#jimmy when i catch you when i catch you jimmy

[wandering-pirate]

Mouthwashing Crew Headcanon

Game Night: Hot Seat

Summary: What if the chef (you) hosted the Hot Seat game with the crew?

Pairings: Tulpar Crew x Reader

Day 156

One slow-ass day aboard the Tulpar, someone (probably you, possibly not) decided to shake things up. Enter: “The Hot Seat.”

Daisuke’s brilliant chaos brain kicks in: “Alright, everyone’s asses to the lounge!”

And by everyone, he means EVERYONE. Even poor Swansea, who, you can tell, was plotting your murder silently after his naptime was unashamedly snatched from him

Anyway! You explain the rules, yada-yada:

Take turns sitting in “The Seat” (a janky old pilot chair Jimmy swears is still operational—it’s not. It’s begging for retirement or a dignified death).

Everyone gets to throw questions at the victim-- I mean, participant.

Answer honestly or take a shot of Daisuke’s “mystery juice” (an ungodly concoction of random spices and liquid in the kitchen he found while he was cleaning - punishment by Swansea). He claims it's edible but aside from the glowing toxic green color, something's moving in the juice. Even Anya’s armed with antibiotics, just in case

Round 1: The Captain

Curly starts the game with the intention to stay honest and transparent, the way a captain should (hiswordsnotmine.) He takes a seat with the click of his cowboy boots, "I’ve got nothing to hide. Ask away!"

Question 1: "What’s the dumbest decision you’ve made as our captain?"

Curly's grin falters a bit before answering, "Okay, fine. There was this one time I insisted on manually navigating the Tulpar to impress someone... in my defense, those maps were outdated! And the the che-- I mean that someone was impressed… I think?"

Maybe it was the lighting, but you swear his forehead's starting to get shiny

Question 2: "What’s the real reason you became a captain?"

Caught off guard, Curly clears his throat, his composure slipping. "To lead. To inspire."

Jimmy raises an eyebrow. "C’mon, that’s the PR answer!"

"And… maybe I thought the uniform looked cool. Okay? Next question!"

Yeah no, his forehead was really reflecting light

Final Question: "Have you ever used your rank to get out of trouble?"

Curly’s face turns redder than a warning light, but he still holds his ground. "I… may have politely reminded a customs officer of my rank when they tried to confiscate my coffee stash. It wasn’t a bribe or anything!"

Curly is visibly flustered but still holding onto his Captain pride. "You’re all insufferable," he mutters, FINALLY wiping his sweaty forehead (it was dripping large drops atp). But when no one’s looking, you catch the smile tugging at his lips

Round 2: The Nurse

Anya walks in like she’s ready for surgery. Clipboard in hand, questions already prepped because no one’s catching her off guard

Question 1: "What’s the dumbest injury you’ve treated on this crew?"

Without missing a beat: “Someone tried to impress their crush, slipped on a banana peel, and sprained their wrist and their ego. I won't name names, they know who they are...”

Everyone looks at Jimmy

Question 2: "What’s the most non-standard thing in your med kit?"

“Glitter band-aids.”

"What!? But I never saw one of 'em on anyone."

"That's cause I secretly covered yours with normal bandaids, Swans."

Last Question: "Anya, what’s your guilty pleasure when you’re not in nurse mode? Something you’d never admit..."

In Anya's boyscout-ready clipboard of questions, that's one question that short-circuited her brain

"Uh, what do you mean by... guilty pleasure? I mean, I... definitely... DEFINITELY don’t spend my free time watching those... really bad reality shows, you know, like 90 Day Fiancé or The Kardashians... that’s just... so not me...heh..."

She pauses, realizing she’s digging herself deeper.

"And I definitely don’t have a secret stash of junk food next to me when I do... uh, when I watch those shows... because that would be... unhealthy... right?"

Her clipboard went straight at her face when you all snickered. The flustered nurse was something you weren't prepared to take in, but hey, you weren't complaining ;)

"It’s just for stress relief, okay?! It’s... it's not a habit or anything!"

Round 3: The Co-pilot

Jimmy struts up: attach all cocky gestures a man with an empire-rise-tall ego would do “Bring it. I’m unshakeable.”

First Question: "Do you have feelings for Y/N?"

Without missing a beat, Jimmy reaches for the juice… but instead of a shot, he downs the ENTIRE GLASS

Five minutes later: “I can feel it. IT’S REARRANGING MY PERSONALITY! That FUCKING JUICE is a CRIME to HUMANITY."

Ten minutes later: Trying his best to smile smugly despite the involuntary and random tremors that's hitting him every 5 seconds

Every time you look at him, he avoids eye contact

“It’s the juice, not me.”

Question 2: "If you had to kick someone off the crew, who’s it gonna be?"

“Oh, easy. Daisuke.”

Daisuke protests loudly, but Jimmy shrugs. “That juice deserves jail time.”

Jimmy spends the rest of the game poorly walking at a fine line between bravado and damage control, especially when anyone mentions you or the juice

Round 4: The Mechanic

Swansea reluctantly takes the seat, grumbling about how this whole game is a waste of time

"Just get this over with."

Question 1: "What do you think of Y/N’s cooking?"

He grunts. “Edible. Most of the time.”

“THAT’S THE NICEST THING YOU’VE EVER SAID ABOUT ME!”

“Y'right.”

Question 2: "Why do you always act like you don’t care?"

He scowls. "Because I don’t. Next question." But as the game goes on, his shoulders visibly relaxed, even had him smile when Daisuke roasted the co-pilot

When you teased him for enjoying the game, he went back at that grumpy (he thought it was intimidating, it wasn't) crossed-arms pose

"It's not the game. Yer all just idiots. Just like watching dogs catchin' their tails"

"Yeah and the Nile is a river."

Last Question: "Any sentimental moments with the crew?"

He clears his throat. "Sentimental, huh? Don’t think I’m the type to get all teary-eyed over people... but I’ll tell you, the day that Cap here, couldn’t even fix a damn lightbulb without asking me for help, well, that was... something. Made me feel like I still had some purpose 'round here."

He pauses for a second, almost looking like he was about to say more but after seeing all your expecting faces, the man just grunts and shakes his head

"That’s all yer gettin’ outta me. Don’t go thinkin’ I’m some softie."

All your mouths were collecting flies. That's the most emotional you could make Swansea be

Round 5: The Intern

Daisuke practically cartwheels to the chair... big mistake

Question 1: "Most immature thing you’ve done?"

“Immature? Me? NEVER.”

*Silence, t'was so silent that you could actually hear crickets despite free-floating in space*

“Okay, FINE. I might’ve accidentally stepped on the boss's face one night when I was aboutta pee. BUT I DIDN’T MEAN TO!”

"Oh, that explains the fishy smell. My bad Swans, thought it was your hair."

"Look who's talkin', as if I'm the one bathin' once a month."

Yeah, Jimmy's ego couldn't have been more trampled at this point

Question 2: "Most childish crew member?"

Rubs his hand like he's planning a complicated bank heist

"Easy... Jimmy. Why? Well, let me think… maybe it’s because the guy DRANK a juice just to dodge A QUESTION, might I add, that wasn’t even that BAD."

Daisuke crossed his arms and pouts like a disappointed girlfriend

"AND instead of owning up like a MAN, he KICKS ME outta the crew just for the heavenly potion I MADE. Yeah, Real mature, Jimmy."

Last Question: "Whose advice would you take: Swansea or Y/N?"

"Okay, this is seriously like one of those Resident Evil game choices, y’know? Like, who do you pick? Swansea’s all grumpy wisdom, and he’s got the whole... ‘I’ve seen it all’ vibe. I mean, boss is like the living manual for everything that can go wrong."

He glances over at you and grinned wider

"But then there’s Y/N, who’s always level-headed and knows when to just... chill and have fun. And your advice, like, it always has a twist of realness to it, right? You’re like... I don’t know, the sage with a spoon!... Or a butcher knife?"

Daisuke looks up at both of you, his expression is pure puppy-like distress.

"See? This is hard... I mean life and death situation hard."

"Well, the kid’s in trouble now. What’re you gonna do, Daisuke? Take the safe advice, or follow the one with sugar-coated truth?" Swansea bumps your side

"Ha! Mine's got pure truth and a sugary sweet with it, that's different, Swans."

Last Round: The Chef

Finally, you get forced into the seat (more like physically dragged by the men while screaming bloody murder) and everyone goes HARD on you

"What’s the weirdest thing you’ve fed us without telling us?"

"Weird is subjective, right? So if I thought the ingredient was normal, meh, does it still count as weird? Asking for a chef ;)"

"Are you the one who broke the coffee machine?"

"I mean, define ‘broke.’ If we’re being technical, it still turns on. It just, you know, sprays coffee sideways. That’s not broken, just... quirky."

"Do you actually like Curly's speeches, or are you just polite?"

You grinned

"Ah, well, they’re definitely… memorable. You know, it’s impressive how cap can make freighter maintenance sound like a call to arms. Like, one sec you’re zoning out, then next, you’re ready to fight a full Jedi council… for better fuel efficiency."

Who's the worst cook in all the Tulpar?

"Daisuke. Had the rare talent to almost burn the kitchen down, no, the whole Tulpar from just... boiling water. WATER!"

You succesfully dodged them all until you broke when Swansea narrows his eyes and growls:

"What happened to my tools last week?"

Visibly sweating but desperately clawing on the the little control you have left

"Swansea, listen… Those tools have been through a lot. They’ve seen things. I’ve seen things. The point is, they’ve served their purpose bravely. Now, about that wrench…"

At this point, You crumbled under Swansea’s intense dad stare and admit to using the wrench as a garlic crusher

The lounge area was filled with everyone laughing and whooping, and your reign of dodging questions comes to a dramatic (and pathetically hilarious end) after receiving a 20 push-up punishment from Swansea

a/n: second sem's been throwing me around like a ragdoll and it's been like two weeks... but yknow what, lemme make it a challenge. send some headcanon ideas cause all i can do is write at this point, not think :,)

[trippinsorrows]

trials of love + two

authors note: friendly, gentle reminder that while drunk hookups are popular in today's culture, inebriation prohibits consent as someone cannot legally consent when intoxicated.

also.....this shit about to be messy as hell.

one

warnings: angst, inebriation, slight spice, and intoxication impairing judgment/consent

words: 3.7k

****gif credit goes to my chica @dejameflorecer

song inspo: evermore by josh groban

“She’s missing.” 

It’s the first thing Roman hears when he walks into the sanctuary. Nervous, frantic, rapid voices exchanging dialogue in hushed tones, some not so hushed. And because he’s him, it’s not difficult for Roman to catch onto what has everyone so worked up, his mother looking irritated and his father pissed. 

Not that he gives a shit about that.

He partially, however, gives a shit that she is, in fact, missing.

Solana.

His wife-to-be.

Apparently, she’s nowhere to be found on the property, an unfortunate and stressful thing for almost everyone it seems, sans one person.

She sits calmly in one of the pews, a crossword puzzle across her lap, the most relaxed expression on her face. It’s a stark contrast to the pandemonium surrounding them, which also includes Jey and Nicki on the other side of the church arguing, and Jimmy trying to get the caterers to let him “sample” the food. 

Roman shakes his head. 

Some things never change.

Strolling over to the older woman, Roman moves to sit in front of her, angling her body so he’s facing her, forearm across the top of the pew. 

She looks up, and it’s only then he realizes Solana inherited her eyes from her grandmother. 

“Roman,” she says it so formally, so casually, an introduction of sorts that’s followed by her refocusing back on the task at hand.

He chuckles. She reminds him a lot of Fetu.

They’ll either get along great, or it’s going to be clash of the fucking titans. 

“You know where she is, don’t you?” It’s not a question. Just a statement he’s waiting for her to confirm or deny.

Light brown eyes briefly dart up only to return back down under. “I know my granddaughter has always loved the ocean and often goes to the beach when she needs to think or clear her head.”

Roman offers a small smile. 

Yeah, a lot like Fetu.

“Thank you,” he says with a small nod.

She lifts her brow and shrugs once more. “I didn’t say anything.”

Roman doesn’t say anything either and manages to walk out of the chaos without anyone stopping him, not that he really cares. 

He just needs to find his bride, or rather, he’d prefer to be the one to find her for reasons he can’t quite explain or provide.

Just knows that it would make him feel better, or something, to bring her back.

Whatever that means.

He locates her exactly where her grandma “told” him she would be. On the beach, standing close enough to the tide where the water brushes against her bare feet. Her back toward him, arms crossed over her body, Roman approaches her, only inches away when she finally notices him.

Gasping, she jumps back a bit, eyes focused on him. It’s only then Roman can see it. See that she’s crying.

He frowns.

There’s something….something off about that that he doesn’t like. 

That doesn’t sit well with him.

“Roman….” Her voice is so soft and soothing, but there’s a sadness about it that also bothers him. “I’m—I’m sorry.” She wipes at her eyes and shakes her head. “I just—I wasn’t leaving. I just—”

“Solana,” he interrupts in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. “It’s fine.” Because if he wasn’t in a foreign country, he’d have probably done the same. Her…..dissatisfaction with this union is a mutually shared thing. “I know you weren’t.”

She nods, something like appreciation flashing across her pretty face. He’s briefly taken back. While marriage is the last thing Roman wants, to be married to someone like Solana isn’t a hard sell. Not only does she have the kind of body he could spend an eternity studying and worshipping, she’s absolutely breathtaking in every sense of the word.

Has a kind, caring spirit about her that's unlike anything he's used to.

But, it's something he feels like he could most definitely get used to.

Feeling himself staring, Roman motions to the ocean. He needs a distraction. “It’s beautiful.”

She follows his line of vision, smile growing. “It is.” Solana sighs, obviously taking it all in. “I’m—I’m gonna miss it.”

Roman’s expression shifts into something almost regretful.

Like, he regrets even putting her in this situation.

"Solana...." He strokes his beard, navigating how to explain himself. “For you to return back home so soon after the wedding would…..it wouldn’t be a good look.” He’s careful in the way he approaches this, a caution that’s a bit unfamiliar. Roman has never been one to choose his words carefully, unless in life or death situations. “But, after a few months pass, you can visit whenever you want.”

She turns toward him, eyes wide and hopeful. “R—really?”

Roman nods. “Yes.” 

Because while Roman can count on one hand how many family members he’d miss if separated from them for some reason, he can see that’s not the case for her. Solana seems deeply attached and close with all of her family, especially her sisters, Isabella and Zuri, connected with her home. 

And it’s that separation that she’s clearly struggling with the most, so the least he can do is provide her some assurance that being apart isn’t a forever thing.

He’d probably prefer for her to come visit more often than not. Gives him some much needed alone time. Roman has never lived with another person before as an adult. Let alone a woman. Let alone a woman who’s his wife, so that might take….an adjustment, to say the least.

He'd bet the watering of her eyes is for an entirely different reason now. “Thank you.” She sounds so grateful, so appreciative, so relieved. 

It’s hard for him to not be moved by it, even if it is completely unlike him to be move.

To feel. 

It’s uncomfortable as shit too, prompting him to clear his throat and gesture toward the opposite side of the ocean. “You ready?”

She nods, taking one last look at the water before turning to walk, clearly tripping over something in the sand. One minute, she’s about to fall, the next, Roman is in front of her, shielding said fall.

They stare at each other, her head lifted, gaze on him, hands on his chest, his on her waist, holding her up.

“S–sorry,” she apologizes in that same small voice, but for some reason, he can only focus on the aroma of her sweet perfume, the feel of her body so close to his, the alluring hue of her pretty brown eyes.

“It’s fine,” he says, distractedly. He’s still staring at her the same way she’s staring at him. One of them, he doesn't know who, finally breaks it, moving so that they can walk off.  He’s also unsure just who reaches for whose hand. Just knows that their hands are interlocked as they walk away from the present and prepare to head into the future.

Their future. 

-----------

Solana has always been a dreamer. Always lived with her “head in the clouds.” Something told to her from practically every family member, starting with her abuela, all the way to her adorable five year-old niece, Sophia. 

It’s something she’s never really denied, either. She knows she’s always been one to hope and aspire for the most, the best, even when told it might never happen. But, it’s never bothered her. Not really. Not when her life has always been filled with so much love, happiness, and fulfillment.

A wonderful family. Great friends. The honor of taking over her abuela’s bakery. An establishment that’s been in her family for generations.

The only thing missing has been love. 

Not familial. Not platonic. Romantic.

She’s dated, had relationships, and all of the above. And nothing ever moved her, ever left her feel the beautiful love she’s always witnessed with her parents. And her oldest sister, Zuri, has always advised her that her expectations are too high, too aligned with “Disney shit." Isabella has always told her to never settle. Her parents have always said she’ll know when she’s found the one. And Solana has always taken a bit of all of their advice, never once giving up her dream of finding “true love.” Of finding the man who would, maybe even literally, swipe her off her feet. 

The dreamlike courting, romantic proposal, perfect wedding, intimate wedding night where she’d finally lose her virginity to the man who’d one day be the father of her children. The perfect ending to a wonderful life.

A fucking lie.

Solana stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, a reflection she once appreciated, maybe not always loved, but liked well enough. Now though, now, she doesn’t even recognize what she sees. Who she sees.

She’s always been happy and joyful, but there’s nothing happy about the puffiness and redness around her eyes. The way her lips are in a permanent frown that’s been present for the past few days. She looks every bit as sad and miserable as she feels.

And, it’s all because of one man. 

Roman Reigns.

Her husband.

The man she hates more than she’s ever hated anyone before in her life.

She’d never heard anything nice about him, heard that he was a heartless bastard. But, in meeting him shortly before their wedding, in interacting with him on a few occasions, he’d been…..okay. Not overtly nice but nothing like the asshole he’s been since….since that night.

The night…..

Solana sniffles, feeling and seeing the watering of her eyes. That’s got her more fucked up than anything else. She always dreamed her wedding night, her first time, would be a beautiful thing. And, it was. Roman was…...he was kind to her, gentle with her, good to her.

And, then she woke up.

Because everything since that night has been nothing short of a nightmare.

Roman isn’t her knight in shining armor. 

He’s the demon in her dreams.

A demon she can’t escape.

Dulce’s quiet snoring in her room, a random room she’s commandeered and made her own, moving all of her stuff into it from Roman’s the second day of his MIA episode. Solana smiles. Seeing and having her sweet dog with her was definitely something she could have never guessed happening.

Could have never anticipated waking up and finding her baby girl in a crate being held by Roman's Wise Man, Dulce nearly losing her shit, same with Solana, in seeing her mother for the first time in too long.

Solana can still recall the physical pain she felt when she was informed Roman doesn't like pets, and that she had to leave Dulce home in Mexico with her family. It practically killed her. Made this whole thing so much worse. 

Dulce, a tiny little thing, is hands down Solana’s best friend. They’ve been connected since the moment Solana held the Pomeranian four years prior. She’s been there for her during the best and worst of times, so not having her for, inarguably, the worst thing she’s ever been through in life has been torture. 

Truth be told, Solana hasn’t the slightest clue why Roman changed his mind, what made him make arrangements to have Dulce brought to her, and while she’s beyond grateful to have at least someone in that house, she couldn’t bring herself to thank him.

For what?

What has he done to deserve thanks? Letting her have her pet is only a common decency. The latter word being something foreign to him, clearly.

Because Roman is every bit the bastard she heard about. She only wishes she wasn’t stupid enough before to believe he could be anything different. 

But, she’s learned her lesson.

Learned to heed to his words.

This isn’t a real marriage. It doesn't mean anything to him. She doesn’t mean anything to him. 

So, he doesn't mean anything to her.

And, he never will. 

He isn’t home, but that’s not surprising. He’s never home. Her now preference.

As much space away from him that she can manage is for the best. 

Not to mention, it allows her to prepare for her night without his intrusions or thoughts of how he’d respond or even feel. A stupid thing, really. Especially considering he made it painfully clear that he doesn’t care what or who she does. 

Bet.

Solana takes the red lipstick, applying it to her lips, the last and final step of a makeup routine that took much longer than what was probably necessary. But, the end product seems worth it. Dark, sultry eyes, highlighted and blushed cheeks, with blood red lipstick to match her red dress that shows more of her breast than most of her bikini tops. Her ass is only one bend away from being exposed, the body of it nice and tight, hugging all her generous curves.. It’s a look she’d not even wear in her dreams, far too risque and revealing, but it’s exactly what she’s wearing tonight. 

Because she just doesn’t care anymore. 

If Roman can do whatever he wants, then so can she. 

Spraying perfume on her pulse points and on her dress, Solana takes a final look at herself in the mirror before hitting the lights and grabbing her small Gucci bag off the counter. 

Walking in heels has always been a bit difficult for her, but the heels complete the look, so it’s one of many sacrifices she’s willing to make tonight. 

Solana cuddles with Dulce for a few minutes, making sure she’s straight and instructing the security that patrol the house to check on her baby every so often.

She’s not certain she’ll make it home tonight.

And speaking of home, Solana turns the hall and meets Dre’s always watchful gaze. She doesn’t miss the way he gives her a double take. The same way she gives him one.

Her head of security isn’t ugly by any means. Tall with a nice, lean but muscular build, pretty light eyes and almost model-like facial features. He looks more like the type to be in Vogue versus being assigned the head of her security detail. On the quiet side, too, only having only said a few words to her.

But, the way he’s looking at her now suggests she might be able to evoke a couple more words out of him. At least, for tonight.

“I want to go out,” she informs, crossing her arms over her body.  “A nightclub. Whatever is most popular in this town.”

Dre lifts a brow. “Mrs. Reigns—”

“Solana,” she corrects. “My name is Solana.” 

“Solana.” There’s almost something suggestive about the way he says it. A way she both likes and dislikes. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.” Solana scowls, already knowing she’s not going to like what he says. “With The Tribal Chief being out of town—”

“I said—” Solana steps forward, head tilted, again not missing how Dre’s eyes drop to her chest. “I want to go out.” Mustering a small smile and batted eyelashes, she tilts her head and innocently places her hands on his chest. “Now, let’s go.”

—--------

It’s all so loud and borderline suffocating. The music booms, the people move and grind together with a familiarity that contrasts the fact that most of them only met just this night. A situation she too, ironically, finds herself in, because Solana hasn’t the slightest clue who she’s dancing with. Just knows that he’s only a couple inches taller than her, even in her heels, and he can’t seem to keep his hands off her ass.

And if not for the liquor coursing through her body, it’s something she’d be uncomfortable with. She partially is but not enough to stop, to tell him to leave her alone. This is what she needs. To let loose, to not give a fuck. 

To be less like herself and more like him.

Because being Solana, being kind and sweet and understanding, got her nowhere but broken heart city, and she’s tired of feeling so hurt and broken. She needs to feel something, anything else, and this is the perfect way. 

The song comes to an end, random man whispering something in her ear about being right back. She jumps when he squeezes her ass and slithers away. Solana feels a bit silly just standing there, so she makes her way back over to the bar.

A small, inebriated smile on her face, she’s pleased to see the same bartender. 

“Another shot, p–please.”

The woman, tall and dark in every aspect outside of her almost pale complexion, with tattoos covering her body gives her an almost hesitant look. “You sure about that, babe? You’ve had quite a bit to drink already.”

Solana rolls her eyes. “I’m not a child." Gesturing to her outfit, her nipples milliseconds from popping out, prompting her to adjust her top, she repeats her request. “A shot, please.”

Striking blue eyes gleam with continued reticence as the tall woman turns away to fulfil the order. 

Solana leans back against the bar, closing her eyes and taking in the environment. She feels so free, so liberated from the shackles of hurt, pain, and betrayal that have consumed her since she was ripped away from her home and life and everything she loves only to be dumped into this shitshow of a storm.

It’s unfair. All of it, but she’s done letting it drown her.

She can’t.

“Well damn.” Her head snaps up to the sound of the voice that’s much closer than what’s necessary. “You sure look like you know how to have a good time.”

Solana studies the man before her, his complexion a few shades darker than her own. His brown eyes are warm but intense and contrast his short, onyx hair and thick brows that have cutouts on the end. His build is more on the stocky side but still muscular.

A small smile falls on her face. “Something like that.” Taking him in one time, she offers her name. “I’m Solana.”

“Zilla,” he answers with a confident smirk. “You not from around here.”

She nods, recognizing it’s more of a statement than anything. “I’m….new to town.”

Unfortunately.

He makes a sound, eyes focusing on her breast. “Lucky us, huh?”

Giggling, she teases, largely fueled by the liquor, “maybe.”

“Zilla.” Another voice sounds, not as deep, but still smooth. Accented. Solana turns to see another man with a similar complexion, lithe yet muscular build and almost angular features. He's older than the shorter man, clearly. Not that that really matters to her.

His gaze quickly settles on her, revealing a gleam of lust. “Who is this?”

“S–solana,” she answers matter-of-factly. “W–who are you?”

He smirks. “Tama.”

Solana snorts and rolls her eyes. “I—interesting.” It’s not missed on her how the both of them continue to focus on everything but her face, namely her chest. “Let’s just s–skip to the good part boys, why don’t we?” They both look curious as she asks with batted eyelashes. “Let’s get out of here.”

It’s a statement that, in actuality, surprises all three of them. Solana knows what she’s saying, knows what she’s asking, but there’s still something about it that feels….non-autonomous. Like she’s in control, but she’s not actually in control. 

Something she should probably think more about, but thinking and feeling have done her no good these past few weeks, so fuck it.

“Which one of us?” Zilla is the one to ask, licking his lips, hand reaching out and brushing his fingers over her forearm. Tama remains watchful and attentive but keeping his hands to himself.

For now.

And with a wry smile, glazed eyes, and fiery, drunken determination, she answers boldly, “both.”

—--------

Solana moans at the set of lips that suck on her neck and the set of hands—she’s not sure whose—that squeeze at her breast.

Lips parted, eyes closed, she’s fully immersed in this moment, solely focused on the hands that touch and grab all over her body.

“Shit,” she hisses when someone moves their hand in between her thighs, nudging them open and feeling at her thong.

Zilla smirks and teases his finger in a circle against the inside of her thigh. “That pussy nice and wet for us already, man.”

Tama makes a sound, moving his hand to Solana’s hair, yanking her head back and forcing her eyes open. “You’re a good,submissive little bitch, aren’t you?”

There’s something both erotic and disrespectful about it, about his statement, about his delivery, about the way he tightens his grip in her hair. But, she doesn’t care, she’s too caught in the moment, too consumed by the alcohol. 

“Take that shit off her,” Zilla directs Tama, the older man easily guiding her onto her knees on the bed. His hands go to the bottom of her dress, pulling it up and off her, leaving her in just a thong.

Something strange washes over her, Solana naturally moving her hands across her chest, suddenly feeling a sense of unease and discomfort. Like something is…..off. 

Like she shouldn’t have told Dre to mind his business and wait outside in the SUV as she prepares to engage in the unthinkable. 

“Wait…..” She murmurs, maybe to them, maybe to herself. She’s not entirely sure. 

Tama, however, ushers her arms down and guides her to lay down. Solana readies to protest again when he latches his mouth onto her nipple, evoking a moan from her, the pleasure easily overpowering the logic. 

Her hand moves to the back of his short hair, her body writhing underneath him as he slides his hand down her belly and slips it into her thong. She whimpers when he teases his fingers against her wet, velvety opening.

“Goddamn, you got some big ass titties,” Zilla makes a sound from where he stands at the foot of the bed, Solana briefly opening her eyes to see he’s messing with something, something she can’t seem to make out, just that he’s situating it on the dresser in front of the bed. A perfect view of what’s about to transpire. 

For a second, the slightest second, she’s reluctant.

“What—what are you doing?” Furrowed brows as Tama sits up and also goes to remove his shirt, Solana leaning up on her elbows. 

“Nothing, baby,” Zilla answers, standing directly in front of her. He goes to undo his belt when he pauses to look at her, asking, “you sure you wanna do this?”

Solana stills, noticing how Tama is also looking at her with an expectant expression.

No. She’s not sure, but yet she is. She wants to, but she’s also nervous. She’s only had sex once, but it’s that one time, albeit amazing and wonderful, that led to this emotional spiral she’s been on. It’s what led her to stepping away from the good, innocent path she’s always been on and entered her onto whatever this is. 

So, not, she’s absolutely not sure.

But, what she is sure of is that she’s tired of crying all the time, tired of thinking of Roman, of trying to figure out how he went from being almost kind to her to basically telling her she means nothing to him. That the night they spent together, her first time, him taking her virginity, something she always imagined giving to the one, meant nothing. 

Roman can’t be her one and only anymore. 

Especially when she was never and will never be his. 

Solana moves her fingers to her thong, sliding them down and off her body, laying on the bed and giggling while throwing them toward the two men.

“Let’s do it.”

[dilfsnearyouart]

during my recent cancer scare i got really obsessed with Mouthwashing and swore that i'd make keychains of the tulpar crew when i got better. here's anya's design!! sample's came back looking great so i'm aiming to have the rest of the crew done within the coming months. here's to 2025 being my small business arc ig

[noirsdoll]

-> pretty please? bonus!

all aboard! | the dinner party | room for three

pairing: curly / wife!reader / jimmy

words: 4.4k

tags: rape, threesome (f/m/m), painal, double penetration, light cucking, curly and reader are married, jimmy went to jail, mentions of jimmy's abuse towards anya, homoerotic codependent friendship, half of this is porn, no crash au

notes: this is more of a bonus chapter than a third one just cuz i think curly and reader's dynamic switches up a lot with the introduction of jimmy... there's a lot going on here LMAO i hope you like it!! i wanted to touch more on the similarities between jimmy and reader w this one!

read it on ao3

Jimmy’s walking, talking, “Get Out Of Jail Free Card” is pissing you off.

“No, we’re not letting him stay here!” You exclaim and for the first time in your relationship, this is real anger. He can’t be serious.

Curly pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand and sighs, the other arm rocking your newborn. “It’s only going to be for a month at most. Just till he gets back on his feet.”

Your jaw drops. “We have a kid, Grant. And Jimmy’s a convicted sex offender.”

“He wouldn’t do something like that, not with a child.” Curly cups your cheek, his gaze blindingly warm. “Jimmy’s learned his lesson.”

You stare at him in bewilderment. You’ve found it, Curly’s hard limit and it’s for Jimmy of all people. The guy who’s best known for sticking his dick in anything remotely concave.

You were hoping you’d have a few months of peace before this happened, not for your husband to go behind your back and pay Jimmy’s bail. Curly can soothe you and fuck you all he wants, you are not forgiving him for this.

You bury your face in your hands. “Alright. Fine. Fine! But if he tries anything I’m kicking him out.”

“We’ll be fine, honey. Don’t be so negative.” Curly hands you your kid. “I think you gotta change him.” He stinks.

Jimmy stinks.

You know for a fact that prisons have showers and soap, so he has no excuse. You may be biased, however, considering he’s going to be sharing this beautiful house with both you and Curly.

It feels like he’s smearing his filth over your clean floors— the first thing you order him to do is take a shower. Thankfully, Curly agrees, kissing your hair and bidding you farewell for the day like he always does. Jimmy makes a face and says nothing, heading for your bathroom.

As the shower runs, you take the time to cook yourself some food. Instinctively, you find yourself glancing over your shoulder more than once. Down the hall, to the bathroom right across from your son’s room. You know he wouldn’t, Curly said he wouldn’t, but that doesn’t stop you from worrying.

You have a life that you need to put before your own now, a life that needs your protection. This was all for your kid at the end of the day. You ignore the anxiety festering in your gut, turning back to your cooking.

Eventually, Jimmy plops down onto a chair at the kitchen table, wearing Curly’s pajamas. His wet hair falls in strings. The silence drags before he speaks. “You look pretty good for just having a kid,” he draws out slyly.

“Thanks.” You don’t look at him, off put by the compliment.

You hear the telltale creak of him leaning back in his chair. “It’s a nice life you got, huh? Curly’s treating you well?”

“Well, he’s my husband. Of course he should.”

Jimmy just scoffs, about to say something more before he’s interrupted by your baby crying. Instantly, you turn off the stove and take down the hall. Finally, an excuse to get away from him and his thinly-veiled jealousy.

Unfortunately, Jimmy trails after you, pretending not to follow you while also clearly doing so. He catches the door when you go to close it, bullying his way in. “Am I such bad company?”

“No.” You think Jimmy is closer to head lice than anything likeable, but he can be personable at times. You pick up your baby, shushing him, gently rocking him. Jimmy’s looming behind you, against the wall by the door.

He grimaces at the sound. “Does it shut up?”

“He’s hungry,” you say, eyes only on your crying baby. Every heart-wrenching wail tugs at something so innate inside you. “Could you leave so that I can feed him?”

Jimmy grins. “And miss out on a show? Why would I do that?”

Your face crumples in disdain. But he’s clearly not leaving and you’ve got a kid to feed, so you just turn away from him, back to your son’s cradle. The air doesn’t feel intense, it feels stifling as you lift up your shirt, bringing your baby’s crying mouth to your nipple.

There’s this weird pressure in your chest, one you’ve never felt before. The short, subtle crawl of ice down your spine. Unsafe, you feel unsafe. Why, you don’t know, but that pressure builds, sharp and nauseating.

The silence drags, you focus on your kid, making sure he properly attaches, that he’s actually drinking. When he’s full, you pull back and tug down your shirt. On impulse, you look behind you.

Jimmy’s gone, like you just imagined him. A ghost.

Dinner comes and goes. You’re changing your son’s diaper as Curly and Jimmy talk in the living room. You can hear their laughter and lively conversation through the walls. Swaddling your kid, you pull him into your arms.

You sing him a lullaby, rocking him to sleep. Alone in this room, you can still feel Jimmy. That moment is etched in your brain. It clings to the walls of the room like cigarette smoke on drywall.

The door opens and you jump. Fortunately, it’s just Curly. He comes up behind you, big warm hands sliding over your stomach and waist. He kisses your temple. “How are you feeling?”

You lean back into him. “Exhausted.” You rub an eye with your free hand.

“Yeah, I bet.” His voice rumbles against your back, lulling you half to sleep. “Jimmy and I are going to head out to the bar for the night. We’ll be back before it's late.”

That wakes you up. You turn to face him. “What? But you just got home and I missed you all day.”

Curly just smiles as if you’d said a joke that was half amusing. “I haven’t seen him in months. We’re only catching up.”

You stare at him, at a loss for words. This would be the part where you flare up, raise your voice— to make yourself seem bigger like you’re encountering a bear on a woodland trail. Instead you shrink, finding yourself at home with something you never have before. You just stand and say nothing.

He kisses you quickly. “Bye. Love you.”

“Love you too,” you say back, but the door has already closed behind him.

Being a woman is easy.

You can ask a guy to beat you up during sex, only to turn and show your bruises to a cop and you’re believed. Easily. Instantly.

Jimmy thinks it’s unfair that you and him did the same thing, and he was robbed of everything while you lost nothing. You have it so fucking easy: Curly’s dick in your mouth whenever you want it, cushy house, hot water. The type of things a woman like you takes for granted.

He sees the way you look at him. Someone who’s filth, someone who’s nothing, and someone who’s beneath you. He’s not beneath anyone, especially not a dumb slut. You’re the one on your knees scrubbing the floor, at the sink washing dishes, and raising a kid of all things. You’re a servant, no, a service to Curly. Jimmy wonders if you know that.

It’s even worse that it's so goddamn boring in this house. Seeing you walking back and forth past the living room with various cleaning items and Curly’s lacklustre TV subscription is his only entertainment.

He decides to take matters into his own hands. Jimmy follows you from behind, wondering if you can’t sense him or if you’re purposefully ignoring him, but he finds out pretty quickly that it’s the latter.

Curling a strong arm around you from behind, he grabs one of your tits, pulling you back into his chest. Are they the reason why Curly likes you so much?

Instantly, you go straighter than a stick, stuck in disbelief before you start to squirm. “What the fuck are you doing?!” You try and put up a good fight, but he’s got a tight grip on you— like a baby’s hand wrapped around your finger.

You elbow him in between the ribs and it almost gets him. Almost. Pain flares in his side, but he knows better than to give up now. “That wasn’t very nice. I was just curious if these were his favourite part.”

His other hand scoops up your chin, pressing the back of your head up against his throat. “Curly said to make myself at home, so surely you don’t mind.” Jimmy can feel your chest heaving, your breath wild. You’re a cornered animal, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Get off of me,” you say, your voice muffled, but you are too perfectly ensnared in his grip. Your words mean nothing when he’s kneading your flesh in his calloused hands, tugging up the hem of one of those stupid dresses you always wear. Another aspect of Curly’s barely hidden fetish, he’s sure.

Jimmy makes sure it hurts when he pushes in. He hopes you tear. That way you’ll lose what makes you important to Curly— the stepping stone to everything else falling apart for you.

You look over your shoulder at him and your expression is not one of fear or pain, but anger. You look livid, clipped nails digging into the carpet fibers as Jimmy shoves your face onto the floor.

But eventually you get wet as he opens you up, filling you in his favourite form of entertainment. Seeing you give up, seeing you enjoy getting used by his ‘filthy’ cock that you thought was below you.

You coat his dick in blood and cum when he pulls out of you, spilling over your ass in harsh white streaks. A ruined mess, your true colours have been revealed, the crimson muscle under your skin. You are just a woman, dumb and docile, nothing but what a man can make you.

And he leaves you there so he can go take another wonderful hot shower.

Lying beside Curly, you feel yourself break.

In the dim light of your bedroom, you have nothing to occupy your senses but your thoughts. And you have so, so many of them. Each one winds around your brain in a tortuous loop.

After Jimmy left you there, you didn’t know what to do. Your joints cried out, you sat up and just stared at a spot on the floor. The sound of the shower running filled your ears like an incessant buzz, it carried with you all day. And here it is now. This fog, this emptiness that you can’t shake.

You smooth your thumbs over your nails, worrying your lips till you taste blood. Never have you let yourself fall into your head like this, you feel shackled to that moment, forced to replay it over and over.

You shouldn’t be so absorbed in this. It was nothing. He’s just fucking bored. Letting this affect you, ruminating on this, it makes you no better than her.

For a short moment you debated calling Anya, to talk to her about it. You imagine picking up the phone and flat out telling her that Jimmy raped you— and what? What happens then? What could Anya— a dimwit who finally made it into med school through pity alone, do for you?

You wipe your eyes to try to hide the tears brewing there. This is all because of Jimmy. He has the nerve to do this under your household. You have Curly under your beck and call, you’ve assured yourself that that would be the case. This won’t slip through your fingers. You’ll get him kicked out, Jimmy failed to pass the terms.

You feel Curly’s arm wrap around your stomach, tugging you back into his chest. His warm breath fans over the nape of your neck, murmuring listlessly. “Why are you crying?”

Fuck, he noticed. You wipe with more insistence. You need to tell him. Sure you have no proof, but you can twist your words like you always do. Blame it on Curly, braid his heartstrings and play them to your favour. This will be easy.

“Jimmy, he… he…”

Fuck, you can’t speak. Why can’t you speak? This has never happened. Words usually come so easy to you, but right now they’re all crammed down your throat and you’re suffocating on them.

“I know you don’t like him,” Curly says, “but he’s my friend. I can’t just throw him out onto the streets, right?”

You stay silent. Right, of course, they’re friends. And how could Jimmy get off his feet, get a job— do any of that, when he has a criminal record? You should’ve never agreed to this. You should’ve said no. You are competing with a relationship that has stretched on longer than the time you’ve known Curly.

“You both need to learn how to get along,” Curly sighs, burying his face in your shoulder. “Get some sleep. Don’t think about this.”

You nod, more to yourself than him. Jimmy will get bored. This will end.

It will.

Why are you making excuses for him?

When Curly asks about the new bruise flowering on your side, you say you bumped into the counter. You don’t tell him that it was Jimmy. When Curly and Jimmy drink together in the living room after dinner, you spend it in your son’s room, fawning over him and making yourself sick.

There’s no telling when Jimmy will snap and you will become the subject of his entertainment for the hour– when he will split you open and call you filthy things that you are slowly being conditioned to like.

You feel like a hostage in your own house. Your son’s room has become your only safety. No longer do you feel self-assured, confident, and capable, rather, you feel as though you are nothing but a victim. That you are a compliant puppet to the men around you.

It needs to stop.

Today, Jimmy shoves his fingers down your throat and you lurch forward with a gag. His unclipped fingernails drag against your wet tongue and you feel your unimpressive breakfast rising up your throat.

And god, his fucking grin. It’s a show of malice and a couple of crooked teeth, the obvious reaction as he takes a victory lap with your subservience. Globs of thick saliva drag down from your lips and onto the floor.

He always fucks you when your son is sleeping and there’s enough time for your holes to return to normal for when Curly uses them the following evening. You feel so sapped of your energy. You don’t even fight or say much of anything anymore. You’ve lost.

You know what’s happening before you even feel it. He bends you onto the couch and slides his spit-soaked fingers against your ass. You prickle up, going rigid as he forces one finger past your pucker, then a second. Jimmy doesn’t actually care about prepping you and after a couple pumps he replaces his fingers with his cock.

It’s the same sharp drag every time, although now it hurts twice as much. He must get off to it, seeing you in a crumpled, folded heap of holes. His hips smack against yours with ease.

He curls his body over you, looming like a shadow. The cushion beneath your face is wet with tears and drool. You feel like you’re suffocating— he doesn’t even moan. You’re not even doing a good job of whatever he wants from you.

Jimmy calls you a slut, a whore, and all of the other degrading names in the book. He’s sure to let you know what you are and once the slide of his dick starts feeling less like molten lava in your veins, you begin to moan along with it. You fucking hate yourself.

Then, the front door opens.

You didn’t tell Jimmy that Curly got off early today. You were hoping the sight of this would be enough to deter Curly from Jimmy, that’d it be enough to compel Curly to kick him out. If he won’t believe your words, you have the visual proof.

Jimmy doesn’t even look scared, much less worried. He tugs you up into his lap, your back against his chest and your vulnerable body bared to Curly’s gaze. You try to cover yourself, but it’s no use.

“Sweetheart… what?” He looks between you and Jimmy, his expression darkening.

“I didn’t— he made me–,” but Jimmy wraps a hand around your throat and squeezes so hard your eyes bulge out of your sockets. You flounder as Jimmy grinds his hips into you.

“She’s a glutton for it.” Jimmy’s voice feels far away, like you’re in some sort of corporeal third person. “You haven’t been fucking her right, huh?”

Curly’s lips form around a myriad of words he tries and fails to say. “I have been,” Curly says, his eyes wide in disbelief, reeling, “she went behind my back, with you?”

“Don’t blame me. She was begging me for it.” Jimmy can’t stop moving his hips. He can’t even take a break from fucking you just to talk.

“Please, no—,” you gasp. Curly’s eyes flit to yours and then down to your blushing cunt that's currently dripping slick down onto Jimmy’s balls. He can see the way your ass is stretched around his cock.

Curly’s so red you think he might overheat. One hand slips lower, not-so-discreetly adjusting his bulge as he stares at both you and Jimmy in heartbreak.

And Jimmy, being the gentleman he is, scoots forward on the couch, indirectly rocking up into you in a thrust that makes your eyes roll back. “Are you getting turned on by this?” Jimmy laughs, “then use her.”

Jimmy slides his sleazy fingers down and parts your sodden lips, showing it all off to Curly. The man averts his eyes like he’s never seen it before, as if he hasn’t dragged his tongue over every inch of your skin in his own form of worship.

“You like watching this? Fucking cuck.” Jimmy digs his thumb into your windpipe and you worry you might actually turn purple.

He curls in on himself like he’s intruding. “I can’t— not while you’re—”

Jimmy rolls his eyes. “She’s your wife. What, you don’t want her anymore?”

The patheticness that drew you to Curly is becoming a thing of annoyance to you. But for once, you agree with Jimmy— having Curly here with you might erase the pain of Jimmy’s lack of preparation. Curly would be gentle, he would be so good to you, same as he always is. You plead with him as best you can with your eyes. If you can’t rid yourself of Jimmy, at least you can make it better for yourself.

You watch as he reluctantly undoes his pants, tugging out that fat cock you love so much. Before you know it, he’s pressing the head to your cunt and pushing in. His eyes are on you and only you. You’re finally able to ignore the way Jimmy’s hip bones are digging into your ass.

Curly caresses your jaw with his fingers, watching carefully to make sure he doesn’t hurt you, because sometimes he doesn’t know his own strength. It feels habitual, you can almost ignore everything else happening around you. You and him, just you and him.

“What are you fucking her so slow for?’ Jimmy plunges even deeper into you. “You think a slut like her deserves that?”

Curly’s eyes shoot away and then he’s staring at Jimmy, his brow furrowed in thought. It’s usually your job to tell him what to think— you would if you weren’t being stuffed and suffocated from every side.

He picks up speed. You’ve never had him at this pace before, and you’re stretched so full that your hands fly out for purchase, nails skating along Curly’s bicep.

He’s not even looking at you, the pretty tendons of his neck arched so he can look at Jimmy. Your husband fucks you with his careful instruction.

Jimmy bullies himself deeper and deeper. Curly follows suit, your hips all clash with the sloppy sound of your wet cunt and skin.

You squeeze around them both as your heart stammers with pure panic. Jimmy’s fingers are digging into your throat hard enough that spots are appearing in your vision. You tap his arm like he’s got you in a wrestling hold you can’t get out of— Jimmy makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat as he lets go.

Then he slaps you.

Curly winces like Jimmy hit him too, but he doesn’t say anything. The strike burns against your skin. You’re not even given a moment to process before Jimmy’s pistoning right back in.

You’re so wet that it’s all you can hear— maybe wetter now. Your head tips back to rest on Jimmy’s shoulder and you try to catch Curly’s eyes with your own.

“Grant, Grant—,” your nails dig into his biceps to get his attention. His hands are wrapped around your thighs, spreading you open, and Jimmy’s rubbing your clit like he couldn’t care less about it, missing it half the time.

Curly glances down at you, fleeting. “Yeah, what is it, baby?” His pupils are blown wide, eyebrows curling upwards as he continues to fuck into you.

Your body shakes with each thrust, neither of them are letting up. “Slow down, please.”

“You’re gonna listen to her?” is Jimmy’s immediate response, “thought you were the man of the house.”

A multitude of expressions lilt over Curly’s face until there is a sudden understanding. One of their many secret conversations, you suppose.

Then Curly matches Jimmy’s pace and you feel like you can’t breathe, blackened tears streaming down your face. At least he has the decency to actually rub your clit. Your hips squirm as you try and fail to wrench yourself away from the overstimulation.

He keeps hitting that spot in you over and over again, their cocks meeting inside you with each belligerent thrust. Jimmy’s fingers dig into your waist, his teeth caught on your earlobe as he says the most demeaning things he can come up with, making you whine and squeeze tighter around them both, walls fluttering and a pitiful ache in your stomach.

Then there’s this sudden anger. At yourself, mostly. Curly doesn’t have the backbone to stand up for himself, much less you. That’s why this is your fault. You let it get out of control and you’ve let yourself get conditioned to enjoy being defiled.

You’d only had one plan when you learned about Pony Express terminating its employees— secure your future. That future was Curly’s baby in your belly, being well off under his roof. You were willing to take on every responsibility that came with it if it meant a good life for you and your family. But now you’ve clawed yourself out of a gaping pit just to dive headfirst into another.

Jimmy was the variable that ripped that all to shreds. Him and Curly have something, something that goes beneath their skin, that they share in small glances when you slip up, a camaraderie, one that has spanned longer than you’ve known either of them and has only grown further now.

And then the worst happens.

Jimmy wraps one slender hand around the back of Curly’s neck, tugs him down, and then he’s kissing him. Curly’s eyes fall closed and he makes a keening noise so deep in the back of his throat that you wonder if it’s innate. Jimmy just looks at you, eyes wide open, unable to fight his grin as Curly slots lips with him like an obedient dog.

Your chest sinks even deeper into that pitfall, you can only watch, staring as Curly pulls away, a string of saliva between both their lips. And Curly has never looked at you like that. Yes, his eyes have welled up with admiration and reverence, and he has said just as much to you, but it’s never been this. Like he’ll die if your lips never meet again.

Curly glances at you, and it’s like he’s asking for permission, like you’re some sort of spectator when they’re both fucking you. You can’t believe him, you can’t believe this is happening right now. It’s not fair.

And before you can protest, before the rage can spark in your chest and burst into flames, Curly’s thumb catches your clit just right and you’re cumming.

You’re dragging them both in deep, half-crying out as your orgasm grows spots in your vision. It’s dizzying, all-consuming, and you’re half worried you might pass out.

Curly sucks in a sharp breath and he blows his load right after, Jimmy following too. No one pulls out, you all lay there, catching your breath. There’s a thin layer of sweat on your skin, your bodies all feel sticky as they’re pressed together.

Curly does what he always does, ducking his head to rest his forehead against yours and murmuring praises. He pecks your lips, but all you can feel and taste is Jimmy.

It makes you sick.

The following few weeks are a blur. You become what you’re meant to be, what you’ve been fighting— a shell of your former self. Looking back at the power you once held on the Tulpar, where you were free of the systems of Earth, you should’ve known that their return would throw everything off-kilter.

The white walls of the bathroom grow suffocating. The first time you did this on the Tulpar, there was buzzing excitement thrumming through your veins. You wanted it so badly. It was all you could think about. Every time you and Curly locked eyes, you had envisioned it all, what his reaction would be, the first thing he’d say.

But now? You stare blankly at the positive pregnancy test, an obvious result of yours and Jimmy’s and Curly’s ongoing entanglement. You’re numb more than anything. It was going to happen and so it happened, simple as that.

Though a tiny question tugs at you, somewhere in the recesses of your foggy mind— a curiosity that you don’t want the answer to knowing either option is now equally just as horrible to you.

Who’s the father?

[th3cadav3r]

Hi can you write a headcanon of the mouthwashing characters reaction to the reader having a bad dream? The reader can be any gender, thank you!!! 💕

Mouthwashing X GN Reader Headcanons–Having A Bad Dream

content: just fluff and cuddles

author’s note: I hope you like this one😁This was so fun to work on

Daisuke

You startle him when you wake up abruptly

“Whas happenin’?” He asks sluggishly

“Sorry, Dai. I just had a…really bad dream,”you tell him

“Hey, don’t apologise for that. Are you alright?”

You shake your head, prompting him to embrace you tightly

“It’s all over now, alright? It wasn’t real”

He holds you close to him and kisses your forehead

“Well, I had a pretty good dream. Wanna hear it?”

He told you all about it just to distract you from the bad thoughts and help you fall asleep again

Sure enough it works and you fall back asleep to the sound of his voice, basking in the warmth that his body provides against yours

Anya

She gently shakes you awake when she hears you crying softly in your sleep

“It’s okay, my love. It was just a dream”

Her voice is so soft and sweet. It puts you at ease almost immediately

“You’re safe now”

She strokes your hair and caresses your face to comfort you

If you request, she’ll play some music for you from your shared playlist

You fall back asleep in no time with her arms wrapped around you

Curly

He wakes up and sees you faced away from him

Still half asleep, he wraps his arms around you and brings you to his chest. That’s when he realises that you’re crying

“What’s wrong, love?”he whispers, brushing your hair out of your face

“I…I had a horrible dream,”you respond

He turns you toward him so he can see your face. He swipes his thumb across your cheek to catch any falling tears

“It’s OK. I’m here, darling. I’m right here”

He rubs your back, soothing you and bringing you back to the present

“Just wake me up if you have another nightmare, alright? I’ll be right here”

That was the last thing you heard before drifting off to sleep. You slept peacefully for the rest of the night in his arms

Swansea

He’s a very heavy sleeper, so you gently jostle him awake after you wake up from your nightmare

“Hm? Something wrong?”

You nod. “Just had a terrible dream”

Though he’s slightly annoyed that he had been woken up, he still sympathises

He can’t stand seeing his lover upset or distressed

Offers you water and the TV remote in case you don’t feel like going back to sleep

If you choose to stay up, he’ll gladly watch a comforting show or movie with you until you feel better

If not he’ll cuddle you and maybe talk to you until you fall back asleep

Jimmy

He stirs awake from you quietly crying

“What’s wrong, baby?”

He sits up and hugs you from behind, resting his weary head on your shoulder

“Just had a really bad dream,”you manage to say in between sobs

“Awww, come ‘ere” He turns you around to face him, allowing you to embrace him and bury your face into his chest

“Wanna talk about it?” he offers

You shake your head, not ready to tell him just yet. He was definitely curious, but he didn’t want to keep prodding

He encourages you to lay back down, not letting go of your for even a second

He kisses the top of your head as you fall back asleep

[kultklassickiller]

Prada You Chapter 15

Summary:

In the summer of 1998, sparks fly between Nyeya and Jey.

Nyeya is an 18-year-old around the way girl. Jey is older, paid, and fine. He is also the leader of the infamous Prada Bois alongside his twin brother Jimmy.  The two have chemistry. However, Nyeya has plans outside of her attraction. With a birthday around the corner and dreams of living a good life, Nyeya sets her sights on enjoying the perks of Jey's money and hood celebrity.

But baby girl has no clue what it takes to really be down. Nyeya is about to learn some hard life lessons at the expense of her 'Prada' priced dreams.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye) Green (OC)

Author’s Note: This story is happening in an alternative universe. It features the current and original Bloodline members along with other WWE stars. So, the characters are themselves, but some things are switched around for the stories sake. This was originally written with all original characters, but I think it could work better this way. Hope you guys enjoy it and I actually finish it...

Warning: Please be advised that this chapter contains underage drinking, age gap relationships.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 15: Division

The sunlight streamed through my bedroom window, warming the hardwood floor and catching on the gold bracelet still clinging to my wrist. I turned it over in my hand, the engraved words Belongs to a Prada Boi glinting in the light. It felt heavy—heavier than gold should. I had barely slept since Jey clasped it on, and now it seemed like a permanent reminder of everything I didn’t understand about him or what it required of me in return.

A knock rattled my bedroom door, and my mom’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Nye, I need help with these groceries. Get up.”

My stomach twisted. She couldn’t see this bracelet—not her. Panic surged as I fumbled with the clasp, finally yanking it free and shoving it into my pillowcase.

“Coming!” I called, grabbing a sweatshirt to cover my hurried movements.

When I opened the door, my mom stood there, one brow raised, her hands on her hips. “You’re moving slow today. You all right?”

“Yeah, Ma. Just tired. You know Kiyah kept me up all night,” I lied, brushing past her to avoid her sharp gaze.

She didn’t follow, but her voice trailed behind me. “You been sleeping over there a lot lately. Don’t think I don’t notice. I’m starting to think you like it over there more.”

I grabbed a bag of groceries from the counter, ignoring the sting of her words. My mom was sharp, and if I wasn’t careful, she’d cut right through the excuses I was using to shield her from the truth.

“It’s nothing like that, Ma. Kiyah just wants me over there so we can gossip all night. You know how her and her mama is.”

---

The next day, I met up with Kiyah, Natasha, and Nataya at Kiyah’s apartment. The box fan in the corner barely stirred the sticky summer air, but the loud R&B coming from Kiyah’s stereo kept the vibe lively.

“Okay, Nye,” Kiyah said, pausing mid-polish as she painted her toes neon orange. “What’s the deal? You’ve been holding out on us lately. You and Jey work shit out?”

I hesitated, biting my lip. They’ll never let me hear the end of this if I say what’s really been going on.

“So... Jey asked me to help plan a birthday party for one of the Prada Bois,” I said finally. “It’s for Tama, and it’s supposed to be this Friday.”

The room erupted.

“Wait, hold up. You’re throwing a Prada Boi party?” Natasha squealed, practically spilling her iced tea.

“Not throwing,” I corrected, laughing despite myself. “I’m just helping Jey make it memorable.”

“Girl, that’s throwing the party,” Kiyah said, snapping her gum. “And you know we’re coming. Don’t even play like we’re not.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I teased, though I knew they were coming regardless.

Nataya leaned back on the couch, her bracelets jingling as she adjusted her tank top. “What’s the theme?”

“Something classy but fun,” I said, reaching into my bag. “And speaking of classy...” I pulled out the bracelet, holding it up so it caught the light.

Kiyah’s jaw dropped. “Oh, he’s serious-serious. Let me see that.”

I handed it over, and she turned it over in her hands, her eyes wide. “This is official. Like, he stamped you. That’s crazy. Most hoes don’t get that far.”

Nataya smirked, lifting her own wrist. “Jimmy did the same thing last week. Different words, same vibe.”

Her bracelet read, “My Prada Girl.” I made note of how hers and mines differed.

“Y’all got me out here single and tragic,” Kiyah said, pouting. “I need a Prada Boi. Maybe Damian’s available. Perhaps Jacob but damn he got a lot kids. Like 14 of them.”

The mention of Damian made my stomach twist. I forced a laugh, but her words stuck with me long after the conversation moved on.

---

The next day, Jey surprised me with an invitation to the mall. He was in a rare, good mood, teasing me as we walked through the food court, sharing a chocolate-dipped cone from some ice cream place we passed by.

“You remember when we came here and people-watched?” he asked, grinning as he wiped a stray drip of ice cream from my chin.

I nodded, smiling. “Yeah, and you’d make up those ridiculous stories about everyone we saw.”

“Because I’m funny. Admit it,” he said, nudging me lightly.

“Sometimes,” I teased back, earning a playful glare.

We wandered into Macy's, where Jey immediately started pulling clothes from racks. He paused in front of a display and grabbed a crisp red Ralph Lauren collared shirt for himself. The bold red contrasted perfectly with black jeans he pulled off a nearby hanger, making the outfit sleek and sharp.

Then he turned his attention to me, his eyes scanning the racks until he found a red dress. He held it up, a smirk playing on his lips. “This is it. Short, tight, and classy. Just like you.”

The dress was undeniably striking. The smooth fabric hugged the mannequin’s frame, its bright red hue catching the light. The spaghetti straps and form-fitting design screamed confidence, while the slight slit up one side added an edge. “What do you think? We’ll shut it down at the party.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Red and black, huh? You really want to match?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, his grin widening. “If we’re showing up together, we’re showing out together. Red and black is how we make a statement.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Fine. But only because you’re paying.”

At the register, Jey took my hand, his thumb brushing over the bracelet on my wrist. His voice dropped, serious now. “You know what this means, right?”

I glanced at him, my smile fading. “What?”

“It means you’re mine,” he said simply. “And I don’t take that lightly. You wearing this? That’s loyalty. That’s trust. And I don’t break that for nobody.”

The intensity in his eyes made my stomach flip. I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say.

He smiled then, softening. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Friday’s gonna be a movie, baby.”

As we walked out, hand in hand, I couldn’t help but wonder if this bracelet was a promise or a warning.

---

Friday night hummed with electricity. The venue, tucked behind tall iron gates and surrounded by luxury cars, was alive with the deep bass of music and the murmur of voices. The summer air clung to my skin as I stepped out of Jey’s BMW, his hand firmly gripping mine. My friends spilled out behind us, their excited chatter filling the warm night.

The glow from the venue bathed the sidewalk in warm shades of red and gold. My dress, a sleek red number that hugged every curve, felt like a second skin. My stiletto heels clicked against the pavement, every step a reminder to keep my composure. Jey’s arm slipped around my waist, grounding me in the moment.

“You ready to show ‘em how it’s done?” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear.

I forced a confident smile. “Always.”

Behind us, Kiyah let out an exaggerated gasp. “Y’all really came to shut it down. Nye, that dress is giving—don’t even look at me tonight.”

Natasha snickered, her braids swaying as she adjusted her crop top. “Girl, we all about to steal this party.”

Nataya, walking arm-in-arm with Jimmy, gave me a knowing look. Her bracelet caught the light, sparkling like a quiet declaration. “Just don’t let her outshine me, Jey. Jimmy would never let me live it down.”

Jimmy laughed, leaning down to kiss her temple. “You know you’re the real star, baby. Let ‘em have their moment.”

Jey smirked, nodding toward the door. “Let’s go. The night’s not waiting.”

---

Inside, the venue was a world of its own. Red lights cast a sultry glow over everything, while gold accents on the tables and walls shimmered like hidden treasure. A DJ spun 90s hip-hop and R&B, the beats vibrating through the floor. Waiters moved through the crowd like shadows, balancing trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

Tama, the birthday boy, sat at a central table surrounded by laughter and bottles of top-shelf liquor. His smile widened as he saw us approaching. Jey’s hand stayed firm on my waist as we navigated the crowd, my friends trailing close behind.

“Look at y’all,” Tama said, standing with his arms open. His chain caught the light, gleaming against his crisp black shirt. “Coordinated and killing it. Appreciate you putting this together, Nye.”

“Happy birthday,” I said, returning his grin. “Glad you like it.”

Nataya slid into a seat beside Jimmy, who handed her a glass of champagne with a smirk. Kiyah and Natasha lingered by the bar, where Jacob and Solo were already engaged in a heated conversation. I caught Kiyah tossing a flirty glance at Jacob, her laughter loud enough to turn heads.

Jey pulled me onto his lap as he sat, his arm draped casually over my thigh. The move earned a round of whistles from the table.

“She’s been running shit for this party,” Jey said, his voice loud enough to carry. “This wouldn’t have happened without her.”

“Okay, boss lady!” Solo teased, raising his glass in a mock toast.

The attention made me squirm, but Jey’s hand tightened on my leg, his grip a quiet reminder that I was his. I smiled through the discomfort, playing my part.

---

As the night wore on, the energy shifted. Drinks flowed freely, and the music seemed louder, more urgent. Near the bar, tensions simmered as Damian squared off with a tall man in an oversized black hoodie and heavy gold chain. His posture was rigid, his broad shoulders and clenched fists exuding barely restrained aggression. Their voices started low but sharp, cutting through the ambient noise.

“You didn’t deliver. Now you’re acting like it’s my fault,” the man growled, leaning toward Damian.

Damian didn’t flinch. Instead, he tilted his beer bottle, letting the condensation drip onto the floor as he stared the man down. “You don’t get to talk about delivery when you can’t even follow basic instructions,” he fired back, his voice calm but lethal.

The argument escalated, drawing a crowd. Conversations faltered, and heads turned as their voices grew louder.

“You think you can talk slick and not have consequences? Keep running your mouth and see what happens,” the man snapped, stepping closer.

Damian leaned in, his smirk a taunt. “Go ahead. Make it worth my time.”

Before it could boil over, Jey stumbled into the middle, his steps loose and unsteady. “Hey! Cut this shit out,” he slurred, throwing an arm between them. “We’re here to celebrate, not do this shit.”

The man hesitated, his fists flexing at his sides, but Damian’s jaw tightened. His gaze flicked to Jey, and the weight of his words hung in the air. “Maybe if you picked better people to trust, we wouldn’t be cleaning up their messes.”

The pointed remark hit like a slap. For a moment, Jey’s usual swagger cracked, and a flicker of vulnerability crossed his face. Tama stepped in quickly, his laugh light but firm. “Come on, y’all. Not tonight. This is my night. Let’s keep it cool.”

The man backed off first, muttering something under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd. Damian lingered, his cold stare fixed on Jey before he finally walked away, his beer still in hand.

The confrontation ended without violence, but the tension lingered. I watched from the edge of the room, my chest tight. Jey’s world wasn’t just chaotic; it was a minefield, and I was standing too close to the blast zone.

---

Outside, the air was a welcome relief, cool against my heated skin. I leaned against the wall, trying to collect myself when Damian’s voice broke the silence.

“Needed a break too, huh?”

I turned to see him emerging from the shadows, his beer bottle dangling lazily in his hand. His gaze was sharp, his expression unreadable.

“Damian,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “What are you doing out here?”

“Same as you,” he said, his tone casual. “Getting some air.”

I crossed my arms, trying to steady myself. “What’s up?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took a slow sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving mine. “You really think you belong here, Nyeya?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I shot back, my voice defensive.

Damian stepped closer, his tone dropping. “This world ain’t built for girls like you. You think that bracelet makes you untouchable? It doesn’t. It just makes you a target. Makes it harder to leave like I told you to.”

I swallowed hard, refusing to let him see my unease. “I can handle myself.”

“Sure, you can,” he said, his smirk returning. Then, before I could react, he grabbed my arm, pulling me close. His lips brushed against mine in a brief, startling kiss.

I jerked back, my heart pounding. “Damian! What are you doing?”

Damian’s smirk deepened. “A reminder. You’re not as safe as you think you are with him. But with me.. you could be.”

He walked away, disappearing into the night. I stood there, shaken, before finally heading back inside. Jey was drunk, laughing loudly with Tama and Sami. Nataya caught my eye from across the room, her brow furrowing as she noticed my expression. She nudged Jimmy, but I shook my head, forcing a smile. Whatever had just happened, I wasn’t ready to talk about it.

As I sat back down beside Jey, his arm looped lazily around my shoulder, the bracelet on my wrist felt heavier than ever. The words Belongs to a Prada Boi seemed to echo in my mind, each letter a reminder of how deeply I was entangled.

---

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[fox-guardian]

How do each of the zombies behave in the au? Also the fact that Swansea basically killed himself because of Daisuke getting infected is so sad.

Yeah, swansea and daisuke didn't start out in a good spot either. They discovered both their families dead/infected (the dog is fine, just missing) soooo daisuke was all swansea had left so it uh. Hit a little harder <3

I have some thoughts on zombie behavior. Not many but a few.

The infected are still people with (mostly) functioning brains and their own thoughts and feelings. Most of those feelings are fear, pain, and desperation. All of this combined with the chaos of the world's reaction to the infected and how quickly it spread, means that the infected seem a bit. Erratic.

Pain in various areas leads to "odd" movements and mannerisms, lack of speech leads to "odd" sounds, and the desperation leads them to seek out people who can help a little Too intensely.

The infected tend to end up near other if only out of a deep human desire for connection. Sympathy in their pain. When someone uninfected comes by, they approach. Hissing and wheezing air out as loud as possible, attempting to form words with rotted lips and tongues to little avail.

If someone doesn't help, or actively harms, they get upset. They claw and pull, trying to scream or explain. Maybe rob them of supplies their uncoordinated hands could somehow use. Maybe they approach hoping for a headshot, an end to their pain. If they bite, it's not out of hunger, but rather hate. Maybe some want to share their pain with the uninfected. Bring them down with them.

Specifically for the crew though?

Daisuke wants to get back to the truck. He wants to rejoin the group. Get Anya's help for his injuries, tell them about Jimmy's betrayal. See swansea again. He's badly hurt, but he powers through the pain, finds some rollerskates, and Knows What He Must Do. He doesn't know what's come after, but there's no time to think about that. He needs to catch up to the truck.

Swansea had had the idea of either going out completely because fuck everyone else, or maybe joining Daisuke. He wakes up, busted in the middle of the road, and gets his second wish. The desire becomes revenge as they skate onwards. He hopes he has enough function in his rotting hands to take Daisuke's old bat and bash Jimmy's head in.

Anya rots slowly. It burns within her veins. She can't think much beyond walking and hoping that it all ends soon. Then hope arrives on rollerskates and she gets a second wind. Maybe they can still find a cure. If they can do this, maybe there's still time for them. For Curly. She hopes. And she hopes she can still speak when she sees Jimmy again. She's starting planning a speech, you see.

Curly is mostly at the mercy of the others over the course of the story. He doesn't have much desire beyond the pain stopping, and he trusts that Anya will do her best to keep that pain to a minimum. He doesn't move much, as he doesn't have to, staying mostly bedridden. It isn't until shit hits the fan that a new desire forms. Protect the others. He had led the group before his infection, it was his truck they were in, he had a responsibility, and he'd thrown it away with his infection. It's this that causes him to stubbornly attempt to steal the truck while jimmy is outside. Jimmy is the problem, and if they can get away from him, he and Anya will be safe. It doesn't work. After Jimmy kicks out Anya, his thoughts change. He failed. He couldn't protect them, not really. He starts to wonder if it's the infection talking, making him feel more violent than he ever had in his life. Is this when it takes over? Where he finally becomes a monster? He's slumped in the passenger seat. Jimmy is driving. It would be so easy.

[im-an-insane-man-lover]

Idk if someone's done this

[diviedrawn]

“Why do you think Pony Express put a lock on the medical door but not in the sleeping quarters?”

[starsiex]

THOUSANDS FOUND DEAD 😭😭😭😭

[verdantwyrm]

Thanks to noclip, i was able to check out the letter Curly gets from "up top" and it is exactly as i thought.

Curly wasn't fired. He was Promoted.

Thats apart of why Jimmy was so jealous, why he was so upset and why he was so destined to not only secure his place as a hero, but to also ruin Curly's chances of ever becoming anything greater.

Its canon that Jimmy has been endlessly climbing the ranks behind Curly, he wasn't automatically brought on as a co-pilot, so to finally reach a position in that career where he could be feasibly equal to Curly, he goes and finds out that he's about to be promoted, furthering their separation, and shoving Jimmy back down the ladder, all over again. And he twists it in a way at the Birthday party that explicitly makes Curly out to be like he wanted this, like he wanted everyone else to get fired and him to climb the ladder even higher.

And its adds so much more to this scene.

Jimmy was so obsessed with the aspect of being the hero of a story, that when he was directly being cut out of one, he immediately went to the suicide-murder route. Not even bothering to try and talk it out, to think rationally or even try and understand Curly's pleas and his hopelessness.

He was being left behind, essentially forgotten by his so called "friend" that the only way he knew how to stay apart of his life and remain a good co pilot, a hero was to destroy every and all opportunity of ever being not one.

Him crashing the ship wasn't just the avoid the responsibility of what he did to Anya (not that he ever gave a shit about her, only himself) but to also make sure he died as a co-pilot, the co-pilot of an amazing captain, and whats a better way of doing exactly that than framing it to look like Curly is the one that crashed the ship?

[alexcalexart]

I've been listening to Headlock on repeat for he past 3 days bc of her

[juststandingthere]

ISTG this game is making me insane, brainrot strong enough for me to make my first analysis post

One thing i love about the narrative is how distorted the characters, relationships and events are from jimmy's pov. Most posts discussing this focus on Anya, and it makes sense bc she's probably the biggest victim of this. She's seen as less than a person, she's an incompetent nurse, she has a meek personality, she'll let anyone(jimmy) step over her and she still follows his orders, despite everything he has done to her. We obviously see, from curly's pov, that she's simply too terrified of her abuser to act any other way, and when she's not with him she's way more confident and competent.

I haven't seen as many people talking about how this "distortion" affects Swansea and Daisuke as well, including the relationship they have with each other.

We see, in the first Curly section, that Swansea is a great mentor to Daisuke (one might even say they have a father-son/uncle-nephew relationship). He takes his time to teach him not just the basics, but also how to do his job as safely as possible. He lets him take notes, he himself writes stuff down for him to remember and even lets him doodle on those notes! Sure he is harsh with him, but he clearly cares about him and wants him to be safe.

And in return Daisuke looks up to him and has great respect for him, as both a mechanic and a man, while he also makes some jokingly offensive comments towards the older man, showing the close bond they have formed.

But that's not what we see when we play as Jimmy.

In his pov we don't see them interacting much, when they do we either see Swansea insulting Daisuke for no apparent reason or, in one occasion, we see him leading the kid down a "bad path" wanting to teach him how to "drink like a man".

When they aren't interacting tho, we do see hints of their actual relationship: Swansea asking where the kid is when he is "partying" in the lounge, confirming that he does not, in fact, hate spending time with him; him looking desperately for something, *anything*, that could help Daisuke with his suffering after he's injured; how whenever Jimmy tries to bring up to Daisuke how "badly" Swansea treats him, or how he "lied" to them about the utility room, Daisuke immediately shuts him down, because he knows what he's saying is completely wrong (i'm pretty sure those are the only times he doubts something Jimmy says), showing once again the trust and respect he has for his mentor.

(this part is kinda speculative but i think it makes sense)

There are two other times where we see them interacting, where we actually see how much Swansea cares for the kid, and coincidentally, neither of them is seen through Jimmy's eyes, but from a third person pov: what Swansea says right before they knock him out with the drink, about how he resents the people that let Daisuke, someone with his whole life ahead of him, with so much optimism and joy, board the ship for a job that would inevitably leave him "mangled" and "smarter in a worse way" (i could make a whole other essay on this part but i won't), and what he says right before mercy killing him. In that scene specifically, as the camera pans out in the corridor as Swansea raises his axe, ready to take the final swing, Jimmy doesn't see the hesitation in his body language, the way his body tenses, the way he comforts the kid, telling him to close his eyes, the heavy breaths (crying?maybe?) right after the act. He only sees the older man as a monster that would take away an innocent life that jimmy would have been able to fix had he been given the time to fucking think.

Hell, now that i think about it, Swansea's final monologue, where we find out that he is in fact a good man who tried his best to better himself, who simply wanted to protect the kid and give him "a chance off this goddamn rock"(implying that the Cryopod was meant for Daisuke all along) is also shown in third person!

A few other things i found interesting:

1-The missing pieces between what happened to Daisuke in the vent and when Swansea started attacking Jimmy. There's a cut from when Daisuke screams to when he's laying on (Swansea's) bed, bloody and in pain; from when Jimmy uses the mouthwash to disinfect him (which only causes him to suffer more) and two hours later; from after the talk the two men have and the moment Jimmy decides to go find the gun, the axe gone from Daisuke's face. What happened in those missing scenes? Was Swansea the one who helped the kid onto his bed, trying to make him as comfortable as possible? Did he try to comfort him, to distract him, and ease his pain as well as he could? What was his reaction when he had to take back the axe off the face of the young man he had started seeing as his own kid, whose life he had hoped he could save but that he ultimately had to take with his own hands?

I personally think those parts are blocked out of Jimmy's mind, as he couldn't fit them in his own narrative, where he was the hero, Swansea the villain and Daisuke the innocent, young man whose life he tried his best to protect from this "monster" that was now going to come after him.

2-Swansea attacking Jimmy with the axe, especially the cemetery scene, and how it can be interpreted in different ways.

We, the viewers, knowing everything that happened, will see it as a desperate man, Swansea, trying to avenge the lives that had been lost on that ship because of Jimmy (wether directly or not), with Daisuke's death being the last straw. But i don't think that's how Jimmy saw it. He saw swansea as a crazed, mad man, a ruthless killer, coming for him after taking an innocent life, Daisuke's photo and mausoleum as a reminder for Jimmy of what the older man had done, and a justification for what he was about to do.

(not to talk about the implication that the fight against swansea was not as intense as we saw it, only confirming the idea that jimmy was looking for a justification for shooting him)

[azgfggf]

Saw this in a dream

[fungiikind]

I hope this hurts.

[redjukebox]

Mouthwashing AU where the crew beats the shit out of Jimmy and kills him and makes it back to Earth and gets help and lives happily<3333

Mouthwashing AU where Curly beats the shit out of Jimmy and kills him for assaulting Anya when he found out<3333

Mouthwashing AU where Anya beats the shit out of and kills Jimmy herself and makes it back to Earth with her friends and they’re ok and getting help<3333