since defection, are well-worn and comfortable, the coveralls wrapped around them so as to protect your legs while welding. Your hair, previously hastily thrown into a twist and tucked under a cap to avoid any catching in gears while working on ships, now had strands falling down and tickling the back of your neck over your headphones. Quite frankly, you look like an unprofessional mess, and in an effort to minimize such an appearance, you pull your cap off and pull your hair down, then pull it back together into a ponytail and securing it with one of the few remaining hair elastics you’d kept from the Empire, then slide your cap back on and pull the ponytail through the adjustable loop on the back. 

“The Crest needs some repairs and a refuel. And no droids.” You nod and look down when you hear quiet cooing, seeing the small child you’ve heard so much about sitting in his egg-shaped pod and wide, black-as-night eyes staring up at you. From the gossip you've overheard in cantinas and whispered in alleyways, during one of the days you were doing an emergency out-of-town repair for your friend, this small child had caused something ranging from a small skirmish to a battle not unlike those occurring between the Empire and the Rebellion, depending on who you asked. 

“I can absolutely do that. And I never work with droids. Don’t trust ‘em. Never have,” you grin, looking back up at your customer. “Not to do the work, anyway- I’ve got a rewired mouse droid that holds my supplies and a downsized Gonk droid for light, if that’s alright with you.” You spare a glance at the Mandalorian, and all you receive for an answer is a silent nod. 

“The ship is over here,” the Mandalorian points, and the two of you turn, observing the ship. It’s old- you’re surprised she hasn’t been destroyed or impounded yet. Or kicked the bucket. A ship this old must be falling apart- it’s no doubt she needs repairs. 

“Let me guess. A Razor Crest. Pre-Empire.” Another silent nod, and you celebrate internally. The constant drilling you faced as a mechanic under the Empire paid off, being able to guess what ships landed in your airfield by a quick glance at them, some ships even so familiar you could recognize them by their engines’ sounds. “I’ve worked on one or two of these in the past, but don’t remember much. Care to educate me on what she needs?”

The two of you walk around the ship as he tells you, piece by piece, what needs repairs. It’s, putting it mildly, a lot, a mishmash of small and large repairs alike. You can only wonder what the Mandalorian was going for his ship to be in such a condition. Some small, non-essential wires are on the fritz, the hull needs a small patch near the starboard engine, the shield system needs a whole reboot, and the comm system is “out.” The Mandalorian didn’t elaborate on what kind of “out” it might be, but you fear that, in a ship as old as this, the repairs that may entail could be atrociously difficult. That's just the shorter, less time-consuming repairs; a wire connection that normally wouldn't take you longer than ten minutes to fix is in an annoyingly inconvenient and narrow opening- if you can find the right tools, it should only take you about ten minutes, but finding the tools is going to be a pain in your ass. Using a mechanic droid would make the job fifteen times easier, instances like these being the few times you actually trust droids to do the work, but your customer has requested no droids. Might as well give it a shot, you think. I’ve done smaller jobs before. Much smaller. Not without a droid, though. One of the engines’ connections to the light fuel was damaged, and needs to be reconnected, a job you're not excited for. Dealing with light fuel is incredibly tedious, a soldering iron a degree too hot, left in contact with the metal a second too long, or a stray spark flown a little too close to the fuel tank and “oh shit” would be your famous last words. The Maker only knows how long that would take you. The final repair necessary is in the radio- the comms systems are so old in the Crest that you suspect they've just crapped out at this point, requiring full replacement. You chew your inner cheek, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “So can you do it?” 

“I don’t know. The light fuel track is the only thing I’m not sure about. I’ll need a better look at it before I agree to it, but everything else I definitely can do. Come on, let’s just look at it now.” You lead the Mandalorian to the back of his ship, then press a button on your tablet that wheels your crane over to you. The bar raises, permitting you and your customer onto the platform, then lowers as the two of you ascend, settling close to the engine. You undo some of the bolts holding the panel to the framework of the ship and pull it away, propping it up on another panel of the engine. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see it- a compartmentalized light fuel track rather than the more dangerous (albeit more efficient) fuel systems more common in newer ships. The words pre-Empire ring in your head and you internally curse yourself for not remembering- chambered light fuel systems were the only system in existence before the Empire came along and created the faster systems. 

You don’t realize you’re wearing your so-called thinking face, your eyebrows scrunched and tongue poking out between your lips as you fiddle with the bolts in your hand and you shake your head to clear the remaining brain fog. “I can do it. Do you need it done by any time specifically?”

“How fast can you have it done?”

“Depends. How much are you paying me?” you fire back, stifling a grin. Being your own boss and the best mechanic in town meant you could haggle prices as much as you needed to- within reason, of course. You weren’t heartless. And you needed customers. “And can I babysit the kid?”

The Mandalorian states at you in silence for what feels like an eternity, his arms crossed over his broad, beskar-covered chest. You can’t lie, it’s a pretty sight, but that might just be your raging daddy issues talking. “I pay you seven hundred fifty credits and provide parts and you have it done in two sunsets. The kid stays with me.” 

Shit, seven hundred fifty credits?  you think, the number striking an instinct inside of you that you first associate with a tough job and lots of money second. “Seven fifty, the parts and my electric fine. The Empire gets bitchy if I'm welding after curfew, which I'll be doing if it's going to be done in two sunsets, especially with the radio. I'm pretty sure it's crapped out and I'll need to find another one.” You notice out of the corner of your eye that the sun is already lowering in the sky, the sky slowly tinting brilliant reds and oranges thanks to the volcanic ash lingering in the air. You jut your thumb towards the horizon and bright colors in the sky, curious. “And do those two sunsets include this one? Because I’ll need two sunsets after this one to complete it all with the quality I intend to deliver.” The Mandalorian stares you down, the T-shaped visor an empty void of silent judgment, and you catch a slight glimpse of your reflection in the shiny black surface. Several strands of hair stick to your face with sweat and there's a smear of grease on your chin. Absolutely gorgeous. The Mandalorian’s arms are crossed over his broad chest, rising and falling with every breath he takes, time stretching longer and longer as he contemplates your offer.

“Deal. Two sunsets, not including today’s. No later.” You grin, shaking his hand. “The parts are inside, if you get started I'll bring the parts out. And about the radio- if you check it out soon and see it needs replacing, I can try to find one while you're working. The faster I can get to Tatooine, the better.”

“Sounds good!” You look at your watch, calculating how much time you'll need to spend on each specific repair for each day; the patch in the hull won't take you longer than an hour, the shield can reboot while you're working on that, and the glitchy wiring will likely only take you forty five minutes, including testing time. If you can find the right tools, the narrow wiring should be relatively easy. It's the light fuel that concerns you, tenacity and all. 

Once you get a good look at the fuel pump, though, you're not worried about it. Sometimes your anxiety jumps when someone mentions a light fuel track and this was one of those instances, but you forgot that the Crest is ancient- it uses pre-Empire fuel pumps, and the issue is in a small, isolated chamber as opposed to the large, risky, one piece systems. The isolated systems are slightly more unreliable, but much easier to fix. “Thank the Maker,” you whisper, pulling a small planning tablet out of your back pocket. 

“Where do you want the parts?” the Mandalorian calls, a small cart loaded with the parts you’ll need next to him. Your eyes light, an exciting feeling stirring in your stomach at the thought of the challenge of fixing this ship finally settling in.

“Right there is fine,” you respond, pressing a button on your elevating crane to take you back down to the ground from your level, roughly fifty feet in the air. When it’s close enough to the floor, you jump off, your feet hitting the metallic ground with an echoing clang. You inspect each of the pieces, thankful that an extra coil of welding wire is among them. Who knows how many yards of coil you'll go through fixing the fuel pump alone. “Thanks for the welding coil,” you say, continuing to poke through the pile. “These pieces will probably be enough to fix most everything, but the radio is still to be reckoned with. Here,” you say, pulling a pager out of your back pocket that you use for customers, checking the number briefly and connecting it to this job specifically on your tablet. “When this goes off, come back. I either need to talk to you about the radio or the job’s done. It beeps, but I can switch it to a silent alarm if that would work better for you.”

“Silent. I don't want it interrupting a meeting or a job.”

“Understandable.” You press a button on your tablet and the pager vibrates in your hand, the connection between it and your tablet secure. You hand it over to the Mandalorian and he takes it and hands it to the kid. 

“Hold onto that for me, okay?” The kid babbles something sounding like a “guh” in response, which you can only assume means yes. “I'll pay you half now and half when the job is done.”

“Great. That's normally what I do for all customers, so I'm glad you're cool with it, too.” He pulls out a sack of credits, counts out 375 credits’ worth of the heavy metal currency, and hands them to you. You hastily stuff them in your zippered pocket, planning to shove them in your safe in your office later. “See you in two sunsets?”

“See you then.” The Mandalorian turns and walks away, and you look giddily at the ship towering above you. 

“What to tackle first?” You ask yourself. Talking to yourself has been a habit of yours since you first started your mechanic’s training with the Empire. A verbal processor, they had called you. You had no idea what it meant at the time but rolled with it. You pull your headphones on, making sure that they're connected to your tablet before pressing play, enjoying some of the music that reminded you of home and was also just fun to work to. The Empire never canceled your security cards or logins to any of their software, so you may or may not have pirated some music from their streaming software, a program that had music from every corner of the galaxy. Including music from your home planet. Terra, the Empire called it. But you just knew it as Earth. Your music plays through your headphones and you make a to-do list: 

Hole in the hull

Glitchy wiring

Shield system reboot

Bitchy wiring in that tiny little vent

Radio (I’m going to have to replace the whole thing AA)

Aaaaaaaaaaa light fuel track aaaaaaaaaa

Sure, the list may not necessarily be what you'd see at any other mechanic in your system, but it wasn't killing anyone and it was funny. You smile as one of your favorite songs comes on- Telephone. The familiar beat of the piano makes you do a little dance as you walk towards your workbench, flipping the switch on your mouse droid (aptly named Squeaks,) and tapping the light on your wristband a few times, grinning when it boops affirmatively. “Get Gonk going, will ya?” Two more beeps, and it drives off, surprisingly fast, to press the pressure plate that activates your modified power droid. As you gather your tools into your large bag, setting some in certain pouches and some just in the open space of the bag, Squeaks bonks into your ankle to notify you of your droids’ readiness. 

You check that you have all your tools necessary, eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion when you realize you’re missing a specific wrench that you’ll need to loosen certain bolts in the light fuel track. You check in Squeaks’ compartments, in the drawers of your workbench, and even in your speeder’s saddlebags- nothing. You shove one ear of your headphones back with your wrist, careful to not soil them with the grease constantly stuck in the crevices of your hands and under your fingernails. “Squeaks, where’s my ⅜ wrench?” It runs into your ankle again, and you can feel a little bit of irritation slip into your voice, lips pursing in annoyance. “Squeaks, my ⅜ wrench. Where is it.” Another headbutt to your ankle. And another. You look down at the mouse droid, about to threaten a rewire, before you see it- your ⅜ wrench, slipped into the gear loop at your hip. “Thanks,” you smile, shaking your head at your idiocy and pulling your headphones back over your ears. A lock of hair falls out in the process, and your attempt to blow it out of the way, but after three failed attempts, you grab the incessant piece of hair and shove it behind your ear. Oh well. I need to shower when I get home, anyway. Right as you pull your headphones on, the chorus of Telephone begins, and you dance along as you jog back to your crane.

I know we only just met, 

So why do I feel invested? 

Do you feel it too? 

Do you feel it too?

I could be your best yet

Future favorite regret!

Do you feel it too? 

Your eyes are closed, there’s a bright smile on your face, and you’re jumping, spinning, and having the time of your life, as you always do when you start a new repair job, one you know for sure will be a challenge. You’re thrown from your mini party, however, when you see the Mandalorian staring at you from the bottom of the ramp to the Crest, yelping in shock and pulling your headphones off. “Did you notice anything else needed repairs?”

The Mandalorian hesitates before speaking, one foot on the ramp, the kid’s pod still at his hip. “No, just forgot something on the ship. I’ll be gone in two minutes.” He turns to climb the ramp, disappearing into the ship, and you stand in the dirt, just a few feet from where the metal starts to protect the rest of your shipyard from fuel residue and any sparks from your assorted welding projects that fall. Squeaks and Gonk are behind you on the small rickety metal path you’d added shortly after buying Squeaks- Gonk was somewhat reliable on dirt, but Squeaks, with being all of less than one foot tall with tiny wheels, couldn’t make it one foot without dirt jamming up its gears and exploding in a flurry of panicked beeps, lights, and boops. That was a task and half, but thankfully you didn’t have to spend any credits on metal sheeting, welding some of the scrap from previous projects together. 

You slide your headphones back on, the music continuing all throughout the encounter, standing there in shock for a few moments before steeling yourself and walking back to your lift, lowering the ramp for Squeaks and Gonk. You can feel yourself slipping into your little happy place, the combination of your music, the dry, arid, nearly-unbearable volcanic heat of Nevarro’s summer you know all too well and the metallic tang in the air making you feel a sense of familiarity, your daily routine coming back to you as you begin to run on autopilot. After removing the bolts from the engine so that you can inspect the broken fuel track in more depth, you quickly discover that you were correct in your initial assumptions of the isolated track- the pre-Imperial age of this ship’s fuel track is going to make these repairs a lot easier and much, much safer than they would’ve been if it had been one of the newer tracks. You silently thank the Maker as the last few notes of Telephone finish playing in your headphones and laugh at the stark contrast in between that song and the one following it- deep piano notes and an even deeper voice flood your ears, lyrics you know by heart from your heart coming to you like any welding project. “My lover’s got humor. She’s a giggle at a funeral. Knows everybody’s disapproval- should’ve worshiped her sooner…”

Little did you know, however, that your audience wasn’t just your two work droids. As you continued to pick through the engine, lost in your own little world of metal, nuts, bolts, and a hell of a lot of fuel residue, the Mandalorian had exited his ship and, having heard you… singing? No, that couldn’t be. The voice seemed too deep, too perfectly pitched to be your chipper and bright tone that he’d heard earlier. Maybe there was something wrong with the audio processors in his helmet? A short diagnostic proved this hypothesis false, so that left only one conclusion. He rounded the corner, catching sight of you on your crane with Squeaks and Gonk behind you, and your lips moving just in the way he expected them to: right with the song you were singing. He stands there in awe as your voice floats around the airfield, reverberating off of the metal walls containing the space and creating a church choir-like effect. Din is taken aback- your voice is beautiful, filled with passion unlike any he’s heard in his years traveling the galaxy. It can only be compared to the voices he would hear during ceremonies and rituals he would bear witness to on Aq Vetina before it was all destroyed by droids under Separatist command. No. he isn’t going to think about that. He isn’t going to think about Aq Vetina or you, despite how much his heart aches to remember the small things he’d noticed about you, even in the short time he’d interacted with you, heard your voice, seen your small mannerisms only visible if you’d grown to look for them in everyone you’d interacted with, knowing that looking for that could mean the difference between life and death as a bounty hunter.

He wasn’t going to think about that, that is, until the chorus hits, and you set down your tools and belt the song with everything in your soul. If he wasn’t stunned to his soul before, he is now. The fact that such a sound, so pure, clear and whole, could come out of your body, something he hadn’t expected capable of this, much less repairing his ship (that was until he got on your crane and you knew the difference between the pre-Empire compartmentalized fuel track that occupied his own ship and an Imperial fuel track, present in the more modernized and recent ships with just one glance at the exhaust vent. Then, he knew you could repair his beloved Crest.) His jaw drops below the helmet, watching you sing and hearing your voice bounce off the walls of the airfield, a sound only enhanced by the massive metal chamber. Your eyes are closed, your hands held in front of your chest, and you’re sitting on your stool and almost curling in on yourself, the music playing through your headphones capturing your soul, and, in Din’s case, your singing capturing his own, even if for just a moment. 

And then the chorus ends, and you’re smiling and picking up your tools again, cranking at the bolts in the engine to carefully pull it apart and pull it back together. Din’s pushed back into reality, the combination of the memories of Aq Vetina, your singing, and the incredibly annoying amount of emotions he was suddenly feeling taking him by surprise. No. Don’t think about her that way. She’s a mechanic on Nevarro. Nothing else, he chastises himself, hating the possibility that he could be developing feelings for someone whose name he doesn’t even know. No. The Creed would rather he remove his helmet and renounce his role as Mandalorian than admit he had developed an emotional attachment to someone not of the Creed. Still, he can’t help but feel the tightness in his chest when he walks away from you silently, his boots falling on the dirt of your chamber, remembering the brightness of your voice and the undeniable spark in your eyes when you laid eyes on the Crest for the first time. Oh, and the way your lips lifted into the brightest smile he’d seen since Aq Vetina when you saw Grogu- No! You don’t even know her name, for Maker’s sake, much less her personality. Keep it together, for fuck’s sake. 

You catch sight of your customer exiting your business, the doors hissing open and the wind from Nevarro’s bustling streets making his tattered, muted brown cape flutter ever so slightly. Finally, your hangar is empty and you can focus. Sure, you can focus with other people in your hangar, but not in the way you can when you’re the only person in the vast chamber. You can sing as loud as you want, weld as bright as you want, throw scrap metal and pieces of junk around to your heart’s content, and act in ways that would likely be socially unacceptable outside of your little safe haven of sheet metal, welding fumes and an incessant layer of grease coating your hands.

Once you’ve run a diagnostic of the fuel track, both manually and with your tablet to scan any potentially dangerous fractures in tubing, you start undoing the bolts and carefully pulling it apart, falling into your autopilot-the-repair mode. It’s a certain feeling you get, where you let a combination of your months-long training under the Empire and your following years of mechanical experience take control of your brain, your limbs, and your movements. You tend to not remember what occurs when you fall into that mode, only snapping out of it when you encounter a challenge, an occurrence happening fairly rarely in comparison to how many jobs you’ve worked. Your fingers nimbly fiddle with piping, file through crates full of extra pipes, tap rhythms against each other just to occupy themselves, and your mind works in tandem, processing the music just as your hands do with the rhythms, ticking off the steps for a certain repair, and reminding you- two sunsets. That’s the deadline for your job. 

You’re so deep in thought and focus, in fact, that before you know it, the sun has long dipped below the volcanic horizon, Squeaks having hit the light switch on your crane long ago as you had lugged your unnecessarily heavy work light up and angled it towards the intestines of the engine, the metal caging around the light bulb protecting it from any potential damage it could face. You’ve worked so late, in fact, that the Mandalorian returns to you hunched over the engine, your light switched off and sparks from your welding gun fly in every direction. Your heavy welding helmet covers your face, the dark screen the only non-metal material besides the headband, and your hair has been tied into a bun rather than its original ponytail and shoved back into your cap. Your arms are covered again, the coveralls zipped up to your neck both to protect you from the miniscule fires and from the chilly air- a cold breeze is sweeping off of the volcanic flats, slipping through the cracks in his flight suit. 

He looks up at you for a moment, simply watching you work, captured by some mysterious force. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring, captivated by your figure, but abruptly makes towards the ramp into the Crest when you lean back, setting your welding gun into the hook to your left and straightening your back on your stool, reaching back and pressing your palms into the small of your back, one on each side of your spine, groaning at the stiffness. Goosebumps rise on the back of his arms and up the back of his neck, cursing the way your sight makes him feel. He’s known you for less than a day, and it’s like he’s a horny teenager again, flustered without you even looking at him and flashing that smile that could outshine both of Tatooine’s suns on the brightest day of the cycle, much less speaking to you.

What the Mandalorian didn’t know, however, was that you had caught the flash of gleaming Beskar out of the corner of your eye under your welding mask when he first entered the hangar, smiling to yourself at the arrival of your customer. You were aware of him standing there, aware of how much time he had spent watching you work (approximately five minutes and thirty-seven seconds, but who was counting?) Aware of how, once he realized what he was doing, he snapped to attention and shuffled his way back into the ship, closing the ramp behind him. 

You finish the welding, replace the panel on the engine, fasten the bolts back in place, and lower your crane, the exhaustion from the long night finally hitting you like a ton of bricks. You smile victoriously as you delete the last note on your to-do list for the Crest’s repairs: the light fuel track. Relieved to have finished the most daunting task at hand, you set your tablet down on your workbench and pull your headphones off. Flyaway hairs disperse from where they were stuck to your cheeks with a mixture of sweat and grease, and you pull your cap off, letting a few stray hairs fall out of the twist but keeping as much possible still up. They tickle the back of your neck and you pull your blaster holster out of the locked safe in the bottom drawer of your workbench, slipping it through the belt loops on your coveralls, then stuffing the small pistol you keep for personal safety into it. Home time. Despite your exhaustion, you’re on high alert as you lock up, sealing drawers, covering scraps and other assorted projects in loose clothes and tarps, and locking the few drawers that hold your valuable tools. Squeaks and Gonk return to their docks, the small green lights indicating their refueling batteries. Once everything is set, you head out to your front entrance, locking the doors for the night and immediately whirling around. Sure, the recent governing from Magistrate Karga had improved Nevarro by light years from the shithole it had been before, but there were still shady pirates that visited the remaining bars and cantinas just looking for someone to pester. 

Your ears prick at every small sound, every cheer a tiny bit too loud, as you walk towards your house. Finally, after five minutes of walking, a walk you spend on edge every night despite your impeccable aim with your blaster, hyper-vigilance and quick reflexes, all skills learned due to shitty parents and only enhanced by the Empire’s control over you, you reach the door of your house, located on a street of identical homes squished into what was once the shadiest part of town. (Granted, it still is the shadiest part of town, but now you don’t have to worry that the sound of your steps falling on the cobbled road isn’t hiding the steps of someone behind you, whirling around every twenty paces to make sure you were alone.) After your fingers fumbling for your keycard and entering your pin, the pocket door slides open and you sigh, stepping over the threshold and into safety. You unlace and kick off your boots, pull your coveralls off (which took way too much effort, by the way,) and shimmy out of your sweat-soaked tank top, opting for a plain blue cotton tee, a remnant from the Empire, and flop into your bed, passing out less than one minute later. 

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

👍 Wedge anchor All production processes are inside our factory

[1969chevycamaro]

My backpack has a carry handle on top. Used if you need to pick up the backpack and move it. Anyways, the thread on one side of the handle has started coming off and I want to fix that before that side of the handle fully comes off.

So I aquired a needle and some black thread and got to work. It didn't work. The fabric was too thick and there is a rubber coating, eventually I wound up pulling the thread in half and decided fuck it.

I reached for my old friend, superglue. I just squirted a good amount inbetween the fabric layers and held them down with a bag clip from the end of last school day to the start of this school day.

I am typing this in my brother's truck as we wait for school to start. I doubt it's gonna hold. It's gonna either break instantly or after a few uses. Thus, I am coming up with a stupider plan. If it doesn't work, I'm gonna aquire a bolt, a nut, 2 washers, and some loctite. That bitch will learn the meaning of stay fucking put!

[kaywavy]

transforming soffits reorganizing keys formalizing immersion joints justifying kick extractors advising aggregates managing elbows recasting connectors achieving aluminum trowels officiating disks exhibiting absolute spigots progressing coil hydrants jerry-building reflectors informing casters inventing rubber hoists performing wrenches judging chalk adapters upgrading ignition paths

regrowing flashing recommending ratchets approving barriers sweeping impact fillers sewing mirrors detailing collectors enforcing measures distributing systems presenting plugs interwinding registers piloting ash diffusers gathering cranks supplying eave pockets undertaking scroll stops accelerating straps designing fittings protecting diamond boilers logging downspouts correlating shingles uniting mallets qualifying electrostatic lifts sharing clamps obtaining circular fluids ranking foundation gauges sensing miter brackets originating space networks translating drills regulating guards selecting gable padding utilizing pellet dowels reconciling artifacts altering pulleys shedding space filters determining vents representing mortar remaking flash rakers supporting funnels typecasting rotary chocks expressing junctures resetting auxiliary vises professing strip treads inlaying matter trowels questioning drivers forming edge fittings sketching blanks overshooting spark breakers rewriting controls playing tunnels inventorying buttons enduring joint handles effecting ratchet bibbs unwinding couplings forsaking vapor conduits defining sockets calculating heaters raising grids administering tiles measuring resources installing ignition remotes extracting corners manufacturing ventilators delegating consoles treating mounting stones enacting jig deflectors intensifying alleys improvising cargo pinpointing bobs prescribing arc masonry structuring metal chucks symbolizing lathes activating plumb kits adapting coatings fixing channels expediting cordage planning compressors enlisting hangers restructuring keyhole augers shearing ridge hardware collecting reciprocating bolts maintaining corrugated dimmers whetting hole collars conducting mandrels comparing assets compiling sealants completing paths composing equivocation wheels computing dampers conceiving electrostatic treatment ordering cotter grates organizing ties orienting ladders exceeding materials targeting thermocouples demonstrating emery stock expanding latch bases training wardrobe adhesives overcomming[sic] fasteners streamlining storm anchors navigating springs perfecting turnbuckles verifying gate pegs arbitrating arithmetic lifts negotiating outlets normalizing strips building surface foggers checking key torches knitting grinders mowing planers offsetting stencils acquiring bulbs adopting rivets observing avenues ascertaining coaxial grommets slinging wing winches instituting circuit generators instructing wicks integrating pry shutters interpreting immersion lumber clarifying coils classifying wood bits closing cogs cataloging matter strips charting holders conceptualizing push terminals stimulating supports overthrowing shaft spacers quick-freezing connectors unbinding ground hooks analyzing eyes anticipating gateways controlling proposition rollers converting power angles coordinating staples correcting benders counseling joist gaskets recording gutter pipes recruiting drains rehabilitating rafter tubes reinforcing washers reporting guard valves naming freize sprues nominating rings noting straps doubling nailers drafting circuit hoses dramatizing flanges splitting framing compounds refitting stems interweaving patch unions placing sillcocks sorting slot threads securing mode cutters diverting catharsis plates procuring load thresholds transferring syllogism twine directing switch nuts referring time spools diagnosing knobs discovering locks dispensing hinges displaying hasps resending arc binders retreading grooves retrofitting aesthetics portals seeking stocks shrinking wormholes assembling blocks assessing divers attaining lug boxes auditing nescience passages conserving strikes constructing braces contracting saw catches serving installation irons recognizing fluxes consolidating fuse calipers mapping shims reviewing chop groovers scheduling lag drives simplifying hoists engineering levels enhancing tack hollows establishing finishing blocks

[lamaenthel]

Obedience

[read on ao3][masterlist][Febuwhump prompt: obedience]

Jesse tries to hold out against the flaying of his mind, but Darth Maul won't be denied what he wants to know about Ahsoka Tano.

Characters: CT-5597|Jesse, Darth Maul, Original Mandalorian Character Wordcount: 1942

Jesse spat into the sewer water at Maul's feet and fixed him with a glare. "We can go round and round in this circle if you want," he snarled. His blood was still burning from the battle—from the humiliation of being captured—but the commander was safe. As long as Rex kept her from doing something stupid, like trying to come after him, she'd stay that way. "I ain't telling you anything."

"It is not up to you." A shiver went down Jesse's spine at the look in Maul's burning eyes. "Your mind will speak, or it will break." He raised his hand and flexed his fingers; a cold sensation like icewater spread out under Jesse's skin and shocked him. While he twitched, Maul started rifling through his brain like a holodex. Jesse pushed him out with everything he had, falling back on the tricks that his commander and general had taught him in order to resist mental manipulation. Enclose yourself in a box. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out. The only thing that exists are those walls. Make them sharp, make them cut whoever reaches in. With every breath in, your walls are fortified. With every breath out, your intruder is repelled.

"Tell me."

Jesse tried to breathe in and fortify, but the Sith's intrusion squeezed his brain like a vice. His eyes rolled back in his head with the effort of trying to breathe and push the bastard away at the same time. He clenched his teeth and shoved to no avail; the weak mental walls he'd erected were effortlessly swept away by an icy red tide.

Maul breathed out the heavy scent of old blood and sulfur inches away from his face. "Who is this Ahsoka Tano?"

Jesse threw his head back and screamed, helplessly pulled under by the Sith's wave. It forced the air from his lungs and left him violently shaking in its wake, memories rising to the surface like a school of dead fish.

"That's our commanding officer? Shabla haran, she's barely out of diapers." Jesse stared at the little Togruta that stood at attention behind General Skywalker, all gangly limbs like a newborn orbak and eyes half the size of her face. Those oversized eyes snapped to his through his visor. His cheeks went hot and he squirmed, suddenly afraid that she could hear helmet comms with those horns of hers.

"We coat them in metal to protect them,” Ahsoka said proudly, removing her headdress for the three troopers to see. Jesse leaned in to get a better look at the iron-coated trophies. “Akul teeth are sharp but break easily. They’re like lampreys, they’ve got something like ten rows of teeth and are constantly regrowing them.”

Jesse punctured the hydropouch with a straw and handed it to Ahsoka. She was still too dizzy to stand. The static burn his stunner bolt had left on her big forehead was getting redder by the second. "I'm sorry, Commander," he said, too ashamed to meet her eyes. She laughed and patted him right on his fresh ink as payback for tagging her.

"Bobi!" Ahsoka piled out of the larty tumbling over her gangly legs, eager to dive into the arms of General Kenobi. She frantically rubbed her head on his weary, ash-smudged face. Jesse raised an eyebrow under his bucket. "Give you ten warra nuts if you call him General Bobi," he whispered over comms, making Kix snort.

Maul growled like a rabid massiff. "She is of his lineage. Of course."

"Kix said you're going to be on bedrest for at least two weeks while your nerves regenerate, so I brought something to keep you from going totally insane." Ahsoka set up the holoprojector at the foot of the medbay cot and slid onto the covers, stretching out beside him like a sleepy tooka. "Ever watched a sholo—erm, a Shilian holovid? Shili makes the best in the galaxy. This one is a series, it was only released off-world a few months ago. It's called Princess For A Year. The premise is a little sketchy, but the reviews are good." She rested her big head on his chest and dimmed the overhead light with a wave of her hand.

"Let me be very clear with you, Ahsoka." Dol Sylen rested his chin on folded hands and fixed the commander with a hungry look. "I am no fool. I'm sure you already have a plan brewing in that pretty head of yours. You're going to play nice, do your best to convince me that you return my affection and try to gain my trust." He fondled Ahsoka's lek. "It's not going to work. You're going to do whatever I want you to do. Not because you like me and want to be obedient, but because if you don't, I'll hit this button—" he held up a small remote, " —and shock your pet until he pisses himself. If I want you to dance, you'll dance. If I want you to bend over this table and let me fuck you, you'll get fucked." Ahsoka inhaled sharply as he yanked hard on her lek. "Or maybe I'll watch your clone fuck you."

Jesse screamed and shoved Maul out of his mind. The Commander's humiliated, tearstained face swam in his vision, her mutilated lek dripping blood, the wild-eyed look of a prey animal that she didn't shake for a full month afterwards… 

"Stop fighting and obey, clone." Maul spat the words like they burned him. "Give me what I seek, or I will return you to your beloved Commander as a drooling husk."

"I'll die before I let you touch her." Jesse spat a thick glob of saliva in the Zabrak's eye and tried to headbutt him. The Mando dalgaan holding him kneed him hard in the spine. He fell to the ground gasping.

"As you wish." Maul's eyes brightened, burning with hatred. "But you will show me what I want to know before you do."

Maul peeled Jesse's brain apart like an onion to get at what was hidden in the meat. His vision went black around the edges as Maul ripped him open with tooth and claw, spitting out the memories like viscera.

Jesse held Ahsoka tight and desperately begged the Force that she trusted so dearly to not let her die. "I think you need a transfusion," he said. She purred weakly and shivered, cold despite the humid heat of Xior-Cal. He helplessly watched another drop of blood leak from the tip of her right lek. She nodded off in his arms for the second time.

He dragged Ahsoka to the ground and started chest compressions. He felt her ribs crack and swallowed down a sob. Kix always said that if they didn't break, you weren't doing it right, but he was still terrified that he was driving shards of bone into her heart.

They'd brought an oversized bed into the halls of healing to accommodate Ahsoka's need for physical touch while she recovered from surgery. Jesse lay at her front while General Skywalker curled around her from behind; he met Jesse's eyes between her montrals and smiled gratefully.

"S-stop…" Jesse said weakly. "You…"

"Quiet." Maul flexed his hand. "Your childish affection for Skywalker is of no importance to me. What happened to this Mandalorian?"

"She killed him." Jesse caught his breath, fixed him with a glare. "She'll do the same to you, demagolka."

"His name was… Sylen. That was your kinsman, Ijaan, was it not?"

The hulking blue Mandalorian behind Maul removed his helmet and smirked at Jesse. "He was."

Jesse snarled at the sight of Dol Sylen's lone surviving clanmate. "Shabuir. Naasade ru'partayli gar."

"Ni'cuy mav. Gar vi'tayc, ara'goten."

Jesse flinched at the slur; stillbirth, the most favored word by the Deathwatch to describe him and his brothers.

"He was the one that suggested you." Maul clenched his fist. "More."

"I thought Appo was joking when he said you adopted that little shabuir, Commander!" Jesse stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders with a pleading look. "Tell me you're joking, Commander." Her big eyes filled up with desperate tears. "I couldn't just leave him in there, Jess!"

"Sentiment." The bastard snorted. "She adopted the brat of your progenitor? How compassionate of her." 

"Get down!" Jesse blasted the first two Weequays in the face, caught the knife of the third and shoved it into his own throat. The fourth got flipped and a gutshot from Tup. Boba plugged the next two that ran in and cried out for help as long, spidery white arms wrapped around him like a flytrap and disappeared behind the tent flap. "Boba!" Jesse cried, stepping forward without seeing the Nikto break off from the three fighting Tup behind him. Scaly fingers yanked his head back and a long knife opened his throat.

"I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me." Skywalker held his hands on either side of Jesse's neck. The tissue rapidly closed, forcing Tup's finger out of his artery as it knitted back together with the Force. He sank back once the wound closed with a final tingle, panting and pale. "Aurra Sing," Jesse croaked as soon as he drew enough breath to speak. "It… it was Aurra Sing."

Ahsoka sat with her legs dangling over the side of the catwalk and picked at her cuticles miserably. "I… I love him. I'm in love with him." She closed her eyes and squeezed out a trail of tears. "I am so kriffing in love with that man that it hurts, Jess, and I can never, ever tell him."

"Adorable," Maul said, his voice a sickening coo of mockery. He kept going, shredding Jesse's mind in search of what he sought. He flipped through memories like picturebooks and examined every tiny cranny that Jesse kept his deepest, darkest thoughts in. By the time Maul's hunger for knowledge was finally sated, Jesse could barely kneel upright. He'd pissed himself long ago and tasted vomit, though he didn't remember throwing up. His whole body dripped with sweat. When he looked down, he saw a small puddle of blood. He sniffed and choked on coagulated clots.

Maul finally withdrew his choking, oily presence from Jesse's mind. "Take him away. Ensure he is fed and watered. We do not want our hostage to perish before it is time." 

"Yes, Lord Maul." Ijaan Sylen yanked him to nerveless feet with one massive hand and shoved him forward. "Move it, chakaar."

Jesse stumbled over his clumsy feet. Maul…Maul knew everything. Every memory that Jesse had ever shared with Ahsoka had been sucked up and devoured for analysis, then spit back out with the meat cleaned from the bones. He knew about her Empathy and how her synesthesia turned people's emotions into colored auras. He knew that she left the Order after Barriss Offee had framed her for bombing the Temple and the Council had let her hang. He knew that she had a soft spot for the clones, that she had a deep adoration for General Skywalker and General Kenobi, that she believed in justice and in helping people and doing what was right even if it killed her. 

He knew she was in love with Rex.

He knew everything. Jesse had given Maul everything he needed to know in order to destroy her. He hung his head and wept as he was led away, wondering if it was possible to die of shame.

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS Shabla haran: fucking hell Demagolka: monster Shabuir. Naasade ru'partayli gar: Motherfucker. Nobody will remember you. Ni'cuy mav. Gar vi'tayc, ara'goten: I'm free. You're a slave, stillbirth. Chakaar: asshole

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @febuwhump, @soliloquy-of-nemo

Divider: @saradika-graphics

[slashersgostabbystabstab]

Downtime

Hello Hux fans, I come with yet another Singularity offering ^^ This was meant to be a suggestive/smutty one but it went a whole other route towards the end. Maybe I just want so much fluff with Hux and I accidently go that route every time...

Anyways, hope you guys enjoy! I feel like this went in so many directions and I screwed it up a lot lmao. I'm off to write for his chapter series now!

Which btw a little context for this fic without spoiling too much(which you will see more of in this next chapter series): Reader is a friend of Gabriel's, they knew each other Pre-Entity and they were a robotics engineer. They didnt't create Hux but helped a co-worker with his former self (who is briefly referred to as 13). Reader has a prosthetic arm due to an accident they endured before coming into the Entity's realm. I think that should do?

Words: 3003

Hux, like any other robot, struggled to properly demonstrate any kind of emotion, or at least in his case he didn’t exactly care enough to display what he felt.  His nonchalance was something he definitely excelled at, and when he wasn’t being apathetic he would show his disapproval during a trial. Or when Gabriel’s name just so happened to escape your lips mid-conversation. Or even when your friend happened to be in the same realm as you, apparently no close proximity was even required for that. 

It felt so unfortunate just how impossible it basically was to coax out some kind of positive, or any non negative or uncaring, reaction from Hux. One who really knew what went on between the two of you behind curtains could disagree and say that the private moments you shared with the former cobot differed, but even then Hux was his typical unemotional self with a few short circuits every now and then.

Quite frequently you had the same thought circle through your mind…what was it that could possibly make a being like Hux squirm? 

And you currently pondered at the question as you sat on top of a closed crate beside the robot, somehow having convinced him to be seated on another despite how awkward the position felt for him. 

In your dominant hand you had a wrench, one that you used on Hux’s left arm that was held in your other hand. You were thankful his limb was light in weight, for you focused on tightening the locknut that connected his engine fuel line from his upper arm to the mechanical block near his projectile claw. Once you were done with that nut you set the wrench back inside the toolbox you found within the Huxlee Caracas III, taking a moment to examine Hux’s claw more closely. In spite of the several times you had gotten to embrace or even have the smallest of holds on Hux, you didn’t ever get the chance to properly inspect him like you did now. But you at least knew his every ins and outs, even if he had drastically changed his form.

“A hex socket screwdriver is required to fasten the hex button head screws.” Hux pointed out before you gave a slight chuckle.

“I know, I made sure to use that specific head for you.” you admired his three claws, attaching the screwdriver you took from your toolbox to one of Hux’s screws that had begun to loosen up. As “perfect” as Hux was, it seemed that the Entity momentarily slacked off with Hux’s condition. “I’m glad you kept the same kind of bolts, very smart of you in fact.”

You glanced up from Hux’s arm, somewhat hoping the tiny flattery made him budge even just a bit. But to your misfortune, he merely stared ahead into the emptiness of the room.

“Is this blood on your metal, or are you becoming a bit rusty?” you resumed your conversation after fixing the second screw, taking a moment to eye the brown-ish coloring coating his limb’s surface.

“Collecting genetic material and ridding this realm of its infinitesimal worms can not be completed without a mess. At least it is done fast.” Hux retrieved his claw from your hold to have it hover in front of his visor, admiring your simple work. “Vital fluid from J15L19 appears to stain my claw.”

Oh boy…here he goes.

“Well maybe if you weren’t so focused on targeting Gabriel who’s learning more and more about you every time, then maybe your body wouldn’t be coming apart so easily.” you posited as you stood up, very well knowing that Hux shot you what could be considered a glare. “Some powder or organic coating, and I don’t mean human, might do your claws some good. Though I honestly am not sure what to recommend for this metal I don’t understand yet.”

“This alien metal is too advanced for feeble Earth minds to understand.”

“Reminder that I wasn’t born on Earth, Huxlee. Cut me some slack at least.”

“You were born on Proxima Centauri A.” Hux added before a soft smile came upon your features, and you turned to him to see that his vexation seemed to have disappeared rather fast. “We are finished.” 

Of course you were, conversations tended to be quite short between the two of you if the topic at hand was not to Hux’s interest. Somehow you believed that karma had come back to bite you in the ass after the numerous times you unintentionally pushed Gabriel away when work got the best of you. 

So the moment you felt your smile begin to falter, you instantly stood from your spot before returning your screwdriver to its place inside the toolbox. You promptly closed the box and picked it up, soon turning on your heel to make your way towards the designated sleeping area where you typically left whatever belongings the Entity allowed you to keep. But before you were able to do that, something definitely seemed off. 

“Why are you leaving?”

Much to your surprise, you caught sight of Hux who remained sitting on his crate while he looked at you with as much puzzlement as a robot could display. 

“I thought we were done.”

“Negative.” Hux expressed with a twitch of his head, now observing as you returned to his location and stood before him. 

“So what’d I miss?”

Hux gave no response other than his head tilting to the side, watching you set down your toolbox before he finally lifted his singular claw. You felt the sharp weapon go around and behind you, gingerly pushing you towards his seated form until your face was mere inches away from his visor.

“Oh,” a quiet chuckle came from your lips that curved into a soft smile, meanwhile your hands reached up to take hold of his head. “I forgot.” 

How dare you forget his special treatment? The very same he received any time you left his presence?

“Don’t forget. Be better.” Hux’s red lights dimmed down almost as if he were shutting his eyes the moment your lips touched the middle of his visor, immediately lighting back up once you released him. Clearly much to his disappointment. 

“I thought you’d only want one.” you teased, now feeling his claw shove you further into his form. You propped your knee up onto the space between his legs, leaning your head to the side to then kiss the circular piece connected on the left of his visor. Once again your hands came upwards, but this time around your left held onto the machinery bit of his right arm. Meanwhile, your non-artificial hand was careful not to interact with the alien crystal on his left side, instead placing itself closer to what was his neck. “Are two enough?”

“Negative.”

You brought your body even closer to his before connecting your lips near his gaping mouth and then on the flesh near his neck, sliding your right hand down from his neck to his miniature monitor. But there was soon a surge of surprise in you when you felt Hux writhe and twitch intensely in your hold, forcing you to jump back and release him. Clearly that was a sensitive area.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” you began to remove your leg from the crate he sat on to create a proper space between the two of you, but you instantly felt as Hux’s claw pushed you back into him. “Hux?”

“Don’t. Leave.” He almost tried to intimidate you while your body was pressed against his form, practically forced onto him. This made you place your hands on his chest while being careful with his protruding machinery. “Proceed.”

The command had you rather stunned as you stared directly into Hux’s red orbs, unconsciously gripping onto the flesh of his chest as he gave a few more spasms. Slowly your hands glided over his skin, feeling every groove and vein they passed which you realized made the robot lean back as if to get comfortable. His head followed his actions as you touched the area leading up to his neck, giving a gentle squeeze which resulted in another spasm, this time from his leg.

After coming to the realms and learning of what had become of your precious 13, it really did stagger you to know that he had found a way to incorporate the sense of touch into his body. You had learned he had turned up every dial to the max, so his sensations were much stronger than any human's meaning that a pleasing feeling was ecstasy to him. And anytime there was a new sensation introduced to Hux that didn’t have him disapproving of it, he just wanted more and more of it. From what this situation looked like…you knew a simple kiss on the neck would have Hux regretting not letting you feel his body much sooner.

Had you perhaps finally found your long awaited answer?

Considering how your current position was already awkward enough, you made the choice to climb on top of the robot so that you were now straddling his lap. You removed your hands from his upper area, instead moving your prosthetic to the flesh bits that connected his torso to his leg. While that hand stroked that part of him, your other went to the fleshy webbing that encased his appliances meant to resemble a waist.

No sounds came from Hux other than the whirring of his body, but you could feel under your own figure that his twitching had become somewhat more powerful with each stroke of your fingers.

An awe and adoration overcame you as you noticed his visor’s lights dimming down once more, exhibiting his ability to feel every touch. That if he spoke in a more human-like manner, there would without a doubt be some kind of whimper coming from his system. Mainly with how you now removed your hand from his fleshy waist, receiving a sudden jolt from Hux who whipped his head in your direction. Quite peeved in fact. 

“Relax,” you breathed out before bringing your hand behind you to then place it over his right thigh, giving the synthetic skin a gentle squeeze before a caress followed after. “I’m not done with you just yet.”

The android made sure to watch your every move as you entangled your other hand’s fingers into his webbing again, making sure to hold every girthy strand in between your fingertips. You soothed every bit of his waist until trailing back up to his chest where his pec was now stroked again, resulting in you removing your hand from his thigh much to his disappointment yet again. At least what was what you hoped.

Feeling rather optimistic, you leaned your face towards his chest where you took notice of his miniature screen that read all sorts of binary code. It was already very difficult to decipher any of the phrases he was coding, but with every move you made on his body, the codes only wrote themselves faster as if trying to comprehend themselves. So you dared to plant your lips on his chest, making a trail up to his neck before you did the unthinkable as all cares flew out the window. You were too damn determined and roused by every reaction that came from Hux no matter how small they were; so you gave his skin a quick nip before sucking on one of the his veins that bulged out more than the rest. 

Hux’s lower body jerked up and into your own that very instant, making you slightly jump but eventually ease up with a sly grin before you buried your face back into the crook of his neck.

“Is that to your liking, Huxlee?”

As your smile firmly remained on your features, Hux once again lacked any kind of reaction. Normally this would have had you disappointed, but this mode of silence had you beaming with pride. Especially with a new beeping that sounded from Hux’s chest screen that was quite reminiscent of a fast beating heart, so you pulled yourself away from him to take a peek at it. Yet another plethora of ones and zeros were drawn over his screen, lines coming in swift waves while you directed your attention to Hux’s visor. 

“Should I stop?” you teased the android who now looked like he just got out of his sleep mode. And he clearly did not appreciate you detaching your hands from his body the moment it happened. “Maybe I should head off?”

“Stop squabbling.” Hux finally responded, encouraging you to press your chest against his again. 

Right away did you wrap yourself around him, making sure to let your hands wander over the surface of his back. Somehow you had a hunch about the flesh surrounding the mechanical parts of Hux’s back, predicting that those specific areas would have a higher sensitivity. And it seemed that your predictions were accurate with how Hux reacted when you paid special attention to those locations.

He practically threw himself against you, twitching his head that you could say was buried in the crook of your neck. 

Now you adjusted your legs so that they wrapped around Hux’s trembling body, ankles hooked together while your fingers played with a particular tube on his back. Your fingertips followed the strand from one end to the other until reaching a definite spot where it impaled into Hux’s flesh. You brushed your fingers against that very spot before actually caressing it, feeling his twitching intensify while his projectile limb held you close against him.

In spite of all the quivering, Hux felt completely limp against your body. The feeling of awe never left you, merely increasing with every passing second that Hux seemed to glitch. Oh how you wondered what kind of squabbling sounds would escape his voice box had he possessed the ability to communicate more than just words. 

“Huxlee,” you whispered as one of your hands snaked its way up to Hux’s head to caress his damaged skin. Your lips grazed against its side before returning to his neck where you couldn’t help but tease with your hot breaths. And you soon elicited a powerful twitch from him the moment you kissed and nibbled on his neck right after you let out a tender whisper. “My lucky star.”

Amidst all his trembling, Hux looked straight into your eyes with every sensor on his visor. It was clear that his system was acting up with how overwhelmed he had become in such a short time span. What was not present to your eyes were the various codes swimming in his vision, lines of him attempting to recalculate and fathom every sensation he was feeling. Yes he had experienced his fair share of unpleasant feelings, such as when one of the worms managed to stun him with a pallet when he wasn’t in Overclock Mode or when J15L19 dared burn him. But…everything you provided made up for every single one of those moments of inflicted discomfort. You were blind to the new fuzziness in Hux’s sensors as he now tried to analyze your smile, your eyes, anything to ground himself and come to terms that he was still in the colony ship. However…your voice…the satisfying sound of your voice proved to be both relieving and torturous as you spoke to him.

 “Hux?” you finally voiced, scratching the back of the robot’s head once you took notice of his wandering mind. With your palm pressed against the now still surface that was his cheek, you made him focus on you as you beamed at him but now spoke sincerely. “I can stop if you need me to, I know it can be too much.”

“You won’t do such things.” Hux expressed with his head deepening into your palm, sensors once again powering down into a sort of sleep mode as his hold on you tightened once more, if it was even possible to hold you any tighter. “It’s really annoying when you continue squabbling.”

“Then maybe I should do this instead,” you resumed your affections by planting yet another kiss on his visor’s middle area, prompting a shudder from his head that nearly bumped into your nose. “Hey! Watch it.”

“How do you do it.”

“Do what?” you cooed with a tilt of your head, removing your hands from his head to let your arms hang loosely over his shoulders. 

“Create complications in my design.” Hux enunciated without hesitation, only proving his point when you soothed his back once more. It was then that you felt him hold you, not just hug your body, but hold you as he began to lean forwards until you were dipped  and hovering over the floor.

“What are you doing?” your giggling rang in his visor’s microphones while you made sure to hold onto him securely so as to not fall. It was then that you noticed his lights back on and shining on your complexion with how close he was to your face. With his machine parts and your prosthetic, you were basically magnets attracting each other every time. 

“This is better.” Of course when he had any kind of leverage over you was when he was actually content. “Finish what you began.”

“I fear that if I do, you’ll either drop me on my head or crush me with that arm of yours.” 

“Don’t tempt me.” Hux placed his visor against your forehead as you giggled again. 

“And what’ll you do if I don’t do as you say?” you held onto the robot with your prosthetic, this thankfully strong enough to hold you while you used your other hand to hold his face one last time. 

“I will make you succumb.” He practically threatened, but you knew no kind of harm would be brought upon you. And so, you grinned from ear to ear before giving his cheek yet another kiss:much to his satisfaction.

[thatrandombystander]

I don't have the right length bolts to get all the feathers on right now (and these four are too long anyway) but this is currently how feathers kind of sit on the frame

When the wing is open-ish the feathers just hang straight down due to gravity, but I already knew this was gonna happen so no problemo.

The outermost feather's wire is actually resting on top of bolt at the very end of the frame arm which is why it isn't drooping. All the feathers are going to be tied together so that outermost feather will pull them up so they can fan out instead of drooping when the wing is open

When the wing is more closed, the feathers are NOT pointing straight down like they should be and are instead pointing inwards.

Looks like there's not enough distance between the attachment loop and where the fabric starts so the fabric is kind of getting in the way (you can see the fabric bending and folding in the bit)

So looks like next step will going and getting all the appropriate nuts and bolts to attach all the feathers, then cutting off the excess fabric at the top (which means I'll need to reapply glue for anti-fraying on those newly exposed edges 😭), and THEN tying all the feathers together (after laying them out and confirming if it looks good or if feathers should be removed or trimmed)

Aaaaaaand then attaching the electronics, making the fabric cover, and the uhh whole rest of the cosplay. Mechanical wings? Yeah sure I'll do that! Making the coat? Oh god that's so intimidating 😭

[gumnut-logic]

The footsteps on the metal decking were so obviously familiar fine footwear, Virgil didn’t need to look up to know his eldest brother had finally returned. The fact they were accompanied by wet squelches and the tap of his brother’s cane only informed him further of Scott’s mood.

Not a good one.

Virgil sighed and with a final yank on the bolt to secure it, he pushed his goggles onto his forehead, no doubt adding to the grime already in his hair.

Looking over from under Number Four and her propellers, all he could see was that fine set of shoes standing in a puddle of water. The tempered brass end of the cane, an affectation that was only partly required by his brother and was more for show than anything else, tapped again impatiently and rather loudly on the deck plates.

“You’ve returned.”

“Obviously, Virgil.” The feet shifted. “Where exactly are you?”

“Under here.” His back was on wheels and with a shove, he slid out from under his little brother’s Thunderbird.

Blue eyes as crystal clear as the ocean they were currently floating in targeted him immediately.

Virgil couldn’t help but smile upside down at his brother. Scott was far too serious most of the time and his appearance and dress clearly illustrated that at the moment. Black top hat, deep blue waistcoat, equally deep red cravat, charcoal long coat over black pants and those fine black shoes.

Virgil felt positively grimy in his dirtied shirt, old breeches and worn boots. But then his work was of a different kind to that Scott had in New York.

“What did father say?”

“He did not approve. Claimed the risk was too high and the chance too small.”

Virgil frowned. “But John’s calculations were exact. We have to investigate. If there is land there, I am sure Alan could have made it.”

Scott shifted where he stood. “Yes, well, father disagrees.”

Virgil thinned his lips. Their father wasn’t here. Their father lived in a different world despite the man creating the infrastructure and funding the efforts of International Rescue, Virgil sometimes wondered if he actually understood what his sons experienced.

A sigh and he pushed himself up off the trolley and onto his feet. Several nuts and bolts clattered to the floor, prompting a sigh from his brother.

Virgil arched an eyebrow at him before bending over to pick up the metal pieces of submarine. As his brother shifted again, he was reminded of the squelch of his entrance. “What’s leaking?” More work most likely.

“I believe Eos has been gnawing on the airlock rubbers again.”

“Again? I only repaired them last week.”

“I’ll speak to John about it.”

“He’ll love that.” The pilot of Thunderbird Five, the great docking submarine they were currently standing on tended to ignore a lot of the ‘advice’ their eldest brother offered. Since they had lost young Alan, their master navigator had taken to locking himself away for long periods of time.

Virgil made a point of barging in on him as much as possible with his medic and ‘mancy excuses. John, of course, saw through all of them to what Virgil’s interruptions were – genuine worry.

Unfortunately, Scott was much more direct and arguments often happened between the two of them. Virgil found them stressful. Fortunately or unfortunately, his brothers knew that and would stop the moment he walked in.

But still…

“Are we going anyway?” Virgil eyed his brother.

Scott’s posture was always ramrod straight, but still he managed to gain a few thirtyseconds of an inch at that comment.  “We leave at dusk.”

Damn. This was going to cause a rift the size of the Grand Canyon. Their father would be furious.

But Scott had no choice, Virgil agreed, Gordon was inconsolable and John was on the verge of losing his mind. They had to do this.

Scott’s eyes narrowed on Virgil as he grabbed a rag and wiped his hands.

A sigh. “We’re looking at least ten days travel time at Five’s top speed, give or take Cape Horn.” He knew where he would prefer to shove Cape Horn. “Best guess, I’d say a fortnight to the middle of nowhere.” He eyed his brother. “Any word from the colonial offices in the South Pacific?”

Scott’s gaze dipped. “Unfortunately, no. Neither by telegraph nor IR broadcast.”

“John has more balloons in the air.” It was a faint hope. The whole concept was a faint hope. But Virgil, like his brothers, refused to accept defeat. They would find Allie. “And the closer we get, we can launch One.” And Two. There was no way Virgil was being left out of this any more than John or Gordon for that matter.

Scott raised his head again. “If we find Three, do you think you can revive her?”

Virgil’s fingertips tingled at the thought. His affinity for mechanism had helped make this all possible. Hiram built the craft under the direction of their father, but Virgil tended them, kept them alive.

Sparks flickered at the ends of his fingers. “I will.”

Or die trying.

-o-o-o-