#cruiser’s oc tag

[cruisersensei]

so, my lineup of demonbane OCs, intended as antagonists for kuzaku, is as follows:

- a fearsome remnant of the anticross who a) never was an anticross member to begin with b) lives in post-zanmataisei timeline where the anticross got erased from the universe completely c) doesn’t even have a cool roman emperor nickname

- a jaded office lady whose greatest deep-seated regret is failing to become a romanticised sea god’s priestess

- the worst person you’ll ever encounter (an age faker)

- a man with world-destroying ambitions who is also very much convinced that he’s a good person. also the resident bookfucker

[allseeingbirchtree]

So, Demonbane OC masterpost

They’re my specialest little group of OCs at this point, intended as original antagonists for Kuzaku, accompanying his thematic arc.

Thaddeus “Teddy” Gardner: an unfortunate survivor of the color out of space. As his family died horribly, he — perhaps because of his blindness — happened to unknowingly store the cosmic radiation inside of his own body, thus becoming a kind of prison and a kind of bomb. A certain two members of the Anticross took on a role of his guardians, so that the bomb wouldn’t blow up on them, and gave some certainty and care to his miserable existence without ever intending to.

After the time loop reset, since there’s no one to come for him and save him, he grows up bitter and even less sane that you would’ve expected from a walking talking nuclear threat. The only thing about his condition that he knows for sure is that somehow, somewhere he was supposed to live a different sort of life, and that’s the worst part of it.

Eltdown Shards: a single genuine clay tablet from the Triassic era and eight copies, translations and other kinds of fakes of eight other tablets. A grimoire composed like that was never supposed to have a soul, but Teddy’s uncontrollable cosmic powers forcibly brought them into existence to be his guide dog. They don’t have a grasp on their own identity, as a composite being, and exist in a state of constant torment. However, this is the only kind of partner that would fit Teddy.

Della Kline: in her occult group, she was supposed to be the priestess of Dagon. That way, she would have been consumed by something so much larger that herself, at the peak of her youth and beauty, and her will would have shaped the world. However, the summoning rite was thwarted. Now she’s an office clerk at a publishing company, just an ordinary middle-aged woman, but she still dreams of the sea every time she closes her eyes.

Not a descendant of Deep Ones from Innsmouth — she checked it.

Confessions of Clithanus: a grimoire born of both Christian humility and Lovecraftian resignation to one’s helplessness before the unnameable, she denies her own will. To her, there’s no point in doing — or even wanting — anything, since nothing will matter in the end. That’s what makes the ambitious Della, her accidental owner, despise her apathy and despondency; and that’s what makes her love Della dearly. As she amplifies Della’s unfulfilled ambitions and deep-seated dreams, she grows into a terrifying creature who enables Della to act upon her worst impulses.

Ogawa Haru: an immigrant princess and the spoiled daughter of the famous Ogawa Shinjiro, the second most important business man of Arkham-city after Hadou Kouzo. She claims to be seventeen, a high-schooler in the prime of her youth, but she’s actually twenty two. Her father always took on responsibility for her, wanting to shield her from the horrors of the world, and the mere idea of having agency terrifies her. As she grows older, she becomes fixated on the idea of magic that can stop her physical growth for good, and she’s ready to do anything — and kill anyone — for this power. Overall, a hopelessly shallow girl with an affinity for murder.

Dhôl Chants: a complete failure of a spell book. Her benevolent spells don’t work nine times out of ten, and malevolent ones activate only after the caster’s death. However, she is at peace with her own uselessness — if your entire existence is an arcane joke, what more do you have to lose? All in all, she’s the jester to Haru’s queen, as she freely tells her the truths she doesn’t like pointed out. Whenever Haru isn’t hurling her at the wall, she’s dressing her up in neat girly outfits.

Ambrose Hicks: the owner of Hicks Antique Shop, as was his mother and her mother before her. He’s the only man in an ages-old dynasty of conjure women and female magic practitioners and had to crossdress as a child so that he could be taught properly. He still feels some lingering fondness for his “Rose Hicks” persona, as it’s forever interlinked with his mother being content and happy with him. As he inherited the shop, he attempted to reform it and put its reputation as a rundown hoodoo shop full of fake magical knickknacks to rest, but for some reason that didn’t work out. The only employee of the shop besides him is Teddy (he’s not particularly good, but it’s easier to keep an eye on him that way).

He’s unmarried but considers his grimoire his life partner. He claims that she allowed him to look at the world in an entirely new way — which is a sentence that never brings about anything good.

Book of Thoth: a heavily flawed translation of the original Book of Thoth into Ancient Greek, which — due to a translation error — implores people to look beyond the Ultimate Gate instead of warning them of its dangers. Full of internal inconsistencies, she thinks that the only way for people to go on is to destroy their civilization itself and build everything anew. She is Ambrose’s lover and partner of more than twenty years, manipulating him with the promise of unconditional love and convincing him that Arkham-city has to burn for its people to be happy. To prove their bond, she took one of his eyes and gave him in return the power to glimpse beyond the Ultimate Gate and see other worlds every now and again.

Her plan mostly depends on using Teddy as a bomb and turning Arkham-city into a wasteland. Still, it’s not that she’s evil: it’s just that a fundamental change in meaning fucked up her priorities. At the very least, the affection she feels for Ambrose is genuine.

[mrprettywhenhecries]

don’t waste your time (on me) [g.t]

08. | Like Jack and Sally

Gator Tillman ✘ Win Lewis (OC)

⇾ w.c. 6.4k words ⇾ tags/warning(s). canon x oc pairing, f!oc, misogynistic themes, alcohol use, p in v, choking, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), canon typical violence/blood, accusations of cheating, Gator’s kind of a dick ⇾ a/n. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💚

When Roy throws a wrench in Win’s Halloween plans, needing Gator to do a job for him, her temper gets the better of her and a misunderstanding nearly tears them apart.

[ masterlist • win bio ]

Gator had just stepped out of the Spirit Halloween at the old K-mart building when his phone went off.  Thinking it was Win calling to ask if he’d gotten his costume for the party yet, he pulled his phone from his pocket to answer, his grin faltering when he saw his father’s name flash across the screen instead.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked, bracing himself, a bad feeling churning in his stomach.

“Got a job for you.  Meet me at Hammurabi’s in twenty minutes for the details.”

Before Gator could protest, Roy had already hung up, leaving Gator standing in the parking lot twisting in the wind.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, pocketing his phone with more force than necessary and striding stiffly to his cruiser.  If Roy wouldn’t tell him the job over the phone, it had to be something serious.

Roy’s truck was already parked out front when Gator arrived, and he followed suit when his father climbed out and ambled over, meeting Gator halfway.

“So I was thinkin’ about what to do with Nadine,” Roy said, stepping in close and pitching his voice low, and Gator frowned in confusion for a moment.

“I told ya, she goes by, uh, Dorothy now,” he said, but Roy brushed the detail aside.

“Yeah.  At first I was thinkin’ we’d leave her alone until after the election.”

“But…?”  Gator prompted, sensing there was more his father wasn’t saying.

“Is what I was thinkin’—” Roy reiterated, cutting Gator off, “—what with all the heat from the feds sniffin’ around, but then last night I had a dream.  What’s today?” he asked, and Gator’s brows pinched, trying to catch up with his father’s somewhat erratic train of thought.

“Uh, Halloween–” he answered, but Roy was already one step ahead of him.

“Exactly.  All Hallow’s Eve, in which the world of the Gods is made visible to humanity and the dead come back to life.  That’s what Nadine is, can’t you see?  She was dead, but now she’s back.”

“So…?” Gator asked, shaking his head slightly, not following.

“So, we get her tonight.”

“Tonight?” Gator asked, his stomach knotting at his father’s words.  

“Yes, tonight,” Roy snapped, sensing Gator’s reluctance.  “What, you got other plans?” he scoffed, watching Gator wince.

“Well… yeah, kinda.”

“Too fuckin’ bad,” Roy interrupted, his bluff face turning hard.  “Tell that whore of yours you can’t see her tonight.”

“But–”

Gator’s halfhearted protest had Roy’s eyes narrowing sharply.  “This is the best chance we have to get this done.  You tell me which is more important,” he said, voice dangerously low, and Gator swallowed, giving himself a shake.

“This is,” he murmured, ducking his head obediently and Roy nodded, pleased with his answer.  

“Good.  Now, everyone’ll be in costume, the streets’ll be busy.  So, ding-dong, trick-or-treat, we send two around the back, breach ‘em from both sides, tie ‘em up, put their masks on,” Roy explained, leaving Gator squinting in confusion.

“Their, uh, masks?” 

“Their Halloween masks,” Roy clarified, an edge of irritation to his voice.

“Oh!  Yeah, yeah,” Gator exclaimed, nodding quickly.

“Victor and villain, in-cognito, then boom, you’re out the door, you’re in the van, and no one’s the wiser,” Roy continued.

Gator nodded vacantly as he listened to the plan, trying to fix every detail to memory, though his thoughts kept returning to what he was gunna tell Win.

“Now remember, only guys we can trust.  Got it?” Roy finished and Gator nodded.

“Say it.”

“Only guys we can trust,” Gator repeated.

“Good,” Roy grunted, nodding back toward Gator’s cruiser.  “Now get goin’, you’ve got a long drive ahead of ya.  You got this,” he added, patting Gator’s shoulder in encouragement.  “I believe in you.”

Gator watched as his father climbed back into his truck, a dazed grin still stretching his lips as Roy’s words echoed in his ears.

I believe in you.

This was it.  This was his chance to prove himself.

As soon as he was back behind the wheel, heading back toward the costume store to grab a few more masks, Gator quickly dialed the number of a guy he knew to put a crew together, stalling as long as he could before having to break the news to his girlfriend.

Reluctantly pulling up Win’s number, a message notification popped up on his screen—a photo of her in her Sally costume, her face painted to look just like the animated doll—and Gator allowed himself a wistful look before pressing the call button and bringing the phone to his ear, chewing the inside of his cheek nervously as the phone rang.

“Hey, you get your mask yet?  Are you on your way over?”

Win didn’t give Gator a chance to even say hello, buffeting him with questions as soon as she answered, her excitement only making him feel even more guilty about what he needed to tell her.

“Uhm… actually, I got some bad news…” 

The line went ominously silent and Gator grimaced, pushing on.  “Somethin’s come up and dad needs my help with something tonight.”

“Tonight?” Win echoed incredulously.  “You can’t do it tomorrow?”

“It’s kinda time sensitive,” Gator explained, sensing Win’s mounting frustration, and he couldn’t exactly blame her.

“Okay, well… could you come after you’ve finished?”

“I wish I could, but… I kinda hafta… drive to Minneapolis,” Gator mumbled, bracing himself for Win’s reaction.

“Minneapolis?!  But that’s like a six and a half hour drive one way!” she exclaimed, the disappointment in her voice cutting right through him.

“I know,” Gator sighed.  “I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“Did you tell him you had plans?” she asked, though he knew no matter how he answered she wouldn’t like it.

“Course I did, but this is important.  He’s counting on me,” Gator insisted, a little more heated than he intended.

“So was I,” Win murmured.

Gator scoffed before he could help it.  “It’s just a party, Win.  There’ll be others.”

There was a beat of silence and Gator knew he’d fucked up.

“I know it’s just a party,” Win snapped, a hard edge leaching into her voice.  “But I wanted you there.  I wanted to play for you,” she murmured, a soft sniff punctuating her words.  “I wanted you to meet my friends.  That’s–that’s kind of a big deal for me.”

“Win–”

“No,” she exclaimed, interrupting him, not wanting to hear any more.  “Go on.  Go do daddy’s dirty work.  See if I fucking care.”

“You don’t get it, Win,” Gator replied, begging her to understand.  “I have to make him proud.”

Win snorted.  “No, you don’t get it.  No matter what you do for him.  He will never be proud of you.  Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

Gator’s jaw flexed, his teeth gritting together as anger seared through him.

“The fuck do you know about loyalty?” he demanded, knowing it was a low blow.

“Jesus, you’re a fucking dick.  You know what?  I’m glad you’re not coming tonight,” Win spat, hanging up on him and Gator briefly wondered if he’d made her cry, quickly burying the pang of guilt beneath his anger.

———

Crouching to plug her guitar into her amp, Win took a swig from the bottle at her feet before discreetly checking her phone.

No new messages.

She scowled, unsure which she was more angry about—that Gator hadn’t texted since their fight, or the fact she wanted him to.

“Hey, you okay?” Beau asked, noticing the look on her face as he slung his bass over his shoulder and adjusted the strap.

“Peachy,” Win muttered, taking another drink and Beau shared a look with Lydia.

“I’m gunna hazard Tillman bailed?” Lyds asked carefully and Win’s scowl deepened.

She knew her friends still didn’t understand why she was even dating him, and right then, she didn’t blame them.

“I don’t really wanna think about it,” she muttered, straightening.

“Clearly,” Beau mumbled under his breath.  “I just hope you’re not too blitzed for our set–”

He cut off with a glare from Win and grimaced.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, but Lydia looked doubtful.

Before either could say anything else, the music playing over the speakers cut out and the party’s host jumped on the small makeshift stage to introduce them.  Win stepped up to the mic and began the intro to their first song without preamble, trying not to focus on the crowd in front of her too closely, lest she find herself searching for the one face she knew she wouldn’t see.

Once the first song came to an end, the last chord echoing through the speakers, she grabbed the mic stand and pulled it closer to address the audience, most of whom were also dressed in costumes.

“Happy fuckin’ Halloween you ghouls and goblins!  Don’t you all look spooky tonight?” she drawled into the microphone, pointing out over the crowd before tugging lightly at her skirt.  “Do you like my costume?”

A small cheer rose from the crowd while several wolf whistles pierced the clamour and Win huffed a humourless laugh.

“My boyfriend was supposed to come tonight as the Jack to my Sally, but he bailed on me, can you believe that?” she scoffed and someone in the audience called out: “I’ll be your Jack!”

Win rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched in amusement.  “Find me after our set and we’ll see.”

By the time their small set ended, Win stumbled off the stage to pack up their equipment, her vision spinning slightly, though that didn’t stop her from grabbing a bottle of beer from a nearby cooler.

“Hey, you okay?  For real?” Lydia asked, joining her, and Win shrugged a shoulder, snapping her guitar case shut.

“I will be.  Nothin’ a little party can’t fix.”

“Where is he, anyway?”

Win let out a heavy sigh.  “Driving to Minnesota.”

“Minnesota?  Why?” Lydia exclaimed, her mouth dropping.

“Dunno, some errand for his dad.  He didn’t go into detail,” Win explained, taking a long swig of beer.

“I don’t wanna say ‘I told you so’...” Lydia said, holding her hands up and Win snorted, taking her friend’s arm and pulling her toward the makeshift dance floor.  

“Then don’t!”

It wasn’t long before dancing ceased to hold her attention and Win’s thoughts returned to Gator.  Heading outside, away from the noise for a cigarette, she pulled her phone out to check for new messages, hurt to find none, not even a simple ‘I miss you’.

Before she could second guess herself, she dialed his number and brought the phone to her ear.  With each ring her heart sank a little further, hoping he was just busy.  Hoping he was alright.  He’d never said exactly what this “errand” for Roy entailed and it only just occurred to her that it might be something dangerous.

When the call went to his voicemail, Win took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes.

“Hey, I wanted to see if you were okay,” she said, fiddling with the cigarette between her fingers.  “I miss you…” she murmured, letting her eyes slip shut before a fresh wave of anger washed over her and her lips twisted sourly.  “Actually, you know what, no.  I’m glad you’re not here!” she exclaimed stubbornly, repeating what she’d told him earlier, though she didn’t really mean it.  She just wanted to make him hurt like she was hurting.

“But y’know what, it’s your fuckin’ loss.  I’m gunna go back in there and get fuckin’ wasted and have a great fuckin’ time without you and you’re gunna be sorry you missed it—“

Before she could finish her drunken thought, a couple of guys stumbled outside, the music from inside blaring for a moment before the door swung shut behind them.

“Hey!  Hey, it’s sexy Sally,” the one guy said, his words slurring slightly as he recognized Win from earlier.

“What’re you doin’ out here all alone?  You want some company?  You did say to come see you after your set,” the other guy exclaimed, his voice loud over the phone before Win ended the call and spun to face them.

“Not if you’re gunna be creeps,” she snapped, taking a step backward and flicking her cigarette away.

“Aw c’mon, we’ll help ya forget all about your jerk boyfriend,” one of them drawled, an almost predatory grin stretching across his face.

“Fuck off,” Win huffed, pushing past them to head back inside and find her friends before they could get any ideas.

———

“Drive!  Just fuckin’ drive,” Gator barked as he jumped into the van after hauling their unconscious teammate into the back and slamming the door.  He craned his head to watch the flames dance higher across the roof of the house as they drove in the opposite direction, the tires struggling to find traction in the hard packed snow, and he silently kicked himself.

Roy was gunna be so pissed.

Though, Gator wasn’t sure which would be worse, his father’s anger, or his disappointment.  Roy’s last words before they parted ways earlier ran through his head, only making his stomach hurt more.

You got this.  I believe in you.

Gator wanted to scream, to beat his hand against the dash.

Nadine had been ready for them, but he’d gotten so close.  Even though she’d banged up his crew pretty bad, he’d had her cornered, desperate, but then somehow the fire had started, quickly spreading out of control and he’d been forced to retreat—the fire department already en route, sirens hot on his heels.

One of the guys in the back let out a pained groan as the van hit a pothole and Gator scowled, pulling his phone from his pocket to distract himself.  There were no messages from Roy and he didn’t dare send a status update, knowing full well not to leave an evidence trail.  When he noticed Win’s voicemail however, his heart leapt, just the thought of hearing her voice reminding him just how much he missed her.  That is, until he began to listen to the message.

The vitriol in her words felt like a punch to the gut, but when Gator heard unfamiliar masculine voices in the background—you said to come find you after your set—his jaw clenched, clamping his mouth shut against the wave of nausea that threatened to carry him away.

Win wouldn’t do that to him, right?  She wouldn’t fuck someone else just to get back at him.  Would she?

A voice in his head that sounded a lot like Roy reminded him she had a reputation for getting around, but Gator stubbornly squashed the thought, hastily dialing her number, though his insides squirmed uncomfortably.

With each hollow ring, the pit in his stomach opened wider, until the call went to voicemail and he felt like he might be swallowed whole.  Chewing his chapped lip, he deliberated whether or not to leave a voicemail himself, finally making up his mind when the recorded greeting ended, punctuated by a shrill tone that only grated further on his nerves.

“Hey.  I’m on my way home, but uh, what the fuck was that message about, huh?  Who the hell was that guy?” he hissed, forgetting for a moment about the others in the van with him.  “Call me back,” he added, fighting the urge to throw his phone and let his anger boil over.

Following up his message with a strongly worded text, he reached for his vape, needing to take the edge off his frayed nerves while he waited for Win to respond.  As the minutes ticked by, however, and no call came, he brought the phone to his ear again, but this time it went straight to voicemail.  

Now on the verge of panic, Gator tried again and again, the outcome unchanged in each few minutes between attempts.

Starting to spiral, his thoughts veering toward the worst, he stubbornly kept calling until the guy in the back let out an annoyed sigh.

“Dude, give it a rest already.  She obviously doesn’t wanna talk to you.”

Gator whipped around in his seat to glare at him, the other, finally conscious again, flinching away from his gaze.

“How about you shut the fuck up before I shoot ya, huh?” he snapped, half reaching for his pistol strapped to his thigh.

The guy held his hands up in surrender and kept his mouth shut, heaving a breath when Gator turned back around to grumble at the driver.  “Can’t you drive any fuckin’ faster?”

By the time the van pulled into the ranch’s drive, the sun had already crested the horizon, lighting the sky with its weak rays and Gator rubbed at his eyes—they felt grainy and his limbs felt heavy, stiffness having set in from the long drive and the bruises he was starting to definitely feel.

When the van parked, he snatched his mask from the dash and slid out, wearily making his way up the walk to the farm house.  On the front porch a small group of ranch hands were working to cover several bodies in a tarp and Gator frowned.

“What happened?” he asked Bowman, who seemed to be standing guard in front of the house, supervising the clean up.

“Boogeyman came in the night,” he grunted, turning to eye Gator.  “Left a warning in the kids’ room.”

“Who, Munch?”

“I don’t know the guy’s name,” Bowman huffed.  “Full on wild man, though.  Creature from the Black Lagoon.”

Gator let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, a heavy sigh whistling through his lips. More than anything, he wanted to climb the stairs to his room, collapse into bed, and forget the entire night ever happened, but he knew he wasn’t done yet and this news only made things more complicated.

“Where’s Roy?”

“Had to take care of something,” Bowman said, his breath steaming in the cold morning air.

 Getting the address, Gator headed to his cruiser, needing to speak with his father.

———

Gator’s boots crunched on the gravel walk as he slowly approached the lone house trailer, Roy’s favourite horse hitched outside confirming it was the right place.  He didn’t have long to wonder what Roy was doing there when the crack of a gunshot from inside made him jump and he quickened his steps, his heart in his throat as he pushed through the door and rushed into the trailer, his pistol already cocked and at the ready as he performed an initial sweep of the room, surveying the carnage.

Roy was unharmed, but the man across from him clutched at his throat as he sank into the couch behind him, blood spurting from between his fingers and frothing on his lips as he gasped for breath, his body spasming in the throws of death.

“Fucking hell,” Gator breathed, lowering his firearm as his stomach churned, and he finally tore his gaze from the dying man, shifting it to Roy.  “You okay?” he asked, though Roy Tillman looked completely unruffled.

Roy didn’t answer, merely standing to ask the dying man’s wife for a glass of water.  As she hurried to obey, Gator’s eyes unwittingly returned to the man still gasping and gurgling on the couch and he holstered his gun, not needing it any longer.  

“Uh dad, what’re we doing?” he asked uncertainly and Roy once more ignored his question.

“So, did you get her?” he asked instead and Gator’s gaze instantly fell.

“Uhm–” he hesitated, trying to find the words to explain.

Roy let out a sigh, simply holding his hand up to stop Gator right there.  “Don’t bother, I can see it all over your face.  Worked you over pretty good, did she?” he asked, noting the fresh bruises already darkening Gator’s eye socket.

“It’s like he said, some kind of tiger,” Gator muttered, sighing.  “The husband got hurt.  House caught on fire–”

“Not now,” Roy warned, cutting him off as he glanced over at the wife, hovering uncertainly at the edge of the kitchen, her back pressed tight to the counter behind her.

“Oh, we got Munch,” Roy exclaimed instead, and Gator’s eyes widened. “You did?” he asked, relief surging through him, only to freeze in his veins at his father’s next words.

“Yeah, got him right there on the couch,” Roy replied, nodding to the dying man across the room.  “It’s the guy from the filling station, the cop killer.  Tip came in over the hotline.  Lenore here called it in herself, didn’t you, Lenore?” he asked, turning to the trembling woman.

“Husband came home bragging he killed a state trooper, wounded another, I responded, shots fired, you were my backup.”

Gator frowned, a mere pinching of the brow as he struggled to put it all together, his sleep deprived brain making it harder than usual.  “So…”

“Loop’s closed, I’m sayin’,” Roy said, giving him a pointed look.  “State can call off their dogs, and we’re free to settle our differences in private.”

Gator nodded, finally getting the picture, and he watched silently as Roy turned to deal with the widow, discreetly bribing her to corroborate their story before she shakily agreed and he followed Roy outside, their business inside concluded.

“Somethin’ else’s botherin’ ya.  What is it?” Roy asked as he untied his horse’s reins, his piercing gaze swinging toward Gator, who tried to wave his concern away, shaking his head with a stutter.

“Come on, out with it,” Roy insisted and Gator let out a reluctant sigh, looking down at his boots.

“Win went out without me last night.  I got a weird message from her, some-some guys in the background–” he cut off, shaking his head.  “Now she won’t answer my calls.  I-I’m getting worried.”

Roy grunted.  “I think you already know what she was up to. Stop kidding yourself.”

“What?  No!” Gator exclaimed, his head snapping up, a look of horror on his face, but Roy could see it in his eyes and he shook his head as he climbed into his saddle.  “Once a whore, always a whore,” he mused solemnly.  “Best you cut that one loose.  Save yourself the headache and the humiliation.  Sooner or later, she’s gunna show you her true colours, and I’m not gunna say I told you so.”

Roy booted his horse, and took off, riding off into the rising sun without another word, leaving Gator standing there, once more twisting in the wind.

———

Gator barely waited til his cruiser was in park to cut the engine and jump out, practically stomping up the walk to pound at the door, past caring about the early hour and who might hear.  After stewing all night and half the morning, his blood was boiling and he wanted answers.

When Win didn’t answer, he peered through the window, scowling when he saw her sitting at the kitchen counter, ignoring him.

“I know you’re fuckin’ in there!” he called, pounding the side of his fist against the door hard enough to rattle the window.  “Lemme in, Win!”

When Win still didn’t get up, Gator’s scowl deepened and he began searching for a hidden key, hoping she had one.  If not, he’d be forced to move onto plan C and just kick the door in.

“Ha!” he exclaimed as he flipped over one of the rocks in the empty flower bed, revealing a little silver key.  

It wasn’t until she heard the click of the bolt opening that Win finally jumped to her feet.  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she cried, standing her ground against Gator.  “That’s breaking and entering!”

“Not if I have a key,” he countered, holding it up for her to see before slipping it in his pocket.

“What was your backup plan?  Bust my door down?” she asked, planting her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing daggers.

“Yeah, actually it was.”

Win let out an incredulous huff.  “I’d love to see you try.”

Gator took a step closer, his jaw flexing with the effort of trying to keep his anger in check.  “Oh, trust me, sweetheart, after the night I’ve had, I wouldn’t fuckin’ tempt me,” he muttered, his voice growing low, holding an edge of menace that did little to intimidate Win.

“Oh?  After the night you’ve had?  Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you?” she spat, not backing down.  “Piss off, Gator.”

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Gator demanded, ignoring her jab and Win turned away, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

“Because I didn’t want to talk to you.  I was mad–I am mad!”

“You sure it wasn’t cause you were busy fucking someone else?” Gator hissed, his good hand clenching into a fist at his side as he fought not to lose control–everything Roy had ever taught him about discipline racing through his head.

“What?” Win asked, spinning to face him, Gator’s accusation ripping through her like a bullet.  “Is that what you really think?”

Gator let out a derisive snort.  “What else am I s’posed to think?  I heard that guy on your voicemail message!  He said you told him to come find you later,” he exclaimed, his fist trembling with rage.

Win winced; she hadn’t realized that’d picked up on the recording.  “I-I said that during our set, but I wasn’t actually serious,” she tried to explain.  “After I hung up, I told him off and went to find my friends.  Nothing happened!” she insisted, but Gator rolled his eyes, his chapped lips pulling into a sneer.

“Maybe my dad was right.  Once a whore, always a whore.”

Win’s mouth fell open and she stepped back as if struck.  “You don’t believe that,” she said, voice small, the hurt in her eyes making Gator flinch, shame instantly seeping into him though he quickly squashed it down.

“I dunno, maybe I do,” he spat, avoiding her gaze.  “Maybe you wanted to get back at me–”

Win shook her head.  

“I wanted you there!  All I could think about was how much I fucking missed you.  I didn’t know what you were doing—if it was legal, if it was dangerous, if you’d come back hurt, if you came back at all.  I cried myself to sleep and when I got your message it just made me mad all over again.  That’s why I turned my phone off, not because I was fucking some guy,” she cried, her voice growing hoarse.

“For once in my fucking life there’s only one person I want and that’s you!  So why the fuck would I ruin that?” she exclaimed, her gaze desperately pleading with him to believe her.  “I would never do that to you, no matter how fucking mad I am!”

Gator deflated, exhaustion sucking all the fight from him. He knew in his heart she was right—since they’d begun dating she hadn’t so much as looked at another man—but his mouth opened and closed wordlessly, unable to form the words to tell her before his eyes fell to the floor and he tugged at the sleeve of his jacket.  Silence fell over the room and he swallowed, working up the courage to admit he was wrong.

“I believe you…” he murmured, clearing his throat awkwardly.  “I just–my dad said that shit and I got scared.  I should’ve trusted you,” he breathed, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Yes, you should’ve, you dick,” Win huffed, giving him a frustrated shove, her admonishment not to believe a word Roy said about her—knowing the man’d take any opportunity he could to break them up—died on her tongue when she saw the way Gator winced and she grabbed his jacket, tugging him closer to get a better look at his face, finally noticing the dark bruise forming under his eye.

“What the fuck happened?” she breathed, carefully taking his face between her hands, tilting it this way and that to search for more injuries, wondering just how bad it was beneath his clothes.

“Fell down some stairs,” Gator muttered, pulling her hands gently from his face.

“Gator–”

“It’s the truth!” he insisted, thankful that at least he could be truthful about something, even if he couldn’t tell her how it’d happened.

Though Win looked skeptical, she didn’t press the issue, merely pursing her lips.  “Yeah well, I don’t like that you keep getting hurt because of Roy,” she muttered, pulling her sweater tighter around herself.

“That’s not what’s happening,” Gator argued, pulling her closer to wrap his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Isn’t it?” she countered, closing her eyes and pressing her face to his chest.  “Everytime he needs you to do something for him, you come back with a broken arm, or a black eye and bruised ribs,” she pointed out.  “And I don’t like the way he treats you afterward, like you’re some fuck up.  You deserve better.”

“It’s not that easy,” Gator murmured, his brows pinching.  “I want to make him proud.  I have to do better,” he insisted and Win’s heart broke a little at his words.

If only he could see his father as clearly as she did.

“What if it’s never enough?” she asked, and Gator’s frown deepened.  He didn’t want to think about that.  If he didn’t acknowledge it, it couldn’t be true.

“I’m proud of you.  Can’t that be enough?” Win whispered, her voice breaking.

Gator squeezed her tighter, guilt burning in his chest.  He wished it could be enough, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there tonight,” he murmured, changing the subject.  “If it makes any difference, I really wanted to be…”

“I know,” Win sighed.  “There’ll be other parties, other gigs,” she said.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t there that’d bothered her, so much as why he wasn’t there, but she was tired of fighting, just glad to have him back.

God, but she was a fool in love.

Win stiffened as the thought caught her off guard.  She couldn’t be in love.  She’d never used that word before, not with any of her relationships anyway.

“Yeah, I know,” Gator said, not noticing Win waging an internal emotional battle over her sudden epiphany.  “But I had the perfect mask for last night too,” he lamented, pulling the round Jack Skellington mask from his back pocket to hold in front of his face, and Win looked up at him, her chest aching with affection.

“The Jack to my Sally,” she murmured, raising up on her toes to press a kiss to the mask where his mouth would be.

Gator tilted the mask back, letting it rest atop his head as he met Win’s gaze.  “Can I make it up to you?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her and Win thought for a moment, letting him sweat.

“I dunno, can you?” she asked, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips despite her cool tone.

As answer, Gator hoisted her into his arms to carry her to the bedroom, dropping her to the bed before tugging her by the ankles to the edge.

“I sure can try,” he drawled, and Win’s hips lifted as he eased her shorts down, finding her bare beneath them.  “No panties?” he asked, his lips curling in amusement as he admired her.

“I need to do laundry, don’t judge me,” Win huffed, pouting up at him.  

“I don’t think you should wear them ever, if you ask me,” Gator chuckled and her breath hitched as he knelt before her, hooking his arms around her thighs to hold her still as his mouth found her core, his tongue slipping eagerly between her folds to taste her.

A soft moan left her lips and her head fell back as his nose bumped against her clit, sending a jolt through her.  Pleased with her reaction, Gator moved higher to tease her sensitive bud, tracing sloppy circles around it with his tongue, and Win’s hands balled in the mess of sheets beneath her.

“Oh fuck, Gator–” she groaned, rolling her hips against his mouth and he switched tactics, lapping at her with broad unrelenting strokes, proud of the way he made her squirm, the sound of his name amid her breathy moans making him dizzy.  Drawing the hood of her clit between his lips to suck, he flicked the tip of his tongue against her aching bud rapidly  and she let out a cry, her legs trying to tighten around the sides of his face.

Growling into her cunt, he pried her legs apart, pinning her down despite her writhing, and his movements grew sloppier in his desperation to make her cum, drool and her juices running down his chin and coating his cheeks.

“Gator—Gator!” 

Win’s voice cracked as she let out a keening whine, her body going rigid as her climax washed over her in waves, her hips lifting from the bed, cunt fluttering, clenching around nothing, but Gator didn’t stop til she was an overstimulated twitching mess, her chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath.

When he finally lifted his face, panting just as hard, he turned to kiss her inner thigh, wiping the slick mess from his face against her feverish skin.

“Gator,” Win whined, shifting beneath him and he opened his eyes, looking up at her from between her legs.

“Fuck me with the mask on.”

A grin tugged at his lips, the idea turning him on more than he would’ve expected.  He’d only been planning on giving without asking for anything in return—something he’d never thought he’d do, to be honest—but how could he deny her if that was what she wanted?

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he got to his feet, stripping hastily and pulling the mask down over his face.  For a moment he stood over her, tilting his head as he took in the sight of her—her arms stretched over her head, body on display for him.

“Jack—“ she purred with a quirk of her lips, reaching for him, and he couldn’t help the groan that caught in his throat as he crawled atop her, grasping his cock to give it several slow strokes before tapping it against her messy cunt.

“This what you want?” he drawled, his voice muffled by the mask, rubbing his throbbing head between her folds, coating it with her slick.  “Want me to stretch this tight little pussy, split you open on my cock?” 

Win merely nodded, her lips parting in a silent plea.

“Uh uh, gotta hear you say it, Princess,” he taunted, giving her sensitive clit another smack with his head, making her twitch.

“Yes, please, Gator,” she begged.

“That’s more like it,” he grunted, finally pressing into her slowly, his breath hitching at the way her walls hugged him so perfectly, clenching around him, sucking him deeper.

“C’mon, you can take it,” he growled, stretching her further, breathing evenly through his nose to keep from cumming too soon, his breath condensing against the inside of the mask.

Pausing once he’d sheathed her, he gave her a moment to adjust before pulling nearly all the way out and thrusting back into her languidly, fucking her deep and slow, letting her feel every vein and ridge.  It was only when Win wrapped her hand around his wrist, guiding his hand to her throat that he nearly faltered.

“Choke me,” she breathed, and Gator marveled at the way his hand easily encircled her neck, his cock twitching deep inside her at the sight.  Careful not to go too far, he began to squeeze, applying just enough pressure for Win’s mouth to fall open silently and her body to tense, but for her chest to still rise and fall.

With each snap of his hips to hers, he grew rougher, his thrusts growing faster, harder, slamming into her as he choked her, fucking her into the mattress like in his filthiest wet dreams.

The way she looked up at him, devotion glazing over her unwavering gaze, made Gator light headed and he suddenly needed to be closer, needed to feel her.  Releasing her throat, he tore the mask off his head, letting it clatter to the ground as he surged forward to claim her lips in a searing kiss, his thrusts growing sloppy in his desperation.

He swallowed her cries in a frenzied clash of lips and teeth, groaning into her mouth as her nails bit into his shoulder blades, raking down his back to grab desperately at his ass, urging him deeper until he couldn’t hold back any longer, his balls tightening and spilling his load deep inside her with a broken moan, her name on his lips as came apart.

When he collapsed atop her, still twitching inside her, Win’s arms snaked around his back, holding him tightly against her chest.

“I forgive you,” she whispered into his shoulder and Gator smiled sleepily, his eyes fluttering shut in her embrace, a weight leaving his chest at her words.  Exhaustion finally overtook him, and Win wasn’t far behind, a deep comforting sleep dragging her under.

Gator wasn’t sure if it was minutes or hours later when he woke, needing to take a piss, Win still passed out beneath him, a peaceful look on her face that tugged at his heartstrings.  Carefully disentangling himself so as not to wake her, he pressed a featherlight kiss to her forehead, pushing her sweat-dampened bangs out of the way before pushing off the bed to amble to the bathroom.

Not bothering to shut the door behind him, Gator let out a sigh as he relieved himself, taking a moment to splash some water on his face and run his fingers through his hair before heading back to the bedroom.

Something made him pause, however, and he turned to frown at the front door, having forgotten if he’d locked it behind him or not.  Finding it unlocked, he quickly yanked it open to peer outside, only to freeze at the sight of a bloodied note stuck to the door with a serrated hunting knife.

I’m Always Watching.

Hissing a panicked breath, Gator hastily peered up and down the street once more before yanking the knife free and locking the door behind him.  Pressing his back to the door, he crumpled the note in his fist, his heart hammering in his chest.

The door had been unlocked the whole time, Munch could’ve easily walked right in, attacking them while they were… distracted.  The thought sent his blood running cold—he couldn’t afford to be so careless, not when Win was involved.  

Stowing the knife in the side of one of his boots, he scrubbed his hands clean and grabbed his gun before returning to the bedroom, finding Win still asleep, completely blissfully unaware of what had happened.

Sleep with your hammer cocked, that is, if you sleep at all.

Roy’s words ran through his head and he slipped his pistol under the pillow before crawling back into bed and pulling Win close, his pulse still thundering in his ears.  

If Munch had wanted them dead, he could’ve already done it, which meant they were probably safe for the time being, Gator reminded himself, willing his nerves to calm, forcing himself to match Win’s slow even breaths.  Burying his face in her hair, he yearned for that deep unassuming sleep he’d woken from not long ago, but one thought still nagged at him—if Munch had the opportunity to do more than leave a warning, why hadn’t he?

⇾ taglist. @sailorskunk, @heartbreak-sandwich, @super-unpredictable98, @tangerinesteve, @girlwiththerubyslippers

@cycat4077 , @thecreelhouse

[mello-bee]

“Mysterious strangers were seen to come and go in many worlds” – fables about the Stars by Adrian Specer Smith 

Cosmic Corsairs

The Cosmic Corsairs is a sub-faction of The Nameless. They follow the Path of The Trailblaze even after the fall of Akivili.

After the fall of their Aeon, a group of Loyal Nameless attempted to continue THEIR Legacy. However, due to the spread of the Cancer Of All Worlds (stellarons) the star rails that the Express runs on deteriorated. The Express fell into despair and crashed onto an unnamed planet, causing the Nameless to abandon it.

But The Nameless were known for their perseverance; Although they didn't try to fix The Astral Express due to the false belief that it was powered by their Aeon’s heart, they decided to build a new vessel (The Ship), one unbound by the silver rails Akivili had once built, that can Trailblaze further than their forefathers had once did while being lead by the Aeon

The Corsairs’ goal is to reach the unreachable and help those in need on the way. Although their ideals are similar to their current Express counterparts, they are given a bad reputation as “Uncivilised Pirates" due to their unwillingness to submit to authority, and unlawful methods of achieving their plans.

The current cruisers of the ship are either new recruits, or long descendants of the original Nameless, either way they're determined to follow the path to its end. 

KNOWN MEMBERS:

"not much of a talker..."

NAME: Caspian

ORIGINS: the son of the original voyagers, was given the captain's coat after the previous one stepped down due to his diligence and trailblazing spirit

PATH: The trailblaze

WEAPON: Cutlass sword

"such an annoying and crass bird..!"

NAME: Varun

ORIGINS: unknown, some say similar looking birds were seen accompanying previous captains since the day the ship was created, but Caspian claims that he had never seen him before the day he got assigned captain, and that the previous captain's pet parrot looked and acted completely different

ABILITIES: is known to read Caspian's thoughts out loud, in an unintelligible pirate dialect. its important to note that not every thought he voices is Caspian's, and that he also has his own unfiltered line of thinking

"Those eyes.."

NAME: karina

Origins: A Sigonian. came to the ship to look for someone, lost hope. that's all she's willing to tell you

PATH: allegedly, The Trailblaze

WEAPON: duel gun

OTHER MEMBERS...LOADING...LOADING... FAILED TO LOAD.

looks like you'll have to fill the space with your own ocs! if you'd like to join? :P

to make a Cosmic Crosairs oc you have to:

tag it as "Cosmic Cosairs"

tag me in the post! (optional)

yes im aware i misspelled corsair in the reference sheets, i apologize for that!!

[staycalmandhugaclone]

32 Rotations

Warning! This is not a complete fic. This is a teaser of something I started, fell in love with, and am still in love with though I know I'll never likely continue it. It's the introduction, a summary of the middle, and the scene that popped into my head that initially inspired the overall fic. I wrote it right after the season 1 finale. With that in mind... enjoy

I'm not tagging anyone because I'm not sure if I should??

Oc: Jazeel (Jaz) - human female with no other descriptions currently

Veektil (Veek) - male iktotochi

Ship: C_ROC Gorzanti-class light cruiser

Warnings: cursing, idle threats of violence, star wars appropriate violence, smoke inhalation

WC: 1,907

I loved moments like this. Quiet. Dark. There was nothing. No pressure of even artificial gravity. No flickering light from failing fluorescent tubes. No sensation of rough fabric against bare skin. Only the slow, steady th-thud… th-thud of my languid heartbeat, the gentle sighs of my own breath. Floating. Senseless. Out here, there was no up, no down. Everything felt timeless and eternal, and like it never existed at all. Floating.

Be-eep.

The unapologetic intrusion of the blaring alarm tore me from the reverie in a flare of disoriented panic barely a second before blinding lights filled the room burning eyes eagerly accustomed to the blackness just as the metal floors flew up to slam into my back. For several stuttered gasps, I lay there, stunned. Bastard.

“So much for a kriffing warning.” The words snarled from scowling lips as I stalked through narrow corridors into the cockpit, fingers impatiently buttoning the newly adorned gray jumpsuit.

“I told you to stop doing that weird meditating thing.” The pale-skinned iktotochi didn’t bother pushing himself out from under the disassembled control panel, hand fluttering dismissively toward me.

“It’s my karking ship, Veektil.” I growled back, leg tensing with the urge to kick the unruly mechanic.

“Of course, your majesty. My sincerest apologies.” He drawled before letting his disinterested impatience sink back into that almost unnaturally deep voice. “Kick me, and I’ll let you do this yourself – then we’ll see if this rusted heap gives two scobs about who’s on the title.”

“I told you not to use that damn mind-reading crik with me!” Admittedly, the lingering ache in my shoulders almost certainly contributed to my mood, but my skin crawled at the invasion of my thoughts, unintentional or not.

“And I told you to stop hovering when I’m trying to fix ‘your karking ship’!” He snapped back, finally pushing out form under the mess of loose wires and displaced metal sheeting.

“I wouldn’t be hovering if you’d fixed it back on Yavin IV like you were supposed to!” The normally subtle red tinting the smooth skin atop his prominent crown and dotting down around the base of his broken horns flared with some combination of anger and embarrassment .

“I couldn’t! I told you we need a new fuel modulator! You’re the one who insisted it would last to Ryloth!” The tendons gleamed white atop his hand, fingers clenching around the innocent quarkdriver.

“If you”

Tri-eep, Tri-eep, Tri-eep.

An alert trilled incessantly from the datapad hanging at my waist. Lips twisted up, eager to loose just one more retort, I so nearly ignored the message, frustration swelling beneath unjust blame, but the device was relentless and, with a groan, turned sharply away from the gruff mechanic, footsteps just shy of stomping as I tread back to the commons room.

The nearly claustrophobic halls flickered amidst the failing overhead light, a background annoyance that would be addressed in due course.

The alert is a distress call from a nearby planet neither were familiar with. They answered the call to find Kamino’s city destroyed and a severely emaciated and dehydrated soldier abandoned on a landing platform. Crosshair wakes after several days in their medbay, at which, Jazeal (Jaz) assures him that she's taking him to a fellow clone. Crosshair violently refuses, feeling abandoned by both the Empire and the clones, and ends up staying with Jaz and Veek for a variety of odd jobs that gradually become more and more skewed towards assisting the rebellion until eventually learning that Rex was the clone she’d originally intended to take him to. They end up specializing in smuggling clones out of captivity, often times against the clones wishes due to their chips. Through all this, Crosshair acts only as virtual support, staying in the ship initially due to his slow recovery, and afterward due to, Jaz assumes, a reluctance to return to a life of violence, but when a mission turns south, she had little option but to ask for help.

“Cr-” The initial attempt at his name broke in a torrent of painful coughs, eyes burning amidst the heavy smoke filling the air. “Crosshair! Crosshair, this is Jazeal! Come” My knees nearly buckled against the violent way my diaphragm convulsed, straining to rid the black fire from my lungs, “Come in!” The comm was silent for mere seconds before static bubbled from the dented speaker.

“I read you.” My heart lurched at the familiar rasp, dread and hope warring with each other in the midst of pure desperation.

“I’m sorry! Cross, I’m so sorry, but I need – ARGH!” Fire burst through my shoulder, wrenching a scream from my already raw throat.

“Jazeal?! Jaz!” My legs trembled as I staggered to dart around the corner despite the way the relentless coughs seemed to lock every muscle of my floundering body.

“I need backup.” The strained words finally wheezed past my lips, attention falling to the outdated comm clutched in soot covered fingers. Silence. One beat. Two. “Cross, please.” I whispered, begged. Please. Please.

“What’s the code to the weapon’s locker?” A sob of relief tore through me, but then I paused. Code?

“What?” Oh. Oh. “N-no, Cross… there’s no code on… Maker, I’m so sorry – You thought… There’s never been a code.” Even in the center on the chaos raging around me, ruined walls and corridors barely visible through the suffocating smoke, boiling air threatening to sear the very flesh of my throat and lungs, the scream of too-close blaster fire and booming of synchronized marching; still, I felt myself freeze at the realization that he’d thought, all this time, that I’d tried to keep him from his armor, his rifle; his past identity. In the brief eternity of silence, I could only imagine his shock; his disbelief.

“What’s your position?” Like nothing was amiss, he so immediately fell back into his old role: a soldier, support; protector; and my heart broke for him.

“I’m pinned down in the weapons depot near Hanger 3B.” I explained, words tearing over ruined vocal cords, as I leaned around the crate to loose a few more bolts. “But Veektil’s still near-” I didn’t doubt the thud of my knees crashing to the ground sounded clearly through the mic; lungs bucking, “C-comms,” I choked, “not… not that far. I just need an-an opening.”

“There are three squards locked on your location. The only thing keeping them from finishing you off is the fact that you’re surrounded by enough explosives to level the whole mining facility.” He stated in that carefully emotionless drawl.

“So, you’re saying I have the-the upper hand.” I couldn’t hide the wheeze even with the threat of laughter sown through my words.

“They don’t need to shoot you, and they know it. A few more minutes and you’ll be dead from asphyxiation. They just need to outlast you until the smoke does their job for them.” Lip caught between my teeth, I found myself staring blindly at the comm for several seconds. I knew what he’d said was true; there was no point in feigning denial. I just… thought I had more time. Tears left trails down the thick layer of soot covering my cheeks. My gaze turned absently to the distant ceiling as I forced some bit of control back over my seizing diaphragm.

“Hey Cross?” I called, voice quiet now even as I sent a few more blind shots toward the doorway. I didn’t wait for him to respond; certain he wouldn’t. “Think it might be time for you to bite the bullet.” I felt myself smirk despite knowing he couldn’t see me. “That friend of ours’ll be happy to… happy to see you.” My body contorted beneath a fresh wave of coughs, vainly fighting for air that simply wasn’t there. “You should… should probably get out of here… Just… don’t go crashing my ship.” Silence. Had he already left? Had he seen the futility and fled?

“Those really the best ‘last words’ you could come up with?” My chest jerked with a gasp. Those sneered words rich with a façade of boredom hadn't come through my comm… Legs trembling, I pushed myself up against he crate, jaw hanging in disbelief at the lithe figure adorned in onyx armor standing in the doorway, rifle leaning nonchalantly against this shoulder. Finally, laughter bubbled amidst broken gasps.

“You drama queen!” The words came out in some heartbreaking mix between laughter and sobs even as a wide grin pulled at my lips. “Just had… had to make a-a big entrance.” His helmet tilted and, though I couldn’t see it, I was certain the sleek plastoid hid a smirk. His shoulders rose, but I didn’t give him a change to speak, already pushing myself to move.

“Veek’s not far.” I explained, but, as I attempted to move past him, he shifted just enough to bloc my path. Instantly, my expression fell, brows furrowing with impatience, lips twisting into a scowl.

“Get clear of them smoke – you’re barely standing as is. I’ll find Veektil.” Pushing sharply against his chest, I tried once more to force my way past him, annoyance clear in my hoarse voice.

“We don’t have time to waste for you to go room by room! I know exactly where” The strain of forcing some measure of strength into my words crippled me, lungs balking until my chest began seizing with gasps too shallow to even feign relief before convulsing in coughs too quickly to grant even a taste of tainted air.

Vaguely, I heard a curse catch on his lips as his arm darted around my chest, locking me against the harsh planes of his armored torso before my legs collapsed. Hands clutching his forearm, teeth ground, I strained to bite back the fit, the panic seeping through my veins like ice. Movements rushed, he quickly leaned his rifle against the wall and reached for his helmet. Panicked anew, I lashed out to stop him, hand locking around his wrist as my head shook violently.

“S… seal…” I stammered, finally managing something akin to a breath. “M…m-m’alright.” He studied me in silence for several seconds, as though waiting to see if I’d break again, but, muscles taut, I managed to maintain control.

“You need to get out of here.” He stated again.

“Not… without… Veek.” I nearly growled, and just caught the sharp exhale as he glanced down the hall further into the base.

“You realize I can’t carry both of you.” He said, the faintest hint of annoyance hiding something too close to worry. Flashing him a strained smile, I carefully regained my own footing before pulling away from him.

“I’ll be alright.” I whispered, too aware that we both knew it was a lie. But what other choice was there? Without waiting for him to argue further, I pushed myself deeper into the base. A quick glance back left my heart fluttering. He stalked silently behind me, rifle perfectly cradled against his shoulder, balance dancing evenly between each measured stride. This was the elite commando. Lethal. Precise. Everything he was made to be. But not everything he was… One day, I hoped he’d believe that.

The chorus of approaching soldiers echoed over the roaring flames tearing through neighboring rooms. My hand shook as I raised my pistol, but Crosshair didn’t hesitate, quickly sweeping in front me. I barely saw the ivory armor before a series of rapid shots flew from his rifle.

[aggravateddurian]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged by @ouroboros-hideout approximately two weeks ago. I haven't forgotten, or ignored it, I've just been busy. And this week is no exception.

Current Projects

I'm working on creating NPV versions of my newest OCs: Teagan, Lincoln and an as-yet unnamed OC who will be revealed at a later time. No WIP pics at this stage, sorry.

Freerunners: Battlefleet

I'm working on Freerunners: Battlefleet, an encyclopedic elaboration upon the fleets of the Colonial Powers of the Freerunners universe. At the moment, I have specifications for some of the ships. Here's my favourite class, the first starship I ever came up with for Freerunners, the Aurigan Commonwealth Navy's Hurricane-class heavy cruiser.

The genesis of the Hurricane-class originated as early as 2016.

There is still much to do, and I have to design the emblems of the other major Colonial Powers. The Hurricane-class belongs to a nation known as the Commonwealth of Auriga, which has never been much of a focus until I renewed my efforts on this project.

Virtual Photography

Not a lot at the moment. My focus is on developing my NPVs and doing my semi-frequent fight with WolvenKit. Here's some stuff that hasn't made it to post yet:

Chara and Val (2099 version)

Blorbos

There have been developments in the growing family legacy of the Ocampo-Gonzalezes. This is Valerie's family tree as of 01 May, 2099 (for now). As you can see, we've had some developments, including the inclusion of Lincoln, Chara and Lincoln's gf, Teagan. This is still an active WIP, and I'm using https://www.familyecho.com to do it. I've found it very user friendly, and best of all, it's free!

Other Stuff

I've been tagged by a couple of people to do the '15 lines' game. I'm getting to it. I'm just very busy until this weekend. So to @olath124 and @theviridianbunny, please know that I'll get to it.

I'll tag for this post: @chevvy-yates @wanderingaldecaldo @byberbunk2069 @olath124 and @theviridianbunny and anyone else who wants to share!

[oddmawd]

— THERE'S FIRE Chapter 7: "The Asset in Action" (Smoker/OC)

Summary: When Commodore Smoker receives orders to escort a wealthy woman to her new home in the Grand Line, he regards the task before him as little more than glorified babysitting. But there’s more to the Asset than meets the eye, and soon Smoker finds himself drawn to the one woman he’s certain he cannot have. Justice, honor, duty...what do these ideals mean if holding true to them will lose Smoker something precious?

Lady Oxley Noa would do anything to protect her family — including sacrifice her own happiness. But when she meets Commodore Smoker, the line between the demands of her duties and the needs of her heart begins to blur. Stolen moments, smoldering glances, unspoken promises...she knows what they must mean, but she can’t afford to place a name to them lest she risk heartbreak unimaginable.

But love doesn’t care about your plans. Soon the spark of shared affection blazes too brightly to be ignored, and while neither Smoker nor Noa wants to admit what burns between them, it is an undeniable fact that where there’s smoke — there’s fire.

[Smoker x OC. Inspired by Bridgerton and other period romance. Slow burn. Eventual smut.]

TAGS & CONTENT WARNINGS

FANDOM: One Piece

PAIRINGS: Smoker x OC

RATING: Teen+

WORD COUNT: 69k total, 13.6k for chapter 7

GENRE: Romance

TAGS: Mutual pining, romance, slow burn, unresolved sexual tension, attempted kidnapping, inspired by Bridgerton and other period romance, set during the One Piece timeskip, deals with the themes of duty, social class/obligation, political/arranged marriage

WARNINGS: Canon-typical action/violence, descriptions of minor wounds and wound care

CHAPTER 7 - Excerpt

Rear Admiral Glacé’s warship, a brutish hulk of a vessel topped in a skeletal tangle of rattling rigging and furled sails, loomed over Smoker’s cruiser. Sailors tossed over lines and hooks and mooring poles, binding the ships together as they anchored for the night. Though the ships were to be unified, men aboard both stood along the bulwarks in watchful defense, unwilling participants in an alliance no one wanted yet no one had the gall to reject. The barrels of rifles and curves of cutlasses gleamed in the light of flickering oil lamps. Smoker paid them no mind, eyes fixed on the long gangway beginning to lower from the warship’s deck down to his cruiser, winches slowly unwinding, a guillotine falling in slow motion. 

He turned to Tashigi and Oxley. Both looked at him with determination, though Oxley’s was tempered with a strange, small smile. He took out his watch, noting the time, tipping it toward them so they could all watch the minute hand strike the hour.

“Remember your orders?” Smoker muttered.

“Yes sir,” said Tashigi.

“Dismissed.”

He put his watch away. Tashigi trotted off. The men (arranged in as close to a formation as the ragtag dogs of Unit 01 could achieve) parted like water around her. She vanished through a door and down a set of stairs; from behind the door came a thud and a muted ‘ouch.’ Some of the men chuckled at her clumsiness. Others grumbled under their breaths, envious she didn’t have to welcome the Rear Admiral too.

A look from Smoker silenced the lot of ‘em quick enough. Oxley, meanwhile, adjusted the blanket she wore like a makeshift shawl around her shoulders and straightened her spine. She stared at the still-lowering gangplank (a long, unwieldy thing) with lips pressed tight and firm.

“I remember my mission, as well.” Her dark eyes sparkled; a sly curl of her upper lip cracked her calm composure. “It’s rather electrifying, having one. Do you feel like this all the time?”

The question felt like a trap, even if she didn’t mean it as one. So all Smoker said was, “Try not to have too much fun.”

Oxley replied, “No promises.”

In contrast to the flurry of activity aboard the paired vessels, the ocean stretched still and calm toward the horizon, black as ink in any direction. Their rendezvous point amid the waters of the Grand Line had been set via Den Den Mushi by communications personnel, away from the site of the battle and any attention it may have attracted. The Rear Admiral had arrived shortly after the battle ended, and a scant half hour after Smoker and Oxley negotiated the terms of their alliance in his cabin. Which left them precious little opportunity to coordinate their next move with Tashigi, granted, but there was no time to go over the details again. Now was time for action.

Well. Time for Oxley to spring into action, anyway.

Smoker didn’t like this plan much — which is to say, he hated its goddamn guts. He’d said so at the time, but the two women he called allies had more or less bullied him into going along with it anyway, the pair of them glaring like pit vipers when he told them such. The key player in all this stood at his side upon the lower decks as the gangway descended, clutching the blanket-turned-shawl about her shoulders, head held high under the night wind. Oxley didn’t look intimidated to be thrown to the proverbial wolves. But…

Smoker cleared his throat. “Oxley.”

Dark eyes cut toward him. “Yes, Commodore?”

“Do you think you can…?”

“I can handle the Rear Admiral. Just you wait.” And yet her confidence faded. She took a deep breath, teeth worrying her lower lip. “But…”

Smoker frowned. “But what?”

Another deep breath. She smiled tightly. “Please, Smoker,” she said. “Do not hold anything I say against me.” When he only arched a brow, she said, “The Game can be — ”

Oxley didn’t get to finish. The gangplank hit the deck with a thud followed swiftly by the sound of marching feet. A small squad bearing rifles crossed the bridge, twin rows of soldiers clad in pressed and pristine uniforms preceding the steps of Rear Admiral Glacé. The man wore a billowing greatcoat with gold epaulettes on his shoulders, chest festooned with rank insignia that glimmered in the light of the nearby lamps. Smoker, in contrast, wore his usual short white jacket with green fur trim, shoulders empty of epaulettes, insignia traded for bandoliers of cigars. These juxtaposed details told a story, visuals highlighting the difference between his rank and the Rear Admiral’s.

And those details weren’t the only things marking their respective stations. The Rear Admiral had leaned into his position whole hog. Shoes shined to a wicked polish, trousers freshly pressed, and a tailored grey blazer with matching waistcoat held shut with gold buttons — yeah, this man wanted his station known on sight. His personal grooming said the same. He wore his hair in a long, neat ponytail down his back, face shaved perfectly clean. Not a speck of grime on him, Smoker reckoned. The Rear Admiral’s warship looked likewise spotless, with shiny decks and prim sails like it hadn’t been at sea for more than a day. Not at all like Smoker’s ragtag cruiser. The dogs of Unit 01 howled when asked to scrub or sweep…

Had Oxley noticed the differences between Smoker and the Read Admiral? If she did, she gave no sign. She just stood demurely at Smoker’s side, watching the Rear Admiral approach in silence. His polished boots clacked across the deck, coat fanning artfully in his wake. Narrow green eyes swept over Oxley up and down before alighting on Smoker.

“Commodore Smoker, I presume,” the Rear Admiral said in rich, smooth tenor.

“Rear Admiral Glacé.” Smoker didn’t bother saluting, and his voice sounded like a growling wolf’s in comparison. “This is — ”

He side-stepped Smoker as if he hadn’t said a word. “And this fetching creature must be Lady Oxley Noa,” said the Rear Admiral, white-gloved hands reaching for woman in question. Glacé dipped a bow, heels clicking together smartly. “A delight to meet you, my Lady. I am Glacé Felix, Rear Admiral and commander of G-4’s highest ranking military unit.”

“Charmed,” Oxley said, “I’m sure.”

Ever the graceful Lady, she extended her hand. The Rear Admiral took it in his own and kissed her knuckles, thin lips pressing softly against the bandages upon them. Oxley smiled back, unflinching. Smoker’s hands balled into fists. The pair of them together painted a pretty picture, he grudgingly admitted. A tightness spreading in his chest, accompanied by a deep, burning inhale on his cigar — 

Tashigi was not there, but he could practically hear her mutter, “Steady.”

Smoker released the breath, a plume of ash rising to the moon.

READ THE REST OF CHAPTER 7 on AO3!

[runningfrom2am]

the sea around us; chapter twenty-four

In which Rafe Cameron has to choose between his dad and a pogue who's changing his outlook on life more and more every day.

(rafe cameron x f!oc)

(eventual!jj maybank x f!oc)

warnings/tags: violence, drug/alcohol use, smoking, sexual content (if you squint), slowburn, older brother’s best friend, (these tags are obv not exhaustive but regardless it’s pretty PG13)

wc: 2.3k

my masterlist

series masterlist

requests

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

John B and I run into the woods together, with no real plan on where to go now that we just saw what we did. Rafe was going to shoot her. Ward did shoot her. Where do we even go from here?

We run out into a street, not even looking at our surroundings. I'm assuming John B has the same tunnel vision I do right now, because we immediately get hit by a car. We both fly up over the hood, onto either side of the car. Once I hit the ground is when I feel the pain, though. My ankle feels like it's on fire. I try to get up as the man driving opens his door. "John B!" I shout as the man helps me up.

"Are you okay? Whose blood is that?" He asks and I look down, noticing I'm almost entirely covered in Sheriff Peterkin's blood just as John B grabs me from him.

"Snowy? We gotta go- we gotta go." John B says, and I scream at the pain in my foot as I try to take a step with him.

"We're fine, sir." John B says, wrapping his arm around my waist and helping me walk into the woods on the other side of the street as fast as we can.

"I know- I know, you're okay. You're gonna be fine." John B rambles to me as the man continues shouting at us, offering to call someone.

"It's broken, my foot is broken." I cry, holding onto John B as we stumble through the trees.

"No! No, you're okay, Snow. We just need to get to.. uh, somewhere. We'll get somewhere safe and everything will be fine." John B insists.

I try to keep my screams of agony to a minimum as we keep walking, John B practically carrying me even though he's limping slightly himself. We look up through the leaves when we hear a plane flying overhead. It's the Cameron's. Of course, we've lost the gold for real.

We eventually make it to a clearing with an open garage, and decide we can hide in there until we can contact our friends. We sneak around the corner, and John B helps me sit down against the wall, keeping my foot from moving.

"You're okay- here, stay still..." John B whispers, standing back up to look around.

"John B!" I hear someone gasp, and people running over.

"Are you okay? Hey, is this yours?" I hear JJ ask our friend, referring to the blood on his hands as I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall.

"Shit- Snowy!" I hear Kie say, and JJ is quickly at my side, grabbing at my shirt. "Are you shot? Hey, are you shot?" He asks again and I shake my head.

"It's Peterkin's." John B says to the group, making everyone look over at him.

"What? What happened to Peterkin?" Kie asks, and then we hear more sirens and everyone ducks as some police cruisers tear past us on the road.

"Ward shot her." I say, looking up at my friends. "Ward shot her, and we were trying to save her but he was going to shoot us too so we ran."

"And then we got hit by a car." John B adds. "I'm pretty sure her ankle is broken. We need to get her to a hospital."

"No, no way." Pope chimes in, shaking his head. "I'm usually the first to say we need to do the safe thing, but something tells me you guys need to lay low- I have a bad feeling about this." I nod a little bit at that in agreement.

"No, we need to go to the police, like right now and tell them what happened." John B protests.

"Okay.. okay, I'll run home and get my car, and we can camp out in there, take John B to the police station, and then we can get Snowy to the hospital." Kie suggests.

"Okay, yes. Good idea." JJ agrees, standing up again with everyone. "We'll stay here, you and Pope go get the car."

The two of them nod and run off, and the three of us left hide behind some of the scrap in the garage while we wait for them to come back.

It's about fifteen minutes before Kie's car pulls up, but by now it's dark. The boys help me up and into the back seat, and we get to the police station as fast as we can.

"This is a bad idea, man, never trust the cops." JJ says as John B climbs out of the car.

"I need to tell them what happened." John B insists, closing the door behind him and walking up to the door. The rest of us sit in silence.

"I think Rafe was going to shoot her if I didn't practically tackle him." I say, needing to get that off my chest. Everyone turns to look at me.

"He was going to kill a cop?" Kie asks, a look of disgust crossing her face.

I nod slightly. "Maybe! I mean, I don't know... it was his gun. He brought it. I think he was just panicking, you know?"

"Jesus Christ, Snowy." JJ sighs, fixing his hair. "That's what happens when you sleep with a Kook I guess, I don't know what they do over here."

"JJ..." I groan, leaning my head back against the seat. "You should see how his dad treats him, it's horrible. There's something going on with him, like, mentally, and his dad not giving a shit stacked with a drug problem equals out to be pretty much what you'd expect. He just needs help."

"And that's you? You really think you're helping him?" Kie raises her eyebrow at me.

"I don't know! That's what he told me, I don't want to ignore that." I say frustratedly. "Will you guys please just stop shitting on my boyfriend for one day?"

"Sure- but it won't be the day he tries to kill a cop. Or either of the days his dad tried to shoot you. And don't forget the days his friends beat the shit out of us." Pope says sarcastically.

"Okay, yeah, I get it. He's not a bad person, you guys just don't know him like I do. So many people hate us because of what we do and how we live but like... you guys can't see that he also deserves a chance?"

JJ scoffs. "Right, yeah, what Rafe Cameron needs is another chance."

"JJ, I know you're not talking right now- you've told us more than once about times you've thought about killing your dad. About how you held a gun to his head while he was asleep! And I'm not judging you for that- I seriously don't, I get it. I just think you and Rafe are more alike then you're willing to admit."

"Fuck off, Snowy-" JJ responds, going to continue when he's interrupted by yelling coming from the station. We see John B sprinting towards us, shouting at Kie to start the car while he jumps in.

"Go! Go! Start it!" John B yells as a few officers run towards us from the station, and Kie fumbles to start the car again.

"I'm trying!" She says, locking to doors so the officers can't open it from the outside and we finally get moving.

We're all panicking and talking at once as the officers are yelling at us to stop and open the doors.

"Open it!" I shout at John B, who looks at me confused as I gesture for him to knock the female officer off with the door.

"Oh!" He says, turning and shoving the door open, pushing the woman off and closing it again as we drive away.

"Holy shit, John B, what did you do?" Kie asks him, still panicking as we speed away.

"Ward- he said we killed her." He explains breathlessly. Of course Ward would blame us.

"Why would we kill her? That doesn't even make sense! Oh my god, what are we going to do?" I ask, beginning to hyperventilate at this point.

John B just shakes his head.

"Oh yeah, real great family you're getting yourself into Snow!" JJ says, clearly making fun of me. "Framing you for fucking murder. Gotcha."

I groan frustratedly and decide not to say anything. No one is in the place to listen to me anyways.

Our best move is to camp out in the car in the woods, where no one can see us. We just need to buy more time to figure out how we can tell the truth and get everyone to actually believe us.

Bright and early, once the sun rises, we decided to take the ferry and get off the island instead. We're waiting in a line in the car, and I'm laying down in the back seat next to John B, trying to get some more sleep out of view from the windows.

"What is taking so long?" Pope asks, tapping on the steering wheel frustratedly.

Just then, Kie gets back in the car and I can hear paper crinkling in her hands. "Okay, so bad news. They closed the ferry so no one can leave the island. And, you guys are wanted." She says, passing the paper back to JJ as I open my eyes.

"What's that?" I ask, as JJ looks between us and the poster in his hand.

"This is a nice framer of you guys. Really captures Snowy's hair nicely I think." JJ jokes as John B reaches over and snatches it from him. We look at the poster, and I notice they used a picture of Rafe and I at Midsummers that I had on my instagram, but he is cropped out. I wonder if he has seen this. I sigh and close my eyes again.

"We've got to figure out another way to get out of here." JJ says.

"Maybe The Pogue?" I suggest and everyone shakes their head.

"It's at the chateau..." John B replies.

"Hm.. yeah let me think- yeah. Cops have definitely got that place locked down right now."

"Okay, well, any other ideas?" I ask. "Pope?" He's usually the smart one.

"I'm thinking! Give me a second." He says, rubbing his eyes. "Okay, okay, JJ, your dad still have that cigarette boat? The one he used to race with... The Phantom?" Pope turns in his seat to look at the boy sitting behind him.

"Yeah, I think so." JJ nods. "I don't know where the keys are though."

"Hey, Kie? Your car is on this." John B interrupts, just as I notice that as well.

"Come on, move!" Pope says, honking the horn now. Typically when we smoke we don't get angry, but Pope is a big fan of "keeping the signal clear" and he doesn't usually join us. Last night, after blowing his interview and seeing John B almost get killed, he changed his pace and decided now was as good a time as any to try weed. I guess under this much stress I'd be irritable too.

"Woah, hey, someone's spotted us we gotta go!" Kie says as John B covers both of our faces with his sweater and a man bangs on the window, and I can hear him fighting with a kid over who saw us first.

We jolt forward as Pope slams on the gas, hitting the car in front of us. We're all screaming as we peel out onto the road, speeding away.

"Pope, man, careful!" JJ says.

"My parents are going to kill me." Kie whines, covering her eyes.

Once we're out of the immediate area, Pope slams on the brakes. "John B, Snowy, get out." He says, looking back at us.

"He's right- we'll draw the cops, you run."

"I can't run guys I can't." I say, sitting up and shaking my head.

"Okay- okay, John B, you go, we'll figure out how to hide Snowy and meet you out at the dump at three tomorrow with the boat." JJ says as John B climbs out. "Dump at three!" He adds to make sure his friend heard as he runs into the woods.

We drive away quickly as I watch John B out the window.

We find a place to hide the car, and walk over to the Wreck, JJ practically carrying me the whole way. Kie let's us in and we settle on sitting under the window, so anyone looking in can't see us.

"Can I borrow someone's phone?" I ask and JJ hands me his.

"Who are you calling?" Kie asks, but I ignore her. I don't want to fight about this right now.

I hold it up to my ear as I wait for Rafe to answer.

"Hello?" He answers, sounding frustrated and stressed.

"Hi." I say quietly.

"Snowy- oh my god, are you okay? Where are you?"

"We're camped out at The Wreck, please don't tell anyone. And I'm alive but my ankle is broken because I got hit by a stupid car and now I'm wanted for murder and I just don't know what to do." I say, feeling tears fill my eyes.

"I know, I know baby I just-" Rafe sighs. He sounds both sad and frustrated. "I'm doing everything I can, okay? I'm not going to let them come after you."

"They already are, I saw the poster." I sniffle.

"Okay, yeah, it's okay. I'm going to the station right now and I'm going to tell them you didn't do anything, okay? Then I'll come get you and we'll get you to the hospital."

"You're going to tell the truth, right?" I ask and he doesn't reply for a moment. This is when I know he can hear me crying through the phone.

"Listen, okay, listen I talked to my dad, we can tell them you didn't do anything. I'm going to tell them you're innocent, okay?"

"What about John B?" I ask, and I'm met with silence again. "Rafe..."

"Snowy I... I don't have a choice. He saved me, he saved us. I have to listen to my dad."

"But-"

"No!" He shouts out of nowhere. "I'm going out of my way to help you but I can't help your friend."

"Rafe, you're better than this." I tell him honestly.

"I'm going to get you out of this. I promise. I'll see you soon." He says, and then he hangs up.

I lean my head back against the wall, holding the phone back out to JJ.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

A/N; we're coming up so quick on s2 omg

taglist: @boo22sstuff @madelynie @username5786451 (message me or reply if you want to be added!!)

[ravennaortiz]

Chapter 6 of the Juice and OC Stormie Rayne story.

Warnings: As always this is an 18+ story. General themes of the show such as violence, drugs, swearing, smut etc. Mention of child abuse, domestic violence, sexual assault/harassment are in some chapters.

Tag List @danzer8705

"I'm starting to think you don't have your own place Juice" joked Stormie as she walked into the living room where her brother and Juice were sitting playing a video game. "Your always welcome to visit to see for yourself" replied Juice as he shot her a quick smile. "Might have too. Did you two leave me some coffee?" questioned Stormie as she continued into the kitchen. "I made a fresh pot just a few minutes ago" called Half-Sack as he paused the game.

"Why did you " started Juice turning to look at his best friends but stopping catching the look he was getting. "Are you flirting with my sister?" inquired Half-Sack. "Umm" stared Juice unsure what to say. He couldn't deny that he thought Stormie was good looking or that he found her fantastic to be around. There had been light flirting on both parts. "I'm not mad but like she's only been here a couple of months. I want her to feel at home here. She's delicate and I don't want her hurt" stated Half-Sack. Juice nodded before speaking. "I got you man" stated Juice as Stormie came back in to the room and sat next to him on the couch.

*Clubhouse*

"Uncle Tiggy!" screeched Isabella the moment she saw Tig at the bar. Dropping Stormies hand she bolted to the man who chuckled as he picked her up. "How's my little lady? Want an ice cream?" inquired Tig as Stormie shook her head as she made her way to the meeting room the guys called Church where Clay was seated talking with Bobby. "Its ten in the morning Tig" she called over her shoulder. "I didn't hear a no did you" asked Tig as he looked at Isabella who giggled and shook her head. "Ice cream it is" stated Tig loud enough for Stormie to hear before going to the kitchen. Stormie chuckled slightly to herself. If she had learned anything the last month it was that no one could say no to her little girl.

"Hey hun" greeted Bobby as he saw her pause in the doorway. "Sorry to bother you two. I was just wanting to let you know I am ready to start working the bar shifts. I appreciate the opportunity.....it means a lot" explained Stormie her voice cracking slightly with emotion at the end as she met Clays gaze. "Not a problem at all. You and Isabella are family and we look after each other." stated Clay as his face softened and he smiled at her. We will be having a party tomorrow night. Why don't you go stock up today, you can take Juice with you" stated Clay as Bobby got into a safe behind him and pulled out a stack of cash and held it out for her.

"Can do boss" replied Stormie as she took the money and headed out. "Make sure our guest understand she is off limits. Any unwelcome advances could end with death" stated Clay as Bobby nodded making a note to reach out to the other charters later.

*Store*

"Thank you for coming with me" stated Stormie as they walked out of the store heading other suv. "Not a problem" replied Juice as he pushed the heavy cart to the parked car. "Hop in and I can load up" stated Juice as he opened the passenger side door for her. "You sure?" inquired Stormie as she started to pick up a box. "Yes" replied Juice as he playfully smacked her hand making her laugh. "Alright. I just don't want top hear you complaining I made you do all the work" replied Stormie with a smirk as she got in the car.

Juice had just finished putting away the cart when a police cruiser pulled up alongside the SUV. "Fuck" muttered Juice as he saw it was Deputy Hale and started jogging to the car to run interference. "Ortiz. I was just introducing myself to your little friend here. Letting her know to reach out if she sees anything suspicious" explained Hale as he held out a card to Stormie who shook her head keeping her gaze forward. "How kind of you" replied Juice as he stood between the two vehicles. "Have a good day" stated Hale before driving away.

"You good" questioned Juice as he turned to Stormie watching her carefully after he had made sure Hale had left. "Yeah, he just creeped me out" replied Stormie as she turned to meet his gaze. Juice nodded before moving to get into the drivers seat.

Return to Chapter Masterlist

[direwombat]

what would your oc sing at karaoke night?

If your OC was at a karaoke night, what would be their go-to song? Would they even partake?

Include a snippet if you want!

tagged by @g0dspeeed, @inafieldofdaisies, @strafethesesinners, and @socially-awkward-skeleton (tysm this is a fun game!)

tagging @strangefable, @detectivelokis, @sstewyhosseini, @poetikat, @schoute, @confidentandgood, @aceghosts, @fourlittleseedlings, @adelaidedrubman, @henbased, @purplehairsecretlair, @wrathfulrook, @inquisitors-grave, @trench-rot, @gaeadene, @locustandwildhoney, @jacobsneed, @river-ward, @roofgeese, @cassietrn, @neverthesameneveranother, @sukoshimikan, @deputyash, @harmonyowl, @voidika, @vampireninjabunnies-blog, @madparadoxum, @euryalex, @clonesupport, @ivymarquis, uuuh i think that's everyone but if i was dumb and forgor someone, i am tagging anyone else who wants to play!

English translation (approx): Slip me through your fingers and then burn me Consume me for you, be only smoke When you're in this world where your dreams take you I would like to be blonde like an American To be sweet and wise or sweet Take you on my cloud of smoke love is like a cigarette It burns and it goes to your head When we can't do without It all goes up in smoke love is like a cigarette It's burning like a match It stings the eyes, it makes you cry And it goes up in smoke

Sybille almost didn’t go. 

Karaoke night at the Spread Eagle has always been low on her list of priorities. Even more so since the Reaping began. But after spending almost three weeks in the Whitetails undercover as one of Jacob’s Chosen — in a place where weekly cage fights are what counts as recreational fun — she can’t deny the appeal of getting drunk and singing off-key with a bunch of strangers. 

Besides, Joey loves it, and she feels a little guilty for neglecting her the way she has. 

She sits at the bar beside her girlfriend, cheering Nick and Kim on as they wrap up their third power ballad. 

“Your turn,” Joey says, giving her a gentle shoulder bump. “Oh, come on,” she scoffs when Sybille shakes her head. “You’ve got a decent voice — better than most of the people here, anyways. Get up there!”

“You know I hate bein’ at the center of attention,” she argues. “B’sides, music I listen to ain’t got words.” 

Joey laughs. “Okay, first of all: bullshit — you and I have rocked out to Zeppelin in the cruiser more times than I can count —”

“Radio’s different!” Sybille interjects. 

“— Second,” Joey continues, waving the neck of her beer bottle emphatically, “the song doesn’t have to be in English. It just has to pre-date 1985.” 

Sybille lifts a skeptical brow, and when all Joey does is nod, she redirects it toward Mary May who’s wiping the counter nearby. “You got any French shit?” she asks. 

“Probably,” she shrugs. “Check the catalog.” 

Sliding off the bars tool, Sybille says, “If all they got is Édith Piaf, I ain’t goin’ up there,” before striding over to the jukebox catalog. She’s astonished to find as wide a selection of French songs as she does, and after finding a track she remembers playing on her maman’s record player, she walks onto the small stage and takes the microphone. 

But as the lyrics fall from her tongue, it isn’t Joey they make her think of, but rather the man who, last she saw, had allowed her to walk away, completely free without any sort of fight whatsoever.

[lonewolflupe]

aLoF Ficlet | Lupe Of Lothal

Here's Lupe's origin story (OR a one-shot about Plo Koon stumbling upon a Force-sensitive youngling). I'm sorry about the lack of conversation in this one, but I really tried to paint a picture of the surroundings and the atmosphere (thus this ficlet doubled the size I intended it to be).

Note: since this ficlet takes place in 40 BBY, Plo Koon is still a Jedi Knight ("By 33 BBY, Koon had achieved the rank of Jedi Master and was elevated to the Jedi High Council." Source: Wookieepedia).

Summary: Jedi Knight Plo Koon investigates a report and stumbles on an unexpected discovery. Rating: Teen and up Tags: Force connection, Force sensitivity, reference to abandonment Words: 1.954k Characters: Plo Koon, Lupe (OC), unidentified captain/flight crew, unidentified villagers aLoF masterlist | AO3 ↓ | > ch1

40 BBY, Outer Rim | Lothal

“Sir, incoming transmission from the Jedi Temple,” the captain informed the Jedi Knight, looking over his shoulder whilst addressing him. The Kel Dor Jedi stood in the Republic Cruiser’s cockpit, a few steps behind the pilots’ seats, as he gazed through the transparisteel viewport. When he heard the captain’s words, he stepped forward and gently placed his four-fingered hand on his shoulder. “Put it through,” the Jedi’s resonant voice replied, a slight buzzing sound to it, caused by the antiox breath mask adorning his face.

“Plo Koon,” the voice over the transmission started, “Are you still present in the Calamari Sector?” The Jedi Knight confirmed their current position, before the voice continued the transmission. “A report was made about the increasing harassment by creatures on settlements, coming from the Lothal System. Sending the coordinates right now.” A quick nod from the captain to let the Jedi Knight know they had received the coordinates; the navigator went to work immediately. “Since you are already located near the system, could you investigate the report?”

And of course Plo Koon accepted the request. There were always more sides to a story, and if he could avoid the loss of innocent lives, either being sentient or non-sentient, he would try to find a humane solution. After all, that was the Jedi way; emphasising compassion and teaching that all lives were precious. And so the Consular-class space cruiser set course to the planet of Lothal.

Once they had made it to the planet’s surface and the Jedi had started to ask around, it hadn’t taken Plo Koon long to find one of the affected locations. They had left urban civilization behind and continued their endeavour towards a rural area. Wrapped in his cloak to shield him from the emerging gusts of wind, he walked from the ship towards the farming settlement. It was surrounded by grasslands as far as the eye could see. It was a soothing view, and by the sight of it, nothing seemed to be amiss.

A flock of prairie-fowl scattered before his feet when Plo Koon reached the settlement’s only road, connecting the few houses the place consisted of. It was quiet outside; he only noticed a Gotal at the other side of the hamlet. The humanoid was bundling together a bale of cut grass, next to a modest corral containing a small herd of nerfs. The Gotal looked up warily when he noticed the Jedi’s presence. Plo Koon approached him cautiously, calmly stating the reason for his arrival. The distinctive short, grey fur on the man’s face surrounded a pair of weary eyes.

Their brief conversation revealed much to the Jedi. Recently, a pair of creatures had started terrorising the normally quiet hamlet. There hadn’t been any casualties; neither the inhabitants nor their livestock had been touched. Instead, the creatures had been taking rather peculiar items from the small village. There had been much debate over the identification of the creatures, but most rumours came back to one species: Loth-wolves.

With his long, taloned fingers, Plo Koon stroked the mask on his face as he stood pondering over his findings. Whilst Loth-wolves had been a problem to Lothal’s earlier farmers, no one had encountered any in nearly a century; they were deemed extinct. The Gotal pointed towards one of the hamlet’s houses, telling the Jedi the home’s resident could tell him more. Plo Koon thanked the man for his time before leaving him to his businesses.

After he had knocked on the door, it took a while before it slid open. Behind it stood an elderly Ithorian lady, her bend back in combination with her angled neck making for an eccentric appearance. She was wearing a somewhat primitive, timeworn translator collar on top of her neck. Plo Koon introduced himself and told her about his earlier conversation with the Gotal. The lady invited him inside, which he accepted so he could get to the bottom of this. She offered him something to drink, which he refused, because he didn’t want her to make any physical effort on his behalf.

Ithorians were known for their long lifespan, and the elderly lady in front of the Jedi was proof of it. She sat down in an old rocking chair, moving back and forth, concurrently with her memories. She told him about her younger days, how she grew up on the plains of Lothal, in a time when Loth-wolves were still an occasional sighting. She told him how the magnificent beasts had rarely ventured out of the Lothalian mountains and the enclosing grasslands, but that they had been slain anyway, out of ignorance and crudeness. Plo Koon could feel a mixture of grace and sorrow as the lady told him about the creatures, reminiscent of a bygone time.

Before continuing his investigation, Plo Koon kneeled down beside the Ithorian to thank her for her honesty and for sharing her memories. Before he could get back on his feet, the lady put her hand on his shoulder and seemed to be looking straight through his goggles. Crackling through her translator came the redeeming words: she had seen the Loth-wolves as a maiden, as a mother, and now, as a crone. She was certain of it; the Loth-wolves had never been away.

Plo Koon let the words sink in as he strolled to the far side of the hamlet. When he reached the last house, he sat down on a crate and let his gaze wander over the vast plains ahead. The gusting wind had died down; only a faint breeze remained. It played with the tall grass, gently brushing it whenever it reached down to the surface. Slowly, the sun set in the distance, and the presence of the twin moons became evident. Where the sun had shone a golden light over the grass, the moons’ light changed it into a velvety silver. There was a serenity to this place; a tranquillity he could only obtain by meditating back in the Jedi Temple.

He closed his eyes, taking in this strange place that felt oddly familiar. A cold blanket crept over the grassland as the night came, and when it reached the Jedi, every exhalation resulted in a small, foggy cloud in front of his breath mask. He felt the coldness creep inside his body, pricking his skin, tickling his senses as they enhanced. He could hear the friction of feathers as the prairie-fowl huddled together to keep warm. He could see the loth-rats nestling in their holes below the grassy surface. He could taste the dew as it formed on the tall grass all around him. He could smell the resin from a faraway spine tree as it dripped down its bark. He could feel..

Suddenly, he could feel their presence. He knew they were right in front of him before he opened his eyes. When he did, he looked upon two magnificent Loth-wolves, towering above him. Both wolves had black fur and were accented with dark, scaly skin, laying in patterns on their face, their feet and their croup, almost like reversed fingerprints. Their bright, amber eyes looked calmly down at him, waiting.

Plo Koon gently arose from the crate, and with a slow motion, almost like a wave, he reached one hand towards the wolf nearest to him. The wolf showed its teeth, but not in a threatening way; it merely tasted the air, the atmosphere. When the Kel Dor’s four-fingered hand was near, the wolf gently moved its head forward, nudging it into the Jedi’s touch. Plo Koon felt a strange sensation deep within, as if they shared something ancient, as if a connection was being made. The wolves seemed content; yes, this was the one they had been waiting for.

The Loth-wolf lay down and looked at the Jedi in anticipation. Without the need to share any spoken words, Plo Koon understood the wolf’s intentions. He walked over to the beast and carefully mounted it. His fingers grasped around tufts of its black fur; tightly enough to keep himself balanced, but gently enough to not bother the creature. As soon as it was back on its feet, both the Loth-wolves turned around and started running. They ran through the tall grass, away from the hamlet, onto the vast, open plains. Plo Koon moved along with the rhythm of the wolf’s movements, gazing into the distance to set eyes on their destination, but there was nothing to be seen. Nothing..

He was dreaming. The stars surrounded him; not just from above, but all around him. Glimpses of his past, memories from long ago. Voices of parental figures, of teachers and mentors, words of wisdom and knowledge descending onto him. Images of former events.. Or visions of future matters? He didn’t know. It felt like he was floating in space, between worlds. Was this really a dream?

Plo Koon woke up at dawn and found himself on the rocky foot of a mountain. It felt like he was waking from a very deep, intense slumber; nothing he had ever experienced before. When he heaved himself up and looked around, the Loth-wolves were nowhere to be seen. When he was taking in these new surroundings, a peculiar sound caught his attention. It was the sound of subdued howling. As he turned into the direction of the sound, his eyes caught a cave entrance not far away. He walked over cautiously, and when he peeked inside, he expected a Loth-wolf pup.

But what he found inside was a different kind of pup; it was a human child. A female, about two years old, her feral, silver hair quite distinctive for a juvenile of the human species. There was dirt smeared all over her skin and she was wearing rags, but furthermore, she seemed healthy. Around her, scattered through the cave, the Jedi noticed the peculiar items that had been taken from the hamlet, such as toys, pieces of clothing, a mug and plate, and remains of fruits and vegetables. He now understood why the Loth-wolves had ventured into the affected settlements.

The child looked up at him, her eyes wide with curiosity and anticipation. There was no sign of fear or restraint. Plo Koon slowly moved forward, kneeling in front of the child and gently offering his hand to her. She took one of his taloned-fingers in her hand, still looking up towards his goggles, his eyes hidden behind them. As soon as their skins touched, he felt a connection. In an instant, he knew what he was already expecting; she was Force-sensitive. “Koh-to-yah, little one,” Plo Koon greeted the child softly, and he noticed a flicker in her eyes. They were as brightly amber as those of the Loth-wolves.

…

When Plo Koon walked out of the cave, the child on his arm, the Loth-wolves had returned. They were waiting for them outside. The Jedi threaded carefully, since he was now carrying their pup, the child they had clearly been taking care of. But the wolves remained at ease, watching the Jedi and the youngling in full anticipation; they had brought Plo Koon to the child with a purpose, after all. He slowly walked past them, thanking them for their compassion and their aid. The child flung herself over his shoulder, watching the wolves as he walked off into the tall grass. As soon as the Jedi had activated the transmitter on his comlink, ready for a pick-up from the Republic Cruiser, an eerie sound behind him caught him off guard. It was the hauntingly beautiful howling of the Loth-wolves, an echoing goodbye song for the child they had cared for. They had now granted him the responsibility of that care.

I read a theory on Reddit stating that Loth-wolves are/carrying the spirits of Jedi that died on Lothal. Plo Koon didn’t die on Lothal obviously, but I like to think he connected with the creatures during this little story, thus making a ‘new’ Loth-wolf appear after his unfortunate demise during Order 66.

[mrprettywhenhecries]

don’t waste your time (on me) [g.t]

07. | Anything You Say Can and Will Be Held Against You (So Only Say My Name)

Gator Tillman ✘ Win Lewis (OC)

⇾ w.c. 6.2k words ⇾ tags/warning(s). canon x oc pairing, f!oc, misogynistic themes, death/blood, Roy being an asshole, cnc (consensual noncon), role play, rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dom!gator, spanking, pussy slapping, knife play, handcuffs, ownership kink ⇾ a/n. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💚

After Munch kills his partner and Gator gets a dressing down from Roy, he desperately needs to let off some steam and feel like a winner. Luckily, Win is only too happy to oblige.

[ masterlist • win bio ]

Gator’s watch buzzed on his wrist and he stirred, groaning as he lifted his head from Win’s lap.  He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the events from earlier had left him more exhausted than he’d realized, and Win’s lap and the way she ran her fingers through his hair after she’d sucked his soul through his dick was so comforting, he’d drifted off almost instantly.

The tv played softly in the background, but it seemed Win had fallen asleep as well, and Gator got up slowly, careful not to jostle her awake.  She looked so soft in her sleep, so vulnerable.  He still couldn’t quite believe she was his, that he got to see her like this – especially with how hostile she’d been when they first met, but it was that fiery personality that’d only made him want her more.

“Where’re you going?” she mumbled, stirring as Gator stood, adjusting his cargo pants and snug black t-shirt.

“Gotta head to work,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss the top of her head and she groaned, her lip pushing out in a pout.

“Do you have to?” she whined, her voice still heavy with sleep.  “Can’t you take the night off, since you’re injured?”

Gator frowned, he wished he could simply stay home with her, but he knew if he did, Roy wouldn’t be pleased and he didn’t want to look like a pussy that needed to be babied.

“I’m fine, ‘sides, I have a responsibility,” he insisted before softening once more.  “I’ll text you later,” he said, stealing one more kiss before shrugging on his tactical vest and bending to tie up his boots.

“Be safe!” Win called after him, stretching out on the couch and pulling a blanket over her.

Outside, Gator walked to the end of the drive and leaned against Win’s Chevelle to wait for Deputy Nugent to come pick him up.  Bringing his vape to his lips, he took a long drag, savouring the sweet taste on his tongue before blowing the vapour out, the white cloud hanging in the cool evening air for a moment before dissipating.

Soon Gator’d need to start wearing his cold weather gear.  The forecast for Halloween said snow, only a few days away.

Gator wriggled his fingers under the cast and grimaced, his jaw clenching at the pang of pain that raced up his arm and soon returned to a dull ache.  He took another drag off his vape, hoping the nicotine would dull his nerves.  Now that he didn’t have Win distracting him his thoughts returned to Ole Munch, the fucker who’d busted his wrist and gotten away.  For a moment he wondered where the skirt wearing freak would have gone.  Hopefully, into the wind and out of their hair, but he fought the urge to look over his shoulder, worry prickling in his gut that the strange man might come for revenge.  

If he was smart, he’d move on.

It stung, the fact that he’d managed to turn the tables on him so easily, and Gator still couldn’t banish the memory of his dad’s expression as he stood over him, Gator holding his useless arm to his chest, tears streaming down his face and the contents of his stomach still coming up–disgusted, but not surprised.

If he ever got his hands on Munch, he’d make the man wish he’d never been born.

Nugent’s police truck pulling up to the curb in front of him tore Gator from his thoughts and he pocketed his vape and pushed off Win’s car to climb in the passenger seat.

“Where’s your cruiser?” the other deputy asked, and Gator glowered at him, awkwardly buckling his seat belt.

“At home.  Win picked me up from the hospital,” he explained with a grunt and Nugent nodded, his eyes falling to Gator’s cast.  Noticing Win’s doodles, he let out an amused snort.

“Property of Win, huh?  Jesus, Gator, you’re so fuckin’ whipped.”

Gator’s brows pinched and he fought the urge to hide his cast.  “No I ain’t, shut the fuck up,” he huffed, adjusting the brim of his hat and scooting down further in his seat.

“She must be a damn good lay for you to put up with the rest of her,” Nugent chuckled, turning his eyes back to the road.

“I ain’t putting up with her,” Gator muttered sullenly, turning prickly.  “You’re just jealous cause she’s hotter than your fiance,” he drawled, earning him a hard look from the other man.

“Careful.”

“You fuckin’ started it,” Gator replied and Nugent didn’t respond, knowing Gator had a point.

“Seriously though, you can’t really be serious ‘bout her, are you?  You know Roy’d never allow it.”

Gator tensed, grabbing his vape and taking an angry puff.  “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not, but I don’t see how it’s any of your fuckin’ business,” he snapped.  “Don’t we got work to do?” he added, hoping to steer the conversation away from his relationship.  He didn’t need any more reminders about how his dad felt about Win.

“Someone’s in a mood,” Nugent murmured, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Yeah well, let’s see how cheery you’d be with a busted wrist,” Gator muttered, glancing out the window.  “Turn off here, I gotta take a piss,” he said, nodding toward the lone filling station up ahead.

Nugent parked and climbed out as well to top off the tank while Gator headed inside, some asshole nearly hitting his bad arm with the door as he pushed it open.  Already in a pissy mood, Gator hastily stepped back out of the way, raising his cast and giving the guy a dirty look before stepping past him and into the convenience store.

Half the building’s front windows had been busted out in a recent shoot out, just the day before, and the gaping holes had been covered with sheets of plywood and plastic til they could be replaced.

Gator glanced around before heading back to the men’s room and stepping up to the urinal, freeing himself to take a leak.  The stall closest to the wall had caution tape across the door and Gator peered inside as he zipped his trousers back up, noting the busted toilet where one of the assailants had fallen and cracked open his skull.

Gator wet his lips.  He’d been the one to hire the man.

Not that he could really find it in himself to feel all that bad for his fate.  No, it was the woman who’d killed him that weighed on his mind.  

At one point Gator had thought he’d never see Nadine again, not after she left–disappeared one day, just like his mom, just like she’d swore she’d never do.

Gator left the bathroom and ambled to the drink coolers at the back, picking out a bottle of Mtn Dew and grabbing a bag of spicy jerky on the way to the counter to pay, drumming his fingers impatiently as he waited for his card to go through.

“You got the security tapes from last night?” he asked idly, glancing up toward the camera facing him high up on the wall behind the counter.

The attendant glanced back over his shoulder at where Gator was looking and shook his head.  “Nah, I think some other cops took the whole system already.”

Gator nodded, grabbing his snacks.  Back in the truck, he leaned back in his seat to wait for Nugent, taking a bite of jerky and washing it down with a swig of pop.

“What the hell’s takin’ ‘im so long?” he muttered under his breath, only to jerk back in alarm when he caught sight of Nugent’s lifeless body on the pavement near the back of the truck, a large hunting knife buried in his chest.

“Oh shit–” Gator swore, hastily reaching for his service pistol as he reluctantly climbed out of the truck, his head on a swivel as he rounded the vehicle–afraid that whoever had killed Nugent was still there, waiting to take him out as well.

Shuffling nervously toward his partner’s body, Gator took a shuddering breath, his stomach turning at the dark growing pool at his feet.  Careful not to step in it, he peered down at Nugent and frowned.  Pinned to his chest by the knife was a message scrawled on a piece of used cardboard.

You owe me.

Munch.

Gator let out the breath he’d been holding and holstered his gun, instead pulling out his phone.  Roy wouldn’t be happy about this, but they needed to get it cleaned up and he couldn’t exactly call it out over the radio.

“Yeah?”

Gator sucked air through his teeth at his dad’s brusque greeting, steeling himself.

“Nugent’s dead.  Munch got him.”

There was a long pause, followed by a heavy sigh.  “Where are you?”

“The Revere filling station outside of Beulah.”

“Stay there.  I’ll be there shortly.”

The line clicked and Gator glanced around.  Luckily, the area was pretty well deserted, but he couldn’t leave Nugent’s body just laying there in case anyone saw it.  While he waited for Roy to arrive, he set to work hauling Nugent into the truck bed and covering him with a tarp before finding a hose around the side of the building to wash the blood away.

When his father’s truck pulled up, Gator jumped down from the truck cab where he’d been waiting, having pulled around behind the building and mostly out of sight.

“Called you directly.  Didn’t want this goin’ out on the wire.  Didn’t know what to do with him, so I put him in the back.”

“And where were you?” Roy asked, lifting the tarp covering Nugent’s body.

Gator shifted on his feet, glancing away.  “I was drainin’ the snake, two minutes, in and out.”

Roy sighed, dropping the tarp and planting his hands on his hips.  “Did you get a look at the tape?”

Gator shook his head.  “State cops took the whole system last night on account of the other thing,” he explained before letting out a scoff and copying his father’s posture.  “Can you believe this guy?  Comin’ back to the scene of the crime?  Doin’ that?” he said, gesturing to Nugent’s body.  “Talk about big balls.”

“Yeah well, I bet yours shriveled up a little bit on account of him gettin’ the jump on ya… again,” Roy countered, giving Gator a hard look, disappointment radiating off him.

Gator glanced at Roy, realizing he was right before yanking his hat from his head in frustration, smacking against his leg angrily.  “Son of a bitch!” he growled, carrying on for a moment before his dad rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed at the outburst.

“Alright, are ya done?”

Gator heaved a breath, his jaw flexing as he fought to wrangle his temper, turning back to his father and slipping his hat back on his head.

“Tell me again where you found this… Munch guy?  Is that really his name, Ole Munch?” Roy asked and Gator shrugged, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably.

“He says it… Oola,” he explained.  “A-and I didn’t find him, I found his partner.”

“What, the guy with his head in the toilet?”

Gator nodded.

“Alright well… first order of business, we need information.  Find out who this guy is.  Priors, known accomplices, known hangouts.  Then we smoke him loose,” Roy sighed.

“If he comes for us again–”

“Oh believe me, he’s coming.  Sleep with your hammer cocked, is my opinion, if you sleep at all,”  Roy interrupted, shaking his head before returning to business.  “Alright, the truck goes in a ditch, Nugent behind the wheel, report the cause of death as accidental.  Then you go to his fiance’s and break the news.”

Gator nodded.  “What’re you gunna do?”

“Don’t worry about what I’m gunna do, alright?” Roy grunted, pointing at him.  “You’re oh for two here, kid.  How do I teach ya to be a winner you keep losin’ all the time?”

At his father’s words, Gator’s face fell.  “I swear to God, him versus me, man to man, I’d wipe the floor with him,” he insisted.

Roy snorted.  “Yeah right.  Like high noon?  Yeah, that only happens in the movies, son.  Real life, they’ll slit your throat while you waiting for the light to change,” he muttered, clapping Gator on the shoulder before turning away, leaving him to clean up the mess.

As soon as the Sheriff was gone, Gator pulled his phone from his pocket, shooting off a text to Win.  As much as he’d wanted to return to her bed after his shift, it seemed he’d have to wait.  Besides, if his father was right about Munch coming after them, maybe it was better if he didn’t put Win in harm’s way for the moment.

Win grabbed a clean bar towel to wipe down the counter, only half paying attention to the mostly empty room.  It was still pretty early on a weeknight and Frankie’s only really bustled on the weekends.

“Okay, who wants to be the one to tell the creep in the corner to order something or get out?” Lydia asked, pulling Win from her thoughts and she turned to where her friend had glanced moments ago.

Sure enough, sitting alone at a small table in the far corner of the room was a man Win had never seen before, and she knew all the weekday regulars.

“How long has he been there?” Beau asked, leaning through the kitchen pick up window.

“Nearly an hour,” Lydia answered with a frown.

“He’s just been sitting there?”

“Yeah, staring at Win.”

“Wait, what?” Win asked, her head snapping toward the others.

“Yeah, I’m sure.  You haven’t noticed?” Lydia murmured.  “Do you know him?”

Win turned back toward the stranger, a shiver racing up her back when she found him watching her, his hard gaze unwavering.

“No, never seen him before.”

“Should I call Frankie?” Lydia asked hesitantly, fidgeting nervously and Win sighed, shaking her head.

“It’s okay, I’ll go talk to him, see what the fuck he wants from me.”

“You sure?” Beau asked at the same time Lydia urged her to be careful.

Win nodded to her friends as she rounded the bar and made her way toward the man’s table.  Heading closer, she got a better look at him, tucking the details away in case she’d need to recount them to the police later–though he seemed placid enough for the moment.

As she approached, the man’s eyes narrowed, regarding her stoically, his weathered face giving nothing away.

“Hey,” she called, planting her hands on her hips as she stopped several paces in front of him.  “I’m gunna hafta ask you to order something, or you’ll hafta leave.”

The man barely reacted, his large mouth twitching downward as his gnarled hands balled into fists atop his knees.  Win noticed beneath his fur lined coat, he seemed to be wearing a pleated wool kilt with leggings and heavy leather boots–not something many locals would wear–and his hair was an unusual cut.

“C’mon man, don’t make this hard on me.  I don’t really wanna hafta call the cops,” Win said, holding her breath, ready to jump back if need be, but the man merely nodded slowly, ducking his head, and Win had to stifle a gasp at the large gash sliced through his ear.

“A man can drink,” he finally spoke, a strange cadence to his heavily accented speech.

“Good,” Win sighed, letting out the breath she’d been holding.  “What should I bring you?”

The man seemed to think for a moment.  “ A man will drink… whatever is cheapest.”

Win huffed in amusement.  “I’ll be right back.”

“What’d he say?” Lydia asked as soon as Win returned to the bar, pulling out a bottle of Natty Lite and popping off the cap.

“He ordered the cheapest beer,” she laughed, wiping down the bottle with the towel draped over her shoulder.  “Guess he doesn’t want any trouble.  Kinda weird though,” she mused, but Lydia frowned, looking doubtful.

“But then why’s he been staring at you?  I still say he’s creepy.”

“Maybe he’s got a crush,” Beau laughed, and Win swatted at his head before heading back to the man’s table with his drink.

“Here you go,” she said, holding it out for him.  For a long moment, he merely stared at it before accepting it, holding the bottle awkwardly as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Win watched him for a moment before turning to head back to the bar, shaking her head as she went, but she only made it a few steps before turning back to him, unable to curb her curiosity any longer.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

The man lifted his gaze to her face, studying her for a second before answering.

“A man is… far from his home.  He has not seen it in many… decades.”

Win nodded slowly.

“I feel that, though I think you’re a little farther from home than I am, mister,” she murmured, planting her hands on her hips.  “You in town for a while, or just passing through?”

Again, the man deliberated his words carefully before answering.  “A man must stay… longer than he intended.  Circumstances outside of his control have… waylaid him.  Complications he did not foresee.  Complications that must be… dealt with before he can move on.”

Win nodded.  She didn’t quite understand the stranger’s cryptic answer, but she got the jist of it.  “Kinda sounds like how I ended up here,” she murmured, noticing he hadn’t yet taken a drink.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, wetting her lips, and the man tilted his head as if listening, waiting for her question. 

“You got a name?  You keep referring to yourself in the third person.”

The man’s lips twitched downward.  “A man’s name is irrelevant,” he muttered sharply, studying Win before heaving a breath, his expression softening.  “But perhaps… a girl could know it.  Long before a man arrived on this soil, he was called Oola, Oola Moonk,” he answered, a preciseness to the way he formed the words and Win nodded.

“Alright then, Oola.  Can you tell me why you’ve been staring at me since you came in?”

At Win’s question, Munch hesitated, glancing down at the bottle clasped between his hands.

“One learns many things by observing.  A man needed to observe.  To learn,” he explained and Win’s brows furrowed.

“And what were you hoping to learn?” she asked, an edge creeping into her voice.

Munch shook his head.  “A girl is not what a man expected,” he mumbled, more to himself than her.

“What did you expect?” Win scoffed, but Munch merely stood, looming over her as he set his untouched drink on the table along with a couple crumpled bills.  

“The man bids the girl goodnight,” he said, stepping around her and heading to the exit, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and bringing it to his lips.

“The fuck was that about?” Win muttered as she watched him disappear, more confused than ever.  Grabbing the beer, she brought it to her lips, so as not to let it go to waste when her phone vibrated in her back pocket.

🐊🖤: You off soon?

‘Yeah, in ten, everything okay?’ she responded, a spike of worry flaring in her chest.

🐊🖤: Shitty day.  Need to let off some steam.  You game? ⛓️

Win let out the breath she’d been holding at his response, and her lips twitched as she typed a reply.

“Bring it on.”

“Open up, police!”  

Gator’s hard voice echoed through the door, followed by his telltale pounding and Win took her time heading to the door, splashing some water on her face at the kitchen sink before answering.

“What seems to be the problem, Deputy?” she asked as she opened the door a crack, her breath catching at the sight of Gator’s face, a fierceness to his gaze that gripped her, holding her in place.

Gator didn’t answer, instead forcing the door open and pushing his way inside before kicking it shut behind him.

“There’s a warrant out for your arrest, Lewis, and I’ve been authorized to use any force necessary,” he drawled, his hands resting on his hips as he looked her up and down, his gaze taking in her bare legs and oversized t-shirt that hung from her frame, and he wet his lips, his eyes finding hers.

“Now, are you gunna come quietly, or you gunna make us do this the hard way?” he asked and Win swallowed, arousal flooding her at the arrogant tone of his voice.

“What do you think?” she countered, taking off in the opposite direction, toward the kitchen.

“I love a good chase,” Gator growled, easily overtaking her and forcing her against the wall, pulling his handcuffs from his belt to cinch around her wrists, trapped behind her back.

“Fuck you, pig,” Win hissed, spitting in his face as he turned her around, and Gator’s lips twitched downward, scowling as he wiped the glob of saliva from his cheek.

“Feisty, huh?  I like that,” he grunted, his gaze trailing her defiant expression.  “Didn’t your daddy teach ya any manners?” he drawled, lip curling into a sneer.  When Win didn’t respond, he pressed her tighter against the wall, one large hand circling her throat, the tip of his nose brushing the shell of her ear as he leaned in.  “Guess I’ll have to.”

Moments later, Gator’s lips crashed into hers, tongue forcing its way into her mouth and she kissed him back just as hard, stealing his breath before biting down on his tongue.

“Ow!  Fuckin’ bitch—“ he hissed, jerking back.  “You’re just askin’ for it, ain’tcha?”

For a moment, however, Gator hesitated, his grasp loosening around her neck and he swallowed, his lips parting as worry flashed in his eyes.

Noticing the way his expression faltered, Win locked eyes with him.  “Green,” she breathed hoarsely, her breath shaking.  “Keep going.  Use me, Gator.”

A groan caught in his throat at her words, his cock growing impossibly harder.  Picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder, he carried her to the bedroom and dropped her unceremoniously to the bed, grabbing her legs and pulling her roughly toward the edge.

“Think you’re a little overdressed for what I’m gunna do to you,” he drawled, pulling his pocket knife from his tactical vest before shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.

Flipping open the knife, he knelt atop the bed, one knee between Win’s legs, and as soon as she saw the blade, a small gasp left her throat and she began to struggle, fruitlessly trying to scoot away from him, but Gator merely clicked his tongue and leaned over her, bringing the knife up to her face and running the dull edge down her cheek.

“Quit squirmin’, unless you want me to cut you,” he chuckled darkly, the knife hovering over her skin as it moved down the line of her throat to her collarbone.  Pushing her shirt up, Gator groaned, finding her tits bare beneath, and he pressed the flat side of the blade to her nipple, watching it harden against the cool metal.

Wetting his lips, he moved to her other breast, tracing her hardened bud with the knife before leaning over her to take it into his mouth, his tongue echoing the blade’s path before flicking against her, playing with the piercing that adorned her pert nipple.

“Hope you’re not too attached to this underwear,” he grunted, dragging the knife down her stomach, past her navel, and catching on the edge of her panties.

“Fuck you—“ Win hissed, but Gator’s teeth flashed in the darkness, sending a shiver through her.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to,” he drawled, and with a yank of the knife, he cut through the fabric covering her cunt, pausing to marvel at it before folding the knife up and slipping it in his pocket.  

Drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, he spread her folds with his fingers before pushing them into her, scissoring them inside her tight heat.

“Look how fuckin’ wet you are,” Gator said with a sneer, pulling his hand away to show her his fingers, shining with the residue of her slick, a translucent string connecting his digits as he parted them.  “Such a dirty little thing, gettin’ turned on by that,”  he taunted, holding his fingers in front of her face.  

“Suck ‘em clean, whore,” he instructed.

When Win didn’t obey, his dark eyes flashed, and without warning he brought his palm down against her pussy with a sharp slap, making her gasp, her body jumping at the shock.

“I said, suck,” he repeated and this time she dutifully opened her mouth, wrapping her lips around his fingers and hollowing out her cheeks to suck, a whimper echoing in her throat.

“That’s more like it,” Gator growled, his hands going to her waist, flipping her suddenly, so she was on her knees, her cheek pressed into the blankets.  Leaning over her, he reached into his pocket once more and Win wondered if he was getting the knife back out, until she heard the cuffs unlatch and she knew what Gator wanted to do.

“Thought I should get a chance to cuff you to the bed, sweetheart,” he chuckled, yanking her arms above her head to string the handcuff chain between the bars of her headboard before closing the cool mental back around her wrist, locking her in place so she couldn’t get away.

“Such a pretty fuckin’ sight,” he breathed, slapping her exposed ass with his good hand, his palm connecting with a loud crack, leaving her skin stinging.

Win let out a cry, giving a jolt, her hands clenching around the bars she was restrained against.  Behind her, Gator hastily unbuckled his belt and unzipped his cargo pants, freeing his throbbing cock and giving it a couple quick strokes before bullying his tip between her dripping folds.  For a moment, he pressed into her slowly, his breath hitching as he watched her suck him in, her velveteen walls contracting tightly around him as he disappeared inch by inch into her tight heat.

Growing impatient, Gator made several shallow thrusts before snapping the rest of the way into her, barely giving her time to fully adjust to his size, and forcing another sharp gasp from her lips.

“Oh c’mon, you can take it, bitch,” he grunted, smirking at the way her body jerked with each rough thrust, the slap of skin on skin and the lewd squelch of her cunt filling the room, competing only with Gator’s heavy breaths and Win’s whimpered moans, until the bed began to thump rhythmically against the wall.

“That’s it,” he growled, his good hand tangling in her hair, yanking her head back as his fingers dug into the fat of her hip, his cast making it awkward to hold onto her as he rammed into her, her tits jiggling with each rut of his hips.  “So fuckin’ tight.  Whose cunt is this?” 

“Y-yours,” Win gasped, her eyes rolling up into her head as Gator’s cock dragged against her g-spot, sending electricity coursing through her, her pleasure building til her head swam, forcing any other thought from her mind.

“That’s fuckin’ right, babe,” he hissed, growing close, his thrusts turning jerky and desperate.

Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, he fought not to cum before he felt Win tense, clenching impossibly tighter around him, her body nearly giving out beneath her as she cried out, Gator’s hold on her and the handcuffs the only thing keeping her upright before he finally emptied himself inside her, going rigid before collapsing over her.

For a long moment, Gator didn’t move, his forehead pressed between Win’s shoulder blades, his breaths coming in heavy pants as he calmed himself, his cock softening inside her.

“Gator?  Can you… uncuff me?  I can’t feel my hands,” she groaned and he gave a start, quickly straightening and pulling out of her, only allowing himself a second to marvel at the way his spend seeped lazily from her fluttering hole.

“I gotcha,” he mumbled, shoving his hand in his pocket to retrieve the key and unlocking the cuffs, loosening them from her bruised wrists.

As soon as she was free, Win let out a soft sob and collapsed to the bed, the sound wrenching at Gator’s heart.

“Are you okay?  I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he exclaimed, hovering anxiously, not really knowing what to do.

“I’m fine, just a little sore,” Win assured him, her voice cracking.  “Can you… can you hold me?” she asked, lifting her face to look at him, a vulnerability to her that made Gator want nothing more than to protect her.

“Course, just a sec,” he breathed, hurriedly undressing the rest of the way and crawling atop the bed to pull her into his arms, his chest aching as she instinctively buried her face in the crook of his neck.  Pressing his lips to the top of her head, Gator rubbed her back, coaxing her tense muscles to relax.  

“Did something happen?” Win murmured, her voice muffled somewhat by the way she nuzzled against him and Gator tensed at the question.

“What do you mean?”

Win shifted, lifting her face to look at him.  “I mean, not that I’m complaining, but did something happen to spur this on?” she asked, burying her fingers in the thick dark patch of hair on his chest.

“Oh,” Gator breathed, shaking his head as a heavy sigh rattled through him and his hold on her tightened as he thought of a way to word what had happened the night before without making her worry further.  “I uh, I fucked up at work, disappointed Dad,” he mumbled, his stomach dropping as Roy’s words replayed through his head.

“How do I teach ya to be a winner, you keep losin’ all the time?” he repeated with a scowl.

“The fuck does he know?” Win scoffed, prickling with anger as she pushed herself up to look Gator in the eye.

“You’re a winner,” she breathed, her lips pressing to his jaw before moving to his cheek.  “You’re my winner,” she echoed, kissing the shell of his ear.

“You’re my fuckin’ winner,” she whispered fiercely before her mouth found his and Gator let out a groan.

“Winnie—“

She hummed, continuing to press soft kisses to his face and neck.

“How are you so perfect?”

Win finally pulled back, resting her cheek against his shoulder.  “I’m not.”

Gator shook his head, looking down at her.  “You are to me.”

“Maybe you just deserve to be treated better than you have been,” she said, stroking his cheek as she laid back down, resting her face against his shoulder.

“Yeah, maybe,” Gator murmured, growing quiet.

After several minutes Win began to wonder if he’d already drifted off, silence filling her bedroom until he suddenly spoke, shifting beneath her.

“Why’d you leave Chicago?”

Win sighed.  She’d been waiting for him to bring it up ever since their dinner at the ranch.

“Too many memories,” she murmured, shutting her eyes and trying to focus only on him – the beat of his heart beneath her ear, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath he took, the warmth of his skin against hers.

“Bad memories?”

Win shook her head, breathing deep.  “Some bad, but mostly good memories turned bitter,” she explained.

“What happened?” Gator asked, the fingers of his good hand tracing idle shapes against her back.

“My mom died when I was fourteen, and about six months later my dad was already engaged to someone else.  I don’t know for sure, but I think he must have been having an affair with her while my mom was dying,” Win murmured, wincing at the thought.  

“So when they got married, we moved into her house and as soon as we got there, she dropped any pretense that she wanted anything to do with me, and her daughter, Delilah, treated me like absolute shit.  It was like she took joy in going out of her way to hurt me.  It was a fucking cliche, like right out of some stupid fucking fairy tale,” she scoffed, brows furrowing at the memory.

“And the worst part was, half the time my dad was fucking clueless to it and the other half, he didn’t have the balls to actually stand up for me.  So, when I turned eighteen, I left–moved in with some friends, couch surfed sometimes, had some bad relationships I stayed in even when I shoulda got out, all to stay out of that fucking house,” she explained, deflating, her voice wavering.

“So, uhm, now all those good memories I had with my mom and even my dad before she died, they’re all overshadowed by that bullshit,” she finished, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a shuddering breath.

Gator frowned, squeezing Win tighter to his side.  “I’ll arrest ‘em if you want.  All three of ‘em,” he offered, half serious, but it made Win smile, wrinkling her nose in amusement.

“I think that’s a little out of your jurisdiction, Deputy,” she teased, propping her chin against his chest, her eyes finding his.

“Hey, I’m the law, remember, sweetheart?” he said, his lips twisting in a lazy smirk.

“How could I forget?” Win chuckled, her chest feeling lighter.  “Okay, now it’s your turn,” she said, scooting closer, her forehead resting against Gator’s stubbled cheek.

“My turn for what?” he asked, his voice growing heavy with exhaustion.

“To tell me something,” she answered, tracing the dip of his collarbone.

“What kind of something?  Like a secret?”

“Mhmm,” Win hummed, her eyes fluttering shut.

“A secret, huh?” Gator mused, thinking.  “Okay, I’ve got one.  You know that time you blew me to get out of a ticket?” he asked and Win frowned hesitantly.

“Uh huh–” she breathed.

“Well, I may have fibbed a little about turning my dash cam off,” he admitted, bracing himself.

Win’s mouth fell open and she pushed herself upright.  “Gator!” she yelped, gaping at him.  “You fuckin’ liar!” she gasped, swatting at his chest, though she didn’t know why she was surprised.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself!” he exclaimed, holding up his hands against her half hearted attack, trying not to laugh at the scandalized expression on her face.

“Please at least tell me no one else has seen it!” 

“Just me, I swear!” Gator insisted.  “I have the only copy,” he assured her, and Win calmed somewhat, though she wasn’t exactly mad at him.

“You better not be lying this time, Tillman,” she huffed, jabbing a finger in his face.

“Cross my heart,” he replied, making an X motion over his chest and Win rolled her eyes, though a small smile played at her lips.

“You jerk off to it?” she asked, letting him pull her back down to the bed with him.

“More times than I can count.  I love seein’ you on your knees for me,” he drawled, grinning smugly when a thought occurred to him.  “Did you enjoy it?  That first time?” he asked, sobering slightly, and Win hid her face against his chest, feeling warm.

“I might’ve,” she admitted, clearing her throat.  “I thought you were a prick back then, but I couldn’t exactly deny you had a nice cock.”

Gator beamed at her praise, his smirk returning as Win settled into his arms, stifling a yawn that set Gator’s jaw cracking as well.

“I didn’t get to ask earlier, but how was your day?” he asked through his yawn, curling around her.

Win hummed as she thought back over what had happened, fighting the haze of exhaustion that tugged at her.  

“Mmm, it was alright, nothing too special, oh wait–” she said, remembering the strange man that had come into the bar, Moonk.

“There was this weird guy at work, though–foreign or something–wore a kilt and talked in the third person,” she murmured, not noticing Gator tense beside her.

“He say anything to you?” Gator demanded and the edge to his question finally alerted Win that something was off.

“I mean, a little.  It was like he was speaking in riddles though, it didn’t really make a lot of sense.  Mostly he just stared at me across the room–”

“Win, if he ever comes in again, or you see him somewhere, you need to call to me right away, and stay the fuck away from him,” Gator exclaimed, cutting her off and it was Win’s turn to tense, the alarm in Gator’s voice chilling her.

“You know him?  Is he dangerous?” she asked and Gator grimaced, realizing he’d have to tell her more than he wanted to.

“He… he’s wanted for… home invasion, kidnapping, and assault,” he listed, trying not to stray too far from the truth, but also not wanting to alarm Win any further, or reveal how he really knew Munch.

“Oh shit,” Win breathed.  “I bet that’s how he got that gash in his ear,” she mused.

“Just promise me you’ll call me if you see him again,” Gator repeated, unconsciously holding her tighter, as if that were enough to protect her.

“I promise,” Win assured him, squeezing him back, though she couldn’t help but feel there was something he wasn’t telling her.

“Good,” Gator breathed, burying his face in her hair.  

Cause if he touches you, he’s a dead man.

⇾ taglist. @sailorskunk, @heartbreak-sandwich, @super-unpredictable98, @tangerinesteve, @girlwiththerubyslippers, @cycat4077 , @thecreelhouse

[fagtasian]

✦ fagtasian ⸺ oc liomoqai collection blog

⸺ this blog doesn't tag content warnings ⸺ this blog will include untagged mogai after dark ⸺ our main is @dayshines

☀ oc tags ⸺

7 ⸺ bingus ⸺ blue star cross stitch ⸺ dizzy heart ⸺ eveline haven ⸺ kerocotic ⸺ lemon louie ⸺ lucian ⸺ mothkeeper nabu ⸺ nox ⸺ nyx oli ⸺ patch work ⸺ revenant rock feller ⸺ sol ⸺ solstice sonar ⸺ stardust ⸺ toby vero ⸺ vivid chromatic

☀ sona tags ⸺

dayflicker ⸺ halo ⸺ heliotrope hyper paw ⸺ prism glow ⸺ seafarer soda pup ⸺ summer tide

☀ the clover grove tags ⸺ plural oc

dew splash ⸺ fortune tomb ⸺ frilly trim mildew moth ⸺ mocha mud ⸺ mystic number rose wood ⸺ rusted sap ⸺ sour zest star cruiser ⸺ sunny solstice ⸺ vivid pulse wild yonder

[earthtocaptainsky]

Earth to Captain Sky • he/they • very gay • adult • USA based • Multifandom artist, occasional streamer, and Space Cruiser Captain

Common Topics: Genshin Impact, Honkai Star Rail, Obey Me!, One Piece, Batman & Robins, Trigun, Bungou Stray Dogs, various Kpop groups, and a lot of other anime, manga, and books 🥰💜

🪐Accounts and Codes🪐

All accounts of mine are under EarthtoCaptainSky and are available through my linktree here

I reblog art here in my little art gallery blog CaptainSkysArtCollection

Game Codes

Genshin: 617281815 Honkai Star Rail: 601108053 Wuthering Waves: 500412003

🌠Current Projects🌠

Siege SMP as Lyra du Arcturus

Siege SMP is a modded Minecraft SMP. Many content creators are part of the project and we all play individual characters. I play Lyra du Arcturus, a mage recently appointed to the Magic Council as the fire mage. I appear on other's streams and occasionally on my own. I have also been working on a small comic following Lyra's story.

#Siege SMP #Lyra du Arcturus

One Piece-Genshin Redesigns

This is my current ongoing project. I’m redesigning One Piece characters to fit within Genshin Impact. I’ll be picking an element and weapon for each character I do as well as writing a little bit about how I’ve decided they fit into Teyvat. I'll be doing the Straw Hat crew and perhaps a few other characters.

#One Piece #Genshin Redesign

🌌OCs and Original Works🌌

Oh No! The Demon Lord Stole the Hero!

This is my own story, a Grecoroman-themed fantasy with a bit of the Ars Goetia thrown in. The overall idea is a romance in the middle of a war between humans and demons. Hyacinth is the Hero with conveniently light-related powers. The love interest is Azazel, the Demon Lord. It’s styled after the general anime Yuusha story with a hero and the Demon Lord final boss, but with my own twist and a few more Western fantasy elements than you’d normally find in a Yuusha story. Most of my posts have been on Patreon, but will likely end up here soon.

#Oh No! The Demon Lord Stole the Hero! #Hero x Demon Lord

🌟Other Tags🌟

#original art (not fandom related art) #the captain (art or posts related to my Captain character) #my ocs (art or posts related to my own characters) #my art (any art I have done) #sky answers (ask answers) #sky speaks (text posts, rambles, notices, etc.)

TWs: Triggers and warnings are tagged as #tw [trigger] ex: #tw blood

🚀Commissions🚀

I do commissions, but usually not requests. You are allowed to ask, but there is no guarantee I'll draw a request. I am happy to work on projects and budgets within reason. If you want a commission or to use my art for any type of project feel free to reach out! My Commission Form is available here or through my linktree. You can also go through my Ko-Fi for commissions if r donations here. My TOS agreement is part of the Commission Form.

Things I will draw: NSFW (no public post & must follow my TOS), OCs, existing characters, D&D, graphic assets, comics, pngtubers, real people (Must follow my TOS), among other things Things I will not draw: Furries (I don't do full-on anthropomorphic, stuff like cat ears are fine), certain NSFW topics, excessive gore Other: I also do Minecraft Skins #Art Commissions

🪐Patreon🪐

If you like my art consider checking out my Patreon! I offer coloring pages, wallpapers, behind the scenes content, early access, special commissions, and Patreon exclusive content. My upload schedule is a lot more consistent and I post usually 2 times a week on Patreon. You don’t have to make a paid pledge to see some artwork before I post it on other platforms or to get select wallpapers and coloring pages I offer!

[itskeej]

I figured it out the eddie and the cruisers thing is from when I first started trying to do realism (I cannot look back on that era now it pains me)

So therefore

The Twinkies tag is from when I put my oc Dallan in the Twinkies costume and redrew a brutalfoods screenshot-

I really hit "t" by accident and the tag for eddie and the cruisers came up??? What

[shortstormexdecepticon]

New TFA Oc? New TFA OC, Baby! This Time, She’s A Human OC! Meet Hunter Cruiser, A Girl With Dreams And An Odd Necklace From Her Dad That Could Probably Get Her In Trouble Someday!(Note; She Does Have The Hat In The Top Left Picture, I Just Didn’t Wanna Add It In Lol) Reblogs Appreciated! @bccfggffbgv, @sam-christy-456